Spirit of St. Louis

Charles Lindbergh's Spirit of St. Louis. National Air & Space Museum, Washington, D.C.

On May 20th, 1927, Charles Lindbergh stepped into the cockpit of the small, single-engine monoplane named the Spirit of St. Louis for a daring attempt to fly from New York to Paris non-stop ("Smithsonian"). Even more challenging, Lindbergh would be making the trip alone, with only the "Spirit" as company. Less than thirty-four hours later, Charles Lindbergh safely landed in Paris, with a flight log of over 3600 miles. It would be the first non-stop, solo, transatlantic flight in aviation history.

The Spirit of St. Louis and Charles Lindbergh, Paris, France 1927

 How did this event occur? My thoughts were always that Lindbergh was pushing the limits; seeing how far technology and human judgment could go. In fact however, it was a contest put out by a New York Hotel owner -- a Mr. Raymond Orteig. The prize? $25,000 on the completion of a successful flight. Much different from my original thoughts of experimenting the ability of an aircraft! Sounds more like an amusement than scientific research! Aside from winning the grand prize, Lindbergh's achievement brought forth a wave of interest in the aviation industry. Stocks soared through the roof and since Lindbergh's flight was so successful, tourists felt more comfortable to try traveling by flight.

Aside from my interests in the Smithsonian, I have a special curiosity in things that defy explanation and are deemed "paranormal". I recently read a book entitled, "The Third Man Factor: Surviving the Impossible", written by John Geiger. It is a series of narratives describing desperate and severe circumstance that threatened the life of the subject. One of these narratives was by Charles Lindbergh himself, written in his journals during the famous 1927 non-stop flight from New York to Paris. While on board the Spirit of St. Louis, Lindbergh experienced moments of panic from ice building up on the wings, traveling through storms, and fighting the urge to succumb to sleep (84). Geiger writes, "He [Lindbergh] gradually became aware that, while his body demanded sleep, and his mind made decisions his body failed to heed, he had ceded control to a "separate mind", a force that he recognized as being something of himself, and yet not." During Lindbergh's twenty-second hour of the trip, he writes what he begins to feel around him:

the fuselage behind me becomes filled with ghostly 

presences-- vaguely outlined forms, transparent, moving,

riding weightless with me in the plane. I feel no surprise at 

their coming. There's no suddenness to their appearance. 

Without turning my head, I see them as clearly as though in

my normal field of vision.  

Ryan NYP Spirit of St. Louis (Cockpit). Photo: Eric Long

Geiger continues to write, "Lindbergh felt the 'phantoms' were speaking to him, and he judged them to be friendly... He felt he knew them; they were familiar, and he felt also that they were there to help, 'conversing and advising on my flight, discussing problems of navigation, reassuring me, giving me message of importance unattainable in ordinary life'"(85). After his successful landing in Paris, Lindbergh never mentioned to the press what he felt or saw with him in the plane's cabin. Even in his book detailing his passage, he never mentioned the friendly 'phantoms'. Only until 1939, in his memoirs did he write something in passing about "disembodied beings". Again in 1953, Lindbergh wrote in an article for The Saturday Evening Post, that:

I've never believed in apparitions, but how can I explain the 

forms I carried with me through so many hours of this day?

Transparent forms in human outline-- voices that spoke with

authority and clearness-- that told me--- that told me--- but 

what did they tell me? I can't remember a single word they 

said (87).

Charles Lindbergh and his flying companion (Solar Navigator)

What do you think? For a man who was awarded the Medal of Honor, and who had the skill to fly solo on a thirty-three hour flight back in 1927, do you believe what he saw? Do you think that inside that tight, small cabin, there were beings guiding him and helping him throughout his difficult journey? If so, one would be hard-pressed to agree that the Spirit of St. Louis flight was really solo. After reading that information willfully given by Lindbergh himself, it's exciting to see such an historical artifact as the Spirit of St. Louis in a different light!

The Hope Diamond

As I mentioned in my previous post, I was fortunate enough to travel to Washington, D.C. for President's Day Weekend. Although I had a limited time frame to peruse the museums, my first stop was at the National Museum of Natural History. The top priority: THE HOPE DIAMOND.

King Louis XIV & "The French Blue"

Originally weighing a whopping 112 3/16th carats, this rare blue diamond was trimmed down to a smaller size of 69 carats under the orders of King Louis XIV himself (Smithsonian). Nicknamed "The French Blue", or "The Blue Diamond of the Crown", the diamond was said to have been set in gold and strung by a ribbon from the King's neck. Louis XIV's grandson, King Louis XVI and his wife, Marie Antoinette was known also to sport this royal jewel on occasion.

Francillion's drawing of the diamond in question. 

Unfortunately, the diamond was stolen during the French empire's meltdown. The royal jewels were looted during the Revolution and "The French Blue" was lost for more than twenty years. In 1812, a jeweler by the name of John Francillion recognized the familiar "steely-blue" color of a diamond in the possession of a London diamond merchant (Wise). It had been cut once again from the 67 1/8th carat to a smaller, much more manageable 44.25 carats. It is said that this was done to disguise the stolen "French Blue" from curious eyes and still fetch a considerable profit. Fortunately for the world, its beauty was still recognizable.

It is rumored that the name "Hope Diamond" came from a certain Henry Phillip Hope, who was doing business for Napoleon during those twenty-odd years "The French Blue" was missing. It is said that Hope was also the "custodian" of the stolen diamond when it went missing in 1792. Napoleon was consumed with the desire to restore all the stolen jewels and considered its theft a war crime. Hope, who wanted to keep his professional relations with Napoleon in good standing, secretly had it cut to disguise the missing diamond. The stolen "French Blue" became what is known today as "The Hope Diamond".

Mrs. Evalyn Walsh McLean wearing the Hope Diamond, 1915.

After passing through several different owner's hands (or rather necklines), the Hope Diamond eventually made its way to America (Smithsonian). A certain Mrs. Evalyn Walsh McLean of Washington, D.C. was shown the Hope Diamond in a Cartier in Paris. Unfortunately, the setting was not to her taste and she left the jewelers without it. Cartier reset the diamond for her sake, and flew it to Washington to spend the weekend with Mrs. McLean anyway. His persuasion worked, and in 1911, Mrs. McLean purchased the Hope Diamond as a stunning headpiece. Sometime before her death in 1947, Mrs. McLean once again changed the setting of the Hope Diamond; this time placing sixteen white diamonds encircling the large blue and notorious diamond in the middle.

Upon her death, Harry Winston, the famous jeweler of New York City, bought her entire jewel collection. On November 10th, 1958 however, Winston decided to donate the Hope Diamond to the Smithsonian Institute in Washington, D.C., where it remains to this day for all to see.

When I visited this past month, there was something definitely different about the Hope Diamond however. Once again, its rest cannot be in peace, for the diamond was featured in a contest--- what winning design would you like to see for the illustrious diamond? The beautiful setting of sixteen diamonds surrounding the Hope Diamond was exchanged for a more contemporary one. Which do you prefer more?