Fort McClellan, Alabama

       On the morning of Wednesday July 16, 1969, the Apollo 11 Mission lifted off from the Kennedy Space Center.  This was the mission the nation had been awaiting most of all because it was to be the first to land men on the Moon, thus fulfilling the goal JFK announced in 1961 of accomplishing that incredible feat by the end of the decade.  It felt good for America to be doing something we could be proud of again but there was also a high level of tension because of concern for the safety of the astronauts.  I watched what I could for the next three days on various TVs around Fort McClellan, Alabama, where I was stationed for advanced infantry training in preparation for assignment in Vietnam.

Sunday the 20^th was to be the day for the landing and walk on the Moon so I went up to my old favorite haunt, the Hilltop Service Club, hoping to see some of it on TV.  The drama was continuing a quarter of a million miles away as the lunar module undocked from the command module and Neil Armstrong announced “The Eagle has wings.”  Tension was high as the intrepid duo of Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin maneuvered the craft toward the surface while a gauge, later found to be inaccurate, showed fuel needed for the return flight to the command module running desperately low.  The suspense intensified as Armstrong reported that the designated landing site was too rocky.  The seasoned test pilot switched to manual controls and altered the module’s course toward an open expanse of the gray lunar sand.  Finally his static-filled message ushered in a new chapter in the history of human exploration: “Houston, Tranquility Base here.  The Eagle has landed.”  The module had touched down safely in the Sea of Tranquility.  

 At home I would have been glued to the TV set watching all of this drama, and I did manage to see most of it on live TV either at the club or back in the barracks where a venerable old portable set was brought in for this unique event. The two astronauts spent two and one half hours walking and running on the Moon and the way they jumped and bounced around in the reduced gravity even while wearing their heavy spacesuits was unforgettable.  They placed scientific measuring devices, collected core samples, and planted the iconic American flag stiffened with wire to make it appear to be waving.  They also left a plaque signed by Nixon and the three astronauts with an inscription that concluded “we came in peace for all mankind.”  Only hours after the Eagle blasted off to rejoin Columbia for the journey back home to Earth, the USSR’s unmanned exploratory craft, Luna 15, crash-landed on the surface of the Moon, adding a decisive exclamation point to America’s technological victory over our chief rival for world domination.

After all the science fiction and space movies I had absorbed as a kid there was a powerful sense of the surreal about this type of adventure actually happening.  The war touched everything in those troubled days, however, and I also experienced an overwhelming feeling of poignancy about this crowning achievement coming in the midst of America’s greatest debacle.  It was the best of times, it was the worst of times; and there were few days without a high level of emotional intensity, nearly as addictive as it was distressing, exacerbated by an almost unbearable need to know what hints of our uncertain future prospects the next day would bring.

A postscript to this unforgettable event is that five months later in December, 1969, I saw Neil Armstrong during his appearance with the Bob Hope Christmas USO Show at Lai Khe in the Republic of Vietnam, where I was assigned to the Adjutant General's Office of the 1st Infantry Division.  For me, as for so many others, 1969 was truly a year like no other.