Certainly they offered the most extensive training available on some of the most modern machines, and even with the regimentation inherent in military life, Lindbergh reasoned that it was his best opportunity. He wrote his letter of application, was interviewed at Fort Snelling, and took his entrance examination on January 1, 1924. He was accepted in February and told to report to Brooks Field in San Antonio, Texas on March 15, 1924.
Graduates of the year long Army Aviation Program, commissioned as second lieutenants were not required to serve a full three years. With two weeks notice they could resign and join the reserves. This also attracted Lindbergh. Flight training began in April and once again academics became an obstacle. He barely achieved a passing grade on his first examination. As a result, and perhaps for the first time in his life, he studied at night. He adapted much more quickly to the actual flying. Even though the Army had just installed left hand throttles in all their planes and Lindbergh had flown only right hand throttles, he showed great aptitude on the high powered military aircraft. By the end of June nearly half of his class of cadets had washed out.
Lindbergh did not adapt as easily to military life. He did not enjoy living in close quarters with others and he developed no personal relationships. To those who offended him, or with whom he especially did not get along, Lindbergh did not hesitate to direct cruel behaviors, often without regard for his own personal safety.
A sergeant who offended him by snoring loudly found a dead skunk in his pillow case. The stench was so overwhelming in the entire barracks as well as in his bedroll that he had to sleep outside for the next two weeks. That was apparently not enough for Lindbergh. The sergeant returned home one night to find that Lindbergh had disassembled his bed, repeatedly climbed to the roof of the barracks carrying its components, and there reassembled it. For a person who would hang from an airborne plane by his teeth, climbing to the roof was no obstacle at all.
However, Lindbergh could not take it as well as he could dish it out. When a group of five cadets attempted to throw him into a pond he became sullen and began plotting. Four of the five cadets soon found that all their underwear had been laced with itching powder, and the fifth, known to be deathly afraid of snakes, found himself in bed with one. He asked afterwards, "It wasn't venomous, was it?" Lindbergh reportedly replied, "Yes, but not fatally so."7
Lindbergh may have demonstrated superior flying skills during his Army training, and by graduation was actually second in his class, but he was not well liked. During his off hours, he continued to give lessons to students and rides to the public at a nearby commercial field.
While Lindbergh was enrolled in the Army Aviation Program his father died of an inoperable brain tumor.
Lindbergh requested a permanent U.S. Army commission. When he had not received a response by the time of his graduation, he decided to resign from active service and automatically became a member of the reserve corps. On March 25, 1925 he reentered civilian life.
Lindbergh began flying U.S. Mail as part of a fledgling effort being run out of St. Louis by two brothers named Robertson, who were exarmy air pilots from the war. Major Bill Robertson offered Lindbergh the position of chief pilot. During this time Lindbergh met up again with Bud Gurney who hired on with Phil Love and Thomas Nelson as the other pilots with the airline. This group pioneered the St. Louis to Chicago Air Mail route on a shoe string. The planes were old, and navigational and safety equipment was scarce. Only one flare was allowed per plane for night landings or bad weather.
Solitary as usual, Lindbergh put all his energies into the development of the mail route, and he openly resented it whenever the other pilots expressed interest in any outside activities. When Phil Love tried to talk on the telephone with his girlfriends, Lindbergh would make rude and loud noises in the background, finally causing Love to sneak away to make the calls. When Love returned from a date he would crawl into bed to find it filled with lizards, frogs or snakes. If he did not wake immediately when the alarm sounded, Lindbergh would rip back the covers and throw a bucket of ice water on him.
But the "joke" which had the most serious consequence, and displayed a sadistic bent on the part of Lindbergh very nearly cost Bud Gurney his life. Lindbergh did not smoke, drink coffee or liquor, nor did he socialize or dance with young women. He scoffed at those who did and derided them for their lack of "productivity." He claimed that he avoided these vices as he believed that they would impair his reflexes. He tried to force the other pilots to similarly refrain.
One night Bud Gurney returned from an evening out enjoying the company of others. Thirsty from the heat and alcohol, Gurney took up the jug of what he thought was ice water and poured it down his throat. However, Lindbergh had replaced the ice water with kerosene. Gurney was rushed to the hospital, suffered serious throat, stomach and intestinal burns, and nearly died from the ingestion.
Nelson, Love and Gurney had all in turn shared a room with Lindbergh. They all moved out. Love did so after he and his girlfriend had rigged up Lindbergh's bed and caused it to collapse when he got into it. Lindbergh said nothing to them that night but the next day told Love to move out.
There was an element of danger to the early air mail routes. But despite the lack of safety equipment most pilots attempted to operate in as safe and prudent a manner as the existing technology would allow.
Not so with Lindbergh. He would routinely set off on a mail run in weather conditions in which there was little doubt that his destination would be completely fogged in. Twice he flew into blizzards over Chicago and simply grabbed the mail pouch and parachuted out, leaving his plane to crash wherever it might end up. Upon reaching the ground he hopped a train with his pouch to continue his run.
However, not every flight posed a hazard. On clear days, when weather was not a factor, the flights provided ample opportunity for Lindbergh to contemplate his future. It was during such a flight that he first got the idea that, not only were transcontinental flights possible but so too was a transatlantic one. Lindbergh increasingly dwelled on this idea. In September of 1926 he watched a news reel which had a clip about the Orteig Prize.
Raymond Orteig, a Frenchman who operated several hotels in New York, had offered $25,000 to the first flyer or group of flyers "who shall cross the Atlantic in a land or water aircraft (heavier than air) from Paris or the shores of France to New York, or from New York to Paris or the shores of France, without stop."
The offer had first been made in 1919 and stipulated that the flight must take place within five years. This was beyond the capabilities of any plane then built and although two people had successfully crossed the Atlantic already by making several stops, the prize was reoffered by Orteig at the urging of a French newspaper.
Lindbergh decided that he would attempt the flight. Several had already perished in the process. The French ace Rene Fonck had put together significant financial backing for he and a crew of three others to fly from New York to Paris in a mammoth trimotored plane built by Sikorsky. They crashed on take off from Roosevelt Field, and two of the crew members died in the ensuing flames.
Lindbergh knew that planes must be made lighter and more streamlined for such a trip, not heavier and saddled with excess weight and crew members. He convinced a group of St. Louis businessmen to put up $10,000 to have a plane designed, built and delivered to New York in time for him to be the first to cross the Atlantic. He would do it alone. It would be a monoplane, equipped with a single powerful engine, stripped of all unnecessary weight. The gas tank would be in front of the cockpit, to cushion the possibility of injury in a crash. It would be fast, and designed for endurance.
The plane was built by a group of young, enthusiastic, bright and dedicated men at the Ryan Aircraft Company in San Diego, California. Lindbergh lived there and worked with them during construction. They felt the pressure to get the plane completed because several others had been planning the trip, including the popular Commander Byrd in a joint venture with the great Anthony J. Fokker. They were planning to fly in a trimotored plane. It crashed during a test flight.
The nation and the world took a great deal of interest in the attempts to cross the Atlantic. When another team, Captains Nungesser and Francois Coli, departed Paris on the 8th of May in a biplane, news organizations around the world tracked their progress. Radio stations interrupted their programming to give reports of sightings; all