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
For the astronauts of the last couple of moonshots, fame was fleeting. But it was enough to help Schmitt get elected as a Republican to the U.S. Senate from New Mexico in 1976-- and he put his training to good use as chairman of the subcommittee on space. But during his re-election bid, Schmitt's opponent turned his status as a former astronaut against him, asking: "What on Earth has he done for us?" Schmitt lost.
Asked if his time in Washington was well spent, Schmitt recalls a cartoon of him dressed in his spacesuit orbiting the Capitol dome. The caption said: "I looked for intelligent life and found none." Today, Schmitt, 59, is an Albuquerque-based business consultant. Driving around in a beat-up pickup truck, he is proof that NASA did not pay its astronauts a million dollars each to go to the moon. "I fully intend to write a book," he says, "but I have to pay the mortgage."
EUGENE CERNAN APOLLO 17, 1972 Eugene Cernan traced his daughter's initials--TDC--in lunar dust, closed the hatch on his lunar module and, just prior to liftoff, blurted, "Let's get this mother out of here." Cernan could never have guessed that 22 years later, his would still be the last footprint on the lunar surface--and that his gruff test-pilot slang would be the last words uttered on the moon. "I thought by now we'd be to Mars," he grouses. "It's as though Columbus discovered the New World and no one wanted to go back."
For Cernan, the fact that Apollo 17 was the last lunar voyage of the century is especially poignant. As the command module pilot for Apollo 10, Cernan flew within 50,000 feet of the lunar surface but did not land. But when NASA offered him the chance to land on the moon as second-in-command for a later flight, he declined. He wanted a chance to command his own mission. Although NASA canceled future flights, it was not before asking Cernan to skipper the last flight. Today, the 60-year-old Cernan takes time out from his consulting business for frequent public appearances. Watching the D-Day commemorations reinforced his commitment to sharing his experiences. Says Cernan: "It's important that those of us who stormed the beaches of the moon explain what we did."
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