Lindbergh

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Charles Lindbergh remains one of the enduring icons of the twentieth century. His solo flight across the Atlantic in 1927 captured the imagination of the world. His act of daring seemed to redeem human heroism in the age of the machine. His modesty and refusal to commercialize his celebrity only added to his heroic stature. Marriage to Anne Morrow, daughter of a distinguished Wall Street banker and diplomat, appeared to put the storybook seal on Lindbergh’s good fortune. The happy couple became a photogenic team, exploring remote corners of the world by airplane. But there was a dark side to Lindbergh’s fame.

The press hounded Lindbergh and his family. This constant exposure in the media contributed to the most harrowing event of the Lindberghs’ lives. In 1932, their two-year-old son was killed in a bungled kidnapping. The case quickly became a news sensation, the investigation and trial dragging on for years. Desperate to find some privacy, Lindbergh moved his family to Europe. Here Lindbergh watched the onset of war. He believed the conflict would be a disaster. He returned to America in 1939, hoping to persuade his countrymen to stay out of the war. His refusal to condemn Nazi Germany convinced many Americans that he was Nazi. During World War II, he would be blacklisted by the Roosevelt administration, and prevented from joining the military. After the war passions faded, Lindbergh’s contributions to aviation and environmentalism helped rehabilitate his reputation.

A. Scott Berg is the first biographer allowed full access to the Lindbergh papers. He has made the most of this privilege, and has written what should be the definitive biography of Charles Lindbergh. Berg captures the drama of Lindbergh’s life; he also gives readers a very human account of a hero who never forgot that he was a man.

Sources for Further Study

Business Week. November 9, 1998, p. 38.

The Christian Science Monitor. November 12, 1998, p. B5.

The Economist. CCCXLVII, November 14, 1998, p. NA.

Los Angeles Times Book Review. September 20, 1998, p. 3.

National Review. L, October 26, 1998, p. 50.

The New York Times Book Review. CIII, September 27, 1998, p. 14.

Publishers Weekly. CCXLV, August 24, 1998, p. 38.

Time. CLII, September 21, 1998, p. 103.

The Times Literary Supplement. October 30, 1998, p. 3.

The Washington Post Book World. XXVIII, September 20, 1998, p. 1.

Historical Context

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Early Aviation

The dream of soaring through the skies has captivated human imagination for centuries, drawing inspiration from the graceful flight of birds, a stark contrast to our own grounded physiognomy. While history has forgotten many of the hopeful souls who attempted to craft wings capable of lifting them off the ground, one notable endeavor took place in England around 1100 A.D. A daring monk, with wings affixed to his arms, leapt from a tower and managed to glide nearly six hundred feet before his ambitious flight ended with broken legs. Such attempts were marked by a blend of bold ambition and inevitable failure. Leonardo da Vinci, the celebrated Renaissance genius, approached the concept of flight with a scientific lens. In 1500, he sketched an intricate flying machine, featuring wide, hinged wings powered by a man in a harness. Although da Vinci's invention never took to the skies, his pioneering ideas laid the groundwork for future innovators like George Cayley. By 1804, Cayley had crafted a glider that embraced the principles of propulsion and lift, foundational elements that continue to steer modern aviation.

Another trailblazer in the aviation arena was Otto Lilienthal, a German engineer who understood the pivotal role of wing design in transforming propulsion into lift. Embarking on over 2,500 glider flights, Lilienthal meticulously tested variables in wing shape and balance. His creations bore a striking resemblance to today's hang gliders. Tragically,...

(This entire section contains 750 words.)

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his passion for flight led to his demise, yet his detailed notes left a legacy for future aviators to explore. By Lilienthal's era, the concept of gliding was well-known, but the challenge of self-propulsion remained unsolved, with no flying machine able to lift its own weight off the ground.

As the twentieth century dawned, numerous inventors ventured into the realm of self-propelled flight. Among them was Samuel Langley, the Smithsonian Museum's curator in Washington, D.C., deeply engrossed in aerodynamics. In 1903, Langley invited the press to witness what he believed would be a successful flight. However, upon release, the aircraft merely teetered off its launch platform, sinking ignominiously into the water. A subsequent trial in December fared no better. Mere days later, the Wright Brothers, Orville and Wilbur, achieved the remarkable feat at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. Their aircraft stayed airborne for twelve seconds, powered solely by its own engines, thereby ushering in a new epoch in aviation history.

