The air above the North Atlantic, so lonely half a century ago that Charles Lindbergh said he communed with ghosts and guardian spirits, is dense now with 747s, the flying auditoriums that are just beginning their summer trade. Passengers doze over their drinks, eat flash-frozen steaks, watch movies through a passage as passive as Muzak. The New York-to-Paris odyssey that took Lindbergh 33½ hours would be a 3½-hour streak for the Concorde.
The phenomenon of Lindbergh, the romantic soloist who dropped out of the darkness at Paris' Le Bourget Airport 50 years ago this...
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