Category Liberty Bell 7


Subsequent to the inception of America’s man-in-space programs, Maxime Allan Faget was proving to be a key figure in preparing for this bold new venture, which eventually led to his appointment on 5 November 1958 as Chief of the Flight Systems Division of the newly formed National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA).

Faget had attended secondary schools in San Francisco and later trained in mechani­cal engineering at San Francisco Junior College. In 1943 he received his bachelor’s degree in mechanical engineering from Louisiana State University. Following gradua­tion he spent three years in the U. S. Navy, serving aboard submarines for the remainder of World War II.

Post-war, Faget and his former college roommate Guy Thibodaux decided to seek employment together, which led them in 1946 to contact another university friend named Paul Purser, then working at the Langley Aeronautical Laboratory in Hampton, Virginia, which was part of the National Advisory Committee on Aeronautics (NACA). This was the forerunner of NASA, then based at Langley Field in Virginia. NACA, founded in 1915, was a civilian agency dedicated to aeronautical research and development.

Employed as research scientists by Purser, Faget and Thibodaut were first assigned to Langley’s Applied Materials and Physics Division working on rocket propulsion, and were then transferred to the Pilotless Aircraft Research Division (PARD). Here, working under division chief Dr. Robert R. Gilruth, Faget was involved in developing engineering concepts on several projects, including the design of a complete ramjet flight test vehicle. He was also a member of the preliminary design team for the hyper­sonic X-15 research aircraft. Through his prolific talent and determination he was quickly advanced to head the Performance Development branch, where he conceived of and proposed the development of the one-man spacecraft that would ultimately become the Mercury capsule.

Like Faget, design engineer Caldwell C. Johnson from Langley’s Technical Services Department enjoyed building elaborately constructed model aircraft – a skill which had been instrumental in landing him the job at NACA straight out of high school. His technical acumen and drawing skills later translated Faget’s ideas into working machines. There had been considerable debate in 1956 and 1957 as to whether the United States should attempt to advance the X series of rocket planes in order to carry pilots into space, or whether flying in space would require an entirely new concept. During their lunch breaks Faget, Thibodaux and Caldwell would discuss this at length with others at Langley, and they soon formulated the idea of placing a pilot into an enlarged nose cone atop a rocket and launching him on a ballistic trajec­tory. No one could find a reason why this would not work if a functional parachute system could be developed, as well as braking rockets to bring the spacecraft back through the atmosphere. It was only a concept, and Johnson sketched out a few pro­spective nose cone capsules, but it never got much further than idle chatter among some enthusiastic propulsion and design engineers.


Maxime Faget with a model of the Mercury spacecraft. (Photo: NASA)

An astronaut named Gus

Gus Grissom never seemed to fit the archetypal American hero mold. A stocky and somewhat stubby man who stood at 5 feet 7 inches, he looked more like the neighborhood motor mechanic or television repairman than an astronaut. But he excelled as an Air Force test pilot and as a Mercury astronaut, becoming an integral part of NASA’s drive to the Moon. While he may not have been the most sociable or loquacious member of the astro­naut group, he was well respected by them. “Gus was a very bright young man who didn’t have a lot to say most of the time,” fellow astronaut Scott Carpenter told the author in 2013, “but when he said something it was of great value and always worth listening to.”1

The flight of Liberty Bell 7

It was Friday, 21 July 1961, a morning that was almost a carbon copy of Wednesday prior to scrubbing the launch due to poor weather conditions. For the second time in less than 48 hours, Gus Grissom removed his protective overshoes and was carefully assisted into Liberty Bell 7 at 3:58 a. m. (EST), hoping to keep his delayed date with history.


The U. S. Weather Bureau meteorologists had once again been keeping a close eye on the weather, and especially the areas of low pressure. They kept NASA’s flight director informed about conditions not only around the Cape, but also in the landing area. A weather briefing had been held at 2:30 a. m. that morning, and the forecast was positive. Space agency officials noted patches of cloud high above the Cape, but were optimistic the weather would stay good enough to permit the launch.

Everyone who had spoken with Grissom that morning said he, too, was optimistic about his chances and was in excellent spirits. This time, however, there seemed to be a little added urgency attached to the pre-flight launch preparations; it was almost as if the scientists and technicians were unsure if their luck would hold along with the weather.

Grissom was awakened by Bill Douglas at 1:05 a. m. after a little less than four hours of sleep and given the good news that the weather looked good for a launch. Twenty minutes later he sat down with Douglas and Scott Carpenter for breakfast. There was no delay with the meal this time, which was a virtual duplicate of the one he had on Wednesday prior to being driven to the launch pad for the flight that never was.

