The Eagle Has Landed: The Story of Apollo 11 (7 page)

Prior to the lift-off of
Freedom 7,
Alan Shepard was confronted with the most basic of human needs. Because the initial
Mercury
flights were of such short duration, the space capsules were not equipped with toilet facilities. When
Freedom 7’s
launch was delayed several times, Shepard was forced to urinate inside his space suit; NASA medics shut down the electric sensors, to prevent an electrical short. As he awaited the final countdown, America’s first star voyager was stoically philosophical: “I just kept looking around me, remembering that everything in the capsule was supplied by the lowest bidder.”

The countdown to blast-off was repeatedly delayed by cloud cover and an overheated inverter, which had to be replaced. Strapped in his claustrophobic cockpit
couch,
Shepard’s impatience escalated: “Why don’t you fix this little problem, and light this candle?”

At 9:34 a.m., as 45 million Americans watched on television, the mighty
Redstone
rocket’s engines finally roared to life and the ground trembled. At the base of the rocket, solid steel flame deflectors deliberately channeled the exhaust away from the engines. Streams of water, delivered at the rate of 35,000 gallons per minute, cooled the deflectors, producing giant steam clouds that partially obscured the launch pad.

As the rocket sped skyward over the Atlantic Ocean, Shepard radioed launch control: “Roger. Lift off, and clock is started.”

Eighty-eight seconds after blast-off, the rocket surpassed Mach 1, eventually reaching a maximum velocity of 5,100 miles per hour. Through the capsule’s periscope, Shepard was able to identify Florida’s west coast, the Gulf of Mexico, mammoth Lake Okeechobee, and the Bahamas.

Shepard’s 15-minute flight followed a 302-mile arc, reaching an apogee of 116.5 miles, and ended with splash down in the Atlantic Ocean. He endured five minutes of alternating G-ll forces and weightlessness, before landing 260 miles downrange from Cape Canaveral.

During the course of his history-making flight, Shepard briefly disabled the autopilot and used the manual control stick. Jets of hydrogen peroxide, emitted from nozzles on the side of the spacecraft, allowed him to test all axes of flight—the pitch, yaw, and roll of the capsule. Shepard found the brief interval of weightlessness “pleasant and relaxing,” partially dispelling the fears of many NASA medical experts.

During the fiery re-entry into Earth’s atmosphere, the external walls of
Freedom 7
soared to 3,000 degrees Fahrenheit. While the interior of the capsule reached 100 degrees (F), the temperature in Shepard’s pressurized space suit never exceeded 82 degrees (F). At 10,000 feet, the spacecraft’s main parachute opened, and minutes later, Shepard likened the impact of splash down to the force of landing a jet on the deck of an aircraft carrier.

Alan Shepard’s inaugural space flight transformed him into an instant hero. The
Mercury 7
astronauts and their wives were invited to the White House, where President Kennedy awarded Shepard the
Distinguished Service Medal
during a ceremony in the Rose Garden. A quarter of a million people lined the streets of New York City during a ticker tape parade honoring the country’s first star voyager. The
Freedom 7
capsule was sent for display at the Paris Air Show. For the first time, the United States appeared to be making headway in the Space Race.

On April 10, 1961, some three weeks before Alan Shepard’s historic flight, President Kennedy convinced Congress to amend the Space Act
,
which had been passed during the Eisenhower Administration. Kennedy requested that the Vice-President, rather than the President, serve as Chairman of the Space Council. Having long been passionate about space exploration, Lyndon Johnson readily embraced his new appointment.

On April 20
^th
, eight days after Yuri Gagarin became the first man to orbit Earth, Kennedy charged his Vice-President with answering the following questions: “Do we have a chance of beating the Soviets by putting a laboratory in space, or by a trip to the Moon, or by a rocket to go to the Moon and back with a man? Is there any other program which promised dramatic results in which we could win?” Emphasizing the words
win
and
beat,
Kennedy affirmed that the Space Race was as much political as it was technological.

