Neil Armstrong walked on the moon fifty-four years ago this month. His life came to an end eleven years ago.
Armstrong’s is a name that has always had a special resonance in all our lives. There were all the qualities of humility and patience in him. Not for him the hauteur of feeling important and letting people know of the larger than life figure he had become after that walk on the moon. Not for him that coveted life in the limelight, to be celebrated as a more than ordinary mortal because his was the first human footmark on the moon. Armstrong died as he lived. He was called to duty. He carried out that duty well and then receded into the background.
‘The Eagle has landed’, he informed the world as the lunar module carrying him and Edwin Aldrin to the lunar body touched soil never before experienced by man. A little while later came what would turn into an immortal statement, ‘That’s one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind.’ It is today immaterial whether the quirks of technology tampered with the article ‘a’ Armstrong said he had used in his statement. What matters now is the memory of that defining moment.
With Armstrong dead, it strikes you as rather intriguing that he was buried on a day when a blue moon sailed across the sky. In a very poetic sense of the meaning, that blue moon was a necessary celebration of the life and times of the first man on the moon. In larger measure, the blue moon and Armstrong’s burial were for those of us who went through our riotous teens in the chaotic 1960s a reminder of the sense of adventure the Apollo 11 astronauts exemplified for every man and woman on earth.
Right from the moment the spacecraft lifted off from Cape Kennedy and till the moment Neil Armstrong and then Edwin Aldrin began to take their walk, rabbit-like, on the surface of the moon before homing back to Earth, we stayed glued to the special radio programme on the lunar landing on the Voice of America. Back where we lived in 1969, television was yet a happening of the future. In hindsight, for many of us this absence of television was a blessing, for nothing can be more educative than learning of life and its attendant prospects and dangers through listening to the radio. The auditory is what keeps your memory going; the visual is a stumbling block to the powers of your imagination.
And so it was that Armstrong’s voice crackled across the distance on that July day in 1969, to remind us, in Tennyson’s words, that we could do much ‘to strive, to seek, to find and not to yield’. Here was the moon, for centuries a centerpiece of human emotions in terms of a formulation of poetry and an expression of the sublimity of love, now territory we had conquered. Which reminds you again, this time of Robert Browning, ‘Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp / Or what’s a heaven for?’
In the 1960s, the Cold War was being fought relentlessly; Vietnam was being napalmed and the world was caught between Mao’s little red book and America’s struggle against communism. Charles de Gaulle, having survived the mass revolt of May 1968, would step down in April 1969. Czechoslovakia, after a brief flirtation with Prague Spring, was back in the grip of Stalinist regimentation. Richard Nixon, campaigning on the theme of ‘Bring Us Together’, narrowly beat Hubert Humphrey in the race for the presidency of the United States in a year that saw assassins take the lives of Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy.
There are flashes of light which often convey brilliance to history as it moves on. Neil Armstrong’s walk on the moon was that light --- certain, eloquent and pregnant with meaning --- back in July 1969. Having flown past the stars on a summer’s day, he went peacefully to meet his Maker.
(The writer is a journalist)
Source: Sun Editorial