This time, as Grissom later noted, the buildup to launch time was proceeding well. At 1:55 Bill Douglas began a last full-scale physical to ensure the astronaut had not contracted any last-minute difficulties making him unfit for what would be an often grueling experience. There was another brief session with psychiatrist George

Ruff, who found there was no alarming level of anxiety in the astronaut. In fact, for Grissom this was almost part of yet another routine procedure that he had endured many times throughout his training and flight preparation. Ruff easily passed Grissom as mentally fit and ready to go. The biomedical sensors which would monitor the astronaut’s heartbeat, respiration and body temperature during the brief flight were attached at 2:25.

The flight of Liberty Bell 7

Everywhere along the beaches, people were camped out hoping to witness the historic launch. (Photo: NASA)

The flight of Liberty Bell 7

Dr. Douglas gives Grissom a final medical check. (Photo: NASA)

The flight of Liberty Bell 7

Suit technician Joe Schmitt assists Grissom in donning his space suit. (Photo: NASA)

By 2:55, with the able assistance of Joe Schmitt, Grissom had worked his way into the close-fitting, rubberized and silver-coated space suit. Within ten minutes the suit had been inflated and checked for any possible leaks. No problems were encountered.

The flight of Liberty Bell 7

Grissom sits quietly as Schmitt adjusts a glove for him. (Photo: NASA)

The flight of Liberty Bell 7

Bill Douglas and Wally Schirra check the suit pressurization for Joe Schmitt. (Photo: NASA)

This time, Deke Slayton visited Grissom at his Hangar S quarters to brief him on the weather, the state of the rocket, and the preparedness of the capsule. Normally this briefing would have been carried out en route to the launch pad, but everyone was upbeat about the launch going on time. Grissom then hefted his portable air condi­tioner, which was known as the “Black Box” and, followed by Bill Douglas, made his way down the stairs to the exit door on the ground floor. Although his mouth was covered by the lower part of his helmet, he could be seen smiling through the open face plate at an assembly of about 60 space agency and air force personnel, photogra­phers, and other spectators. He twice waved his left hand to acknowledge greetings. One NASA official called out, “Good luck,” and Grissom responded with an airy “Hi.”

The flight of Liberty Bell 7

Gus Grissom exits Hangar S accompanied by Dr. Douglas. (Photo: NASA)

Riding in the transfer van at a sedate 15 miles an hour, Grissom reached the pad, three miles away, at 3:51 a. m. Two days earlier he had spent nearly an hour inside the van undergoing final briefings, but this time the door swung open in only a few min­utes and Grissom, still clutching his air conditioner, cautiously descended the four steps and made his way to the gantry elevator several strides away.

Apart from a quick glance up at the towering Redstone rocket, Grissom looked straight ahead as he walked to the elevator in the peculiar bow-legged gait caused by the tight fit of his suit. This time there was no patter of applause from the helmeted

The flight of Liberty Bell 7

Holding his portable air-conditioning unit, Grissom makes a cautious exit from the transfer van. (Photo: NASA)

The flight of Liberty Bell 7

While observing activity around the Redstone rocket, Grissom makes his way to the gantry elevator that will carry him to the spacecraft level. (Photo: NASA)

workers on the pad. It was almost as if everyone was holding back their enthusiasm this time until the rocket actually lifted off. Before entering the elevator, however, Grissom exchanged a few light-hearted remarks with some of the men clustered near the elevator cage. Then, with everyone aboard, the elevator rose swiftly up the side of the red steel launch tower. It was a tight squeeze, with the space-suited Grissom, Douglas and other observers making the trip up to the capsule level 65 feet above the ground. The sky above them was dark, but a few stars were evident. Below, the pad area was bathed in dazzling white light from three banks of searchlights, all of them firmly aimed at the rocket.

One program ends, another begins

Mercury astronaut Gordon Cooper always seemed to live on the edge. Not just the edge of space and adventure, but in testing the patience of his NASA bosses. He loved flying, and his enthusiasm was never more evident than when he finally heard that his pal Gus Grissom had successfully completed his suborbital trip into space.

Cooper was flying an F-106 chase plane over the Cape that day, and he wanted to show the officials below how he felt about his astronaut colleague’s safe return from the perils of space. When information was passed to him that the MR-4 mission had been a success he barreled across the Cape, over the heads of newsmen assembled at the press platform, then swung around for a second pass over the area. This time around he performed a slow victory roll, leading NASA’s somewhat bemused Public Affairs spokesman Lt. Col. ‘Shorty’ Powers to announce, “In case there is any doubt in anyone’s mind, that was a fellow astronaut who just came by in that F-106, celebrating.”1


Over several months, Grissom and Young practically lived with their spacecraft at the McDonnell plant, spending scores of hours training in simulators, memorizing every switch, knob, light, dial, and handle until they could quickly and instinctively find each one in moments.

As the first astronaut to fly both Mercury and Gemini spacecraft, Grissom offered a comparison between the two vehicles.

“The most important difference in the Gemini spacecraft is the amount of control the pilot exercises over all the functions. Gemini is the first true pilot’s spacecraft. Although Mercury was handled in flight a good deal by manual control, it was designed essentially as a fully automatic machine with manual control capability as a backup to the automatic systems. We have proven that we can contribute a great deal to the successful accomplishment of the mission by controlling the spacecraft, but we had to override the automatic system to make our point.

“The original concept in manned Mercury flights was that the pilot would go along as an observer since his capabilities in space were unknown at that time. Gemini, on the other hand, demands pilot response in all its functions. The pilot must decide whether to abort a mission during the boost phase, he separates the spacecraft from the booster, he steers the craft from one orbit to another, he [does the] rendezvous with the Agena capsule, he must decide when and where to reenter the Earth’s atmosphere, he must control the reentry, and then guide the spacecraft to a safe landing at a prede­termined point. Gemini will be a pilot-controlled operational spacecraft, not just a research and development vehicle.

“The escape system on the Gemini is a rocket ejection seat similar to that used on high-performance aircraft. Either the command pilot or the pilot can eject both seats simultaneously by pulling a lanyard located between his legs. There is no automatic sensing device to eject the seats. The pilot has to make his own decision to either eject and abort the mission or ride it out.”4

Gemini 3 (GT-3) was always planned as a shakedown trial of the new spacecraft, and although it was only ever designated a three-orbit flight, GT-3 was nevertheless a crucial mission chock-full of tests and other activities right through to splashdown.

Its prime objectives were to demonstrate manned orbital flight in the spacecraft; to demonstrate and evaluate the capability to maneuver the spacecraft; to demonstrate and evaluate the operation of the worldwide tracking network; to evaluate the performance of onboard systems; and to recover the spacecraft and evaluate the recovery system.

At 9:24 a. m. (EST) on 23 March 1965, Grissom and Young were launched into orbit. According to the transcript, on liftoff CapCom Gordon Cooper even gave the spacecraft’s name his own blessing by saying, “You’re on your way, Molly Brown.” To which Grissom responded, “Yeah, man… oh, man!” At launch, Grissom had both gloved hands gripping the D-ring, ready to trigger the ejection seats at any time during the first fifty seconds of the flight, after which they were not a viable means of escape. Young, being more trusting of his commander and the spacecraft, kept his hands firmly in his lap as Grissom later reported.

The two astronauts then successfully completed a near-perfect three-orbit mission in a little less than five hours.

For Grissom, there was only one significant unanticipated incident during the splashdown. This was due to the fact that the Gemini spacecraft had been designed to land at an angle in the water rather than base-first like Mercury. Accordingly the para­chute harness was rigged so that as the main parachute filled, the capsule was snapped from the vertical to a 45-degree landing attitude. Neither astronaut was prepared for the shock and severity of this action when the nose suddenly dropped after the main chute opened, and they were thrown forward. Grissom’s helmet hit a knob on the instrument panel, both cracking his faceplate and making a small hole. Young’s face­plate was similarly scratched following the jarring movement. Grissom later recom­mended that a small warning buzzer be installed to alert the crew when this action was about to take place.


The launch of the GT-3 mission carries Gus Grissom and John Young into orbit. In the pro­cess, Grissom entered the history books as the first person to be launched into space a second time. (Photo: NASA)


As a Navy helicopter hovers overhead, divers attach the flotation collar to the Gemini space­craft. (Photo: NASA)

As Grissom later recalled, when Molly Brown splashed down in the Atlantic, “In all honesty I must state that my first thought as we hit the water was, ‘Oh my God, here we go again!’ The Gemini spacecraft is designed so that the left window, my window, will be above water after landing, but instead of looking up at blue sky, I was peering down at blue water. I realized that I hadn’t cut loose our parachute, and the wind was blowing it across the water, dragging us along underneath like a submarine. Remembering that prematurely blown hatch on my Liberty Bell 7, it took all the nerve I could muster to reach out and trigger the parachute-release mechanism. But with the parachute gone, we bobbed to the surface like a cork in the position we were supposed to take.”5

Shortly thereafter an Air Rescue Service C-54 Skymaster deployed a pararescue team into the water, followed by another dive team dropped from a Navy helicopter, which attached the spacecraft’s floatation collar. Meanwhile, as Grissom later noted, he and Young were experiencing waves of nausea in their swaying spacecraft.

“It was, to put it bluntly, hot as hell inside the spacecraft, and that, coupled with the pitching and rolling, gave both of us some uncomfortable minutes of seasickness. John managed to hang on to his meal, but I lost mine in short order. Then we climbed out of our space suits.”6

The information that they had landed a little short of the projected splashdown site was communicated to the astronauts, along with the fact that USS Intrepid, the recov­ery carrier, was 60 miles downrange and wouldn’t arrive in the area for about ninety minutes, so they decided to request a helicopter pickup rather than remain in their sweltering, swaying spacecraft.

