of indicators are used to make the calculation.
While preparations for the flight were progressing, I carried on with my job at Denison House. No one there, except the head worker, knew I was concerned with flying the Atlantic, for I continued to supervise as well as I could the varied activities which fell to my lot.
Toward the end of May we were ready to go—more or less ready, anyway. In a chartered tug one dawn, we put out to the Friendship at her moorings off East Boston. But our first attempt came to naught, as we did not get away.
Twice the experience of trying to start was repeated. Once there was too little wind for the Friendship to rise from the water, and once too much fog.
[1]The fog comes on little cat feet and sits on its haunches
Overlooking city and harbor
And then moves on.
I can quote Mr. Sandburg’s charming poem with enthusiasm as I write this. However, I can’t say I appreciated it the day of the second unsuccessful take-off when the fog he sings of descended to dampen us spiritually as well as actually and to keep us on the ground for the time.
Despite its poetic possibilities, fog, of course, is one of the great hazards of flying. From the air, when one cannot see the horizon, there is nothing
- ↑ We are indebted to Henry Holt & Company, Publishers, for permission to reprint this extract of “Fog” from Sandburg’s “Chicago Poems.”
