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We were kids in Birmingham, Alabama, in 1963. That tumultuous year transformed the nation and shaped our lives. These are our stories.
Teachers and students: Visit our Class Room for ideas on using our primary sources and to interview the storytellers. Media, journalists, historians: Visit our Press Room to contact storytellers in your area. Keep checking this site for new stories - or, better yet, sign up for e-mail alerts.

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We were kids in Birmingham, Alabama, in 1963. That tumultuous year transformed the nation and shaped our lives. These are our stories. Teachers and students: Visit our Class Room for ideas on using our primary sources and to interview the storytellers. Media, journalists, historians: Visit our Press Room to contact storytellers in your area.

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For the inauguration twenty-seven people squeezed into the sixteen-foot square stateroom of Air Force One for the proceedings. Adding to the discomfort was the lack of air conditioning as the aircraft had been disconnected from the external power supply, in order to take off promptly. As the inauguration proceeded the four jet engines of Air Force One were being powered up.

The Warren Commission's report detailed the inauguration: "From the Presidential airplane, the new President telephoned Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy, who advised that Mr. Johnson take the Presidential oath of office before the plane left Dallas. Federal Judge Sarah T. Hughes hastened to the plane to administer the oath. Members of the Presidential and Vice-Presidential parties filled the central compartment of the plane to witness the swearing in. At 2:38 p.m. CST, Lyndon Baines Johnson took the oath of office as the 36th President of the United States. Mrs. Kennedy and Mrs. Johnson stood at the side of the new President as he took the oath of office. Nine minutes later, the Presidential airplane departed for Washington, D.C."

The swearing-in ceremony administered by Judge Hughes in an Air Force One conference room represented the first time that a woman administered the presidential oath of office as well as the only time it was conducted on an airplane. Instead of the usual Bible, Johnson was sworn in upon a missal found on a side table in Kennedy's Air Force One bedroom. After the oath had been taken, Johnson kissed his wife on the forehead. Mrs. Johnson then took Jackie Kennedy's hand and told her, "The whole nation mourns your husband".

The famous photograph of the inauguration was taken by Cecil Stoughton, John F. Kennedy's official photographer. On Stoughton's suggestion Johnson was flanked by his wife and Jacqueline Kennedy, facing slightly away from the camera so that blood stains on her pink Chanel suit would not be visible. The photograph was taken using a Hasselblad camera.

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President Johnson taking the Oath of Office on Air Force One, 1963

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For the inauguration twenty-seven people squeezed into the sixteen-foot square stateroom of Air Force One for the proceedings. Adding to the discomfort was the lack of air conditioning as the aircraft had been disconnected from the external power supply, in order to take off promptly.

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LBJ demanded to be sworn in alongside Jackie Kennedy

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Lyndon B. Johnson insisted that JFK's wife Jackie Kennedy accompany him back to Washington hours after her husband's assasination

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Copyright 2004, Keya Morgan. All Rights Reserved. All materials contained on this site are protected by United States copyright law and may not be reproduced transmitted, displayed, distributed, published or broadcast without prior written consent.

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Library of Congress

When Mathew Brady set off 150 years ago, in July, to photograph what would be the first great battle of the Civil War, at Bull Run, he wore a cross tie and white shirt under a long white linen dustcoat. A gold watch chain drooped below his belt, and a straw hat would protect him from the sun, if nothing else. He looked like a French landscape painter.

These details appear in the only known Brady image related to Bull Run, one taken of him in his Washington, D.C., studio on Pennsylvania Avenue the day after the battle. He was a master of promotion, and this photo, the words inked over it in white asserting that he was at the battle, would contribute mightily to the myth of Mathew Brady the Civil War photographer, whose name appears on thousands of wartime shots that form our first national memories of war.

The pose is meant to be heroic: beneath the dustcoat, one can see the outline of a sword, given to him, the story goes, by a member of the New York Fire Zouaves for protection during the ignominious Union retreat back to Washington. The mud on his boots and the grime near the hem of his duster might signify a harrowing night of walking in the rain, his wagons lost, his glass negatives destroyed, his new sword at the ready. But is this the image of the first in a long line of romantically courageous war photographers, or of a man deeply unnerved by his first experience of battle?

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The False Heroism of a Civil War Photographer

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Library of Congress When Mathew Brady set off 150 years ago, in July, to photograph what would be the first great battle of the Civil War, at Bull Run, he wore a cross tie and white shirt under a long white linen dustcoat.

