Word: conrades
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FOUR months after the historic flight of Apollo 11, much of the mystery and tension that accompanied man's first landing on the moon seemed to be missing. But as Apollo 12's lunar module Intrepid swooped down toward the lunar surface last week, Charles ("Pete") Conrad's words conveyed the real excitement and significance of the second moon-landing mission: the newfound precision that enables the U.S. to pick a destination on the moon's rugged surface and reach it as reliably as a taxicab finds a street address in Manhattan. Directly ahead of Intrepid...
Crater's Edge. Only 500 ft. above the surface, Navy Pilot Conrad took control of the LM for the final few seconds of the descent, while Bean read data from the instrument panel: "Forty-two ft., coming down at three [ft. per sec.]. Forty coming down at two. Looking good. Thirty-one, 30 ft., you've got plenty of gas, plenty of gas, Pete. Stay in there. Eighteen ft., coming down. He's got it made. Come on in there. Contact lights!" Although thick dust kicked up by the LM's rocket engine obscured his view...
Surveyor Crater. "Conrad's Parking Lot"-the landing site chosen by Conrad -was on the opposite side of the crater, just 800 ft. away. The pinpoint landing on a target 230,000 miles away from the launch pad at Cape Kennedy boded well for the remainder of Apollo 12's mission. Even more important, it proved that U.S. space scientists had profited from the lessons of Apollo 11 -which overshot its target by four miles -and could now confidently plan for manned exploration of the more rugged highland regions of the moon...
...dust settled down, Conrad could not contain his exuberance. "Holy cow, it's beautiful out here!" he shouted. Looking out over the Ocean of Storms, both he and Bean-unlike the relatively taciturn Apollo 11 crew-gushed. They described an undulating plain pocked by craters and filled with large boulders that looked gleaming white in the early-morning sun. "Damn, I can't wait to get outside," said Conrad. "Those rocks have been waiting 41 billion years for us to come and grab them...
Richard F. Gordon Jr., 40, commander U.S.N., is an old buddy of Conrad's and only slightly less of an extravert. Born in Seattle, he was one of six children of a Roman Catholic family. As a boy, he thought of entering the priesthood. Later, at the University of Washington, he majored in chemistry, toyed with the idea of becoming a professional baseball player, and finally decided to become a dentist. Then came the Korean War, and he signed up as a naval aviator. He was hooked on flying for good. Intensely competitive, he does not relish the idea...