LUCKY LINDY AND UNLUCKY THAD
The Lone Eagle and the Twelve Hawks
After his historic crossing to Paris and two short flights—to Belgium and then London, England—Lindbergh and the Spirit of St. Louis were carried back to Washington D.C. aboard the light cruiser, USS Memphis. Here, to enormous fanfare and pride, Lindbergh was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross by President Coolidge and promoted to Colonel in the US Army reserves. The Ryan NYP Monoplane was reassembled and then flown by Lindbergh to Roosevelt Field on Long Island, the same airfield from which he began his solo crossing. In New York, he was given a tickertape parade down Broadway. From New York, he flew the Spirit of St. Louis back to his home in St. Louis, to thank his financial supporters at the St. Louis Raquette Club. From there he began a three-month publicity tour of America... but first, he came to Canada.
On Saturday, 2 July 1927, a little more than six weeks after his world-astounding solo crossing of the Atlantic Ocean, Charles Lindbergh was, without a doubt, the most famous and most revered man on the planet. Lindbergh was the toast of every town in America. City officials and wealthy people across the United States of America were vying for his attention and presence. Yet here he was flying the Spirit of St. Louis, in the company of twelve new Curtiss P-1 Hawk biplane fighters and three Royal Canadian Air Force aircraft, over Canada’s Parliament Buildings along the banks of the Ottawa River. Below, the entire city of Ottawa watched as he swept overhead. Sixty thousand citizens waited his arrival at Ottawa’s Hunt Club Field and along his motorcade route into town.
Lindbergh had been invited to Ottawa, the capital of young Canada to help celebrate its Diamond Jubilee. The day before, in an excited spasm of national pride, thousands of Canadians had crowded Parliament Hill to celebrate their country’s 60th birthday. The festivities on this 60th Canada Day included the inauguration of the newly completed Peace Tower, the centrepiece of today’s Parliament Buildings, as well as the laying of a cornerstone for the Confederation Building, the fourth edifice of the Parliament Buildings precinct. While they were sharing their newfound Canadian spirit, 25-year-old Charles Lindbergh lifted off the runway at Lambert Field, Missouri, outside of St. Louis and flew more than five hours (via Fort Wayne, Indiana and Toledo, Ohio) to Selfridge Field, a US Army Air Corps base near his hometown of Detroit, Michigan. After landing at Selfridge, he allowed the base commander, a Major Lanphier, to take the Ryan NYP (for New York to Paris) for a short local flight, then spent the night in the company of fellow US Army fliers. Then on the morning of 2 July, he took off for Ottawa, the capital of Canada, and the first stop on a three-month-long public relations tour across America. On his four hour and ten minute flight direct to Ottawa, he was accompanied by no less than twelve Curtiss P-1 Hawk biplane fighter aircraft of the 27th Squadron of the First Pursuit Group.
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Proceeding northeast, they flew past the Ontario cities of Windsor, London and Toronto and then angled northeast toward Ottawa. They were met over the capital city by three aircraft of the recently formed Royal Canadian Air Force (RCAF). After circling the newly completed Peace Tower, and turning south, the flying entourage swept over the centre of the city, picking up the Rideau River and the Bowesville Road. Below, nearly every citizen of the city watched as they passed overhead. As they approached the Ottawa Hunt Club’s new golf course south of the city, they could see the two crossing grass landing strips south of the intersection of Bowesville and River Road. Here, they could easily see that thousands of Ottawans had come out to greet them.
Lindbergh was the first to land, rolling down the runway to great excitement and jubilation. Attending members of the RCAF and the press ran alongside the Spirit of St. Louis as it rolled out following landing and began taxiing to the southeastern end of the shorter runway. The slower he taxied the more people rushed in to greet him.
Following Lindbergh, the escorting US Army aircraft began to land. As one of the last groups of three P-1 Hawks prepared to land, the pilot of one of the aircraft was seen to dip as if to come into land, but then quickly rise to resume his position in the formation. It was thought that perhaps he had encountered turbulence from another aircraft. The fighter’s tail made contact with the propeller of another Hawk in the formation and his empennage was shredded. The aircraft, no longer in the control of its pilot, pitched down towards the ground. The pilot could be seen immediately climbing out of the cockpit and attempting to parachute to safety. Unfortunately, being only a few hundred feet in the air, the man’s parachute did not have time to fully deploy and both man and machine impacted the ground as horrified spectators looked on.
The man was 32 year old, Texas-born Lieutenant John Thaddeus Johnson, a former Christian preacher, and a highly experienced fighter pilot, having flown during the First World War. What happened next at Hunt Club Field is explained in a story in the Spokane Spokesman-Review of the following day:
“Colonel Lindbergh had entered an automobile and was being whisked away to where Canadian officials were waiting to welcome him. Mounted police surrounded his car, and Lindbergh first heard the news from a sergeant riding at his side. Only a few words of greeting had been exchanged [between] the reception committee members and Colonel Lindbergh when he broke in: ‘You will have to excuse me—I want to go and see about the boy [Lindbergh was actually 7 years younger than Johnson] who crashed.’
He climbed into an open roadster [a Franklin boat-tailed Sport Runabout] and was taken across the field and over the brow of the hill where the scout plane lay a wreck. Lieutenant Johnson’s body had been placed in an ambulance, and mounted police and military units held back the crowds. Major Lanphier, U.S.A. [the Selfridge Field Commander] and Group Captain Scott, Royal Canadian Air Force, joined Colonel Lindbergh in asking questions of witnesses and arranging for a formal investigation.
