“Willing to make attractive proposition on
the Bellanca airplane for Paris flight,” Bellanca telegraphed Lindbergh
after the change, writes A. Scott Berg in his 1998 biography Lindbergh. So the
soon-to-be-famous pilot met with Columbia
officials to close the deal in February 1927. His enthusiasm was in for a rough welcome,
though.
Berg writes of
Lindbergh’s reception: “‘We will sell our plane,’ [Columbia
President Chairman Charles Levine] said, ‘but
of course we reserve the right to select the crew that flies it.’ For a moment
Lindbergh was dumbstruck. When he finally found the words, he suggested there
must have been some misunderstanding, that this point was non-negotiable.
Levine countered that his company could not possibly release its plane without
selecting its crew but that he was willing to let the St. Louis group paint the
name of their city on the fuselage. …. Before Lindbergh could leave the office,
Levine asked him to call the next day,” however, so Lindbergh reluctantly spent
another $3 for a night in a hotel.
Berg
continues: “At the appointed hour [the next day] Lindbergh telephoned. ‘Well,’
Levine said, ‘have you changed your mind?’ Too angered by the question to speak,
Lindbergh simply hung up the phone.”
Lindbergh then turned his attention to tiny Ryan Aeronautical Company in California, which over recent months had responded favorably to his questions about the possibility of building a special plan for a non-steop transatlantic flight. And that's the company that build the plane widely known today as Lindbergh's Spirit of St. Louis.
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