DECISION DAY

Robert Gilruth was faced with a difficult decision, but one that he had to make in order to ramp up more specific mission-oriented training. As the head of the Space Task Group it fell to him to decide which of the seven astronauts would be assigned to attempt the nation’s first manned space flight. Whilst he did have one person in mind, he felt it only fair to reinforce his opinion by running a selection poll amongst the men themselves. And so, in December 1960, they were all asked to vote for the person – excluding themselves – that they thought was the best overall candidate for this historic mission.

It would be a critical decision, as celebrated author Tom Wolfe wrote in his epic about the Mercury astronauts, The Right Stuff. “When they assembled in [Gilruth’s] office, he told them he wanted them to take a little ‘peer vote,’ along the following lines: ‘if you can’t make the first flight yourself, which man do you think should make it?’ Peer votes were not unknown in the military. They had been used among seniors at West Point and Annapolis for some time. For that matter, during the selection process for astronaut, the groups of finalists at Lovelace and Wright-Patterson took peer votes. But peer votes had never amounted to anything more than what they wereprima facie: an indication of how men at the same level regarded one another, whether for reasons of professionalism or friendship or jealousy or whatever. Pilots regarded peer votes as a waste of time, because a man either had the right stuff in the air or he didn’t, and a military career, particularly among those with ‘the uncritical willingness to face danger,’ was not a personality con­test. But there was something about Bob Gilruth’s deep concern… They were to think the whole thing over and drop them off at Gilruth’s office.” [29]

As Deke Slayton later recalled, “I think he just wanted to know if we agreed with his judgment.”

For Shepard, teamwork was always secondary to his own ambition to be the first American astronaut to fly. “I knew there was a lot of talent there, and I knew it was going to be a tough fight to win the prize,” he told interviewer Roy Neal. “It was an interesting situation, because I was friendly with several of them. And on the other hand. there was always a sense of a little bit of reservation, not being totally frank with each other, because there was this very strong sense of competition… seven guys going for that one job.” [30]

They would not have to wait very long. The following month, on the afternoon of 19 January 1961, just a day before the presidential inauguration of John F. Kennedy, each of the seven received a phone call from Gilruth requiring them to assemble in their Langley office at five o’clock for an important meeting. Each man knew this was probably the day that one of their number would be handed that precious first flight.

An air of nervous tension filled the office as the astronauts fidgeted, waiting for Gilruth to arrive, trying to crack feeble jokes but with heart beat rates rising as five o’clock came and went. Finally, he entered the sparse office, closing the door behind him. Knowing that the seven men would be eager for his decision, he simply stood before them, cleared his throat, and spoke.

“Well, you know we’ve got to decide who’s going to make the first flight, and I don’t want to pinpoint publicly at this stage one individual,” he began. “Within the organization I want everyone to know that we will designate the first flight and the second flight and the backup pilot, but beyond that we won’t make any public decisions.” Then he paused momentarily. “Shepard gets the first flight, Grissom gets the second flight, and Glenn is the backup for both of these two suborbital missions. Any questions?”

There was only a stunned silence in the room. No one dared to speak as they each digested the news. Gilruth paused a few moments, and as he turned to leave the room added, “Thank you very much. Good luck!”

Shepard recalls those few seconds after Gilruth left as a time of joy, triumph, and a wonderful sense of accomplishment, but he also knew he mustn’t let this show. Six fine colleagues were coming to grips with the baffling news that they had not been considered the best candidate for the gold-ring job that they had all so badly wanted. With mixed emotions of elation and a sense of empathy coursing through him, it was tough simply being there. “I did not say anything for about twenty seconds or so,” he later stated. “I just looked at the floor. When I looked up, everyone in the room was staring at me. I was excited and happy, of course; but it was not a moment to crow. Each of the other fellows had very much wanted to be first himself. And now, after almost two years of hard work and training, that chance was gone.” [31]

The comradeship that would define the Mercury astronauts soon took over, as one by one the others moved over to congratulate Shepard, shaking his hand with smiles and encouraging words that could barely mask their dismay before leaving the room to come to terms with their bitter disappointment.

When he came home with the news that evening Shepard said to his wife, Louise, “Lady, you can’t tell anyone, but you have your arms around the man who’ll be first in space!” “Who let a Russian in here?” she replied with a wide smile. It was a better joke than she knew [32].