Apollo 11 Astronaut Buzz Aldrin was strapped in the middle couch between Neil Armstrong and Michael Collins. He peered through the hatch window examining the large parachutes of his spacecraft and then settled back. As the spacecraft slowed its descent, Aldrin saw cumulous clouds flowing past the hatch window—a welcome sign of home. Eager to see what he had been deprived of for the preceding eight days, he pulled harder against his shoulder straps to catch a glimpse of the ocean. Finally, they were home.
It seemed almost impossible: in that single moment, the world had been sitting transfixed in front of their television sets focused on the very site where I was standing. The area certainly did not resemble anything that I remembered from my childhood. With long weeds protruding from the weathered flight deck and scrap piping and metal strewn about the dimly lit hanger bay, it was evident that this floating city had been silent and abandoned for almost 25 years. And yet, the cold and empty ship was full of history and memories. With a flashlight and reference photos in hand, I set out to explore the place where the Apollo 11 crew set up temporary residence following their historic lunar landing.
At first, it was difficult to locate exactly where the astronauts had been quarantined in their specially designed Airstream trailer. Because the ship had no power, the long corridor of the hanger bay looked like it extended into a dark, eerie abyss. The ship’s stairwells descended below into hundreds of unlit compartments with miles of endless passageways. After careful study of the photographs of the mobile quarantine facility and its surroundings, I finally located the exact spot where Apollo 11 astronauts completed the final leg of their journey home.
It was inspiring to stand where astronauts Armstrong, Aldrin, and Collins took their first steps back on earth into their quarantine trailer. As I located certain landmarks relative to the mobile quarantine facility, the priceless history embodied in this wondrous carrier became more evident. To the Apollo 11 crew, the USS Hornet (CVS-12) was the first piece of America they saw after splashdown, and for some U.S. pilots who died during World War II, she was the last of America they’d ever see as they flew into battle.
The Hornet had played a critical role during the Apollo lunar landing program. Since the customary protocol of the early-era spacecraft was to descend via parachute and make a feathery landing into the ocean, the Essex (CV-9)-class aircraft carriers were the best-suited platforms to locate and recover the spacecraft. These massive carriers had the capacity to complement a series of specialized ranging systems, search-and-rescue aircraft, quarantine facilities, media posts, and a complete array of unique equipment designed specifically for spacecraft recovery operations. Throughout the tenure of the pre-shuttle manned spaceflight programs, aircraft carriers established their place in history by participating in more than 35 manned and unmanned missions.
On 24 July 1969, television sets around the globe tuned in for a first glimpse of the Apollo 11 astronauts—after the most historic walk in the history of mankind. It was the first time, after almost seven billion years, that beings from our planet left the realm of earth to explore a distant terrestrial body, and it was the one event that captured the entire world’s attention. I still have memories as a young child of my family glued to the television set, waiting anxiously to see the first pictures of those heroic men who had reached the moon.
In May 1995, rising 163 feet above the water, the Hornet was a majestic sight sitting in a scrap yard at Hunters Point in San Francisco. The Hornet had seen her share of tough battles. Her predecessor (CV-8) was the platform that Lieutenant Colonel James Doolittle used to launch his bombing raid over Tokyo in 1942. Pilots from the CV-12 (later CVA and CVS) sank 1.2 million tons of Japanese ships, including a cruiser and a carrier, destroyed 1,410 planes, and earned seven battle stars. The vessel also served in the Korean War and made three tours to Vietnam.
The Hornet faced a terrible fate, and had been sold by the Navy for $188,000 to a private firm to be cut into scrap metal. It seemed unbelievable that anyone would tolerate the disposal of such an important icon of history, which had been declared a National Historic Landmark only three years earlier. It was hard to fathom that one day I could be shaving with a razor made of metal from the place where the Apollo 11 crew took their symbolic first steps after their recovery. It was almost like cutting up the Wright brothers’ Flyer and using it for firewood.
These kinds of analogies helped spur citizens into tugging the ship from the breaker’s torch and putting her into the hands of a newly formed foundation dedicated to restoring the ship. The foundation would set into motion plans for securing her as a teaching platform to educate the public about air, sea, and space history. In 1998, President Bill Clinton signed HR1119, the defense authorization bill that approved transfer of the Hornet by Congress to the Aircraft Carrier Hornet Foundation. The ship now has come to life again, with an intensive and ongoing restoration effort to convert her into a museum.
As a museum, the recovery ship navigated a course back into history by hosting a 30-year reunion of the Apollo 11 Recovery Team, along with Buzz Aldrin and Edward Nixon (brother of President Richard Nixon). This marked the first reunion for the recovery team since the splashdown. Crew members came on board to share special memories and also to allow the public to hear firsthand accounts of what it was like to witness one of the most exciting events of the century.
For many visitors, it is a stroll back to those cherished memories of watching heroic men push the envelope and explore a distant world. To many children who come on board to discover this history, it might be an introduction to a life and interest in mankind’s quest to explore the universe. History has shown it is a meaningful investment to educate our children about this important heritage and also to introduce our kids to the real heroes of our past.
The Hornet now resides in Alameda, California, at Pier #3 of the former Alameda Naval Air Station. Three other Essex-class carriers—the Intrepid (CVS-11) in New York (recovered Mercury 7 in 1962); the Yorktown (CVS-10) in Charleston, South Carolina (recovered Gemini 3 in 1965 and Apollo 8 in 1968); and the Lexington (AVT-16) in Corpus Christi, Texas—have been preserved as museums. The Hornet is open to the public Wednesday through Monday, 1000-1700. For more information, call (510) 521-8448.