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Focus: Found photos offer look at Charles Lindbergh in San Diego before his famous solo flight

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They’ve been hiding in storage for 90 years: rare, never-before-published photographic images of Charles Lindbergh on his way to becoming Charles Lindbergh.

It’s April 28, 1927. In three weeks, Lindbergh would make the first-ever nonstop solo airplane flight across the Atlantic Ocean from New York to Paris, 3,610 miles in 33 hours. The feat won a $25,000 prize and turned him into one of the most famous and admired people on Earth.

But on this day he was in San Diego, a little-known mail pilot with an experimental plane he called the Spirit of St. Louis. It had been custom-built here by Ryan Airlines in just 60 days. Lindbergh, 25, climbed into the tiny cockpit and prepared to fly the wood, cloth and metal contraption for the very first time.

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“What a beautiful machine it is, resting there on the field in front of the hangar, trim and slender, gleaming in its silver coat,” Lindbergh would later write. “All our ideas, all our calculations, all our hopes lie there before me, waiting to undergo the acid test of flight. For me, it seems to contain the whole future of aviation.”

He was at a dirt airfield called Dutch Flats, where the Midway Post Office would one day be built. Some Ryan employees were there to watch. And so was Harry Bishop, chief photographer for the San Diego Union and Evening Tribune.

One of Bishop’s images — the plane coming in for a landing, Mission Hills in the background — ran on the front page of the next day’s Union. The accompanying story said the monoplane flew “with the speed and grace of a sparrow” and that Lindbergh was pleased with the 30-minute tryout.

Bishop took at least eight other photos that day, and it appears that only one of them — of the plane at rest — may have been published later. Among the unseen others, one picture shows a crew member grabbing for the propeller to start the engine. One shows the plane in a steep climb. Two show people running toward the plane after it lands.

What a beautiful machine it is, resting there on the field in front of the hangar, trim and slender, gleaming in its silver coat.

— Charles Lindbergh on his San Diego-built Spirit of St. Louis

“They’re terrific photos,” said Robert van der Linden, a curator at the Smithsonian’s Air and Space Museum in Washington, D.C., where Lindbergh’s plane is one of the main attractions. “I’ve only seen one or two others taken at Dutch Flats (during the first test flight), so these help bring what happened there to life. It’s exciting to see them.”

Mark Aldrich, a longtime volunteer archivist at the San Diego Air & Space Museum in Balboa Park, said the pictures are “a before-view of magic about to happen,” likening them to “the instant before Armstrong steps on the moon, the second before the flag was raised by U.S. Marines on Mount Suribachi, the calm in the field as Lincoln ascended the stage to read the Gettysburg Address.”

After the test flight, Lindbergh stayed in San Diego, working with Ryan designer Donald Hall on modifications to the plane. He flew it almost two dozen more times, checking the speed, the handling, the weight of heavy fuel loads. On May 10, 1927, shortly before 4 p.m., he took off from North Island and flew overnight to St. Louis. A day later, he flew on to New York.

And then into history.

An unusual discovery

A year ago, as the Union-Tribune was moving from its longtime offices in Mission Valley to downtown San Diego, researcher Merrie Monteagudo boxed up the files of photographs, some 90,000 images that date to the late 1890s.

She found one labeled “Lindbergh negatives.” That struck her as unusual, because most of the newspaper company’s negatives had been donated years ago to the San Diego History Center.

Inside the file, there were four images, portraits of Lindbergh and B.F. Mahoney, owner of Ryan Airlines, shot by Union photographer Stanley Andrews Jr. in March 1927. The other 4- by 5-inch pictures were in an envelope that had “Lindbergh, Charles A.” and “‘Spirit of St. Louis’ monoplane” typewritten on it. It also was marked “4-28-27,” the day of the first test flight.

Looking through the photos, Monteagudo said she was struck by how they dovetailed with the descriptions of the first flight that Lindbergh included in “The Spirit of St. Louis,” his 1953 memoir.

