Mort Tomlinson



For nearly half a century, Americans have been spoon-fed a thrilling but implausible picture of bravery and brilliance. We are evidently to believe that in 1969, a heroic crew of astronauts led by Neil Armstrong voyaged to Earth’s moon, descended to its surface, played a rip-roaring jazz-blues number featuring Armstrong on saxophone, and then returned safely to terra firma.


Nothing could be further from the truth.

Consider first the fact that the original NASA film is conveniently “lost,” and all we have are the grainy kinescopes. Who in their right mind would allow what amounts to history’s most important video clip to just vanish, leaving us with only an incomplete record of our species’ first lunar jam session?


Just look at the footage of Armstrong descending the Eagle’s ladder, a gold-plated King Zephyr tenor sax dangling from his elk-leather neck strap. Neil is clearly bathed in shadow, the charade being that the sun is on the other side of the lander. What, then, is causing the telltale glint along the saxophone’s bell? It could only be another light source.

Another big problem: Immediately after Neil utters his iconic words, “That’s one small beat for man, one skeedle-dee-bop for mankind,” where does the snazzy drum cue suddenly come from? At the time, Colonel Aldrin was busy assisting with Armstrong’s EVA and preparing for his own. Are we to believe that Michael Collins, orbiting in the command module, was simultaneously monitoring his equipment, maintaining contact with Houston, and effortlessly playing Neil on with a 7/4 funk groove including fills and shuffles?


Notice also Earth’s position at the three-hour 42-minute mark. Armstrong has just popped off his helmet, spun it on his finger like a basketball, and sung, “Well, I’m a spacefarin’ man and I’ve come to say/ there’s a new dance craze in the Milky Way.” Given the time of day and the location of the lander, shouldn’t Earth be 10 or 20 degrees farther to the left?

I don’t know about you, but it appears to me as though somebody in power wanted the best-looking shot for their little “production,” regardless of the actual facts.


And don’t even get me started on logic flaws in the first big sax solo. As soon as Armstrong closes his eyes and begins thrusting the sax up and down to the beat, pay close attention to his right hand. In the closing notes, chromatic flourishes fly by far more quickly than he fingers them.

But even if everything I’ve mentioned so far did truly happen and I’m unfairly blowing things out of proportion, doesn’t it seem just a little bit odd how quick Aldrin was to join in on upright bass? I mean, could he really have completed his egress from the lander, tuned his doghouse, and sidled up back-to-back to groove with Armstrong in what I time as one minute and 47 seconds? Furthermore, why is he wearing a pair of Ray-Ban shades—attached with red, white, and blue croakies—instead of NASA’s standard-issue eyewear?


Maybe to shift focus away from the film’s most egregious giveaway—the sudden, unexplained change of camera angle to a smooth dolly pass. How did it, along with the dolly and tracks, get unloaded and assembled so quickly, and who is operating the second camera? Is this “phantom cameraman” also the one who cuts to a medium shot as Armstrong performs the duckwalk portion of the Moon Mambo dance routine?

Bear in mind that we are supposedly in one-sixth of the Earth’s gravity; even with the weight of the spacesuit, he should weigh no more than 60 pounds. He should be sliding across the lunar surface like a stone skipping on a pond, and the dust he is kicking up should fly several feet high. Instead, every upward hop is followed by rapid descent, and dust is barely visible—precisely as on Earth.


I also have questions, and big ones, about the green-skinned female backup singers with trumpet-like antennae and metallic-purple skintight unitards who show up in the background to harmonize on the third verse. Think about it: There’s a second mic on the recording, in addition to three instruments and Armstrong’s vocals. Is Collins now operating a mixing board and drumming at the same time, all on top of his command module duties?

Something just doesn’t add up here.

Until the federal government admits that they staged the mission on a soundstage constructed in a disused NASA rehearsal space, I will fight to expose the truth. Read my full analysis with photos and video at boogiewoogielie.com. And please make up your own mind instead of blindly trusting the official story.