Buzz Aldrin: No Dream Is Too High

Moreover, I felt sure that later missions would focus on more experiments, and that possibility intrigued me. But Neil, Mike, and I had been the backup crew for Apollo 8, so when our rotation came up for Apollo 11, it was our turn, whether or not the mission turned out to be the first attempt at landing.

Neil took his commander responsibilities seriously. Too seriously, sometimes, for Mike and me. Mike has a great sense of humor and loves to laugh. Neil was much more serious and “dignified.”

When Neil took that first “small step for man, one giant leap for mankind,” he was still grasping the lunar module (LM) ladder, and his right foot remained on the LM footpad. Because scientists had no idea how deep the lunar dust might be, he tentatively placed his left foot on the surface, trying to determine if it would support his weight. It did. In fact, the LM footpads had only depressed the lunar surface about one or two inches. That was good news. Some scientists were concerned that the LM’s landing pads might sink deeply into the dust, possibly tilting the LM or even toppling the landing craft on its side. But the surface held firmly. Neil’s boot sank into the dust less than a quarter of an inch.

I wasn’t certain what Neil would say when he first set foot on the Moon, but I was quite sure that it would not be some serendipitous statement that just popped into his mind. We were intensely aware that every move we made and every word we spoke on the Moon would be seen and heard by untold millions of people, possibly for generations to come. But I really had no idea what Neil might say the moment he first set foot on the Moon. Even as we approached the Moon, still in the command module, Mike attempted to pry the secret out of Neil, asking him questions such as, “What are you going to say when you get down there?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Neil said, playing down the significance of his initial statement. “If our mission is successful, I’ll think of something.”

I smiled, knowing that whatever Neil decided to say, it would be well thought out and appropriate to the moment.

It was. “That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind,” Neil proclaimed, and he was right.

About 20 minutes later, it was my turn. With Neil already on the surface and snapping photos of me, I carefully backed down the ladder and partially closed the hatch, making sure not to lock it on my way out! As I stepped onto the talcumlike lunar dust, the first words that came to mind were: magnificent desolation . It was a “magnificent” accomplishment for man to set foot on another world for the first time. And yet there was the “desolation” of the million-year lunar landscape with no signs of life, no atmosphere, and total blackness beyond the sunlit terrain.

Nearly a billion people all over the world watched and listened as Neil and I ventured onto the powdery lunar surface. Houston was in constant communication with us, so even though we were farther away than any two humans had ever been—except for Mike, who was circling the Moon in Columbia —we felt connected to home.

We spent two and a half hours on the surface—collecting rocks, setting up experiments that NASA could continue to monitor for years, and taking a few photos.

Because the camera was attached to a fitting on Neil’s space suit, he took most of the photographs on the Moon, and he did an excellent job, although the photos were both a blessing and a curse. After setting up one experiment, we weren’t supposed to walk in front of it, but the photos later revealed my footsteps to the right of the apparatus. Because Neil was taking the photo and there was nobody else up there, I was guilty as charged—or, as someone might say, the photo revealed “condemning evidence.”

One photo that Neil took of me later became known as the “Visor Shot,” one of the most famous photographs in history. At first glance, it seems like a simple picture of me standing on the rough lunar surface with the blackness of space behind me. If you look more closely at the reflection in my gold helmet visor, however, you can see the Eagle spacecraft, my shadow on the Moon, some of the experiments we set up, and even Neil taking the picture—all in the visor of my helmet. It is truly an astounding photograph. In one click of the camera shutter, Neil captured man’s first walk on the Moon. Over the years, people have often asked me why this photo was so great. I answer with three words: Location, location, location!

EVENTUALLY, I CAME TO EMBRACE the fact that Neil was the first man on the Moon and I was “second,” and that my position was not insignificant. A relative on my mother’s side of the family, Reeve Darling, and I were talking about being second, and I expressed some consternation about my dubious distinction. Reeve looked at me and said, “Buzz, you can’t change history. You were the second man on the Moon. The media and everyone else focuses on the first; like in the Olympics, we want to know who won the gold medals, but we’re not as interested in the silver and bronze medal winners. Accept it.”

That was a turning point for me. I began to realize that although Neil would always be known as the first man on the Moon, I was there with him, and my contributions helped make Neil’s first step possible. Moreover, I was a participant in and an eyewitness to that first, monumental achievement. Why should I bellyache about being second, when I had so much for which I could be thankful and excited? I am the second person in the history of human beings to set foot on another celestial body. That is a meaningful position in itself.

Oh, I do have a couple of “firsts” in space. I own the title as the first person to ever take a “selfie” in space. During my Gemini 12 space walk, I was taking photos for an experiment involving ultraviolet rays, and while outside the spacecraft, I decided to see what would happen if I took a headshot of myself with Earth over my shoulder and the vastness of space above me in the background. I was confident that I could do it because my future Apollo 11 colleague Mike Collins had taken a photo inside the space capsule during Gemini 10, but nobody had ever tried a selfie outside the spacecraft.

Nearly 50 years later, my manager and “Mission Control Director,” Christina Korp, noticed that someone else had declared a photo as the first selfie in space. Christina has worked with me for a number of years, and she and her husband, Alex, along with their children Brielle and Logan, have become like family to me. Alex and Christina even named their son Logan Alexander Buzz Korp. The boy even has “Buzz” on his passport.

Christina not only manages my business, but she manages my life, and nowadays, she often teases that she has become my substitute mother, protecting my interests and making me behave … or else! We have a wonderful, close relationship, and I depend on her wisdom and expertise.

When Christina saw someone else claiming to have taken the first selfie in space, it was as though someone had insulted her family member! “Oh, I don’t think so,” she said, and instantly sent out the same message on Twitter. “That honor belongs to Buzz Aldrin.” She pointed out the photo I had taken with the Gemini 12 infrared camera. In 2015, a collector released original, authentic NASA prints from the early days of U.S. space exploration, and a print of my selfie sold for more than $9,000 at a London auction that year. I’m not sure whose pocket that money went into, but it wasn’t mine!

AS FAR AS I KNOW, I WAS ALSO THE FIRST person to ever relieve his bladder on the Moon, which I did immediately after jumping off the ladder of the lunar module. Neil took one small step for man and one giant leap for mankind; I took one small step for man and one giant leak for mankind!