Saturday Morning, January 14, 2023
Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind. July 20, 1969. Apollo 11. The Eagle has landed. Unthinkable. Unfathomable. The first human, Neil Armstrong, spoke these words as he stepped onto the surface of the moon. For those who shared this moment, we will never forget the absolute amazement, the hair-raising excitement.
Apollo 17 mission crew autographed photo: Harrison H. Schmitt, Ronald E. Evans, & Eugene Cernan. This the eleventh manned mission and final adventure for Apollo.
Live black and white television coverage played out before us. Images broadcasting from the space capsule only heightened our uninterrupted interest. The Apollo space program had already lost three astronauts in an earth-based fiery accident during training. Emotions ran high. These were pioneer steps. Unlike Christopher Columbus who stopped at the Canary Islands for repairs, there would be no safety net here. Nothing but black void. Just one mistake, one mishap.
NASA lenticular image of global weather in motion. This form of artistry is best recognized by baby boomers for the album cover of the Rolling Stones's Satanic Majestie's Request.
The voyagers sped along at 25,000 miles per hour on their 235,000 mile trip to the moon. Thousands of mathematicians and scientists had joined the quest at the challenge of President John F. Kennedy. He had set a goal to walk on the moon before the end of the decade and the nation responded. Beginning with the Mercury program, the first step into space completed a successful orbit around the earth. John Glenn, the astronaut chosen, circled our planet three times in his capsule he named Friendship 7. The name was based on the original seven astronauts selected by NASA in 1958 for the fledgling program.
Flip books simulating the liftoff of the lunar module on the moon.
These were thrilling times. The reality of the program commitment was exhilarating, the brutality of the 1960's overwhelming. The public execution of President Kennedy, the agony of losing Martin Luther King, Jr. and Bobby Kennedy to assassins' bullets. The Vietnam War. The space programs gave a nation hope. These were heady times. This week you will meet a scientist who was immersed in the Apollo program. He leaves an ephemeral treasure trove. His involvement was with Apollo 14, 15, 16, and 17, the final flight. What we are beginning to see in our gallery is this generation of space exploration participants. They reach us through attrition, a consequence of time and mortality. It will be interesting to discover this page in history and, for many, rekindle the long extinguished flame of those Saturn V rockets.
Fly Me to the Moon
Seven months prior to the moon walk, on December 22, 1968, Apollo 8 launched on her planned flyby trip to the moon. It was experimental. With odds dangerously high, the goal appeared simple. To complete the loop and return to earth safely. Plagued with engine problems, even sickness, the three astronauts started broadcasting from their capsule two days into the flight. It was spell-binding. There they were before us, floating in a weightless environment. Smiling. Wishing us Christmas cheer, their expressions discounting the danger they faced.
Selection of slides include commercial and personal. As team leader for his fellow RCA scientists, our gentleman was invited to launch ceremonies in Florida. Invitation illustrated below. ↓
Now, 100,000 miles from home, their capsule entered the gravitational pull of the moon. The goal was to orbit the moon ten times. Decleration to maintain orbit speed 70 miles above the surface needed to be completed on the dark side of the moon, beyond direct communication with earth. It was a long 36 minutes. Space control waited, knowing the risk in engine failure was a real possibility. In essence, the spacecraft was turned so the rocket engine was in front. With a four minute blast of engine power, the capsule would reduce to the necessary speed. Mission control waited, broadcasting. Apollo 8, do you read me? Only space silence answered. Apollo 8, do you read me? Crackle. Sizzle. Space frequency. Then, oh so faintly, those prayed for words were heard. This is Apollo 8. The entire room of scientists in space control exploded into cheers, whistles, and clapping. The pioneers were now fixed in orbit at the proper altitude and speed. Safe.
As the lunar landscape passed below them, we, back on earth, also witnessed this spectacle. What we had studied, even worshiped for millennium, now appeared as no more than a World War I no-man's-land. The man-in-the-moon nothing but holes and shadows. Sobering though it was, nothing could prepare the astronauts for the next show. As they sped along, there, up ahead, rising above the horizon, was the earth ascending. The astronauts were spellbound, all experiments now halted. In the vast darkness of space hung a blue ball draped with white clouds. Earth. Home. All we humans had known, all we had experienced was here, locked on this unique orb. Feelings and emotions washed over all of us. Life in perspective. Still, the three astronauts had one more surprise for us.
Matchbook memories.
An unusual and wonderful souvenir in fitted case.
December 24, 1968. Christmas eve. Dinner time. There would be millions of cold meals served that night. There, in our living rooms and kitchens, from the safety of earth, we watched the lunar spectacle pass before us. Then, in a presentation so perfect, the world stopped.
RCA's contribution to Apollo.
Inside is a signed photograph containing many of the scientists assigned and involved in this project.
From the space capsule we listened to words spoken by each astronaut. William Anders. James Lovell. Frank Borman. In their own voices, they took turns reading from Genesis...In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth. The total impact of these words crescendoed with...then God said let there be light...and God divided the light from the darkness. Far beyond the space module, beyond the sunlite landscape, we gazed into that darkness. Stark. Raw. Nothingness. The words themselves rose from the pages of the Bible. This was existence itself. Families, assembled across the United States for the celebration of Jesus Christ's birth, experienced epiphany, captured by the moon gravity of the moment. A silent night indeed. Here was a reverence we never knew. The message delivered flawlessly. For one fleeting baptismal moment, we realized our own humanity. We understood our fragility and gift of life given to us in a vast black, dark universe. Frank Borman, in his celebration back on earth said a favorite telegram he received stated the achievement best. The words read...Thanks for saving 1968. And thanks indeed for defining our cocoon so well.
Safe and secure. At least for today, our moment in time.
Doors open at 8 AM. Auction starts at 9 AM. PA AU 1265L [bb]