Winter thoughts

 

These long winter nights, with nothing much to do, leave me plenty of time to think.  

Oh, the days are busy enough, and 'tis the season for ice skating, which I do enjoy and haven't been able to indulge in for the past two winters, being incapacitated in one form or another.  But this winter I lash a cushion to my hind end and sally forth, a bit wobbly after so long away, but I'm getting better.  El jefe, of course, is a master, cruising around the ponds and creeks with his hands behind his back. Except when he breaks out into song.  

Then he gestures to the phrasing, sometimes spinning around. The other day he sang "All the Things You Are" as he held my hand and we skated together. Oh, my.  Oh, my.  

My mother was sitting on a log keeping the latest addition to the family warm and comfy, my mini-me beside her, and the two holy terrors were having a snowball fight, the purpose of which seemed to be to hit the other from as far away as possible, so they would hurl a snowball and if they hit -- no dodging allowed!  Chicken! -- they'd back up a few steps and try again.  When they missed, it was the other's turn. A game they made up themselves on the spur of the moment to challenge their skills and train themselves in stoicism.  I'm impressed while at the same time thinking no girls would ever invent such a game, so don't tell me a girl could announce she was a boy and actually be one. And vice versa. Just get out of here with that nonsense.

I repressed the urge to call out "Don't hurt yourselves!"  The mom in me worrying about her babies.  But I did think their game was an improvement over el jefe teaching them to belch "The Star-Spangled Banner."  When the three of them do it in chorus it is actually rather impressive.  I put my foot down when he requested breakfast, lunch and dinner of chili beans for the trio so he could teach them to....  If you're gonna do that, do it outdoors.  And, despite me, he will teach them to do it, perhaps in combination with the belching. Once they master it, they will want to demonstrate it to their mom. My task will be to observe and compliment while holding my breath and trying very hard not to laugh.

Again, something girls would never think to do. And shouldn't.  If I discovered my mini-me imitating her brothers, I would have a sit-down talk with her, explaining that young ladies do not employ gaseous intestinal tract emissions to perform our nation's anthem, and certainly not for show-and-tell at school, and never mind what her brothers do; boys have certain liberties that girls do not. That is this world that we live in.

Where was I? Oh, yes...

But soon enough evening comes, supper is prepared and eaten, kitchen policing done, folks retire to their various occupations, grandma reading, kids doing homework assignments, el jefe dealing with ranch paperwork or working on one of his hobbies; sometimes the boys will skip homework to hang out with him but my mini-me perseveres,  and me...well, here I am.

I think about some past conversations I've had that make me think how lucky I am.  But then I wonder if my luck will hold.  You never know, do you?

I recall a conversation I had with a widow at a sort of get-together after the funeral of her husband. I offered my condolences and expressed my sympathy for how hard it would be for her to manage alone after 60-plus years of marriage, and to stay married that long both she and her husband must have loved each other very much.  To my startlement, she said she never loved her husband and was relieved that he was finally gone.  I didn't know what to say to that, so I said nothing.

She looked at me, whom she hardly knew, and said, "You must think I'm getting senile or am some kind of horrible person and how could I stay married for so long to a man I didn't love, in fact, didn't even like."  

I started to say something mumbly neutral, but she kept going almost as if she were talking to herself.  "I was tired of working, that's why I got married. I quit school  and went to work.  It was the Depression and we were poor, poor like you today can't imagine.  I had only one decent dress to wear. Yes, one, and I wore it to school every day.  They made fun of me, even the teacher.  So I quit and went to work. You can't believe all the rotten jobs that paid hardly nothing I worked at.  Finally, I got a job as a waitress at the railroad cookhouse serving the line men that paid good plus I got room and found.  I could start saving money and buy some decent dresses and a pair of new shoes.  The boss saw me dressed well and said to work at the front restaurant serving train passengers.  I got tips there but it was hard work and the cook was a brute.

"One day he came in, sent to be stationed at the army camp, and we got to know each other.  Then his unit got orders to go overseas and he proposed and I thought why not, it can't be worse than what I have now.  So we drove across the state line to a justice of the peace and were married.  Why did we cross the state line?  I was not of legal age to marry in our state without my parents consent and I had not seen them since I left home.

"How long had we known each other? Six weeks.  Yes, six weeks.  After we were married, and he was quick to get me pregnant, he shipped out.  Oh, it was hard after that, so hard...."

