A Memorial to Neil A. Armstrong (1930-2012)

While washing my hands after work yesterday, I learned from my dad that Neil Armstrong, the first human to set foot on the moon, had died of "complications resulting from cardiovascular procedures" (from a statement released by Armstrong's family). He was 82 years old.

I was saddened to hear this news, as Mr. Armstrong had long served for me as a role-model and hero since first learning of his journey to the moon from my dad's knee nearly two decades ago. He was the calm, steady captain of one of humanity's great expeditions; a quintessential explorer skilled in his craft, and dedicated to a mission for which so many gave so much. It is perhaps fitting that, along with some personal items, Mr. Armstrong also carried with him a piece of the original Wright Flyer to and from the Moon.

Following his death, the Wall St. Journal called Mr. Armstrong, "the most famous aviator since Charles Lindbergh." The Economist obituary read, "He had an engineer’s reserve, mixed with a natural shyness. Even among the other astronauts, not renowned for their excitability, Armstrong was known as the 'Ice Commander.'"

Of the moon-landing and it's context, the same Economist obituary proclaimed:

"It was one of the mightiest achievements of the potent combination of big government and big science; in many ways the apotheosis of the post-war American political consensus. Viewed from an age in which America’s government aspires to smallness and in which grand projects are regarded with suspicion, it seems more alien with every passing year.

Nevertheless, it is one of the few events of the 20th century that stands any chance of being widely remembered in the 30th."

In a different vein, the New York Times wrote:

"The Apollo 11 mission capped a tumultuous and consequential decade. The ’60s in America had started with such promise, with the election of a youthful president, mixed with the ever-present anxieties of the cold war. Then it touched greatness in the civil rights movement, only to implode in the years of assassinations and burning city streets and campus riots. But before it ended, human beings had reached that longtime symbol of the unreachable."

All the papers seem to agree, however, that while the 2 hour, 19 minute moon-walk on 20 July, 1969 is how most of us will remember Mr. Armstrong, it was never an achievement which he used to define himself. Much like Roger Bannister after running the first ever sub-4 minute mile in May 1954, Armstrong avoided the lime-light and the high status which society sought to grant him. It goes to show perhaps that, while society frequently rewards the confident and flashy among us, it is sometimes the quiet, unassuming, and level-headed who take the great "leap for mankind" and succeed.

So let us remember Neil A. Armstrong not only for the momentous step he took, but also for the way he handled himself in its aftermath. Thank you, Mr. Armstrong. You will be missed.
Peace.