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Authors: Buzz Aldrin
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of the mission. In the course of our conversation, I told Bob that we had attended an unusual briefing that day. “Some harebrained chemist is afraid that lunar rocks and dirt might be combustible once they are introduced to oxygen.”
“Are you worried about that?” Bob asked.
“Naah, not at all.” I told Bob that most NASA scientists scoffed at such nonsense, but we would take no chances, especially in light of the Apollo 1 accident. I explained what we planned to do with the rock samples we gathered from the moon’s surface, which was basically to store them in vacuum-sealed, flameproof boxes. But we would take time to place the contingency sample on the ascent-engine cover while we were still in our pressurized suits. Then, as we turned on the oxygen in the cabin, if smoke started to come out of the rock sample, we couldstill open the hatch and toss it out. All of this was planned, just in case. If any problems ensued, we could dump the samples immediately.
On the plane back to Houston, the person sitting next to Bob struck up a conversation with him. Bob told him why he was on the trip, and, in the course of the flight, mentioned his conversation with me about the rocks. Turns out that Bob’s seatmate was a reporter— although he never identified himself as such. A few days later, Bob was appalled to see a headline in a newspaper: ALDRIN FEARS LUNAR ROCKS. I didn’t fear lunar rocks; I feared unscrupulous, inaccurate reporters.
W ITH N EIL TRYING to sleep leaning back on the ascent engine cover, I curled up on the bottom of the LM, where I noticed some of the moon dust on the floor. It had a gritty charcoal-like texture to it, and a pungent metallic smell, something like gunpowder or the smell in the air after a firecracker has gone off. Neil described it as having a “wet ashes” smell.
In my fatigue, I was still thinking about the dust when I noticed something lying on the floor that really did not belong there. I looked closer, and my heart jolted a bit. There in the dust on the floor on the right side of the cabin, lay a circuit breaker switch that had broken off. I wondered what circuit breaker that was, so I looked up at the numerous rows of breakers on the instrument panel without any guard protectors, and gulped hard. The broken switch had snapped off from the engine-arm circuit breaker, the one vital breaker needed to send electrical power to the ascent engine that would lift Neil and me off the moon. During our powered descent, this same engine-arm circuit breaker had been in the closed position, pushed in to engage the descent engine for our landing, and once we touched down we pulled it back out, in the open position, to disengage the circuitry and disarm the engine. Somehow, one of us must have bumped it accidentally with our cumbersome backpacks as we moved around in the cramped space preparing to get out of the LM, or as we came back in. Regardless of how the circuit breaker switch had broken off, the circuit breaker had to be pushed back in again for the ascent engine to ignite to get us back home.
We reported it to Mission Control and then tried to sleep and forget about it—as if that were possible. But we knew Mission Control would help figure out a solution, and if we could not get that circuit breaker pushed in the next morning when we were ready to lift off, then we would have to do something else. For now, they wanted us to leave the circuit breaker out anyhow. So, while Neil and I tried to rest, the guys in Houston debated how we could work around that circuit, in case it had to be left open.
T RYING TO SLEEP in the lunar lander was difficult. Not only was it cramped and uncomfortable, it was cold. We turned the heat full up inside the cabin, put on our helmets, and tried to get the water circulation system in our suits to warm us, but it was still awfully cold. After about three hours it became almost impossible to sleep. We could have raised the window shades and let the
“Are you worried about that?” Bob asked.
“Naah, not at all.” I told Bob that most NASA scientists scoffed at such nonsense, but we would take no chances, especially in light of the Apollo 1 accident. I explained what we planned to do with the rock samples we gathered from the moon’s surface, which was basically to store them in vacuum-sealed, flameproof boxes. But we would take time to place the contingency sample on the ascent-engine cover while we were still in our pressurized suits. Then, as we turned on the oxygen in the cabin, if smoke started to come out of the rock sample, we couldstill open the hatch and toss it out. All of this was planned, just in case. If any problems ensued, we could dump the samples immediately.
On the plane back to Houston, the person sitting next to Bob struck up a conversation with him. Bob told him why he was on the trip, and, in the course of the flight, mentioned his conversation with me about the rocks. Turns out that Bob’s seatmate was a reporter— although he never identified himself as such. A few days later, Bob was appalled to see a headline in a newspaper: ALDRIN FEARS LUNAR ROCKS. I didn’t fear lunar rocks; I feared unscrupulous, inaccurate reporters.
W ITH N EIL TRYING to sleep leaning back on the ascent engine cover, I curled up on the bottom of the LM, where I noticed some of the moon dust on the floor. It had a gritty charcoal-like texture to it, and a pungent metallic smell, something like gunpowder or the smell in the air after a firecracker has gone off. Neil described it as having a “wet ashes” smell.
In my fatigue, I was still thinking about the dust when I noticed something lying on the floor that really did not belong there. I looked closer, and my heart jolted a bit. There in the dust on the floor on the right side of the cabin, lay a circuit breaker switch that had broken off. I wondered what circuit breaker that was, so I looked up at the numerous rows of breakers on the instrument panel without any guard protectors, and gulped hard. The broken switch had snapped off from the engine-arm circuit breaker, the one vital breaker needed to send electrical power to the ascent engine that would lift Neil and me off the moon. During our powered descent, this same engine-arm circuit breaker had been in the closed position, pushed in to engage the descent engine for our landing, and once we touched down we pulled it back out, in the open position, to disengage the circuitry and disarm the engine. Somehow, one of us must have bumped it accidentally with our cumbersome backpacks as we moved around in the cramped space preparing to get out of the LM, or as we came back in. Regardless of how the circuit breaker switch had broken off, the circuit breaker had to be pushed back in again for the ascent engine to ignite to get us back home.
We reported it to Mission Control and then tried to sleep and forget about it—as if that were possible. But we knew Mission Control would help figure out a solution, and if we could not get that circuit breaker pushed in the next morning when we were ready to lift off, then we would have to do something else. For now, they wanted us to leave the circuit breaker out anyhow. So, while Neil and I tried to rest, the guys in Houston debated how we could work around that circuit, in case it had to be left open.
T RYING TO SLEEP in the lunar lander was difficult. Not only was it cramped and uncomfortable, it was cold. We turned the heat full up inside the cabin, put on our helmets, and tried to get the water circulation system in our suits to warm us, but it was still awfully cold. After about three hours it became almost impossible to sleep. We could have raised the window shades and let the
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