partner, um, Crash Able—I love that name, don’t you?—weren’t
in
the capsule during that period?”
“I asked him about it simply because the AP reporter had asked. That was all. I thought maybe it was an interesting question. I didn’t even know if it was true. Didn’t realize that Frank was upset, or I wouldn’t have said anything.”
“Well, okay. But what was that about the rocks?”
“The rocks?”
“The Navy guy who said he saw one of the astronauts bringing back some rocks?”
“I think he said
with
rocks.
Rocks
is a code word. It’s a Navy expression for being nervous. As in ‘he was rocked by the experience.’” That was a stretch, but Jerry hoped it would get him past the question.
“Why was Kirby so upset, do you think?”
“I just don’t know. I’m certainly sorry I brought it up.”
“But he was angry at
you
. You say you don’t know why?”
“No, I don’t. I guess there was a misunderstanding of some sort.”
“In what way?”
“I’m not sure, Al. I’m really not. The only thing I can say is that I have a great deal of respect for Frank Kirby, and I want to take advantage of this opportunity to apologize if I gave offense. And obviously I did.” Jerry looked directly into the camera. “I’m sorry it happened, Frank. And I’d like to make it right.”
—
Mary called him minutes after the show. “You did good, Jerry. I thought you came away from it about as well as you could. Let me know if you hear from Frank.”
—
Kirby called the following morning. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have blown my stack like that.” He looked down at Jerry from the TV screen, which was mounted beside a picture of Jerry and Myra Hasting, editor of
The Florida Times-Union
.
“It’s okay. It was my fault, Frank.”
“Let’s just forget it, okay?”
“Yes. That’s a good idea. You’ll be wanting your award back, I hope.” Jerry grinned.
“That would be nice, yes.”
“I’ll ship it this afternoon.”
“Thanks, Jerry. And one other thing?”
“Sure.”
“That business with Sidney Myshko. Forget it, okay? It’s just confusion over a bad joke.”
—
Jerry was grateful to put it aside and get back to his normal routine. Fortunately, the media have a short memory. The disappearance of Sidney Myshko from the Apollo transmissions all those years ago needed precisely two days to drop out of the news. Then, as he was getting ready to quit for the day, he got a call from Ralph D’Angelo. Ralph was a friend from Jerry’s days at Wesleyan University. He was a columnist for
The Baltimore Sun
.
“Long time,” Jerry said. “How you been, Ralph?”
“Still working, Jerry.” He hadn’t aged well. Ralph looked twenty years older than he actually was. His hair was gone, his forehead was wrinkled, his eyes were glazed. Jerry suspected he had health problems. Or worse.
“I hear you. These aren’t exactly the best of times.”
“I’ve noticed. Listen, I have a question for you.”
“Sure.”
“You know Aaron Walker retired here? The astronaut?”
Aaron Walker. Jerry needed a moment. He was one of the early Apollo guys. Had been on a test flight, the one immediately after Myshko. “I didn’t know he’d gone to Baltimore,” Jerry said.
“A few years ago, he walked into a liquor store right into the middle of a holdup. Got killed.”
Jerry recalled the story, of course, though not where it had happened. “Yes,” he said. “I remember. Sad end for a guy like that.”
“He left a journal. You ready for this? In the journal, he says he landed on the Moon.”
“He wasn’t on any of the flights that landed, was he?”
“Not according to the record.”
“Well, okay. Then there’s a mistake somewhere.”
“It’s
his
writing, Jerry. We’ve checked it. Anyhow, what with this other stuff about Myshko, we’re going to use it. I can send you a copy if you like.”
“Ralph, it’s a false alarm.”
“Well, I wanted to give you a
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