“He talks about how gleaming the machine is, and there’s a picture of it,” she said. “He talks about how he accelerated, and there’s a picture of that, too. It’s almost like he’s narrating a slideshow.”

They’re terrific photos. ... It’s exciting to see them.

— Robert van der Linden, a curator at the Smithsonian’s Air and Space Museum

The envelope holding the negatives also has the typewritten initials “HTB” on it, for photographer Harry T. Bishop.

Born in Mississippi in 1895, Bishop got his first newspaper job as a “printer’s devil” in Boulder, Colo., at a publication that in hindsight seems especially appropriate for him: The Daily Camera.

He came to San Diego with his parents in 1912 and started working as a reporter for the San Diego Sun. He carried a camera with him, too, and soon was more likely to be taking pictures than writing stories.

In 1915, he took some of the first aerial photographs of the city, sitting on a wooden platform hanging below a tethered balloon lifted 1,000 feet off the ground. Later, he talked the balloon owner into setting it loose, and for several hours he floated over San Diego, taking pictures, before landing in an Otay cactus patch.

That experience fueled a fascination with aviation that he brought with him when he joined the Union-Tribune in 1921. It wasn’t surprising he wound up taking the pictures of Lindbergh’s first test flight six years later.

But during his lifetime — he died in September 1963 at age 68 — he was better known for other aviation photos. One taken May 11, 1932, recorded the dirigible Akron breaking loose while landing on Kearny Mesa. Several sailors holding onto a cable were yanked into the air. One fell to his death. Bishop’s shot was named the top news picture of the year by the wire services.

On May 15, 1941, he snapped a photo of a Marine paratrooper dangling in midair behind a transport plane, parachute entangled in the aircraft. A day later, in another award-winning moment, he captured a Navy fighter plane plunging into San Diego Bay.

In 1948, the National Press Photographers Association held a contest called “The Best Picture of My Life.” There were 900 entries. Of the 100 selected by the judges, three were photos by Harry Bishop.

‘It’s gorgeous’

Lindbergh returned to San Diego in September 1927, a hero for the ages. Everything was different now — for him, for the future of aviation, for the world.

Bishop again was on hand to take photos. Lindbergh circled the Ryan plant a couple of times in his plane. He rode in a parade to Balboa Stadium, where 60,000 people — the largest crowd in city history to that point — waited to see him. Schools were closed.

Lindbergh’s blossoming celebrity meant that the newspaper captions the next day didn’t have to explain who he was or what the Spirit of St. Louis was, a sharp contrast to his earlier time in San Diego. To the Lindbergh scholars, that’s part of what makes the newly found images from the test flight so interesting.

“It’s really nice to see the airplane when it was brand new,” said van der Linden, the Smithsonian curator. “I see it every day at the museum, and it has all the nicks and bruises you would expect. In the pictures, it’s pristine, literally right off the factory floor. It’s gorgeous, just the way Lindbergh and (designer) Donald Hall wanted it to be.”

Aldrich, from the San Diego Air & Space Museum, was intrigued by how few people are in the test flight photos. Most were Ryan factory workers. After Lindbergh made the transatlantic flight, he “couldn’t land anywhere without a police escort to protect the plane and pilot from the public and the souvenir hunters,” Aldrich said.

Joaquin Ortiz, director of innovation at the Museum of Photographic Arts in Balboa Park, said he was drawn to “the sense of urgency” in the photos. “They tell us a story we wouldn’t otherwise see,” he said.

Part of that story is San Diego. “You can see Mission Hills in the background, see the factories,” Ortiz said. “It’s a chance for us to reflect on who we were, and who we are today.”

He added, “People know about Lindbergh’s famous flight, but many of us don’t realize the plane was built in San Diego. These images bring that to life in a way that text doesn’t.”

By the end of 1927, voters in San Diego had passed a bond issue to pay for construction of an airport. It would be called Lindbergh Field.

john.wilkens@sduniontribune.com

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