Where I Stand — Mike O’callaghan: A book by Erik’s grandpa

Friday, May 3, 2002 | 10:23 a.m.

Mike O'Callaghan is the Las Vegas Sun executive editor.

OUR LITTLE ONE ROOM SCHOOL in rural Wisconsin had a corner set aside for a library. We had 25 to 32 students attending grades 1 through 8. My mom was our teacher and also cooked our lunches made up of surplus commodities provided by the Roosevelt administration. The Great Depression was in full swing and the hot lunch was important to the kids during the cold winter months.

Because we had a limited number of books, I found it necessary to read each of them several times. My favorite book was "We," written by Charles Lindbergh after he had flown the Spirit of St. Louis non-stop to Paris, France. A farm boy those days may have been limited in his life experiences, but books and a bit of daydreaming could take him sailing up through the clouds and into a world of excitement. That's how "We" and I became such good friends during the many years it was available for reading.

This week Lindbergh's grandson Erik Lindberg flew his own state-of-the-art single-engine airplane from Long Island, N.Y., to Paris. Prior to that hop he, like his grandfather, had started in San Diego then to St. Louis on to Long Island for the final leg of his journey. This was to celebrate the 75th anniversary of his grandfather's historic first solo crossing of the Atlantic. Erik's flight took many hours less than the first solo flight but I'm sure his late grandfather would have appreciated the thought and effort put into the flight.

Charles Lindbergh's takeoff for Paris as described in "We" thrilled me and it got better as I continued to read. He wrote, "About 7:40 A.M. the motor was started and at 7:52 I took off on the flight for Paris.

"The field was a little soft due to the rain during the night and the heavily loaded plane gathered speed very slowly. After passing the halfway mark, however, it was apparent that I would be able to clear the obstructions at the end. I passed over a tractor by about fifteen feet and a telephone line by about twenty, with a fair reserve of flying speed."

After passing over Newfoundland and many icebergs Lindbergh wrote, "There was no moon and it was very dark. The tops of some of the storm clouds were several thousand feet above me and at one time, when I attempted to fly through one of the larger clouds, sleet started to collect on the plane and I was forced to turn around and get back into clear air immediately and then fly around any clouds which I could not get over."

Later on he flew through heavy fog and then, "As the fog cleared I dropped down closer to the water, sometimes flying within ten feet of the waves and seldom higher than two hundred.

"There is a cushion of air close to the ground or water through which a plane flies with less effort than when at a higher altitude, and for hours at a time I took advantage of this factor.

"Also, it was less difficult to determine the wind drift near the water. During the entire flight the wind was strong enough to produce white caps on the waves."

The most thrilling stories in "We," which was published in 1927, are about the years he learned to fly and later when making extra money by barnstorming, wing-walking and carrying the U.S. mail. Four times he found it necessary to bail out, roll up his parachute and walk out to a road or farm.

Taking off from pastures, roads and streets also provided thrills. An example of these experiences follows:

"One of the town streets was wide enough to take-off from, provided I could get a forty-four foot wing between two telephone poles forty six feet apart and brush through a few branches on each side of the road later on. We pushed the ship over to the middle of the street and I attempted to take-off. The poles were about fifty feet ahead and just before passing between them there was a rough spot in the street. One of the wheels got in a rut and I missed by three inches of the right wing tip. The pole swung the plane around and the nose crashed through the wall of a hardware store, knocking pots, pans and pitch-forks all over the interior."

I'm happy that I read the book written before Lindbergh became involved in a strange brand of world politics and social views. I only knew him as a great guy who could fly.

Yes, "We" was a good friend for a farm boy who loved to read and dream.