Joe Jackson - Atlantic Fever: Lindbergh, His Competitors, and the Race to Cross the Atlantic

Table of Contents

What would a writer do without the kindness of experts and strangers? You call them out of the blue, invade their lives, then pick their brains. This was the sixth nonfiction narrative in which I pestered pleasant, unsuspecting people with all manner of questions. Such continuing patience confirms ones faith in humanity.

Though reams have been written about Charles Lindbergh and Richard Byrd, digging out details on the other participants in the race proved a little more difficult. However, as an old newspaper editor once told me, there are experts on everythingthe challenge is just to track them down. In this case, descendants of the fliers were more than willing to talk about their ancestors. Suzanne K. Jones of Danville, Virginia, was a storehouse of information on Stanton Wooster; her mother had been Woosters half sister, and she filled in gaps that would have been impossible to fill otherwise. She put me in touch with Noel Daviss son, Noel Guy Davis Jr. of Plymouth, Minnesota, who was barely a year old when his father died. Yet Daviss mother kept the fliers memory alive for him. In time, Noel Jr. would become an aviator like his father, join the military, and become an honorary member of the Quiet Bird-men, a private club for aviators, founded in 1921 by World War I pilots, which included in its ranks such luminaries as Lindbergh and Eddie Rickenbacker.

And then there is William L. Nungesser of Riverhead, New York, the American cousin of the famous French ace. Billy Nungesser probably knows more about his famous relative than anyone else in the world; his house is filled, top to bottom, with Nungesser files and photos, and he was more than generous in sharing them with me. A lot of new informationappears in this book about Charles Nungesser that apparently had not surfaced previously in the United States. Much of that came from Billy. If he did not know something, he pointed me in the right direction.

Not every expert had a family connection. Dr. Susan Wansink, Professor of German and French at Virginia Wesleyan College, has helped me before. This time she translated the sad letter of Leontine Nungesser, thus adding a tragic dimension to the story. Ray Biswanger, executive director of the Friends of the Wanamaker Organ, helped me put enigmatic department store magnate Rodman Wanamaker into perspective. Leo G. Forrest Jr., a local historian in Poquoson, Virginia, helped me map out the fatal progress of the American Legion s last flight.

One real treat was my introduction to veteran crop duster Harvey Windy Belote of Virginias Eastern Shore. To residents of that rural peninsula, Windy is something of a legend. More than one person told me of watching as he inserted his big yellow biplane, a Grumman Ag-Cat with a roaring radial engine, into what seemed an impossibly tight space, then taking her out again. Hed been spraying fields for more than thirty years and was contemplating retirement when I showed up on his runway. Nevertheless, he explained the most basic concepts of flying and took me up in his little two-seater Piper Cub to get a feel for the wind and the air. It always helps to have a feel for your subject; I dont think that would have been possible if not for Windys knowledge and generosity.

Ive found over the years that archivists and librarians are possibly a writers best friends. This time was no exception. At the Missouri Historical Society Library and Archives in St. Louis, Bascom curator Sharon Smith was a great help, especially during our conversations about the popular response to Lindbergh; while associate archivists Molly Kodner and Jaime Bourassa kept me supplied with a constant flow of Lindbergh esoterica. At the Byrd Polar Archives of the Ohio State University in Columbus, Ohio, archivist Laura Kissel helped me tackle the complexities of the famous explorer. In addition, Dr. Dave Bromwich, a research meteorologist at the Byrd Polar Research Institute, was kind enough to explain the mechanics of the turbulent weather over the Grand Banks of Newfoundland. At the archives of the Smithsonian Institutes National Air and Space Museumboth on the National Mall and at the Gerber Facility out of townI was aided by what seemed an endlessflow of experts. In particular, Id like to thank acquisitions archivist Patricia Williams, film archivist Mark Taylor, chief photo archivist Melissa Keiser, and staff and volunteer archivists Brian Nicklas, Phil Edwards and Pedro Turina. Further thanks go out to Jennifer Melton, archivist for the Virginia Aeronautical Historical Society in Richmond; Hank Zalatel, librarian of the Iowa Department of Transportation Library at Iowa State Universitys Institute for Transportation; Chela Weber, chief archivist of the Brooklyn Historical Society; Jean Coffee, archivist at the Brooklyn Public Librarys Brooklyn Collection; J. Gail Nicola, chief of the Ike Skelton Library at the Joint Forces Staff College in Norfolk, Virginia; and the reference staffs of the Utah States Archives in Salt Lake City, Utah; the Winchester Public Library in Winchester, Virginia; and the Denison Public Library in Denison, Iowa.

As always, Id like to thank my literary agent, Noah Lukeman, who keeps me on the straight and narrow while seeing to the bread and butter. And Id like to thank my editors at Farrar, Straus and Giroux, Jonathan Galassi and Jesse Coleman, who believed in this airy tale of tragedy while exhibiting a patience and understanding that went far beyond the call of duty when things got a little rough and slow.

The Thief at the End of the World

A World on Fire

A Furnace Afloat

Dead Run (with William F. Burke Jr.)

Leavenworth Train

How I Left the Great State of Tennessee and

Went On to Better Things

I n 1938 Douglas Wrong Way Corrigan became the first man to fly nonstop from New York to Dublin, doing so against all obstacles, including government officials. He did so, he claimed, by mistake, and the mistake brought him fame.

Ever since hed helped build the Spirit of St. Louis , hed wanted to be Lindbergh. Because he was Irish, he chose Dublin for his first-flight. He was so inspired by his part in history that he wanted to make history himself. For the next decade, as the Orteig-inspired madness continued, Corrigans flight to Dublin became his main reason to live.

But Corrigan traveled under a black cloud. He barnstormed the nation, borrowing gas or pieces of wood to mend his wing and landing gear. His Curtiss Robin monoplane was such a patchwork mess that every time he applied to fly across the Atlantic, government officials told him to reapply next year. Finally, they said his plane was so decrepit that he was lucky to fly it domestically. The plane itself was something of a character, a $900 crate that he dubbed Sunshine , likening it to a ray of sunshine.

But after a decade of obsession and bad luck, Corrigan was growing tired. Hed been twenty and full of hope when he watched Lindbergh pirouette over the Ryan factory. That could be me up there, he often mused. Now he was thirty, and things werent as easy any more. The Depression harried him. Flying was all he cared about, but the business had changed. Time was passing him by.

So, in 1937, he decided to go for broke. He took off for New York, but bad weather kept forcing him down. He landed in Podunk towns such as Arkadelphia, Arkansas, and Buckhannon, West Virginia, and gavepeople rides for gas money. By the time he made it to New York, it was too cold to fly, so he flew back to California nonstop to test whether Sunshine could last that long in the air. Though he made it, the plane was in such bad shape that she was grounded by authorities.