We were all much, much younger, July, 1969, and so many of us were not here yet, when we watched the black and white images again and again on CBS News with Walter Cronkite. I was spending the summer living on the Princeton campus, working in the Psychology Department on a very early computer program -- so ancient that it was written in punched cards that were to be fed into an underground center where an IBM computer complex took up thousands of square feet -- and my days were spent in frustration with the program. I never did solve it. I did hang out with the other boys at the old Princeton Tower Club. The moon landing was on a Sunday, I do believe, and we were very distracted. Someone had cooked up a vat of green vodka punch. Ghastly. The only news that we cared about at the time was how to get a ticket to this cool music festival coming up in August, someplace in upstate New York near Woodstock. Forty years. Nixon and Kissinger were starting the China deal. Bill Clinton was at Oxford. Hillary Rodham had just graduated Wellesley. Men on the moon. Maybe not again until I am in the Earth. Unless Nixon's China deal turns into a moon landing of Chinese astronauts.