One small step, 55 years ago...

One giant leap for mankind, for a day.

The original 1962 design of the Lunar Excursion Module.

As the Lunar Excursion Module (LEM), the peak achievement of human technology, descended to the lunar surface on July 20, 1969, my family owned and drove an orange and white Plymouth with fins.

The Fury even had a civil defense symbol on the radio, along with push button transmission.

On board the LEM, the computer was barely more sophisticated than that AM radio.

Their computer displayed nouns and verbs. It was as close to a Plymouth Fury as we have in the computer world today. There was more computing power in a Commodore 64 than there was on the LEM, a contraption originally conceived of by Grumman engineers in 1962.

The original thinking prior to 1962 was that the moon landing would be accomplished by a single vehicle. In 2024, that’s how it’s going to work…theoretically. One of the Grumman engineers, Thomas J. Kelly, came up with the multipart idea in 1962, decided that wasn’t technologically possible, yet, so he and his team ultimately came up with a vehicle that was no more than a flying pup tent, metal foil only millimeters thin.

Thomas J. Kelly, the Grumman engineer who came up with the idea for the LEM in 1962.

This astoundingly simple wooden model for the LEM. Yes, those are paper clips.

I won’t get too bogged down in elaborate technical details here. Dammit, Jim, I’m a columnist and editorial cartoonist, not an aeronautical engineer.

Oh, and a nerd.

Surprise.

I’ve watched this CBS News video of the moon landing a hundred times (prevarication: more) at least, and it still never fails to move me, leaving me with a sense of childhood optimism and joy. Whenever I feel down, this always cheers me up (you can imagine how many times I’ve watched it in the last three weeks).

As you listen to the descent, the laconic delivery of the astronauts and the Mission Control capcom, Charlie Duke (who is now a Trump guy, along with Buzz Aldrin, oddly) belies the incredible drama they’re experiencing.

“We recommend you yaw right ten degrees and reacquire.” He was talking about the high gain antenna that kept cutting in and out, jeopardizing the telemetry flow, and the landing.

“Roger, we read you.”

“You are GO for initial power descent. I repeat, you are GO for initial power descent.”

“AGS and PNGS are very close.”

And so on.

No one on the earth knew what they were talking about other than a few thousand engineers in Houston, the converse of an announcer for the World Series would be understood by all. There were flashes of humanity, though, during the narrative on CBS. Walter Cronkite would talk over the astronauts constantly, and Wally Schirra who would interject things like, “that’s the wettest my hands have ever been”.

TMI.

The most dramatic moment of the descent was when the LEM and its crew were about 30,000 feet above the lunar surface, and Armstrong said, “Program alarm. It’s a 1202. 1202.”

A video I wrote, drew, and voiced with the endlessly talented Sohail al Jamea, who pulled it all together in video (made it cool) from McClatchy.

Now, in the way that Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin would react, it was not a panicked-sounding message. That’s why they were chosen for the mission.

But it was urgent-sounding. And Armstrong follows up with another one.

“Houston, what’s the story on the 1202 alarm?”

Which translates into regular person language as, “GodDAMMIT. Tell me what the AF is happening here.”

Cronkite jumps in with a relevant question for Schirra: “What’s this alarm, Wally?”

Wally reassures him. “It’s just a noun-verb combination.”

Sure.

What was happening was that the teeny weeny itsy bitsy computer was experiencing a executive command overflow. Seconds later, a NASA engineer named Jack Garman, only 25 years old, recalled that he recognized the code, told his superiors, and Duke then immediately relayed the news to the LEM.

“We’re GO on that alarm.”

Armstrong replies with a rather weak-sounding “Roger,” as in, if you say so, buddy, and you better be right, because I am seconds away from being able to abort this landing.

Moments later, another alarm goes off, about 3000 feet from the moon.

Armstrong: “1201 Alarm.”

Duke: “Same type. We’re GO.”

Now, you have to wonder, what else could go wrong?

Well, Armstrong took over the controls, because he could see that their original landing site on the Sea of Tranquility was covered with big boulders. Of course, he said nothing, grabbed the stick, and called an audible.

In the words of Astronaut Mike Tyson, “Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.”

I might add here that they had sixty seconds or so of fuel left. Armstrong was once asked if there was anything he personally wanted to bring to the moon, and he said, “More fuel.”

Not beef jerky or Slim Jims.

Armstrong spotted a clear spot, and he and Buzz brought it home.

“Forty feet down two and half. Four forward. Four forward. Faint shadow. Kicking up some dust.”

Pause.

“Contact light,” Aldrin said, seeing a soft blue light that indicated that the long wires beneath the landing pads had touched the luner surface, something no one has ever done in Jules Verne’s wildest hallucinations.

Then they cut the engine.

“OK,” was the first word spoken by man on the moon.

Then: “Engine stop. ACA out of detent. Mode control—both auto descent command override off. Engine alarm, off. 413 is in.”

I have no idea what 413 is.

Schirra: “Oh, Jeez!”

Armstrong: “Houston. Tranquility Base here, the Eagle has landed.”

Duke famously said, “Roger, Tranquility. We copy you on the ground. You got a bunch of guys about to turn blue. We’re breathing again.”

Cronkite gulps audibly.

My dad laughs along with Schirra at the “turn blue” remark. A fellow scientist, showing some emotion.

Then, Cronkite oddly gets angry.

“I’d like to know what some of these kids (READ: HIPPIES, PUNKS! THE WEIRDOS!)…these kids are kinda poo-pooing this thing…how can anyone turn off from a world like this?”

Other than the moon landing, I could very much understand why a kid could turn off in 1969, in addition to tuning in and dropping out.

A producer must have screamed into Walter’s IFB, “Cool it, baby. You sound like an elderly prick.”

“HEY YOU KIDS! GET OFF MY LUNAR SURFACE!”

I don’t have a clear memory of this part other than flashes, but later, as a human being was about to step on the moon, I was asleep in front of our Magnavox.

The men sat on the moon for a few hours. They couldn’t sleep. Gee. Why? Then they decided to send them out.

The EVA was close to 11:00 PM Eastern, so, being an eight year old, I was konked out on a big pillow in front of the screen. Suddenly my mom or dad was lifting my head up, shall we shall say vigorously, to make their oldest son be able to say he saw the moon landing.

I did. Barely, but I saw it. The impression I have now is of the gray/white brightness of the screen, the squelch noises, the beeps, the radio-toned voice. No emotions associated with it now. That makes me sad.

The next morning, the moonwalk was being replayed, and the one thing I remember is the bouncing walks, which I thought was funny and made me smile as a child.

I watched a lot of that.

The reason I saw that was because of my friend’s dad, Stan Lebar.

Scott Lebar was my colleague at the Sacramento newspaper, and his dad was in charge of the 400-person Westinghouse camera development team. It seems odd to me now that I have this unusual personal connection to that moment through Scott. I am very sorry to say I never met his dad, but Scott and his brother Mark later gave me Stan’s briefcase, which I cherish to this day.

Thank you, Stan.

I wish I had been better able to stay awake.

Stan Lebar’s briefcase.

SOON: MORE ON MY CHILDHOOD IN SPACE…