My father, J. T. Powell, Jr., was a genuine rocket scientist, an award winner at that. So 40 years ago we were glued to the television, watching, as my father described it, test pilots trying to land a very large beer can on the moon. And they did it.
So much was unknown: What was the surface of the moon? Rock? Dust one mile thick? Something in between? Would the lightweight aluminum lander crumple, hold up, or be punctured by a wandering meteorite? Would the thrusters be enough to launch it back to the orbiting part of the craft? So many, many things could go wrong, and yet the mission went off perfectly. Skill, luck and courage all played a part.
The one thing I remember most clearly: going outside, looking at that waxing crescent moon and enjoying the fact that human beings were walking up there.