No Dream Is Too High

• CHAPTER NINE • DO WHAT YOU BELIEVE IS RIGHT EVEN WHEN OTHERS CHOOSE OTHERWISE.

Always maintain your honesty and integrity even if people around you compromise theirs.

Making tough decisions may often set you apart, and put you a bit out of sync with your peers. Let’s be honest: Taking the high road when people around you are willing to compromise what is right may not always draw kudos from your friends or peers. But what they think of you is not the paramount issue. You want to be able to live with yourself, knowing that you are not perfect but that you are committed to doing the right thing as best you can. That’s not as easy as it sounds, as I discovered when I was a cadet at the United States Military Academy at West Point, one of our nation’s most prestigious military institutions.

In 1947 as a high school senior, 17 years of age, I received an offer of a full-ride scholarship to MIT, my father’s alma mater. I turned it down because I was also honored to receive an appointment to West Point, and that commitment to serve my country has colored everything in my life. Wealth and fame have never been strong motivations for me, although I have been blessed—or cursed, depending on your perspective—with both. Making a fortune in the stock market never mattered to me, nor did having an abundance of expensive material possessions, though I’ve enjoyed some of those. My goal has always been to serve my country with honor and distinction. That’s why I went to West Point, and that’s why I went to the Moon.

During the summer of 2015, Christina ran across my “travel vouchers” for the Apollo 11 trip to the Moon. There it was, listing as “points of travel”:

FROM

Houston, Texas

TO

Cape Kennedy, Florida

Moon

Pacific Ocean (U.S.S. Hornet)

Hawaii

and return to Houston, Texas

Christina was astounded that NASA paid me only $33.31 for travel expenses. My only reimbursement request was for a rental car that I used prior to launch. After a journey of more than half a million miles, that was the only travel expense that I listed, so that’s what NASA repaid me. “Government meals and quarters furnished for all the above dates,” the voucher states: July 7 through July 27, including the period from July 19 (1325 hours, arrived at Moon) to July 21 (2400 hours, left Moon).

Similarly, Neil Armstrong, Mike Collins, and I had to fill out a U.S. Customs form upon our return from the Moon. My customs declaration form stated “Departure from: Moon. Arrival at: Honolulu, Hawaii, U.S.A. Cargo, items to declare: Moon rocks, Moon dust samples.” Then in a rather cryptic note, the form included the statement, “Any other condition on board which may lead to the spread of disease? To be determined”—because it was unknown what health impact our adventure on the lunar surface might eventually have on our bodies. Neil, Mike, and I all signed the official declaration document, as did the local customs agent in Hawaii. To me, going to the Moon was merely an extension of the commitment I had made to serve my country years earlier.

When I said the words of the oath at West Point, “Duty, honor, country, and service,” I meant them, and I still embrace them to this day. I made the commitment not simply to enlist for a few years but to serve my country for the rest of my life. And I am proud to have done so. Serving my country has been the greatest honor of my life.

At West Point, I took seriously the high standards by which all cadets promised to live and operate. The academy upheld a simple but strict honor code: “A cadet will not lie, cheat, steal, or tolerate those who do.” Not only were cadets expected to do their own work, never compromising their own integrity, they were also required to report anyone else who might be cheating. The “honor code” at West Point meant that an instructor could literally leave a room while administering a test and expect that the cadets would not share answers, copy someone else’s paper, or do anything that might skew the results. The honor code, although adhered to and administered by the commandant of the academy as well as the superintendent of the academy, was basically peer enforced, cadets keeping each other accountable.

West Point had such confidence in the willingness of cadets to adhere to the honor code, the academy had set up an almost irresistible temptation—dividing the corps of cadets into two regiments, meeting on two separate days, with both taking identical classes and receiving identical tests. For instance, one class might take a test on Monday, and the other received that same test on Wednesday; in the meantime, the cadets were expected not to discuss the contents of the exam, much less the answers to questions. That usually worked well, but in situations where members of the two regiments mixed, especially on the athletic teams, inevitably the temptation to ask, “What was on the test?” proved too hard to resist and the program was compromised.

Nowadays, many students are accustomed to asking such questions, and there are entire businesses thriving in America that do nothing other than help students prepare for college entrance exams such as the SAT or ACT. Their method is simple and effective, and the businesses help students improve their scores by reviewing previous tests and practicing for the exam, which will most likely be quite similar.

But at West Point in my day, we were expected to do our own work. We didn’t ask our fellow cadets, “Hey, what was on the test you took yesterday?” That would be breaking the honor code. A cadet accused of violating the honor code could be sanctioned or possibly expelled from the academy, so pointing out an indiscretion by a fellow cadet was always taken seriously. That’s why I faced such a dilemma when I discovered a cadet in my class cheating on an exam.

During an exam my second year at West Point, the instructor left the room. Not surprisingly, the cadets taking the test remained absolutely silent. I was poring over my exam when I momentarily glanced up from my work and noticed one of the most respected cadets at the academy pull out a crib sheet—a piece of paper with answers to the test! I was shocked, but I didn’t say anything to him or anyone else at the time. I finished the exam and exited the room, feeling great consternation. What was I to do? I was certain that I had witnessed a cadet cheating on an exam, a blatant violation of the honor code. If I ignored his actions, I would be as guilty as he was, and I knew the code demanded that failure to report a violation could also lead to expulsion. But if I reported his actions, I ran the risk of it being his word against mine.

I grappled with the dilemma for a while, but really the decision about what I had to do was a foregone conclusion for me. I knew that I had to report the cadet I saw cheating.

I went to my honor representative and reported the incident. He went to the cadet’s room and found the crib notes he had used during the exam, but unfortunately, the honor representative did not confiscate the notes. He merely saw them. Later, the already graded paper that the cadet had used as crib notes disappeared.

When the case came up before the cadet council, all 24 company representatives of the honor committee concluded that an indiscretion had occurred. But because the representative had not retrieved the crib notes as evidence, lacking any tangible proof of the honor code violation, the situation came down to my word against that of the accused cadet. As part of his defense, he implied that I was the one cheating, and that I was jealous of him, so I had lied about him cheating. Of course, nothing could have been further from the truth.

In similar situations at West Point, if a cadet was accused of an indiscretion yet there was not enough evidence to prove it, the cadet in question was “silenced”—ostracized and shunned. A borderline statement that was evasive was known as “quibbling”—dodging the issue and covering an honor violation. But when I reported the cheating incident, the commandant refused to allow the cadet in question to be silenced. Perhaps because of the cadet’s popularity, he was able to weather the storm, and he was never shunned. In fact, the man involved went on to become a decorated general; I went to war in Korea.

As it turned out, the incident that I had witnessed was only the tip of the iceberg. The following year, 90 cadets were dismissed from West Point for cheating, including our star quarterback and 36 other members of the Army football team. It was one of the largest scandals ever to rock a U.S. military academy.

Thanks to round-the-clock news coverage, as well as social media covering the latest scandal or public indiscretions nowadays, most of us barely blink when we are informed of another sordid mess involving a public official, a military officer, or even a minister. But in the late 1940s and early 1950s, such breaches of integrity and other “moral failures” were considered serious matters, especially at our nation’s military academies.

I graduated third in my class at West Point in 1951, but reporting the cheater cost me some good friendships and, no doubt, some good future connections. Nevertheless, I never regretted doing the right thing. Some people might say, “But Buzz, what’s the use of being honest if the cheater goes free and you are the one who suffers?”

I didn’t see it that way, and I didn’t want to back away from West Point’s strict honor principles, nor did many others at the academy. Moreover, some recognized that I respected the rules of the academy, and that I could be trusted. That paid huge dividends in my future.

YEARS LATER, WHILE STANDING ON the lunar surface, Neil Armstrong and I were informed that someone wanted to speak with us. The next voice we heard said, “Hello, Neil and Buzz. I’m talking to you from the Oval Room[Office] of the White House, and this certainly has to be the most historic telephone call ever made from the White House.”

Neil and I paused our activity and listened as the president of the United States, Richard M. Nixon, talked to us “long-distance” and expressed congratulations and the pride of America.

“I just can’t tell you how proud we all are of what you have done,” the president said. “For every American, this has to be the proudest day of our lives, and for people all over the world, I am sure that they, too, join with Americans in recognizing what an immense feat this is. Because of what you have done, the heavens have become a part of man’s world, and as you talk to us from the Sea of Tranquility, it inspires us to redouble our efforts to bring peace and tranquility to Earth. For one priceless moment in the whole history of man, all the people on this Earth are truly one—one in their pride in what you have done and one in our prayers that you will return safely to Earth.”