“I left the spacecraft first,” Grissom explained, “because my hatch was the one fully out of the water and could be opened without danger of flooding the cabin. John Young told me that this was the first time he’d ever seen a captain leave his ship first, so I promoted him to captain on the spot, which, he later claimed, entitled him, as a navy man, to rechristen our spacecraft the USS Molly Brown”1

After being taken aboard the recovery helicopter they were flown to the Intrepid, where they underwent the mandatory debriefing soon after touching down.

Grissom later said that if NASA had asked him and Young to go back into space aboard the Molly Brown the next day, they would have done so with pleasure.

“She flew like a queen, did our unsinkable Molly” he stated with a smile.

Two years prior to his Gemini mission, on 25 January 1963 Grissom gave a talk entitled “Green on Gemini” at the U. S. Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs, in which he offered encouragement to those who might seek to join the space program as future astronauts.

“The training is tough and a lot of knowledge has to be crammed into our skull,” he stated. “At the same time, our bodies will be learning totally new responses, but the end result will give man a new freedom in space. Until now, man has been a


The crewless Molly Brown spacecraft is hoisted aboard the USS Intrepid, 23 March 1965. (Photo: NASA)


Gus Grissom and John Young admire a poster presented to them after their space flight by the Navy crew aboard the USS Intrepid. (Photo: NASA)

self-experimenting guinea pig, subjecting himself to space to test whether he can stand up to this hostile, new environment. With the Gemini program, man has stepped into his proper role – the explorer of space.”8


On 5 November 1958, NASA’s Space Task Group, or STG, was created, reporting directly to the Director of Space Flight Development at NASA Headquarters in Washington, D. C. With Robert Gilruth at its head, the STG originally comprised of 27 engineers from the Langley Research Center and another 10 from the Lewis Research Center, plus eight secretaries and “computers.” The latter designation was applied to women who ran calculations on mechanical adding machines. They all served as the nucleus for the work carried out on Project Mercury.

As the head of the STG, Gilruth was responsible for reporting to Dr. Abraham (‘Abe’) Silverstein, NASA’s Director of Space Flight Development, who in turn reported to the agency’s Administrator, Dr. T. Keith Glennan. The STG included Charles Donlan (Gilruth’s deputy); Chuck Mathews (head of flight operations); Chris Kraft (also in flight operations); and Glynn Lunney, who at age 21 was the youngest member of the group. The head of the public affairs office was Lt. Col. John (‘Shorty’) Powers.


Dr. Robert R. Gilruth. (Photo: NASA)

Work had already begun on the writing of detailed specifications for a Mercury capsule even while the group was still designated as the NACA. By the end of October 1958 a preliminary draft had been completed.

On 17 December 1958 NASA issued an official statement in which the space agency announced the formation of Project Mercury and outlined the program’s objectives:

1. To put a manned space capsule into orbital flight around the Earth.

2. To recover successfully the capsule and its occupant.

3. To investigate the capabilities of man in this new environment.

Flight Plan

1. An intercontinental ballistic missile rocket booster will launch the manned capsule into orbit.

2. A nearly circular orbit will be established at an altitude of roughly 100 to 150 statute miles to permit a 24-hour satellite lifetime.

3. Descent from orbit will be initiated by the application of retro-thrust rockets incorporated in the capsule system.

4. Parachutes, incorporated in the capsule system, will be used after the vehicle has been slowed down by aerodynamic drag.

5. Recovery on either land or water will be possible.

Description of Manned Capsule System

1. Vehicle. The manned capsule will have high aerodynamic drag, and will be stati­cally stable over the Mach number range corresponding to flight within the atmo­sphere. The capsule, which will be of the nonlifting type, will be designed to withstand any known combination of acceleration, heat loads, and aerodynamic forces that might occur during boost or reentry. It will have an extremely blunt leading face covered with a heat shield.

2. Life Support System. A couch, fitted into the capsule, will safely support the pilot during acceleration. Pressure, temperature, and composition of the atmo­sphere in the capsule will be maintained within allowable limits for human envi­ronment. Food and water will be provided.

3. Attitude Control System. A closed loop control system, consisting of an attitude sensor with reaction controls, will be incorporated in the capsule. The reaction con­trols will maintain the vehicle in a specified orbital attitude, and will establish the proper angle for retro-firing, reentry, or an abort maneuver. The pilot will have the option of manual or automatic control during orbital flight. During manual control, optical displays will permit the pilot to see portions of the Earth and sky. These displays will enable the pilot to position the capsule to the desired orbital attitude.

