SEPTEMBER 7, 1938
ROCHESTER, Minn., Tuesday—Rather to my surprise, I left for Rochester, Minnesota, yesterday with my son James. The family seemed to feel that while he would probably be here only for a day, it would be a good idea for someone to go with him to make sure that he told us all the truth about what the doctors had to say.
Yesterday morning, in Hyde Park, I rode and swam and no one could have wished for a more glorious day. After lunch I put on my city clothes and at 5:45 we took the plane from Newark to Chicago. Everything went beautifully and we not only had a gorgeous sunset, but the smoothest trip I ever remember having over the mountains.
However, the wind was against us and I heard one of the pilots trying to explain to a charming looking lady in the seat in front of us that we were going 180 miles an hour but really only doing 150 miles ground speed. Then he casually remarked that the eastbound plane was doing 220 miles per hour aided by the wind. I was grieved, for I realized that besides the necessary delay occasioned by the heavy traffic, the wind would also mean a slowing up of our westward flight.
Neither James nor I had mentioned to anyone that he was taking this trip or that I was going with him, but by the time we reached Chicago the usual photographers were at the airport, which I confess never adds to one's joy at the end of a journey. We reached our hotel in Chicago around 11:00 o'clock. We started out again this morning at 8:00 o'clock and wondered for a few minutes whether gray skies were going to keep us from flying at all, but the ceiling was high enough and the only question was whether we could land in Rochester or would have to go on to Minneapolis.
We came down at Milwaukee through the fog. For a little while the fog grew thicker and thicker but by the time we reached Rochester it had cleared and we were able to land. Everyone is so kind here it is almost like coming back to a place I know well, even though I have only been here once before.