Being There

It was July of 1969. I was living in Washington, DC, working as a management trainee at one of the city’s TV stations. My apartment was a few blocks east of DuPont Circle – not a great neighborhood in those days, but my address was 1600 Q Street NW. 1600, In Washington! Only one of the reasons I might have been a little full of myself at the time.

It was the week that climaxed with Earthlings taking their walk on the moon. Unlike the Vietnam War, ongoing racial tensions, and hippies spreading everywhere, this story would be laser-focused on a single moment: Neil Armstrong’s first step on the lunar surface. I looked forward to the first edition of the Washington Post carrying the story on the front page, and snapped one up quickly in the fear that if I didn’t, they would be gone. I was right.

When I got into work for my next shift. I noticed Deanna, an attractive young fellow trainee. She looked upset. “What’s the matter?” I asked. Deanna was almost in tears. “I went out to buy a Post with the moon landing story,” she said, “and all the news-racks in my area were empty. I tried five newsstands, still no luck. Kicking myself that I didn’t jump on it sooner.”

This began to look like something of an opportunity, so I went to what constituted my desk, pulled out my precious copy of the Post, and presented it to Deanna. “Gee,” she said, “you’d do this for ME? Thank you so much. I can never thank you enough!”

She was partly right about that. I think I expected a little  more appreciation from Deanna, but it was not to be (hey,  cut me a little slack here, I was single and in my 20s, and it was 1969). Anyway, a few months later, I moved on to another job, as did she. These days, especially this week, I’m wondering if Deanna has ever pulled out her copy of the Post, which I have a strong feeling she kept, to show to her grandchildren, if she has them, and, of course, if she remembers how she happened to come by that paper.

I sort of miss it. When I mentioned this to a younger colleague recently, he said, “No worries. You can get one on eBay for 10 bucks.” Nope, not the same. I collected that copy of the Post with my own hands, because I was alive when the big story happened. To my colleague, it is only history; to me, it’s experience, a whole different thing. And I did share that moment with Deanna.