Category Liberty Bell 7

FINAL THOUGHTS

Curt Newport is not one to let the grass grow under his feet. Since the recovery of Liberty Bell 7 he has been involved in a number of enterprises and recoveries. These include the recovery of Blackhawk helicopter 221 off Fiji; the Australian Navy’s Remora Submarine Rescue System near Fremantle, Western Australia; the search for Air France 447 out of Natal, Brazil; and locating an E-2C Hawkeye (Bluetail 601) in the Arabian Sea and an AV-8 Harrier in the Gulf of Aden. More recently there was a

FINAL THOUGHTS

Curt Newport talks to reporters on the dock at Port Canaveral. (NASA-KSC, Photo ID KSC-99PP-1030)

FINAL THOUGHTS

Former McDonnell pad leader Guenter Wendt (left) and Lowell Grissom view the salvaged spacecraft. (Photo: Kansas Center and Space Center)

Republic of China Air Force F-16 fighter that went down in the Taiwan Straits and a highly classified mission which, unfortunately, no one will ever know about.

“People never know much about my ‘real job,’” he muses, “and based on Liberty Bell 7, the Indianapolis, or the Belgrano, probably believe I’ve had few successes. But in reality, most of the search and recovery operations I’ve supported have been suc­cessfully completed. It helps to have the government’s money to do them right; most of these historic project are always done cutting corners to save money and that is while many of them fail.”25

In concluding the recovery story, Curt Newport asked to make one final comment. “In the end, after the dust settled, it was good to be proven right and everyone else wrong. It simply came down to the fact that no one else knew what I knew because they had not read all the documents, done the underwater work in the ocean, and sim­ply thought of a way to do it. There was never any question in my mind that it could be done. All we needed was the will to do it, the right equipment, people, and of course, the money.

“The only bad taste in my mouth about this thing is that NASA, as an agency, never said an official word to me after the recovery, unlike Jeff Bezos’ F-1 engine salvage [in 2013]. I did receive a couple of nice letters from George Abbey (JSC) and Art Stephenson (Marshall Space Flight Center), but that was only because they knew me and recognized how much work I did. But NASA? Never a word. I think they simply regarded the capsule’s loss as an embarrassment, even after 38 years.”26

Acknowledgements

This book owes much to those who so willingly assisted in its compilation. In virtually every instance, my request for information or material to quote was met with a positive response.

Sincere thanks are therefore extended to helpers and participants Mike Andrew, John Barteluce, Bob Bell, Rick Boos, Lou Chinal, Dean Conger, Kate Doolan, Lowell Grissom, Donald Harter, Thomas Henderson, Ed Hengeveld, Roger Hiemstra, Jerry Holman (Materium Brush Beryllium and Composites), Philip Kempland, Dale Kreitner, James Lewis, H. H. (Luge) Luetjen, Dr. Robert H. Moser, Lawrence (Larry) McGlynn, Earl Mullins, Otto Preske, Eddie Pugh, Earl Robb, Jerry Roberts, Scott Sacknoff (Quest maga­zine), Ross Smith, Cameron Stark, Charles Tynan, Jr., and Charlie Walker. As well, Dianne Blick, Jim Remar and Shannon Whetzel from the Kansas Cosmosphere and Space Center were of wonderful assistance in locating and supplying rare illustrative material. Other photographs came from two sources, both of whom have – as always – helped out by pro­viding me with clear, high-resolution images; J. L. Pickering of Retro Space Images (www. retrospaceimages. com), and Joachim Becker at Spacefacts (www. spacefacts. de). Special thanks to the man who located and salvaged the Liberty Bell 7 spacecraft, Curt Newport, for his interest in – and much appreciated help with – this book.

One of the greatest and long-serving resources of all has been the amazing and immensely popular website, collectSPACE (www. collectspace. com) , under the inspira­tional and erudite administration of Robert Pearlman. Robert, and the wonderfully eclec­tic, knowledgeable band of space enthusiasts who are contributors in many ways to this space website (a daily imperative) have always proved of immense and trustworthy assis­tance to me, and I am continually grateful to Robert for his dedication and 24/7 input into this website and to the ongoing saga of space exploration.

Keith Scala deserves special mention for contributing so readily to this book. In seeking information for this book I came across an article written by Keith for the quarterly space­flight magazine, Quest. Published in the spring of 2000, his article “The Future of Liberty Bell 7” was so well constructed and written that I asked him if he would be willing to update the article for inclusion in this book. Happily, he has done so, and I am grateful for his superb contribution.

There were also those who were involved in the editing and production of this book. Endless thanks once again to my esteemed editor for this and past books, David M. Harland. A gifted spaceflight author in his own right, he not only completed a monumental effort in both editing this book and weeding out some pesky errors, but went out of his way and job description to ensure that it went through the production process when problems arose. To a friend of so many decades, Francis French, continuing thanks for going through the draft manuscript as a final check of the facts and my often poor understanding of cer­tain Americanese.

My ongoing appreciation to Clive Horwood and his team from Praxis in England for their support of my past, current and future work, and to Maury Solomon, Editor of Physics and Astronomy, and Assistant Editor Nora Rawn, both at Springer in New York. I recently had the great pleasure of meeting and personally thanking Jim Wilkie, who always provides bril­liant cover artwork for my books. He is a genius at what he does.

If I have missed thanking anyone associated with this work, please forgive me, but kindly accept my sincere appreciation for helping me to put together this story of an extraordinary man on an amazing, pioneering space mission in an outstanding Mercury spacecraft he called Liberty Bell 7.

