Magnificent Desolation (24 page)

Tom Paine, who had been NASA’s chief administrator when I went to the moon, now lived in and operated out of Santa Monica, California. I visited Tom frequently during this period when there appeared to be a resurgence of interest in a return to the moon. I shared my lunar cycler idea with Tom.

Tom liked what he saw, but he said, “Buzz, you know they are thinking about Mars, and there are some interesting ways of getting to Mars. Why don’t you think about your lunar cycler and make it go to Mars?”

Oh
, I thought,
that’s very complicated.

“Mars?” I asked. “Are you serious? I thought NASA’s plan was to support a permanent base on the moon.”

Tom raised his eyebrows. “That will never motivate the American people again. We need something bigger, something beyond the moon.”

I understood what Tom was saying, so I went to work adapting my ideas. It was only 1985, and a select few were thinking about going to Mars, but I knew that if we focused our minds and technology in that direction, we could achieve that goal. From Mars we could reach other places around the solar system. My basic operating principle was, how can we do it better?

Not surprisingly, most people didn’t see the need or the relevance of going to Mars, and I began to get a reputation for proposing harebrained ideas. “Are you serious, Buzz? Do you really think you can shuttle people on a cycler back and forth between the Earth and the moon, much less to Mars?”

“No, I guess not,” I’d reply. But I really did.

I started doing basic computations, drawing the relative orbits of Earth and Mars, and by the summer of 1985 I discovered that there was a way to transport people to Mars on what I developed as the Aldrin Mars Cycler. Like space trolley cars, the spacecraft would continue in perpetual cycling orbits between the two planets, picking up and dropping off detachable “taxi” transfer vehicles that could then carry crews and supplies to and from the surface of each planet. The trolley systems could use the planets’ gravitational pull as a slingshot propelling the cycler spacecraft back and forth. I estimated that a trip between Earth and Mars could take as little as five months using this technique. The way I figured it, we were halfway there—I was ready to go!

M
EANWHILE
, I
WAS
also traveling to various locations on Earth to engage in another of my passions—scuba diving. The first dive I ever took was with my 22nd Fighter Squadron off the coast of Tripoli, Libya, where we were on gunnery training in 1957 while stationed in Germany. Our squadron leader had some diving experience, so on our recreational day he took us to the French Sur Mer Club, where we strapped on some scuba tanks and dove off the pier into the clear Mediterranean waters off the north coast of Africa. Enamored with the underwater world, I signed up for a diving course on my next vacation with my family to a small village between Nice and Cannes on the French Riviera. I bought my first tank and regulator, and it has been a passion of mine ever since. That’s why I jumped at the chance to become the first astronaut to train for weightlessness underwater in neutral buoyancy when NASA suggested the idea. In my experience, being able to orient your body in any direction while underwater, without feeling the consequences of gravity is akin to the sensation of space-walking.

My oldest son, Mike, was a flight attendant with Cayman Airlines and also an avid scuba diver. At the time, most airlines had what they
called “friends and family passes,” free or greatly discounted travel tickets. I traveled nearly everywhere Cayman Airlines flew, which included many of the islands in the Caribbean, and sometimes Mike came along and joined me on a few dives. It was probably one of the best seasons in our father-son relationship. The diving trips kept me active and in circulation, but, more significantly, they helped me prove to myself that I did not need to have anyone with me, and that I could stay sober and interact with people without slipping back into drinking. I traveled so much on Cayman Airlines that the airline asked me to become an honorary board member.

On one of my many diving trips, I met the world-renowned oceanographer Sylvia Earle. A born explorer, Sylvia grew up in my home state of New Jersey, in the town of Camden. She received her Ph.D. from Duke University, and later became chief scientist of the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. An outspoken advocate of undersea research, she also hoped to raise public awareness of the damage done to our aquasphere by pollution and environmental degradation. By the time I met her, Sylvia’s National Geographic books and films about the sea were considered among the best.

She was smart, sassy, and easy to look at in a bathing suit. We hit it off immediately. I was diving in Nassau at the same time she was there assisting in the underwater scenes for a James Bond movie,
For Your Eyes Only.
Sylvia invited me to help out on the filming of the shark scenes. My job was basically shooting shark “B roll,” additional film to be worked in as needed later. It was great fun, and I enjoyed helping.

