By CHARLES BOOTHE - |
Uncle Warner just didn't believe it.
No way, he kept saying, it's all fake.
In fact, he was downright ornery about it all, pumping his fist in the air in between swigs of his home brew.
"The %&@$& government!" he hollered. "They can't fool me!"
Uncle Warner, a small, wiry man with a white mustache and his usual railroad conductor's hat, sat on a stump near his cabin at the foot of East River Mountain.
His nicotine-stained fingers were busy rolling another cigarette from his can of Bugle tobacco.
"You know what the Bible says," he railed. "And the $%& moon ain't turned to blood!"
What had gotten Uncle Warner so worked up happened 45 years ago this weekend.
Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin had walked on the moon, and the world was in awe of the event.
Well, most people anyway.
Not Uncle Warner.