Remembering Gene Cernan

For a lot of obvious reasons, the U.S. is filled with space enthusiasts. Most space enthusiasts, you'll find, have a favorite mission. For many, it's Mercury-Atlas 6, John Glenn's orbital flight. For many it's Gemini 4, when Ed Young made the first American Spacewalk, or Gemini 6, the first ever space rendezvous. For most, perhaps, it's Apollo 11. Apollo 13 has it's own cult following, as does STS-1, the first Space Shuttle flight. For me, it's Apollo 17.

Apollo 17 was the perfect moon landing. Needless to say, the Apollo program was remarkably successful—7 attempted moon landings, 6 successes, and no fatalities after the tragic launch-pad fire that killed the crew of Apollo 1. The Apollo program was the greatest engineering feat in history, the greatest feat of exploration and arguably the greatest feat of science. Nonetheless, every one of the moon mission was either nearly aborted due to a critical malfunction (Apollos 11, 14 and 16), or saw the near-fatality of a crewman (Apollos 12, 13 and 15). But not 17; 17 was perfect. The biggest problem Apollo 17 faced was the loss of a pair of scissors, which delayed dinner for Command Module pilot Ron Evans as he orbited 60 miles above the Lunar surface.

Things went well right off the bat. The Palestinian terror organization Black September threatened to murder or kidnap the Apollo 17 crew or their families; those threats were thwarted. A computer glitch was detected and fixed shortly before the mission's Saturn V firing sequence began. The launch—the only nighttime Apollo launch—went off without a hitch, as did the flight to the moon, as did the landing on the Moon's surface. Apollo 17's moonwalks were longer and broader than than those of any other mission, and for the only time during the Apollo program, they featured a professional geologist: Lunar Module Pilot Harrison Schmitt, PhD. Schmitt was joined on the surface by his mission commander, Eugene Cernan. Cernan exited the Lunar Module after Schmitt and go back in after him; consequently, he holds the record for most time spent moon-walking. He was also the last man to walk on the moon's surface, and the pilot of the most difficult moon landing—into the narrow lunar valley of Taurus-Littrow. He also shares the records for most trips to the moon: two, on Apollos 17 and 10 (which didn't land), and for the highest speed ever achieved by a human being, during Apollo 10's reentry into the earth's atmosphere.

He was a hell of a man; he died this past Wednesday.

Besides his moon credentials, Gene Cernan a navy pilot with a masters in aeronautical engineering, more than 5,000 flight hours and 200 carrier landings. He was also a spacewalker on the Gemini 9 mission. After his retirement, he joined Neil Armstrong and John Lovell (of Apollos 8 and 13) in vigorously opposing President Obama's cancellation of the Bush moon program. No column eulogizing his life could possibly cover its remarkable breadth; if that's what you're looking for, I strongly suggest you read his memoir, "The Last Man on the Moon." Instead of a heavily abridged biography, here's one story about Cernan on the ground that I think sums up his character pretty well: