Aviation celebrated
the 100th anniversary of Charles Lindbergh’s birth back in
2002 and the industry’s first century in 2003. These are mighty
reasons for Soy del Caribe to relive in its pages a development
that took place 75 years ago in the same skies you’ll fly
through during your trip to the Caribbean.
A boy was being born in St. Louis,
Missouri as the Wright brothers were trying to make an object heavier
than air soar into the sky. A year later, Wilbur Wright made it.
He flew 524 feet long at barely 16 feet high in 59 seconds. Lindbergh
and aviation have both been born!
The kid from St. Louis grew in a spiral of aerial deeds, became
a pilot and was the first human ever to fly over the Atlantic Ocean
in 1927. A year later, the Lonely Eagle made front-page headlines
in Cuba as he flew to island nation within the framework of the
6th Pan American Conference of Chiefs of State. As a pioneer who
was prying routes open for commercial aviation –nonexistent
at the time- Lindbergh toured the capitals of the Caribbean-bathed
nations, hopping on the West Indies, the Lesser Antilles and the
Greater Antilles on his way back to the U.S.
To get to his last stopover –Havana- Lindbergh took off from
an airfield in Port of Prince, Haiti, at 06:35 hours on February
9, 1928. He entered Cuba’s territorial airspace over a point
close to the still illegally-occupied U.S. Naval Base in Guantanamo
and flew all along the island taking the central railroad as a reference
from the air.
The baby-faced colonel was welcomed at the airfield of the Columbia
Military Camp. Several personalities –including delegations
that were attending the Pan Am Conference- were also there. The
landing had been scheduled for 4:00 pm. A few minutes away from
the top of the hour, a black dot showed up in the sky. Lindbergh
glided over twice as a way of greeting the audience and returned
to Havana’s Central Park, making a couple of circles there
to call the attention of passers-by who were swarming around the
famous landmark and pointing fingers up at the sky.
The plane –registered as NX 211- landed in Columbia, its engines
grinding to a full halt across from a makeshift gazebo that had
been built for the occasion. Noticing the pilot was not jumping
out of the cockpit, the crowd went through some nail-biting minutes.
To no avail. Lindbergh used to wash his face and change his clothes
right in the cockpit, completely shut and without windshields.
The pilot was welcomed by Cuban President Gerardo Machado and a
party was thrown in his honor at the North Terrace of the National
Palace. A few days later, he was awarded by the chairman of the
National Theater, the Mayor of Havana handed him the keys to the
city in a ceremony held at the Central Park, the U.S. Embassy made
a reception, the American colony marched in parade, and the Havana
bourgeoisie made him a regular guest at its lavish parties.
The pilot’s austerity and parsimony were laid bare in each
and every celebration. He seldom sipped champagne from his cup –only
as a token of courtesy- during the countless cocktails he attended
in his honor. And every night –even though the parties usually
stretched out into the wee hours of the morning- he always turned
in early.
As part of the celebrations, Lindbergh took President Machado on
a ride in his place. It was a tri-engine aircraft used as a daily
mail courier between Havana and Key West. It could transport up
to a dozen people and was owned by the Pan Am Airways, the carrier
that used to cover those routes at the time. Those were happy days
for Lindbergh; the tragic kidnapping of his baby son had not occurred
yet. Thus, on a happy St. Valentine’s Day 75 years ago, Lindbergh
took off back home to his beloved St. Louis, plowing through the
same skies you now watch from your airliner on your trip to the
Caribbean.