ASTRONAUT WATER SURVIVAL TRAINING

To assist in astronaut water survival and egress training, McDonnell supplied NASA with a full-size boilerplate Mercury capsule designated Unit SC-5. The first phase of this crucial training program took place in February 1960 at the Langley Flight Research Center’s hydrodynamic basin – an open tank of fresh water 2,200 feet long by just 8 feet wide and 5 feet deep. Each of the astronauts, dressed in regular flight suits, had to make several egresses through the top end of the floating capsule in both still water and simulated waves.

ASTRONAUT WATER SURVIVAL TRAINING

While assembling a Little Joe craft a workman tapes a signed $20 bill to the inside of the capsule as a souvenir of the flight. (Photo: NASA/Langley Research Center)

ASTRONAUT WATER SURVIVAL TRAINING

Navy crewmen maneuver a huge net alongside the salvage ship USS Preserver (ARS-8) to retrieve the unmanned Little Joe 1-B capsule five miles off the coast of Wallops Island. (Photo: NASA)

ASTRONAUT WATER SURVIVAL TRAINING

ASTRONAUT WATER SURVIVAL TRAINING

During impact studies conducted in Virginia’s Back River, the astronauts practiced the dangerous maneuver of exiting a floating spacecraft after splashdown. (Photo: NASA)

The second phase of this training began two months later in the Gulf of Mexico, offshore from the Pensacola Naval Air Station in Florida. Wearing astronaut-style flight pressure suits, the men now had to practice egress techniques which involved clambering out of their couches and making their way up through the top of the mockup spacecraft. They also had to practice egress methods from the open side hatch, all the while supported by Navy frogmen.

The third phase of this training commenced in August 1960 back at Langley. On this occasion the boilerplate SC-5 was fully submerged in the center’s hydrodynamic basin and each astronaut now had to egress the capsule six times – thrice wearing flight suits and thrice again wearing flight pressure suits.

GRISSOM NAMED TO FLIGHT

On Thursday, 29 June, NASA said there were tentative plans to launch the MR-4 mis­sion on a downrange suborbital flight from Cape Canaveral during the week of 16 July. They said the name of the chosen astronaut would be revealed on Monday, but everyone expected the pilot to be John Glenn, with Grissom on the third flight. NASA also revealed that it had originally planned to launch the second Redstone rocket and capsule just six weeks after Shepard’s flight. However it was forced to delay these plans because of changes made in the capsule in response to Shepard’s recommenda­tions. The bulletin stated that it was expected that the astronaut on this flight would have fewer tasks to perform, and have more time available for Earth observation.

On 10 July Grissom was an interested spectator at a demonstration of the explosive hatch, held at the Cape Canaveral Missile Test Annex. It was identical to the one installed in Liberty Bell 7. Harry Lutz from McDonnell was the pyrotechnic engineer in charge of the test. Once everything was ready, the spectators moved off a safe dis­tance and the explosive material was detonated by means of pulling on a long lanyard attached to the T-shaped exterior initiator. The hatch blew as planned and the test was deemed a complete success. Grissom went away satisfied this system would work well on the actual flight.

GRISSOM NAMED TO FLIGHT

Technicians prepare to test the explosive hatch system. (Photo courtesy of Kansas Cosmosphere and Space Center)

 

GRISSOM NAMED TO FLIGHT

The hatch is ready to be tested. (Photo courtesy of Kansas Cosmosphere and Space Center)

 

GRISSOM NAMED TO FLIGHT

McDonnell’s Ralph Gendielle (at right) examines a hatch bolt after the test. Partly obscured behind him is John Yardley. (Photo courtesy Kansas Cosmosphere and Space Center)

The following day NASA reported that the flight would likely be set for 18 July, but the space agency declined any further comment on the identity of the astronaut. They said they would reveal the name of the chosen astronaut on Monday, 24 hours ahead of the launch. Then, on 15 July, and to the surprise of many, Robert Gilruth finally confirmed to reporters that Grissom would be the prime pilot for the MR-4 mission, with Glenn acting as his backup. It was also announced that Grissom had chosen the call-sign Liberty Bell 7 for his spacecraft, and an engineer had stenciled the name in white paint onto the side of the capsule.

“One of the less vital problems I had was figuring out a name and an insignia for the capsule,” Grissom later revealed. “As the pilot, I had the prerogative of thinking up a name. I decided on Liberty Bell, because the capsule does resemble a bell. John Glenn felt that the symbolic number ‘seven’ should appear on all our capsules – in honor of the team – so this was added. Then one of the engineers got the bright idea

GRISSOM NAMED TO FLIGHT

The hatch, still attached as planned to the door sill, rests on the ground. (Photo courtesy Kansas Cosmosphere and Space Center)

GRISSOM NAMED TO FLIGHT

Grissom inspects the results of the hatch test. (Still from Spacecraft Films Project Mercury film set)

A girdle around the world 85

that we ought to dress Liberty Bell up by painting a crack on it just like the crack on the real one. No one seemed quite sure what the crack looked like, so we copied it from the ‘tails’ side of a fifty-cent piece.”16

Interestingly, Jerry Ter Horst of the North American Newspaper Alliance later claimed that the choice of Grissom as prime pilot for the MR-4 mission over John Glenn was the result of what he called “the Air Force factor.” As Ter Horst stated, this hint of inter-service rivalry for space flight honors came to him “unofficially and pri­vately” from NASA sources.

