Michael Collins, often called the “forgotten astronaut” of Apollo 11, played a role in one of humanity’s most iconic achievements: orbiting the Moon while his crewmates, Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin, made history by setting foot on its surface.

While Armstrong and Aldrin became household names, Collins’ contribution as the Command Module pilot was equally crucial, and his story reveals a life of courage, dedication, and an enduring mystery that he kept for decades.

Born on October 31, 1930, in Rome, Italy, Michael Collins grew up in a family with a strong military tradition.

His father, Major General James Lon Collins, instilled in him values of duty, discipline, and service, shaping Michael’s approach to life from an early age.

Due to his father’s assignments, Collins experienced a childhood marked by frequent moves, living in places such as the United States, Puerto Rico, and Italy.

This exposure to different environments and the stories of military aviation from family members, including his uncle, further fueled his fascination with flight.

Collins was captivated by the achievements of early aviators like Charles Lindbergh, and he resolved to pursue a career in aviation from a young age.

Collins attended St.Alban’s School in Washington, D.C., excelling academically while nurturing his interest in science and aviation.

Following high school, he enrolled at the United States Military Academy at West Point, graduating in 1952 with a degree in military science and ranking 66th in his class.

West Point, known for its rigor, cultivated his discipline and resilience, qualities that would later prove vital in the high-stakes environment of spaceflight.

Upon graduation, Collins joined the United States Air Force, eager to pilot advanced aircraft and remain at the forefront of aviation technology.

At Columbus Air Force Base in Mississippi, Collins completed his flight training, earning his wings in 1953.

He was then assigned to the 21st Fighter-Bomber Wing at George Air Force Base in California, where he flew the F-86 Sabre, a jet that had played a critical role in the Korean War.

Collins’ skill and composure under pressure earned him respect among peers and superiors alike, though the dangers of high-performance jet flying were ever-present.

The loss of colleagues in training accidents reinforced his commitment to precision and safety, traits that would define his later career.

In 1960, Collins reached a turning point by being selected for the U.S.Air Force Experimental Flight Test Pilot School at Edwards Air Force Base.

Edwards was the epicenter of aviation innovation, where pilots tested cutting-edge aircraft such as the rocket-powered X-15, capable of reaching the edge of space.

The experience demanded exceptional flying ability, analytical skill, and rapid decision-making under extreme conditions.

Collins’ time at Edwards solidified his reputation as a top pilot and fueled his interest in space exploration.

Amid the Cold War and the Space Race, Collins applied to NASA’s astronaut program in 1962.

Though initially rejected, he reapplied in 1963 and was accepted into NASA’s third group of astronauts, known as the “14,” which included future Apollo astronauts Buzz Aldrin, Alan Bean, and Gene Cernan.

His inclusion marked the beginning of a remarkable journey into space.

Before Apollo 11, Collins participated in the Gemini program, designed to develop the skills necessary for lunar missions, including spacewalks, long-duration flights, and spacecraft rendezvous and docking.

He flew on Gemini 10 in 1966, becoming the first person to perform two spacewalks on a single mission, a testament to his endurance, skill, and mental fortitude.

This experience prepared him for the unique responsibilities he would later assume on Apollo 11.

Initially slated for Apollo 8, Collins was temporarily sidelined due to a herniated disc in 1968.

After recovery, he was assigned as Command Module pilot for Apollo 11, a role that placed him alone in lunar orbit while Armstrong and Aldrin descended to the Moon’s surface.

His responsibilities were critical: ensuring the Command Module operated flawlessly, maintaining communications with Earth, and preparing for the lunar module’s rendezvous after its historic mission.

Training for Apollo 11 was intensive.

Collins, Armstrong, and Aldrin spent countless hours in simulators replicating zero gravity, docking procedures, and potential emergencies.

Collins’ test pilot background made him especially adept at handling complex systems and high-pressure scenarios.

Physical conditioning, psychological evaluations, and detailed mission planning were essential components of preparation.

Collins had to be ready to operate every Command Module system alone while orbiting the Moon, a test not just of skill, but of patience and mental resilience.

On July 16, 1969, Apollo 11 launched from Kennedy Space Center aboard the Saturn V rocket.

