Joy Ride

Thirteen hours after the Winnie Mae left Harbor Grace (see p. 32) another plane sped in its wake, a white Bellanca with red wings, the name Liberty and the crossed flags of Denmark and U. S. on its side. The Danish flag stood for youthful Pilot Holger Hoiriis's native land. Liberty is the name of the little town in New York's Catskills where German-born Otto Hillig, 55, owner of the plane, amassed modest wealth as a summer resort photographer. Now these two were going home in style: the big, taciturn, painfully bashful Dane, and the small, voluble, jocose German with his bald head. Punch-like nose, towering collar and baggy trousers.

Once before, in 1929, Photographer Hillig tried to go home in a blaze of glory and bought passage on the Graf Zeppelin. But somebody blundered and at the last moment Mr. Hillig found himself left out. He made quite a fuss about it, sought a writ to prevent the Graf from sailing with- out him, finally sued for $100,000. The case was settled out of court, and no announcement made. But Mr. Hillig allowed his friends to believe that he collected $25,000, a sum which he later spent in having the Bellanca built. A different story is told by Pilot Hoiriis: that he proposed the flight to Mr. Hillig last autumn, and that Mr; Hillig then undertook to raise the money.

The Liberty's first destination was Copenhagen, thence to Mr. Hillig's Steinbrucken. But the weather, none too good during the Winnie Mae's crossing, had improved not at all in the next 13 hours. Expanses of fog were relieved only by rain; cloud banks were broken only by a northeast gale. For 17 hours the flyers saw no water. Early in the morning Pilot Hoiriis spiralled the plane down through a rift in the clouds--and there was land! It must be England, dead on the path of Copenhagen. Any moment they expected to sight the English Channel beyond the island. But ahead of them stretched only land--many times more land than comprises the British Isles. Then they wondered if they might be over France. Soon they knew it was Spain. . . .

It was late afternoon when Pilot Hoiriis, barely able to hold the controls after 32 hours in the air, sighted an airport and landed--Krefeld, in Germany near the Holland frontier. He tumbled out of the plane and dozed where he lay while Hillig bustled to a telephone, called Copenhagen and learned of the great crowds that waited to lionize them at the airport. They must fly on! Valiantly Hoiriis pulled himself together and they did fly, but only as far as Bremen. Half-conscious Hoiriis put the plane down, fell asleep without a word and was carried to a hangar.

Next day came their moment of triumph. Some 50,000 persons were at Kastrup Airport, among them Hoiriis's mother, also among them two of Hillig's friends from Liberty, N. Y. Wreaths were hung about their necks, there were parades, medals, a great banquet at the Town Hall. King Christian X made Pilot Hoiriis a Knight of the ancient Order of Danebroge. But if Hoiriis felt half as proud as Otto Hillig, he failed to show it.

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