APRIL 22, 1939
NEW YORK, Friday—Until we neared Minneapolis, Minn., last Wednesday night, I had a marvelously good trip across the United States. Then clouds and storm loomed on the horizon and fog was not far behind. We actually saw the Minneapolis airport below us and were ready for a landing, when we zoomed up again and shortly were told that conditions were not right and we would not be permitted to land but would have to return to Fargo, N.D.., which we had left at 6:45 in the morning!
Across the aisle from me sat a patient but rather worried looking woman whose mother was lying dangerously ill in Minneapolis. As we got out for the second time at Fargo, a message was handed to her from her brother, who had seen the plane over the Minneapolis airport and had wired to say that her mother was still alive.
We refueled and started back, knowing that if we could not land this time we could continue to Chicago, but fortunately the rain left enough ceiling to make landing safe, and so my neighbor across the aisle was able to get out at 11:30 a.m.
I sat at the lunch counter and ate a bowl of soup and then re-embarked for Chicago. We had a little over an hour to wait there and a very ardent young newspaper reporter sat with me for a time. She was a nice young thing with many enthusiasms. She or one of the other reporters, wanted to know if my nephew's accident would make me change my point of view about young people flying. I assured her my point of view remained the same. I have always felt this modern world requires youth to take responsibility at an earlier age because of the many dangers which modern speed and inventions have brought us.
On the flight between Chicago and New York City, we flew over the clouds and I was struck by a curious resemblance to the terrain we had flown over in the Dakotas. There the snow was melting, leaving shallow ponds and dark little rivulets on either side of the flat white surfaces of the melting snow. The clouds looked just the same, with little indentations that seemed like streams running around solid white parts.
We reached Newark, N. J., just after 8:00 o'clock last night and the usual camera men and newspaper people were on hand. One young girl, after asking me several questions, caught up with my secretary and inquired: "Would you mind telling me why Mrs. Roosevelt has come home?" Do you think these young things ever read the papers, or do they just write for them?
I was back at the Newark airport this morning at 8:00 to meet my brother. After endless telephoning, we are flying to Boston tonight.