An American hero causes quite a jam

  • Published
  • By Senior Airman Amaani Lyle
  • 52nd Fighter Wing Public Affairs
PARIS (USAFENS) --  I made the grave error of driving the first day of the Paris Air Show 2005 at Le Bourget Exposition Park.

Though I left my hotel at 7:00 a.m. to get some early bird shots before the air show’s opening at 10 a.m., I still arrived with only minutes to spare after sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic for almost three hours. The trip’s total distance was less than 15 miles.

Fortunately, a long day and sore feet paid off -- I had all access to an event abounding with the world’s foremost aeronautical professionals and cutting edge technology.

But at the end of the day after I walked a fair amount of 50,000 square meters of runway and indoor exhibition space, I heard something profound.

Over the loud speaker, an emcee empathized with trade show visitors who suffered in the hot sun all day and were about to embark on a long drive home in the heavy traffic. Then he told us to think about that day in 1927, a story that slowed the crowd of thousands.

He said at 7:52 a.m. May 20, 1927, Charles Lindbergh flew the "Spirit of St. Louis" from Roosevelt Field, Long Island, and after more than 33 hours and 3,500 miles, he landed in Paris, the first to fly the Atlantic alone.

Lindbergh was a young mail pilot when some St. Louis investors decided to bet on a long shot and fund his trip from New York to Paris. With a $25,000 prize offered for the first flight of its kind, other teams made earnest attempts, and some ended catastrophically.

Lindbergh arrived in France May 21, and glided along the Seine River to Paris , where he touched down at Le Bourget Field at 10:22 p.m. A waiting throng of 100,000 spectators converged on the plane. Traffic was congested for miles and many had waited six or seven hours just to try and get near the airfield.

An estimated 30,000 people gathered in downtown Paris, with thousands more along sidewalks, sitting in cars and looking from apartment windows.

The traffic was equally at a stand still in New York City, where Lindbergh received the largest ticker tape parade ever. Former president Calvin Coolidge awarded him the Distinguished Flying Cross. His perilous journey through sleet and turbulence inspired the world and galvanized aviation.

A travel-weary Lindbergh screeched to a halt at Le Bourget, and “Lucky Lindy” instantly became an American aviation hero for the success of his trip; a trip thought doomed with inclement weather and without the help of navigational instruments.

As I walked back to my car, I realized a hot, sticky, long drive home was inevitable for me. But I couldn’t help but think about what it must’ve been like that day in 1927. A traffic jam of that sort would seem to be well worth the wait.