Space Case

Jayme Findlay wants to go to the moon.

First, though, he wants to send others -- 2,016 people in all, every last one of them cremated upon their deaths and enclosed in individual capsules, each the size of a computer mouse. Attached to each capsule will be a 6-foot flag, and each flag will have its own foil epitaph with the laser-engraved birth date, death date, moon burial date and hometown of the ashy occupant, as well as an inspiring message chosen by the dead or his or her loved ones. Above and beyond, perhaps, or Good-bye, cruel world.

Findlay and his partners will then launch into space a rocket carrying the 2,016 flags and one robotic lunar rover. From space, the little rover will descend to the moon's surface and travel to one of a few possible burial sites.

Findlay believes the moon's equatorial region makes the most sense for this lunar cemetery. The poles are difficult to land on and hard to see; no one goes there. A crater called Eratosthenes, near the moon's equator in an area called Sinus Aestuum, seems ideal.

"The absence of unusual geology and the fact that no previous landings have been made in this region should minimize any risk of it being considered a sensitive area," Findlay notes in his marketing materials.

When the rover reaches its destination, it will begin planting the flags in a pyramid pattern he wants to call Kirkyard Grounds. At the pyramid's forefront will be ten plots known collectively as The Guardians, in honor of those who first invested their faith and fees in Findlay's Buried on the Moon enterprise.

Back on Earth, grieving family and friends will be able to look to the sky in memory of the deceased. As technology improves, Findlay says, they will be able to find a particular marker and gaze upon its epitaph whenever the desire strikes them. In the meantime, the kind folks at Buried on the Moon will have provided them with a mountable shadow box depicting a celestial tombstone more than 200,000 miles away and a video of the rover planting their flag.

Findlay estimates the cost of launching will approach $100 million, with the rover requiring another $20 million. As a result, the price for each memorial currently hovers around $100,000. So far he has no takers.

But this is the business model set forth by Findlay, a middle-class man who lives in Shawnee with his wife and four kids and works in an office without windows, selling Casio watches and Spalding volleyballs on the Internet. All of that's fine, but Findlay is not entirely satisfied with the life he's led. He wants to be a part of great things, big things. He wants very badly to bury people on the moon.

For most of Findlay's life, the moon inspired little fascination. Like so many other people, he took it for granted. It was simply there. For him, its effects on earthly weather patterns and its place in mythology never stirred any great passion. Even in 1994, when scientists discovered the possibility that water existed in the moon's cavernous recesses -- big news for those who conceived of human settlements on the moon -- Findlay took little interest in Earth's orbital partner.

That changed one spring evening in 1997. During a particularly meditative night in his backyard, not far from all the activity along Pflumm Road, Findlay looked to the sky and decided that he would like to be buried on the moon's surface. On the tail of this thought came a considerate notion: Others should be buried there, too, if that's what they wanted.

Instead of driving to some remote, depressing graveyard, people could look toward the heavens for a reminder of their parents and grandparents.

"Imagine someday being able to read a tombstone from Earth, sitting on your back deck," Findlay says. "Maybe even be able to leave holographic flowers on Memorial Day."

At first, Findlay spoke of the idea only with his family. He got a mostly lukewarm response. Later he broached the subject with outsiders, at parties or in the stands of his daughters' softball games. "Some laughed at me," he recalls. "But I never thought it was a kooky idea. Just a bit early in most people's thinking."

Last year, Findlay officially introduced Buried on the Moon through a serene, information-packed Web site that covers everything from the 6-foot markers and lunar rover to the international laws applicable to the mission. An inspiring prompt greets visitors: You've always been different, always had different dreams. Now you're reaching the end of an extraordinary life and you are reaching out for one last great adventure. This is your chance to truly break the bonds of Earth.

These words could serve as Findlay's own epitaph when the time comes. Ten years ago, he wrote a list of 100 things he wanted to accomplish before he died. The closer he got to 100, the more unlikely his goals became; the more unlikely his goals became, the more the list began to reveal the grand, universal questions inspiring Buried on the Moon.

"Once you get up to fifty and sixty and seventy goals, you really have to drill down deep into your consciousness," Findlay says.