The Importance of Safe Sextants

May 1927. 82 years ago. Imagine it. In order to win $25,000 in a contest, a plucky young American named Charles Lindbergh did something that had never been done before - he swept American Idol without wearing mousse or guy-liner.

No, I'm kidding. 82 years ago, as is well-known by every high school student who didn't attend an American high school, Charles Lindbergh took off by himself in his plane, the Spirit of St. Louis Boogie Rag By Louis Armstrong, and flew non-stop from New York to Paris, where he was immediately denied access to French military airspace, or would have been, if they had any. After brief negotiations, France surrendered to Louis Armstrong.

Imagine it. Over 3,600 non-stop miles with, like many commercial flights today, no functioning bathroom. Thirty-four endless hours, not counting take-off delays, with no diversions other than the single in-flight movie, "Home Alone". No parachute, no sextant, no radio, no brakes, no oddly-clad flight attendants with little pointy hats. (see "sextant")

And Lindbergh made this history-changing trek in what is called a monoplane, which either means that the plane had no stereo, or else the plane, while still attending an American high school, had kissed somebody it really shouldn't have. (see "mousse")

Here's an interesting bit you may not know about the Lindbergh flight. He packed 5 sandwiches to take along and, fittingly, they were all heroes. That's not true, but it ought to be. But, to be fair, I've thoroughly researched most of my earlier written works, and truth rarely makes much more than a fleeting cameo appearance. As a integral part of my blisteringly conscientious inventory of writing guidelines, "stick to the truth," ranks somewhere between "avoid insulting anybody involved in organized crime" and "write on paper that doesn't explode."

Well, that's not true, either. I've never researched any of my stuff - I have an expansive, dedicated staff that researches my stuff. That's not true, either, and if you're beginning to notice a pattern here, you may well be on to something. Keep it to yourself. (see "organized crime, author's connections to")

Now, here's a true anecdote. No, really. Upon returning to American soil, Lindy was escorted directly to Washington, D.C., where he met with President Calvin Coolidge, the greatest U.S. President to have ever held office during that year. After a brief ceremony, during which the President, not having a teleprompter, actually spoke directly to Lindbergh, the wildly popular American hero was spirited off to an I.R.S. "unclaimed off-shore mid-air liabilities" audit.

Lindy was then treated to the largest ticker-tape parade in the history of New York, where thousands of ACORN financial disclosure documents were shredded and strewn from taxpayer-subsidized rooftops into the joy-filled city streets. It was a great day, to be sure, but all that shredded paper made quite a mess. Fortunately, the streets were quickly cleared of all documents by a popular vaudeville act, Sandy Berger And His Amazing Pants.

A "Lindbergh" commemorative stamp was issued by the U.S. Post Office. The next day, in honor of the hero, they raised the stamp's price. But since U.S. postal stamps never feature persons who are living and sentient, the stamp simply featured Lindy's plane and route, and Joe Biden. Biden immediately called a press conference, during which he disclosed the location of five clandestine military bases and Sandy Berger's tailor.

As part of a pre-flight deal with his backers, Lindy had exclusively promised all story and book rights to the New York Times, who immediately released an exposé blaming George W. Bush for kidnapping the Lindbergh baby, despite the niggling detail that neither Bush nor the baby had yet been born. (see "truth as cameo")

And as far as you know -- and I dare you to prove me wrong unless you have access to libraries and such -- it was the writers at the New York Times who first coined the phrase "Lucky Lindy," a moniker which Mr. Lindbergh himself didn't like.

"Lucky?" he huffed loudly, as far as you know. "Lucky? You call that flight lucky?" (see "oddly-clad sextants, lack of")

A final historical footnote: according to a family spokesman, the Lindberghs are still searching for a qualifying flight in order to redeem their 1927 frequent flier miles. Good luck, Lucky!