Natives of ‘flyover’ state made moon landing possible

Someday, though probably not anytime soon, Ohioans will learn to boast about themselves.

With the possible exception of sports, it’s not in our DNA to chestthump.

It’s hard to imagine we’ll ever be like Texas. Really, when’s the last time you saw anybody wearing an Ohio-shaped belt buckle?

No, humility is our most marked characteristic, which is all well and good, but as the saying goes, “It’s a poor dog that doesn’t wag his own tail every now and then.”

This week, more than any other, Ohioans have every right to brag about our connection to the greatest feat in human history.

After becoming the first human to walk on the moon, July 20, 1969, Neil Armstrong of Wapakoneta, Ohio, probably could have had the presidency for the asking.

Instead, he turned to teaching at the University of Cincinnati, and then to farming in his home state. Who does that?

An Ohioan, that’s who.

You had a better chance of jumping over said moon than getting Armstrong to prattle on about his accomplishment.

Imagine such reticence today, an era in which people fall from cliffs while taking selfies and whine online about their breakfast.

Riding a bomb

It isn’t an aberration; it’s just how Ohioans roll. The deeply introverted Orville and Wilbur Wright of Dayton are not generally regarded as badasses, but their daring, genius and persistence are reasons why we are no longer tethered to Earth.

According to the Ohio History Connection, Ohioan Gene Kranz was Apollo 11’s flight director, arguably the most famous one since Mr. Sulu. In 1970, Kranz was lauded as a national hero for guiding Apollo 13 back to Earth following an onboard explosion.

But were it not for the colorful vests made and designed by his wife, Marta, Gene Kranz couldn’t have been identified in a lineup.

There are times in life when valor cannot be quantified. Ohioan John Glenn’s willingness to ride the Earth’s orbit in 1962 is one reason Neil Armstrong was able to leave it.

In preparation for the lunar mission, people died. Armstrong, who was a test pilot, had his own near-fatal misses.

There were experts who thought Apollo 11 had a 50/50 chance at success. Someone once likened its booster rocket to, essentially, riding a bomb.

Imagine knowing all this and going anyway.

Call of history

While an Ohioan is at the centerpiece of this momentous anniversary, we would be remiss to ignore the 400,000 Americans from all backgrounds and walks of life who devoted themselves to its success.

Somewhere that night, Judith Resnick, a 20-year-old engineering genius from Akron, was watching and hoping her own future included a venture into space.

In 1969, America was still smoldering from the turmoil of 1968. Inequality and injustice abounded, but we heard the call of history. We recognized the momentousness of a mission that encapsulated our common identity as Americans.

Apollo 11 was one of our finest hours, not only because it established our pre-eminence in science and technology, but also because it embodied the best things about us: our ingenuity, optimism and our spirit of adventure.

The America of Apollo 11 was an America of big dreams, big ideas and the kind of brash, can-do-ism that convinced us to try to achieve what no other nation has done even 50 years later.

Courageous Americans, raised in small towns and hamlets from a socalled flyover state, helped to make the moon landing possible.

It was only fitting and right an Ohioan would be the first.