posted 11-13-2007 11:38 AM               

089:59:31 Schmitt: Typhoid Jack here, and we've got some good words here that originated at the Cape with a bunch of friends of yours. And it's sort of in a paraphrase of a poem that you probably are familiar with. Do you read me, Apollo 8?

089:59:50 Borman: You're loud and clear, Jack.

089:59:53 Schmitt: Okay.

"'Twas the night before Christmas and way out in space,
the Apollo 8 crew had just won the Moon race.
The head sets were hung by the consoles with care,
in hopes that Chris Kraft soon would be there.

Frank Borman was nestled all snug in his bed,
while visions of REFSMMATs danced in his head;
and Jim Lovell, in his couch, and Anders, in the bay,
were racking their brains over a computer display.

When out of the DSKY, there arose such a clatter,
Frank sprang from his bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the sextant he flew like a flash,
to make sure they weren't going to crash.

The light on the breast of the Moon's jagged crust,
gave a luster of green cheese to the gray lunar dust.
When what to his wondering eyes should appear,
but a Burma Shave sign - saying 'Kilroy was here'. [Laughter.]

But Frank was no fool; he knew pretty quick
that they had been first; this must be a trick.
More rapid than rockets, his curses they came.
He turned to his crewmen and called them a name.

Now Lovell, now Anders, now don't think I'd fall,
for that old joke you've written up on the wall.
They spoke not a word, but grinning like elves,
and laughed at their joke in spite of themselves.

Frank sprang to his couch, to the ship gave a thrust,
and away they all flew past the gray lunar dust.
But we heard them explain ere they flew around the Moon,
Merry Christmas to Earth; we'll be back there real soon."

Great job gang,

090:01:30 Borman: Thank you very much. That was a very good poem; but in order to win the race, you have got to end up on the carriers.