She stopped speaking.  I waited for her to continue.  But she didn't. While I was trying to think of something to say -- I didn't want to ask any impertinent questions or say something callous -- she walked away and stood looking out a window.  I wondered if I should go over to her, but then thought she ended the conversation.  Let it be ended.

Later I told my mother about what the woman had said to me and asked if she had known any of that and my mother said that she didn't know her well enough to pry but had sensed that the household was not a happy one.  I asked why the woman had not divorced her husband and my mother said that in those days divorce was not something that was done.  Oh, maybe rich people did it, but those below dared not. A divorced woman would never be married again and she would have to fend for herself, probably have to move away to somewhere she could say she was widowed just so she could find employment.  And think of her personal situation. She quit school in sixth grade (that surprised me; I was thinking high school), worked as she told you in unpleasant situations away from home so you can imagine what sort of things happened to her.  She had no education to speak of, no training.  So being married, even a marriage such as hers, was the best chance she had.

I wanted to ask why didn't she go to a trade school, take night or correspondence courses...something, but my mother anticipated my question with a shake of her head.  Neither of us could know and there was no point in speculating.

Later I learned that she was 11 when she quit school She had three children.  One daughter was paralyzed in a car accident and she took care of her at home until the child passed away some years later. She had a son who the father persecuted until he left home, quiting high school, and she never saw or heard from him again.  The remaining daughter graduated from high school, married a city bus mechanic, had five children, widowed early (husband had diabetes, heart attack), didn't remarry, but otherwise enjoyed a normal suburban life that included her mother. All her children seemed to have normal lives, with jobs, homes, spouses and their own children.

Of the husband's situation, or what his life had been like, I learned nothing.  He had lived alongside this woman almost his entire adult life and I would like to have known his side of the story but I never found out anything.Why did he stick around and pay the bills? What was it between him and his son? What did he think about his wife?  Did he love her?  Had he once? But after he died, he was erased from the family history.

After recalling this story, I should have thanked my lucky stars and comets that I had a much better marriage than that woman had.  But I didn't.  I just worried that somehow something would go wrong in my life and all the good that I had would shatter and scatter.  So I grew glum, wondering why life had to be so rotten for so many people, and if there was a God, why he created such misery -- and worse, much worse -- for so many of those he created.  Why couldn't he have made this world a happy one? Was God a sadist? Or just a practical joker with a sick sense of humor?  And so my mind began to tumble down an existential rat hole.

To stop it, I did what you can guess I did.  I played some tunes and danced to them, dialing down my amygdala (dancing does that -- I lieth not!), and forgot about everything but the now I was alive in.

 

Lindbergh and Earhart in later years

 

The news clippings in this post I found in the family copy of this book.

Charles Lindbergh is a largely forgotten personality in American history these days.  Oh, there are echoes of his past fame -- or notoriety, depending on your point of view -- but really very little.  Out of curiosity, I've mentioned him to an assortment of people recently and more than one had never head his name, others have said the name seems familiar, didn't he invent some kind of rifle or have something to do with the movies?  

Others, more familiar with the past, do remember him as being the first to fly the Atlantic, which is not quite correct, but close enough.  But they don't know anything else about him.  About his involvement with the America First movement or the fight to keep America out of foreign wars, they know nothing.  They aren't even aware there was an anti-war movement.

Part of the reason he is forgotten is because he wanted to be forgotten.  Nothing had resulted from his public roles in the 1930s, his efforts to avoid American involvement in World War II futile.  And he had been savagely smeared.   So he had enough and was happy to just fade away.

 

The house where Lindbergh was born was demolished in 1973 without much fanfare and the property is now part of Wayne State University.  The house he built that was the site of what was then called the crime of the century, the kidnapping of his first child, still exists but is now operated by the state of New Jersey as a residential treatment center for male juvenile offenders and its upkeep has not been the best.

Mention Amelia Earhart, however, and almost everyone has heard of her and knows that she disappeared on an around-the-world flight, most believing that was the first time such was attempted. They are unaware that Pan American Airways already had scheduled air service between the United States and China and the United States and New Zealand at the time of her flight or that Wiley Post, whom they have never heard of, had already flown around the world twice.

The house where Amelia Earhart was born.

