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Wednesday, July 7, 1999 LATIMES
INTERNATIONAL OUTLOOK
The Story of a Tragedy That Was Not to Be
By JIM MANN
WASHINGTON--This column is about America's
walk on the moon and the untold story of one
of the most poignant presidential speeches in
American history--a speech that never had to be
delivered.
In two weeks, this country will celebrate the
30th anniversary of the day when Neil Armstrong
and Edwin E. "Buzz" Aldrin Jr. stepped onto the
surface of the moon.
Over the past three decades, many of the
details of that epic trip have been told over and
over again in books and movies. And so, naturally,
we now take it as a given that the trip was destined
to be a success--that the American astronauts,
after landing on the moon, would return home
safely.
But it didn't seem so inevitable at the time. It
turns out that officials at the White House and
NASA quietly made contingency plans for what
President Richard Nixon would do if Armstrong and
Aldrin got stuck on the moon and were doomed to
die there.
There was even a euphemism for how such a
tragedy would end. The stranded astronauts would
"close down communications" with Mission Control
in Houston and be left in silence, either to die
slowly or, perhaps, to commit suicide.
Nixon's speech was to end with these haunting
words, in effect a tribute to Armstrong and Aldrin:
"For every human being who looks up at the moon
in the nights to come will know that there is some
corner of another world that is forever mankind."
I came across the remarkable documentary
evidence of this lugubrious planning a couple of
years ago, while doing research in the National
Archives.
There, sitting in the files from the Nixon
administration, was a memo titled: "In Event of
Moon Disaster." It laid out a precise scenario for
what Nixon should do if the astronauts' lunar
vehicle couldn't get back up off the moon into lunar
orbit to hook up with the command module.
According to the memo, once it was clear that
Armstrong and Aldrin could not come home, Nixon
was to call the "widows-to-be" to express
condolences. He was then to deliver a speech to
the nation.
Finally, at the point when NASA would cut off
radio communications with the moon and leave the
astronauts alone to die, a clergyman was to
commend their souls to "the deepest of the deep,"
in the fashion of a burial at sea.
The planning memo was drafted for Nixon's
chief of staff, H.R. Haldeman, by Nixon's speech
writer, William Safire, now a columnist for the New
York Times. At the same time, Safire drafted the
short speech Nixon was to give.
Years ago, in a memoir about his time in the
Nixon White House, Safire briefly alluded to this
secret planning.
"On June 13, Frank Borman--an astronaut the
president liked and whom NASA had assigned to
be our liaison--called me to say, 'You want to be
thinking of some alternative posture for the
president in the event of mishaps on Apollo XI.'
When I didn't react promptly, Borman moved off the
formal language--'like what to do for the widows.' "
Safire complied. His memo and the speech he
drafted for Nixon were retained in Nixon's White
House files and now sit in the National Archives.
Here is the full text of this extraordinary speech:
Fate has ordained that the men who went to the
moon to explore in peace will stay on the moon to
rest in peace.
These brave men, Neil Armstrong and Edwin
Aldrin, know that there is no hope for their
recovery. But they also know that there is hope for
mankind in their sacrifice.
These two men are laying down their lives in
mankind's most noble goal: the search for truth and
understanding.
They will be mourned by their families and
friends; they will be mourned by their nation; they
will be mourned by the people of the world; they
will be mourned by a Mother Earth that dared send
two of her sons into the unknown.
In their exploration, they stirred the people of
the world to feel as one; in their sacrifice, they
bind
more tightly the brotherhood of man.
In ancient days, men looked at stars and saw
their heroes in the constellations. In modern times,
we do much the same, but our heroes are epic men
of flesh and blood.
Others will follow, and surely find their way
home. Man's search will not be denied. But these
men were the first, and they will remain the
foremost in our hearts.
For every human being who looks up at the
moon in the nights to come will know that there is
some corner of another world that is forever
mankind.
The secret preparations serve as a reminder of
just how risky was the voyage to the moon.
Confident of American technology, officials at
NASA and the White House still left nothing to
chance. They secretly feared something could go
terribly wrong.
Yet these events are, in their way, also a
testament to hope. We may prepare for tragedy,
but our worst nightmares rarely happen. Three
decades ago on July 20, Armstrong and Aldrin
walked on the rubble of the moon and then came
home again. Nixon's undelivered speech was
thrown into a file and happily forgotten.
* * *
Jim Mann's column appears in this space every
Wednesday.
Copyright 1999 Los Angeles Times. All Rights Reserved