Category Freedom 7

Australian author Colin Burgess grew up in Sydney’s southern suburbs. Initially working in the wages department of a major Sydney afternoon newspaper (where he first picked up his writing bug) and as a sales representative for a precious metals company, he subse­quently joined Qantas Airways as a passenger handling agent in 1970 and two years later transferred to the airline’s cabin crew. He would retire from Qantas as an onboard Customer Service Manager in 2002, after 32 years’ service. During those flying years several of his books on the Australian prisoner-of-war experience and the first of his biographical books on space explorers such as Australian payload special Dr. Paul Scully-Power and teacher – in-space Christa McAuliffe had already been published. He has also written extensively on spaceflight subjects for astronomy and space-related magazines in Australia, the United Kingdom and the Unites States.

In 2003 the University of Nebraska Press appointed him series editor for the ongoing Outward Odyssey series of 12 books detailing the entire social history of space explora­tion, and he was involved in co-writing three of these volumes. His first Springer-Praxis book, NASA’s Scientist-Astronauts, co-authored with British-based space historian David J. Shayler, was released in 2007. Freedom 7 will be his sixth title with Springer-Praxis, for whom he is currently researching two further books for future publication. He regularly attends astronaut functions in the United States and is well known to many of the pioneer­ing space explorers, allowing him to conduct personal interviews for these books.

Colin and his wife Patricia still live just south of Sydney. They have two grown sons, two grandsons and a granddaughter.

[1] For a full description of the selection and candidate testing process, see the author’s earlier pub­lication, Selecting the Mercury Seven: The Search for America’s First Astronauts (Springer – Praxis, 2011).

[2] The “island” of a carrier includes the command center for flight deck operations, captain’s bridge, admiral’s bridge, and the navigation, meteorology and signal bridges.

[3] Shepard and his fellow astronauts were later awarded the Congressional Space Medal of Honor that was authorized by the U. S. Congress in 1969. Shepard received his from President Jimmy Carter in 1978.

Alex McCool began working on the Redstone engine program at Huntsville in 1954, and six years later he joined NASA in order to continue working with Dr. von Braun on the development of larger launch vehicles, including the mighty Saturn rockets. In later years he became manager of the Space Shuttle Projects Office at Marshall, and in a 2003 interview for the Huntsville Times to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the launch of the first Redstone rocket, McCool was asked to reflect on the early days of the rocket known as “Old Reliable.”

“Really, that rocket, and the propulsion work that went into it, was the beginning of space for us here,” said McCool. “There wouldn’t have been a space program, or a Space Shuttle or a trip to the Moon without the Redstone. It’s the foundation of what we do today. It was the beginning of the space program for America.

“The Germans had been working on other advanced rockets after they developed the V-2, and the Redstone used a lot of that work. They brought a lot of that material with them. They had been working successfully on rockets throughout the war.

“Early on, von Braun had thought about going into space,” McCool reflected. “He talked about it in public all the time, and the Germans had been working on rocket designs for it. He had worked out plans to modify the Redstone to carry a man early on, in the mid-1950s, while still working for the Army. They’d talked about putting somebody up in space even then.” [14]

On 2 April 1958, in response to Soviet space efforts that were proving demoralizing to the American public, President Eisenhower had sent a bill to Congress calling for the immediate establishment of a civilian aeronautics and space agency. Congress passed the Space Act on 29 July, resulting in the creation of NASA, which officially came into existence on 1 October.

A Space Task Group was formed at the Air Force’s Langley Research Center, Virginia, on 5 November, with Robert Gilruth appointed as director. On behalf of NASA, this task group was given four major objectives: to prepare specifications for a manned spacecraft; to plan and build a world-wide tracking network; to select and develop a suitable launch vehicle; and to select and train potential space pilots who would undergo a two-year training program.

With no precedents or government procedures to follow, NASA had to decide where the best candidates could be found, how many were required, and how they should be tested. What they did know was that the astronaut selection process would hinge on three crucial factors: physical, psychological, and technical.

In the final week of 1958, after several meetings between NASA Administrator Keith Glennan and his deputy Hugh Dryden, Robert Gilruth, and other upper-level representatives of NASA and the Space Task Group, a consensus was reached. For speed and facility in arriving at the selections, it was decided to restrict the search to the ranks of military test pilots. There were several reasons for this: test pilots were familiar with the rigors of service life, they were available at short notice, and their full service and medical records were on file for scrutiny.

It was decided to carry out the medical testing at an independent medical facility in New Mexico called the Lovelace Clinic, and to conduct further stress testing and psychological evaluations at the Wright Air Development Center in Ohio, which had already been involved in evaluation testing of space candidates for other poten­tial service programs.

The Space Task Group determined that any candidate had to possess a university degree; be a graduate of a test pilot school; have around 1,500 jet hours; be in superb condition, both mentally and physically; be no taller than 5 feet 11 inches – a height dictated by the confines of the Mercury spacecraft – and be less than 40 years of age at the time of selection.

The first task for those involved in the initial selection phase, or Phase One of the operation, was a trip to the Pentagon where they pulled and evaluated the records of 508 pilots against broad selection criteria, checked their medical records and reports by superior officers, verified that they had the minimum amount of jet flying hours, and assessed the type of flying involved. Out of 225 Air Force records screened, only 58 met the minimum requirements. Of 225 Navy records screened, only 47 made the grade. Of 23 Marine Corps records screened, only five met the minimum standards. Thirty-five Army records were screened, but none met the requirement of being a graduate from a test pilot school. Women were excluded from consideration as there were no female military test pilots. Hence out of the 508 records screened, 110 met the minimum standards.

Each of the 110 candidates was then ranked in terms of his overall qualifications and the reviews were then placed in ranking order, from the most promising to least promising. These men were to be brought to Washington under secret orders and in civilian clothing in order to be briefed at the Pentagon by a senior officer from their respective service, as well as NASA officials. The first two groups would each have 35 men, with the remaining 40 men forming the third group. The groups were to be briefed in successive weeks during Phase Two of the operation.

The first group of 35 candidates turned up at the Pentagon on Monday, 2 February 1959, where the Air Force candidates were initially briefed on Project Mercury and what it might mean for their service careers by the Chief of Staff of the Air Force, General Thomas White, while the Navy and Marine candidates were simultaneously briefed in another room by the Chief of Naval Operations, Admiral Arleigh Burke. Prior to this, the men knew very little of Project Mercury or what it entailed. After the service briefings, the men were gathered together in one room for a more spe­cific NASA briefing and an outline of Project Mercury by Charles Donlan, the asso­ciate director of the STG, Warren North, a NASA test pilot and engineer, and Lt. Robert Voas, a Navy psychologist. The men were then told that if they wished to opt out of consideration at that stage it would not be held against them or noted in their service records.

Those candidates that were willing to continue to the next phase were subjected to a preliminary suitability interview by psychologists Dr. George Ruff and Dr. Edwin Levy, then they sat through a review of their medical history. Some men proved to be taller than the limit, and were eliminated from the process. After the second round of briefings the following week, a total of 69 men had been pro­cessed. Faced with a higher than expected volunteer rate, Donlan canceled the third group, since he had more than enough applicants to fill the intended twelve positions. Eventually, six of the 69 candidates were found to be too tall and 16 declined to continue, leaving 47. Further checks and testing by NASA eliminated another 15 candidates, bringing the number down to 32.

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Mercury astronaut candidate Scott Carpenter undergoes reaction testing at the Wright Aeromedical Laboratory. (Photo: USAF)

All 32 men endured a meticulous, demeaning, and in some ways brutal week-long medical examination at the Lovelace Clinic in New Mexico. This was followed by another torturous week at the Wright Aeromedical Laboratory in Ohio, where they were subjected to extreme fitness and physiological testing, the purpose of which was to sort out the supermen from the near-supermen. Or to quote author Tom Wolfe on the subject, the selectors were seeking a group of men with “The Right Stuff.”[1] In the process, one (James Lovell) was excluded for health reasons.

Then the results were compiled and considered, and the remaining 31 candidates were slotted into the following four categories:

Outstanding without reservations: 7

Outstanding with reservations: 3

Highly recommended: 13

Not recommended: 8 [16]

Early in March 1959 the results were forwarded to a panel at NASA Headquarters in Washington, D. C., for the final decisions to be made. It had been decided to halve the number required from twelve to six, but it proved impossible to decide between the final pair and so they were both accepted. Those chosen were notified on 2 April. A week later, on 9 April, seven test pilots were introduced to the waiting news media as the nation’s first astronauts: Scott Carpenter, Gordon Cooper, John Glenn, Virgil (‘Gus’) Grissom, Wally Schirra, Alan Shepard, and Donald (‘Deke’) Slayton. They were about to be trained for a task beyond all others for a pilot – a flight into space with Project Mercury.