Of course, people have heard of her because there are those who make money from trying to find her airplane, and promote her adventure and the supposed mystery surrounding her disappearance.  So every few months, it seems, there's another media story announcing that a new clue to her vanishing has been discovered.  No one ever actually finds her airplane, of course, because then that would be the end of the money stream.  And even if someday her plane is found and the mystery is solved, then what?  Nothing, that's what.  A one-day wonder and then Earhart will fade back into the past and be forgotten just like Charles Lindbergh.  Both were people of their time, which is now very long ago. The issues and politics of those days are as curiously odd as are the automobiles and women's fashions of that era.

The house is now a museum dedicated to Earhart's life.

But then again, even without the financial incentives involved in ostentatiously looking for her airplane and the stream of news stories the searches provide, she would, I think, still be remembered.  There is just something about her that lingers in the imagination.  Her birthplace is on the National Register of Historic Places and is administered by the National Park Service and kept in immaculate condition.  To this day, people make trips to its out-of-the-way location in Atchison, Kansas, just to visit.  There is even a portrait of Earhart visible only from the air on a nearby hillside. 

Earhart with her fans.

To read her books is to be charmed by her personality, as everyone seems to have been who met her.  She also fought the good fight for women's equality in the workplace, and, of course, especially in aviation, where there were calls that no woman should be allowed to pilot an airplane without a man also in the cockpit.  She helped put a stop to that simply by doing what she did. I am one of many who personally benefit from her actions. Earhart was also the only woman of that era who bought her own airplane herself from money she earned (working as a nurse), then paid an instructor to teach her how to fly it.

Kansas hillside effigy of Amelia Earhart.

Earhart came from a prosperous family, her father a lawyer, her grandfather a judge and bank president.  She was of good stock, as they used to say, but she had no children herself,  thus no one to carry on her line.  So whatever good qualities she had were not bequeathed to the future, and though her fame lingers, her genes do not.

Charles Lindbergh, on the other hand, although scarcely a footnote in history today, did bequeath his genes to posterity, having 13 children -- six with his wife (one murdered in infancy) Anne Morrow, two with his secretary/interpreter, three with a German woman and two more with her sister, all of whom he supported financially and visited on a regular basis.  Some say he had even more children than that with other women.

Anne Lindbergh looking pensive.

What did Anne Morrow think of Charles' roving eye?  She wrote, "Him that I love I wish to be free, even from me." She also wrote, "I have been overwhelmed by the beauty and richness of our life together."

Sigh. 

Maybe you can understand why, although I find Charles Lindbergh an historically significant person, whose non-interventionist foreign policy I am deeply sympathetic to, who led a storied life full of fascination, I like Anne Morrow not only as an interesting, thoughtful and intelligent writer, but as a human being, while not feeling the same way about her husband, who was, when you come down to it, just a man.


“When you love someone, you do not love them all the time, in exactly the same way, from moment to moment. It is an impossibility. It is even a lie to pretend to. And yet this is exactly what most of us demand. We have so little faith in the ebb and flow of life, of love, of relationships. We leap at the flow of the tide and resist in terror its ebb. We are afraid it will never return. We insist on permanency, on duration, on continuity; when the only continuity possible, in life as in love, is in growth, in fluidity ― in freedom, in the sense that dancers are free, barely touching as they pass, but partners in the same pattern.

The only real security is not in owning or possessing, not in demanding or expecting, not in hoping, even. Security in a relationship lies neither in looking back to what was in nostalgia, nor forward to what might be in dread or anticipation, but living in the present relationship and accepting it as it is now. Relationships must be like islands, one must accept them for what they are here and now, within their limits ― islands, surrounded and interrupted by the sea, and continually visited and abandoned by the tides.”
― Anne Morrow Lindbergh

Winter, nostalgia and fire

Montana in winter.  Definitely not the garden spot of North America.

January is the dreariest month out here.  It's been a long time since Indian summer and it's a long time until spring.  Cold and wind.  Overcast skies. Snow flurries.  Snow drifts. That cold north wind cutting like ice.

Oh, moo yourself!

Of course, the stupid cows have to pick this season to have their calves so people are out in all sorts of weather, day and night, hour upon hour.  Have you ever been wet and dry, sweating hot and freezing cold, famished and too tired to eat all at the same time?  And completely exhausted so that you stagger when you walk, but what you have to do is nowhere near done?  This is the season for that.

Winter in a San Gabriel mountains canyon.

