Captain Eugene Cernan, USN passed away last Monday, January 16, 2017. For those of you who don’t remember, Captain Cernan was the last man to walk on the moon. This was on his second voyage to our celestial satellite. He orbited the moon aboard Apollo 10 and set foot it aboard Apollo 17. Upon his December 14, 1972 departure, he left two things of significance which are undoubtedly still there. His daughter Teresa’s initials on the surface, and a pretty cool lunar dune buggy. I’m referring to the Lunar Roving Vehicle.
The ten foot long two seater was built by Boeing and General Motors. It folded up like a lounge chair. Captain Cernan and Dr. Harrison Schmitt, a geologist, unfolded the LRV, hopped in (literally) and were ready to go. The vehicle was powered by two 36 volt batteries and featured a joystick control. The tires were wire mesh with titanium treads providing traction on the moon’s surface. No word as to whether an AC Delco AM/FM 8 track was installed. Cernan and Schmitt covered 22.3 miles on the lunar surface collecting geological samples, and like a true Navy fly boy, Captain Cernan felt The Need For Speed and got the LRV up to 11.2 mph, giving him the Lunar Land Speed Record.
These guys were my boyhood heroes. When I was a kid, I wanted to be an astronaut when I grew up. I hear you laughing. Go ahead, but back then it was a legitimate career choice for a fourth grader. Some kids wanted to be ballplayers, ballerinas, scientists or scuba divers. Some of us wanted to be astronauts. It was a something I held onto, too. That is, until I took a brief detour in the sixth grade. We had to write what we wanted to be when we grew up and I said I wanted to be a photographer for Playboy. I think a letter was sent home to my parents, but nothing ever came of it, school or career wise…
I remember getting up early before school and watching the Project Mercury and Gemini launches on television. Once when visiting my cousins in South Florida, we went outside and watched the launch from the Cape up the coast. It was a small ball of fire rising up from the horizon, into the sky and then disappearing into infinity and beyond.
Seriously, I had it all figured out… I was going to join the Air Force and become a pilot. This would be a pretty neat trick, considering I wasn’t even allowed to fly in Meathouse’s Cessna, as was discussed in an earlier blog. But, that didn’t matter. I was going to test fly all kinds of cool aircraft. They would promote me to Captain or Colonel, whichever came first. I would become an astronaut, fly into space and do all kinds of heroic things. When I got back I would marry a beautiful movie star like Shelley Fabares. We’d live happily ever after, and I’d fly over the Everglades in my Cessna with pontoons saving people like Bud and Sandy’s dad on Flipper. Then, Elvis would make a movie about me. He’d fly into space and sing a bunch of songs with a full band accompanying him. His hair would never get messed up. He’d beat up a few bad guys who were trying to take over the world by sabotaging his mission. Then he’d splash down and get promoted to General. He’d marry a beautiful movie star like Shelley Fabares, and they’d both live happily ever after. Seriously, I had it all figured out…
G.I. Joe, America’s Moveable Fighting Man, was introduced by Hasbro in 1964. I got the Air Force version. He had an orange flight suit, black hair and in my mind, he was me. My old man went bananas. He told anybody that would listen that I played with dolls. I didn’t care, especially when all the kids that he told I played with dolls got G.I. Joes as well. That Christmas I got the G.I. Joe space capsule and space suit, complete with a 45 record of John Glenn’s orbit in Friendship 7. The capsule would float, and I would have splashdowns in the bathtub, much to the chagrin of my mother.
I never knew what became of my G.I. Joe, but I have a pretty good idea. When I was a studying commercial art at DeKalb Tech, I became interested in animation. My teacher let me borrow his 8mm movie camera which would shoot one frame at a time. I wanted to make an animated movie of G.I. Joe in the space capsule. I climbed into my parents attic to look for them. They were nowhere to be found. Nowhere. My parents didn’t throw anything away, particularly my mother when it was anything pertaining to my childhood. Both my parents played dumb, but G.I Joe had gone AWOL. He was a doll and remember, Jimmy played with dolls. I came down out of the attic wiser and quietly angry. I don’t know what became of Joe, but I’m sure it wasn’t an end befitting a hero of his stature.
I remember vividly watching the Apollo 13 moon landing on television in July, 1969. However, I was fourteen by that time and had long forgotten of becoming an astronaut. My priorities had shifted to football, girls and cars, and not necessarily in that order. I was going to play free safety for the Georgia Bulldogs, then the Dallas Cowboys. I was going to marry a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader and drive Formula Vees race cars in the off season. Seriously, I had it all figured out…
Godspeed, Captain. Cernan. You were one of the last of the brave men to reach beyond earth and our skies, into the heavens and the galaxy. You and your brother astronauts were heroes to a generation of young men like myself. And, I would be willing to bet that you’re strapped into your LRV, ready to challenge the Lunar Land Speed Record… Still Cruisin’! –J.
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