4. Retrograde System. A system will be provided to supply sufficient impulse to permit atmospheric entry in less than one half an orbital revolution after applica­tion of the retro-rockets. These rockets will be fired upon a signal initiated either by a command link from ground control or by the man himself. The impact area can be predetermined because of this control over the capsule’s point of reentry into the atmosphere.

5. Recovery System. As the capsule reenters the Earth’s atmosphere and slows to a speed approximately that of sound, a drogue parachute will open to stabilize the vehicle. At this time, radar chaff will be released to pinpoint the capsule’s location. When the velocity of the capsule decreases to a predetermined rate, a landing parachute opens. The parachute will open at an altitude high enough to permit a safe landing on land or water. (The capsule will be buoyant and stable in water.) After landing, recovery aids will include: tracking beacons, a high-intensity flashing light system, a two-way voice radio, SOFAR [Sound Fixing and Radar] bombs and dye markers.

6. Escape System. In an emergency situation before orbital altitude is reached, escape systems will separate the capsule from the booster. After the capsule is in orbit, the space pilot can reenter the atmosphere at any time by activating the retro-rockets. Other safety control features will be incorporated.

Guidance and Tracking

Ground based and booster equipment will guide the capsule into the desired orbit. Ground and capsule equipment will then determine the vehicle’s orbital path through­out its flight. The equipment will be used to initiate the vehicle’s descent at the proper time and will predict the impact area.


Provisions will be made for two-way communications between the pilot and ground stations during the flight. Equipment will include a two-way voice radio, a receiver for commands from the ground, telemetry equipment for transmission of data from the capsule to ground stations, and a radio tracking beacon. This communications equip­ment is supplemented by the special recovery aids.


1. Medical instrumentation to evaluate the pilot’s reaction to space flight.

2. Instrumentation to measure and monitor the internal and external capsule envi­ronment, and to make scientific observations. Note: Data will be recorded in flight and telemetered to ground recorders.

Test Program

As in the case of new research aircraft, orbital flight of the manned space capsule will take place only after the logical buildup of vehicle capabilities and scientific data. Project Mercury includes ground testing, development and qualification flight testing, and pilot training.


The late John A. (‘Shorty’) Powers, former NASA Public Affairs Officer would have agreed with Carpenter’s characterization. “Gus is the quiet one,” he once observed. “He doesn’t talk much, but when he does speak, the words come out in short bursts – like a fighter pilot’s measured use of limited ammunition. When he fires off a burst, one had better be listening carefully, because he’s only going to say it once and there won’t be any surplus words.”2

Fellow Mercury astronaut Wally Schirra had a good grasp on the personality of Gus Grissom, saying he brought a vast amount of knowledge and experience into the space program, and his opinions as an extremely capable and competent test pilot and engineer were highly valued and respected. “Gus did not consider himself as the hero type, nor was he impressed with personal prestige. He was a quiet, unassuming, and completely unpretentious person, and his reasons for wanting to participate in this venture were really quite basic. Should the officials at NASA share his belief that he was one of the better qualified people for this new mission, then he was proud and happy to help out. Although Gus was the shortest of any of us chosen in that first group of astronauts, his physical stature did not in any way hinder or inhibit his enormous competitive spirit. He possessed a strong desire to succeed in everything he undertook, and this unbeatable desire to win was matched only by his determina­tion and perseverance to see a job through to its satisfactory conclusion.”3

The family name Grissom actually evolved from England and the surname Gresham. According to genealogists the Greshams came to America from Surrey, England, and later chose to distinguish themselves from the loyalists by changing their name to Grissom. The first Gresham to immigrate to America was John Gresham, who, with his wife and son, settled in Arundel County, Maryland in the mid-1600s. For Gus Grissom it was a similarly long and difficult trek from Mitchell, Indiana to flying into space, but his tenacity and a driving urge to go beyond any limitations imposed by others was always an integral part of his character.

Virgil Ivan Grissom was born at 8:00 a. m. on 3 April 1926 in the small mid-western city of Mitchell in southern Indiana, the second child of Dennis and Cecile King Grissom. In a significant and somewhat connective sense, that same day American rocket scientist Robert H. Goddard conducted a second successful launch of a liquid – fueled rocket at his Aunt Effie’s farm in Auburn, Massachusetts.

Grissom’s father was a signalman for the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, while his mother was a homemaker. An older sister had died in infancy before his birth, and he was followed in turn by three younger siblings, Wilma, Norman and Lowell. The family lived in a simple, white-frame house at 715 Baker Street (later to be renamed Grissom Street). He took his early education at Mitchell’s Riley Elementary School, a short walk from his house, and while he possessed an IQ said to be around 145 he was only an average student and had no real plans for the future. He did, however, become


The Grissom home, circa 1968 (Photo: Carl L. Chappell)

Joining the Air Force 57

moderately interested in flying airplanes. “I guess it was a case of drifting and not knowing what I wanted to make of myself,” he said. “I suppose I built my share of model aeroplanes, but I can’t remember that I was a flying fanatic.”4 As a child he attended the local Church of Christ where he remained a lifelong member and later joined Beaver Patrol with the local Boy Scout Troop 46, developing his enduring love of the outdoors.