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A primary source by Andrew J. Russell

This iconic photograph records the celebration marking the completion of the first transcontinental railroad lines at Promontory Summit, Utah, on May 10, 1869, when Leland Stanford, co-founder of the Central Pacific Railroad, connected the eastern and western sections of the railroad with a golden spike. This "joining of the rails" was the culmination of work commenced in 1863 when the Central Pacific began laying track eastward from Sacramento, California, and the Union Pacific started laying track westward from Omaha, Nebraska, in July of 1865. To meet its manpower needs, the Central Pacific hired 15,000 laborers, of whom more than 13,000 were Chinese immigrants. These immigrants were paid less than white workers, and, unlike whites, had to provide their own lodging. The crew had the formidable task of laying the track across California's Sierra Nevada mountain range, blasting fifteen tunnels to cover 1,776 miles with 4,814 feet of new track.

A close study of the photograph reveals that the Chinese workers who were present that day have been excluded. This absence encourages students to consider that all photographs reflect choices made by the artist-and to question accepting photographs as complete or comprehensive records of historical events.

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Official photograph from the "Golden Spike" Ceremony, 1869

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A primary source by Andrew J. Russell This iconic photograph records the celebration marking the completion of the first transcontinental railroad lines at Promontory Summit, Utah, on May 10, 1869, when Leland Stanford, co-founder of the Central Pacific Railroad, connected the eastern and western sections of the railroad with a golden spike.

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Golden Spike National Historic Site--Places Reflecting America's Diverse Cultures Explore their Stories in the National Park System: A Discover Our Shared Heritage Travel Itinerary

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Beyond the visitor center, tourists can hike the mile and a half long Big Fill Loop Trail to see the site of the Union Pacific's trestle and walk through the cuts and drill marks made by the workers who blasted the rock formations to make way for the transcontinental railway.

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His lifework documenting the North American native was once hailed as "the most ambitious enterprise in publishing since the production of the King James Bible." Today I found his photographs deep in the Flickr's archives. At the height of Edward Curtis' career, he had one of the most powerful bankers of his era, J.P. Morgan, personally financing him. But much like the subjects Curtis chose in his photographs, he and his work seem to have been tragically forgotten in the past...

Pictured in his self-portrait above, Curtis started up with photography at a young age, taking apprenticeships and eventually purchasing his own share in a photography studio in Seattle, where he settled with his young wife and their expanding family. He made a good living taking flattering photographs of society ladies, but soon enough, the call would come.

A born adventurer, Curtis befriended a group of prominent scientists who invited him on his first quest as the official photographer for an expedition to Alaska in 1899, a two month journey discovering remote Eskimo settlements and glaciers. You could say Edward instantly caught the travel bug.

When the scientists invited him to come on a visit to the Piegan Blackfeet in Montana the following year, he packed his camera, months worth of supplies and left his young family again to travel by foot and by horse deep into the native territories. Curtis was instantly taken with the North American tribes and their way of life. It was an encounter that would change the course of his life.

When he returned from his first trip, his Native American photographs quickly became known for their striking beauty, shot with his oversized view camera which produced glass-plate negatives that came out with sharp and gorgeous gold-tone prints. His work enjoyed popular exhibitions, notable magazines published him and he lectured across the country about his finds.

But he yearned to go back and photograph more, learn more and record more before the federal government destroyed what remained of the natives' way of life. Sensing he had very little time left, in 1906, he approached J.P Morgan, one of the wealthiest financiers in the world. Amazingly, after some persistence, Curtis managed to get Morgan's eyes on his work, which quickly did all the talking. In response to the ambitious photographer's request, Morgan replied, "Mr. Curtis. I want to see these photographs in books-the most beautiful set of books ever published."

The agreement saw to it that Morgan would sponsor Curtis over five years in exchange for 25 sets of volumes and 500 original prints. It is estimated that producing Curtis' masterwork The North American Indian today would cost more than $35 million.

Curtis traveled with researchers, assistants and interpreters who traveled ahead of the group's trail wagon to arrange visits. The journey itself was long and perilous and Curtis describes some dangerous encounters with "unfriendly warriors" in his works. But when it came to the people he stayed with, Curtis was good at making friends and they came to trust him. Describing his way of photographing them, he said, "We, not you. In other words, I worked with them, not at them."

The Native Americans came to call Curtis, "Shadow Catcher". He documented more than 80 tribes , collecting 10,000 recordings of songs, music and native speech. The tribes even obliged (sometimes for a small fee) to reenact traditional ceremonies and battle calls among the natives for Curtis to capture with his 14-inch by 17-inch view camera.

But the truth is, by this time, Native American culture had already been penetrated by American colonial expansion. Many of the tribes Curtis visited had already been "influenced" by the government; their children forcibly sent to boarding schools, their native tongue banned and their traditions forbidden. Curtis found it hard to accept this and preferred his images to represent a timeless, untainted vision of Native American culture, choosing only to photograph people in traditional clothing and surroundings, even going as far as retouching his photographs if they contained any giveaways of modern outsider influence.

