By Pat Cashman

    Question posed to a fifth grader in 1969: “Who is the first person to walk on the Moon?”

    Fifth Grader: “Neil Armstrong.”

    The same question was posed to a fifth grader yesterday. The answer: “My dad says the first moonwalker was Michael Jackson.”

    Answers change over time---and some would say, so do the facts. Cab Calloway was doing the moonwalk dance move in 1932. Michael Jackson came along later---like Buzz Aldrin.

    I am not old enough to remember when the moon itself was formed---but nearly so. And like the first caveperson that knuckle-dragged his way out of a cave thousands of years ago, the moon has always fascinated mankind. Except for a particular kind of man---named Carl. 

    In the summer of ’69 I was a freshly-minted, minty-fresh box boy---the term for a grocery store worker whose job is to pack up---and then lug a customer’s purchases to their car. Bag boy might have been the more accurate term since most groceries where bagged not boxed---but ‘bag’ didn’t sound as masculine as ‘box’, so the latter word won out. 

    Indeed the job seemed to be the exclusive domain of boys back then. Box girls came along later---along with the demand for better-smelling grocery store employees.

    My first day on the job I was taken under the hairy wing of a veteran groceryman Carl. I never knew his last name. Perhaps Carl was his first, last and only name---making him sort of the Elvis, Cher or Ichiro of the grocery business.

    And surely nobody knew the business better than Carl. He could recite the expiration dates of every vegetable and fruit in the produce department. He knew the difference between pancake and flapjack mix (even scientists can’t agree). He knew the precise number of canned asparagus spears that can fit into a standard paper bag---although he could not explain why anyone would buy canned aspargus spears. Carl was the human Google of Grocery.

    He schooled me in the do’s and don’ts of grocery packing: Put the heavy stuff in first, then the marshmallows; place the fresh raspberries into a separate bag from the cat litter; don’t make any bag heavier than about 15 pounds---or, about the weight of a bowling ball. And don’t put the bowling ball on top of the eggs.

    In that summer of 1969, Carl told me something else---and in no uncertain terms: “That moon landing thing is a hoax.” He did not assign the hoax to fake news, witch hunts or even ‘covfefe.’ He simply stated the facts as he saw then. “They created the whole thing in a TV studio,” he said. “It’s all phonier than a two dollar bill.”

    I started to tell him I had just seen a customer paying with a two dollar bill earlier in the day---Thomas Jefferson’s face was on it---but Carl could not be moved. “Neil Armstrong is just an actor.” If so, I thought, not a very good one.

    Carl’s assertions notwithstanding, I was completely enthralled with the moon landing in July of 1969---along with everybody else I knew. When I saw that I was assigned to work at the grocery store on that July day, I sneaked mid-shift with my pocket radio into the frozen food locker in the back. There, alongside the Birds Eye frozen peas, I listened breathlessly to the first moments of Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin’s moon walks. I eventually realized the breathlessness came mostly from the arctic temperature in the locker.

    I had heard Armstrong famously say, “One small step for a man…one giant leap for mankind.” I also heard Buzz Aldrin’s less remembered statement: “I predict I will one day be a contestant on Dancing With the Stars.” 

    Meanwhile, up front at the store’s checkout stands, the P.A. system was blaring with repeated requests: “Box boy needed for takeout!” Unfortunately, the box boy---me---couldn’t hear the announcements from within the icy confines. 

   After I finally emerged---nearly frostbitten---I was conspicuous as the only person wearing a coat on a July day. I ran straight into Carl who somehow knew where I’d been---but miraculously did not rat me out to management. He did tell me however that he hoped I’d enjoyed listening “to the utter fiction of the moon landing.” I told him I had---and then ran to the front of the store to do my job.

   All these years later, I heard from a friend who told me he’d run into Carl recently. They chatted a bit and the subject of the moon landing came up. Carl, now pushing 90 years old, raised a snow-white eyebrow and said, “I was right. They never landed on the moon. We were all lied to. It was Mars.”

   The truth is out there---packed into the head of a guy named Carl---carefully placed right below the baloney---but just above the canned hogwash. 

pat@patcashman.com

Pat was a longtime cast member and writer on KING 5’s  Almost Live ---and was scheduled to be on the crew of Apollo 18…if there had been one. He is a keynote speaker---and a fundraiser auctioneer---plus he co-hosts a weekly on-line talk show: Peculiarpodcast.