Every morning, in order to have a little pocket money for his own activities, young Gus would make his way to the downtown bus station and collect that day’s edition of the Indianapolis Star newspaper for his delivery route. In the evenings he would also pick up and deliver the local newspaper, the Bedford Times.

In 1940 Grissom was enrolled at Mitchell High School, where he soon found to his chagrin that his short stature precluded him from playing varsity sports. Instead he became a fierce competitor in the school’s swimming pool. While he could not play basketball for his school, he took immense pride in being a member of the Boy Scout Honor Guard, which presented the American flag before any games. While engaged in this activity during one game, he caught the eye of fellow student Betty Lavonne Moore, who played the drum in the school band. When he came and sat with her dur­ing the half-time break, Betty realized to her delight that the attraction was mutual. “I met Betty Moore when she entered Mitchell High School as a freshman,” Grissom later admitted, “and that was it – period, exclamation point!”5


When Grissom reached the capsule level, he peered briefly down from a window in the green Plexiglas curtain surrounding the capsule, then disappeared from sight of those on the ground. Surrounding the capsule, as usual, were specialists wearing pure white smocks and white skull caps. McDonnell’s pad leader, Guenter Wendt, was there as he had been for Alan Shepard two months earlier. “I felt very handsome in my clean white jacket, white baseball cap with the word ‘McDonnell’ across the front, my headset, and white shirt with a bow-tie,” Wendt would later recall.1

As Bill Douglas later said of the process of inserting the astronaut into the capsule, “After the pilot climbs into the spacecraft and positions himself in the couch, the

pressure-suit technician [Joe Schmitt] attaches the ventilation hoses, the communica­tion line, the biosensor leads and the helmet visor seal hose, and finally he attaches the restraint harness in position but only fastens it loosely. At this point the suit and envi­ronmental control system is purged with 100-percent pure oxygen until such time as analysis of the gas in the system shows the oxygen concentration exceeds 95 percent. When the purge of the suit system is completed, the pressure-suit technician tightens the restraint harness; the flight surgeon [Douglas] makes a final inspection of the interior of the spacecraft and of the pilot, and the hatch installation commences. During the insertion procedures, it is the flight surgeon’s duty to monitor the suit purge procedure and to stand by to assist the pressure-suit technician or the pilot in any way he can. The final inspection of the pilot by the flight surgeon gives some indication of the pilot’s emo­tional state at the last possible opportunity.”2


Grissom prepares for insertion into the waiting spacecraft. (Photo: NASA)


John Glenn assists his fellow astronaut into the tight confines of his spacecraft. (Photo: NASA)

Once Grissom was settled into his form-fitting couch inside Liberty Bell 7 he was given a reassuring pat on the back by John Glenn, who had once again performed the final checks on the capsule prior to Grissom’s arrival. Then Joe Schmitt completed his tasks, strapping the astronaut in and linking him to the onboard communications and ventilation systems before wishing him good luck and withdrawing. Guenter Wendt and his team then took over.

“After final hookups and adjustments, I shook Gus’ hand and requested the ‘go’ to close the hatch,” Wendt remarked. “In minutes, my technicians were busy torquing down the 70 hatch bolts. One of the bolts got cross-threaded and we called a halt in the count so that engineering management could assess the situation. It was quickly decided that the one bad bolt would not jeopardize proper function of the hatch and the count resumed.”3 After the flight, Grissom was given that bolt as a souvenir.

Despite the lack of space, Grissom felt quite at home within the tight confines of Liberty Bell 7. Countless hours of training – particularly inside the spacecraft – had ensured he was familiar with every switch, system, sound, and countless other facets of the tiny vehicle. “It is good to get into the flight capsule a number of times,” he related in his post-flight briefing. “Then, on launch day, you have no feeling of sitting on top of a booster ready for launch. You feel as if you were back in the checkout hangar – this is home, the surroundings are familiar, you are at ease. You cannot achieve this feeling of familiarity in the procedures trainer because there are inevitably many small differences between the simulator and the capsule.”4


Inside the Mercury Control Center, mission CapCom Alan Shepard prepares for the launch of MR-4. (Photo: NASA)

Meanwhile the tension was slowly building for everyone connected with the flight and the many thousands of people on hand to witness history being made. The Cape and Cocoa Beach areas were slowly coming to life as people woke early, had break­fast, and began gathering on the beaches and every vantage point, nervous but in a state of excited expectation. The news media people started reporting to their assigned pool units, ready to be escorted to the Cape.


