The Eagle Has Landed: The Story of Apollo 11 (16 page)

“Thank you, Mr. President. It’s a great honor and privilege for us to be representing not only the United States, but men of peace of all nations, and with interest and curiosity, and a vision for the future. It’s an honor for us to be able to participate today,” Armstrong replied.

In short order, the astronauts resumed their work on the lunar surface, consulting checklists attached to the sleeves of their spacesuits. Using pencils and graph paper, engineers at Mission Control monitored oxygen levels in each astronaut’s PLSS. The life support packs performed flawlessly, and Armstrong and Aldrin were given permission to extend their lunar excursion by a quarter of an hour.

“We’ve been looking at your consumables—we’d like to extend the duration of the EVA one-five minutes from nominal,” Cap Com radioed.

At one point, Aldrin paused briefly to study his home planet in the distant horizon: “I looked high above the dome of the LM. Earth hung in the black sky, a disk cut in half by the day-night terminator. It was mostly blue, with swirling white clouds, and I could make out a brown land mass—North Africa and the Middle East.”

Sixty miles above the lunar surface, Michael Collins was perhaps the loneliest man in the universe. Forty-eight minutes out of every two hours, the CSM traveled to the
dark side
of the Moon, which placed Collins outside of radio contact with Mission Control and his crewmates below.

“I knew I was alone in a way that no Earthling has ever been before,” Collins remembered.

When Collins passed over the
Sea of Tranquility,
he used his sextant, a lunar area map (LAM-20) and check-off grids to try and locate the
Eagle.
Neither Collins nor Mission Control knew the exact coordinates of the revised landing site, and the command module pilot was unable to pinpoint the location of his crewmates on the surface.

Prior to the historic lunar mission, NASA’s Chief of Photography, Richard Underwood, stressed to Armstrong and Aldrin the importance of quality photography: “The key to immortality is solely in the quality of your photographs. If your photographs are great— they’ll live forever. If someone really wants to know you went, they’ll see your pictures.” Underwood taught the astronauts how to “shoot from the hip” with their
Hasselblad
still cameras, explaining the impracticality of using the view finders while wearing bulky spacesuits and helmets with darkened visors. Prior to the
Apollo 11
launch, both astronauts practiced zero-gravity photography inside a parabola-flying
KC-135
aircraft.

The
Apollo 11
crew carried with them three separate 70-millimeter
Hasselblad
super wide-angle cameras. Armstrong and Aldrin each utilized a camera while on the lunar surface, while a third
Hasselblad
remained in the CSM with Collins.

Perhaps the most unforgettable still shot was taken by Neil Armstrong. In this photograph, both Armstrong and the lunar module can be seen in the reflection from Aldrin’s visor. When asked later about the historic photograph, Aldrin jokingly replied: “I have only three words—location, location, location!”

Another timeless picture featured Aldrin saluting an American flag the astronauts had mounted on the lunar surface. The flag, three by five feet, was attached to a pole, eight-feet-long, with a horizontal wire to hold it in place—the bent wire created the illusion of the flag waving in the windless atmosphere. Armstrong and Aldrin worked hard to set up this photo opportunity, but the absence of air or moisture in the lunar soil made it difficult for the astronauts to firmly insert the hollow flagpole into the Moon’s surface.

Of the roughly 100 color photographs taken on the surface of the Moon, only five featured Neil Armstrong. While focusing on other areas, Aldrin rarely captured his crewmate in the camera lens. While some of Aldrin’s critics have suggested his actions were deliberate pay back for not being chosen as the first man to walk on the Moon, the
Apollo 11
commander was nonplussed: “We didn’t spend any time worrying about who took what pictures…I have always said that Buzz was the far more photogenic of the crew.” Aldrin offered a simpler, non-inister explanation— Armstrong had the lone spacesuit camera mount, so it was logical for him (Armstrong) to shoot the majority of the lunar surface photographs.

In addition to the black and white television camera mounted on the base of the lunar module, which had captured Neil Armstrong’s first steps, the astronauts also employed a color cam-era during their lunar excursion; both television cameras were manufactured by
Westinghouse.
The second camera, resting on a tripod, provided a panoramic view of the area surrounding the lunar module.

