Hey everyone, welcome to Smart Shorts, the podcast where we take big ideas, break them down into bite-sized brilliance, and leave you a little smarter. I’m your host, JD, thanks for joining me.  Today we’re tackling one of the most fascinating what-ifs of the 20th century. Let’s relive a little history:  It’s July 20, 1969. Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin are about to step onto the moon, fulfilling a dream humanity’s had since we first looked up at the night sky. But what if something went wrong? What if the Eagle didn’t land? What if Apollo 11 became a tragedy instead of a triumph? 

Now, we all know the story that made it into the history books: “One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.” 

Behind that iconic moment was a team of engineers, scientists, and even politicians sweating bullets over every possible disaster. NASA didn’t just have a Plan A—they had a few more plans stashed away in a filing cabinet somewhere. Today, we’re pulling those plans out of the vault, dusting them off, and asking: What was the backup plan if the moon landing failed? How did they prepare for the unthinkable? And what can we learn from it now, over 50 years later?

So, grab your favorite beverage —or your space helmet—and let’s take a journey to the moon… and back… hopefully.

Let’s set the scene. It’s a hot summer day in 1969, and millions of people are glued to their black-and-white TVs. The United States is about to do the unthinkable: land humans on the Moon. It’s the culmination of a decade-long space race with the Soviet Union—a race fueled by politics, pride, and a dash of paranoia. President Kennedy had thrown down the gauntlet in 1961, promising to put a man on the Moon before the decade’s end, and now, here we are, out of time and on the brink of history.

But we must realize this wasn’t just a feel-good science project. The stakes were high. If Apollo 11 failed, it wouldn’t just be a setback for NASA; it’d be a propaganda goldmine for the Soviets. The U.S. had already lost ground in the early space race—The Soviet Union had Sputnik, the first artificial satellite and Yuri Ga GAR in Gagarin, the first man in space—and NASA delivering a lunar flop could’ve tipped the Cold War narrative in Moscow’s favor. Success meant glory; failure meant humiliation. And NASA knew it.

Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, and Michael Collins are the trio chosen for the job. Armstrong and Aldrin will head down to the lunar surface in the Lunar Module—nicknamed the Eagle—while Collins orbits above in the Command Module, Columbia. It’s a bold plan, but it’s also insanely risky.

So, picture this: you’re mission control in Houston. You’re about to have three astronauts hurtling through space in a tin can, aiming for a dusty rock we’ve only seen through telescopes. The technology is cutting-edge for the time, but untested on this scale. The lunar module, the Eagle, is a spindly, fragile contraption that looks like it was designed by a mad scientist on a budget. And once Armstrong and Aldrin land on the moon, they’ve got to take off again, rendezvous with Collins, and make it back to Earth. Every step is a potential disaster waiting to happen. What if fuel runs low? An engine fails? There’s a miscalculation? Those are all real possibilities that have disastrous outcomes.

But NASA wasn’t naive. They’d spent years planning Apollo 11 down to the last bolt, but they also knew the universe doesn’t care about your blueprints. They needed backup plans—secret contingencies—if the unthinkable became reality. And trust me, some of these plans were as wild as they were grim.

Before we get to that, let’s talk about what NASA knew could go wrong. Apollo 11 wasn’t their first rodeo. The Apollo program had already seen its share of close calls and tragedies. Apollo 1? A devastating fire during a test in 1967 killed three astronauts—Gus Grissom, Ed White, and Roger CHAFF fee Chaffee. That disaster forced NASA to rethink everything: safety protocols, spacecraft design, you name it. By the time Apollo 11 rolled around, they’d ironed out a lot of kinks, but space is still space—unforgiving, unpredictable, and full of ways to ruin your day.

For this historic launch a Saturn V rocket was paired with the command module for the journey, and it was a beast. Standing 363 feet, or 110 meters tall, it was the most powerful launch vehicle ever built at the time. It had to be—it was carrying three humans and a spacecraft into orbit, then flinging them toward the moon at 24,000 miles, or 38,000 kilometers, per hour. But power comes with risk. Rockets can explode. It’s just a fact. The Soviets had their own share of fiery disasters, like the NEDDLE lynn Nedelin catastrophe in 1960, where a rocket blew up on the pad and killed dozens. NASA knew that was a possibility with Saturn V.