“According to the sources, Capt. Grissom was destined to be chosen over Marine Lt. Col. Glenn of Arlington, Virginia, because of the Air Force’s primary interest in space and because the Navy already has an astronaut in Cdr. Alan B. Shepard, Jr., who made the May 5 flight.

“‘Gus’ Grissom, 35, is one of three astronauts from the Air Force. Col. Glenn, 40, is the only Marine astronaut. The Marine Corps, however, is actually a part of the Navy. Three of the astronauts, including Cdr. Shepard, are Navy pilots. None of the seven is an Army man.

“‘All things being equal in their personal readiness and training for this shot, the choice of Grissom over Glenn was indicated because of the Air Force factor,’ one source said privately. ‘Imagine how the Air Force would feel if it missed out on the first two flights,’ said another.

“There has been no hint of inter-service rivalry among the astronauts, who have lived and worked together as an inseparable team for two years. Officially, NASA has played down their basic membership in the armed forces because of the civilian nature of this country’s space program. Col. Glenn had been presumed in line for the first trip, but the nod went to Cdr. Shepard. Col. Glenn became his ‘backup’ man. Col. Glenn then became the seeded choice for the second manned flight into space. Capt. Grissom, from Mitchell, Indiana, apparently has been the secret NASA choice for several weeks – with full knowledge of the other astronauts.

“Sources also said that astronaut No. 3 will not necessarily be Col. Glenn. The ‘top three’ selection was only for the first two flights, it was said, and all seven astronauts will be in the running for subsequent flights – including Cdr. Shepard and Capt. Grissom.”17

On the Friday evening before flight week, Grissom attended a meeting on the pre­paredness of the Redstone and discussed some minor problems in loading liquid oxygen into the rocket. At the end of the meeting he admonished everyone to leave well enough alone by saying, “Don’t anybody fiddle with it over the weekend.” He then flew home to spend a few final hours with his family before returning to the Cape on Sunday.

CLOSE TO DEATH

As the drama continued to unfold, it was being captured on film by photographers aboard a second Navy helicopter, whose pilot had been instructed to remain well clear of the recovery area. Their dramatic images caught Grissom wallowing in the ocean swell. Every so often, the powerful down draft from the helicopters would momentarily force him below the surface of the water, and then he would bob up again like a cork.

Donald Harter from Columbus, Ohio recalls that day as one filled with many emo­tions. He was a DC2 (Damage Control, 2nd Class Petty Officer) temporarily assigned to the rescue/recovery team aboard the USS Randolph, and was aboard Navy Sikorsky HSS-1 N No. 52 from Helicopter Anti-Submarine Squadron HS-7 (“The Big Dippers”). Positioned in the helicopter’s doorway, he witnessed the drama below from close hand.

“I had trained in astronaut recovery previously,” he reflected. “The protocol was to always have two helicopters involved in the recovery of the astronaut and the capsule. There was another helicopter in the area filled with photographers, but they had been warned to keep well away from the recovery effort.

CLOSE TO DEATH

John Reinhard begins to lower a horse-collar rescue sling down to Grissom before the crew’s attempt to raise him was aborted. (Photo: NASA)

“When Lewis notified that he was returning to the carrier because of possible engine failure, we were dispatched as part of the two-aircraft protocol to assist Upschulte and Cox if necessary. If something unforeseen were to happen, we had recovery gear on board; in fact all the helicopters aboard the carrier had winches on the open side door and safety harnesses.”18

CLOSE TO DEATH

Taken from a high-level recovery airplane this photo shows Lewis’s helicopter trying to raise Liberty Bell 7 while Upschulte approaches Grissom from behind. They are flanked by a Navy support helicopter and (nearest the camera) the photographic helicopter. (Photo: NASA)

Grissom, now struggling to keep his head above water, noticed with alacrity the photographic helicopter in the distance, and would later recall that “I could see two guys standing in the door with what looked like chest packs strapped around them. A third guy was taking pictures of me through a window.” Unbeknownst to them, the photographers might very well have been recording on film the last desperate moments of astronaut Gus Grissom, for as he revealed in We Seven he was now in a fierce struggle just to stay afloat. Flailing about in the water, he knew he could not last much longer.

“At this point the waves were leaping over my head,” he wrote. “I was floating lower and lower in the water. I had to swim hard just to keep my head up. I thought to myself, ‘Well, you’ve gone right through the whole flight, and now you’re going to sink right here in front of all these people.’”19

Grissom then saw to his relief that the backup helicopter was moving in towards him, dragging a horse-collar sling across the surface chop of the water. He was still in danger of drowning, however, since the rotor wash of the two rescue helicopters and the weight of his waterlogged space suit meant that he could not reach the sling, now about 20 feet away.

Sensing Grissom’s problem, Phil Upschulte flew a little further forward, dragging the horse collar right up to the astronaut, who was also swimming towards the sling. Despite his fatigue, Grissom looked up and saw the familiar face of George Cox lean­ing out of the doorway. The Marine pilot had earlier been involved in successful ocean recoveries of both Alan Shepard and the chimpanzee Ham. “As soon as I saw Cox, I thought, ‘I’ve got it made,’” Grissom later reflected. Now close to complete physical exhaustion, he was able to grab hold of the lifesaving collar. “I had a hard time getting it on,” he reported at his post-flight technical debriefing, “but I finally got into it.

CLOSE TO DEATH

Upschulte and Cox finally retrieve an exhausted Grissom from the ocean. (Photo: NASA)

A few waves were breaking over my head and I was swallowing water.” In fact, he was so exhausted that he could do little more than pass his arms through the life­saving collar, not caring that it was on backwards, and hang from it.

