San Diego's Spirit of St. Louis

By now you know I never know where my legs will take me. I can plan it, but God changes my way every-day. And I walk the earth in God's Time, not mine. I never thought much of Charley Lindbergh until I interviewed "Amby" Schindler. Still alive, I can still here him say how his Mom wished to have the plane say "The Spirit of San Diego." 
   In the spring of 2011, I was given a place to stay off of Broadway, once called D Street in downtown San Diego. In 1924, the International Harvester  made way for the Army and Navy building, later called the Y.M.C.A.
   Sir Thomas Cartwright thought I must have been disabled. I guess I looked that way then in 2011. I had no idea my room 204  was haunted with spirits. A book about the flyer spoke how he had to watch meager budget. He spent one dollar a night to stay in my hotel in 1927. My cost was a little under eight hundred dollars a month.
  I found out room 204 was not haunted with ghosts. Instead, tiny bed bugs sucked my blood dry every night and I awoke with bloody sheets and endless scratching. My opened wounds now were y wounds open to the cock-roaches and spiders who sat down beside me every morning.
  Unhinged doors slammed at night. Inside the next cell, an elephant blew his horns. Endless screaming filled the halls. The guy next to me was threatened with a knife. Fire alarms went off for one week as a rapper was sent off to jail.
  I took refuge at Lindbergh Field off Harbor Blvd. To survive, I ate, read, and wrote sitting  close to a replica of his ship, The Spirit of St. Louis. The second floor of Terminal One had a panoramic views of the coast. I could welcome the morning sun and say hello to the Hyatt, Embassy, or Bankers corner.
  Earlier in the summer of 2010, I saw the last remnants of Ryan Corporation being torn down. I thought to myself it may have been saved as a historical monument. I could see Schindler, the U.S.C.football player watching the Spirit being built. He had told me his Mom drove him there.
  I began to read  books about this famous flyer. Other companies wanted more money than he could afford to build the plane until he returned to San Diego and found a lonely meager plant called Ryan. They agreed to build his plane for a little over $10,000, that included a Wright engine from New York.
  My previous blog described how much the French  blog mentioned that the French mourned the life of two flyers who ignored the weather reports from Paris, France. Their "White Bird" couldn't be found. One had been a living legend who had won the Legend of Honor....The longer they went missing, the more the New York Times wrote about this"Lone Eagle", or Charles Lindbergh. The New York Times showed a picture of Lindbergh as he landed the "Spirit" onto New York soil.
  Early on, this long shot became more of a sure-thing. Four parachute jumps out of crashing planes and doing dare-devil routines for circuses to make ends meet p[roved that his experience made him an even favorite to win the Ortiega prize of $25,000.  He knew how not to fly in turbulent cold weather inside  pockets of fog.
  New York fell in love with the handsome one engine gun-slinger who carried a rabbits foot for good luck inside the cock-pit of his one engine Folker plane. San Diego had a bounty on rabbits at the time so each rabbit killed meant cash.
   When the weather reports showed the fog lifting, he barely made it over a telephone line on a muddy field. He carried more than one hundred more gallons of gasoline.
On May 20th, Lindbergh left New York at 7:52 A.M..."Hundreds Gasp as Unconquerable Youth by Sheer Wizardry Lifts Machine Carrying 5,200 Pound Load, With failures a Few Yards off." Russell Owen also wrote the best description of that memorable take off.
   "A sluggish, grey monoplane lurched it way down Roosevelt Field yesterday morning, slowly gathering momentum.  Inside a tall youngster, eyes glued to an instrument boardor darting ahead for swift glances of the runway, his face drawn with the intensity of purpose."
   "Death lay but a few seconds ahead of him if is skill failed or courage faltered. For moments, as the plane rose from the ground, dropped down, staggered again into the air and fell, he gambled for his life which had already killed for lives."
   On that same day, two others made headlines. Harry Sinclair and Secretary Fall were under indictment for not willing to testify. I remember it had something to do with Teapot Dome in ninth grade social studies class. Sinclair was sentenced to three months in jail.  Also, on page one was the other flight of the Ballanca that  needed more time to take off.
 Well now well tired,  I needed  to return to the Grand Central Station and ride the rails back to Oceanside. My ten dollar Metro-Link fare was just the ticket. I had planned to ride the two o'clock train and get off at San Clemente before climbing back aboard on the next one, but not this day. I felt pooped.

 Here is a picture of my in front of the Aerospace Museum off of President's Way inside Balboa Park.  I go there when I early for the every-other-Thursday dances at the Bay Club. There is a large plane library on the second floor.
  I suggest grabbing a bite at the Hall of Champions cafe. I recommend the chili bowl or the tuna sandwich. Amby Schindler's Chicago All Star Jersey is inside a glass case.
   President's Way is off of Park Blvd. The Prado Restaurant north has a great happy hour that begins at four o'clock.