was impossible to drive down the hill on a motorcycle at top speed and make the sharp turn at the bottom. Taking this as a challenge, Lindbergh assured them that not only could he do it but he could do it without brakes. When it became readily apparent that Lindbergh was quite serious they attempted, to no avail, to dissuade him.
Lindbergh drove his motorcycle to the top of the hill, put it in gear and, to their horror, drove at top speed down the hill. Approaching the bottom it was evident that he was not slowing, and as he came into the curve they could see he was not using any brakes. Although he leaned into the curve, he crashed into a fence. Bruised and battered, he picked himself up and, to their great discomfort, tried it again, this time successfully.
This was not the only odd behavior he began to regularly display. During a visit back to the farm one afternoon he was wandering through the house with a Colt .45 strapped to his hip. People who knew Lindbergh were aware of his fascination with guns and he often envisioned himself a "fast draw" expert. He regularly practiced shooting during the time he was in college. While going from room to room he would leap through entrance ways, practicing his "quick draw." Something went wrong during one of these quick draws and he shot a hole through the door between the kitchen and the hallway. Fortunately, no one was standing on the other side. Lindbergh's only reaction was disappointment in finding that the hole was too high to have killed the imaginary enemy.
He had returned to the farm that day because he was contemplating how to tell his parents, particularly his mother, that he was going to drop out of college after little more than one year. Had he not decided to leave school the University might well have made the decision for him. Because of his poor grades he had been placed on academic probation and it was only a matter of time before he flunked out.
Other students at the University recall that Lindbergh considered himself above the rules of the college, rebellious towards authority, and generally contradictory in his dealings with others. One classmate recalled Lindbergh complained to him that, "They treat you here as though you were a baby. Presumably a man comes to college because he wants an education. Why, then, all this taking of rolls, daily assignments, checks on your personal life, and so on?"5
He had also begun to think of learning to fly. When he expressed this to his mother she did little herself to dissuade him, although she did write to his father to ask that he discourage Charles from becoming a pilot. The senior Lindbergh sent his son a letter in which he pointed out that insurance companies would not insure pilots, even in peace time, because they considered the profession to have no future.
Charles had written a letter to the Nebraska Aircraft Company in Lincoln which made Lincoln Standard planes. They had advertised that they would give instructions to all potential buyers and Lindbergh wrote to them and said that although he was not yet in the market for a plane he would pay for the instruction. The cost for flight instruction, they wrote back, would be $500.00.
He decided that this was the opportunity he had been waiting for and so informed his mother. She replied simply that, "If you really want to fly, that's what you should do." Looking at him without emotion she said, "You must go. You must lead your own life. I mustn't hold you back. Only I can't see the time when we'll be together again."6
On March 22, 1922, he said goodbye to his mother in Madison and set out on his motorcycle for Lincoln, Nebraska, arriving alone on April 1. His mother moved out of the apartment and back to Detroit where she secured another teaching job in the high school, and where she remained for the rest of her life. Students at the Detroit High School would later nickname her "Stone Face."
In 1922 aviation was in its infancy in this country, limited primarily to military use, and "barnstorming," the equivalent of airborne circus rides, offered by lone pilots flying between rural fields. In many ways European aviation was well ahead of American regular passenger routes had already been established between Amsterdam and London.
The planes "manufactured" by the Nebraska Aircraft Corporation were actually modified and rehabed surplus Army Aviation training biplanes. They were converted for civilian use and equipped with a watercooled V8 engine which turned out approximately 150 horsepower. The company was owned by Ray Page, and the only regular student enrolled for flight instruction in 1922 was Charles Lindbergh. The company was about to be sold by Page. Lindbergh did not know this at the time he turned over the remainder of the $500.00 he owed for the flight instruction and which Page had quickly demanded upon his arrival.
Several people ended up giving lessons to Lindbergh while he was at the aircraft company, although his chief instructor was supposed to be Ira Biffle, a retired Army Air Corps instructor. Biffle, however, had lost his nerve after the flying death of a close friend, and gave many excuses why he could not take Lindbergh up on the days and times he had scheduled.
While at the school Lindbergh did form a friendship with a sixteen year old named Bud Gurney which lasted for several years. Gurney would hang around the mechanics who worked at the company, doing odd jobs, and hope that he also would be taught to fly. It was Gurney who began calling Lindbergh "Slim," a nickname which, like "The Lone Eagle," followed him for the remainder of his years. Lindbergh also spent many hours with the mechanics, learning how to service the planes, attach propellers, and complete repair work to the fragile wings covered with fabric stretched tight with rope.
Lindbergh began to develop a meticulous attitude towards all aspects of his life. He noticed how the better pilots tested and checked each part of a plane before flight, how each detail was analyzed and every contingency planned for before actually taking to the air. Though soon to be called "Daredevil Lindbergh" for his barnstorming stunts, he left little to chance and nothing unplanned. He expected perfection from himself, and certainly from those around him.
After more than eight weeks at Ray Page's, Lindbergh had little more than six or eight hours instruction in a plane. Moreover, he learned that Page was selling the training plane to a barnstormer named Erold Bahl. Lindbergh tried without success to convince Page to let him solo before the plane was sold. When Bahl arrived to pick up the plane (he was embarking on a month long barnstorming tour) Lindbergh asked if he could go along as an assistant. He even offered to pay his own way. Bahl eventually acquiesced.
Lindbergh did well as an assistant, and learned to "wing walk," to step out onto the wing as Bahl flew over town. A few days into the tour Bahl offered to pay for Lindbergh's expenses. After a month of touring, Lindbergh returned to the Lincoln Standard Factory. He received several more hours flight instruction there and in June, 1922 worked in the factory for fifteen dollars a week.
One day a husband and wife parachuting team visited Lincoln on their own barnstorming tour. The Hardins had been show-jumping at county fairs across the country to earn the modest fees and to market their own brand of parachutes.
Lindbergh was fascinated by the possibilities offered by a parachute and mesmerized by the demonstration put on by the Hardins. As he watched them practice an idea for a stunt occurred to him. He approached the Hardins with it.
At a fair one could jump from a plane and deploy his parachute. After descending for a short period, the jumper could cut away the chute with a knife and plunge towards the horrified crowd below, who would assume that the chute had failed. The chutist would then deploy a second hidden parachute and safely float towards what would surely then be an adoring crowd.
The stunt had possibilities and the Hardins liked it. It was dangerous but they believed that an experienced chutist, if well prepared and well practiced, could pull it off. However, Lindbergh had different ideas. He wanted to attempt it by himself.
Both Hardins were aghast. Not only was there insufficient planning for such a stunt, Lindbergh had never made any parachute jumps. It was risky for someone with experience to attempt such a stunt; for a neophyte it was suicidal.
Lindbergh would