By this time Grissom had been swimming or floating in the choppy seas for four or five minutes, “although it seemed like an eternity to me,” he reflected later. In a depar­ture from procedure, he was dragged 15 feet through the water prior to being hoisted into the air with water streaming from his space suit until he was able to be assisted into the cabin of the helicopter.20

Don Harter, watching from nearby Navy helicopter No. 52 remembers the scene well. “We arrived just before [George] Cox had lowered their harness to Gus. We backed off so as not to prop-wash Gus, and let Cox complete the recovery, but still near enough to give assistance. Gus had to swim for the horse collar, with swells going over his head. The NASA helicopter with the photographers who had been waving at Gus while he was trying to stay alive left and returned to the carrier.”21

Prior to a waterlogged Grissom being hoisted into Upschulte’s helicopter, Jim Lewis had been faced with an incredibly difficult decision.

“I was pointed into the wind at this stage and the backup helicopter was behind me, also pointing into the wind to give added lift, so I could no longer see Gus. But as we had communication between aircraft, the pilot of the backup craft let me know when he had Gus aboard. Gus was safely aboard and on his way to the Randolph in less than four minutes after the hatch blew on Liberty Bell 7, so you can see that our contin­gency procedures worked perfectly. This is exactly why we had the backup helicopter close at hand.

“After close to five minutes of pulling maximum power [on my helicopter], the cylinder head temperature began to rise and the engine oil pressure began to drop. I decided to release the capsule, so I could set the helicopter down ‘normally’ in the water if the engine died. That was accomplished by pulling a trigger in the cockpit that caused the hook to open and release the recovery cable from the helicopter. I couldn’t see the line but I could feel the result of a reduced payload. I wondered if we could make it back. I declared an emergency at that point, and proceeded back toward the Randolph, and was able to land aboard the carrier.”22

Once onboard Upschulte’s helicopter, Grissom shed the horse-collar, and shook Cox’s hand with a heartfelt, “Boy, am I glad to see you.” Then he grabbed a nearby Mae West life preserver and slipped it over his head. While this might have been stan­dard over-the-water military procedure, he was simply ensuring he was ready in case anything happened to the craft he was now occupying. Once was enough, he figured: he had no wish to endure any more time splashing around in the Atlantic trying to stay afloat. As he fastened the Mae West he was told that his capsule had been lost. He then spent the duration of his ten-minute flight over to the Randolph without speaking, tightly buckled up in the lifejacket.

Meanwhile, on the USS Randolph, Capt. Henry (‘Harry’) E. Cook, Jr. had been made aware of the problem as Lewis’s helicopter was straining to lift Liberty Bell 7 out of the water. “The capsule was filled with sea water and so heavy it just couldn’t be lifted,” he said, looking back to that time. “I was preparing to launch boats to lash on to it and tow it alongside and then use the ship’s boat crane to hoist it aboard.”23 When word passed around the nearly 1,000 crewmen lining the afterdeck and the superstructure of the Randolph that the capsule had sunk, there was a brief chill as those watching the drama out at sea feared Grissom himself might have been lost. But the Navy quickly made it clear that the astronaut was safe. Several hundred sailors, including midshipmen from various universities undergoing reserve officer training, were lined up behind ropes on the flight deck of the carrier. But this time there was less of the joyous whooping and hollering that marked the scene on the USS Lake Champlain when Shepard came aboard that carrier. Perhaps this relative quietness was due to the observers silently offering thanks that the astronaut had made it.

Meanwhile, back in the Mercury Control Center, everyone was tense, waiting to find out what was happening. They had heard that Grissom was in the water, but the conversation on Chris Kraft’s communication line was becoming confusing.

CLOSE TO DEATH

Anxious crewmembers aboard the USS Randolph scan the skies as they wait for news on the fate of the astronaut and his spacecraft. (Photos: NASA)

“We didn’t know what had happened to Gus,” he later wrote. “After a minute of silence, a second helicopter reported that they were ‘attempting to recover the astronaut.’”

“What does that mean?” someone innocently asked Kraft.

At that Kraft snapped, and loudly told everyone to just shut up and listen.

“I remember thinking, I hope it’s not a body they’re recovering,” Kraft related. “The next minute dragged on forever. Then we heard it. Gus was aboard the chopper. They were returning to the ship.”24

A tale of two hatches

On 7 December 1961 Robert Gilruth, director of the Manned Spacecraft Center in Houston, announced plans for a spacecraft that would be piloted by two astronauts and would advance the United States to the next level of manned space flight. This new program would help to develop manned space flight rendezvous techniques in a more spacious craft capable of docking with other vehicles while in Earth orbit. This “Advanced Mercury” concept would also serve as a bridge between the Mercury and Apollo lunar landing programs. Since no project title had been officially assigned to the new program, it was simply referred to as Mercury Mark II.

A NASA bulletin reported that the agency would negotiate with the McDonnell Aircraft Corp. of St. Louis as prime contractor for the new spacecraft. Weighing about two tons – twice that of the Mercury capsule – the spacecraft was intended to be launched atop a new booster, the Air Force Titan II, constructed by the Martin-Marietta Company. The rendezvous target to be used during the program was to be an Agena stage produced by the Lockheed Aircraft Corporation, and this would be launched by an Atlas rocket. Preliminary cost estimates for the program, including about a dozen spacecraft, Atlas-Agena and Titan II vehicles, was in the vicinity of $500 million. As the NASA bulletin suggested:

Two-man flights should begin in 1963-64, starting with several unmanned ballistic flights from Cape Canaveral for tests of overall booster-spacecraft compatibility and systems engineering. Several manned orbital flights will follow. Rendezvous flybys and actual docking missions will be attempted in final phases of the program.

