Down through the clammy mists of Long Island Sound an oil-stained Pan American Clipper rumbled. It squatted on the water, taxied between the lights to its ramp at LaGuardia Field. By the time the engines had spat to rest, ruddy, squint-eyed Captain R. O. D. Sullivan was ready to sign the log of a historic transatlantic crossing.
After his name he put down a figure: "100." That was his recording of a mark no other airman had yet equaled: he had flown the Atlantic for the hundredth time. Before war's end other airmen...
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