Giving his reason for wanting to become an astronaut, Shepard said, “I thought it was definitely a chance to serve my country. And I guess everyone feels an urge to do something no one else has ever done – the urge to pioneer and accept a challenge and try to meet it. I realized what it would mean to the Nation in prestige and morale. And I felt that I’d like to contribute whatever ability and maturity I had achieved. It would also, of course, be a big boost to my own self-confidence to know that I had done well in my chosen field. Every man needs that.” [17]

It was April 1961 and 20-year-old Air Controlman 3/c (Third Class) Ed Killian from Texas had been serving aboard the Essex-class aircraft carrier USS Lake Champlain (CVS-39) for eighteen months. During that time “The Champ” – as she was fondly known to her crewmembers – had mostly been engaged in an anti-submarine patrol rotation out of NAS Quonset Point, Rhode Island. Towards the end of the month the ship finished a three-week sweep northeast of Norfolk, Virginia, and her exhausted crew were eagerly anticipating some shore leave.

Killian, days away from his 21st birthday, was looking forward to celebrating this milestone in his life in New York City. But then Capt. Ralph Weymouth, the ship’s commanding officer, made an announcement over the ship’s loudspeakers that left Killian’s liberty plans in tatters. Unbeknownst to the crew at the time, however, this change in their schedule would give every man on board the chance to participate in, and be an eyewitness to, an historic event. The ship was to set a new course for the Mayport Naval Station near Jacksonville, Florida. Once there, and after a couple of days, they were to join other units in an area to the east of nearby Cape Canaveral for what was vaguely described as some “special ops.”

“This news of extending the cruise didn’t sit well with the crew in general, and there was a lot of grousing about it,” Killian reflected. “The scuttlebutt was that we were going to do another anti-submarine demonstration for some bigwigs, like the one we had done the previous summer for the Latin American generalissimos and admi­rals in the Caribbean. Later, while we finished polishing the brass fittings on Pri-Fly’s windows [the control tower for flight operations, known as Primary Flight Control], Cdr. Howard Skidmore, the ship’s Air Officer, known aboard as the ‘Air Boss,’ came in with a big excited grin on his face and told us that the ship was to be the recovery vessel for a space shot from Cape Canaveral. We had heard about the chimpanzee Ham’s flight and recovery in January, and being a recovery vessel for another ‘monkey flight’ held no excitement for us. Such an event was viewed as a poor trade-off for missing liberty in Quonset Point.” [1]

CIVILIANS ON BOARD

The crew’s puzzlement grew in Mayport the day after their arrival, with dozens of civilians boarding the carrier. Killian recalls “about fifty NASA and government offi­cials, photographers by the dozen, and boxes of equipment by the hundreds.” Frustration grew amongst the crewmembers, already annoyed at not returning to Quonset Point, who now found their normal routines delayed by these civilians, while the mess hall, already small, was becoming jammed with extra bodies at meal times. Often the line for food wrapped around several frames of the third deck space, creat­ing much grumbling and dissention.

Eventually, Cdr. Skidmore gave his small group of six air controllers in Pri-Fly additional details about the special operation for which the USS Lake Champlain had been selected. As the ship and her crew had performed well in fleet-wide operational competitions, she had been selected as the prime spacecraft recovery vessel for the United States’ first manned space shot, then scheduled for 2 May.

The recovery task force was actually comprised of several task groups, each under an individual commander, dispersed along the projected track of the spacecraft. The task

group in the predicted landing area was commanded by R/Adm George P. Koch, Commander, Carrier Division 18, flying his flag aboard the USS Lake Champlain. A crucial element of the recovery task force was a flotilla of destroyers commanded by R/Adm Frederick V. H. Hilles. In cooperation with fellow flag officer Koch aboard the USS Lake Champlain, Hilles would exercise his command of the destroyers from the

Recovery Control Room located at NASA’s Mercury Control Center at Cape Canaveral. The units of this group were:

Two of the six destroyers were positioned 100 miles or more from the USS Lake Champlain, between Cape Canaveral and the projected recovery area, but the others remained in close contact with “The Champ.”

