The truth about the chance to fly was as amusing as the journalistic scenarios. The opportunity came as casually as an invitation to a matinee, and it came by telephone. As a matter of fact, the three of us who made the Atlantic crossing together all were similarly collected by telephone. Commander Byrd telephoned Stultz, suggesting the possibility. Stultz then communicated, by telephone again, with those organizing the flight. Tentative arrangements were made as regarded himself. They asked him to choose his flying mechanic. On April 7, via long distance telephone, he reached Slim Gordon, then at Monroe, La., with the “Voice of the Sky” Corporation. “Meet me at the Cadillac Hotel in Detroit on the 9th, if you want to fly the Atlantic.” “Sure,” said Gordon. So next morning Slim serviced his ship; told the boys he wasn’t taking off with them that day and left to keep his appointment. It was settled in no time at all—certainly within the limits of the conventional three minute telephone conversation. As for me, I was working as usual around Denison House. The neighborhood was just piling in for games and classes and I was as busy as could be. I remember when called to the phone I replied I couldn’t answer unless the message was more important than entertaining many little Chinese and Syrian children. The word came assuring me it was. I excused myself and went to listen to a man’s voice ask me whether I was interested in doing something aeronautic which might be hazardous. At first I thought the conversation was a joke, and told the gentleman so. At least twice before I had been approached by bootleggers who promised rich reward and no danger—“absolutely no danger to you, Leddy.” The frank admission of risk piqued my curiosity and I enquired how and why I had been called. I demanded references and got them. They were good references, too. After checking up, I made an appointment for late the same day. “Should you like to fly the Atlantic?” Such was the greeting when I met Hilton H. Railey who had done the telephoning. He told me, without mentioning specific names, that Commander Byrd’s tri-motored Fokker had been purchased and was destined for trans-Atlantic flight. He asked me if I would make the flight if opportunity offered. Then he told me that a woman owned the plane, and had intended flying it herself. Circumstances had just arisen which made it impossible for her to go but there was a chance that another woman might be selected in her place; and Mr. Railey had been asked by George Palmer Putnam, New York publisher, to help find such a person. Then followed the first period of waiting. I did not know whether or not I was going. I didn’t know whether the flight really would come off. I didn’t know whether I should be selected if it did. And in the meanwhile I was asked to clear the decks so I could get off if the opportunity actually arose.