In 1913, Curtis' unlikely financier, J.P. Morgan died suddenly. The banker's son significantly cut sponsorship which soon forced Curtis to abandon his work. During the years he had been away, the photographer's absence has taken on toll on his family life and several years after his funding dried up, his wife Clara filed for divorce. She was awarded his studio and the family home but Curtis made sure she wouldn't get his work. Together with his daughter, he made copies of some of his glass plate negatives and then destroyed the originals.

But Curtis was already a ruined man. In a last-ditch attempt, he had tried to make a motion picture for Hollywood, but the film flopped, along with his $75,000 investment. The American Museum of Natural History bought the rights to the movie for $1,500. He then tried to strike a deal with the Morgan Company that saw him give up all his copyrights on the images for The North American Indian in exchange for some minimal funding to return to his field work.

But it was too late, the traditional tribal life he had visited in his earlier career had disappeared.

They had already become part of a different world, adopted to the ways of another culture and Curtis could not longer create those raw images of an untainted people. Possibly even more alarming, the public's interest in Native American culture had faded.

Curtis was never able to sell any of his work again. His ex-wife had him arrested for failing to pay alimony and child support as the Great Depression dawned on the country. He was hospitalised after suffering a mental and physical breakdown while the Morgan Company sold off most of his life's work for $1,000 (and a share of any future royalties).

In 1952, his small obituary in the New York Times simply read:

"Mr. Curtis devoted his life to compiling Indian history. His research was done under the patronage of the late financier, J. Pierpont Morgan... Mr. Curtis was also widely known as a photographer."

The remaining material bought by a Boston publisher, remained untouched in their basement until the prints were rediscovered in 1972. There was a brief revival of interest in his work, some of which fetched high prices at auction, indicating an increased sense of awareness of Native American issues at the time.

But still, I don't think these photographs and their subjects are being remembered enough. I can't even begin to pretend to talk about the injustice the Native American people have faced. But I think in reminding ourselves what has been lost, words aren't always needed.

Photographs digitally available thanks to the Museum of Photographic Arts Collections.

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The Man who Documented the First Americans

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His lifework documenting the North American native was once hailed as "the most ambitious enterprise in publishing since the production of the King James Bible." Today I found his photographs deep in the Flickr's archives. At the height of Edward Curtis' career, he had one of the most powerful banke

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Many of the images we have of Native Americans today, we have only thanks to Edward Sheriff Curtis (1868-1962), a man with a mission. His life work was to photograph and document the Native American Indian and their disappearing culture.

Curtis was fascinating by photography and built his first camera at age 12. He photographed everything. In 1891 Edward moved to Seattle and bought a share in a photography studio with Rasmus Rothi and opens "Rothi and Curtis, Photographers." He won the bronze medal at the National Photographers Convention in Chautauqua, New York in 1896. July 1900 saw Curtis in Montana with the Plains Indians. This experience solidified Curtis' will to begin to document the North American Indian in earnest. Curtis was invited by President Theodore Roosevelt to be the Whitehouse photographer in June 1904. It was from this point he dedicated his life to The North American Indian project. By 1928 publication of "The North American Indian" totaled 18 volumes and over 40,000 photographs.

His photographs, and the truth inherent in them, are stunning, astounding, poignant and humbling as we watch a culture disappear from the distance of a century. His own story, a very sad one.

MessyNessy wrote about Curtis's life here. He may have been both unappreciated and uncelebrated within his own lifetime, but we would be greatly diminished, as would the Native people, without the photographic body of his lifelong work and dedication. He was, and is, an American hero. Rest in Peace, knowing you answered the call, Edward Curtis.

You can see the images from his now legendary book, The North American Indian, at Northwestern University's Collection here.

About Roberta Estes

Scientist, author, genetic genealogist. Documenting Native Heritage through contemporaneous records and DNA.

This entry was posted in History, Photography. Bookmark the permalink.

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Edward Curtis, Shadow Catcher, Photographer of Native Americans

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Many of the images we have of Native Americans today, we have only thanks to Edward Sheriff Curtis (1868-1962), a man with a mission. His life work was to photograph and document the Native American Indian and their disappearing culture. Curtis was fascinating by photography and built his first camera at age 12.

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Tuesday marks 71 years since Joe Rosenthal captured the iconic picture of five U.S. Marines and a Navy sailor raising an American flag over the battle-scarred Japanese island of Iwo Jima.

The image was so inspiring that, by 1945 standards, it went viral. It triggered a wave of national hope that Japanese forces would soon be crushed and peace was near. It spurred millions of Americans to buy war bonds to keep the nation on solid financial footing. Basically, this simple photo was so powerful it helped win World War II.