This program provides the earliest means of experimenting with manned rendez­vous techniques. At the same time, the two-man craft will be capable of Earth­orbiting flights of a week or more, thereby providing pilot training for future, long-duration circular and lunar landing flights.

NASA’s current seven astronauts will serve as pilots for this program. Additional crew members may be phased in during later stages.1

A RESTORATION TASK LIKE NO OTHER

In researching this book, I happened across an extremely well written article in the Spring 2000 (Vol.7, No.4) issue of the quarterly history of space flight magazine, Quest, penned by Connecticut-based space writer Keith Scala. Under the title, The Future of Liberty Bell 7, his article related the manner in which the spacecraft had undergone meticulous restoration at the Kansas Cosmosphere and Space Center and the plans for its subsequent exhibition. I contacted Keith to ask if he might consider updating his article as a feature in this book, to which he happily agreed. Here then, is the post-recovery story of Liberty Bell 7.

THE RESTORATION OF LIBERTYBELL 7

Keith J. Scala

After Liberty Bell 7 was removed from the expedition ship Ocean Project at Port Canaveral, the capsule was transported to the Kansas Cosmosphere and Space Center in Hutchinson, Kansas on 1 September 1999. The capsule was shipped overland in a container filled with seawater to prevent further corrosion

The Kansas Cosmosphere is the only private museum authorized by the Smithsonian Institution to restore U. S. manned spacecraft. One previous spacecraft restored there in 1997 was the Apollo 13 command module Odyssey. Several other spacecraft from the United States and Russia have also been restored at the Midwestern facility.

A RESTORATION TASK LIKE NO OTHER

Liberty Bell 7 arrives at the Kansas Cosmosphere. (Photo courtesy of the Kansas Cosmosphere and Space Center)

A RESTORATION TASK LIKE NO OTHER

Max Ary, the Kansas Cosmosphere’s president, explains the restoration process the spacecraft would undergo. (Photo: Kansas Cosmosphere and Space Center)

In the case of Liberty Bell 7, the Kansas Cosmosphere was given ownership of the spacecraft. In fact, Liberty Bell 7 is the only manned American spacecraft not owned by NASA or the Smithsonian. Since NASA and the Smithsonian had never planned to recover Liberty Bell 7, it was agreed that the Kansas Cosmosphere would retain own­ership of the ill-fated capsule. Before the successful recovery operation NASA gave ownership to the Discovery Channel. After recovery the ownership was then trans­ferred to the Kansas Cosmosphere. This was done to help reimburse the cost and time of the recovery effort.

The intention of the Kansas Cosmosphere was to clean every portion of the space­craft and remove parts that had been so badly damaged by corrosion that it would not be feasible to restore them. Max Ary, past president and CEO of the Kansas Cosmosphere, said at the time, “We will disassemble the entire spacecraft, individu­ally cleaning every single piece, from the exterior shingles to the smallest of screws. Our goal is not to make the spacecraft look brand new,” Ary added. “We simply want to clean and preserve it so that it will be available for generations to come. We will reassemble the spacecraft with only the original parts. If we need a particular part (the original part was too badly damaged), for example, a panel into which switches need to be mounted, we will create one of Plexiglas or we will create a metal skeleton that will serve the same purpose. Either way, it will be obvious to the viewer which pieces of Liberty Bell 7 did not survive the 38 years in a harsh deep-sea environment.” The Plexiglas or framework has the added benefit of allowing the viewer to see the interior of the spacecraft not normally seen. The cleaning also stabilized the capsule so no additional deterioration would occur after the restoration.27

The overall condition of Liberty Bell 7 was surprisingly good after its 38-year stay at the bottom of the Atlantic. First, 75 gallons of mostly sand and other things that live in the ocean were removed from the capsule. Many metal parts, mostly those made of aluminum, were excessively corroded while items like paper and plastic had been preserved. The superstructure of the capsule was intact. The capsule control panels had corroded away but many switches and gauges were in excellent condition. Some glass face plates on the gauges had been shattered by the water pressure.

The capsule structure has two layers; firstly, an outer skin of Rene 41 alloy shingles used to protect the capsule from reentry heat. The shingles are bolted to the inner titanium structure with aircraft-style stringers in between. This method provided for a gap between the outer and inner structures. The gap allowed ceramic fiber to be used for extra thermal insulation. The inner structure serves as a pressure vessel to retain air pressure. The outer skin shingles were removed as well as all the interior equipment. The words UNITED STATES and even the “Liberty Bell” crack painted on the outer skin remained.

A harsh but necessary method had to be used after the outer alloy shingles were removed. Since technicians could not remove the lower bulkhead of the inner struc­ture, as it was welded to the bottom of the conical inner structure, it was decided to cut the capsule into two pieces. The cut was made between the entry hatch and lower bulkhead around the diameter of the capsule.

This allowed access to each of the 24 framed aircraft-style stringers that run verti­cally inside. The lower half and top half of the capsule could then be sandblasted free of corrosion. When the capsule was reassembled and the outer alloy shingles were attached to the inner structure the cut would not be evident.28

Many interesting items were found inside the capsule. The film inside a camera that kept a record of Grissom’s movements was not salvageable, but it was hoped that a magnetic tape with Grissom’s voice during the flight could be saved. A roll of Mercury dimes intended to be given to Grissom’s friends was discovered, several of which were revealed at the capsule’s Port Canaveral homecoming. Several silver dollar cer­tificates bearing Grissom’s signature were also found. The dollar bills had been rolled up and deliberately hidden inside plastic shrink-wrap tubing to look like part of the interior wiring. More than likely technicians would have removed these after the flight (as described earlier in this book) as mementos of the flight.

