On 21 July 1969, in front of our black-and-white TV set in the living room of 16 rue Rambuteau in Paris, it was almost as if I were there on the surface of the Moon, alongside Neil Armstrong.
Christine and I watched the incredible events unfolding in real time on our fuzzy TV screen. In an adjacent bedroom, our two-and-a-half-year-old Emmanuelle was no doubt far more fascinated by the presence of her two-months-old brother François. I've always looked upon François and Emmanuelle, in a way, as Children of the Moon.
That was surely one of the USA's greatest hours.
And yesterday, one of the USA's greatest quiet heroes went back to the Moon, forever.
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