NOTE: At one time, Charles Lindbergh was the most famous man in the world. His stunning rise to fame came through a daring feat that captured the imagination of countless millions, while his fall from grace unfolded amid the world’s greatest catastrophe—World War II. This three-part series explores the triumphs, tragedies, controversies, and enduring legacy of a man who symbolized both the heights and the hazards of fame in the 20th century. You can catch up on the story in Part One and Part Two.
The Spirit of St. Louis had carried Charles Lindbergh to unparalleled heights of fame, and the subsequent tragedy of his son’s kidnapping had plunged him into the depths of personal hell. Seeking refuge from the relentless American spotlight, he and Anne fled to Europe in late 1935, hoping that the anonymity of a new continent might finally grant them the peace that had eluded them.
They found a measure of quiet solace in the English and French countrysides, looking for a life away from the intrusive gaze that had defined their lives for so long. However, the continent they sought refuge in was a cauldron of political unrest, bubbling towards a cataclysm. Unbeknownst to them, this search for tranquility would lead Lindbergh down a path far more controversial than any flight, igniting a bitter public feud that would shatter his heroic image.
European Interlude: Shifting Views (1935-1939)
For a time, life in Europe offered a semblance of normalcy. Anne continued her remarkable writing, capturing their adventures and the nuances of their new life. But Lindbergh, ever the aviator and strategist, couldn’t ignore the rumblings across the continent. His global celebrity, paradoxically, opened doors even in his self-imposed exile. He was invited to observe European air forces, and it was Germany that particularly fascinated him.
He was a man deeply impressed by efficiency and technological prowess, and what he saw in Nazi Germany’s rapidly rearming Luftwaffe struck him with awe. He admired their discipline and dedication, their engineering, their organizational might. He met with Hermann Göring, the head of the Luftwaffe, and other high-ranking Nazi officials. These encounters, far from repelling him, seemed to confirm his assessment of German strength, fostering a belief that this was a power to be reckoned with, perhaps even admired for its resurgence.
It was in 1938 that Göring, in a gesture of perceived respect, awarded Lindbergh the Service Cross of the German Eagle, a medal he accepted. It was a moment that would later fuel accusations of sympathy, and an image that would forever haunt his legacy.
From these observations, a strong, and troubling, conviction began to solidify in Lindbergh’s mind: Europe was weak, particularly France and Britain, and Germany was a formidable, perhaps unstoppable force. He became convinced that America’s advantage lay in its neutrality, that entanglement in another European war would be disastrous.
This nascent isolationism was compounded by a more insidious belief that the Jewish population held undue influence in American media and politics, pushing the country towards a conflict he believed was not in its national interest. These views, rooted in a dangerous blend of strategic assessment and prejudice, would soon define his return home.
The Return to America and the Rise of America First (1939-1941)
When war finally erupted in Europe in September 1939, the Lindberghs felt compelled to return to the United States. America was grappling with its role in the escalating global crisis, and Lindbergh, the nation’s most famous hero, quickly emerged as the most eloquent and respected voice for the non-interventionist movement.
From podiums and over the radio waves, his voice, once associated only with heroic flight, now broadcast a stern warning: America must stay out of Europe’s bloody conflicts. He argued passionately that the nation’s path should be towards neutrality, and in building an impregnable defense, rather than squandering its resources on foreign wars.
His influence grew exponentially when he became the national leader of the America First Committee, the largest anti-war organization in U.S. history. Its platform was clear: “America First” meant focusing on domestic needs, strengthening national defenses, and, importantly, opposing any aid to Allied nations that might draw the U.S. into the war.
But as the drumbeat for intervention grew louder, so too did the controversy surrounding Lindbergh. His speeches became increasingly pointed, crossing a line that many found abhorrent. In his infamous Des Moines speech in September 1941, he explicitly named “the British, the Jewish, and the Roosevelt administration” as the forces he believed were pushing America into the war.
