(Undated file photo of Apollo astronaut and hero Neil Armstrong. Photo NASA.)

“For those who may ask what they can do to honor Neil, we have a simple request. Honor his example of service, accomplishment and modesty, and the next time you walk outside on a clear night and see the moon smiling down at you, think of Neil Armstrong and give him a wink.” — The Armstrong family’s written statement announcing his death at the age of 82 yesterday.

We lost a modest giant yesterday, and a great American hero. Maybe the greatest one.

Neil Armstrong made an indelible impression on all of us who were alive that day in the summer of 1969. I took a certain vicarious pride in the fact that the First Man On the Moon was a Naval Aviator, like Raven. Neil had been a Korean War-era jet pilot, unlike Dad, who flew the hulking propeller-driven AD4-J Skyraider.

Neil flew his first jet the year I was born: 1951. He strapped on his F9F-2B Panther and joined the jet age. He made his first carrier landing the month I arrived on this planet in Detroit, Michigan, and then he went off to war. He disentangled himself from the Navy before the downward spiral into the Vietnam conflict commenced, and concentrated on the arcane and dangerous world of high-performance test piloting.

I remember 1969 vaguely now, and wrote these words about it a long time ago:

“It was going to be a wasted summer. It was 1969, the height of the decade which actually didn’t end until the oil crunch in 1973.

There were music festivals and loud music and I was going to be off to college soon. I was interested in the concepts of the Age of Aquarius, though I hadn’t seen much of it in the mid-western town in which I found myself stuck.  

It was a great time to be alive, but my toes were tapping. I wanted to get on with things.  I missed my pals, and I missed being around the Big City. My family had moved because of Dad’s reassignment. I was now in a suburb around an old brick city filled with the descendants of the hardy block-headed Dutch who populated this part of the state.

It was staid and boring. On the upside, it was easy to get beer since it didn’t seem to occur to the earnest shopkeepers that anyone would lie about their age. On the downside there was nobody to drink it with.

I was as excited as anyone that summer, following the flight of the Eagle to the moon. Buzz and Neil landed the Eagle on the lunar surface on July 20 at 4:18 p.m. 

At 10:56 p.m., Neil Armstrong jumped off the Lunar Lander and that muffled quote echoed between the heavenly bodies.  In between, I lay in my bed and gazed out the window where the moon hung silver in space and the ghostly images flickered on the television.

I couldn’t quite believe it. Interplanetary travel was apparently a real option. I wondered if everything was the same way: that all things, however extraordinary, were possible. 

That night I looked at the moon in amazement. It was powerful stuff. I knew that then, but only remember that feeling now.”

A while back, I saw one of those Internet legends that was so appealing that I wanted to believe it was true. It goes like this, and I offer it in the spirit of Naval Aviation and the most spectacular accomplishment of humans in space. It goes like this:

“When Apollo mission astronaut Neil Armstrong first walked on the moon, he not only gave his famous “one small step for [a] man, one giant leap for mankind” statement, but followed it by several remarks–[mostly the] usual CAPCOM traffic between him, the other astronauts, and mission control. Before he re- entered the lander, he made the enigmatic remark, “Good luck, Mr. Gorsky.” 

Many people at NASA thought it was a casual remark concerning some rival Soviet cosmonaut. However, upon checking, there was no Gorsky in either the Russian or American space programs. 

Over the years, many people have questioned [Armstrong] as to what the “Good luck, Mr. Gorsky” statement meant. On July 5, in Tampa Bay, Florida, while answering questions following a speech, a reporter brought up the 26-year-old question to Armstrong. He finally responded. It seems that Mr. Gorsky had died and so Armstrong felt he could answer the question. 

When he was a kid, Neil was playing baseball with his brother in the back yard. His brother hit a fly ball that landed in front of his neighbors’ bedroom window. The neighbors were Mr. and Mrs. Gorsky. As he leaned down to pick up the ball, he heard Mrs. Gorsky shouting at Mr. Gorsky, “Oral sex? Oral sex you want? You’ll get oral sex when the kid next door walks on the moon!”

It is too bad it isn’t true, but it demonstrates something quite profound about the astonishing times in which we have had the privilege to live. It may be pure conceit, but it seemed to truly be an American Century, from the building of the Panama Canal to the Apollo missions. From the path between the seas to men on the moon to an African American President, events challenge our ability to fully comprehend the nature of the possible.

For that age, Neil Armstrong stands as an indelible and iconic symbol. His small step off the rail of the Eagle is the stuff of dreams.

Copyright 2012 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com