MUSCODA - Most folks my age probably have recollections of studying about Charles Lindbergh. He was famous for being the first person to fly an airplane from New York to Paris, alone and non-stop.

He did that in 1927 in a single engine airplane he named “The Spirit of St. Louis.”

That was exciting stuff during my early school days before television. In addition to studying about him, it seems as though I may have seen a movie (or newsreel) about that flight as it was shown on a piece of white plaster on the outside wall of Ernie’s General Store on a summer Tuesday free-show night.

Whether it was in books or on a make-shift screen, we were brought up thinking the young flyer was a hero.

Things sometimes change over time. A recent issue of the Wisconsin State Journal newspaper contained a story about Lindbergh and how a number of organizations and individuals in that city think Lindbergh School in Madison should be renamed because of things the flyer said during the approach to and during World War II.

The story noted that his hometown was Little Falls, Minnesota. That community removed his name, once proudly displayed on their water tower.

Lindbergh was a student at the University of Wisconsin, although he did not graduate. However, according to the newspaper story, he once flew an airplane in a circle around the Capital dome three times and low over Camp Randall where a crowd had gathered.

Lindy also had a connection to this area. He is part of the “Dr. Bertha E. Reynolds Story” that is related in the Avoca centennial book that was published in 1970. Dr Bertha practiced medicine in Lone Rock and area for more than 40 years.

The story in the book notes: “The doctor made her rounds through the area, riding horses sidesaddle, horse and buggy, automobile and airplane. In the winter when the river was frozen over she would often drive across the ice to save time getting to sick calls in Avoca.”

Dr Berta also told that in the spring of 1923 the Wisconsin River was on a rampage. She received an emergency call from Clyde. As she stepped from her office another call came through from Plain.

The roads were impassable and trying to cross the river in a boat would have been foolhardy. However, there was an airplane in town. A barnstorming pilot had flown into Lone Rock the day before. Dr. Reynolds sent someone ahead to make arrangements with the pilot. She then walked to the edge of town where the plane was parked.

As the pilot helped her get into the cockpit she  asked: “What’s your name, young man? “Charles Lindberg,” the pilot replied.

“Well Charles, I’m in a hurry – so let’s be off!” They flew to Clyde, landing in a farmer’s field. While the doctor tended to the patient, Lindbergh kept the plane’s engine revved up, ready to take off at a moment’s notice. They finished there and flew to Plain where Dr. Bertha treated another emergency case.

While they were attempting to land at Plain the priest at St. Luke’s School detected the plane wanted to land. He went outside and directed Lindbergh where to land. While the doctor treated her patient, Lindbergh gave plane rides to pupils at St. Luke’s.

The centennial book notes: “Both patients were saved because of this plucky combination of pilot and physician,”