After convening a special committee, deliberately stacked with advocates of space exploration, the Vice-President formulated his response to the President’s inquiries. On April 28
^th
, just eight days after undertaking his assignment, Johnson presented Kennedy with a hyperbole-laden, yet compelling memorandum: “Other nations, regardless of their appreciation of our idealistic values, will tend to align themselves with the country which they believe will be the world leader—the winner in the long run. Dramatic accomplishments in space are being increasingly identified as a major indicator of world leadership…If we do not make the strong effort now, the time will soon be reached when the margin of control over space and over men’s minds through space accomplishments will have swung so far on the Russian side that we will not be able to catch up, let alone assume leadership.”

On May 25
^th
, only 20 days after Alan Shepard’s inaugural space flight, capitalizing on the nation’s pride and overwhelming sense of accomplishment, Kennedy took his case directly to the public. Addressing a joint session of Congress concerning “urgent national needs,” the President issued a bold proposal: “I believe that this nation should commit itself to achieving the goal, before the end of the decade is out, of landing a man on the Moon, and returning him safely to Earth.” Near the end of his speech, Kennedy explained that his proposal would be costly: “Let it be clear that this is a judgment which the members of Congress must finally make. Let it be clear that I am asking Congress to accept a firm commitment to a new course of action—a course that will last for many years and carry very heavy costs—531 million dollars in fiscal ’62 and an estimated 7 billion to 9 billion additional over the next 5 years…”

While Kennedy’s proposal met opposition from a handful of Republicans, including Senator Barry Goldwater and Representative Gerald Ford, and Conservative Southern Democrats, like Senators Richard Russell and J. William Fulbright, all of whom argued against such mammoth expenditures, the President struck pay dirt with the American public and a clear majority of the lawmakers. Having endured the low point of his presidency a month earlier, during the Bay of Pigs fiasco, Kennedy seized upon an issue that energized fellow Americans and rejuvenated his own political fortunes. The anxiety-provoking impact of a Soviet cosmonaut orbiting the Earth on the American psyche was enormous, as reflected by space historian Gerard J. Degroot’s succinct analysis: “Gagarin was Kennedy’s
Sputnik.”

Kennedy’s declaration was inspiring, but many questioned if it was realistic. With only a single space flight under its belt, NASA had less than nine years to fulfill JFK’s dream. Nonetheless, on July 21, 1961, the President signed into law the newly passed Extended Space Program Act, giving birth to
Project Apollo.

At 7:20 a.m., on July 21, 1961, Virgil I. “Gus” Grissom became the second American to be launched into space. Recalling Alan Shepard’s bladder issues during the first
Mercury
mission, Grissom chose to wear a woman’s girdle under his space suit, believing that it would better absorb urine, in the event nature called. In a similar vein, Grissom, like his fellow astronauts, consumed a low residue diet for three days prior to their launches, avoiding the urge to defecate during the space flight.

Grissom’s 15-minute, 37-second suborbital flight aboard
Liberty Bell 7
reached an apogee of 118.2 miles and a maximum speed of 5,168 miles per hour. Grissom experienced 10 minutes of weight-lessness, without suffering any adverse effects. As a result of the astronauts’ earlier demands,
Liberty Bell 7
was equipped with an enlarged cockpit window, providing Grissom with a much clearer view during his space flight. After re-entry, the capsule’s main parachute opened at 12,000 feet, and seven minutes later, the spacecraft splashed down without incident, ending what appeared to have been a flawless mission.

As the capsule bobbed in the Atlantic Ocean, 302.8 miles down range from Cape Canaveral, Grissom removed his helmet and unbuckled his harness, before completing a post-flight checklist and radioing two nearby Navy
Sikorsky
helicopters to come to his rescue. Suddenly and without warning, the capsule’s explosive escape hatch blew.

Activation of the escape hatch, similar in design to the ejection seats of the fighter jets Grissom had flown, required the pilot to a pull out a lock pin, before applying five to six pounds of pressure to the plunger, which detonated 70 explosive bolts and blew the door 25 feet away from the spacecraft. For the remainder of his life, Grissom would insist that he did not purposefully or accidently depress the plunger: “I was minding my own business, when I heard a dull thud.”

Seawater poured inside the capsule through the open hatch, forcing Grissom to abandon the rapidly sinking ship. One of the two rescue helicopters managed to snag the capsule, but could not lift the heavy, water-filled spacecraft, and was forced to abandon the rescue operation.
Liberty Bell 7
quickly sank 17,000 feet to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, and would not be recovered for 37 years.

