Remembering Our Heroes

Editor’s Note: Often we write our own memoirs, but sometimes we write other people’s memoirs which, of course, are called biographies. I have written many short biographies starting with my husband’s. Here’s one of our favorites that was published February, 2001 when I was a columnist for the Arizona Daily Sun (Flagstaff). The title was “Our Hearts Remember Our Heroes.”

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“ABOARD GONE AWAY – How we know and remember our heroes is not so much for who they are, but for what they personally mean to us. This is especially so if their story is in any way intertwined with ours, such as with the story of the Normington family that follows. But first let me tell you about one of my heroes, Anne Morrow Lindbergh, who died earlier this month. While I review in my mind her remarkable life, it’s in my heart that I know and remember her best.

Many years ago I first read Anne’s book Gift From the Sea and the seeds of living simply were wishfully planted.

Decades would pass before I would lead the simple life that I now do, living aboard our sailboat Gone Away, but throughout the years, I would often turn to her book to read the soothing words about living simply and the beauty of solitude — and the need we have for both.

Little did I know that I would one day live the simple life, that one of the few books I would always possess is Gift From the Sea — and that I would marry into a family that has its own stories about another Lindbergh, Anne’s husband, Charles Lindbergh.

With Anne’s death, these truly remarkable people are both gone. Lucky for us they left behind ample evidence of their extraordinary presence including pictures and books documenting their history-making flight, and his famous Spirit of St. Louis — now at the Smithsonian’s National Air and Space Museum — that flew nonstop across the Atlantic Ocean from New York to Paris, making him the first person to do so.

The year was 1927. On this history-making day in 1927, an 11-year-old boy living near Boston was lying in his bed when he heard the motor of an airplane. As it was not a common sound in 1927, he quickly ran to the window to see the plane. Later, after hearing the news about Lindbergh’s flight, he believed he had seen the Spirit of St. Louis, but he’d have to wait for 37 years to know for sure. The boy was my father-in-law, Jack Normington.

Charles Lindbergh’s record-making flight instantly made him the most famous man in the world. Literally millions of people turned out for his events and parades to honor him. At one such parade in Boston, a young 10-year-old girl joined the excited crowds. The girl was my mother-in-law, Mavis Barnes Normington.

The years passed, It was now 1964. A young Coast Guardsman manned a lighthouse called Greens Ledge Light Station on the Connecticut side of the Long Island Sound.

On quiet Sunday mornings, he occasionally saw an older man kayaking nearby. One Sunday morning he waved the man over and asked him if he’d like to tour the lighthouse. The man hesitated for a moment and then tied up his kayak at the dock.

Together they climbed the steps leading from one platform to another, reaching the light at the top of the 65-foot lighthouse, and then they walked back down to the engine room at its base. Along the way explanations were provided, a few clarifying questions were asked.

The tour ended with a cup of freshly brewed coffee. With the coffee, the young man offered his name. The older man responded with his: Charles Lindbergh. The astonished young man gasped, “THE Charles Lindbergh?” The older man shrugged and said, “Well, I guess you could say that.”

The young man immediately thought of his father. He explained to the aged aviator that his dad had always thought he saw the Spirit of St. Louis on that history-making morning in 1927. Based on his flight path and timing, Charles Lindbergh confirmed that the father had indeed seen his plane. The family story was now complete, with this extraordinary final chapter.

Charles Lindbergh finished his coffee, eased back into the kayak, and quietly slipped away. The grateful young Coast Guardsman standing on the dock, silently saying farewell — and thanks — to Charles Lindbergh, was my husband, Ken Normington.

The Lindberghs have now passed out of our lives, but not out of our memories. Our hearts will always remember them for who they were to us, for how they enriched our lives.”

Captain Ken on Gone Away, near Greens Ledge Light Station on Long Island Sound, New York (circa 2004)

Earlier picture is of the renovated Greens Ledge Light Station (circa 2018)

Pictures vary from those published in the Arizona Daily Sun.

Copyright © 2024 by Jane Iddings