Autobiography 13 – The First Man on the Moon!

When I was going back through my old diaries recently, I came across an entry I had written on my thirteenth birthday. Reading the words of that entry brought a flood of memories to me, along with a fresh sense of what life was like at that time.

It was an entirely different world. In sharp contrast to the pessimism that so often reigns in the present day, there was in the sixties a spirit of hope. The world faced serious problems, just as it does now, but we felt they could be solved. There was dialogue then, dialogue we do not see as often today, especially in the United States.

In the North, the Troubles had begun. Yet even at that early stage people were seeking peaceful change, inspired by the example of Martin Luther King Jr., who himself had drawn inspiration from Mahatma Gandhi in India. As with other great leaders of peace, change did not come quickly or easily. But in time, it did come. In King’s case, after ten years of campaigning for racial equality, the Civil Rights Act was passed in 1964, followed by the Voting Rights Act in 1965. In the North, peace finally came after thirty years, with the Good Friday Agreement in 1998.

Without doubt, the influence of the United States was strongly felt in Ireland in the sixties. Radio and television brought us stories of peace marches for equality, protests against the Vietnam War, and the horror that followed the assassination of the first Irish-American president, John F. Kennedy. We felt that influence most of all in the great scientific achievement of the era—the Americans’ first step on the moon.

It was the moon landing that left the most lasting mark on me. That haunting image of Neil Armstrong placing his foot in the lunar dust awakened in me a deep fascination with science and technology that has remained ever since. It was an invitation to learn, to dream, and to imagine—that perhaps one day I might become a scientist or an engineer myself. In time, that dream did come true—but that is another story for another day.

Anois, áfach, ba mhaith liom dán a roinnt libh, a dhéanann iarracht croílár an ama sin a léiriú: an tuiscint ar iontas agus ar fhéidearthacht, agus tionchar na n-imeachtaí móra ar bhuachaill trí déag d’aois in Éirinn ag an am.

Teenager

“Thirteen years old today,
Teenager!
It’s a pity the sixties are over,
but I’m glad I’m an adult now.”

I read those words today,
a time capsule in my old diary,
26 January 1970.
I am there at once.

The old radio — prophet of our kitchen —
telling the stories of the world,
its chrome face,
its great dials turning through the static
until RTÉ was found.

Our house—
wallpaper turned yellow with age,
linoleum floors.
The Formica table—
warming its feet on the radiator.
The toilet and the bath
in separate rooms.

Outside, pebble-dashed stone walls,
a little garage with a creaking door
that served as my brother’s playroom.
Our cars—Anglia, then Cortina—
always parked outside.

The foods we loved most:
fish fingers and beans,
sausages and rashers,
jelly and custard,
porridge or cornflakes,
toast, tea, boiled eggs.

The television in pride of place,
king of the dining-room corner,
and gateway to the wider world,
through which were revealed to us
our talents and our failures,
our hopes and our dreams,
our history, our present life, our future.

Through its window of static we saw:
a murdered president,
marchers in Derry,
a man on the moon.

My mother wept for days
when Kennedy died,
the first Irish-American Catholic
in the White House.

In the North,
Catholics marched for equal rights,
echoes of Martin Luther King.

Between sorrow and hope
came the most wondrous moment—
that night I will never forget:
the moonwalk.
Armstrong’s boot in the dust.
The silence in our room—
his ghostly form
flickering in the static,
and his immortal words:
“One small step…”

As I watched that, I believed we had the power to do anything.

Mistreatment of a Long-Term US resident by immigration officials!