The backlash was immediate. Accusations of antisemitism and pro-Nazi sympathies rained down on him. The public, who had once adored him, now wrestled with the agonizing realization that their heroic “Lone Eagle” had become a deeply divisive figure. The rift with President Roosevelt became public, unambiguous, a chasm between the nation’s most powerful man and its most celebrated hero.
The Fall from Grace and Unofficial War Service (1941-1945)
The public condemnation was crushing. Lindbergh, once untouchable, saw his reputation plummet. He was denounced as a traitor, a bigot, his name synonymous with disloyalty to many. After President Roosevelt publicly criticized him, Lindbergh resigned his commission in the Army Air Corps, a painful severing of ties with the field he had dedicated his life to.
However, despite the torrent of public scorn and his controversial political stances, Lindbergh remained fundamentally an American. He still possessed a burning desire to serve his country, even if the government wouldn’t officially have him. He found an unlikely path to contribution, working as a civilian technical advisor for Ford Motor Company and United Aircraft. It was in this capacity that he made his way to the Pacific theater of World War II.
Here, the man reviled at home flew alongside American pilots, teaching them crucial fuel conservation techniques for their long-range missions, sharing his unparalleled knowledge of aviation. More remarkably, he even engaged in combat, flying over 50 unofficial combat missions, exchanging fire with Japanese aircraft. This often-overlooked period revealed that his courage, the trait that had made him a hero, was still very much intact, even as his public image lay in tatters. He risked his life for a nation that had largely disowned him.
Redemption, Conservation, and Reflection (Post-1945)
After the war, a chastened Lindbergh largely withdrew from the public eye. The political lightning rod of the America First years faded, replaced by a more introspective individual. Slowly, painstakingly, he began to rebuild bridges, to mend relationships fractured by the war years.
His later life was marked by surprising new passions. He made significant contributions to medical science, working alongside the Nobel Prize-winning surgeon Dr. Alexis Carrel on the development of the perfusion pump, a groundbreaking device that could keep organs alive outside the body. But perhaps his most enduring legacy from these years was his passionate advocacy for environmental conservation.
He became an influential voice for protecting endangered species, campaigning for the preservation of wildlife, recognizing the delicate balance of nature. His writings, including his Pulitzer Prize-winning autobiography, The Spirit of St. Louis, offered a glimpse into the mind of a man still grappling with his past. He attempted, in various ways, to explain or contextualize his wartime views, though he never fully escaped the shadow of the controversy.
Beginning in 1957, the stoic aviator maintained a secret life. For well over a decade, Lindbergh had an affair with a German woman, Brigitte Hesshaimer, with whom he fathered three children. It was later discovered he had two other relationships that also produced children, two with Brigitte’s sister and two more with his private secretary. Anne Morrow Lindbergh remained married to Charles and there is no record of her knowledge of his affairs before his death.
Charles Lindbergh passed away in 1974, leaving behind a legacy as controversial and contradictory as the man himself.
The Enduring Complexity of an American Icon
From the audacious flight that made him a global hero, to the agonizing private tragedy that scarred his family, and finally to the controversial political views that led to his public disgrace, Charles Lindbergh’s life was a narrative of immense highs and devastating lows, unprecedented achievement as well as very precedented failings.
He was a pioneering aviator who pushed the boundaries of human achievement, a grieving father who endured unimaginable loss, a controversial political figure who spoke his mind regardless of the cost, and ultimately, a dedicated conservationist who sought to protect the natural world.
The early, overwhelming fame he experienced undoubtedly shaped his life, perhaps contributing to the isolation that allowed him to cultivate the opinions and engage in the later behavior that would badly scar his reputation. Charles Lindbergh’s story, despite his notoriety, is a very human one. His life exemplified the weight of public adoration and the often contradictory nature of human character.
Charles Lindbergh, without question, left an indelible mark on American history, and is a figure who continues to raise difficult questions about heroism, responsibility, and the enduring challenge of reconciling a nation’s reverence for its icons with the uncomfortable truths of their humanity. He is, and will always be, a mirror to America’s own evolving conscience.
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