Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net FIRST MAN By CLYDE BROWN Illustrated by WOOD [Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction April 1958. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] [Sidenote: _He obstinately wanted no part in achieving the goal of generations--but the goal with equal obstinacy wanted all of him!_] To keep the record straight: Orville Close was first man on the Moon. Harold Ferguson was second. They never talk about it. It started on that October morning when the piece came out in the Parkville _News_. Harold grumbled that they'd gotten the story all wrong, calling his ship a rocket ship, and treating him like a flagpole sitter or a man going over Niagara Falls in a barrel. His wife took their sad, thin little girl and went to live with her brother. The city police blocked off Elm Street, letting no one through except the residents. The neighbors were getting up a petition. But Orville refused to become excited. What was going to happen? Why, nothing. Harold would probably crack up completely, but this evening that thing would still be standing there, solid as the Washington Monument. Nevertheless, Orville's wife Polly was going to her sister's, across town. _She_ wasn't going to stay there and be blown up! While she was getting ready, Orville picked up a package by the sink and carried it outside to the alley and dropped it in the garbage can. He wore his double-breasted fall suit. He strolled to the boundary fence and leaned against a post. A reporter was taking angle shots of the spaceship. Flashbulbs were scattered over Harold's garden. It really does catch the eye, Orville thought. Smarten the ship up a little, put some stripes running down from the nose, a few pieces of chrome around over the body.... * * * * * Poor old Harold came off his back porch carrying a thermos jug and six loaves of bread. "Morning, Harold," said Orville. "Oh--morning, Orville." Harold flinched. Another reporter had come out of the shed and taken their picture. "What's your name, mister?" the reporter asked Orville. "I'd rather you left me out of this," Orville said. A loaf of bread had broken open and slices were falling out. Harold put down the thermos jug and picked up the slices and stuffed them back into the wrapper. The first reporter came over. [Illustration] "It's got Vitamin D." Harold grinned wretchedly. "Costs two cents more a loaf, but I thought, what the heck--" "How about a shot of you and the missus saying good-by?" the first reporter said. "Why--she left me," Harold blurted. He tried to get away, but the reporters hemmed him in. "Was she scared?" the second reporter asked.