MAN IN THE MOON
Neil Armstrong rode quickly and quietly into the sunset after Apollo 11
The most celebrated person is missing from Apollo 11’s 50th anniversary celebration. In a way, that is fitting.
Neil Armstrong was never one to bask in the moon’s glow, no matter how badly the world wanted him to.
“I am, and ever will be, a white-socks, nerdy engineer,” he said shortly after returning to Earth.
A gold mine of endorsements and exultation awaited. But Armstrong became a college professor, a part-time farmer and fulltime enigma.
Even in a pre-Kardashian world, trying to be normal made him seem odd.
“He was immensely proud of the role he played in the first moon landing,” James Hansen wrote, “but he would not allow it to turn into a circus performance for him or a money-making machine.”
Hansen authored Armstrong’s official biography in 2005. It was adapted for “First Man,” the 2018 movie starring Ryan Gosling that introduced Armstrong to generations who’d only heard his name.
This story is part of the Orlando Sentinel’s “Countdown to Apollo 11: The First Moon Landing” – 30 days of stories leading up to the 50th anniversary of the historic first steps on the moon on July 20, 1969. More stories, photos and videos at OrlandoSentinel.com/Apollo11.
“I am, and ever will be, a white-socks, nerdy engineer.” — Neil Armstrong, shortly after returning to Earth
The film unleashed a fresh wave of Armstrong psychoanalysis. Why did the first man to set foot off Earth remain so distant?
Some armchair shrinks trace it to childhood. Armstrong’s father was an auditor for the state of Ohio, and the family lived in 14 towns over 16 years.
That made it hard for the family’s oldest son to develop relationships, unless it was with a machine. Armstrong was fascinated by flight and got his pilot’s license before his driver’s license.
He was an Eagle Scout, a musician and scholarly enough to get a scholarship to Purdue, paid for by the Navy. It committed Armstrong to active duty, and his cool detachment came in handy during 78 combat missions during the Korean War.
Armstrong’s devotion to victory was unquestionable, but he wouldn’t sacrifice his principles. He flew over a ridge of low mountains one morning and spotted rows of North Korean soldiers doing calisthenics.
He could have machinegunned them all, but he took his finger off the trigger.
“It looked like they were having a rough enough time doing their morning exercises,” he told Hansen.
Armstrong eventually became a premiere test pilot, which eventually led him to NASA.
The rest, as they say, is history.
“One small step for man. One giant leap for mankind.”
Those were pretty much the last noteworthy words Armstrong ever said. After retiring from NASA in 1971, he taught at aerospace engineering at the University of Cincinnati and lived on a 163-acre dairy farm.
Armstrong turned down countless requests for media interviews and TV appearances. He did allow the university’s public information department to write a story about him in 1976, but he wasn’t quoted in the 1,000-word piece.
“The farm is not a plaything to Armstrong, who calls himself a producing farmer,” it read. “He bought the place in part to teach his young sons the value of being close to the earth.”
Armstrong received 10,000 letters a day after Apollo 11. It was pilot adulation not seen since Charles Lindbergh flew solo across the Atlantic.
Lindbergh’s son was later kidnapped, and that thought fueled Armstrong’s quest for anonymity. His heart forever ached over his daughter, Karen, who died of cancer when she was only 2.
Such complexities added to the mystery. Armstrong has been compared to J.D. Salinger, who wrote “Catcher in the Rye” and became a recluse.
Hansen said the psychoanalysts overthink things. Armstrong served on corporate boards, threw out first pitches at Cincinnati Reds’ games and even hosted a series of aviation documentaries on A&E.
Cohorts say he was friendly and self-effacing. A woman once spotted him at a golf tournament and asked, “Aren’t you somebody I should know?”
“Probably not,” Armstrong said.
Buzz Aldrin’s website is full of autographed memorabilia for sale. Armstrong stopped signing autographs in 2005 after discovering his barber had sold some of his hair to a collector for $3,000. He threatened to sue unless the barber retrieved the hair or donated the money to charity.
The one time Armstrong volunteered for the spotlight was during the 1979 Super Bowl. He appeared in a Chrysler commercial.
If the Cowboys had beaten the Steelers 69-0 that day, it wouldn’t have been more shocking than seeing Armstrong hawking Cordobas and LeBarons.
He said he did it to help out the struggling company.
From the moment Apollo 11 splashed down, authors like James Michener and Stephen Ambrose sought to write Armstrong’s biography. He relented after almost 35 years, giving Hansen 55 hours of interview and access to his papers.
There was one story Armstrong didn’t want in the book. The one about the North Korean soldiers.
“There was something too honorable in Neil for him to kill men who were in no position to defense themselves,” Hansen wrote.
He didn’t mention the story until 2012. Armstrong had died from complications after heart surgery.
The announcement from his family was classic Armstrong.
“For those who may ask what they can do to honor Neil, we have a simple request. Honor his example of service, accomplishment and modesty.
“And the next time you walk outside on a clear night and see the moon smiling down at you, think of Neil Armstrong. And give him a wink.”
Whatever it was that drove him, Armstrong was a lot more than whitesocks, nerdy engineer.