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It was a beautiful Sabbath morning in Bluewater, New Mexico in the summer of 1928. In the summertime, Sunday School classes were sometimes held outside the chapel. During the lesson we heard a plane and soon we saw it getting closer and lower, then it circled the town and started cutting its motor. Soon it had disappeared behind the foothills west of town.

Our Sunday School teacher, Christian Knudsen, became so excited he forgot he was teaching a class and shouted: “That plane has landed.” He ran for his car, which was a 1928 Roadster. Guess what? That class of boys and girls weren’t long in following, and as he peeled away from the church we were hanging all over his car. He headed for the place where the plane was last seen. There we soon spotted it on the ground, which was a flat, smooth area just west of the old Tom McNeill place; a pretty good location where rodeos and races were held.

The class became real excited, especially the boys, for a plane was still a new and rare sight. Two men with the plane were swarmed with kids looking and asking questions.

I was more interested in the pilot than the airplane. I remarked to my friend: “That’s Charles Lindbergh.” “Oh no, it couldn’t be,” she said. Well, it looked like him to me, but he was not too friendly.

In a short time the men climbed in their plane and turning it around, revved up the motor. My! How the thick dirt and small pebbles blew into our faces and legs, stinging and covering us with dust. It took some wiping our eyes to be able to see. By now the plane was at the end of the race track and lifting its nose it began climbing into the sky. We gazed at the plane as long as it could be seen. To be so close to a plane was so thrilling. We learned later that we really had been talking with the famous aviator Charles A. Lindbergh. But, the reason for his stop was to find a restroom — so he wasn’t too happy with our grand welcoming party of kids.