The Darker Side of the Moon
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“A Reluctant Icon: Letters to Neil Armstrong,” James Hansen, 2020.
Jim Hansen’s third book about Neil Armstrong takes a noticeably darker turn. His first, 2005’s “First Man,” is the only authorized biography the legendary moonwalker ever permitted. That book is remarkable for its depth of research, and will doubtless be consulted centuries from now when people want to know, “What was the first moonwalker like?”
2019 brought us “Dear Neil Armstrong: Letters to the First Man from All Mankind,” which I have previously reviewed. As the title suggests, this was a dive into the enormous amount of correspondence Armstrong received over the decades, revealing as much about the people who wrote to him as it did about Armstrong himself. It’s a mirror held up to humanity, revealing pride and love, but also greed and envy. It’s a fascinating read.
In the third book, the mirror becomes warped.
There are some touching moments, such as correspondence between Armstrong and his fellow astronauts. But even there, most of them are requests to him to help them in some way. The endless invites from other spacefarers to anniversary events helps us understand why Armstrong held increasingly less interest in commemorating nothing more than the passage of time. And when fellow moonwalker Jim Irwin continually urges Neil Armstrong to say something religious on the record, we see that Armstrong couldn’t even find protection among his own brethren. His continued elegant tact in declining Irwin’s requests shows a politeness I find charming, even if it merely prolongs the questioning from those who wish not to take the hint.
I found some historically fascinating snippets in there, such as when the family of Hugh Dryden, NASA’s first deputy administrator, learned of the decision to rename NASA’s Dryden center after Armstrong, and wrote to Neil to express their pain. There’s also a revealing letter from a bloviating Norman Mailer, which clearly shows why Armstrong would have no interest in being interviewed by this self-obsessed bore of a novelist.
Mostly, the book takes the same shape as its predecessor – a glimpse into the relentless pressures of fame – but goes to a much darker place with them. Letters from strangers full of anger, disappointment, and evidence of severe mental illness pepper the book with bile. Infamous moon hoaxer Bart Sibrel rears his head for another 15 seconds of infamy. Rude and angry autograph collectors show up and complain, along with others upset that Armstrong didn’t help them with some project he had no connection with. Conspiracy theorists and UFO believers berate Armstrong for supposed lies and cover-ups. Even the letters that seem very reasonable – sincere requests from people high up in politics and industry – seem overwhelming by their sheer volume. I once again wonder if making the first landing on the moon was ever worth this relentless barrage for the rest of his life. Armstrong attempts grace, and even sends replies in most cases. I was left thinking how remarkably understanding and tolerant Armstrong was, dealing with letters I would personally have trashed, and certainly never replied to.
Most difficult to read, for me, was the heartbreaking and apparently preventable circumstances of Armstrong’s death that Hansen explains in what may be his final act as official biographer.
Taken as a companion with his prior book, I’m left with ever more insight as to how those who claimed Armstrong was a “recluse,” never engaging with people again after leaving public life, are incorrect. Neil Armstrong may not have always been the person we wanted him to be after Apollo 11. But he owed us nothing. He didn’t let us down. Instead, judging by so many of the letters in this book, it was we who let him down.