Recently we observed the 40th anniversary of the first manned
space walk on the moon. Now I know you’ll have a hard time
believing this because you’re thinking I’m just way too young to
have been around back then, but yes. I witnessed this 1969 event as
it happened, huddling around a clunky mid-’60s model television set
with friends and family. We gazed in wonder at the grainy black and
white broadcast as
”
the most trusted man in America,
”
the late Walter Chronkite, got giddy as a schoolboy delivering
the live video of man on the moon.
Recently we observed the 40th anniversary of the first manned space walk on the moon. Now I know you’ll have a hard time believing this because you’re thinking I’m just way too young to have been around back then, but yes. I witnessed this 1969 event as it happened, huddling around a clunky mid-’60s model television set with friends and family. We gazed in wonder at the grainy black and white broadcast as “the most trusted man in America,” the late Walter Chronkite, got giddy as a schoolboy delivering the live video of man on the moon.
Now I always thought being an astronaut was about the coolest job ever. Astronauts had snappy names such as “Buzz.” So when, fresh out of school, I worked for an aerospace company for the better part of a decade, I got the bug. Of course back then there were no women astronauts and even if there had been, I probably wouldn’t have made the grade since I’m suspecting that going to the moon involved math.
But even if I had been a math person, the first woman in space didn’t leave the earth’s atmosphere until 1983. And wouldn’t you know it – she had a snappy name, too: Sally Ride – as in “Mustang Sally” (“Ride, Sally, Ride”). But I’m guessing the snappy name was a coincidence. I’m also guessing Ms. Ride heard that happenstance ad nauseum. Nevertheless, the first woman and youngest American to fly in space blasted off the launch pad in one super-expensive-high-powered “Mustang:” the Space Shuttle Challenger.
Nonetheless, even minus the math, I’d have been a great astronaut. I could’ve been helpful in decorating the International Space Station, for example. I mean, those folks spend eons up there! They could do with a new color scheme or some showy curtains in the sleeping quarters. I’d have gladly volunteered to whip up cookies to liven things up at mealtime or possibly I’d have maintained the ISS-to-Earth blog. That’s right; my talents have no limits.
Yet I know there would have been a few snags. Let’s face it: space vehicles get pretty crowded. And those space suits? Forget about it! So had I been on one of those voyages, things might have grown a little tense. For example:
Me: The fasteners feel a bit tight on my space suit, Commander Zippy. What do you say I skip the pressurization in this getup today?
Commander Zippy: You know your suit needs to be pressurized, Hammond. Otherwise you’ll blow up like Arnold before he became the Governator.
Me: Geez, Commander. Can this thing look more awful? Who designed it? Goodyear? What about some Italian or French space suit designers for a change?
Commander: Well you’re about half right, Hammond. B.F. Goodrich made pressurized space suits back in 1934.
Me: The tire company? Well! I rest my case.
Commander: As for your European designers, France and Italy designed fully pressurized space suits in the mid-’30s. But trust me. You wouldn’t like those either. Now. Let’s get ready for your space walk at full pressurization.
Me: OK. But does this thing make my butt look big?
So you see what I’d have been up against. Plus have you ever examined the terminology of some of those things at the Space Station? Good grief. I might as well have gone to medical school. Sure, they probably use basic stuff like wrenches, but I’m betting even wrenches have snooty space names.
Commander Zippy: Hammond, I have a little extravehicular activity planned for you today. But do not exit the spacecraft without your fully pressurized puncture-resistant space suit; I’m told there has been an increased incidence of micrometeoroids, and no, there is not a surgery for that so please don’t ask.
Me: I believe I left my wrench in my other space suit, sir.
Commander Zippy: Nevermind, you’ll find a spanner providing mechanical advantage to apply interfacing bolt torque at the space station. Your goal today is to inspect the End Effector of the Remote Manipulator System.
Me (thoughtfully): What?????
Commander Zippy: The robot arm.
Me: Well! Why didn’t you just say so in the first place?
But all space travels must come to an end, and upon re-entry I couldn’t have resisted a little backseat driving:
Me: (displaying vast space vocabulary acumen): Aren’t you going to assume manipulation of the flight control actuator, Commander?
Commander: No, Hammond, the shuttle employs a glider type landing. We’ll begin re-entry flying upside down, backside first. Once we flip back over, we’ll be making a deadstick landing.
Me: OK, Commander; that is just waaaaay too much information.
So although I will undoubtedly never go into space personally, the early space program proved one thing is for sure: men actually DID get where they were going without stopping to ask for directions.
