Word: lifes
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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Behind the creamy buff walls of the rambling Munitions Building on Washington's Constitution Avenue he finds life as he likes it. He strides down the long halls and nobody pays attention. Officers in mufti scarcely glance at his tall, lean figure, a trifle stooped; preoccupied clerks with sheaves of papers do not even look up as he goes past. In the Air Corps section on the third floor he waves a hand at flier friends, flashes a white-toothed grin, heads for his office. Hour after hour he sits earnestly in an endless succession of technical conferences, usually...
...trip nowhere had more influence than on George VI himself. Two years ago he took on his job at a few hours' notice, having expected to play a quiet younger brother role to Brother Edward all his life. Pressmen who followed him around the long loop from Quebec to Halifax were struck by the added poise and self-confidence that George drew from the ordeal. Filled with new pride in their King & Queen, Britons were preparing to give them a monster welcome-with millions lining the railroad right-of-way to London -calculated to top anything the Yankees...
...equipped with letters of introduction so that he would not be stranded-he had his first taste of public adulation and it was good. He had done something which, after it was done, his logical mind could perceive, was reasonable occasion for acclaim. He had the time of his life standing on the Aero Club balcony with Ambassador Herrick and waving flags at the crowd below. When he returned to the U. S. after visiting the capitals of Europe and rode, up Fifth Avenue in a paper shower, he knew that he had hit the jackpot, and he was willing...
...weeks of pursuit by British newspapermen, the Lindberghs found peace. They went freely to the homes of friends, found they could go to London for dinner and the theatre without being mobbed. In Paris, where they moved after living for a time at Illiec, a secluded Breton isle, life was just as calm. At dinner in the Crillon, at the theatre, no one except an occasional American tourist gawked at them. There were no autograph hunters...
...comfortably wealthy from returns from his writings, awards for his nights (beginning with a $25,000 award for his flight to Paris, given by Raymond Orteig who died last week-see p. 55), many another source, Lindbergh sees before him the friendly prospect of a normal life in his own country, but between it and him lies the high fence of misunderstanding. To his old friends he is almost unchanged, still direct, cheerful, frank, a little more mature and self-possessed. To the U. S. public before which he cannot appear without growing gawky, from which he instinctively shrinks...