Magnificent Desolation_ The Long Journey Home From the Moon - Buzz Aldrin [58]
Prior to my actual taking command of the test pilot school, I was welcomed to Lancaster, California, the community adjacent to Edwards, at a dinner hosted by the local chamber of commerce. Unwittingly, someone seated General White and his wife at a lower table, and Joan and me at a higher table. The subtle implication was that Buzz Aldrin was more important than General Bob White. Such breaches of protocol just aren’t done in military circles, and more than a few people thought that perhaps the general might not have appreciated my being at Edwards as much as he let on. Not because he didn’t like me; in fact, Bob and I got along quite well. But my arrival created an imbalance in leadership since my celebrity was seen by some to supersede the general’s well-established position in the esteem of his troops.
John Blaha, a student in the test pilot school when I arrived, and who later became an instructor, recalled:
When Buzz arrived, everybody at that base turned their head and eyes away from Bob White and toward Buzz Aldrin. Buzz became the focal point, and the general was almost ignored. What I saw as a young captain was that the general moved to a less important position in the minds of the students at the center. It wasn’t fair to Buzz or to General White, but it was probably unavoidable.
Nevertheless, at the banquet in Lancaster, General White presented me with an Air Force Legion of Merit award. The award was given for “exceptionally meritorious conduct” during my nearly eight years as an astronaut with NASA while assigned to the Air Force’s first Special Activities Squadron at NASA’s Manned Spacecraft Center in Houston. General White told the crowd, “Colonel Aldrin’s leadership, diligence, and perseverance in mission planning and orbital rendezvous were contributions of major importance in the success of the Gemini and Apollo space programs.”
I appreciated the general’s kind accolades then, and I appreciated his willingness to help me get reacclimated at Edwards when I returned from four weeks in the hospital. Apart from my closest staff, thanks to General White and Ted Twinting, most of the instructional staff knew only that I had been away somewhere, but they were unaware why.
Going back home was tougher. Joan did her best to make everything seem normal, but our conversations were stilted. We didn’t look each other in the eyes often. Our children slowly accepted that Dad had returned, and, after a few days of walking on eggshells, soon slipped back into their typical adolescent brother and sister banter.
I knew that Joan had been contemplating divorce; she had said so plainly during one of our initial conversations with Dr. Perry. I was conscious of my own ambivalence as well, and I had no clue how to ameliorate my troubled, convoluted emotions. As a sort of peace offering, I bought Joan an elegant blond mink coat. I wanted to placate some of the pain I had caused her in the past, as well as the pain I would no doubt inflict on her in the near future if I ended our marriage. The day after Christmas, Joan and I flew to Acapulco, where we were joined by Joan’s stepbrother and his wife. The first few days of the trip were relaxing, but on December 29, Joan’s and my seventeenth wedding anniversary, we all went to dinner together. As Joan raised her glass in a toast, she said, “Here’s to seventeen, Buzz.” Then, as the three of us lifted our glasses, Joan asked the question on everybody’s mind: “Will we see eighteen?”
Joan’s straightforward question took me by surprise. I looked at my raised glass, but said nothing. After a few awkward moments, I slowly put my glass back down on the table.
Joan burst into tears, and I’m not sure that I didn’t join her, along with the in-laws. She hastily got up and left the table. My stunned in-laws sat in silence as I finished my drink and went to our room. By the time I got there, it was obvious that Joan