In 1999, Andrew Smith met and interviewed astronaut and moonwalker Charlie Duke and his wife for a small magazine article - "of a type that I normally avoided," writes Smith, "but even at a glance the Dukes were too intriguing to pass by."

Mid-interview, Charlie left the room to take a phone call, and when he returned 20 minutes later, he was obviously upset: He'd just learned that one of his fellow moonwalkers, astronaut Pete Conrad, had died. As Charlie spoke, Smith soon realized that Charlie was devastated in a way that suggested more than the loss of his friend.

"Now there's only nine of us," Charlie said.

Smith realized that before long, there would be none, that soon the memory of the mind-blowing thrill of gazing back at the Earth from the moon would belong to no one.

Moondust is Smith's voyage to understand the significance of this fact - and that of The Apollo Moon Program, often called the last optimistic act of the 20th century. From 1969 to 1972, 12 men made a magical journey that would change their lives and the lives of all who witnessed them walking on the moon forever.

In Moondust, Smith takes on the task of interviewing all the remaining astronauts who walked on the moon, mining them for information about their lives, what really happened up there and how they faced a life post-moonwalking that may never offer that caliber of excitement again.

The fun aspect of Moondust is Smith's organic, very natural, childlike amazement at the notion of space travel, moon visits and astronauts. His enthusiasm is not only translated into every sentence, readers can't escape Smith's sense of wonderment at the United States' chutzpah at instigating such a program and his unbelievable luck to be around to witness it. With infectious nostalgia, Smith writes about what the world watched, while collectively holding its breath, on July 20, 1969:

It's 1:15 p.m.. My parents' friends, the Reuhls, and the sweet and elderly Fishes from across the road are leaning forward on the couch and chairs, forward over the orange shag carpet, clutching beers or cups of coffee tightly with varying mixtures of anxiety and disbelief on their faces. A familiar singsong southern drawl is floating from the TV . . . We know this is the voice of Mission control.

. . . Now we hear:

"Thirty seconds."

Silence.

"Contact light."

"Shutdown."

"Descent engine command override. Engine arm, off 413 is in."

A pause.

Silence.

More silence.

"Houston, Tranquility Base here . . . the Eagle has landed."

. . . Dad has tears in his eyes. It's the first time I've ever seen him with tears in his eyes . . .

The Apollo astronauts were supermen, pilots with Ph.D.s, old- school and "men's men." Though Smith locates most of the remaining nine men, many are short on words when telling the world how it felt to be on the moon.

However, the facts after-the-fact speak for themselves: Most of the astronauts' marriages ended in divorce; Alan Bean left NASA to paint; one found religion; and Ed Mitchell admits that he came to the conclusion that the universe is an intelligent being.

Which may sound somewhat irrelevant in the face of a mission of such magnitude, except that Smith skillfully couples the mostly quirky after-lives of the astronauts with boatloads of detail and insight that would not be available, but for his eager investigation.

Moondust is worth the read to get those goods, which include interesting facts about the space program itself. The Apollo Program was a privileged boys club, built with a lot of taxpayers' money, mountains of zealous vision and sometimes lacking strategic common sense. The technology was less than that of your average word processor. (The module that first descended to the moon's surface had a computer with a 36k memory.) Moreover NASA pretty much figured Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin and Michael Collins were as likely to die on the mission as they were to return safely to Earth.

Smith's attempt to make himself part of the tale are a bump in this road, though the temptation is somewhat forgivable. Who wouldn't want to align themselves with these history-makers, especially after interviewing more of them than any other journalist (thereby making one's own history)? The ploy doesn't work because Smith sets his audience up for the astronauts' stories - not his.

Still, because Smith is a charming storyteller, because anyone born before 1960 is imprinted, forever and indelibly, by the landmark moment and because these men had an experience like no one else, readers will keep turning Moondust's pages.

Cathie Beck is a Denver writer who recently completed a memoir, "Cheap Cabernet: A Friendship."

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