My mind drifts to lovely winters in southern California, hikes among the live oaks down into canyons with trickling streams and hidden little water falls dropping into clear, granite-rocked pools.  Or strolling the paths in Descanso Gardens or the Huntington. Or enjoying a lovely day by the reflecting pool at the Getty Malibu.

But there are those Santa Ana winds-fueled brush fires, usually in late summer and fall, but, as this year, in a dry rainy season, they can happen in winter and are usually worse after a series of wet winters, so the chaparral grows lush and dense. It is quite delightful to hike through on your way up to a mountain top to enjoy a spectacular view over the hills and out to the ocean. It's made up of chamise, manzanita, greasewood, yerba buena, scrub oak, toyon, and the lovely California lilac.  The bees that pollinate the lilacs make the most delicious honey.

Descanso Gardens in winter.

But when all that chaparral dries out in the hot, arid summers it becomes tinder for fire.  And the rugged terrain of southern California, the "hills" of which have average slopes of 60 degrees and rise and plunge thousands of feet (Mt. Lukens, within the city limits of Los Angeles is over 5,000 ft. high), encourage anabatic (upslope) and very scary katabatic (downslope) winds, called Santa Anas. That these very rugged mountains are near the ocean only exacerbates the affect they have as nothing impedes them as they race to sea level, picking up speed as they go.  

If you've ever been sailing off the coast when the Santa Anas hit, you get the full force of them.  They can come upon you suddenly and, if you aren't quick to reef your sails, you could be capsized just like that. So you have a good chance of drowning or being gulped down by a great white shark rather than being burned to death like the landlubbers.

Getty Malibu reflecting pool in winter.

Fires are a natural part of the Mediterranean climate cycle, but they are made much worse because of southern California's topography.  And much harder to fight.  The flames rush upslope, feeding on the dry brush and Bishop and knobcone pines that grow on the shaded north slopes, then at the top of the ridge blazing embers and branches are hurled by the wind across the intervening canyon to the slopes of the next ridge, the heavier ones falling to set fire to the downwind ridge.  So, quickly, there is an inferno in inaccessible terrain that can only be fought from the air.  But because of the combination of high peaks and narrow canyons with steep walls and the roaring winds racing violently up, down and through them in Dresden-like firestorms, aircrews fighting them are at deadly peril.  Their water (or retardant) runs can easily be compared to making treetop-level strafing runs into a hail of anti-aircraft fire against a well-entrenched enemy. They are just as dangerous and require just as much planing, calculation of odds, calm professionalism and just plain guts to execute.

 

 

Juliana Turchetti at the controls of her AT-802F

Air Tractor AT-802F Fire Boss, Juliana sitting on the float.

A pilot I met and chatted with while running around flying errands, Juliana Turchetti, lost her life last summer fighting the Horse Gulch fire in Montana.  She was flying an Air Tractor AT-802F Fire Boss, a cropduster ag plane adapted to be a fire fighter by fitting it with floats with valves that open to fill with water when the pilot skims a body of water.  He -- or she! -- then flies over the fire and dumps the water on it.  It takes a lot of skill, even on a calm day, to touch the water just right with the floats to take on water and not begin porpoising, which can lead to a cartwheeling crash. And the Fire Boss, with that long, long snout, doesn't have the greatest forward visibility.

Hauser Lake, Montana, on a calm day. Note burn area.

When the winds that drive a wildfire are raging, rushing downslope from canyon walls onto a body of water such as Hauser Lake, the lake that Turchetti was trying to scoop water from, stirring up erratic waves and creating powerful downdrafts and crosswinds, your life is forfeit at the whim of fate.  The hand of fate smashed Turchetti's airplane into the lake and she was gone in an instant.

So when you see planes dropping water and retardant onto wild fires, think how brave the pilots are.  And thank your lucky stars that you are on the ground looking up at them, not in the air with them looking down on those ribbons of wind-driven fire they have to dive into.**

California Winter

It is winter in California, and outside
Is like the interior of a florist shop:
A chilled and moisture-laden crop
Of pink camellias lines the path; and what
Rare roses for a banquet or a bride,
So multitudinous that they seem a glut!

And skiers from the snow line driving home
Descend through almond orchards, olive farms.
Fig tree and palm tree -- everything that warms
The imagination of the wintertime.
If the walls were older one would think of Rome:
If the land were stonier one would think of Spain.