But Rosenthal was just one of several cameramen on the island's Mount Suribachi that day. Their images reveal the entire story behind the famous picture. They provide clues into the anger and ugly rumors over whether the Pulitzer Prize-winning photo was staged.

Hal Buell, a former executive newsphoto editor at the Associated Press, knew Rosenthal. Buell shared with CNN the inside story surrounding the photo.

"The most surprising thing to me is ... that even today there are many people who believe that the picture was posed," Buell said. "It still comes up over and over again."

On February 23, 1945, Rosenthal, an AP photographer covering the battle for Iwo Jima, had heard Marines were headed up the mountain. He decided to make the climb and see what was going on.

But Sgt. Louis Lowery, a Marine photographer for Leatherneck magazine, had beat him to it. Lowery was already on the summit snapping photos of Marines proudly raising the American flag.

For miles around, the sight of Old Glory atop the mountain set off whistles, gunfire and celebrations. The noise stirred up a firefight with Japanese soldiers near the summit. Lowery dove for cover and fell 50 feet, smashing his camera.

Lowery decided to descend the mountain to get new equipment. On the way, he ran into Rosenthal coming up with two Marines: Pfc. Bob Campbell, who was also a photographer, and Sgt. William Genaust, who was a motion picture photographer.

According to Buell, Lowery said, "Hey, you're late fellas, there's already a flag up there." Lowery told Rosenthal that he should keep going to experience the breathtaking view.

As Rosenthal got closer to the summit, the flag began to come into view.

"He stopped and was struck by a wave of emotion about what it cost to put that flag up there," Buell said. Rosenthal thought about all the bloody fighting and the Marines who sacrificed their lives to capture the mountain.

Reaching the top, Rosenthal, Campbell and Genaust spotted a group of Marines holding a second flag. The Marines said they'd been ordered to replace the first flag with a bigger one so more people could see it below.

Suddenly Rosenthal knew he had a second chance to photograph an important moment on the summit.

Let's stop a minute and remember that this was long before today's sophisticated cameras and digital technology. Photographers took one picture at a time, often with only one opportunity to get the perfect shot.

Rosenthal had to quickly decide whether to shoot both flags simultaneously -- one rising while the other lowered -- or to photograph the second flag as it was being raised.

He chose to focus on the second flag.

Rosenthal's choice made all the difference.

"Joe did not pose that picture," Buell said.

He explains what happened: "While the photographers were taking their positions to get the shot, Genaust -- the motion picture photographer -- asked Joe, "I'm not in your way, am I?' Joe turned to look at Genaust, who suddenly saw the flag rising and said, 'Hey, there she goes!' "

Just in time, Rosenthal raised his camera to his eye and took the shot.

There it was: a genuine moment in history, artfully captured for all time.

"Like any good, experienced and talented photographer, there's a sense of anticipation and a sense of shooting a picture at peak action -- and Joe got it," Buell said. "You couldn't have captured the action at a better peak. A moment earlier, and the flag would have been too low. If it had been a second later, the flag's staff would have been straight up and the photo wouldn't have had that strong diagonal line."

This is our cue to talk about the photo's amazing composition.

"It's exquisite," Buell said. "You have this strong, diagonal line made by the flag staff. You have the flag snapping in the breeze. You have the pyramid-like shape of the Marines pushing the flag up. The men obviously are separate, but they appear as one. The blank background enhances the action by providing no distractions. Also, the photo is gifted with a softly filtered light. A very thin haze of clouds filters the light so that the shadows aren't harsh, but there is detail in all the shadows on the uniforms and the flag."

Think about it: At the exact moment that Genaust cued Rosenthal, sunlight, shadows, wind and the Marines all converged perfectly.

What were the chances?

"I hate to use the word accident," Buell joked. "Let's call it serendipity."

But what about Lowery's flag photo? How was the composition of his image?

"It was perfectly serviceable," Buell said, because it showed the first flag. The photo shows a Marine in the foreground holding a rifle. In the background is the first flag, snapping in the breeze.

But it's just not a memorable picture, Buell said, which is likely why it never gained fame. It didn't have the same powerful visual message and photographic excellence of Rosenthal's image.

"There's just no comparison," Buell said. "I mean, we're talking about the difference between diamonds and glass."

On the other hand, Rosenthal's "picture captured the heroism of the whole World War," Buell said. "It captured a moment during a ferocious battle and it looked to the future -- to victory and the end of the war."

In fact, the image was so good that critics accused Rosenthal of staging it -- a myth he fought for more than 60 years.

The rumor started for a good reason. Rosenthal actually did stage a photo on the summit. But the photo he posed was a different picture that was taken after the famous flag-raising. In the staged photo, Marines posed in front of the flag, victoriously holding their helmets and rifles in the air.

That image is referred to as Rosenthal's "Gung Ho" Iwo Jima photo.

