Why Lindbergh's spirit endures, 75 years on

"I'm not trying to duplicate what my Grandfather did," says Erik Lindbergh, a commercial pilot, certified flight instructor, and woodworker. "This is a celebration. I'm honoring his accomplishment."

Some suggest Lindbergh's persistent fame is due in part to how perfectly arrayed are the elements of his story. The challenge was clear: Cross the Atlantic from New York to Paris nonstop. There was cash: the Orteig Prize for the first crossing was $25,000, a considerable sum. And there was danger: lives had been lost in failed attempts.

Although America may not have a copyright on the iconography of pilots the way it does on that of cowboys, barnstorming aviators in the '20s were nothing if not latter-day cowboys. Lindbergh captured the American ideal of the singular conqueror against incalculable odds, the lone cowboy riding off into the sunset – or in Lindbergh's case, taking off into a dangerous brew of spring storms over the North Atlantic riding a flying fuel tank with no radio.

When Lindbergh rolled to a stop at Le Bourget airport outside Paris, he was mobbed by 100,000 people. While Lindbergh's flight is widely remembered as the beginning of a new age in transportation, "the bigger point may be that it marked a new age of communication," says A. Scott Berg, Lindbergh's Pulitzer prize-winning biographer. "Lindbergh became the first media superstar."

By 1927, radio and newspaper syndicates could spread news instantly and photos could be cabled. It was almost as if the world was poised for its first media celebrity to drop out of the sky. Indeed, newsreels of Lindbergh taking off from Long Island in New York were the very first motion pictures with sound attached to them, according to Berg. The next day Americans were venturing into movie houses to both see and hear Lindbergh's plane taking off even before he landed in Paris. He was Time magazine's first Man of the Year.

When it comes to the lasting nature of Lindbergh's fame, historians say there is one other crucial element – Lindbergh. Some suggest the impact of his milestone might have slipped over time if someone had popped out of the cockpit in Paris other than the strapping six-footer with blonde hair, blue eyes, sterling reputation, and modest mien – the grown-up all-American Boy Scout with a professed love for his mother who stole America's heart.

"To me, an even greater act than Lindbergh's flight across the Atlantic is the way he comported himself in the months and years after that," says Berg. "Here was a man who turned down millions of dollars in product endorsements, who could easily have rested on his laurels the rest of his life or become a media hound, and yet he reserved his celebrity for the betterment of the world at large."

"People also forget he was an underdog," says Dan Clemons, a San Diego-based collector of Lindbergh memorabilia and a pilot himself. There were at least six planes being readied to make the flight – all with better- known pilots. But on May 20, only Lindbergh was ready to go. "He was a 25-year-old kid with a dream, and that's something everyone could relate to and still can," says Clemons.

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