Suzanne Rice

It Was July 21!  –  1969

America’s amazing feat of landing on the moon has been celebrated for over 50 years. For most of those years, I was a busy Army wife and mother moving all over the world every few years. Though I noted the fantastic American accomplishment and have always been proud of my country, most years July 21 was just another day. Military families most often move in the summertime, so for many years my main focus was which packing box to open and where to put what was inside. Or see what the children were doing – where are the kids about their age with whom they could become friends? Or meeting the new people at my husband’s new assignment and the new neighbors near our new home. Or registering at the Church nearby – is there vacation Bible School? Sometimes, we would put the boxes aside for a little while and venture out of the house to go to the neighborhood pool. Besides moving, for the Rice family, July was a month of celebrations: Bill’s birthday on the third, the birthday of his uncle who had died at Normandy and for whom Bill was named on the Fourth – and the big celebration, the birthday of our Country! That’s not all – we had welcomed our son to the family on the sixth of July. Cousins and other aunts and uncles’ birthdays cluster all around those celebrations. By July 21^st each year, I was partied-out. Still had more boxes to open…

     It was only recently that I noticed something that seemed strange to me. Everyone in the U.S.A. thinks that the lunar landing happened on July 20. Why did I always think it was July 21?

     Here is the story. My father served in the U.S. Army Air Corps during WWII. He trained to be a radio operator in Madison, Wisconsin. Near the end of his training, there came a memo asking for anyone that could type to identify himself. In those days, women were more likely to have taken a typing class in high school than men. I’m not sure why father learned to type, but it may have saved his life. He stepped forward and was whisked out of radio school and into a different job in the 389^th Bomb Group (“Sky Scorpions”) ***

He spent most of his service at Hethel Air Field, Norwich, England, at a desk rather than as a radioman on one of the B-24 Liberators. He did hop aboard one of the planes flying over D-Day, without orders, because he “wanted to be a part of the mission.”

The plane on which he hid away made 5 sweeps over the armada on June 6, 1944. (As a child, I used to play with the air medals that he was awarded. Guess he thought he didn’t deserve them. He had served in the North Africa Campaign with the 389^th in 1943. We haven’t been able to figure out exactly what his job was, though we have researched it at the 8^th Air Force Museum in Savannah – maybe, a cryptographer. He never said.)

     What does this have to do with the moon landing? When I was a little girl, my father, having survived the War, would often put me to sleep with stories of his Army Air Corps adventures while in England. I loved the stories and became a real fan of things English. Most of his stories were from his off-duty time. Since he was stationed in England for three years, they were allowed some furlough time when possible. When I was old enough to babysit, I saved that money for a trip to England planning it for after I graduated from college. In my child’s mind, I would go there, see where my dad had been and one of my friends would surely like to accompany me. Wouldn’t that be fun! My aunt in Chicago even arranged for me to become a pen pal with the niece of one of her neighbors who was from England. We sustained that email friendship from eighth grade to adulthood. I could visit her? A plan is coming into place – oops, after graduation, no one could go with me (weddings, new jobs, no money, etc.), so I headed off for the adventure of a lifetime by myself.

     My first step after arriving in London was to get a cab to take me to Paddington Station where I would hop the train for Liverpool. My pen pal was graduating from college that very day and I would get there just in time for the formal ball that evening. (I carried a formal gown to wear as well as an iron to make it presentable after being crushed in the suitcase for so many hours of travel. Little did I know that the plug of my American iron wouldn’t fit into the British electric outlet.  I carried that iron and gown all over England for the rest of the six-week trip!) Caught up in the excitement, I barely remembered that I was supposed to send a telegram (How do I do that?) to my parents telling them that I had arrived. Good thing I didn’t forget that detail!

     The next day, we went to her family’s home in Cinderford in the Royal Forest of Dean for a few days where I recovered from jetlag. Then, I was off to the places that my father described. In Norwich, I found a phone booth and a phone book and attempted to contact with some of the folks that had been so nice to my father – then, 25 years earlier. In one case, I called the wrong person, but when I described what I wanted, she said, “Oh, you must be looking for my husband’s parents. Where are you? Stay right there; they will come pick you up – don’t move.” The rest of the story is that my father almost married her husband’s older sister while in Norwich; he had been a small boy during the war and remembered my dad like an older brother. I had a wonderful visit with the parents, but the “almost” fiancee had moved away. I wasn’t there long enough to meet her.

    Many of my father’s stories were centered around a resort in Scotland where American soldiers went on furlough. Being there for three years, he and his buddies went there several times for rest and recuperation. I decided to go there, too, taking the train to Edinburgh from Norwich. It was there that I realized that the monumental effort to reach the moon was on schedule. I learned that the landing was expected to take place in the middle of the night, about 3 a.m. Edinburgh time. Wow, I needed to find a television. Would it be televised in Scotland? I looked around the hotel to see if there was a television somewhere – at that time, there were no televisions in hotel rooms. I found one in a sitting room and checked to see how to turn it on. Then, I went to sleep, setting my alarm for 2:45 a.m.  When the alarm went off, I crept down to the sitting room in my pajamas, turned on the television and waited for the rest of the crowd to arrive. No one ever came, but the television worked and the first steps on the moon were televised.

It was such an amazing experience to know that so many Americans had been a part of this unbelievable event. It was an exhilarating event to witness especially so far from home – even if it was by myself. What a thrill!

     I went to church the next morning at the closest church I could find. I was delighted when the priest spent his entire sermon relating the landing on the moon as a gift from God, the ingenuity of the American Space Program and getting to know more about God’s wonderful creations. It was wonderful – I wanted to raise my hand and I shout, “I am an American. You are talking about my country. Thank you for your inspiring message.” (I didn’t do it!)

     It continued to be an exciting day when after church I went to the bus station to go to Blairgowrie, Scotland, the location of the resort. Everyone was buzzing about the moon landing. I didn’t realize at the time that on Sundays, nothing stores are closed, so my only way to get to the resort – some miles out of town – was to ask at the bus stop. How can I get there? When I identified myself as the daughter of an American soldier who visited 25 years before, they called the hotel and the owner came for me. The lady who had owned the resort at the time of my father’s visits had moved to a cottage on the grounds when her son took over the administration of the resort. He took me to her home; when I was introduced, she exclaimed, “You are my first American grandchild! Come in so we can get to know each other.” She related the same stories to me that my father had told me as a child – I thought it was amazing: with a name like Smith, I was really surprised anyone would remember him. It was quite a memorable day – it was July 21 in Scotland, but July 20 in the U.S.A.!

*** Called “The Sky Scorpions”, the 389^th Bomb Group flew B-24 Liberators from Hethel, near Norwich, England. In 1943, 389^th detachments were sent to North Africa at Benghazi, Libya and at Massicault, Tunisia. The 398^th also participated in bombing raids over Austria, Italy, Sicily, Crete and Romania, particularly the oil fields at Ploesti.                                

     It was a pitch-black night – early morning, really, long before sunrise. 15,000 of the most patriotic, courageous soldiers in the US Army had marched to the parade ground at Ft. Lewis, WA and were at parade-rest waiting for an encouraging address from the Commanding General of the Ninth Infantry Division. As the wife of the Commander of 1-84 Field Artillery, I wanted to be a part of this special event. We lived only a few blocks away – how to get there in the dark and as quickly as possible? I really didn’t want to be out in the dark by myself. No one was stirring in the family housing area where we lived; Bill had gone to the Battalion Headquarters long before to march with his soldiers across post to the field.

     I decided to ride my bike – that would be quicker than walking and the light on the bike would guide me there safely. So, I left our daughters asleep and sneaked out of the house, jumped on my bike and found my way to the field. I stayed near the street-side of the parade field but could see the stage and podium that had been erected for the Commanding General and his staff who were waiting there. Stretched out over the whole field before the General were all of his soldiers and the 9^th ID band and chorus.

     Are you wondering why all those soldiers were there on the field at that hour? It was Independence Day 1987 and the entire Division standing on the field was preparing for the traditional Division “Independence Day Fun Run”. Later in the day, it would be too warm for them all to start the run, even though it was Ft. Lewis, not Ft. Polk! There would be other festivities later in the day so before dawn was the time to start the race.

