Read The Spirit of ST Louis for Free Online Page A

and give me the prestige I'll need in dealing with aircraft manufacturers.
    "I can furnish $2000 myself," I say. "But the right kind of plane will probably cost at least ten thousand."
    Mr. Thompson's face becomes serious. "What kind of plane would you get for that flight, Captain?" he asks.
    "I think the Wright-Bellanca could probably make it," I tell him.
    "But the Wright-Bellanca is a land plane—and it has only one engine, hasn't it?" His voice is as disturbed as his question. "You aren't thinking of flying over the ocean in a single-engined airplane, are you? I think it's a very interesting idea, but I'd want you to have a flying boat, or a plane with enough engines so you wouldn't have to land in the water if one of them stopped. Have you considered using a three-engined Fokker, like Commander Byrd's?"
    I was afraid of that. Businessmen are always conservative. But at least he's taking my idea seriously.
    "Well," I argue, "a flying boat can't take off with enough fuel, and a trimotored Fokker would cost a huge amount of money. I don't know what they sell for; but I'm afraid it would be at least $30,000 and it might be considerably more. Besides, I'm not sure three engines would really add much to safety on a flight like that. You see the plane would be overloaded with fuel anyway. There'd be three times the chance of engine failure; and if one of them stopped over the ocean, you probably couldn't get back to land with the other two. A multi-engined plane is awfully big and heavy. [This is my trump card.] You know Fonck had three engines, but that didn't help him any when his landing gear gave way. A single-engined plane might even be safer, everything considered."
    "Well, you know a lot more about airplanes than I do," Mr. Thompson says. "But I don't like the idea of a single engine out over the ocean. If you really want to make that flight, I think you ought to consider getting a trimotored plane, like a Fokker."
    We spend the entire evening talking about aircraft and the New York-to-Paris flight. Mr. Thompson is definitely interested. He's encouraging, but cautious and greatly concerned about the risks involved. After all, his business is insurance. He has to be conservative.
     
    6
     
    "There's a Fokker man here. He's up with Major Robertson, talking about a St. Louis agency."
    I'm eating late breakfast at Louie De Hatre's lunch stand, after bringing in the Chicago mail. At the counter one learns immediately about everything new that has happened on the field—new arrivals, new accidents, new business. The possibility of a Fokker agency is real news. Just think of having one of those big trimotored monoplanes on the line. They have seats for ten passengers, besides the crew. Who would be chosen for the pilot? What kind of flying would it do? There are rumors that a St. Louis company is ready to place an order.
    For me, this news has special meaning. Here's a chance to jot some accurate information about performances and Oasts. I've got to be careful, though. I haven't yet mentioned my plans to anyone on the field. I watch the white door to Major Robertson's little office until he emerges with the stranger—a fair complexioned, stocky man in city clothes. They stroll down to the lunch stand, talking; and here we are introduced. Pilots, mechanics, and students gather, sit on benches, lean against walls, listening to stories of Tony Fokker's genius, the safety of multiengines, the efficiency of thick airfoils. The Fokker salesman's "line" is good.
    A phone call comes for Major Robertson. The Fokker man and I walk over toward the hangar.
    "When you have time, I'd like to talk to you for a few minutes about a project we're considering here in St. Louis," I tell him.
    "How about right now?"
    His attitude makes it clear that he's not losing any opportunity to size up the aviation situation at Lambert Field. Business radiates from posture, tone, and dress.
    "I'm going to ask you to hold what I talk about in confidence