It is raining in California, a straight rain
Cleaning the heavy oranges on the bough,
Filling the gardens till the gardens flow,
Shining the olives, tiling the gleaming tile,
Waxing the dark camellia leaves more green,
Flooding the daylong valleys like the Nile.
~  Karl Shapiro 

** During the 2024 fire season 15 Air Tractor AT-802F Fire Bosses crashed fighting fires. Seven pilots were killed.

 

 

 

Earhart, Lindbergh and the Roosevelts

Lindbergh and Earhart together on January 25, 1933.

Does it seem curious to you that once Amelia Earhart announced her around the world flight plan, the Air Commerce Dept. rushed to build an airfield on Howland Island after not getting around to it since the island's acquisition?  Department officials could have just said, "Hey there, Amelia, there ain't no airfield on that stupid island and we don't have the budget to build one.  Sorry about that."

Instead, they leaped into action, scrounging equipment and personnel from the Dept. of Interior and the Navy to get an airfield built just in the nick of time.  What impelled them to do that?

Amelia and Eleanor flying on Eleanor's Curtiss Condor.

Well, I think the main reason was Earhart herself and her personality.  Unlike Charles Lindbergh, who loathed being in the public spotlight, Earhart enjoyed it, and more than that, understood how important it was that she engage with the press, the well-to-do and politicians in order to do what she wanted to do -- which was not only to fly herself but also to beat back the intense hostility to women flying (some arrogant jackasses still oppose women flying today).  

So she made friends, especially in high places.  Eleanor Roosevelt became fond of her, as did Franklin Roosevelt, and she visited them at the White House.  She wasn't a social climber, far from it. But she was outgoing and at ease in social situations.  

Two pals hanging out together.

She and Eleanor Roosevelt found each other kindred souls, so much so that Mrs. Roosevelt wanted to learn to fly herself, got a student pilot's license, and began learning to fly under Earhart's tutelage. But when her husband found out, he put the kibosh on her plans.  Eleanor did, however, continue to fly about the country in an Army YT-30 Curtis Condor that the Secret Service considered too dangerous for Franklin to fly in.  Together, Amelia and Eleanor labored to advance the rights of working women, especially women in aviation, and tried to prevent the march to another world war.  For all of this, by his own actions, Charles Lindbergh was left out in the cold. 

When Lindbergh became involved with the America First movement, he did so, even if he didn't intend it that way, as a political opponent of the Roosevelt Administration.  As such, he became a target of a political hatchet job, "brown smearing" as it was called.  He was accused of being a traitor, a Nazi-lover and other falsehoods.  He didn't understand what was happening.  All he wanted to do was prevent his fellow Americans from being killed in yet another European war, one of a never-ending series. (The Europeans are slaughtering each other still today, even as they face demographic collapse.)  Why these personal attacks, he wondered? (And why do they continue to this day, a half-century after his death?)  

I wonder what would have happened had Lindbergh been on as good terms with Eleanor Roosevelt as Amelia Earhart was, the three of them together working for peace.  Warmongers couldn't have attacked him so viciously if he were sheltered under the wing of Mrs. Roosevelt. And he might have got a hearing for his views among those who actually worked with FDR to shape American foreign policy.

Eleanor Roosevelt's Curtis Condor.

But Lindbergh was fundamentally a shy man who had to force himself to be a public figure.  I've read accounts of him attending various aviation-related conferences, such as the big Joint Navy Fighter Conference  at NAS Patuxent River in 1944, where no one noticed he was there.  He'd sit in the back, ask no questions, and depart.  He was hard to get to know, but once he thawed out he seems to have been a great friend and a person those who knew him admired greatly.  But a social mixer he was not.  And Earhart was.  Lindbergh's attempt at deterring the world's rush

Charles Lindbergh, a quiet, thoughtful man.

to war and America's participation in it had no effect and ended disastrously. After that utter failure, he devoted himself to writing his definitive account of his 1927 Atlantic crossing, The Spirit of St. Louis, a splendid read, but otherwise withdrew from public life, devoting himself to environmental causes, but staying in the background.

Anyway, when Earhart made plans for her around the world flight, she wrote a letter to her friend the president asking for help, and he gave it to his aides with a scribbled line at the top and the Air Commerce Dept. got cracking.  So did ambassadors to France, Holland and Britain, through whose airspace Earhart would need to pass.  The French and Dutch were more than happy to cooperate, but the British, typically hostile to the Yanks, regarding them as hegemon competitors, less so.

