The Eagle Has Landed: The Story of Apollo 11 (10 page)

The design and development of the components needed to execute an
Apollo
lunar mission was a team effort, involving hundreds of thousands of designers, engineers, and technicians, both at NASA and in the private-sector. The powerful, three-stage
Saturn V
rocket, which cost 350 million dollars, was responsible for launching the spacecraft into orbit. Conceptualized by Werner von Braun, the
Saturn V
was constructed in a joint effort between
North American Aviation, Boeing, McDonnell Aircraft,
and
IBM.

Under pressure to reach the Moon by the end of the decade, NASA made the decision to embark upon an “all up approach” with the
Saturn V
rocket. In other words, all three stages of the complex rocket would be tested together “live,” on the first flight, rather than individually.

The
Saturn V
was the first American space rocket that was designed and constructed as a civilian-only project, without military supervision. Because of its enormous power, the rocket’s monstrous first stage could not be fired at full throttle at the Marshall Center in Huntsville, for fear of shattering windows in nearby residences. Instead, the first stage rocket was transported by barge across the Gulf of Mexico and up the Pearl River to the Mississippi Test Facility (later renamed the Stennis Test Center, in honor of Senator John Stennis). At this isolated, swampy south Mississippi location, the
Saturn V’s
most powerful engines were repeatedly test fired.

On January 29, 1964, the first
Saturn
rocket, an abbreviated two-stage missile, blasted off from Cape Canaveral. The rocket successfully launched into orbit the largest payload in history—an empty 37,000-pound rocket stage.

The command service module (CSM), which would transport
Apollo
crews to the Moon and back, was built by
North American Aviation.
The lunar excursion module (LM), brain child of Langley Center aeronautical engineer, John C. Houbolt, was constructed by
Grumman. General Electric
designed the fuel cells that powered the spacecraft.
Philco Aerospace Company
equipped Mission Control with flight communication consoles, while
IBM
designed the
Apollo
computer systems.

Economics and politics, the parents and nursemaids of the American space program, eventually came to regard their progeny as a needy step-child. By the latter half of the 1960s, the U.S. Treasury was finding it impossible to fund the Vietnam War, Lyndon Johnson’s beloved and all-encompassing
Great Society
social programs, and NASA’s enormous budget. The space program soon learned that the government cash cow was not an endless reservoir. By decade’s end, expenditures for space exploration would be dramatically reduced.

A small, but vocal segment of the American public condemned the Space Race as a misguided venture. An expanding counterculture of disaffected, mostly young Americans viewed war-making and technology as twin behemoths, which were threatening peace and harmony, while occupying minds and consuming monies that could be better utilized to combat social plaques, like hunger, poverty, and disease. At the same time, African Americans, the most rapidly growing segment of the electorate (a direct result of the Voting Rights Act of 1965), believed that social ills, which disproportionately affected minorities, were being woefully neglected by white men who were more interested in walking on the Moon than helping their fellow man. Civil Rights leader Whitney Young echoed the
anti-Apollo
sentiments of his brethren: “A circus act—a marvelous trick that leaves poverty untouched. It will cost 35 billion dollars to put two men on the Moon. It would take 10 billion dollars to lift every poor person in this country above the poverty standard this year. Something is wrong somewhere.”

By early 1967, training for the first
Apollo
mission was well underway. Many assumed the successes of the
Mercury
and
Gemini
programs had paved the way for a smooth transition, while others cautioned against overconfidence. NASA Flight Director, Chris Craft, reminded his colleagues: “We’re making it look too easy. I hope we don’t end up paying a price, someday, for leaving a false impression.”

NASA had miraculously skirted potentially deadly mishaps during the 16 manned spaceflights leading up to
Project Apollo,
and none of the astronauts had been seriously injured. Good fortune had smiled on the American space program, but
Apollo
Flight Director, Gene Kranz, offered a terse warning: “Luck has no business in space flight.”