A checklist and grease pencil Grissom used during the flight was still in useable shape. A metal cap that covered the explosive hatch detonator was found, but did not shed any light as to why the hatch blew, causing the capsule to flood. Curiously enough, a bar of Dial soap was still in its paper wrapper and in good shape, even though several metal parts of the capsule had corroded away. One last item of interest is a portion of Teflon cable attached to the top of the capsule. This cable had been used by the Marine helicopter in a vain attempt to pull the capsule from the water, but had to be cut when the capsule started to pull the helicopter down.29

The restoration process took approximately seven months and cost $250,000. It involved 7,280 manned hours and 30,000 parts, while 10 miles of wiring had to be removed from the spacecraft and replaced. During the restoration process a webcam broadcast pictures of the spacecraft 24 hours a day, allowing Internet viewers to

A RESTORATION TASK LIKE NO OTHER

Liberty Bell 7 after removal of the outer shingles. Note the cut made to the capsule under the hatch. (Photo courtesy of the Kansas Cosmosphere and Space Center)

follow the restoration process. Visitors to the Kansas Cosmosphere were able to view the restoration of Liberty Bell 7 from the other side of a Plexiglas wall.

After the restoration was completed, no definitive information was found on why the hatch mysteriously blew after splashdown. If the hatch itself had been found (it was never recovered) it might have given some answers. Had Liberty Bell 7 not been lost, it also could have been helpful to the official investigation into the accident in 1961.

A RESTORATION TASK LIKE NO OTHER

The Mercury head dimes found inside Liberty Bell 7. (Photo: NASA/KSC, ID KSC-99PP-1035)

A RESTORATION TASK LIKE NO OTHER

A number of recovered Roosevelt dimes carried by Gus Grissom eventually found their way onto the collectors’ market. (Photo: The Skyman1958 collection)

A RESTORATION TASK LIKE NO OTHER

Liberty Bell 7 after restoration. (Photo courtesy of the Kansas Cosmosphere and Space Center)

When the restoration process was finished, the Discovery Channel took Liberty Bell 7 on a tour of North America. An interactive 6,000 square-foot traveling exhibit was used with Liberty Bell 7 as the centerpiece. The tour started in 2000 and lasted six years. After the tour was completed, Liberty Bell 7’s final home was the Kansas Cosmosphere. Should any future space historians wish to reopen the investigation into how the hatch blew back in 1961, Liberty Bell 7 will be waiting in Kansas to help answer the mystery.

Prologue

At 9:34 a. m. (Eastern Time) on 5 May 1961, the MR-3 combination of a Redstone rocket and a Mercury capsule known as Freedom 7 lifted off its launch pad at Cape Canaveral, watched by an estimated 45 million viewers across the United States. Onboard, carrying the hopes, prayers, and adoration of a nation was NASA astronaut and Navy Cdr. Alan B. Shepard, Jr. He would successfully complete a suborbital space flight lasting 15 minutes and 22 seconds. In doing so he became the second person after Yuri Gagarin to fly into space, and the first American to achieve that feat.

Two months later a second American astronaut would be seated aboard another space­craft, ready to fly a similar mission to that of Shepard in order to consolidate the technical data and crucial physiological information gained from that mission. Apart from modifica­tions to this particular Mercury capsule – as recommended by Shepard following his flight – and a far less crowded flight schedule, this second proving flight would follow basically the same test pattern as that Freedom 7.

Within those two months between the flights, however, much was happening in regard to America’s human space endeavor. Shepard’s flight had truly ignited a nation’s interest in space flight, and it was now time to capitalize on the success and projected future of NASA’s space program, which one day might lead to a human presence on the Moon.

Famously, in his second State of the Union message on 25 May 1961, just 20 days after Shepard’s history-making flight, President John F. Kennedy reported to Congress regarding the space program. “With the advice of the Vice President, who is Chairman of the National Space Council,” he began, “we have examined where we [the United States] are strong and where we are not… Now is the time to take longer strides – time for a great new American enterprise – time for this Nation to take a clearly leading role in space achievement which in many ways may hold the key to our future on Earth.”

In his speech, Kennedy set forth the concept of an accelerated space program based on the long-range national goals of landing a man on the Moon and returning him safely to the Earth; the early development of the Rover nuclear rocket; speeding up the use of Earth satellites for worldwide communications; and providing “at the earliest possible time a satellite system for worldwide weather observation.” An additional $549 million in fund­ing was also requested for NASA over the new administration’s March budget requests.

At a crowded press conference held following the President’s call to Congress, NASA Administrator James E. Webb pointed out to media representatives that the long-range and difficult task of landing a man on the Moon before the end of the decade offered the United States an undeniable chance to overtake and even beat the Soviet Union to this important goal. On 7 June, during an address at George Washington University, a fired-up Webb also stated that the exploration of space was an important part of man’s “driving, relentless, insatiable search for new knowledge.”

Kennedy’s eloquent and challenging speech on 25 May had literally hinged on the suc­cess of Alan Shepard’s flight less than three weeks earlier, but now he was faced with some serious questions: would Congress embrace and not only agree to what he proposed, but supply the enormous necessary funding? The answer to both questions ultimately rested on the persuasive powers of NASA’s highly competitive administrator, who confidently felt the pursuit of funding for the agency’s programs was achievable. He had been keeping recent stock of political winds, and realized that Congress – like the rest of the nation – had been swept up in the euphoria and the opportunities offered by human space exploration, and was in what he called “a runaway mood.”