One of Sylvia’s more widely known scientific expeditions took her to the Galápagos, off the coast of Ecuador, an adventure on which she invited me to accompany her. I declined due to other demands on my schedule, and to this day, not going on that extraordinary trip is one of my few regrets.

I did, however, accompany Sylvia on a number of other expeditions, most notably a ten-day trip to the Gulf of Akaba, aboard the
Sun Boat
, a large dive boat that had staterooms below, a briefing room on the
middle level, and an upper observation deck. We dove in the northern part of the Red Sea on the east side of Sinai, then flew to Tel Aviv together, and went down to Elat, where we toured their aquarium. Along with divemaster Amos Nakum, Sylvia was collecting specimens for the California Aquatic Museum in San Francisco, where she was on the staff. She was trying to get pictures of a photoflurethicon, a fish that had fluorescent qualities that could be seen underwater at night. Wed do four dives a day, the last one being at night. By the time our crew pulled off our wet suits each evening, we were worn out, but thrilled.

Besides being a meticulous scientist, Sylvia had a quirky sense of humor, too. When she and I were diving together, she loved to sneak up on divers who were close to the caves, intently looking at some strange formation. Sylvia grabbed their fins and frightened the daylights out of them.

In 1979, Sylvia performed one of her most amazing feats, walking without a tether on the sea floor at a lower depth than any human being had ever previously done. Wearing a pressurized suit that looked more like it belonged on the Sea of Tranquillity, she traveled in a submersible down to a depth of 1,250 feet below the surface off the coast of Oahu, in Hawaii. At the bottom, she detached herself from the vessel and explored for more than two hours with only a communication line connecting her to the submersible.

When an interviewer once asked her about feeling alone underwater, she surprised me by drawing a comparison to Apollo 11:

I admired Sylvia for her scientific and adventurous mind, and it was refreshing to be around a woman unlike those who unduly idolized my moonwalker status. What she accomplished underwater was in many respects as difficult as what I’d done on the moon. We shared a brief romance, but at the time I was not nearly ready for commitment. Over the years, Sylvia and I have remained friends, and I still see her at the annual Explorers Club dinner at the Waldorf Astoria hotel in New York City. Members range from underwater pioneers such as Bob Ballard, of
Titanic
fame, to mountaineers like the late Sir Edmund Hillary, the first man to climb Mount Everest. And Sylvia is always one of the most respected explorers in the room. She played a crucial role in the reawakening period of my life, and perhaps more than anything, her willingness to explore the unknown prepared me for a shock to my system that would forever alleviate my own sense of aloneness.

   12

I
SENSED THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN EVEN BEFORE
I
SAW HER.
I always had an eye for great-looking women, and since being divorced from Beverly nine years earlier, I had established a bit of a reputation as a “player” in the Los Angeles area. At my age, I was more familiar with the term
playboy
, and although I didn’t necessarily see myself that way, I can now understand how those who knew me then may have used such terms to describe me. From my perspective, I simply enjoyed the company of a beautiful woman. I did not enjoy being lonely, so I dated frequently, although never with an inclination toward marriage.

But when I saw the woman conversing with the hostess of the party, Joan Williams, I stopped in my tracks. Bright blue eyes, platinum blonde, vivacious personality with a vibrant smile, she seemed to exude positive energy. She was wearing high heels and a black-and-white-polka-dot designer cocktail dress that highlighted her petite, shapely figure.

Mmm, this could be interesting!
I thought.

I was right.

I
HAD BEEN
invited to the party at the Bel Air Bay Club on Friday evening, October 4, 1985, by a “recovering” friend of mine, Molly Barnes. I was always glad for an opportunity to get out and meet some new people, and it was a casual event at the beach, so I put on a pair of jeans and a light blue shirt with a large embroidered eagle insignia and headed to the club. Somehow, once at the party, Molly and I went our separate ways, and as I circulated among the guests, Joan Williams saw me and grabbed my arm. “Buzz, there’s somebody I’d like you to meet,” she said as she steered me along.

“Lois, I want you to meet an astronaut who went to the moon. This is Buzz Aldrin. Buzz, this is Lois Driggs Cannon.”

Lois later confessed that she was totally unimpressed. Astronauts were not on her list. Bankers, lawyers, tycoons? Oh yes. But astronauts? Hardly.

Lois and I talked for a while, and I was struck by her vitality When it came time to leave, I impulsively asked her for a date the following night.