As planned, the aircraft carrier departed Mayport and sailed into position for the recovery operation about 300 miles east-southeast of the Cape. However, inclement weather forced the launch to be delayed, and there was a further delay two days later before the countdown finally picked up again on the morning of Friday, 5 May.

Because of their advantageous view from Pri-Fly, Cdr. Skidmore had arranged for those who worked there to pool their film with NASA photographer Dean Conger. A well-respected photographer for the National Geographic magazine, Conger was “on loan” to NASA as one of the official photographers to record the recovery operation. Appreciating the historic nature of Alan Shepard’s flight, Skidmore set up extensive photographic coverage by positioning volunteer officers and enlisted men at different vantage points on the ship so that the recovery could be recorded on film. When this innovation was combined with the work of the NASA photographers, it resulted in a magnificent, sweeping coverage of the occasion.

After discussing the expected capsule retrieval with senior crewmembers of ships in the recovery Task Force, NASA Space Task Group representatives Martin Byrnes, Robert Thompson, and Charles Tynan determined that the ship’s crewmen assigned to handle the spacecraft were not fully trained in the specifics of what was expected of them, so they initiated a brief education program for the crew. This included the provi­sion of printed information sheets and screening a film on the recovery of the capsule containing chimpanzee Ham earlier that year. According to This New Ocean: A History of Project Mercury, published by NASA, “Tynan also carefully briefed each man charged with capsule-handling duties on his particular role.” [2] The carrier’s

recovery team consisted primarily of enlisted crewmembers led by the Flight Deck Officer and a number of enlisted Chief Petty Officers of the Air Department; none of whom were at the Tynan briefing. Those in attendance were senior officers who then gave orders and instructions to the carrier’s recovery team. Strangely, not even the Air Officer who led the Air Department was invited to the Tynan briefing.

A comprehensive report on the pre-flight and post-flight medical condition of Alan Shepard was prepared by:

• Carmault B. Jackson, Jr., M. D. Aerospace Medical Branch

• William K. Douglas, M. D., Astronaut Flight Surgeon

• James F. Culver, M. D., USAF Aerospace Medical Center, Brooks AFB, Texas

• George Ruff, M. D., University of Pennsylvania

• Edward C. Knoblock, Ph. D., Walter Reed Army Medical Center

• Ashton Graybiel, M. D., USN School of Aviation Medicine, Pensacola, Florida

and in part, their report reads:

The first post-flight physical examination was performed aboard the aircraft car­rier Lake Champlain. Blood and urine specimens were collected and the pilot was asked to begin debriefing in the form of free dictation. Three hours from liftoff, Astronaut Shepard was taken to Grand Bahama Island by aircraft from the carrier. On arrival at this remote island site, he seemed quietly elated and offered no complaints. His own statement of general fitness included “a wonder­ful flight,” “everything went well,” “I feel fine.”

The psychiatrist at the time of his interview, which actually took place after the next physical examination, believed that the “subject felt calm and self-pos­sessed. Some degree of excitement and exhilaration was noted. He was unusu­ally cheerful and expressed delight that his performance during the flight had actually been better than he expected. It became apparent that he looked upon the flight as a difficult task about which he was confident, but could not be sure, of success. He was more concerned about performing effectively than about external dangers. He reported moderate apprehension during the pre-flight period, which was consciously controlled by focusing his thoughts on technical details of his job. As a result, he felt very little anxiety during the immediate pre-flight period. After launch, he was preoccupied with his duties and felt con­cern only when he fell behind on one of his tasks. There were no unusual sensa­tions regarding weightlessness, isolation, or separation from Earth. Again, no abnormalities of thought or impairment of intellectual functions were noted.”

In physical terms, the physicians identified only minor fluctuations between the examinations given pre-flight, post-flight, and on Grand Bahama Island. One part of their reports reads:

Mild dehydration and early signs of heat exhaustion were also evident when an individual in an impermeable Mercury pressure suit was not adequately ven­tilated. With Redstone training profiles, there has been no nystagmus as a result of high noise levels; there has been no vibration injury …. From the material obtained, it is obvious that a brief sortie has been made into a new environment. Similarities between this sortie and a previous training experience were noted.

No conclusions have been drawn except that in this flight the pilot appears to have paid a very small physiologic price for his journey [8].