In Manhattan

The wave of emotion upon which the country was uplifted by the Charles Augustus Lindbergh flight had subsided last week to a long ground swell of memory, stirred into wavelets only here and there by public orators. At Hasbrouck Heights, N. J., there was a sudden swirl of excitement when Col. Lindbergh and the Spirit of St. Louis dropped down unexpectedly in person, returning unannounced from Canada's Diamond Jubilee (TIME, July 4).

Police smuggled the flyer across the Hudson River, through Manhattan and out to quiet Sands Point, L. I. There, guest of Harry F. Guggenheim, he concentrated on rewriting his book, We, shortly to be published. Periodic rumors that he had been mortally injured flying near Manhattan were quashed promptly by his spokesman, Captain Harry Bruno, and by mechanics engaged in reconditioning the Spirit of St. Louis.

Under the joint auspices of the Daniel Guggenheim Fund for the Promotion of Aeronautics and the U. S. Department of Commerce, Col. Lindbergh was to tour the U. S., starting whenever the written version of We was finished.

Meantime, Lindbergh this's and Lindbergh that's continued to spring up everywhere. Bennington, Vt., took the hero's oft-repeated cue about the future of flying, and accepted several acres from a citizen for Lindbergh-Bennington Airport. Coney Island, N. Y., dedicated a Lindbergh Park. Samuel Insull Jr., able son of Chicago's public utility potentate, submitted plans to Mayor William Hale Thompson for a 1,328-foot beacon tower with a range of 300 miles, to be erected for the Chicago Centennial (1933) as a compliment to Col. Lindbergh.