So, what was the backup plan if the launch went sideways? First off, the astronauts weren’t just sitting ducks. The Command Module had an escape system called the Launch Escape Tower—a little rocket perched on top of the capsule. If the Saturn V started to blow, that tower would fire, yanking the Command Module away from the fireball and parachuting it back to safety a few miles away in the Atlantic Ocean. It was tested successfully multiple times, but here’s the caveat: It only worked within the first few minutes of launch. After that, if something went wrong higher up, the crew was on their own until they reached orbit.

Now, imagine the launch fails due to a technical malfunction. Maybe an engine cuts out, and the rocket can’t reach orbit. What then? NASA had abort procedures baked into the mission profile. The crew could separate the Command Module, fire its own engines, and either loop around into a low Earth orbit or splash down early. It wouldn’t be a moon landing, but it’d keep them alive. Michael Collins later wrote in his memoir that these abort scenarios were drilled into them relentlessly. They had checklists for checklists.

Now let’s assume they make it to orbit. The real backup plans kick in once they’re on their way. The trip to the moon took about three days. Three days of coasting through the void, with nothing but a thin metal shell between the crew and the vacuum of space. If something broke en route—like a micrometeorite puncturing the Command Module or a guidance system failing—NASA had options. The spacecraft was built with redundancy: backup oxygen supplies, manual navigation tools, even a sextant for star sightings if the computer went out.

Now, let’s say they make it to lunar orbit. Michael Collins is circling the moon solo in Columbia while Armstrong and Aldrin descend to the moon’s surface in the Eagle. This is where the plans get really interesting—and really tense.

The Eagle had to descend from orbit, slow down, and touch down on a surface no one had ever tested up close. The Moon’s gravity is one-sixth of Earth’s, and its terrain is a challenge—craters, rocks, uneven slopes. 

The Lunar Module was a marvel, but it was also a nightmare. It weighed just 33,000 pounds, almost 15,000 kilograms—light enough to land on the moon’s weak gravity but it was also fragile. When Armstrong and Aldrin separated from Collins and started their descent on July 20, 1969, things went wrong fast. The onboard computer started throwing alarms—1202 and 1201 errors, which meant it was overloading. Armstrong had to take manual control, steering the Eagle over a boulder-strewn crater with fuel running dangerously low. They landed with about 30 seconds of fuel left. Thirty seconds!

But what if they hadn’t landed? What if the Eagle crashed, or ran out of fuel mid-descent, or couldn’t find a flat spot? NASA had a contingency for that. If the Lunar Module couldn’t land safely, Armstrong and Aldrin were trained to abort. There was an ascent engine on the Eagle’s upper half designed to blast them back into orbit to rendezvous with Collins. The only catch? That engine had to work perfectly on the first try. It was a single-use, no-backup system. If it failed, they’d be stuck on the moon.

And that brings us to one of the darkest backup plans of all: What if they couldn’t get off the lunar surface? NASA didn’t advertise this, but they had a protocol, and it is one of the most chilling pieces of the plan. I’ll tell you all about it…coming up next! 

Picture this: Armstrong and Aldrin are on the moon. The world’s watching, holding its breath. They’ve planted the flag, collected some rocks, but when they fire up the ascent engine… nothing happens. The Eagle’s dead. They’re stranded, 238,000 miles, over 383,000 kilometers, from home, with no way back. What’s the plan then?

In 1969, William Safire, a speechwriter for President Richard Nixon, drafted a memo titled “In Event of Moon Disaster.” It’s short, somber, and hauntingly beautiful. The idea was simple: if Armstrong and Aldrin couldn’t get off the Moon—if the ascent engine failed or some other calamity struck—Nixon would address the nation. 

Here’s a snippet:

Fate has ordained that the men who went to the moon to explore in peace will stay on the moon to rest in peace. These brave men, Neil Armstrong and Edwin Aldrin, know that there is no hope for their recovery. But they also know that there is hope for mankind in their sacrifice.

Gives you chills, right?

Now, this wasn’t just Safire being dramatic. NASA had briefed the White House on the real possibility that the astronauts might not come back. 

Collins, orbiting above, would have no choice but to head home solo, assuming he could.

