- Marco Rubio: U.S. at social, moral crossroads
- ‘We’re coming for you, Barack Obama’: Top U.S. official discloses threat from ISIL
- White flags baffle NYPD: ‘We’re lucky it wasn’t a bomb’
- N.Y. Gov. Cuomo’s office interfered with, pressured corruption commission: report
- Brit lawmaker: I would fire on Israel if I lived in Gaza
- VA apologizes to forgotten Marine veteran locked in Fla. clinic, forced to call 911
- U.S. social and economic trends on worrisome track, survey finds
- McDonald nomination unanimously referred to full Senate
- Chuck Norris honorary chairman of NRA voter registration campaign
- GOP outraged Obamacare investigators able to get coverage with fake IDs
Topic - Anne Morrow Lindbergh
Undeniably popular with readers over many decades, Anne Morrow Lindbergh always has struck me as a very problematic figure. She was a skilled writer with a peculiarly seductive style that she was adept at using to take people into the strange, self-referential world that was hers, the still point of whirling celebrity and notoriety mixed with travel and genuine exploration.
From certain camera angles, Amelia Earhart - a tall, slender, blonde who tousled her short hair and wore masculine flying clothes - looked like a feminine version of Charles Lindbergh. It was because of this resemblance that, in 1928, as the first anniversary of Lindbergh's solo flight approached, this likable young social worker who "loved to fly" was plucked from obscurity to be a passenger on another trans-Atlantic flight.