Close on 1,000 miles away from the Cape, in Mitchell, Indiana, Gus Grissom’s rail­way signalman father told reporters he had felt mostly fear – “pride ran second” – as his son flew into space and returned to a splashdown in the Atlantic Ocean. Dennis Grissom said that at one point of the flight he became so overwhelmed with a flood of differing emotions he could no longer watch the television coverage and walked into the kitchen away from the grainy images of his son’s flight. “It was the longest 15 minutes I ever lived through,” he revealed. “You wouldn’t realize this unless you had a son up there.” However his wife Cecile had endured every tense moment.


Gordon Cooper flying high above the Cape Canaveral launch site. (Photo: Dean Conger/NASA)

The evening before, the Grissoms had gone on a family picnic with around 40 relatives – “mostly my wife’s,” Dennis Grissom observed with a smile. But their nerves were still on a brittle edge when they arrived home, partly because their son’s flight had already been postponed twice, and then they didn’t get to sleep until about 1:00 a. m. Their daughter Wilma Beavers from Baltimore and her children, Rhonda, 12, Joan, 10, and Linda, 9, spent the night with them.

“I just kinda got a feeling they will call it off,” Dennis Grissom said of his thoughts before he turned in. Then, at 5:10 a. m. the lights suddenly went on in the little white frame house. Moments before their next-door neighbor, Addie Anderson, fearful the Grissoms might oversleep, had telephoned them. However Dennis said he and Cecile were just about to get up anyway. He then rang a service station across the street and asked the attendant to bring him a pack of cigarettes.

At 5:45 a. m. another son, Norman, a printer on the weekly Mitchell Tribune news­paper, arrived with his wife and their daughter Beth, 8. She quickly paired up with Linda Beavers, and the two little girls went out onto the front porch to blow soap bubbles as if it was just another day in their lives. Five minutes before launch time the adults called them back inside. All the children sat on the floor, with the adults nervously occupying the chairs and couches. The volume on the television set was turned right up.

At the moment of liftoff the roar of the Redstone reverberated from the television set. Not a word was spoken; everyone was tense as the gleaming white rocket slowly soared into the Florida skies and Col. Powers began describing the flight. When he mentioned that the escape tower had been jettisoned, Dennis Grissom stood up and walked into the kitchen, where he stayed for several minutes.


Norman Grissom shows his support for brother Gus. (Photo: Associated Press)

Once confirmation came through that their son had been safely recovered, the Grissoms made preparations to move outside and answer questions posed by the assembled news reporters and photographers. They knew by now that the spacecraft had been lost, but all they cared about was that Gus had survived his flight into space, been rescued from the sea, and was said to be uninjured and well. Dennis Grissom put on the coat of his good blue suit, while Cecile smoothed her blue print dress and brushed her hair. Nineteen minutes after the recovery the family stepped onto the porch, Cecile standing with one hand on her husband’s shoulder. A nervous but excited Dennis Grissom folded his hands in front of himself and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. On his tie, he wore a clasp in the shape of a Liberty Bell capsule, just like the one their son had flown into space.


Dennis and Cecile Grissom wave at the crowd gathered around their Mitchell home. (Photo: Associated Press)

The town’s mayor, Roy Ira, emerged from the crowd carrying his home movie camera and shook Dennis’s hand. Then, like a torrent, came the reporters’ questions. Inevitably, the first one centered on how they were feeling

“I feel fine,” Grissom said.

“I’m a lot more relieved and I’m glad it’s over,” Cecile added.

Would they like to see Gus make an orbital flight?

“I think 15 minutes is long enough,” Dennis replied.

What about a Moon flight?

“Well, yes. If he can do it safely.”

“No. Never,” said Cecile.

How did Dennis feel when the space capsule sank beneath the sea after their son had hurriedly evacuated it because the blown hatch permitted water to gush in?

“I was proud he was out of it,” was the response. “They can get another capsule…”

A reporter asked whether there were any tears during the flight.

“What do you think?” Cecile replied. “What would you do?”

According to newspaper reports from that day, the Grissoms looked drawn and tired after their son had been plucked from the sea, as if they had been mentally guid­ing Gus all the way. However they soon joined in the post-flight euphoria and took part in a specially prepared parade through the streets of Mitchell just before midday.

They sat in a convertible and waved to everyone as they trailed behind the high school band and the town’s fire truck, and anyone else who wanted to fall in. That day it seemed that this little southern Indiana town’s entire population of 3,550 was ready to party, and to celebrate America’s second successful space flight by one of their own.2


By the end of 1965, NASA’s focus was increasingly turning its attention from the highly successful Gemini series of missions to the forthcoming Apollo program. With the first manned orbital flight scheduled before the end of the following year Deke

Slayton, the agency’s Director of Flight Crew Operations, decided it was time to pro­visionally select the first Apollo crews.