Before he even saw his photos, Rosenthal sent his film by plane to Guam, where it was developed and edited. The famous photo was transmitted by radiofax to San Francisco before it was shared with newspapers across the nation and around the world.

When Lowery saw Rosenthal's photo, Lowery "was pissed off," Buell said. Lowery had missed the second flag-raising, so he didn't know what happened. All he knew was that Rosenthal's photo was on the front page of virtually every newspaper in America, and Lowery's photo was being ignored.

Lowery alleged that Rosenthal's picture must have been posed. According to Buell, "someone asked Joe if he posed his picture, and Joe -- thinking they meant the 'Gung Ho' photo -- said yes."

Minutes later, Rosenthal realized what photo they were talking about and immediately tried to correct his error.

Too late. Damage done. Any journalist knows that "the correction never catches up with the error," Buell said. "Joe spent the rest of his life defending what was alleged as a 'phony picture.' "

It took a special meeting in Washington between military officials and editors at Life magazine and AP to put the controversy to rest.

"They came to the conclusion that the picture was not posed," Buell said. "It was an authentic news picture of the second flag being raised."

Years later, Rosenthal and Lowery settled their differences. During a Marine event somewhere in the Carolinas, they reunited in a hotel room where they shared a bottle of bourbon, Buell said. Afterward, Lowery acknowledged Rosenthal's picture was not posed.

"He said it was an honest-to-God picture and they remained friends," Buell said. "In fact, Joe attended Lou Lowery's funeral when he died."

Before Rosenthal died in 2006 at age 94, he told Buell he never got over the controversy. It always annoyed him -- "the same charges and allegations over and over," Buell said.

The picture has become almost an unofficial symbol of the Marine Corps and World War II in the Pacific. The Marines embraced it by transforming the photo into a memorial statue in Arlington, Virginia. Hollywood movies have been made about the flag-raising. The U.S. Postal Service featured it on a stamp. Even the shape of the National Museum of the Marine Corps, in Triangle, Virginia, was inspired by Rosenthal's photo.

Buell said that as Rosenthal looked back on his life, he was glad his photo came to represent the bravery and sacrifice of the men he called "my Marines."

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the inside story of the famous iwo jima photo - cnn

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The inside story of the famous Iwo Jima photo - CNN

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Tuesday marks 71 years since Joe Rosenthal captured the iconic picture of five U.S. Marines and a Navy sailor raising an American flag over the battle-scarred Japanese island of Iwo Jima. The image was so inspiring that, by 1945 standards, it went viral.

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During the bloody Battle for Iwo Jima, U.S. Marines from the 3rd Platoon, E Company, 2nd Battalion, 28th Regiment of the 5th Division take the crest of Mount Suribachi, the island's highest peak and most strategic position, and raise the U.S. flag. Marine photographer Louis Lowery was with them and recorded the event. American soldiers fighting for control of Suribachi's slopes cheered the raising of the flag, and several hours later more Marines headed up to the crest with a larger flag. Joe Rosenthal, a photographer with the Associated Press, met them along the way and recorded the raising of the second flag along with a Marine still photographer and a motion-picture cameraman.

Rosenthal took three photographs atop Suribachi. The first, which showed five Marines and one Navy corpsman struggling to hoist the heavy flag pole, became the most reproduced photograph in history and won him a Pulitzer Prize. The accompanying motion-picture footage attests to the fact that the picture was not posed. Of the other two photos, the second was similar to the first but less affecting, and the third was a group picture of 18 soldiers smiling and waving for the camera. Many of these men, including three of the six soldiers seen raising the flag in the famous Rosenthal photo, were killed before the conclusion of the Battle for Iwo Jima in late March.

In early 1945, U.S. military command sought to gain control of the island of Iwo Jima in advance of the projected aerial campaign against the Japanese home islands. Iwo Jima, a tiny volcanic island located in the Pacific about 700 miles southeast of Japan, was to be a base for fighter aircraft and an emergency-landing site for bombers. On February 19, 1945, after three days of heavy naval and aerial bombardment, the first wave of U.S. Marines stormed onto Iwo Jima's inhospitable shores.

The Japanese garrison on the island numbered 22,000 heavily entrenched men. Their commander, General Tadamichi Kuribayashi, had been expecting an Allied invasion for months and used the time wisely to construct an intricate and deadly system of underground tunnels, fortifications, and artillery that withstood the initial Allied bombardment. By the evening of the first day, despite incessant mortar fire, 30,000 U.S. Marines commanded by General Holland Smith managed to establish a solid beachhead.

During the next few days, the Marines advanced inch by inch under heavy fire from Japanese artillery and suffered suicidal charges from the Japanese infantry. Many of the Japanese defenders were never seen and remained underground manning artillery until they were blown apart by a grenade or rocket, or incinerated by a flame thrower.