A sense of foreboding haunted
Apollo
during its early days. When the first command service module was delivered to Cape Canaveral, NASA engineers complained about the spacecraft’s “shoddy workmanship.” Inside the space capsule, bundles of exposed wires were a source of concern to launch pad technicians. Unlike
McDonnell Aircraft,
manufacturers of the
Gemini
spacecraft,
North American Aviation and Grumman Aviation,
builders of the command service module and lunar module, refused to share their systems information and schematic drawings with NASA flight controllers, cavalierly bypassing an important step in the safety monitoring process. Astronaut, Jim Lovell, summed up the frustrations of many of his colleagues: “The
Apollo
spacecraft, by even the most charitable estimates, was turning out to be an Edsel.” Prior to the first scheduled
Apollo
flight, a total of 20,000 system failures were recorded. A disgusted Gus Grissom, who was slated to command
Apollo 1,
left a lemon inside the flight simulator after completing a training exercise. In spite of these concerns, NASA moved headlong toward the first
Apollo
launch.

On Friday night, January 27, 1967, Grissom and his crewmates, Edward White and Roger Chafee, were strapped in the cockpit of their
Apollo 1
command service module, high above the Cape Canaveral launch pad. The astronauts were busily engaged in a full “dress rehearsal” for the scheduled launch in three weeks. Because of several delays related to malfunctions, the crew had already spent five consecutive hours inside the cramped spacecraft. Grissom, a veteran of
Mercury and Gemini,
was fully aware of the many hazards of space flight: “We flew with the knowledge that if something really went wrong up there, there wasn’t the slightest hope of rescue.” At the same time, no one was prepared for a catastrophe during a routine training exercise.

At 6:31 p.m., suddenly and without warning, Grissom exclaimed: “Hey!”

Seconds later, Roger Chafee shouted: “Fire in the spacecraft!”

“Fire in the cockpit!” Edward White repeated.

NASA personnel at Cape Canaveral and Mission Control, who were monitoring the training session, could not believe their ears.

“We’re on fire! Get us out of here!” Chaffee pleaded.

Television monitors showed White vainly reaching for the cockpit hatch. In less than 20 seconds, a flash fire asphyxiated the crew, and their bodies were charred by 2,500-degree (F) flames.

The culprit turned out to be a frayed wire beneath the cockpit seats, which generated a spark in the 100 percent oxygen environment, igniting Velcro, paper flight plans, the polyester foam padding inside the seats, and the astronauts’ combustible, nylon space suits. The
Apollo 1
crew had no chance of survival—to illustrate the astronaut’s hopeless predicament, in a 16.7-pound per square inch, 100 percent oxygen environment, a lit cigarette will disintegrate in only two seconds. The heat generated by the flash fire was intense enough to melt the steel inside the space capsule.

The spacecraft’s ethylene glycol coolant yielded toxic fumes, and Grissom had tried in vain to reach the lever that would have vented the pure oxygen and noxious gases outside the spacecraft. Though equipped with state of the art technology, the space capsule did not have a single fire extinguisher.

Any chance for escape was doomed by the configuration of the exit portal. The spacecraft’s outer hatch could not be opened until the inner one had been removed—a painstaking process, requiring the use of a torque wrench. Under ideal, non-emergent conditions, it took the astronauts and support crew 90 seconds to open the hatch. Ironically, Gus Grissom had argued against installing an explosive escape hatch in the
Apollo
spacecraft, perhaps tormented by lingering embarrassment over the sinking of his
Mercury
capsule, six years earlier.

Within seconds of the fire breaking out, the pressurized capsule exploded, fracturing its walls. In vain, a rescue team tried to reach the astronauts, but the intense heat and shock waves from secondary explosions kept them at bay. When launch pad personnel finally gained access to the spacecraft, several of the rescuers burned their hands trying to open the hatch.

Once inside the capsule, NASA technicians witnessed unimaginable horror. Chafee was found strapped in his seat, charred beyond recognition. Grissom and White were found near the hatch, their melted spacesuits fused together in a gory lump. Grissom (age 40), White (age 36), and Chaffee (age 31) became the first direct casualties of the American space program. Grissom and Chafee were buried at Arlington National Cemetery, while White was laid to rest at his alma mater, West Point.

After the
Apollo 1
tragedy, all manned spaceflights were halted for 21 months, while NASA tried to figure out what had gone wrong. An in-house investigatory committee ultimately recommended 1,341 design changes for the
Apollo
spacecraft.

