Tragedy, Rancor

Charles Augustus Lindbergh, hero of many hours, returned again to his rose-strewn path after a brief detour to transact private business in Washington and Manhattan. The path led him to Ottawa, Canada, at the head of a whizzing formation of twelve U. S. Army planes from Selfridge Field, near Detroit. He and the Spirit of St. Louis made a perfect landing to the huzzahs of a crowd assembled for Canada's Diamond Jubilee (TIME, July 4). One of his escort, Lieut. J. Thad Johnson, was less fortunate. Circling in a close triad formation while the plane of honor landed, Lieutenant Johnson confused the ship beside him, which ticked his tail, throwing him into a nose dive. Lieutenant Johnson lost control, jumped, could not get his parachute open, hit the earth, died.

Meanwhile, not all U. S. hearts still throbbed as one in affection for Colonel Lindbergh. At Dayton, Ohio, rancor still dwelt among the populace whom the flyer last fortnight "affronted" by driving through Dayton's back streets to visit Orville Wright, ancestor of aviation. Though Colonel Lindbergh had repeatedly explained his visit was wholly "unofficial" and had begged that there be no Dayton speeches or parade, eminent Daytonians were chagrined beyond gracefulness. Last week they were still bitterly quoting their police chief's description of the Lindbergh tactics: "a dirty, back-alley trick." Mayor Allen C. McDonald had put himself on record with the solemn pronouncement: "It is something that Dayton will not soon forget." Last week, with the incident five days old, a Dayton department store--one of several that had "played up" the Lindbergh visit in previous self-advertisements--proved Mayor McDonald right by advertising a "spirit of economy" bargain sale with the sarcastic legend: "There will be no disappointments in this demonstration!"