While Japanese kamikaze flyers slammed into the Allied naval fleet around Iwo Jima, the Marines on the island continued their bloody advance across the island, responding to Kuribayashi's lethal defenses with remarkable endurance. On February 23, the crest of 550-foot Mount Suribachi was taken, and the next day the slopes of the extinct volcano were secured.

By March 3, U.S. forces controlled all three airfields on the island, and on March 26 the last Japanese defenders on Iwo Jima were wiped out. Only 200 of the original 22,000 Japanese defenders were captured alive. More than 6,000 Americans died taking Iwo Jima, and some 17,000 were wounded.

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U.S. flag raised on Iwo Jima - Feb 23, 1945 - HISTORY.com

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During the bloody Battle for Iwo Jima, U.S. Marines from the 3rd Platoon, E Company, 2nd Battalion, 28th Regiment of the 5th Division take the crest of Mount Suribachi, the island's highest peak and most strategic position, and raise the U.S. flag. Marine photographer Louis Lowery was with them and recorded the event.

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Many years after Dorothea Lange's iconic 1936 photograph, a reporter asked Florence Owens Thompson about the life she eked out for her family. "We just existed," she said, with no sentimentality. "We survived, let's put it that way."

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A little more than 40 years ago, an American astronaut climbed down the ladder of his lunar landing module - the Eagle - and became the first human to touch the moon's surface. As he steadied himself, he said: "That's one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind." Around the globe, an estimated 530 million people watched on their televisions as Neil Armstrong uttered those now-famous words. On August 25, this American hero died at age 82.

Armstrong and fellow moon walker Edwin "Buzz" Aldrin briefly became the first ambassadors to another world on July 20, 1969. Setting foot on another celestial body was a massive and breathtaking achievement. And Armstrong's words brought the human scale of that accomplishment to households around the world.

"Neil was among the greatest of American heroes - not just of his time, but of all time," said President Barack Obama. "When [Armstrong] and his fellow crew members lifted off aboard Apollo 11 in 1969, they carried with them the aspirations of an entire nation." These men showed the world "that with enough drive and ingenuity, anything is possible," the president added. And these brave individuals "delivered a moment of human achievement that will never be forgotten."

Preparing for a life of exploration

Armstrong fell in love with flying at a young age. By 15 he was already taking lessons. He picked up odd jobs around his hometown to pay for flight time in a small airplane. He got his student's flying permit, at 16, before he got his driver's license.

In college, he trained as an aeronautical and aerospace engineer. In this field, people learn how to design and control not only aircraft but also jets and other propulsion systems.

But before he could finish college, Armstrong was called up for military service. He signed on to become a Navy fighter pilot. He flew 78 combat missions in Korea. During one, his plane was hit and he had to parachute out. It was an event that could have killed him. But it didn't frighten him off of flying. Instead, he went back to school and finished his studies. Then he joined a federal agency that would become the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, or NASA.

There, for 17 years, Neil Armstrong held a number of different jobs. He started as a test pilot for many pioneering aircraft. These included the X-15, an experimental vehicle that could zoom through the atmosphere at more than 4,000 miles per hour! He made seven flights on that space plane, at one point reaching an altitude of 63,198 meters (207,500 feet). That's about six times higher than today's standard jumbo jets. And he didn't just pilot the X-15. He also worked closely with the aircraft's engineers and designers to improve the plane's flight controls. In all, Armstrong flew more than 200 different models of aircraft, including jets, helicopters and gliders.

That all changed in 1962 when Armstrong joined NASA's astronaut corps. Suddenly, his focus became rocketry and space exploration. Within four years, he was given the command of the Gemini 8 spacecraft, from which he controlled the first successful docking, or linkup, of two vehicles in space.

But the highlight of his career was Apollo 11, that famous mission to the moon. And almost 1 in 5 people alive at the time shared in the excitement, watching as blurry television images showed Armstrong descending to the lunar surface.

His team's landing module had set down in a region known as the Sea of Tranquility. Within 20 minutes, Aldrin joined him. There, the two took photos, collected moon rocks and set up some science experiments.

They also left mementos for future space travelers. These included a patch carrying the names of Virgil Grissom, Edward White and Roger Chaffee - Apollo 1 crew members who died in a launchpad fire. Armstrong and Aldrin also left medals inscribed with the names of Vladimir Komarov and Yuri Gagarin, two Russian astronauts (called cosmonauts) who died during space flights in 1967 and 1968. Finally, they left a small silicon disc that carried a miniature goodwill message from 73 world leaders (its message is so small that you would need a microscope to see the words).
Neil Armstrong walking on the moon for the first time.
Aldrin returned to the Eagle after 93 minutes on the moon's surface. Armstrong, the mission's commander, stayed 40 minutes longer. He savored the last bits of this huge adventure. Then the pair rejoined Michael Collins aboard the Apollo 11 space capsule for their return trip home. In all, the team spent more than eight days in space and traveled 953,054 miles (more than 1.5 million kilometers).

