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07/21/09 - (1)
Landing on the Moon
Yesterday, my editor of almost twenty years asked, "Can you remember where you were and what you were doing When Neil Armstrong set foot on the moon?
"I can. I was only eight, but it's very clear to me." He reminisced about sitting with his family, in their living room, Watching the event, live, on their black-and-white TV,
While his oldest brother, using a reel-to-reel tape recorder, Tried to capture the broadcast, for posterity. "It was July 20, 1969, at 10:56 p.m., Eastern Daylight Time."
I was twenty-eight, Living in a rural mid-Missouri town (population 8500, With a county courthouse and two merchant-lined streets),
Having left behind nine years of higher education, Vowing to find a place for myself, in the "real world," By working in a factory, engaging in varied blue-collar activities,
Hoping to gain an understanding and appreciation Of people who bring their lunches, in brown bags or black pails, And barter an honest day's labor for fair wages —
Men and women racing against intractable piece-rate quotas, To keep themselves and their children Under a roof, with food, clothes, and school supplies.
"Where was I, and what was I doing?" I didn't have to pause either, stop to catch memory's breath, Open a door forty years closed on that momentous time.
"I was sound asleep. That was during my first year at the men's-trouser factory, And I was, as I was every weeknight, dog-tired.
"I can still recall that my feeling of exhaustion, after working, Eating, being with my family, collapsing into bed, by nine, Was as grand an achievement as landing on the moon."
07/21/09 - (1)
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