When America Went to the Moon
The cold war inspired it, big bucks backed it and Yankee ingenuity made it happen; 25 years later, the footprints in the lunar dust still inspire awe
Aldrin is nothing if not honest-- "walking pathos" is how the wife of one astronaut puts it. In his 1973 book, "Return to Earth," he told of his post-mission bouts with depression and alcoholism. "The most difficult challenge I've faced in my life was not when we were about to run out of fuel on the moon," he says. "It was giving up drink." Such outspokenness sometimes backfires--and fellow astronauts often treat him like an outcast. Today, Aldrin, 64, supplements his pension with product endorsements. He is also co-writing a science-fiction book to popularize his notions about commercializing space. If America doesn't do it, others will, Aldrin warns: "The Chinese could celebrate the 50th anniversary of the founding of the People's Republic by putting a man on the moon. It's plausible."
ALAN BEAN APOLLO 12, 1969 When Alan Bean looks at Norman Rockwell's painting of Neil Armstrong's first step on the moon, something--he can't put his finger on it--seems off. To Bean, Rockwell's lack of firsthand experience shows. As the fourth man to walk on the moon, Apollo 12 lunar-module pilot Bean has no such shortcoming. "When I painted my first painting of space, I realized that I knew everything about it--like the way that a spacesuit wrinkle looks in the sun," says Bean, an accomplished painter of moonscapes. "I have a love for my subject that I wouldn't have if my subject were horses."
Mastery of a brush was certainly not part of the macho test pilot image immortalized by Tom Wolfe in "The Right Stuff." But Bean took painting classes while he trained to be a test pilot--and he secretly dreamed of someday becoming a great artist. Since retiring from NASA in 1981, Bean has devoted himself to painting, but it was not until about a year ago that he achieved the same confidence in himself as an artist that he once had as an astronaut. "You reach a point where you know what's really important in a painting," says the 62-year-old, whose works fetch as much as $60,000 today. "It took me seven years to become a skilled astronaut and 13 years to become a skilled artist."
ALAN SHEPARD JR. APOLLO 14, 1971 Every moonwalker wanted to be first at something. Apart from Neil Armstrong's very first step on lunar soil, none of Project Apollo's other historic firsts may be as memorable as Alan Shepard's one-handed golf shot with a makeshift six-iron. The commander of Apollo 14 says he got the idea watching a nervous Bob Hope try to steady himself with a golf club in a zero-gravity simulator. To critics, however, the extraterrestrial golf shot symbolized the frivolity of spending $25 billion to send men to the moon. Shepard's response: "I paid for the club head and golf balls, so there was no expense to taxpayers."
Shepard's place in history was secure before he ever swung a club on the moon. His 15-minute flight aboard Freedom 7 in 1961 earned him the distinction of being the first American in space. But landing on the moon was a more personal triumph. Shepard had been grounded by an inner-ear disorder for six years until an inch-long drainage tube inserted behind his left ear got him back in action. So standing on the surface of the moon, Shepard looked long and hard at faraway Earth. And suddenly, the hard-nosed fighter pilot known as the Ice Commander wept. Today, the 70-year-old real-estate developer is among the few Apollo moonwalkers as successful in business as he was in space.
advertisement
