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How Charles Lindbergh came to be called Lucky Lindy
And why San Diego did not become part of plane name
Dear Matthew Alice: I’ve always wondered why Lindbergh's plane was called the Spirit of St. Louis. It was built by Ryan in San Diego, so why didn’t he call it the Spirit of San Diego? Seems to me the Chamber of Commerce missed a great opportunity. — Wondering, El Cajon
When the plane was named, Lindbergh hadn’t yet made it to France in one piece. Maybe our city boosters were happy to let St. Louis take the rap in case Lindy disappeared from aviation history at the bottom of the Atlantic —just one more flight junkie with one more harebrained idea.
Actually, the plane’s name was inspired by one of the oldest and most often honored American muses — cash. It should have been called the Simoleons of St. Louis or the Moolah of Missouri. The “spirit” Lindbergh found in that city was investment money. (Before his transatlantic hop in May of ’27, Lindbergh was a pilot in the new air mail postal service, flying between Chicago and St. Louis.)
While we’re at it, we should clear up another Lindbergh fact. “Lucky Lindy” was perhaps fortunate to make it, but since when do we memorialize a guy because he caught a few breaks? When Lindy landed in Paris, the press dubbed him “Plucky Lindy” for that Midwest can-do attitude. A songwriter changed “Plucky” to the more alliterative and musical “Lucky,” and the tune was so popular that the name stuck.
A few more plucky factlets from the Lindbergh bio. When he landed at Le Bourget, a joy-crazed fan mugged Lindy for his leather aviator’s helmet before he was even out of the cockpit. When the cheering mob saw the guy with the helmet, they thought he was Lindbergh and carried him off on their shoulders. Several days later, Lindy came back to the U.S. from the Normandy coast on the Navy cruiser Memphis. The plane came back from England, dismembered, in a crate. The Spirit is displayed in the Smithsonian. The crate is displayed in a barn in Maine.
June 27 update
To: Matmail: The crate that the Spirit of St. Louis was shipped back in is displayed “as” a barn in Maine, not “in” a barn in Maine. — A Transplanted Maineiac, San Diego
As a transplanted brainiac, I concur with your transpositional preposition proposition. “As” it is. To correct that point from last week’s festival of Lindbergh trivia, a private individual acquired the pine crate and converted it into a small guest cottage. The building was later moved to Canaan, Maine, and is now a compact Lindbergh museum.
Here's something you might be interested in.
How Charles Lindbergh came to be called Lucky Lindy
And why San Diego did not become part of plane name
How Charles Lindbergh came to be called Lucky Lindy
And why San Diego did not become part of plane name
Dear Matthew Alice: I’ve always wondered why Lindbergh's plane was called the Spirit of St. Louis. It was built by Ryan in San Diego, so why didn’t he call it the Spirit of San Diego? Seems to me the Chamber of Commerce missed a great opportunity. — Wondering, El Cajon
When the plane was named, Lindbergh hadn’t yet made it to France in one piece. Maybe our city boosters were happy to let St. Louis take the rap in case Lindy disappeared from aviation history at the bottom of the Atlantic —just one more flight junkie with one more harebrained idea.
Actually, the plane’s name was inspired by one of the oldest and most often honored American muses — cash. It should have been called the Simoleons of St. Louis or the Moolah of Missouri. The “spirit” Lindbergh found in that city was investment money. (Before his transatlantic hop in May of ’27, Lindbergh was a pilot in the new air mail postal service, flying between Chicago and St. Louis.)
While we’re at it, we should clear up another Lindbergh fact. “Lucky Lindy” was perhaps fortunate to make it, but since when do we memorialize a guy because he caught a few breaks? When Lindy landed in Paris, the press dubbed him “Plucky Lindy” for that Midwest can-do attitude. A songwriter changed “Plucky” to the more alliterative and musical “Lucky,” and the tune was so popular that the name stuck.
A few more plucky factlets from the Lindbergh bio. When he landed at Le Bourget, a joy-crazed fan mugged Lindy for his leather aviator’s helmet before he was even out of the cockpit. When the cheering mob saw the guy with the helmet, they thought he was Lindbergh and carried him off on their shoulders. Several days later, Lindy came back to the U.S. from the Normandy coast on the Navy cruiser Memphis. The plane came back from England, dismembered, in a crate. The Spirit is displayed in the Smithsonian. The crate is displayed in a barn in Maine.
June 27 update
To: Matmail: The crate that the Spirit of St. Louis was shipped back in is displayed “as” a barn in Maine, not “in” a barn in Maine. — A Transplanted Maineiac, San Diego
As a transplanted brainiac, I concur with your transpositional preposition proposition. “As” it is. To correct that point from last week’s festival of Lindbergh trivia, a private individual acquired the pine crate and converted it into a small guest cottage. The building was later moved to Canaan, Maine, and is now a compact Lindbergh museum.
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