We all brought along our children, and the kids were taken upstairs for dinner. Before the evening was over, the president gave them a special tour. He was a great historian, steeped in the history of the White House. He took a real delight in taking the kids up to what looked like blank walls, and pointing out a near-invisible line in the paint. Then he’d push on the wall, and a secret bathroom would be revealed. Nixon laughed with pleasure as he entertained the children. He was just wonderful to them.
Before we sat down to dinner, we stood with the president on the balcony that overlooked the South Lawn. As we looked at the city lights, Nixon told his butler to fetch his hundred-year-old scotch. The butler quietly reminded him that there was only a tiny amount left. The president didn’t care—it was an appropriate occasion to finish it, he declared. So we gazed at the skyline and raised our glasses in a toast.
It is strange to think now, but all five of the men who sat down to dinner that night—the president, the vice president, and the Apollo 15 crew—were marked for a dramatic fall from grace. At the time, all of us were riding high: Nixon and Agnew were on course to win a second term by a landslide the next year, and we were being honored by them with this special dinner.
If only we could have foreseen the catastrophes just around the corner for us all. Vice President Agnew was forced to resign because of criminal charges in 1973. Facing even weightier accusations, Nixon would resign the year after, the only American president ever to do so. The fate of our crew would be decided even sooner.
Although the seeds were irreversibly sown, this was still in our future. As an added honor, the president treated us to a weekend at his private mountain retreat, Camp David. After the grueling years of training, I enjoyed spending family time with Merrill and Alison, while watching Dave and Jim relax with their wives and kids. Mary and Lurton had seen precious little of their husbands in those busy and tense years, and now they could finally enjoy their company in beautiful and luxurious surroundings. I felt a momentary tinge of regret. I was at the pinnacle of my career, but my time around these happy families only reminded me of what I had sacrificed to get this far.
However, it was a time to enjoy, not to reflect. We visited New York for a motorcade through Manhattan with the mayor. We sat in an open-topped car and waved at the crowds, then met with the secretary-general of the United Nations. He presented each of us with the UN Peace Medal.
NASA never trained me in public speaking, but during our postflight itinerary, I grew to enjoy it. I didn’t have any particular axe to grind and just said what was on my mind, which is probably why I wasn’t bothered by giving speeches. I never used a script; I just tried to watch my audience and see what they responded to, changing pace if needed.
While in New York, we did a round of talk shows. The host of the Today Show back then was Hugh Downs, and he had a very funny sideman, the former baseball player Joe Garagiola. During our interview, Joe leaned in and said he understood that astronauts sometimes had differences of opinion in flight, but who had the last word?
Staying lighthearted in keeping with the show’s tone, I raised my hand. Dave shot me a funny look, but Joe laughed and asked me for my answer. I told Joe that the last word was always me saying “Yes, sir!” to Dave. It got a big laugh, and the show continued.
But Dave didn’t forget. In the relative privacy of a limousine on the way to our next engagement, he chewed me out for the entire ride. It wasn’t the only time during that long world tour that Dave and I clashed. He didn’t like me to say things that he hadn’t come up with or vetted. The mission was over, but he was still in charge, and he would make damn sure I remembered it. Jim, miserable, slunk back into his seat during these exchanges and didn’t say a word.
What could I do? Dave could make life hell for me back in Houston if he wanted. As my commander, people would listen to his opinions about me. So I gritted my teeth and, without letting it suck all the enjoyment out of the trips, tried to do as he ordered.
Fortunately, there was plenty to enjoy. We had a similarly humbling reception in Chicago, where Mayor Daley drove out to meet us at the airport then took us on a tour of the city. Chicago was—and is—very ethnically diverse, and Daley wanted us to visit every neighborhood. It seemed that every different group had their own cultural celebration that day. Now this was my kind of thing. I could party, eat, drink, and outdance them all. It wasn’t really Dave’s scene, but I loved it.
Then we were whisked to a large formal dinner with the mayor. I’d vaguely remembered that Bob Lawrence, the pilot I’d known from astronaut selection testing, was from Chicago. Barbara, his widow, still lived there, so I invited her to the gathering. It was only by chance that Bob had died in a plane crash four years earlier. He could have just as easily have been a NASA astronaut returning from a triumphant trip to the moon and fêted by adoring crowds. I enjoyed a long chat with Barbara that night, sharing my memories of her husband.
I also called Eddie Fisher that day. The popular singer had come by the astronaut office whenever he was in Houston, and we’d become sort of friendly. He invited us to his late show and saved a table for us. By the time we disentangled ourselves from the other celebrations and made it to his theater, we were an hour late for his show. We snuck in, hoping not to disturb a show we assumed was well under way.
But it wasn’t. Eddie had held the show until we arrived, then came over and sang at our table. It was the kind of star treatment we were not used to, and I doubted it would ever feel normal.
NASA provided framed souvenir presentations for us to give away at every stop. Every dignitary from President Nixon on down received a flag that had journeyed with us to the moon and back. Many were specially flown, such as a United Nations flag for the UN. Mayors generally received the flag of their state. NASA didn’t ask, or seem to care, what happened to them after they were presented.
We received the star treatment in every stop we made in America, and then we headed to Western Europe. The people there seemed just as proud of us, which is exactly what we had hoped. We had flown to the moon as Americans, but we explored for the whole world. We hit England, France, Austria, Germany, and Belgium for another dizzying round of meeting world leaders, royalty, and speaking at scientific institutions. It was fun, but my favorite moments were between stops, where in some little village in the middle of Europe, we’d halt for a simple lunch with fascinating company. I always felt in my element in a room full of informal, fun-loving strangers, all eager to show us a good time. Plus, in England, I reconnected with many of my friends from the test pilot school days. It felt wonderful to see them again and share what had happened to me in the last five years.
I was alone, while Dave and Jim had Lurton and Mary with them. Lurton was great company, a very special lady whom I adored. Dave was lucky to have her. And Mary always took care of me. If I were asleep on an airplane on some long flight across the world, Mary would be the one to tuck a blanket around me and make sure I was okay. Lurton and Mary made me feel like family.
