Thirty-nine
years ago on July 20, 1969, at around 3:00 PM EDT, Neil Armstrong and Edwin
‘Buzz’ Aldrin, Jr. became the first men from earth to land on the moon. They
were a long way from home.
I actually watched the Apollo 11 moon landing the morning of the next day,
on July 21, at around 2:00 a.m. In Vietnam, the time difference from the
east coast of the United States was about twelve hours. For me, the next day
had already begun. Since March of 1969, I had been assigned to the 1st
Signal Brigade in Long Binh, South Vietnam. At the time of the moon landing,
I was a young Captain supervising the night shift in the Army Communication
Operations Center, shortened to the acronym: the “ACOC.” My crew and I
watched the grainy images of the lunar module descending to the moon’s
surface via AFN (the Armed Forces Network) on a small 14 inch black and
white television I had purchased in the PX shortly after arriving in
country. My shift ended before Neil Armstrong stepped off the lander six
hours later and uttered those famous words – “That’s one small step for man;
one giant leap for mankind.”
The fact that I was in South Vietnam, instead of somewhere back
home was a giant leap for me as far as I was concerned. At the innocent age
of 21, after a short diversion at the University of Missouri, I had enlisted
in the Army in February, 1966, completed Signal Corps Officer Candidate
School by April 1967 and was commission a Second Lieutenant. Less than a
month later, I got married. And about fifteen days after my wedding, I
shipped off to West Germany, where in 1968 my daughter was born in an
American hospital in Heidelberg.
In January of 1969, I returned from Germany with my young family, and with
orders for Vietnam. Once stateside, we made the long trip home to Missouri,
and then to South Carolina where I deposited my wife and six-month old
daughter.
Following on the heals of the TET offensive in 1968, I arrived in Saigon
(Tan Son Nhut AFB) via Flying Tiger Airlines on a hot morning in the spring
of 1969, by way of Fort Lewis, Washington, Sacramento, California,
Anchorage, Alaska and Yokota, Japan. Shortly afterwards, I was promoted from
First Lieutenant to Captain and assigned as a section supervisor of the
ACOC.
Three years before, I had been a naïve young man from Troy, Missouri, but I
arrived in Vietnam as a husband, a father, an
Army
Signal Corp Officer and one of the Officers in charge of the Army’s primary
operations center for communications in all of Southeast Asia. Everything
had happened so quickly, I thought.
Back to the night of July 21; before the moon landing we had spent the
evening compiling information about the status of various communications
throughout the theatre. The ACOC was manned two 12-hour shifts, and it was
the job of the night shift to prepare for the daily morning briefing of the
USARV Signal Officer, a two-star general. We had also “felt” the B-52
bombing of a nearby hotspot during the night. The bombers’ impact area was
too far away to be heard, but the shock waves caused by the exploding 500
pound bombs shook the blast windows of our bunker.
That was also the night when we thought for awhile that we had uncovered and
prevented an act of sabotage. One of our duties was to check the security of
the building, the communications bunkers, and all the supporting equipment—HF
radios, teletype equipment, and the mobile vans that housed them. During a
routine inspection of the emergency backup
generator, one of my crew discovered a brown paper bag sitting on the engine
panel. We called the emergency ordinance disposal (EOD) team and they
carefully unwrapped - - two baloney sandwiches and a bag of potato chips. A
civilian (PA&E) worker during the day had forgotten to eat his lunch.
So, the early morning hours of July 21, 1969, had already been an exciting
day in its own right. But to top if off, we witnessed history by watching
the Apollo 11 moon landing on my little TV.
Later, around Christmas, I was privileged to be in the audience when Bob
Hope brought his USO show to Long Binh. There, standing on the stage with
Bob were Connie Stevens, Miss World, and Neil Armstrong, recluse in his
shyness and somewhat in awe of the vast sea of jungle fatigues sitting
before him. But he said one thing on that stage that I will always remember;
and it doesn’t really matter whether it was part of the script or not. He
said, “Going to the moon was a great experience for me, and a great honor,
and I’m grateful for the opportunity. But there’s nothing like coming home.”
Every soldier in that audience, especially the wounded sitting or
lying on cots up front near the stage, knew exactly what he meant. They
responded with a loud, collective roar of agreement.
Wherever I have traveled, whatever great distances I have roamed and then
returned, home is the final destination. I am older now and time has moved
everything to the past, everything
except
my memories. And those I remember vividly—the
ramblings of my youth in South Vietnam, the moon landing and watching Bob
Hope—and
I am always grateful to have made it back home.
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Note: This story appeared in the July, 2008, monthly newsletter called
Pikes Peak Country, that “Dave” Martinek publishes and posts on his
website. Dave
is a Realtor in Colorado. The photos were submitted along with the
story, and are courtesy of the internet. The story
was submitted by Dave for republication here in January, 2011. If you're
thinking of retiring and are looking for a mountain getaway, you simply
must contact Dave and see what he has available. You can reach him
through his website: