The day we aimed at the moon

The day we aimed at the moon

It was 50 years ago, but I remember it all so clearly.

On this day in 1969, three men sat nervously atop a rocket, waiting to make history by becoming the first humans to step onto the surface of the moon.

We all watched the launch, as was customary in those days, and awaited their landing.

They got off safely and we held our collective breath as Apollo 11 sped to the moon.

Finally, the big day arrived, July 20, 1969.

We were going to actually touch down on the moon.

I was working a summer job at a discount department store called Zody’s in Buena Park, California. My job was to unload deliveries, do some landscaping work, or whatever else the store manager — my best friend’s mom — could find for me to do.

I had a crummy little 1962 Rambler that spent more time in the repair shop or up on blocks than on the road, and on the big day, I was without my own transportation.

My dad, God love him, was driving me home after my shift.

Normally, there was some disagreement over which radio station to listen to, but not on this day.

Dad had the radio tuned to a news station as we drove home.

There was very little conversation as we listened intently to the tiny speaker of the radio in Dad’s 1963 Chevy Bel Air.

Astronaut Neil Armstrong gave us the historic news that he and fellow astronaut Buzz Aldrin had landed their craft on the moon.

“Houston, Tranquility Base here. The Eagle has landed,” Armstrong said.

A few hours later, astronaut Aldrin placed it all into perspective.

“I’d like to take this opportunity to ask every person listening in, whoever and wherever they may be, to pause for a moment and contemplate the events of the past few hours and to give thanks in his or her own way,” Aldrin said.

Later that evening, our family was scrunched in front of the television when Armstrong climbed out of the lunar landing module and pronounced: “That’s one small step for [a] man, one giant leap for mankind.”

And so it was.

I remember going outside that night after darkness came to gaze at the sky. I was trying, with great difficulty, to wrap my thoughts around it all as I stared at the moon and realized there were two humans parked there.

I remember feeling very small, very inadequate, totally insignificant.

This was, without question, mankind’s greatest achievement, the fulfillment of a promise made eight years earlier by President John Kennedy that within the decade, the United States would land a man on the moon and return him safely to Earth.

The space race, as it was called, became politicized, of course, as a one-on-one challenge to the Soviet Union to set the standard for scientific achievement.

It was the era of the Cold War, and we went nose-to-nose with the Soviets at every opportunity. We won some, we lost some, but when it came to the big game? We smoked ’em when Armstrong and Aldrin touched down on the lunar surface.

There was great national pride and Armstrong, Aldrin, and Michael Collins, the third member of the Apollo 11 crew who remained in the command module that orbited the moon, were heroes.

They had just spent eight days in space, basically confined to an area about the size of the interior of a Volkswagen Beetle.

For all the tests, all the safeguards, there was still an incredible danger that surrounded the event, so much so that a speech was prepared for President Richard Nixon to deliver in the event of a catastrophic event that would have launched the nation into mourning.

And there were glitches and equipment failures on the journey.

But the world breathed a sigh of relief days later when the three astronauts returned from space and were retrieved from the ocean about 210 nautical miles from Johnston Atoll and delivered to the deck of the USS Hornet.

After three weeks in isolation, they were honored with tickertape parades, guests in 22 foreign countries, awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom, and the subjects of countless newspaper, magazine, radio, and television stories.

Sadly, in a few short years, it was done.

Nobody, save for the scientific community, could really come up with a good enough reason to return to the lunar surface. We didn’t find a wealth of minerals up there to exploit, and even if we did, it would probably be cost prohibitive.

We really weren’t in a position to colonize it for any reason.

At only a quarter-million miles away, it wouldn’t make for much of a jump-off point for interplanetary travel, which we really don’t seem to be terribly interested in, anyway. While there is the occasional talk about exploratory missions beyond the moon, none have gained much traction.

Our connection to the final frontier is attached to the International Space Station, where experiments and technological advancements have benefited not only astronauts but those of us grounded here on Earth. Think laser technologies, ultrasound advancements, and medical discoveries.

Yes, it is expensive, but there is merit in leaving Earth’s pull.

Even so, it has all become rather mundane these days. Do you remember, for example, the last time we launched a crew into space? I’m betting no.

Of course, there’s nothing sexy about sitting in front of a bunch of laboratory beakers and certainly there’s nothing as bold as the courage of these original space pioneers.

Man’s landing on the moon also, even if just for a moment, brought a bitterly divided nation together.

We were in the throes of a disputed war, thousands of our sons being killed in a jungle few could pick out on a map, for reasons vague at best.

There were protests in our streets, households divided, politics stirred by the insanity of an immoral, corrupt war led by immoral, corrupt leaders and generals who profited from the bloodshed.

But for eight days during the dog days of that hot, fetid summer, we had singular focus and sat wide-eyed as three brave men ventured into the heavens to touch the face of the moon.

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