_Live From Cape Canaveral_ - Jay Barbree [58]
It was a Christmas Eve like none before. Millions of families gathered around their home fires, exchanging presents and watching Apollo 8’s fabulous adventure.
And for those millions, the astronauts spoke directly.
“For all the people on earth,” Bill Anders began, “the crew of Apollo 8 has a message we would like to send you.” A brief pause, and then Anders stunned his audience as he began reading from the Book of Genesis: “In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth.” Anders read the first four verses. Lovell followed by reading the next four. Borman read the ninth verse, and then the commander of Apollo 8’s mission sent the world a special Christmas message: “And from the crew of Apollo 8, we close with good night, good luck, a Merry Christmas, and God bless all of you—all of you on the good Earth.”
Later, as Apollo moved around the desolate lunar landscape, Frank Borman did have one more thing to say as he watched Earth “rising” above the moon’s horizon: “This is the most beautiful, heart-catching sight of my life.”
No sooner than the Christmas Eve telecast from moon orbit was over, the phones began ringing at the NASA news center near Mission Control. Most calls were praise for what they had just seen, but there was one complaint that NASA, a government agency, was promoting religion. The public-affairs officers smiled and thanked all callers. A Japanese reporter checked in. He had spent most of the day in the news center and now, approaching deadline, he wanted to know when NASA would have a transcript of the astronauts’ reading from lunar orbit.
The quick-thinking public-affairs person, considered the Japanese reporter was most likely Buddhist, asked, “Are you in your hotel room?”
“Yes,” the reporter acknowledged.
“Look in the drawer under your phone and you will find a black book.”
The Japanese reporter opened the drawer and said, “I have it.”
“Good,” the NASA spokesman said. “Open it to the first book entitled Genesis, page seven. You’ll find the transcript there.”
By the time we had wrapped up the astronauts’ Christmas message in the NBC broadcast trailer outside Mission Control, most of us were feeling blue. We were missing our families on Christmas Eve, and we were off to phone them from our hotel rooms.
My wife Jo’s voice was a needed tonic, and our two-year-old, Karla, and our seven-year-old, Alicia, had to tell Daddy all about the presents they expected Santa Claus to bring.
As families go, I was most fortunate.
After getting a touch of Christmas from home in Cocoa Beach, I realized I hadn’t had dinner. I slipped my coat back on and took the elevator downstairs to the coffee shop. I walked through the door paying little notice to a man at the end of the counter.
“Am I too late?” I asked the waitress.
“Merry Christmas,” she said, passing me a menu. “What would you like?”
I sat down, ordered, and as the waitress left, returned to my blue, spending-Christmas-alone mood.
The man at the other end of the counter got up and walked over. “Hi, Jay,” he said politely, “I’m John Glenn.”
I looked up and instantly congratulated myself for being the year’s biggest jackass. I had just slighted a national hero whom I admired.
“Of course you are, John,” I began laughing, motioning for him to sit down. “Would you believe my mind was at home with Jo and the kids?”
John settled on the stool next to me and nodded, “I believe.”
Suddenly, Christmas Eve wasn’t all that blue. John Glenn and I downed a few morsels and a gallon of coffee and welcomed Christmas with happy memories.
On