State Route 27 between Enterprise and Ozark, Alabama is about eighteen miles. The road is winding, but is not particularly dangerous at reasonable speeds The officers at the scene estimated that Jeff was going well over 100 miles per hour when his car left the road and ended up in a tree. He died at the scene.
What do you call a relationship that was a friendship, a very good friendship but then over time for reasons you don't remember, you just drift apart? In junior high school we had gotten to be really good friends. Bicycles were our primary mode of transportation and we kept the roads hot the four miles between our homes. For no particular reason, Jeff spent more time at my house than I did at his, but I was over there a good bit. He didn't have his own guitar so he came over often just to play mine. I busied myself with other things while he practiced with my guitar. Over time he played my guitar much better than I. On another occasion, Jeff was mildly upset with me that he was the one and not me riding his bicycle across town late at night after watching The Birds.
I find it interesting what I do and do not remember about things that happened so long ago. I do remember that there was no friendship incident that caused either one of us to give up, but the end result of what did or didn't happen terminated our relationship. After a while, we seldom spoke to each other. Although we were in high school together, the "accident" was the first I had thought about him in quite awhile.
In 1966 in eighth grade science, Jeff invited me to participate with him in our assigned project. He told me that he was building a model of the Saturn V rocket, the "moon rocket", and I asked him if I wanted to help. I thought he meant he had bought a model to assemble. The only "models" I was familiar with were the plastic automobiles with step-by-step instructions that I assembled as a kid with airplane glue and model paint. Why would he need help with that? I thought I could do better with something else, so I declined the offer. A few days later I rode to his house to see the work in progress. He was actually building the rocket to scale from scratch with balsa wood, tissue paper, airplane glue, model paint and other materials. Although he was just getting started, seeing the drawings and materials scattered around, I asked Jeff if I was too late to join him. He said, "No". When we were finished several weeks later, the rocket stood about four feet tall. We had not only constructed the rocket, but there was a seam from top to bottom and inside was a model of the interior of each stage of the rocket. You could see the fuel cells. You could see the Command Module and the Lunar Excursion Module. And like a doll house, each of those items were removable for closer inspection. You could pull them from the rocket and examine what they looked like and how they were constructed. You know--education. As far as I was concerned, we had created a masterpiece. Our teacher who was not, in my opinion, adequately impressed with our accomplishment awarded us an A. But she also gave an A to the student who drew a nice picture of the Saturn V rocket with magic markers on poster board. We were both good students and cared about the grade, but neither of us built the rocket for just a grade. Both of us had followed Gemini and Mercury and were very personally excited about the fledgling Apollo Space Program.
The next year on November 9th, NASA launched Apollo 4, the first launch of the Saturn V rocket. The scientists had not fully considered the power and force of their machine as it shook their launch control panels and knocked out windows miles away from the launch pad. NASA launched Apollo 11 on July 16, 1969. Four days later, Neil Armstrong stepped from the Lunar Excursion Module and became the fist man to stand on the moon. I knew the purpose of the Command Module and the Lunar Excursion Module. I was deeply and personally invested in the success of the missions.
The Saturn V remains the most powerful production rocket for space travel ever built.
I saw the movie Hidden Figures a few days ago about the women and men of NASA who made manned space flight possible. I was impressed with how many overcame prejudice, Jim Crow restrictions and sexism to offer their valuable contributions to the program. I shared their excitement when the rocket was airborne and Alan Shepherd became the first American in space and then John Glenn became the first American to orbit the earth. I never got to watch the launch of one of NASA's rockets. Sitting in my car on Highway 1, just across from the Kennedy Space Center, I was listening to the launch sequence on my radio. As the launch ticked down to 20 seconds and counting, my heart was pounding with anticipation and excitement. It's earlier version I had built with my own hands in the living room of my friend's house in Enterprise, Alabama. Now, for the first time, I was about to see it fly. The launch was scrubbed at T-minus 12 seconds. That's as close as I ever got to witnessing a launch. It's probably just as well I missed that launch because I was able to beat the traffic back to Walt Disney World. And by the time I got back, my family was already waiting for me to go home.
As much as I was enjoying the movie, I was also grieving the loss of the Apollo astronauts who died on the launch pad and then the shuttle astronauts who died in space. But I was also grieving the loss of my friend. Not just that he had died so tragically and so young, but that our friendship had died so many years before that. Since then, if a good friendship ends, I at least want to know why. I at least want to remember. I've learned that sometimes love and renewed friendship is just one small step away. I know I'll never step on the moon, but I try to take that step every day.
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