Webb’s challenge was to come up with the agency’s budget forecast figure for placing an American on the Moon by the end of the decade. According to NASA’s General Counsel Paul Dembling, the initial projections from Webb’s advisors and accountants came in at $10 billion. Dembling was there when Webb scrutinized the numbers. “He said, ‘Come on guys, you’re doing this on the basis that everything’s going to work every time, every place, no matter what you do.’ So they came back with a figure of $13 billion.”

Once again Webb studied the numbers long and hard before making his way up to Capitol Hill bearing that figure. But when he spoke to the politicians he brazenly stated that the program could cost upwards of $20 billion, and that’s what he was requesting. He had applied the old maxim of asking for too much – in this case a whopping $7 billion above the figure his analysts had arrived at – knowing that the enthusiasm of Congress for the space program might soon begin to wane. Webb was right; his ploy worked. He got approval for the money, which would ultimately prove to be very close to the mark by the time the first humans landed on the Moon.

On 22 June, NASA’s Deputy Administrator Hugh Dryden sent a letter to Robert S. Kerr, Chairman of the Senate Committee on Aeronautical and Space Sciences, dealing with the broad scientific and technological gains to be achieved in landing a man on the Moon and returning him to the Earth. Dr. Dryden pointed out that this difficult goal “has the highly important role of accelerating the development of space science and technology, motivating the scientists and engineers who are engaged in this effort to move forward with urgency, and integrating their efforts in a way that cannot be accomplished by a disconnected series of research investigations in several fields. It is important to realize, however, that the real val­ues and purposes are not in the mere accomplishment of man setting foot on the Moon but rather in the great cooperative national effort in the development of science and technology which is stimulated by this goal.”

Furthermore, Dryden pointed out that “the billions of dollars required in this effort are not spent on the Moon; they are spent in the factories, workshops, and laboratories of our people for salaries, for new materials, and supplies, which in turn represent income for others… The national enterprise involved in the goal of manned lunar landing and return within this decade is an activity of critical impact on the future of this Nation as an indus­trial and military power, and as a leader of a free world.”

Two days after Dr. Dryden’s letter to Robert Kerr, President Kennedy assigned Vice President Lyndon B. Johnson the task of unifying the nation’s communications satellite programs, stressing urgency and the “highest priority” for the public interest.

A further two days along, on 26 June, James Webb spoke for NASA in an interview in the U. S. News and World Report, stating that “the kind of overall space effort that President Kennedy has recommended… will put us there [on the Moon] first.” This achievement, he said, costing “probably toward the $20 billion level… will be most valuable in other parts of our economy.”

The first salvos in the Space Race to the Moon had been fired. The commitment was there; the money to carry out the activities promised by the President had been made avail­able, and the ambitious plans and goals for American space missions had the overwhelm­ing support of the American people. Certainly the Soviet Union had shot a man into orbit, but the flight of Freedom 7 with Alan Shepard onboard had enthralled and galvanized a nation. Even though many doubted that the President’s stated goal of a man on the Moon could be achieved by the end of the decade, the will to do so was there, while the scientific and technological know-how was in place. The push to the Moon would continue.

To paraphrase the words of Alan Shepard, the first ‘baby step’ of his brief suborbital flight had amply demonstrated what was required of NASA and the nation’s astronauts, and now it was time for America to step up to the plate. There was incredible appeal and an outstanding challenge attached to the task that lay before them.

And so, on 21 July 1961, another of the nation’s finest test pilots lined up for his chance at becoming one of NASA’s renowned “star voyagers.” Strapped snugly into his contour couch aboard a spacecraft he had patriotically named Liberty Bell 7, U. S. Air Force Capt. Virgil Ivan (‘Gus’) Grissom was fully trained and ready to follow in Shepard’s pioneering footsteps in order to help to set America on a steady course to the Moon.

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THE FIRST MERCURY-ATLAS SHOT

By July of 1960 there were close to a hundred McDonnell people employed at the Cape, and things were moving ahead rapidly as the first full-configuration Mercury spacecraft was to be delivered there on 24 July. In order to keep all the spacecraft free from dust or other intruding contamination, the vehicles were all delivered to the Cape in clear plastic sheathing and transported to another clean room within Hangar S. This particular capsule was Spacecraft No. 2, destined to fly on the unmanned MR-1 test flight of the Redstone/capsule combination. Prior to this, Spacecraft No. 4, which had been delivered to the Cape on 23 May, was due to ride an Atlas rocket for the MA-1 proving flight.

The MA-1 spacecraft shell had been loaded with around 200 pounds of sensing instrumentation, installed by NASA Langley. As with the earlier Big Joe launch, there

THE FIRST MERCURY-ATLAS SHOT

Langley engineers practice water egress techniques using replica capsules that are surrounded by inflated air bags. (Photos: NASA/Langley Research Center)

was no escape tower attached to the capsule, much to the dismay of the Atlas rocket people who had wanted a complete configuration in order to determine the structural bending modes of the Atlas. However, Max Faget was strongly against installing an escape tower, deeming it unnecessary, and he won out. In the end, the Mercury-Atlas launch turned out to be a disaster, as recorded by Luge Luetjen.

“With the hangar tests completed and the flight instrumentation, parachutes, and pyrotechnics installed, Spacecraft No. 4 (MA-1) was moved to the Atlas complex on July 24, the same day that Spacecraft No. 2 arrived at [Hangar S]. Rainy weather made it difficult to complete preflight checks at the pad and caused delays and much con­sternation for the NASA officials there for the launch.

“The day before the scheduled date for the launch, a group of us, several in rain gear, visited the Atlas pad. The next day, early on the morning of July 29, heavy rain

THE FIRST MERCURY-ATLAS SHOT

Boilerplate capsule SC-5 floats in the Gulf of Mexico off the U. S. Navy School of Aviation Medicine, Pensacola, Florida. Assisted by Navy frogmen, Gus Grissom is photographed prac­ticing egress techniques through the top of the mockup capsule. (Photo: NASA)

enveloped the Cape but the cloud ceiling soon rose high enough to be considered acceptable for launch. [John] Yardley and I were invited to be blockhouse observers. Finally, at 9:13 a. m., [NASA Operations Director] Walt Williams gave the OK to launch and the Atlas rose slowly from the launch pad. It pierced the cloud cover in seconds and the initial phases of the launch appeared normal. Then everything went wrong. Speculation had it that the Atlas either exploded or suffered a catastrophic structural failure. Whichever it was, it occurred at about 32,000 feet and a velocity of about 1,400 feet per second. It was indeed a sad day for Mercury!”32

After a thorough examination of all the available evidence and telemetry it was concluded that the Atlas booster had failed in the thin-skin area below the adaptor which joined the spacecraft to the booster. As a result, a stainless steel reinforcing “bellyband” was developed that wrapped around the boosters until later Atlas rockets could be manufactured with a thicker skin incorporated into this critical area.

THE FIRST MERCURY-ATLAS SHOT

Completed Mercury spacecraft with protective covering at McDonnell’s St. Louis plant. (Photo: McDonnell Aircraft Corporation)

A GIRDLE AROUND THE WORLD

Human space flight was in its infancy in mid-1961, and whilst many things had been taken into consideration for the comfort and safety of the astronauts, many unusual and unexpected issues would tend to crop up that needed a little additional thought and initiative. One such problem occurred during the flight of Alan Shepard, and it fell to the astronauts’ nurse Dee O’Hara to make a secret shopping trip prior to the flight of Gus Grissom.

When O’Hara first met the Mercury astronauts at the Cape after taking up her duties in Hangar S as the astronauts’ nurse, she understandably felt quite intimidated by the seven pilots and the aura surrounding them, even before the first space shot. But as she got to know the men she not only grew comfortable with them, and vice-versa, she also formed a lasting bond with them and their families. It was a bond based on friendship and mutual trust. She got on well with all of them, but admitted it took quite some time to connect with one of the seven, Gus Grissom.

“The only one I didn’t get to know right away or feel really close to was Gus, for some reason. But Gus was very quiet. I mean, it took time with Gus. The others were… it was almost, I don’t know what to say… just that it didn’t take very long till we reached the stage where we were comfortable. They knew me and, you know, it just evolved. But Gus, you had to kind of work at that one.”

O’Hara was asked if this was a trust thing on the part of Grissom, as she was in the medical profession, which all pilots shunned as much as possible.

“I don’t know, it very well may have been,” she ventured, “because back then there were no women in the [space] business. There was no one in that hangar, except there was an occasional. there were one or two secretaries, and I was not wanted at all by the management of NASA. It was [as if] they didn’t want me out there. It was a total, total male world. You know it was all engineers, and they flat out did not want any nurse up there – let alone a female. I didn’t know a lot of this had gone on; I didn’t know I was not wanted at that point – I had no idea… so I was pretty ignorant of the facts.

“But with Gus, he was just comfortable with other men and other pilots, and maybe it was the medical thing. I have no idea. I guess I never figured that out… but it took a long time, and so many months for him to look me in the eye or ask me for some­thing, whereas the others it was, well it just came very natural. But not with Gus, and I don’t know why.”

Shortly before Grissom’s flight, O’Hara was asked to help resolve a very delicate matter, based on a pre-launch problem involving Alan Shepard. In retrospect, no one seems to have considered the fact that a lengthy delay might have an adverse effect on an astronaut’s bladder, and, as a result, Shepard finally had to urinate in his space suit.

“Well, there were so many delays,” O’Hara recalled of that day. “It hadn’t been a problem until there was a launch delay after delay after delay. Finally poor Alan had been out there for what, four, six hours, and in the end they just said, ‘Hey, go ahead and urinate in your suit.’ And Alan always laughed and said he was the first wetback in space. But then… he had no other choice, and so then they tried to come up with a solution for Gus. That’s when I got sent on a mission for a girdle!”

It was not exactly a top-secret task, but Dee O’Hara was asked if she would make her way into Cocoa Beach and quietly locate an item of women’s apparel that would soon make its way into space.

“At that time they had these god-awful latex girdles, panty girdles, and I had to go in [a shop] and find one that would fit Gus. And I did.” Once there, an unknowing store assistant asked if she could help, and O’Hara said, ‘Well, I need a girdle for a friend.’

A GIRDLE AROUND THE WORLD

Dee O’Hara with Mercury astronaut Wally Schirra. (Photo: NASA)

“The store assistant asked ‘Well, what size is she?’ And I said, ‘Well gee, I don’t know.’ She said, ‘Well they come in all sizes – you have to have some idea some idea what size she wears.’ So I picked out something that I thought might – Boy, if they only knew. So I picked out something I thought that might fit, and fortunately I think it did. Anyway, they used that, fitted out with a condom in order to… in case he needed it.”18