Childhood Memories of Charles Lindbergh

In an excerpt from her memoir, Reeve Lindbergh, the daughter of the famous aviator, recalls her father's love of checklists

  • By Reeve Lindbergh
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Reeve Lindbergh Author Reeve Lindbergh, daughter of aviator Charles Lindbergh, standing outside barn on her farm.

Photo by Richard Howard / Time Life Pictures / Getty Images

 

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    Related Books

    Under a Wing

    by Reeve Lindbergh
    Simon & Schuster, 2009

    More from Smithsonian.com

    Reeve Lindbergh, the youngest daughter of Charles and Anne Morrow, is the author of several novels and children’s books. Her critically-acclaimed 1998 memoir, Under A Wing, tells the story of growing up under the watchful eye of her famous father, who kept checklists for each of his children, just as he made detailed lists to check and double-check before any of his flights.

    Some people believe that the most important thing Charles Lindbergh contributed to the field of aviation was not the flight in the Spirit of St. Louis, but the safety checklist. I have mixed feelings about this theory, though I think it may be correct, As a pilot my father habitually kept comprehensive lists on all his equipment and all his flying procedures. He checked and rechecked these constantly to make sure that everything he did before, during, and after each flight was appropriate, and that the aircraft was in top condition. It was a habit that saved his life more than once, and it most likely saved the lives of many other flyers who followed him. Yet those who lived with him found that our lives, like the airplanes, were also monitored by checklists (one per child), and for us there was about his list making, and checking, and rechecking, an invitation to anxiety, a degree of tedium, and a certain measure of gloom.

    I knew, for instance, that when my father returned to Connecticut he would call me into his office within twenty-four hours, then look at the current list to see what was written under my name. All of our names were there, each underlined at the head of its own column, in his neatly slanted, penciled print: Jon, Land, Anne, Scott, Reeve. Some of the columns were long, others were short. One or two items in each column had a check mark penciled to the left of it, or a line drawn through the word entirely. Most, however, did not. That was why we were summoned into his office. There was much to be thought about, when our father came home, and even more to be done.

    I did not think it was honorable to read a sibling’s list, but by the time my father had scanned mine, I already knew what was on it. I had learned to read upside down almost as soon as I could read at all. From where I was standing in the doorway, at the very beginning of my visit to his office, I could usually estimate how long it would be before I could leave again. Were there many items in the column under my name, or just a few? And were they specific, tangible concerns, like “rake left out in rain,” for which I could apologize and then leave the office, or were they of a more general nature, like “reading comics” or “chewing gum,” which would require discussion, and take more time? And woe betide me if there was something really big written on my list, like “Freedom and Responsibility.” Freedom and Responsibility were good for half an hour, sometimes half an hour each.

    There was a “Freedom and responsibility” lecture—“If you’re going to have freedom, you must have responsibility”—applied to anything from dating boys to coming to the dinner table on time. There was an “Instinct and Intellect” lecture, about appreciating nature, using common sense, and not getting carried away with contemporary trends, “fuzzy” ideas, or fancy advertising gimmicks. That one sometimes included a discussion of the unnecessary expense of modern toys, and ended with, “Why, when I was your age, I was perfectly happy to play all day with a stick and a piece of string!”

    There was a “Downfall of Civilization” lecture, prompted by our father’s encounters with air conditioning, television, politics, Pop Art, or Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. These he felt were insincere, commercially inspired artificial holidays. He therefore would not allow us to celebrate them at our house. We could not overtly disobey him, but if he was away when Mother’s Day came around, we garlanded our mother’s place at the table with flowers, showered her with crayoned greeting cards, mine covered with princesses and flowers and hearts, and reveled in our defiant sentimentality.


    Reeve Lindbergh, the youngest daughter of Charles and Anne Morrow, is the author of several novels and children’s books. Her critically-acclaimed 1998 memoir, Under A Wing, tells the story of growing up under the watchful eye of her famous father, who kept checklists for each of his children, just as he made detailed lists to check and double-check before any of his flights.

    Some people believe that the most important thing Charles Lindbergh contributed to the field of aviation was not the flight in the Spirit of St. Louis, but the safety checklist. I have mixed feelings about this theory, though I think it may be correct, As a pilot my father habitually kept comprehensive lists on all his equipment and all his flying procedures. He checked and rechecked these constantly to make sure that everything he did before, during, and after each flight was appropriate, and that the aircraft was in top condition. It was a habit that saved his life more than once, and it most likely saved the lives of many other flyers who followed him. Yet those who lived with him found that our lives, like the airplanes, were also monitored by checklists (one per child), and for us there was about his list making, and checking, and rechecking, an invitation to anxiety, a degree of tedium, and a certain measure of gloom.

    I knew, for instance, that when my father returned to Connecticut he would call me into his office within twenty-four hours, then look at the current list to see what was written under my name. All of our names were there, each underlined at the head of its own column, in his neatly slanted, penciled print: Jon, Land, Anne, Scott, Reeve. Some of the columns were long, others were short. One or two items in each column had a check mark penciled to the left of it, or a line drawn through the word entirely. Most, however, did not. That was why we were summoned into his office. There was much to be thought about, when our father came home, and even more to be done.