Think about that for a second. The U.S. couldn’t mount a rescue mission. The technology didn’t exist. The next generation Apollo 12 wasn’t ready until months later, and even then, it wasn’t designed to scoop up stranded astronauts. If Armstrong and Aldrin were stuck, they’d have maybe a day or two of oxygen before the inevitable. The speech was NASA’s way of preparing for the optics—turning a disaster into a noble tragedy. 

Let’s talk about the astronauts themselves. Armstrong, Aldrin, and Collins weren’t naive. They’d trained for emergencies, stared death in the face during test flights, and knew the odds. Collins famously said he was “90% sure” they’d make it back, which leaves a solid 10% of doubt. That’s not small when your life’s on the line.

Did they know about the backup plans? Some of them, sure. They’d rehearsed engine fixes, hatch drills, and abort scenarios. But the big picture—the speech—was likely kept from them. NASA didn’t want their golden boys distracted by existential dread. Armstrong, ever the cool-headed pilot, probably wouldn’t have flinched. Aldrin, the intense engineer, might’ve demanded a flowchart. Collins? He’d later write about the loneliness of orbiting solo, wondering if he’d be the “marked man” who left his friends behind.

Their families knew the risks, too. Pat Collins, Michael’s wife, once said she’d prepared herself for him not coming back. The astronauts’ wives lived with that shadow, knowing every launch could be a one-way ticket. 

The task of getting back to the Command Module was like threading a needle in a hurricane. The Eagle had to launch, match Columbia’s orbit, and dock—all with pinpoint accuracy. If the ascent engine misfired or the navigation failed, Armstrong and Aldrin could miss Collins entirely, drifting off into space.

The backup here was practical: Collins had orders to come home alone if the rendezvous failed after a set time. NASA figured he couldn’t risk his own life indefinitely waiting for a miracle. The Command Module had enough supplies for one person to make it back, but not three if something delayed the trip.

Thankfully, the rendezvous worked like a charm in real life. The Eagle docked with Columbia, and the three astronauts headed home. But there was still one last hurdle: reentry.

Reentering Earth’s atmosphere is like diving into a furnace. The Command Module’s heat shield had to hold, or the crew would burn up. If the angle was too steep, they’d incinerate; too shallow, they’d bounce off into space.

The backup plan? In this case there wasn’t much of one. The parachutes were the final lifeline—three main chutes to slow their descent into the Pacific. If those failed, there were reserve chutes. NASA had recovery ships on standby, but they couldn’t do much if the capsule didn’t survive the plunge.

In the end, Apollo 11 stuck the landing—both on the moon and back on Earth. The world cheered, and the backup plans stayed in the drawer. But let’s take a look at the bigger picture for a second. What do these contingencies tell us about NASA—and what can we learn from them? 

The Moon Landing’s Backup Plan wasn’t just about saving face, or saving lives—it was about resilience. NASA knew they were pushing the limits of what humans could do, so they built safety nets at every step. It’s a masterclass in planning for failure without losing sight of success.

Think about it: They had abort switches, escape towers, redundant systems, even a speech for the end of the world. That’s not pessimism—that’s PRAG ma tism. And it paid off. Apollo 11 wasn’t flawless—those computer alarms and low fuel moments prove it—but the backups kept it from being a disaster.

Today, we’re still learning from that mindset. SpaceX, Blue Origin, and others designing missions to Mars are building on those same principles: Expect the unexpected, and have a way out. Heck, even outside of space, it’s a lesson for life. How many of us have a Plan B for our big dreams?

And here’s a fun twist: Some of those Apollo backups got used later. When Apollo 13’s oxygen tank exploded in 1970, the crew turned their Lunar Module into a lifeboat—a contingency NASA had prepped for but never planned to need. They made it home, proving the backup plans weren’t just paranoia—they were genius.

So, there you have it.. A story of triumph, yes, but also a story of what-ifs and worst-case scenarios that, thankfully, never came to pass. Apollo 11 showed us what we’re capable of when we aim high—and what it takes to survive when things go sideways.

Thanks for joining me on this lunar ride. If you enjoyed it, subscribe to Smart Shorts wherever you get your podcasts and don’t forget to share this with friends and family, they’ll thank you later. You can also check us out on social media @SmartShortsPod. We’ll be back next week with another big idea in a small package. Until then, keep looking up—and don’t forget to make a Plan B.  I’m JD, and this has been Smart Shorts.