Magnificent Desolation_ The Long Journey Home From the Moon - Buzz Aldrin [36]
Besides, by that time, we had become in essence the public face of NASA. When anyone called the agency for a speaker, whether it was for a university symposium or a Little League baseball field dedication, we were always at the top of the list. No doubt, some people thought we could better serve America’s space program by representing it to the world. Nice thought, but we were trained as pilots, not as public-relations people, and of the three Apollo 11 astronauts, none of us was prepared to be a person under constant fire from the media, someone whose every word—even if it was nonsensical—instantly showed up in newspapers, magazines, and other media around the world. Imagine the biggest rock star or Hollywood celebrity dealing with the media feeding frenzy that happens nowadays; now multiply that exponentially and you have some idea of what we three PR novices experienced for months following the landing on the moon. NASA of course expected a barrage of interview requests and public appearance requests, but they never anticipated the physical and emotional drain the instant fame would put on men who had spent most of their adult lives in a cockpit.
THE TRANSITION FROM “astronaut preparing to accomplish the next big thing” to “astronaut telling about the last big thing” did not come easily to me. For the previous eight years, from the time I had been studying rendezvous techniques at MIT, and working on my doctoral dissertation, which contained many of the ideas we incorporated in the Gemini and Apollo space programs, my life had revolved around astronautics—not just talking about it, but doing it, getting ready for it, and making something happen. Now, as much as I understood that in America “heroes have duties,” talking about it was growing old quickly. Nevertheless, I was committed to doing my best, hoping to inspire other people through my experiences, especially the younger generation, who I hoped would take the exploration of space further than even I could imagine.
That’s why, in early January 1970, I resumed traveling from one end of the country to the other, making public appearances and giving speeches on behalf of NASA. Following my appearance on NBC’s flagship morning news program, the Today Show, host Hugh Downs and I discussed the negative response Neil, Mike, and I had received at Marquette University. Hugh shared my consternation over the disenchantment of America’s high school and college-aged youth. A few weeks later, outbreaks of deadly violence at Kent State and Jackson State universities brought the issue into Americans’ living rooms in graphic detail.
I wasn’t sure what to do, but I felt compelled to find some way in which I could get involved—something that would offer a new challenge, as well as an opportunity to perhaps capitalize on some of the public’s familiarity with my name. My mind started to cogitate on the possibilities.
In February 1970, my father’s close friend, General Jimmy Doolittle, approached me about becoming a part of the board of directors of Mutual of Omaha, a once-venerable, well-known insurance company. The company perpetuated its clean-cut, wholesome image by hiring military heroes and other nationally known figures,