One thing that strikes me about the contrast between the personalities of Earhart and Lindbergh is how it demonstrates the importance of getting along with people and making friends in high places, cooperating with them when they need you so that they will be willing to cooperate with you when you need them.

Charles Lindbergh just didn't have the personality to do that.  I've long been interested in Lindbergh and have read, as far as I know, everything that he and his wife, Anne Morrow, ever published.  I like him. and her even more. Lindbergh wasn't suitable to be a public figure.  He was a reserved Midwesterner who kept his own council, a pacifist and non-interventionist, a nature-lover, a thoughtful man who loved flying for the adventure and beauty of it.  He was happiest alone in the air and human beings in large numbers made him uncomfortable.  A bit of a sperg, he didn't really understand people.  He just was who he was, said what he thought without consideration of its affect on others and was in no way a schmoozer or glad-hander.

So, when Christmas of 1933 rolled around and the new president, Franklin Roosevelt, making radical moves to try to end the Depression, encountering much opposition from business leaders and conservatives of both parties in congress and the senate, invited the most admired man in America, Lindbergh, to have Christmas dinner with him, Lindbergh, instead of jumping at the chance to enter the president of the United States' circle of acquaintances, said, no thanks, I want to spend Christmas with my family. It didn't occur to him that Roosevelt would consider that a snub, or that Roosevelt wanted to gain popularity by associating with an adulated hero, and that if he, Lindbergh, helped Roosevelt, someday Roosevelt might help him.

Air mail pilot Lindbergh knew the Army couldn't deliver mail.

Then the next year during the Air Mail fiasco that saw many Army Air Corps pilots killed, some friends of Lindbergh, instead of holding his peace or moderating his words, Lindbergh,  a former air mail pilot himself, let loose both barrels at President Roosevelt, who had ordered the Air Corps to do something it was not trained or equipped to do.  Roosevelt never forgave him.  Had Lindbergh had a different personality, he already would have been on friendly terms with the president, could have advised him on how to handle the air mail issue, explained why the Air Corps couldn't be used, avoided all those deaths.  He could have become a confidant of Roosevelt, had his word have weight, helped the president handle events where he, FDR, had no expertise and neither did his so-called "brain trust" university professor advisors.

Panay sinking in the  news.

In 1933, Roosevelt's and Lindbergh's views on foreign affairs had affinities.  In that first year of his presidency, FDR believed that the Great War really was the war to end all wars, as it was purported to be.  Believing there would be no more wars, and looking for ways to cut government expenses, he was considering abolishing the federal army, leaving home defense to the state guards, which could be mustered into national service should the need arise.  He said as much to Dwight Eisenhower, at the time chief aide to Douglas MacArthur, then the Army Chief of Staff, when Eisenhower approached him about developing a modern armored corps, the army then having only 12 new tanks.  Roosevelt dismissed the need since there would be no more major wars.  Eisenhower told him he was wrong and that Europe would be at war again by 1940. FDR could not believe the Europeans would be so crazy as to repeat the horrors of the Great War ever again and denied Eisenhower's request.

Also in 1933, Roosevelt praised Hitler, admiring how he was managing the German economy and pulling it out of the Depression.

As late as December, 1937, when the Japanese sank the USS Panay, a navy gunboat escorting three Standard Oil tankers on the Yangtze river near Nanking, sinking them as well, a clear act of war, Roosevelt, sided with the Midwestern non-interventionists against the war hawks in his own administration like Secretary of the Interior Harold Ickes, who urged a declaration of war.  The day after the Panay was sunk, the Japanese began the destruction of Nanking, slaughtering between 160,000 and 300,000 civilians in four days, one of the great atrocities of the 20th century. Still, Roosevelt resisted calls for war.

News report of FDR's Quarantine speech.

But it was in 1937 that Roosevelt came to believe, as Eisenhower had told him, that Europe was bound for war again. With Japan already at war with China, something had to be done to stop this and he proposed in his famous October 5 speech in Chicago an international quarantine against the "epidemic of world lawlessness" by aggressive nations. He didn't name them but commentators thought he was specifically targeting Japan, but it seems in retrospect that he  meant Germany and Italy and, probably, Francoist forces in Spain as well.  Japan's actions two months later had to have cemented his conviction that the United States could not stand by and do nothing while the world raced toward another catastrophe, one even greater and more widespread than had been the Great War.