In order for television viewers to witness the live broadcast, the cameras on the Moon had to relay images to three giant antennae on Earth, located in Australia, Spain, and Nevada. The receiving stations sent the lunar images, via satellite, to Mission Control in Houston, where they were then relayed to the three major television networks in New York City, and subsequently transmitted to television sets around the world. This nearly instantaneous, yet laborious technological feat required the coordinated efforts of thousands of technicians all over the world.

Based on the rotational alignment of the Earth and Moon on that particular night, the Parkes radio telescope in Australia was positioned to receive the clearest signal. Located in the middle of a pasture surrounded by grazing sheep, the Parkes antennae broadcast the majority of the 2.5-hour lunar excursion, amidst a fierce storm, complicated by wind gusts of up to 70 miles per hour. The brave men and women who worked at the receiving station risked their lives by standing on top, inside, and below the giant satellite dish, which could have easily collapsed during the violent squalls.

Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin left a lasting imprint on the lunar surface. On the landing gear of the
Eagle,
which would remain on the Moon after the lunar module ascended, the astronauts unveiled a plaque: “Here men came from the planet Earth first set foot on the Moon. July 1969, A.D. We came in peace for all mankind.” The marker was signed by all three
Apollo 11
astronauts and President Nixon. In addition, a bag was left on the lunar surface containing a variety of objects: a gold replica of an olive branch, signifying peace; a silicone disc, containing goodwill messages from Presidents Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson, and Nixon, as well as 73 other world leaders; an
Apollo 1
patch, honoring deceased astronauts, Gus Grissom, Ed White, and Roger Chafee; a roster of the existing congressional leadership; a compilation of the members of the four House and Senate Committees responsible for NASA legislation; a list of the present and past NASA management leaders; and Soviet medals honoring deceased cosmonauts, Vladimir Komarov and Yuri Gagarin.

Armstrong and Aldrin were allowed to transport personal items to the Moon and back. Armstrong carried a number of
Apollo 11
cloth patches, gold olive branch pins for his wife and mother, and his Purdue University college fraternity pin. Aldrin brought with him several pieces of jewelry for his wife and other family members, in addition to the vial and chalice used during his lunar Communion.

Near the conclusion of their lunar excursion, Armstrong and Aldrin loaded 48 pounds of Moon rock and soil aboard the lunar module. The lunar equipment conveyor, a pulley-type device, was used to hoist the vacuum-sealed, flameproof, metal boxes containing the precious geological samples into the LM.

Two hours and 19 minutes after he stepped on the surface of the Moon, Buzz Aldrin was the first to re-enter the lunar module, followed 33 minutes later by Armstrong. That same day,
Luna 15
crashed into the lunar surface, ending the Soviet Union’s quest to retrieve Moon rocks and soil samples and return to Earth ahead of
Apollo 11.

The Space Race was officially over.

.

CHAPTER 13

Hot diggety dog!

A
fter their history-making walk on the Moon, Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin undertook a series of housekeeping chores before closing the lunar module’s hatch. To lessen the
Eagle’s
weight and conserve space, several items of “trash” were dumped on the lunar surface, including the astronaut’s portable life system backpacks and boots, both
Hasselblad
cameras, empty food packets, and urine/fecal containment bags.

After securing the hatch and re-establishing suitable cabin pressure, the astronauts were able to take off their dusty space suits. In zero gravity, small grains of lunar soil floated throughout the cabin. Armstrong thought the Moon dust smelled like “wet ashes,” while Aldrin likened the odor to “gunpowder or the smell in the air after a firecracker has gone off.”

Before discarding their cameras, the astronauts took memorable photographs of each other wearing their nylon jumpsuits and
Snoopy caps
(cloth head covers with built in radio headphones). For the briefest of moments, Armstrong’s innate stoicism gave way to a boyish grin.

After a meal of cocktail sausages and fruit punch, the astronauts were scheduled for a rest period. In the tight quarters, Aldrin was forced to sleep on the cockpit floor, while Armstrong settled atop the ascent engine’s 30-inch, circular cover, held in place by a sling.

As a precaution against excessive exposure to drifting particles of Moon dust, the astronauts were instructed to wear their bulky helmets and gloves while sleeping. The chilly temperature (61 degrees F), noisy glycol and water pumps, and bright light creeping through the cockpit window and sextant made sleep difficult. Not surprisingly, both men remained in a heightened state of excitement, contributing to what Aldrin remembered as a “fitful state of drowsiness.”