Stern, Coatless and Hatless
Then Lindbergh went back to carry out his part of the program, but there was no “Lindy smile.” He sat in the car with stern face, coatless and hatless, with goggles pushed back on his forehead, while the crowds, who had not learned of the tragedy, cheered wildly in welcome.
After freshening up at the Ottawa Hunt Club, the transatlantic flyer was taken to Parliament Hill for a reception and then to Government House [Rideau Hall] for a luncheon with the Governor General and Lady Willingdon. The Canadian government took charge of Lieutenant Johnson’s body. Premier Mackenzie King, deeply touched by the accident, immediately dispatched a message to President Coolidge expressing sympathy of the Canadian government and people to the government and people of the United States.
The government also took steps to get in touch with the flyer’s widow, Mrs. Edith Johnson, at Selfridge Field. A guard of honour, composed of members of the Royal Canadian Air Force, probably will be placed over the body until it is sent back to the United States.”
The last sentence would prove to be one of the greatest understatements of the period, for the Prime Minister and the Canadian government, perhaps to dress the emotional wounds they could clearly see on Lindbergh’s face, lapsed into an outpouring (bordering on a paroxysm) of grief, emotion and over-the-top ceremony that included a state funeral at Parliament, and a massive funeral procession attended by thousands of politicians, dignitaries, military servicemen of all stripes and thousands of local citizens.
Newspaper reports from the days afterwards state that Johnson’s wife Fay had collapsed at her parents’ home on hearing the news, while his father suffered a heart attack when he was told.
Charles Lindbergh’s appearance that afternoon on Parliament Hill and at Rideau Hall still pales in comparison to the pageantry, ceremony and drama of the state funeral conducted the very next day for a man no one had ever heard of. Perhaps it was a way of impressing Lindbergh and leaving him with a favourable impression of Ottawa and Canada. Perhaps it was to demonstrate to an attentive planet, who was following the Lone Eagle’s every move, that Canadians were an honourable people. Perhaps it was genuine grief, but one look at the funeral events that took place the very next day and the amount of organization that happened overnight and one wonders if it was all for Johnson or for Lindbergh.
On the Saturday evening, as Lindbergh dined with Canadian dignitaries, the wheels of government sped up to takeoff speed and by the very next day, what appears to be one of the grandest funerals ever to take place in Ottawa, before or since, was organized—honour guards, bands, police, floral arrangements, black arm bands, rifle platoons, sailors, airmen, gun carriage, horses, a flag-draped coffin, thousands of invited dignitaries and a private funeral train to bring the body home immediately. Of course, the guest list included any dignitary already in town for the Diamond Jubilee celebrations.
As the funeral procession moved down Wellington Street to Union Station, Lindbergh was nowhere in sight. It is possible that many of the thousands in attendance were there to catch a glimpse of the Lone Eagle, especially in his hour of grief. But he was not to be seen. The coffin containing Thad Johnson’s body was draped in an American flag and borne to the station and the awaiting funeral train on a gun carriage driven by scarlet uniformed Mounties. The pallbearers were all pilots and airmen of the Royal Canadian Air Force and they carried his coffin to the black-draped funeral train through the train shed entrance on MacKenzie Street. As the coffin was carried into the dark shadows of the great station, members of the Governor General’s Foot Guards Band played the Star Spangled Banner and The Last Post. Guardsmen, resplendent in scarlet tunics, brass buttons, black bearskin “busby” hats, lifted their white strapped rifles to the sky and fired volley after volley splitting the silence of the moment, the reports making spectators jump, horses skitter and pigeons rise in terrified flocks over the station.
But where was Lindbergh? People had to be asking.
As the locomotive drew the funeral train from the depths of the train shed and began its slow procession out of the heart of the city, it followed the eastern bank of the Rideau Canal, where, at the first bend in the canal, it would curve to the east to pick up the mainline going west and south. As the train creaked and black smoke and white steam rose from the loco, several aircraft appeared out of the low clouds to the south—the Spirit of St. Louis escorted by seven of the Hawk fighters of the 27th Pursuit Squadron. As the Hawk fighters circled, the Ryan NYP descended towards the city centre, following the last bend in the canal and turning towards the slow moving train, passed low overhead, while Lindbergh tossed flowers from his tiny window. As people watched from various vantage points, the Spirit of St. Louis made repeated passes over the slow moving funeral train, with Lindy dropping flowers at every pass (it was reported that they were peonies and photographs of the flowers on the train confirm this). Train crews picked up all the flowers they could and laid them on Johnson’s casket.
There could be no more dramatic send-off for a flyer than to have the greatest of them all pay tribute in this poetic and heartfelt fashion. The logbook for the Spirit of St. Louis shows that the flight over the funeral train lasted one hour and ten minutes. The next entry in the logbook indicates that he left Ottawa on Monday, the 4th of July, bound for Teterboro Airfield, New Jersey. The weekend’s events had been deeply tragic and sorrowful and were reported all around the world. They had affected the citizens of Ottawa and Lindbergh deeply, but today, they are largely forgotten. The only things to remind people that these events happened are two street signs on the airport property. But very few today ever stop to think or ask why there is a street named Thad Johnson Private.
Dave O’Malley
Lindbergh and his wife Anne Morrow would return to Ottawa four years later, flying their famous Lockheed Sirius 8 on floats, landing this time on the Ottawa River at RCAF Station Rockcliffe. Again, Ottawa was the first stop—this time on the Lindberghs’ great circle route mapping expedition that took them from North Haven, Maine to Canada, Alaska, Russia, Japan, and China.