Because it was easier to use a single gas supply to maintain internal cabin pressure, 100 percent oxygen had been routinely pumped into all American spacecraft. After the
Apollo 1
tragedy, the capsule atmosphere was changed to a mixture of 60 percent oxygen and 40 percent nitrogen to prevent propagation of an inferno. Flame retardant Velcro, paper, and space suit materials were also developed, in addition to non-flammable cooling liquids. The capsule hatch was re-designed, providing the crew with rapid exit capability. In the future, if a fire broke out inside the spacecraft during training sessions, the astronauts would have at least a fighting chance at survival.

In the wake of the
Apollo 1
fire, NASA officials were devastated, and many blamed themselves for the tragedy.
Apollo
Flight Director, Christopher Craft, was remarkably candid: “We got in too much of a God-damned hurry. We were willing to put up with a lot of poor hardware and poor preparation in order to try to get on with the job, and lot of us knew we were doing that.”

Many political leaders, who had grown wary of the enormous budget strain created by the space program, vented their frustrations on NASA. During congressional hearings related to the
Apollo 1
tragedy, NASA Administrator, James Webb, drew a lawmaker’s ire: “The level of incompetence and carelessness we’ve seen here is just unimaginable.”

North American Aviation,
builders of the
Apollo
spacecraft, also shared in the blame. In 1972, the company paid the widows of the
Apollo 1
crew a $650,000.00 settlement.

To honor the memories of Grissom, White, and Chafee, NASA cancelled the
Apollo 1, 2,
and 3 missions. The
Apollo 4, 5,
and
6
missions that followed were all unmanned test flights.

The
Apollo 4
spacecraft was launched on November 9, 1967, marking the first deployment of the powerful
Saturn V
rocket. Witnesses to the lift-off were unprepared for the Earth-trembling roar of the mammoth first stage engines. Sound waves violently shook the
CBS News
television broadcast trailer, located three miles from launch pad 31 A. News anchor, Walter Cronkite, placed his hands against the glass window to keep it from shattering, as ceiling tiles fell down: “My God, our building’s shaking here! Our building’s shaking! The roar is terrific! This big glass window is shaking…Look at that rocket go…Part of our roof has come in here.”

Just 11.5 minutes after blast-off, the
Apollo 4
spacecraft was in orbit. Later in the mission, the third stage
Saturn
rocket was fired, propelling the CSM into a higher orbit. On January 22, 1968,
Apollo 5
was launched into space. During this test flight, an unmanned lunar module accompanied the CSM into orbit. After twin successes, the
Apollo 6
spacecraft endured a series of malfunctions while in orbit, including problems with the guidance system and the third stage rocket. Because of these difficulties, the last unmanned
Apollo
mission lasted only six hours.

Following the
Apollo 1
tragedy, the general public’s enthusiasm for lunar exploration showed signs of fraying. A
Harris Poll,
commissioned in July of 1967, revealed that 46 percent of those surveyed opposed a manned lunar mission, with only 43 percent still indicating support. When asked if the
Apollo
project was worth 4 billion dollars per year, only 34 percent answered yes, while 64 percent replied no.

On October 21, 1968, 21 months after the tragic launch pad fire,
Apollo 7
was launched. Astronauts Walter Schirra, Donn Eisle, and Walter Cunningham spent 10 days in space, orbiting Earth 163 times. The crew conducted the first full test of the CSM, which performed well. The mission, however, was not without controversy. Schirra had been launched into space with a head cold, which he soon transmitted to his crewmates. In zero gravity, the astronauts found their nasal passages would not drain unless they constantly blew their noses—a difficult task while wearing space helmets. The astronauts also complained about the poor quality of their freeze-dried food stores, which escalated into arguments over who was entitled to the tastier meal selections.

Schirra, who had already announced that this would be his last space flight, grew testy with Mission Control, after the crew was instructed to conduct additional, unplanned tests: “I have had it up to here, today. From now on, I am going to be an onboard Flight Director…” Post-mission, Schirra expanded on his frustrations: “I had fun with
Mercury.
I had fun with
Gemini…
I lose a buddy, my next door neighbor, Gus (Grissom), one of our seven; I lose two other guys I thought the world of. I began to realize this was no longer fun. I was assigned a mission where I had to put it back on track like Humpty-Dumpty.” Having already made the decision to retire, Schirra’s candor had no impact on his career. Eisle and Cunningham were not so lucky, and neither flew in space again.