After seven hours of restless sleep and a quick breakfast, the astronauts began preparing the lunar module for departure. The lunar ascent was fraught with peril—if the engine failed, Armstrong and Aldrin had only a 24-hour supply of life-sustaining oxygen. Once again forced to cast fear aside, the astronauts used the lunar module’s telescope to sight stars and calculate the appropriate alignment for lunar ascent.

Orbiting high above the lunar surface, Michael Collins started his day early. Prior to docking and rendezvous with
Eagle,
the command module pilot had a checklist of chores, including 850 separate computer keystrokes. Likening his emotional state to that of a “nervous bride,” Collins’ worst fears would be realized if the lunar ascent failed—he would be forced to leave his doomed crewmates on the Moon.

Compared to most other technological aspects of the
Apollo 11
mission, the lunar module’s lunar ascent engine was rather simple in design. Manufactured by
Rocketdyne
and
Bell Aerosystems,
the engine had only four moving parts, but was capable of generating 3,500 pounds of thrust, and could accelerate from zero to 3,000 miles per hour within two minutes. When the engine rockets fired, a guillotine would separate the LM into two separate pieces. The upper, ascent stage would blast into orbit, while the lower section would remain on the Moon permanently.

Prior to their lunar lift-off, the astronauts encountered a serious problem. The night before, while preparing for his forthcoming Moon walk, Aldrin’s bulky PLSS had inadvertently broken the circuit breaker responsible for firing the LM’s ascent engine. A resourceful Aldrin was forced to improvise, using a felt tip pen as substitute starter switch.

“I don’t suppose we’ve been this nervous since back in the early days of Mercury,” Walter Cronkite reminded his captive television audience.

At 12:55 p.m., Mission Control radioed the astronauts: “Roger,
Eagle.
You’re clear for takeoff.”

“Roger. Understand we’re number one on the runway,” Armstrong quipped.

As NASA flight controllers head their breath, yet again, Buzz Aldrin’s jury-rigged switch successfully activated the ascent engine, and
Eagle
blasted away from the
Sea of Tranquility,
completing a 21-hour, 37-minute visit to the Moon. During lift-off, Aldrin noted, much to his chagrin, the flag pole bearing the Stars and Stripes, which had been precariously mounted on the lunar surface, toppled over.

“Very smooth, a very quiet ride,” Aldrin notified Mission Control, as the lunar module raced skyward at the rate of 30 feet per second.

Unlike the descent phase, when the astronauts were preoccupied with locating a landing site, they were now able to enjoy the view, identifying specific topographical landmarks.

In the event the LM was unable to dock with the CSM, Aldrin and Armstrong would have to exit the lunar module and space walk to the mother ship, where Collins would open the capsule hatch and let them inside. With his many and varied experiences, Neil Armstrong had never actually attempted a spacewalk.

It took 3 hours and 40 minutes for
Eagle
to establish orbital docking alignment with
Columbia,
69 miles above the lunar surface. At 4:38 p.m., Armstrong and Collins piloted their respective spacecraft into position, and successfully executed the exacting docking maneuver. For the next two hours, Armstrong and Aldrin remained in the lunar module, disabling its systems.

When Michael Collins finally opened the tunnel hatch, he was both elated and relieved to eyeball his fellow astronauts. Grasping Aldrin’s temple, the command module pilot was tempted to kiss his crewmate’s balding forehead, but instead, settled for firm handshakes with both men.

After transferring the lunar rock samples and other equipment from the LM into the CSM, the
Apollo 11
crew used a special vacuum cleaner to remove lunar dust particles that had drifted inside
Columbia
through the open passageway.

At 6:42 p.m.,
Eagle
was jettisoned into lunar orbit, where it would remain for several months, before crashing onto the Moon’s surface. Collins, delighted to have his crewmates back safe and sound, was grateful to see the lunar module drift away, but intuitively sensed the moods of his travel companions: “Neil and Buzz, on the other hand, seemed genuinely sad—old ‘Eagle’ had served them well and deserved a formal, or at least, a dignified burial.”