“Oh no,” Lois said. “You’re not going to want to drive sixty miles to Laguna Beach. Besides, I’m going to a black-tie party tomorrow evening.” Lois leaned back a bit, eyeing me as if to say,
And you probably don’t even own a tuxedo.

She was right. But I did have some good-looking military uniforms.

“Maybe another time,” Lois said.

I looked at this woman and felt strongly that I didn’t want to let her go. “I will take you to that party,” I said firmly. “What time do you want me to pick you up? I assure you that I will be properly dressed.”

Lois seemed surprised, but not put off by my straightforwardness. “What you don’t know,” I continued, “is that tonight is my last night in Los Angeles, and I’m moving to Laguna Beach tomorrow.” It sounded like a good pickup line, but it was true. “I bought a place there about a month ago,” I explained, “and I’m taking my final load of belongings to my new home tomorrow. So I will be in Laguna Beach, and I will take you to the party.” I wrangled Lois’s telephone number and promised to check in with her the next day.

Lois went back to her daughter Lisa’s home in Beverly Hills that
night and admitted that she had not handled our meeting well. “How could I have allowed him to talk me into going to the party tomorrow night?” she groused. “I wanted to go by myself because I’m sure there will be a number of outstanding gentlemen in attendance.”

Lisa laughed and tried to console her mother.

“Maybe he won’t really call,” Lois suggested.

I did.

The following evening, I wore my Air Force dress white coat, replete with an assortment of medals that I had been awarded, decked out over my left breast pocket area. I rang the doorbell at Lois’s home in Emerald Bay, the exclusive, private gated beach community at the north end of Laguna. When she opened the door, I was nearly flabbergasted at her appearance. She looked positively radiant, wearing a Chanel sweater and a long black Chanel skirt. Lois greeted me warmly, and I noticed her eyes roaming up and down my body; she seemed pleasantly surprised that I “dressed up so well.”

The event we attended was the opening of the members-only Center Club for the Orange County Performing Arts Center, a rather sophisticated, erudite bunch. As we made what we thought was going to be an inconspicuous entrance, photographers’ flashes started going off in our direction. Lois’s friends seemed impressed by the moonwalker astronaut tagging along in his dress whites. After making the rounds, Lois greeting her friends and perfunctorily introducing me, she and I danced the night away. Although she tried to remain a bit coy, every so often as we swirled gracefully around the dance floor, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I detected a glint in her eye. When I took Lois home, I politely kissed her goodnight. I wanted to see her again, and it seemed that perhaps astronauts had finally made her list, albeit at the bottom. Both of us, however, had already committed to dates with other people the following night, so we practically stumbled over ourselves in trying to apologize for not being available.

“I have an idea,” Lois suggested. “I’m attending a charity event, the Concourse to Elegance, tomorrow afternoon. You could come along with me to that.”

“Good,” I said. “But before we do, why don’t you come over to have lunch with me. My uncle, Bob Moon, is visiting, and I’d like you two to meet.”

On Sunday afternoon, Lois and I enjoyed lunch with my uncle and then toured the Concourse to Elegance at the University of California Irvine campus near Laguna. As we walked along, we conversed about my future plans. “What do you want to do in life?” she asked straightforwardly.

I answered her equally directly, without a moment’s hesitation. “I want to serve my country.”

At one point, as we were riding in my car, Lois asked me gingerly, “Tell me about yourself.” I was uncomfortable in talking about myself, so I simply reached into the backseat of the car and pulled out a copy of
Return to Earth
, the first book I had written following my trip to the moon. “Here, read this,” I said. “It will tell you everything you might want to know about me.” Lois laughed, but she took the book. By afternoon’s end, we were looking for another opportunity to get together.

“How about Monday night?” I suggested.

“Well, I’m supposed to fly to Phoenix to spend a few days with my family, but I could go on Tuesday.”

“Great! I have a recovery meeting on Monday evening, and I’d like you to go with me.” Looking back, I have to smile at the fact that one of the first places I took Lois was to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. Over the course of the weekend, I had explained to Lois that I didn’t drink, that I had not in fact taken a drink since October 1978. She seemed impressed, but since she was raised in the Mormon religion, in which alcohol was frowned upon, she could not readily relate to how difficult and significant an accomplishment my cessation of drinking really was. Nevertheless, she was interested in meeting my friends.