The ascent was intense, with the vibrations and power of the rocket testing even experienced astronauts like Collins.

Once in Earth orbit, the crew prepared for the Trans-Lunar Injection, sending them on a trajectory toward the Moon.

Collins monitored trajectory, engine burns, and spacecraft systems during the three-day voyage, ensuring they remained on course.

Upon entering lunar orbit, Collins’ isolation became starkly real.

While Armstrong and Aldrin prepared for the lunar descent in the Eagle, Collins orbited the Moon alone.

He became the first human to see the far side of the Moon up close, a view that offered both awe-inspiring beauty and profound solitude.

During these orbits, he maintained communications with Earth and monitored the Command Module, a task both technically demanding and psychologically taxing.

His calm, introspective nature allowed him to navigate this unique solitude with a philosophical mindset, viewing it as an opportunity to reflect and focus on the mission.

Armstrong and Aldrin’s historic moonwalk was a success, and Collins orchestrated the precise docking of the lunar module back with the Command Module.

Any error in timing or maneuvering could have left the astronauts stranded in lunar orbit, but Collins’ skill ensured their safe reunion.

The return journey to Earth, though less tense, still demanded precision, particularly during re-entry when the Command Module faced extreme heat and required careful alignment to prevent disaster.

On July 24, 1969, Apollo 11 splashed down safely in the Pacific Ocean, completing one of humanity’s most celebrated achievements.

Despite the mission’s global fame, Collins did not seek the limelight.

While Armstrong and Aldrin became iconic figures, Collins focused on contributing to society in quieter, yet meaningful ways.

In 1970, he left NASA to serve as Assistant Secretary of State for Public Affairs, though he found the political environment restrictive.

He later became director of the National Air and Space Museum in Washington, D.C., playing a key role in its 1976 opening and promoting public understanding of aviation and space exploration.

Collins also worked as an aerospace consultant and authored several books, including his autobiography Carrying the Fire, reflecting on his experiences and conveying the wonder of space travel with introspection and clarity.

Throughout his life, Collins remained an advocate for space exploration, emphasizing the collective effort and teamwork that made Apollo 11 possible.

Even as Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin were celebrated, Collins quietly reminded the public of the dedication required for such achievements and mentored younger astronauts, sharing insights into future human spaceflight, including the possibilities of missions to Mars.

Yet, beneath the accomplishments, a lingering mystery shadowed Collins’ experience.

As Command Module pilot, he spent periods orbiting the Moon alone, out of radio contact with Earth and his crewmates.

In his later years, he alluded to a profound experience during these orbits, particularly when he passed over the Moon’s far side.

While he maintained that much of his time alone was peaceful, Collins hinted at witnessing something extraordinary, something he had been instructed never to discuss.

Shortly before his death in April 2021, Collins broke his silence, cryptically revealing: “There is something on the far side of the Moon… I couldn’t talk to anyone about what I saw, but it was something none of us could have expected.

” He never disclosed details, leaving speculation and curiosity in the public imagination.

Some wondered whether he had observed an unusual geological feature, a structure, or even a phenomenon beyond current scientific understanding.

Despite the unanswered question, Collins’ legacy remains monumental.

He exemplified courage, skill, and dedication, performing a mission critical to one of humanity’s greatest achievements while maintaining composure in isolation that few could imagine.

His life after space continued to reflect his character: humility, intellect, and a commitment to education and exploration.

Collins’ quiet heroism reminds us that some contributions, though less visible, are no less vital, and that the universe often holds mysteries even the most intrepid explorers may never fully share.

Michael Collins’ story is one of extraordinary skill, courage, and introspection.

From a childhood immersed in military values to testing cutting-edge aircraft, to orbiting the Moon alone during the Apollo 11 mission, he embodied the spirit of exploration.

While the secret he took to his grave remains unsolved, the impact of his life—on aviation, space exploration, and humanity’s imagination—is indisputable.

His experience reminds us that history often celebrates the visible moments, like a first step on the Moon, but there are unseen contributions, profound challenges, and personal sacrifices that define true heroism.

Collins’ journey, both public and private, continues to inspire, inviting reflection on the human capacity for courage, curiosity, and perseverance, even in the silent void of space.