Twenty years later
July 20th, 1989. For several years now, I’ve been involved with a variety of contract research projects with the Mission Planning and Analysis Division at NASA JSC. This has given me the opportunity to actually meet a lot of the old timers at NASA who, back in the day, were the guys behind the guys in the trenches in Mission Control. I’ve met Jack Garman, who made the call to ignore the alarms and press on with the first moon landing. The guys I work with on my projects remember hacking together solar compasses for use by the Apollo 12 crew during their mission in the fall of 1969. They work in Building 10, the original Mission Control. In these post-Challenger days things are quiet, and on one visit they take me onto the very floor of that room, in the process of being refurbished with new workstations, the old mainframe consoles being torn out and discarded.
It occurs to me that it might be kind of cool to show up for a visit on the 20th anniversary of the first landing. I schedule a meeting at the center for that day, not really knowing what to expect, if anything.
In the middle of the afternoon, one of our sponsors, Bob Savely, asks me if I’d like to stick around later. They’re having a celebration at the Bob Gilruth Recreation Center, and I’m welcome to join them, if I’d like.
So in a bit, Bob and I and another old-timer pile into Bob’s station wagon, drive off the center grounds across NASA Route 1 to a beer distributor, buy a case of Lone Star, and drive back onto the center grounds, driving around sucking down long necks and passing the time until the party starts.
Eventually, we park next to the Gilruth Center and pile out of the car. Everyone is pouring into the surrounding area. There are kegs and kegs of beer, a swing band is playing, and a ton of people are welcoming each other and having a grand old time. I see Air Force tankers in the sky, making low passes and waggling wings in salute.
Bob takes me aside and says that he’d like to introduce me to some people. Two men in suits are working the crowd of NASA lifers, and Bob steers me to meet them as they come by.
“Brad,” he says, “I’d like you to meet my friend Neil.” I shake hands with the first man on the moon, completely at a loss for any other words than to say “hi” and “congratulations.” Next up is Buzz. As Buzz moves on, I overhear a couple of women saying that he looks better, that he’s clearly dried out a bit.
Bob then steers me over to a more causally-attired man in sweater and slacks. “Brad, this is my friend Gene,” and I shake the hand of the man who, twenty years before, had ordered the doors of Mission Control bolted shut and delivered the greatest pre-game pep talk in history, unfortunately unrecorded, but which from his memory went something like this:
Okay, all flight controllers, listen up.
Today is our day, and the hopes and the dreams of the entire world are with us. This is our time and our place, and we will remember this day and what we will do here always.
In the next hour we will do something that has never been done before. We will land an American on the Moon. The risks are high… that is the nature of our work.
We worked long hours and had some tough times but we have mastered our work, Now we are going to make this work pay off.
You are a hell of a good team. One that I feel privileged to lead. Whatever happens, I will stand behind every call you make.
Good luck and God bless us today!
By this time the band is cranking it up, people are dancing, it’s just a big office party with people who’ve been working government jobs and dealing with contractors and putting up with politics and bureaucracy, but every so often, making progress on building a bridge to the stars.
It was the best business trip of my life.