Once there, I spoke briefly about myself and my battle with alcohol. Lois was impressed with the “spiritual” tenor of the meeting, and that I would be attracted to such a group and, more important, committed to
not drinking alcohol again. Afterwards, I took Lois home and we sat on the couch and talked for quite a while. Before I left, we kissed— really kissed. Something magical happened.

Lois went on to Phoenix to visit her family, and I busied myself preparing for a Sea Space Symposium scuba-diving trip in Egypt. Somewhere in my preparations, it struck me: Why not invite Lois to go along?

I called her in Phoenix, where, I later learned, I had been quite a topic of conversation. “Lois, I’m going to Egypt October 31 through November 11, along with some friends and their wives. Would you like to come along?”

We talked briefly, and I told her about my association with the Sea Space Symposium, and I gave her the flight information. When she asked me about hotel accommodations, I said, “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll take care of that.” Lois apparently trusted me enough to book two rooms at the hotel in Egypt.

Our flight to Cairo included a long layover in Paris, so, rather than remain at the airport, Lois and I took a taxi into the City of Light and did a whirlwind walking tour of the most popular sites, and then we stopped for lunch at Le Fouquet’s, a well-known Parisian restaurant. It was November 2, Lois’s birthday, and for a few hours we felt drawn into the city’s romantic charm as if we were in our own little world.

When we arrived in Hurghada, Egypt, one of the most popular diving resorts along the Red Sea, the men on the trip hustled off to a diving location, while the women planned an excursion to Luxor, the location of King Tut’s tomb and other interesting sites, about four hours away. Lois hurried to pack an overnight bag, but by the time she got downstairs, the bus had already left. Ever resourceful, she persuaded an Arab taxi driver to take her to Luxor. Before leaving, Lois left me a note: “All the girls left, but I ran off on a camel with a sheik to catch up with them. See you tomorrow.”

On the way to Luxor, the driver spoke no English and Lois didn’t speak Arabic. About every twenty or thirty miles the driver was
stopped by heavily armed guards at checkpoints. I would love to have heard his explanation for carting a cute blonde on a four-hour trek across the desert.

When Lois was finally reunited with the other women, they received her with open arms. She had made quite an impression with her pluck and verve.

Lois roomed with me when she returned, since I had booked only one room, tempting Lois to abandon her strict religious upbringing to spend the few days with me. Eventually, she joyfully succumbed to my thinly veiled seduction. After that, Lois accompanied me wherever I went, including a long bus excursion to Cairo, where we met and had dinner with President Mubarak. By the time we arrived back in Los Angeles on Monday, November 11, Lois had won my friends’ hearts as well as mine.

N
OT LONG AFTER
our adventure in Egypt, I took Lois with me to a conference in Houston, where she met a number of former astronauts. All my astronaut peers found her quite charming and put on their best behavior for her. We also had lunch with Merv Hughs, a friend of mine from my astronaut days in Houston. After assessing the situation, Merv whispered to Lois, “Don’t get your hopes up. Buzz loves women, and women love Buzz. And he’s not about to settle down.”

Undaunted, Lois insisted on believing that she and I were a couple with a future. She invited me to go with her to Sun Valley for Christmas, and I accepted. I was not much of a skier, but I figured I could learn. Lois gave me a few pointers, and we were off. Of course, making your way up and down the slopes in Sun Valley is only part of the fun. Skiing there is as much a social event as recreation or physical exercise. Lois seemed to know everybody on the slopes, and they knew her. She introduced me to someone new everywhere we went.

At Lois’s condominium, she introduced me to her children, all of whom were in their mid-to late twenties—her son, Bryant, her younger daughter, Brynn, and her older daughter, Lisa, with whom she
had been staying the night we first met at the Bel Air Bay Club. Lois had spoken about me in such glowing terms, Lisa was no doubt expecting some suave, smooth-talking bachelor. Imagine Lisa’s surprise when I presented a somewhat stiff and reserved demeanor, sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace and barely engaging in any conversation. Although I was doing much better these days, the effects of depression and alcoholism from years past had taken a toll on my exuberance. Lois sat beside me, emoting over her children and emanating enough warmth and enthusiasm to fill the entire living room. Meanwhile, I barely cracked a smile as I leaned forward and pored over some scientific space papers on the coffee table. No doubt, the kids thought,
Oh my! What has Mom gotten herself into with this guy?
Nevertheless, I enjoyed meeting the people closest to Lois, and her children accepted me immediately and made me feel welcome.