While the helicopter crews were preoccupied with saving the capsule, Grissom nearly drowned in the choppy seas, made rougher by the downward draft of the choppers’ rotors. Grissom’s buoyant spacesuit grew dangerously heavy as seawater poured in through the garment’s open neck, as well as the oxygen port that he had mistakenly left unplugged. As he struggled to stay afloat, the astronaut grew dismayed and angered by the rescuers’ focus on saving the space capsule. Eventually, one of the helicopter crews lowered a harness and retrieved the exhausted and waterlogged Grissom from the ocean.

Grissom’s explanation for the spontaneous detonation of the escape hatch fell on deaf ears among many NASA officials. In subsequent reconstructions of the sinking capsule fiasco, engineers were unable to open the hatch without human intervention, leading many to believe that Grissom had depressed the detonator plunger, either accidently or in a purposeful panic.

On August 6, 1961, Soviet cosmonaut German Titov began a 24-hour space flight, orbiting Earth 17 times. The cosmonaut tested the
Vostok 2
spacecraft’s manual altitude control system, and became the first person to photograph Earth from space. Titov also consumed a full meal consisting of bread, liver pate, and peas, while drinking black currant juice. Though not made public by the secretive Russians, Titov suffered severe motion sickness, which partially lessened after he slept through five orbits. Like Yuri Gagarin before him, a heroic Titov was promoted from captain to major.

With two suborbital flights under their belt, NASA was prepared to send a spacecraft into orbit. On September 13, 1961, an
MA-4 Atlas
rocket launched a dummy astronaut into space. The spacecraft orbited the Earth twice, before landing in the Atlantic Ocean target zone, three hours after lift-off.

A second chimpanzee,
Enos,
was launched into space on November 29
^th
of that same year. Enos’ flight lasted for three hours, as he orbited the Earth twice and endured 181 minutes of weightlessness. Like his suborbital counterpart, Ham, Enos was trained to perform his cockpit duties based upon operant conditioning. If the chimp pulled the correct levers, he was rewarded with water and banana-flavored pellets. However, if he failed to perform the assigned tasks correctly, painful electric shocks were delivered to the soles of his feet. During the orbital flight, a capsule malfunction caused the chimp to be negatively reinforced with electric shocks, regardless of which lever he pulled. By the time rescue crews reached the capsule in the Pacific Ocean, a terrified and angry Enos had painfully ripped out his still-inflated urinary catheter and torn off his biomedical sensory electrodes. Not surprisingly, the enraged chimpanzee tried to bite his Navy rescuers. Adding insult to injury, during the post-flight press conference, the chimp ripped off his diaper and began fondling himself in front of reporters and television cameras, earning the unfortunate moniker,
Enos the Penis.

After 10 postponements related to unfavorable weather conditions and equipment malfunctions, John Glenn undertook America’s first orbital space flight on February 20, 1962. The more powerful
Atlas
rocket was used for the first time to launch the
Mercury
capsule into space. Constructed by two California-based companies,
General Dynamics
and
Rocketdyne,
the rocket was capable of generating 360,000 pounds of thrust (compared to the
Redstone’s
76,000 pounds).

The task of placing an astronaut into orbit and bringing him home safely was a riskier proposition than the first two
Mercury
missions. In the event of tragedy, President Kennedy had already prepared a formal statement: “To Mrs. Glenn and members of the Glenn family go my deepest sympathy. It was my pleasure to have known John Glenn. This nation and the entire world share his loss with the Glenn family. Space scientists will revere his pioneering spirit forever.”

At 9:47 a.m., after a delay of 2 hours and 17 minutes,
Friendship 7
lifted off the Cape Canaveral launch pad; the momentous event was witnessed by more than 40 million television viewers. NASA had established communication stations around the world, such that Glenn could maintain regular radio contact with Earth. Moving west to east, ground stations were located at Cape Canaveral, Bermuda, the Canary Islands, Nigeria, Zanzibar, a Navy vessel in the Indian Ocean, Australia, Canton Island, Hawaii, the California coast, the White Sands Proving Ground, Mexico, Corpus Christi, and Eglin Air Force Base (in the Florida panhandle). Manning the global tracking stations was a massive undertaking, involving some 19,000 individuals.