the need to get up to the Cape. There were many people I knew there, helping to console the grief-stricken families. I tried to do what I could to assist. Most people just wanted to talk, just like they had after the Apollo 1 fire. It was one of the saddest days of my life.
In my day almost every astronaut was a test pilot, and we understood that accidents could happen. The shuttle was different: many shuttle astronauts came from academic science and engineering backgrounds, and
Seventeen years later another group of families waited at the Cape, looking for the
It just made the get-togethers we had as astronauts even more meaningful. The ASF has now become the focal point for reunions of old colleagues. Retiring shuttle astronauts have swelled our ranks, but that doesn’t lessen the impact of losing more and more of the original guys. Every couple of years, it seems, there is one more funeral, and one more voice I miss.
I had known Wally Schirra for almost forty years by that point, and his sense of fun never diminished. He was always full of jokes, particularly those sneaky “Gotchas.” So when the ASF organized a riverboat cruise down the Mississippi River in 2004 to raise money, I decided it would be the perfect opportunity to pay him back.
I was on the cruise with three of the original astronauts, Wally, Scott Carpenter, and Gordo Cooper. Paying guests joined us on the ride to raise tens of thousands of dollars for the foundation. After two days on the river, we were ready to play our trick.
Scott, Gordo, and I hid in the bathroom of Wally’s guest room. The hotel manager and his female assistant climbed into Wally’s bed in what looked like a
Wally turned on the lights and let out a yell. The woman on the bed looked back at Wally and screamed so loud it could be heard the length of the ship. Wally jumped in shock, and stood there, frozen in surprise, his eyes wide. Then the manager in the bed looked at him and said “My God, you are Wally Schirra, the famous astronaut.” Reaching over to the bedside stand he picked up a copy of Wally’s memoirs, held it out and calmly asked, “Would you mind autographing this for me?”
That was our cue to burst out of the bathroom, as everyone in the room collapsed in laughter. Wally had to admit it was a world-class Gotcha.
Gordo passed away just a few months after the cruise. Three years later, we lost Wally. I was saddened but also gratified that my last memories of my astronaut colleagues are so positive and fun.
It might seem silly, after all these years, but when one of my colleagues turns to me after a successful ASF event and casually says, “Nice job, Al”—perhaps with a slap on the shoulder, too—it means the world to me. I let them down decades ago. Now, for the first time since my spaceflight, I’m getting those little nods of approval, a sense of
My family thinks I am crazy to work so hard at a time of life when many people take it easy. But earning back this friendship and trust is perhaps the deepest and most driving force I have ever felt in my life. It’s something that I
As I explained earlier, I think running for Congress was more important to me personally than flying to the moon. When it comes to my public legacy, I think my work with the ASF will have a much greater long-term impact than my lunar mission. Going to the moon won’t be the most important thing in my life. If I can help a thousand of my country’s brightest students through college, they will make an enormous difference to the future of the world. That work is what drives me today. How can I retire?
Once I began to regain the approval of my colleagues, there was only one final step left for me. I needed to write this book. Forty years was a long time to hold in the full story. I didn’t have to wait that long. But I came from a large family where I learned to roll with the punches and try to get along. Not only did I not write the story down, I also didn’t talk about it with the public. When interviewers asked me about leaving NASA or the covers, I gave general answers with little detail.
But four decades is long enough. At some point the true story needed to be told. Now it’s done. I can look back on my moon flight with no lingering sense of unfinished business.
I still love to look at the moon. I think the moon is very comforting. When it rises, you know all is well.
I look at the big dark circles on its surface and think about how they got there. I wonder what the moon must have been like four billion years ago. I also try to imagine what Earth must have been like that long ago. It still amazes me to see that enormous ball out there floating around Earth, circling, always keeping the same face toward us.
Outside of those observations, I don’t dwell on the fact that I’ve been there. The moon is such a tiny step for humans; I am waiting for us to go somewhere that
In the meantime, I think about Earth. Having seen it from a distance, I appreciate what a finite object it is. I plan to focus on what we’ve got here, far more than what is out there.
Of all the places I have traveled, it is still hard to beat a Michigan summer. I like to walk in the woods and fields, just as I did as a kid back on the farm. Except now, I’m not alone. On a warm evening I’ll be with my children, and
Sometimes, while I sit and enjoy the good company of my family, the moon will slowly rise above the trees. I generally don’t pay it much thought. But occasionally I am reminded of my brief glimpse into infinity while alone on the moon’s far side. I still have lingering questions about what I experienced. The answers won’t come in my lifetime. That will be your job.
Try it, sometime. Some day all of us who journeyed to the moon will be gone. Take a walk on a summer night, look up at the moon, and think of us. A part of us is still there and always will be.
EPILOGUE
As a senior, veteran astronaut at the time of the Gemini, Apollo, Skylab, and Apollo-Soyuz missions, over the years, I have encouraged the crew members of those flights to write down their insights of their participation in history’s greatest achievements and adventures. The Apollo 15 crew explored the moon, both on the surface and in orbit, and flew one of the world’s greatest scientific expeditions. Al Worden did a superb job as a vital member of that crew. I am pleased he has finally shared his story.
After I commanded the Apollo 10 mission to the moon, I replaced Alan Shepard as chief of the astronaut office, followed by a promotion to deputy director of Flight Crew Operations. I was involved in numerous key decisions made behind closed doors about who would fly in space and who would not, as well as issues surrounding astronauts who had bent the rules. In the early days of the space program, we determined that it was best for the program to keep these decisions internal and informal, not passed up through the chain of command to the top bureaucrats. In most cases, they wouldn’t want to know some of the issues that involved astronauts, nor would they probably have understood the best course of action.
