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...Moments he touched down on the grassy field at Le Bourget, the flier disappeared. The press found him hours later at the American Embassy in the personal custody of the ambassador, Myron T. Herrick. Lindbergh, so the story goes, had been rescued from the crowd that had bolted out on the field and engulfed his plane as he landed.
In his book about the flight, The Spirit of St. Louis, Lindbergh credits two French airmen, he identifies only as Detroyat and Delage, for saving him from the mob. After being hustled into a hangar, he recalls he was later taken to the military side of the field at the order of a French officer, Major Weiss. While there he was visited by Ambassador Herrick who decided on the spot to take him to the embassy as his guest. In light of many other accounts of his tumultuous reception, Lindbergh's own version in a brief afterword omits many telling details. But even when he could not be completely candid, he felt compelled to be very specific. "We passed Dugny, Stains, Saint Denis, and entered through the Saint Ouen gate," he remembers of his ride from Le Bourget "over bumpy side roads" into the city.
Lindbergh was on his way to achieving an incandescent fame that even today, after man has conquered space and landed on the moon, has yet to fade completely from the popular mind. In explaining this phenomenon, no little credit is due to Ambassador Herrick. At that pivotal moment in the pilot's life, Herrick sheltered him, groomed him and, after giving him a crash course in modesty and tact, presented him to the world with all the prestige he commanded as an American ambassador much beloved by the French. Such was his popularity that they likened him to Benjamin Franklin, our envoy to France at the time of the American Revolution.
Still handsome and energetic at over seventy years of age, Herrick had previously served as ambassador to France early in World War I. In September 1914, when swiftly advancing German troops threatened to take Paris, the French government and the entire diplomatic corps were evacuated to Bordeaux, except Herrick. He insisted on staying behind to protect American citizens as well as the art treasures of the capital. He vowed he would raise the Stars and Stripes over the Louvre, and go out to meet the Germans personally if they marched in. Although Paris did not fall, the French never forgot the ambassador's act of defiance.
The flight of an American plane from New York to Paris in May 1927 struck Herrick as yet another alarming intrusion. If successful, he feared it would have a "lamentable effect" on the already strained relations between the two countries. Earlier that month, two French fliers, Charles Nungesser and Francois Coli, had taken off from Le Bourget for New York. Their success would have won them the $25,000 Orteig Prize for the first non-stop flight between Paris and New York. Some French newspapers even published joyful accounts of the arrival of the two airmen at the Battery in lower Manhattan. When the reports proved false, and it became clear that the French plane had disappeared, the mood in Paris turned from exultation to anger. The press accused the U.S. Weather Bureau of having withheld weather data in favor of the transatlantic fliers who were poised to take off from New York. American tourists were jostled on the Champs Elysees, and a hostile crowd reportedly had torn down a U.S. flag outside an American newspaper office.
Herrick sent an urgent cable to Washington warning that no American plane should attempt a transatlantic flight "until an appropriate time has elapsed." The ambassador, as had everyone else, expected Commander Richard E. Byrd would be the first to leave aboard his trimotor, the America. With his considerable financial banking, Byrd was seen as the most likely winner of the so-called Atlantic Race.
"Who in the devil is Charles Lindbergh?" was the reaction in Paris as the news of his takeoff from New York was received. After the disappearance of Nungesser and Coli, his solo flight seemed all the more foolhardy. Herrick again cabled Washington for confirmation that "le fou volant" was indeed on his way, and then left the embassy to attend the championship tennis matches between French and American players at St. Cloud. When questioned by the press, he seemed uninterested in the American pilot no one seemed to know. In truth, his flight in progress was just about the last straw for the ambassador.
Among his concerns was the pending execution of two Italian immigrants, Sacco and Vanzetti, in a Massachusetts prison. Convicted of killing a payroll guard in a holdup, the pair had been the object of violent demonstrations in Europe; many believed they were being persecuted for their political views. At the time of the trial, a package addressed to Herrick had seriously injured his valet when it exploded as he opened it. The ambassador was now receiving threatening letters, warning that he would also die if Sacco and Vanzetti were executed. His residence, as well as the embassy, were under heavy police guard. Herrick was also anxious about a convention of the American Legion to be held in Paris that summer. The Legionnaires were known to be rowdy, and some Americans residing in the city were arranging to leave during the event because of the tense anti-American atmosphere.