Here was where he and Lindbergh parted ways, Lindbergh being staunchly opposed to any American involvement in overseas conflicts.  But what if Lindbergh had been by that time a long-time friend and confident of Roosevelt?  Would he have influenced Roosevelt, convincing him there was nothing the U.S. could do to stop other nations from warring with each other if they wanted to -- or would Roosevelt have convinced Lindbergh that the only way to achieve true world peace was for America to forcefully step into the world arena and compel peace on a truculent world?  

By that time, Roosevelt considered Europe "an incubator of wars," in his phrase, and believed the only way to end its eternal wars was to dismantle the European empires and impose a global system of free trade among free nations, none of which would be allowed to attack any other.  Aggressive acts would be punished by a "police" force, essentially the American armed forces and the auxiliary forces of nations who subscribed to the American world view. He intended to maintain a large military presence in Europe to ensure the forfeiture of those countries' empires and forestall any recrudescence of European imperialism.  

I'm simplifying Roosevelt's views, but that's the gist of it. And isn't it pretty much what happened after World War II?  

I've written previously about Roosevelt's view and plans and intend to write more about him soon.  He is a fascinating man and, in my view, the most significant president in U.S. history other than Lincoln, with the possible exception of Polk.

Could FDR and Lindbergh have become allies?

I think there was a good chance FDR could have, if not converted Lindbergh to his views, at least have made him understand what he intended to do and why he believed American intervention by force of arms in world affairs would lead to the long-lasting peace and the preservation of Western civilization that Lindbergh feared was on the brink of extinction.  After all, Roosevelt's and Lindbergh's views of what must be done by America to stop European wars was almost identical.  The difference was that Roosevelt intended to do it and Lindbergh did not want him to. As friends, could the two have reached a compromise, a compromise that directed American foreign policy?

Of course, who can say?  But it is an interesting speculation.  Can you imagine Lindbergh standing side by side with Roosevelt saying that we had to fight for peace in the most literal sense? Or Roosevelt standing with Lindbergh while announcing strict adherence to the Neutrality Acts and urging a negotiated settlement between the belligerents during the "Phony War" phase of the European conflict?  And also announcing he was joining with Hitler, who had volunteered to mediate the Japan-China war, to seek a negotiated settlement to that conflict?

Instead, instead.... Well, we know how it went with Roosevelt and Lindbergh and it wasn't  Roosevelt who suffered.  And it wasn't just Lindbergh who had his life and career derailed, pushed into obscurity.  I think the entire country suffered because Lindbergh didn't know how to chat with the press and get along with those in power.  It may be a stretch to believe so, and it may not at all be true, but I think that, considering the mood of the country in the 1930s that brought about the Neutrality Acts, there was a slim chance that a savvy politician like FDR could have been persuaded by popular pacifists like Lindbergh to stay out of the European War if he had not seen them as merely opponents who had to be pushed aside, but as trusted confidants.  Just a chance. The Pacific War, well, that was on Japan, and, to a pretty good extent, Philippine president Manuel Quezon. But that is a whole 'nother post.  Suffice it to say he got on the wrong side of Roosevelt, too.  But it wasn't because he was a sperg, it was because he was a fool.

And if America had stayed out of the European war, and if Japan had by-passed the Philippines, not attacked Pearl Harbor and other U.S. possessions, instead only seizing the European empire holdings in the Far East (as it was then called), so no U.S.-Japan war, what would the world have been like?  What would it be like today?

Earhart's letter:

Here are the words of Charles Lindbergh as Europe plunged western civilization into a catastrophic war. You can see why those wielding the whip hand hate him to this day.

When war broke out, Lindbergh flew combat missions with the Marines and the Army Air Force in the South Pacific.  He showed the Marine pilots that an F4U could lift a 4,000-lb bomb load and the Army pilots how to extend the range of the P-38 by hundreds of miles.

When necessity required it, he put aside his pacifism.  But doing so troubled him all the rest of his life. He wrote, "War is like flame. Where it sweeps, life disappears."

Lindbergh taking off in an F4U-1A of VF-24, Roi Namur, Kwajelein.

Lindbergh with the Marines.

An excerpt from Charles Lindbergh's September 11, 1941, anti-war speech: