newspapers insisted I had been making for many months, the whole expedition was a matter of chance. It happened as follows.
The invitation to fly the Atlantic came by telephone.
Each afternoon Denison House swarmed with children released from school. They were of most ages up to fourteen, practically all sizes and several nationalities. I had to see, among other things, that the right children found their way into the right classes, and that game leaders and instructors were on the job and prepared. There were always minor complications. Occasionally the adult workers were late or couldn’t come at all. Sometimes the children were so full of pep, they could hardly settle down to any one activity. Plaints from those who never could decide what they really wanted to do always had to be heard.
“Miss Earhart, I know my lines. Can’t I play games today instead of rehearsing the play?”
“Miss Earhart, I’d rather paint than play games. Please can’t I change periods just this once?”
After such temperamental problems were solved for the time, there were others which kept me more or less on the run until dinner time.
In the midst of such an afternoon in April, 1928, I was called to the telephone.
“I’m too busy to answer just now,” I said. “Ask whoever is calling to try again later.”
“But he says it’s important to speak with you,”
