Magnificent Desolation_ The Long Journey Home From the Moon - Buzz Aldrin [52]
The next morning I refused to get out of bed and drive to West Point. “I don’t feel like going,” I told Joan. “Spend the day with your family and I’ll stay right here.”
Joan wouldn’t hear of it. She enlisted her father’s help, and between the two of them, they cajoled me into making the trip. We arrived late, having stopped along the way several times ostensibly to view the multicolored fall foliage, but mostly for me to breathe and clear my head. By the time we got to West Point, the homecoming football game had already started, so Joan and I slipped into our seats inconspicuously. After the game, Joan encouraged me to attend my class reception, and it turned out to be an enjoyable evening.
The following day, Joan returned to her family’s home in New Jersey and I went into New York City for a directors’ meeting of the cable television company on whose board I sat. The new chairman of the board had asked that directors not involved with the company should resign, and I was only too happy to comply. I was convinced the company was simply using my Apollo 11 fame in an effort to stave off an inevitable financial collapse. I left the meeting and returned to the hotel where I had checked in, but didn’t stay for long.
I hadn’t seen Marianne in months, so I wasted no time in heading for her apartment. She greeted me passionately at first, but before long our conversation took an unexpected twist. “Buzz, I’m thinking of getting married again,” she said almost casually, and then informed me that a rival had actually proposed to her. Whether Marianne’s statement was sincere or merely meant to prod me to action, I’ll never know. Regardless, her words sent a surge of panic through my system, and I began offering her everything but the moon. “I’ll change, I’ll get some help, I’ll divorce Joan—anything, Marianne, but please don’t do anything rash. Give me a chance to get things in order, just wait for me.”
If I was making only half-promises, Marianne was offering even less. “I might wait a bit, but not for long, Buzz. Make up your mind.”
I LEFT NEW YORK and headed back to New Jersey to meet Joan, her dad, and my father. Trying to explain my mental and emotional troughs to Joan’s dad was tough enough; hoping that my father might understand was an exercise in futility. I could have made his arguments for him: “Depression? What’s depression? There’s no such thing. People didn’t get depressed in my day, especially soldiers; they just got up and got going and toughed it out. Why, look at me. Do you think life has been easy for me? No. And what about you? You have a reputation to uphold. You are not only a pilot, you’re an MIT scientist, an astronaut who walked on the moon!”
Dad became especially agitated when Joan and I told him about the appointment in San Antonio, and he encouraged me to cancel it. “Son, don’t you know what that could do to your career? That could ruin you!”
I didn’t even have time to respond before Joan jumped in adamantly. “I don’t care whether going for help has an adverse effect on Buzz’s career or not. I just want Buzz to feel good and get well.”
For a few long moments we all sat silently, then, one by one, we drifted off to bed. The decision had been made.
The next morning Joan and I flew from Newark to San Antonio to keep the appointment with Dr. Perry. We unloaded on the doctor, telling him everything we could in our efforts to explain the changes we both recognized