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By not knowing who Lindbergh was at 11:00 a.m. on May 21, 1927,I betrayed the fact that as a newspaperman I was being grossly overpaid at $15 a week. Nobody in the city room winced at my question, and Kospoth answered as if my ignorance were the most normal thing in the world: ���Crazy young feller thinks he can ���y the Atlantic. He���ll never make it.��� This exchange disposed of Lindbergh for the day, and we went about our routine with no consciousness that drama was occurring somewhere over the North Atlantic. I don���t remember what I did that evening. It seems incredible that I would have stayed home during this period of exploring Paris, but quite as incredible that I could have roamed the streets without noticing that they had been more or less emptied. Subsequent reports put the number of Parisians who ���ocked out to Le Bourget to wait for Lindbergh as high as a million, which was a third of the total population of Paris at that time. Half a million would probably have been closer to the truth, but even that should have created a noticeable void in the streets and caf��s. All Montparnasse seems to have moved to Le Bourget, but I had not yet found Montparnasse. It was therefore in complete ignorance that I strolled into the of���ce at eleven the next morning. ���Where the hell you been?��� Kospoth snarled. ���Get over to the embassy as quick as you can for the press conference.��� ���What press conference?��� I asked. ���Lindbergh���s,��� said Kospoth. ���He made it.��� HYLAND 3