And what does my dad, a kid at the time, have to do with this?
In the next year or so, Lindbergh made promotional flights across the country, stopping at various small airports and talking to people. One of those was Stout Field, in my dad's neighborhood. Once he told me that he and his brothers walked there, hanging on the fence rails to see the famous man and his plane.
My dad was seven years old at the time.
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