For the next decade, airplanes remained a pursuit for hobbyists and scientists. It wasn't until the outbreak of World War I in 1914 that their true potential was realized. Initially deployed for reconnaissance, airplanes soon became lethal instruments of war when the Germans armed them with machine guns, resulting in aerial dogfights. This marked a rapid evolution in aircraft maneuverability and a surge in skilled pilots. Post-war, many of these aviators continued their passion, dazzling audiences with daredevil displays at barnstorming events across the nation. The burgeoning airmail service, as recounted in Lindbergh, offered employment to numerous former military pilots, allowing them to indulge their love of flight.

Isolationism

Isolationism is a political philosophy advocating for the United States to remain detached from European and Western Hemisphere affairs. This ideology traces its roots to the republic's infancy, with George Washington famously advising against entangling alliances that might embroil the nation in conflicts. Echoing this sentiment, Thomas Jefferson also championed isolationist views. Throughout the 1800s, while America observed European developments, a steadfast and vocal faction demanded a stringent evaluation of national interests, particularly when considering involvement in wars.

The twentieth century heralded an increased temptation to engage in European matters. Innovations in travel, such as steamships and transcontinental flights—pioneered by Lindbergh—diminished America's geographical isolation. Simultaneously, European conflicts grew increasingly intricate, ensnaring multiple nations through an intricate web of treaties and obligations, as seen with thirty-two nations embroiled in World War I.

In the 1916 presidential election, Woodrow Wilson secured victory on the promise of keeping the United States out of the European quagmire. Yet, in April 1917, a decrypted message revealing a German proposal to Mexico to attack America prompted Wilson to seek a declaration of war from Congress. Fast forward to 1940, and Franklin Delano Roosevelt won reelection by vowing to avoid the brewing European conflict. However, the attack on Pearl Harbor in December 1941 forced the nation into the fray. The America First Committee, a formidable isolationist movement co-founded by Lindbergh, met its demise as the nation rallied behind World War II, frequently dubbed "The Good War." Isolationism's advocates, including Lindbergh, were soon seen as unpatriotic in the tide of national unity.

Lindbergh

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Charles Lindbergh exploded onto the world scene in 1927, flying his single-engined monoplane The Spirit of St. Louis nonstop from New York to Paris. To a postwar world mired in cynicism and hungry for heroes, the modest young flyer from Minnesota seemed the answer to a prayer. Lindbergh was immediately lionized as no man of modern times had been before. His appeal transcended celebrity. He became an icon, a shining beacon of human enterprise and courage in an age of machines. For Lindbergh himself, however, fame would prove to be as much a curse as a blessing, and he would struggle with the smothering effects of his own legend for the rest of his life.

A. Scott Berg’s Lindbergh is an ambitious attempt to understand the man behind the myth. This is no easy task, for even those closest to Lindbergh found him something of an enigma. Berg, moreover, is no literary magician, able to achieve the impossible. At the end of his book, the great flyer still remains something of a mystery. Yet Berg comes closer than any previous biographer to explaining his elusive subject. His book is especially valuable because he was the first scholar allowed unrestricted access to the Lindbergh papers. As a result, he is able to add much new detail and nuance to a familiar story, and his work will likely be the standard biography of Charles Lindbergh for years to come.

Charles Augustus Lindbergh was born on February 4, 1902. His father, Charles August Lindbergh, was the son of Swedish immigrants and a prosperous lawyer in Little Falls, Minnesota. His mother, Evangeline Lodge Land, was the daughter of the man who had pioneered porcelain dentistry; she met her husband while teaching school in Little Falls. Unfortunately, Lindbergh’s early years were not happy. His parents’ marriage proved to be a failure. Charles August Lindbergh allowed friends to persuade him to run for Congress in 1906. At least part of the attraction of the race was the prospect of escaping his home. He won the election, and the first of five consecutive terms. The ensuing years would be a blur of homes and schools for his son, who was shuffled between his father and mother, between Washington, D.C., and Minnesota. Lindbergh grew up intensely shy, more comfortable in the company of his pets than that of other people. He also learned to be extremely self-sufficient and self-reliant, qualities that would later undergird his greatest successes but that would also frustrate those closest to him.

Lindbergh early demonstrated an affinity for machines, especially automobiles. For this reason, his father tapped him to be his driver as he ran for the Republican nomination for U.S. Senate in 1916. In his years in Congress, the elder Lindbergh had been a fiery champion of the Progressive wing of the Republican Party. As a candidate for the Senate, he ran as an opponent of American intervention in World War I. His message proved unpopular in a country already girding itself for war, and he was heavily defeated. Even more disastrous was a 1918 campaign for the governorship of Minnesota. Charles August Lindbergh’s antiwar sentiments now seemed treasonous to many, and he was regularly harassed and even, on occasion, threatened with lynching. Lindbergh watched the destruction of his father’s career, and he imbibed long-lasting lessons about politics, politicians, and the passions unleashed by war.

A more traditional education continued in a somewhat haphazard fashion. In the fall of 1920, Lindbergh entered the University of Wisconsin. Less than two years later, he flunked out. His parents’ marriage was now irretrievably broken, and neither possessed the means to support him. Lindbergh thus had to strike out on his own. He chose to indulge a dream that had been growing within him: He decided to learn to fly. He took some commercial lessons, then honed his skills working with pilots barnstorming across the Midwest. Lindbergh became an aerial stuntman, walking wings and testing parachutes. Eager to fly more modern machines than the war-surplus planes available to him, Lindbergh enrolled in the Army’s Air Service Advanced Flying School in 1924; the next year, he graduated first in his class. The Army did not need many pilots, so Lindbergh found himself in the Reserves and in need of employment. He barnstormed for a period, then settled in St. Louis and accepted an offer to become a pioneer of the fledgling air-mail service. His route to Chicago was considered one of the most dangerous in the country because of the tempestuous weather. Lindbergh survived two crashes, becoming known as “Lucky Lindy” in flying circles.

In St. Louis, Lindbergh began pondering the possibility of flying nonstop from New York to Paris, a common dream for airmen of his day. In 1919, Raymond Orteig had further spurred interest by offering a prize of $25,000 for the first men who accomplished the feat. Until the mid-1920’s, such a flight had seemed a technical impossibility. Yet as the decade wore on, new planes were being designed that seemed capable of sustaining such a test of endurance. In 1926, a famous French flyer made an attempt in an experimental multiengined plane that crashed on takeoff, killing two of the crew. Soon, several other world-famous aviators were planning transatlantic flights. Lindbergh, tired of flying the mail, wanted to measure himself against the greatest challenge in his profession, but he was virtually unknown and had no money of his own. Working diligently, he found backers in St. Louis and a manufacturer, the Ryan Aeronautical Company of San Diego, California, to build his plane. Lindbergh bet his life, and his backers’ money, that he could fly the Atlantic alone in a single-engined monoplane, a sharp contrast to the large and expensive machines being tested by his competitors.

The race to win the Orteig Prize captured the imagination of the press. Suddenly, the quest to surmount this aeronautical hurdle became a drama engrossing millions of readers. A pair of French aviators took off from Paris’ Le Bourget aerodrome, passed observers on the French coast, and then disappeared. Technical and legal problems delayed the leading American teams. The glare of publicity descended on Lindbergh. Though few newspapermen thought much of his chances, they began to lionize him as a solitary hero, the “Flyin’ Fool.” From this point, Lindbergh would never be able to disentangle his life from the demands of the mass media. When he took off in The Spirit of St. Louis on May 20, 1927, his departure was a headline story on both sides of the Atlantic, and millions followed his progress as he was sighted over land and sea. By the time he approached Paris, he already was an international sensation. Upon landing, he reaped the whirlwind. He was the most famous man in the world. An age that needed a hero embraced Lindbergh; he soon realized that it would not let go.

Lindbergh proved an attractive hero. He demonstrated grace and dignity in public, and he resisted crass attempts to exploit his fame. He devoted himself to promoting the cause of commercial aviation. In the midst of this activity, he met Anne Morrow, the daughter of Dwight Morrow, a distinguished Wall Street banker who was serving as ambassador to Mexico. Anne was quiet, sensitive, and a gifted writer. She and Lindbergh were married in 1929, and they entered into a highly public life together. The photogenic pair became a team, exploring remote parts of the world by airplane. A son born to them in 1930 was named after his father. They seemed America’s golden couple.

Tragedy scarred the Lindberghs’s lives with searing abruptness in 1932, when their young son was killed in a kidnapping. The crime shocked the nation, and it became one of the most sensational news stories of the century as police searched first for the baby, then for his killer. Lindbergh blamed his son’s death on the incessant publicity that surrounded his family. To escape the press, the Lindberghs moved to Europe in 1935. During these bleak years, Lindbergh assuaged his grief through work. He and Anne continued their explorations. Lindbergh found funds to support the research of Robert Goddard, the father of American rocketry, and, working with the medical theorist Alexis Carrel, designed a precursor to the artificial heart.

As the decade wore on, Lindbergh became increasingly disturbed by the threat of war. At the behest of the U.S. War Department, he accepted invitations to inspect Nazi Germany’s developing air force. He was highly impressed by what he saw, and he was haunted by the conviction that a war would be a catastrophe for Western civilization. In 1939, he returned to the United States and began a campaign to persuade Americans to stay out of the coming conflict with Germany. This pitted him against President Franklin Roosevelt, who was committed to aligning the United States with the nations struggling to contain German aggression. Lindbergh quickly emerged as the leading spokesman of the America First movement, arguing that the United States should look to its own defenses and avoid foreign entanglements. His father’s son, he refused to compromise his principles, despite their high price. For the first time in his life, Lindbergh became a controversial figure. Because he would not condemn Germany, many Americans began to believe that he was a Nazi.

Pearl Harbor found Lindbergh isolated and under a cloud of suspicion. The Roosevelt Administration blacklisted him, and he was refused permission to enter the military. Lindbergh was forced to spend the war as a test pilot, though he did manage to fly fifty “unofficial” combat missions in the Pacific. Attitudes toward Lindbergh began to thaw with the death of Franklin Roosevelt in 1945. He was sent on an official mission to occupied Germany to inspect the wreckage of the Nazi jet and rocket programs; he also became a consultant to the Air Force and helped reorganize the Strategic Air Command. President Dwight Eisenhower honored him for his service by awarding him the rank of brigadier general.

Lindbergh furthered the cause of his own rehabilitation by writing a memoir of his 1927 transatlantic flight. The Spirit of St. Louis was published in 1953, and it became a best- seller. The book reminded Americans of the seemingly more innocent era when Lindbergh first burst onto the scene, and the film rights were quickly sold. Lindbergh’s success was crowned when he received the Pulitzer Prize in 1954. The next year, Anne Morrow Lindbergh had a literary triumph of her own, publishing A Gift from the Sea, a meditation on modern womanhood. The book became a publishing phenomenon, and the Lindberghs were re- established in Americans’ minds as a model couple. The reality of their marriage, however, was not as rosy as the image. Lindbergh’s lifelong restlessness became almost compulsive in the 1950’s. He was constantly on the move and rarely home. When he was about, his perfectionism worked like acid on his more emotionally vulnerable wife. It is one of the revelations of Berg’s biography that Anne in these years engaged in a long- standing affair with a family friend. The Lindberghs eventually reached a tacit accommodation with each other, spending long periods apart.

Almost to the end of his life, Charles Lindbergh remained active. His last great cause was environmentalism, and his projects ranged from saving whales from commercial fishermen to protecting the aboriginal Tasaday people of the Philippines. He was struck down by cancer in 1974. He died in Hawaii, calmly supervising the digging of his grave.

A. Scott Berg contents himself with telling the tumultuous story of Charles Lindbergh. He does not place Lindbergh’s life in a larger cultural context, but his book does provide the raw material for a powerful study of fame in the age of the modern mass media. Few men have achieved the heights of celebrity enjoyed by Charles Lindbergh, or suffered as much for that gilt privilege.

Sources for Further Study

Business Week. November 9, 1998, p. 38.

The Christian Science Monitor. November 12, 1998, p. B5.

The Economist. CCCXLVII, November 14, 1998, p. NA.

Los Angeles Times Book Review. September 20, 1998, p. 3.

National Review. L, October 26, 1998, p. 50.

The New York Times Book Review. CIII, September 27, 1998, p. 14.

Publishers Weekly. CCXLV, August 24, 1998, p. 38.

Time. CLII, September 21, 1998, p. 103.

The Times Literary Supplement. October 30, 1998, p. 3.

The Washington Post Book World. XXVIII, September 20, 1998, p. 1.

Literary Style

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Archetype

An archetype is a familiar symbol or motif that resonates with people across cultures, signifying the same essence to everyone. This fascinating concept springs from the idea of a collective unconscious, suggesting that deep within us lie shared memories, echoing from a singular source. Think of the nurturing image of a mother cradling her child, or the symbolic gesture of an outstretched hand or a clenching fist. Such images are timeless, believed to have roots stretching back thousands, possibly millions, of years, to an era when disparate cultures had yet to diverge from a single origin.

The momentous transatlantic flight by Charles Lindbergh stands as an archetype for the mechanical age. Enthralled onlookers worldwide celebrated the aviator's feat, revealing an innate human acknowledgment of the awe-inspiring reality of flight. In the infancy of aviation, airplanes were perceived as clunky contraptions, laboriously lifting off the earth. However, Lindbergh’s journey breathed an enchanting grace into aviation, akin to the wild imaginations of ancient civilizations dreaming of human flight. With his striking looks and sophisticated demeanor, Lindbergh drew attention to the aviator rather than the machine, tapping into age-old dreams like those of Icarus, the Greek mythological figure whose waxen wings melted in the sun's heat. Unlike Icarus, Lindbergh triumphed, becoming an emblematic figure of a burgeoning technological era, celebrated by societies around the globe.

In medias res

In medias res, a captivating Latin phrase meaning "in the midst of things," describes a storytelling technique where a tale begins at its center, only to reveal earlier events through flashbacks. Although Lindbergh doesn’t wholly rely on this method, it intriguingly dips into it. The inaugural chapter, "Karma," thrusts readers into the pinnacle of Lindbergh’s achievements. Berg vividly portrays the throngs of Parisians lining the streets, eagerly awaiting the arrival of The Spirit of St. Louis. By adopting this approach, Berg invigorates the narrative with a sense of immediacy, sparking curiosity for the backstory, and capturing attention that might wane through the predictable recounting of lineage, childhood, and early inklings of greatness. The narrative swiftly rewinds to 1859 as Chapter Two begins, commencing the Lindbergh saga's chronological journey. After this initial plunge into action, the autobiography unfolds in a traditional timeline, with the dramatic scene from the first chapter reappearing about a quarter into the story.

Style

A multitude of elements intertwine to shape the style of a literary work. Writers deliberate over word choice, the sequence of scenes, and the perspective from which events unfold. A writer's personality often shines through in the details selected for inclusion or omission. What elevates A. Scott Berg's reputation as a biographer is his restraint, allowing the story to unfold naturally, with minimal narrative intrusion. This subtlety is particularly challenging in biography, where information can be sparse, tempting writers to speculate about inner thoughts or perspectives. Berg navigates this with meticulous research, unearthing memoirs, letters, and public statements of other figures involved, enabling him to portray events from diverse angles. His comprehensive understanding infuses each narrative moment with authenticity, trusting the facts to narrate the tale. The fact that readers rarely notice his writing style testifies to his deep command of the material, presenting a narrative that feels both truthful and authoritative.

Compare and Contrast

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1920s: In the bustling postwar era, a burgeoning economy fuels a quest for amusement and leisure. The grandiose celebrations following Lindbergh’s triumphant landing in Paris spark yet another reason for revelry and merriment.

Today: In pursuit of entertainment, audiences are captivated by "reality" shows that introduce an element of danger, with programs like Survivor and When Animals Attack capturing imaginations.

1927: The inception of federal oversight in the realm of air travel is in its infancy, with the first regulatory agency just taking flight a year prior.

Today: The aviation sector stands as the backbone of the nation's economy, where even slight disruptions pose significant threats to numerous businesses.

1927: The world marvels at the astonishing feat of a person departing from America and finding themselves in France a mere thirty-three hours later.

Today: The routine transference of letters across the Atlantic by airfreight companies has become commonplace, although the surge of internet communication has reduced such needs.

1930s: During this era, an impassioned amateur like Lindbergh collaborates with Nobel Prize-winning scientists on groundbreaking medical innovations, such as the development of the heart pump.

Today: Specialized medical and technical education has become so prevalent that it leaves little opportunity for non-experts to engage in significant contributions.

Media Adaptations

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Audio Adventures

• Immerse yourself in the abridged audio journey of Lindbergh, eloquently narrated by Eric Stoltz, available through Random House Audio.

• Delve into the life of Anne Morrow Lindbergh with Susan Hertog’s compelling biography, voiced by the talented Marguerite Gavin and obtainable on audiocassette from Blackstone Audiobooks.

Visual Chronicles

• As part of its celebrated "Biography" series, the Arts and Entertainment Network has crafted a captivating video titled Charles and Anne Lindbergh, accessible on A&E Home Video from the year 2000.

• Explore an older, more succinct perspective with Lindbergh by Leonard Mosley and James Cunningham, offered on cassette by Books on Tape, Inc.

• Relive the exhilarating era of early aviation with Time-Life Video’s The Century of Flight: Epic Flights, 1919–1939, showcasing newsreel footage from Lindbergh’s daring flight, released in 1999.

Documentaries and Films

• Journey through the evolution of media sensationalism in Legacy of a Kidnapping: Lindbergh and the Triumph of the Tabloids. This videocassette, presented by journalist Lewis Lapham, chronicles the shift in journalistic integrity from the Lindbergh baby saga to the sensational events of the O. J. Simpson trial, Princess Diana’s tragic end, and the Monica Lewinsky scandal, brought to you by the California Newsreel Corporation of San Francisco.

• Experience Brendon Gill’s introspective 1985 work, Lindbergh Alone, available on audiocassette and brought to life through the voice of John MacDonald.

Cinematic History

• The epic tale of Lindbergh’s legendary flight is captured in the timeless 1957 film Spirit of St. Louis, directed by Billy Wilder and featuring stellar performances by James Stewart, Patricia Smith, and Arthur Space.

• Dive into history with the Public Broadcasting System’s Lindbergh, an episode from the American Experience series, masterfully produced by Ken Burns and directed by Stephen Ives, originally airing in 1990.

Bibliography and Further Reading

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Sources

Allen, Jamie, ‘‘A. Scott Berg reveals the spirit of Lindbergh,’’ in www.cnn.com (September 25, 1998).

Bryant, Eric, et. al., ‘‘Lindbergh,’’ in Library Journal, Vol. 124, No. 1, January 1999, p. 154.

‘‘Lindbergh,’’ in Booklist, Vol. 95, March 15, 1999, p. 1295.

‘‘Lindbergh,’’ in Publishers Weekly, Vol. 245, No. 34, August 24, 1998, p. 38.

Morrow, Lance, ‘‘Lindbergh,’’ in Time, Vol. 152, No. 12, September 21, 1998, p. 103.

Morton, Desmond, A Short History of Canada, McClelland & Stewart, 1998, p. 214.

Stricherz, Mark, ‘‘Enigmatic Aviator,’’ in America, May 1, 1999, p. 26.

Tanenhaus, Sam, ‘‘Lindbergh,’’ in Commentary, Vol. 107, January 1999, p. 61.

Ward, Geoffrey C., ‘‘Fallen Eagle,’’ in the New York Times, September 27, 1998.

Further Reading

Gill, Brandon, Lindbergh Alone, Harcourt, Brace & Co., 1977. Much less detailed than Berg’s biography, Gill’s book focuses most of its attention on the transatlantic flight.

Langewiesche, Wolfgang, Stick and Rudder: An Explanation of the Art of Flying, Tab Books, 1990. This book, meant to serve as a primer for beginning pilots, helps readers understand the task that Lindbergh faced in flying the Spirit of St. Louis.

Lindbergh, Charles, The Wartime Journals of Charles A. Lindbergh, Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich, 1970. This book provides Lindbergh’s thoughts at a particularly trying time in his life when the country was turning against him and branding him a traitor and a coward.

Newton, James, Uncommon Friends: Life with Thomas Edison, Henry Ford, Harvey Firestone, Alexis Carrel and Charles Lindbergh, Harcourt, Brace & Co., 1989. Uncommon Friends is written by a man who knew all of the persons referred to in its title. The book fits each of these men into the larger scheme of the early twentieth century.

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