And still their trip wasn't really over. The men couldn't step out of their space suits and rush to hug their families for another three weeks. Once back on Earth, the men had to remain in quarantine. It was a precautionary measure to make sure no one had picked up a dangerous germ during their lunar trek and carried it home.

After his Apollo 11 trip to the moon, Armstrong stayed on at NASA and eventually rose to become its deputy associate administrator, in Washington, D.C. Later, he became a college professor, teaching aerospace engineering. He then worked for several aerospace companies. It seems the man never could get enough of the idea of cruising through - and occasionally outside of - Earth's atmosphere.

After his death, Armstrong's family issued a statement. They said, in part: "While we mourn the loss of a very good man, we also celebrate his remarkable life and hope that it serves as an example to young people around the world to work hard to make their dreams come true, to be willing to explore and push the limits, and to selflessly serve a cause greater than themselves."

Observes NASA Administrator Charles Bolden: "As long as there are history books, Neil Armstrong will be included in them, remembered for taking humankind's first small step on a world beyond our own."

As a mark of respect for Armstrong and what his achievements represented, President Obama ordered that flags throughout the country and at U.S. embassies abroad be lowered to half-staff on the day Armstrong is buried.

aerospace A research field devoted to the study of Earth's atmosphere and the space beyond or to aircraft that travel in the atmosphere and space.

astronautics A research field specializing in the design and construction of aircraft - including those created for space travel.

Apollo missions NASA's third human spaceflight program. It sought to develop the technologies needed for long-distance space travel. It got a big kick-start after President John F. Kennedy proposed in 1961 creating the national goal of "landing a man on the Moon and returning him safely to the Earth."

astronaut People trained to travel into space for research and exploration.

celestial body Any naturally formed objects of substantial size in space. Examples include comets, asteroids, planets, moons, stars and galaxies.

cosmonaut Russian term for astronaut.

docking The act of bringing together and inserting one thing into another.

engineer An individual who applies science to practical purposes, such as the design or development of machines, structures or systems.

lander A special, small vehicle designed to ferry humans between a spacecraft and the celestial body they will explore.

lunar Relating to Earth's moon.

propulsion The act or process of driving something forward, using a force. For instance, jet engines are one type of propulsion for keeping airplanes aloft.

Janet Raloff is the Editor, Digital of Science News Explores. Prior to this, she was an environmental reporter for Science News, specializing in toxicology. To her never-ending surprise, her daughter became a toxicologist.

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Forty-five years ago, an American astronaut climbed down the ladder of his lunar landing module - the Eagle - and became the first human to touch the moon's surface.

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1957: Troops end Little Rock school crisis
Nine black children have finally been able to attend Central High School in Little Rock, Arkansas. But they had to be surrounded by more than 1,000 US paratroopers to protect them from segregationist whites.
On the orders of President Dwight D Eisenhower, the troops arrived last night in full battledress with fixed bayonets and rifles and took over from local police following three weeks of disturbances.

The children, six girls and three boys, had to walk through a cordon to get to the school building.

Outside about 1,500 whites demonstrated and at least seven were arrested.

Inside, students were warned by the commanding officer, General Walker, that anyone who disrupted the school day would be handed over to local police.

Symbol of southern resistance

In 1954 the US Supreme Court ruled segregated schools were unconstitutional.

The decision was prompted by a case brought by the NAACP (National Association for the Advancement of Coloured People) on behalf of a black schoolgirl from Kansas forced to attend a blacks-only school.

But Arkansas Governor Orval Faubus refused to abide by the ruling.

Little Rock became of symbol of southern resistance to government attempts to desegregate American society.

On 2 September this year the governor ordered Arkansas state troops to stop the nine black children attending school. Three weeks later he was forced to withdraw them by a federal judge.

But a white mob took over the streets and the mayor of the city appealed to the president to help to control the situation.

The southern governors are meeting today to find a way of persuading the president to withdraw the troops.

After yesterday's disturbances, the city was calm.

But once the troops are gone it is feared the white mob may retaliate against the 30,000 black residents at Little Rock, especially leaders of the NAACP.

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BBC ON THIS DAY | 25 | 1957: Troops end Little Rock school crisis

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1957: Troops end Little Rock school crisis Nine black children have finally been able to attend Central High School in Little Rock, Arkansas. But they had to be surrounded by more than 1,000 US paratroopers to protect them from segregationist whites.

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The coal breaking occupation was very dangerous and difficult for these young kids. The function of a coal breaker is to break coal into pieces and sort them into categories of...

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'Breaker boys' were young boys, usually between the ages of 8 and 12 years old, employed in breaking stage of coal mining, breaking mined coal into relatively uniform sized pieces by hand and separating out impurities such as rock, slate, sulphur, clay and soil. While increasing public pressure in the late 19th century led to a series of reforms regulating the minimum age of boys hired as breakers, enforcement was lax at best. Yet breaker boys were far from passive figures in the often tumultuous and sometimes violent world of late 19th and early 20th century mining. They were known for precocious labor militancy and a rejection of adult authority.

Lewis Wickes Hine, working on behalf of the National Child Labor Committee, took these photos at the Pennsylvania Coal Company facilities in South Pittston, Pennsylvania in February 1911.

Quoted captions come from the original photos.

"Breaker boys working in Ewen Breaker of Pennsylvania Coal Co. Location: South Pittston, Pennsylvania."

"Group of Breaker boys. Smallest is Sam Belloma, Pine Street. Location: Pittston, Pennsylvania."

"A view of Ewen Breaker of the Pa. [Pennsylvania] Coal Co. The dust was so dense at times as to obscure the view. This dust penetrates the utmost recesses of the boy's lungs. A kind of slave driver sometimes stands over the boys, prodding or kicking them into obedience. Location: South Pittston, Pennsylvania."

"A view of the Pennsylvania Breaker. The dust was so dense at times as to obscure the view. This dust penetrates the utmost recess of the boy's lungs. Location: South Pittston, Pennsylvania."

"Noon hour in the Ewen Breaker, Pennsylvania Coal Co. Location: South Pittston, Pennsylvania."

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'Breaker boys' were young boys, usually between the ages of 8 and 12 years old, employed in breaking stage of coal mining, breaking mined coal into relatively uniform sized pieces by hand and separating out impurities such as rock, slate, sulphur, clay and soil.

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They were eight days that tore at America's conscience.

From May 2 to May 10, 1963, the nation bore witness as police in Birmingham, Ala., aimed high-powered hoses and sicced snarling dogs on black men, women and even children who wanted just one thing - to be treated the same as white Americans.

Led by an unapologetic racist named Eugene "Bull" Connor, Birmingham cops brazenly attacked protesters - and the television cameras covering the drama broadcasted their brutality to the rest of the country.

In the process, Connor became a living symbol of Southern bigotry and Birmingham became ground zero in the struggle for civil rights.

Two years earlier, when the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. first took aim at what was then the most segregated city in the U.S., Connor issued a warning.

"We are not going to stand for this in Birmingham," he declared. "And if necessary we will fill the jail full and we don't care whose toes we step on."

Determined to desegregate Birmingham, King and the Southern Christian Leadership Conference had staged a series of business boycotts in April 1963 that resulted in numerous arrests.

Then, on May 2, King launched the final - and most controversial phase - of what they called Project C, the c standing for confrontation.

Figuring that even Connor wouldn't cross this line, King sent children ranging in age from six to 18 marching through the streets for freedom.

But Connor would not be cowed. By nightfall, his cops had jailed 959 youthful protesters.

The next day, a thousand more - joined by brigades of grown-ups - hit the streets and this time Connor deployed the dogs.

"A Negro woman was bitten on the leg by a police dog," United Press International reported. "A Negro man had four or five deep gashes on his leg where he had been bitten by a dog. A sobbing Negro woman said she had been kicked in the stomach by a policeman."

The battle in Birmingham dominated the evening news and the sickening spectacle got big play in newspapers across the country and around the world.

Birmingham's business leaders quickly realized they were in the midst of a public relations disaster.

Over the few next days, as Connor's cops continued to crack down on the demonstrators, they quietly capitulated and negotiated a settlement that was stunning for its time.

They agreed to desegregate lunch counters and fitting rooms. They agreed to remove "Whites Only" signs from drinking fountains and restrooms. They agreed to hire more African-Americans.

King declared it a "moment of great victory."

But Birmingham's bitter mayor Art Hanes denounced the businessmen as "gutless traitors." And Connor was apoplectic.

"I would have beaten King if those damn merchants... hadn't given in," Connor insisted.

There would be more violence in Birmingham. That September, four young black girls were killed when a bomb ripped apart the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church.

But Connor's heavy-handed tactics in front of the national news media became a catalyst for social change - and helped pave the way for passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964.

csiemaszko@nydailynews.com
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Birmingham erupted into chaos in 1963 as battle for civil rights exploded in South

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From May 2 to May 10, 1963, the nation bore witness as police in Birmingham, Ala., aimed high-powered hoses and sicced snarling dogs on black men, women and even children who wanted just one thing - to be treated the same as white Americans.