Slayton’s initial choice to command the maiden flight, an Earth-orbiting test of the Apollo spacecraft would, under normal circumstances, have been Alan Shepard. But with Shepard’s flying future still in doubt owing to his affliction with Meniere’s Disease, Slayton opted for another of his experienced Mercury group. “Gus Grissom was going to be coming off the backup assignment to GT-6A,” he explained in his memoirs, “and so was a pretty natural choice for commander of the first mission.”9 Both Grissom and Young served as backups to the prime crew of Wally Schirra and Tom Stafford for this flight, which launched successfully on 15 December 1965 to perform the first orbital rendezvous mission of the program.

Also working in Grissom’s favor as command pilot for the first Apollo mission was the fact that he served as director of the Gemini program in the astronaut office before being named command pilot for the first two-man space flight. In February 1966 he was named to head the Apollo program in that office, so it seemed history would repeat itself.10

America’s first spacewalker Ed White was another name Slayton had penciled in for the first Apollo crew. With the lunar module still under development, there was no requirement for a lunar module pilot on this Earth-orbiting test flight, so Slayton decided he could assign a ‘rookie’ crewman to occupy the third seat, and his choice came down to two suitable candidates – Donn Eisele and Roger Chaffee. Both were Group 3 astro­nauts who had earlier been paired on tests of the lunar spacesuit’s life-support systems. But as the choice came down to a question of crew compatibility, Slayton decided that Eisele might be a better fit. He now had his first Apollo crew, although the three names still had to be submitted to NASA headquarters for the agency’s approval and official confirmation. His judgment in selecting crews had proven rock-solid in the past, so he envisaged little or no problems in having these three men approved.


NASA astronaut Donn F. Eisele. (Photo: NASA)

Unexpectedly, fate then brought about a last-minute crew change. In September 1964 Eisele had been participating in zero-gravity training aboard a NASA KC-135 aircraft when he accidentally dislocated his left shoulder. The injury had healed, but much to his chagrin Eisele dislocated the shoulder a second time in January 1966 while taking part in some strenuous physical exercises. This fresh injury prompted Slayton to replace Eisele with Chaffee on the crew list that he submitted to NASA headquarters.

Disappointed, but determined to make good and be reassigned, Eisele eventually overcame his shoulder injury and was provisionally assigned to the second planned Apollo mission along with Wally Schirra and Walt Cunningham. In view of some conjecture regarding early Apollo crewing, these crew changes were all verified by Eisele’s first wife, Harriett, by Walt Cunningham, and – prior to his death in 2007 – by Wally Schirra.

For Gus Grissom, Apollo 204 (as it was then designated because it would be the fourth launch of the Apollo IB rocket; ‘Apollo 1’ would be applied later) provided him with the chance to command a second test flight after the unqualified success of Gemini 3. It would also offer further vindication of his character and courage after all the rumors he had endured that he had panicked and blown the hatch on Liberty Bell 7 five years earlier. Had that been the case, it is highly unlikely he would have been awarded the first flight in the Gemini series, let alone the maiden test flight of the Apollo spacecraft whose duration was open-ended up to around two weeks.

In November 1966, Grissom penned a widely syndicated column concerning the upcoming mission in which he revealed his hopes for the mission and for America’s next steps in space. Reproduced here in part, it was published under the title Three Times a Command Pilot.


Robert Gilruth (far right) introduces the crew of the first Apollo mission, Roger Chaffee, Ed White and Gus Grissom. (Photo: NASA)

In Liberty Bell 7, I was a man in a can just along for the ride. Molly Brown, bless her heart, was a machine I could maneuver. And now in Apollo 204, Ed White, Roger Chaffee and I will be in a spacecraft designed to go to the Moon and back.

Soon I’ll be the first United States astronaut to make three flights – one in each of our first three space programs. My upcoming flight is in an Apollo spacecraft which makes my old Mercury Liberty Bell 7 look something like an early flivver [cheap automobile]. But in those days we weren’t all that concerned about maneuverability. We were out to discover whether man could survive G-forces of liftoff and the environment of space. And we learned that man could survive. During the past two years the Gemini program has taught us that we can fly our spacecraft, rendezvous and dock, and even perform meaningful tasks outside the spacecraft.

My fellow crewmembers and I are finding that our Apollo spacecraft is infi­nitely more complex than Gemini or Mercury. And so is the flight plan, even for our own Earth orbiting mission.

Our job will be to operate and observe and evaluate all of the spacecraft sys­tems. When necessary, we must come up with suggestions for solutions to any problem we encounter. And this we can only do in actual space flight. We may spend anywhere from three to fourteen days in orbit, possibly longer, learning as much as we can about the spacecraft’s performance. Even as we fly the mission, people on the ground will be working to make the Apollo lunar spacecraft an even more sophisticated vehicle than ours.11