“Thank you, Mr. President,” Neil said into his helmet microphone, his words transmitted back to Earth and around the globe. “It is a great honor and privilege for us to be here representing not only the United States, but men of peaceable nations, men with an interest and a curiosity, and men with a vision for the future. It is an honor for us to be able to participate here today.”

We talked briefly with the president, and then Neil and I went back to work. Hearing from our president while we were on the lunar surface was a special surprise, but I’m sure glad I didn’t have to pay for that phone call!

OF COURSE, NOT EVERYBODY ON EARTH was as excited about our achievement as was President Nixon. It was a time in our nation’s history when patriotism was out of style for certain factions. But doing the right thing means that you cannot allow the foolish or ignorant ideas, actions, or attitudes of others to deter you from your destiny or force you off your determined path. So the response of a few protestors didn’t matter to me.

After landing on the Moon, Neil, Mike, and I were kept in quarantine for 21 days so doctors and scientists could study us, just in case we brought back some unusual germs from our time in space. As silly as it seems now, there was serious concern that we might contract something alien that could affect life on Earth. That may seem far-fetched, but keep in mind that travelers from Hawaii to California are not permitted to transport certain fruits and flowers from the islands to the mainland, because certain fruit flies could devastate California’s crops. Because nobody had ever returned from another celestial body, scientists did not want to take any chances of us transporting something that could be deadly to life on Earth.

When we finally completed our quarantine, my fellow Apollo 11 astronauts and I were treated to a fabulous ticker tape parade in New York. Neil, Mike, and I were doused with what seemed like a blizzard of confetti as our motorcade slowly rolled up Wall Street to Broadway and on to City Hall and the United Nations Building with thousands of people waving, reaching out to us, and cheering in congratulations as we went. When I saw a troop of Boy Scouts in front of us, each one carrying an American flag, it evoked within me an overwhelming sense of patriotism and hope for our future. Then, that same day, we were off to Chicago, where we experienced a similar parade and reception. Mayor Richard J. Daley presented us with a special bowl commemorating our accomplishments. The bowl was stolen before we left town.

Then it was on to Los Angeles where a few hours later, Neil, Mike, and I received another huge reception and were treated like heroes. To close out the long day, we attended a celebration banquet with President Nixon and about 3,000 of his closest friends. In addition to my wife and children, my father attended the event and looked on, beaming, as the president of the United States presented Neil, Mike, and me each with a Medal of Freedom, the highest honor given to civilians in our nation.

Although each of us had spoken briefly at the receptions and celebrations, our first public speaking engagement was on the campus of Marquette University in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where we were to receive the Père Marquette Discovery Award. We were not prepared for the reception we received. As Neil, Mike, and I made our way from the limousines to the building in which we were to speak, disgruntled students protesting something—I never did find out what—lined the sidewalks and attempted to pelt us with eggs! Fortunately, we were too far away for the eggs to hit their targets, but it was a rude awakening to realize that not everyone was thrilled that we had successfully gone to the Moon and returned to Earth.

To me it was sad that those students were so caught up in their political agendas that they could not support an unprecedented accomplishment that opened new horizons for all humans.

WHEN NEIL ARMSTRONG AND I planted the first American flag on the Moon—no easy feat getting a light, hollow pole wedged down into the rock surface that had been pummeled by asteroids for thousands of years—I stepped back and saluted, almost instinctively. Neil took my photo as I did. That salute was one of the proudest moments of my life. Although not given to emotionalism, patriotism and love for my country overwhelmed me. All of my West Point training, my years of service as an Air Force fighter pilot during the Korean War, my time in Germany flying simulated nuclear attack missions, every time I’d ever placed my hand over my heart as I stated the Pledge of Allegiance, every time I’d ever heard “The Star-Spangled Banner”—it was all there, wrapped up in that simple salute on the Moon. And for the record, I’ve always thought the flag Neil and I placed looked the best of the six flags that were planted on the Moon by astronauts between July 1969 and December 1972, when the Apollo mission was completed.

Doing the right thing isn’t always easy—especially when others don’t understand or appreciate your actions—but doing the right thing is always worth it in the long run.