Much has been said about William Anders, the astronaut who died June 7 at 90, when the plane he was flying solo crashed in the waters off Orcas Island. He was a fighter pilot turned space explorer. A member of the first manned flight to the moon. A nuclear engineer and adviser to presidents.
He likely did not consider himself an artist. Yet Anders is best known as the creator of a photograph so breathtaking it changed human history, or at least the way we understand ourselves within history.
He was 35 years old, scrunched into an 11-by-13 space capsule orbiting the moon with two other men on Christmas Eve 1968, when it happened. Anders had been assigned to shoot the pocked lunar surface. But on the team’s fourth circuit, the orientation of their Apollo 8 spacecraft shifted, and a startling image came into view.
Rising behind the moon’s drab craters was a blue orb shining in the vast dark of space. Earth, a quarter-million miles away. Down there, as today, people were divided and angry, often violent. America was entangled in war. Leaders preaching peace had been assassinated. People demonstrated in the streets.