Although Herrick insisted he had "no plan of any kind regarding Lindbergh," he virtually took over the reception for him at Le Bourget. Weeks earlier, Commander Byrd's sponsors had sent an advance man to Paris to work with a Franco-American committee that was organizing a grand welcome. These arrangements were quickly revamped in the event Lindbergh made it across the Atlantic. As one embassy insider noted later, it was felt he might be "placed in a situation here where one remark could have international complications...."
The revised plan called for keeping Lindbergh away from reporters until he could be primed on what to say, so as not to offend French sensibilities after the loss of Nungesser and Coli. On landing, he was to taxi up the airport terminal between two rows of policemen reinforced by troops. Once there, he would be escorted directly from his plane to the upper level of the terminal for a brief welcoming ceremony. Admission to a fenced-in area in front of the building was to be limited to individuals with "complete official documents," which did not include reporters.
These arrangements did not concern the Paris bureau chief of The New York Times, Edwin L. James, who had plans of his own. Before Lindbergh left New York, his St. Louis backers had negotiated a contract with the paper for the exclusive rights to his story. The Times' managing editor, Frederick Birchall, then cabled James "to isolate" Lindbergh the moment he landed before other reporters could reach him. As James recalled, his "elaborate preparations" included "a fine automobile ready to bring the aviator back to the capital to give his own story. ...Oh, it was a wonderful plan."
Back home, the editor of the Chicago Tribune somehow learned of the scheme, and he in turn promptly notified his own Paris bureau chief, Henry Wales. A crusty veteran of the city's press corps, Wales was not about to lose out to a competitor on the Lindbergh story. "I could see his arrival," he indignantly recalled. "Jimmy James and his staff would take possession of Mr. Lindbergh--kidnap him, if necessary; hide him in some hotel; milk his story to the last detail. With the yarn safely in type, they'd invite the rest of us to meet the hero...."
Wales was on close terms with Herrick, having written speeches for him, and he alerted the ambassador who acted quickly to beat James at his own game with the help of French officials. As William Shirer of Berlin Dairy fame, then a cub reporter working with Wales, notes in his memoirs, "the police and Major Pierre Weiss, commandant of Le Bourget military field ... worked out a last-minute plan with Ambassador Herrick for a reception."
Major Weiss actually commanded only the bomber unit of the 34th Aviation Regiment, that was based on the opposite side of the field from the civilian air terminal. The major's help was key to a plan to "rescue" Lindbergh even before James and his reporters could get to him. Early that morning, a Saturday, Weiss was observed busily making preparations and giving orders to his men for the arrival of the American pilot. As ensuing events would show, they were to seize him right out of the cockpit as he landed, and keep him in custody at least overnight. By that time, he could be coached by Herrick before meeting the press. With the crowd kept at a distance, a bogus flier, appearing extremely fatigued, even on the verge of collapse, would appear briefly at the air terminal. It was arranged to have a doctor, an American, on hand with his kit and a blanket roll. "He'll naturally be exhausted when he arrives," anticipated the physician. "I positively won't let him do any talking tonight."
Seemingly uninvolved in all this, Herrick attended the tennis matches at St. Cloud for a second day. Late that afternoon, a messenger from the embassy rushed up to him in the president's box and handed him a telegram. Lindbergh had been sighted over Ireland. On receiving the news, the ambassador and his party were observed leaving for Paris "in disarray." "I hardly even dared to expect his arrival," Herrick later disclaimed. "I merely went to the flying field on the chance that he would be successful in his attempt and I wanted to be on hand to congratulate him."
On arriving at Le Bourget, Herrick realized he was facing a very difficult, if not impossible, situation. As word spread of the American flier making it safely across the Atlantic, thousands of Parisians clogged the roads leading to the airport. They crowded about the terminal and noisily filled the small restaurant inside. The police guarding the restricted reception area out front became so hard pressed that they accepted "any card that had your picture on it."
Ambassador Herrick, at least, found himself in full command with all the assistance French authorities could provide. The crowd, the chief of the Paris police informed him, was the largest since "the peace parade. I've sent for five hundred more police, Your Excellency." The Elysee Palace sent a military aide, Colonel Denain, to act on behalf of the French president, Gaston Doumergue, at the airport. "All help and courtesy will be extended to Mr. Lindbergh," announced the Foreign Office. ... "Sufficient police will be on hand to guard him against any demonstration."
Lindbergh landed after dark shortly after 10:20 P.M., settling softly like an exhausted carrier pigeon as he neared the ground. In his book, The Spirit of St. Louis, he...
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