That said, much of what happens here is pure fiction. I took all the known disparate details, from the dogs on board to the mail drop over Cologne, and wove them together in a way that made sense to me. I claim to have no special knowledge. I simply wanted to find a good story and then tell it in a way that would bring these people and their journey to life for you. And in so doing I am deeply aware that I have written about people who really lived. I have assumed things about them. I have put words in their mouths. I have made them do things—sometimes noble and sometimes despicable—that they likely never did in real life. That is the risk I took, and it is sobering to say the least. I know from experience how the loved ones of real people may read a fictionalized account of an event and then feel compelled to contact the writer. So I did my best to be honest and honorable on these pages.
In some instances dialogue and phrases were taken directly from written accounts and interviews of Hindenburg survivors. A few examples include the incident with Joseph Sp?h and his arrival at the airfield, both the ruckus he caused and the soldier’s examination of his daughter’s doll. Leonhard Adelt said the ship was “a gray object in a gray mist, over an invisible sea.” I took the liberty of using his words in a scene with Emilie Imhof. The near crash off the coast of Newfoundland actually occurred during a flight to Lakehurst in 1936. Gertrud’s trouble with the customs officer in Frankfurt was an event that in reality happened to Margaret Mather. Werner Franz’s dramatic escape from the airship—although seemingly unbelievable—unfolded exactly as written here and has been described in numerous places over the years. In the end I wanted the passengers’ thoughts and words and experiences to permeate this novel. It is about them, after all, and to portray this flight as they saw it was important to me. Again, my primary sources of research—in particular Hindenburg: An Illustrated History and www.facesofthehindenburg.blogspot.com—helped tremendously in my search for specific details of their experiences, escapes, and tragic deaths.
It bears repeating that this book is fiction. But it is my fiction, and I am desperately proud of this story. I hope you come to love this book the way I do. And I hope you remember these men and women. Because they deserve to be remembered.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
“?‘Thank you’ is the best prayer anyone could say.”
—Alice Walker
Thank you. Simple words, really, but so hard to get right. Especially for someone who trades in words for a living. But I will do my best and I ask that you bear with me for a moment while I extol those who helped make this book a reality.
Literary agents don’t come better than Elisabeth Weed. She is brilliant. Kind. Patient. Funny. And she never makes me feel stupid when I call her with stupid questions. I have worked with her for almost four years and can’t imagine navigating the choppy waters of publishing without her. She has been a friend and life preserver and a constant encouragement. Her assistant, Dana Murphy, is lovely and helpful and I’d steal her away in a skinny minute. Jenny Meyer handles foreign rights and I suspect she moonlights as a superhero. Thank you.
My amazing editor, Melissa Danaczko, is a godsend. Sometimes I think we have the same brain because there’s no other way to explain how she gets me and my stories and my random, guarded writing process. She knows when to give me free rein and when to rein me in. I’ve never met another person who can wield a red pen with such wisdom and precision. I mean it quite sincerely when I say that this book would not exist without her. If not for her redirection, I would have gone with another idea and Flight of Dreams would have never been. Thank you.
Blake Leyers is my first reader and early editor. And for this I apologize because she sees my stories when they bear a greater resemblance to steaming piles of manure than soon-to-be books. Yet she never fails to tell me what I’ve done right and help me see what I’ve done wrong. She was to this novel what guardrails are to a careening vehicle. I’m so grateful she kept it from flying off the edge. Thank you.
Marybeth Whalen is the sort of friend every woman should have. She came into my life seven years ago and made it better with her wit and loyalty and dogged encouragement. She invited me to join her on a wild experiment called She Reads, and I don’t think either of us will ever be the same—nor would we want to be. She celebrates with me. She listens to me bleat. And she texts me ten times a day with things that either make me laugh or cry. Some of them I can’t repeat in public. Thank you.
JT Ellison and Paige Crutcher have been two of the best things about moving back to Nashville. I never expected new friends. Yet these two burst into my world with their laughter and queso and f-bombs, and my life is all the richer for it. I’m so grateful for our lunch dates and yoga sessions and story dissection. I couldn’t do this without you. Thank you.