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Rh We’ll go,’ said Byrd.

“The America’s crew joined the Commander at Roosevelt Field, where the ship was already warm­ing up at the top of the incline they had built to get a running start. Just as dawn broke through low clouds, it started to rain.

Is this rain serious?’ Byrd asked me.

“I told him the data showed at worst a light local shower, and advised that he go ahead. He went. And, as you know, the heavily loaded America took off just before they reached the end of the runway.”

So the start of Admiral Byrd’s great flight—“the prettiest piece of navigation you could imag­ine,” Dr. Kimball calls it—hinged entirely on weather data. I am sure that the weather man who started him on his way slept not at all until Byrd was safely in France.

To show how much he is appreciated, “Doc” Kimball was asked to be a Guest of Honor at a dinner given by those who had participated in all heavier than air transatlantic flights. Of course, not all could come, but among those who did, were Chamberlin, Balchen, Byrd, Lindbergh, Yancy, Assolant (who came from France to be present) and Courtney. Ruth Elder and I were the women included among these flying folk.

In winter crossings, many a ship is delayed by weather. Even with railroads, periodically snow­slides or washouts hold the whip hand. On coun­try roads, mud and snow may upset the best made automobile plans, and every city dweller knows the