    I did not think it was honorable to read a sibling’s list, but by the time my father had scanned mine, I already knew what was on it. I had learned to read upside down almost as soon as I could read at all. From where I was standing in the doorway, at the very beginning of my visit to his office, I could usually estimate how long it would be before I could leave again. Were there many items in the column under my name, or just a few? And were they specific, tangible concerns, like “rake left out in rain,” for which I could apologize and then leave the office, or were they of a more general nature, like “reading comics” or “chewing gum,” which would require discussion, and take more time? And woe betide me if there was something really big written on my list, like “Freedom and Responsibility.” Freedom and Responsibility were good for half an hour, sometimes half an hour each.

    There was a “Freedom and responsibility” lecture—“If you’re going to have freedom, you must have responsibility”—applied to anything from dating boys to coming to the dinner table on time. There was an “Instinct and Intellect” lecture, about appreciating nature, using common sense, and not getting carried away with contemporary trends, “fuzzy” ideas, or fancy advertising gimmicks. That one sometimes included a discussion of the unnecessary expense of modern toys, and ended with, “Why, when I was your age, I was perfectly happy to play all day with a stick and a piece of string!”

    There was a “Downfall of Civilization” lecture, prompted by our father’s encounters with air conditioning, television, politics, Pop Art, or Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. These he felt were insincere, commercially inspired artificial holidays. He therefore would not allow us to celebrate them at our house. We could not overtly disobey him, but if he was away when Mother’s Day came around, we garlanded our mother’s place at the table with flowers, showered her with crayoned greeting cards, mine covered with princesses and flowers and hearts, and reveled in our defiant sentimentality.

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    Comments (9)

    I think everyone has their downfalls. If someone seemed absolutely perfect, onlookers would doubt they were real, or would believe they were hiding something. In today's era, we grow up with different ideas and morals that people did back in the 1930's. Anyone who criticizes a role model has to keep that in mind.
    I'm not saying Lindbergh's imperfections mean nothing -- just to see the whole picture. You can't understand what a mural represents if you only look at half of it; the most important things could be on the other side. I believe Lindbergh was far from perfect, but he shouldn't be torn down because of it. What he did was an amazing accomplishment and in a way, saved the country. He kept hopes up and dreams alive, which is more than many of today's generations idols have done.

    Posted by Exa Lectric on December 21,2011 | 08:40 PM

    I have read many articles concerning Charles Lindbergh and have acquired a sincere dislike for him. Enough said.

    Posted by Linda Lee on January 20,2011 | 12:51 PM

    Charles Lindberghs accomplishment was not that he crossed the Alantic non-stop,as the average person could not relate to the fact that they would ever benifit from such a feat. Rather his accomplishment was a ray of hope in the dark days of the Great Depression. Americans needed some old fashion "Good News" at that time in the history of our country, and Charles Lindbergh was the bearer of that "Good News". We sure could use some of that today!

    Posted by Gary Zehren on January 14,2011 | 05:45 PM

    I think the comments back up my suspicion that what sounds overbearing in today's light was a much more common way of parenting back then.

    I was born near the time of the death of Charles Lindbergh. I "know" him only from history lessons and a passing glance at recent news. I adore Reeve Lindbergh's work and feel very "protective" (for lack of a better word) of both she and her mother who are/were both great women and gifted writers.

    CAL was a product of his time and place and a personality that is unique as those of any of us. Only he and his family can really know what it is to "be a Lindbergh" and only he, and his family, can really pass judgment on him as a man.

    Reeve Lindbergh is to be commended for writing a moving and honest memoir that gives us a feeling of both the adoration and exasperation that must have been prevalent in being a child of Charles A. Lindbergh. Who among us couldn't tell a real eye-rolling tale about dear old mom and dad? She humanizes him and he is better for it.

    Posted by KFS on January 10,2011 | 01:40 PM

    Charles Lindberg was the symbol of American pride and "can do" for his era. His drive and accomplishments are legion.

    I saw him at age 4,and a very young Reeve at General George Marshall's home in Leesburg VA when he flew into the small Authur Godfrey airport. They sat on a veranda with my father, and Reeve looking as bored as I just wanted to run in the back lawn and play.

    Mrs. Lindberg, whom Reeve looks so much like, once commented about "heros always dissappoint us", she answered simply "mine never did." He was a true American hero.

    Posted by JK Brown on December 28,2010 | 02:53 PM

    Is it possible that three out of the three posts couldn't manage to spell "Lindbergh" correctly?

    Posted by Troy on December 28,2010 | 11:18 AM

    My father like Lindberg, had lectures that we were subjected to...Sometimes we would rather be spanked then to have to endure the long lectures. Now that I am a parent, it probably would of cut the time down if I looked like I was getting the point. So soon old, so late smart.

    Posted by Pamela Jarvis on December 26,2010 | 04:50 AM

    Lindberg's lectures to his children comes across as hypocritical, especially in light that he had 2 families in Europe. One must always be careful who you worship, because you will be bound to be disappointed.

    Posted by KAREN on December 24,2010 | 12:51 PM

    It's amazing the kinds of people we grow up admiring isn't it? The more I find out about Charles Lindberg, the more I dislike everything about him.

    Posted by Corey on December 21,2010 | 04:14 PM

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