     MG John Shalikashvili*, Commander of the 9^th Infantry Division, took to the podium on that dark, warm morning and gave a rousing Fourth of July address to the soldiers of the Division.

He reminded them why they serve and the greatness of the USA because of people like them. Towards the end of the ceremony, he related that he had recently been in Los Angeles for an event, where the attendees were inspired by a patriotic program headlined by Lee Greenwood. Though it had been released several years before, the song that Lee Greenwood sang at the event in CA especially touched MG Shali. He asked Lee if he could have permission to bring the song to his soldiers. It must have taken some time for the copyright arrangements to be made and for the 9^th ID band and singers to learn to play and sing the music, but they were ready for this early morning presentation. For me and for most of the assembled soldiers, it was the first time we heard God Bless the U.S.A. No one there knew the words at that time; we could only listen and be inspired by the soldier that has been selected to sing this new song.  Like MG Shalikashvili, we were touched, and the soldiers ran a little faster that day being motivated by Lee Greenwood’s song.

     What were the other events the soldiers would enjoy throughout the day?  There would be Battalion picnics/BBQs planned for the soldiers and their families along with games to play and watch. At the end of the day, the 9^th ID band would set up at the Ft. Lewis football stadium and play a wonderful concert of patriotic music for the soldiers and their guests. The culmination of the long, wonderful day would be the playing of the 1812 Overture by Tchaikovsky. This inspiring music tells the story of Russia’s defeat of Napoleon’s invading army. It opens quietly with a Russian Orthodox hymn – a prayer for peace. Following this, there is a bit of the French national anthem, the Marseillaise, indicating the invasion by Napoleon. In musical tones, the Battle of Borodino erupts with the cannons firing as the French are driven from the field of battle.

(You can hear the cannons firing at 12:06 and again at 14:10.)

    Have you ever wondered about those cannon volleys in the middle of a beautiful piece of music? As the Commander of the Battalion that included the salute battery for the 9^th ID, Bill and his cannoneers were tasked to be a part of the classic performance. Many days before July 4, the Battery soldiers with their 105mm howitzers had been out on the football field practicing with the Army band to “play” their cannons in the 1812 Overture. Our daughters and I would get to the stadium early, but not as early as Bill and the salute battery.

     When we arrived in the stands, we would see the Battalion howitzers arrayed across the field away from the band and Bill walking around checking his walkie talkie and talking with his “musicians” and the band. He would direct his soldiers to “play” their instruments just at the right time in the Overture. When they actually began to fire, the cannon would sound every four seconds – check your watch – just as in a salute (count the seconds the next time you hear the 1812 Overture or attend a salute – it’s more complicated than you might guess.). They had practiced so often that their enormous sound would vibrate the whole stadium at just the precise moment. I always wondered how Bill knew the exact moment to give the “Go”! He would have answered, “We practiced.” To our delight, it went off without a hitch. The inspiring performance was followed by the rousing Armed Forces Medley. Fireworks would end the salute to America’s 211^th birthday. What a great way to end the day that had started so early. I was so glad that I made the bike ride before dawn that day – as for other Americans, Lee Greenwood’s God Bless the U.S.A. has become very special to me and every time I hear it, I think of that assembled group of soldiers and all who have served our country in uniform who love their country more than self! God Bless the U.S.A.! 

     Follow-up: The next year, the girls and I rode our bikes to the stadium to avoid the difficulty of parking the car. What was I thinking? I was pregnant with our new baby due in three weeks. Having ridden a bike for much of my life, from elementary school years, I didn’t think a thing of it, though navigating after dark was a little tricky. Oddly enough, the baby didn’t wait for three weeks. Was it the startling booms of his Dad’s cannons or the late-night bike ride that caused the baby to come just two days later? Actually, I tripped and fell as I was packing the car with items I needed to lead a Battalion Wives Coffee that evening. I didn’t know it at the time, but this Coffee was to be a baby shower; instead, I was in the hospital in labor – beside me was one of our battalion wives who just happened to be a nurse on duty. She was the one who broke it to the waiting ladies – enjoy the party without the honoree – the baby is on the way!

*Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff – 1993-1997