TO GO TO THE MOON

In the days that followed Freedom 7, John Kennedy wanted to talk of nothing but space. Years later, commentators would speculate cynically that his motivations for supporting the space programme and, in particular, a manned expedition to the Moon, were based purely on political concerns: the need to beat the Soviets, overcome the Bay of Pigs embarrassment and prove America’s technological mettle. However, when Shepard met the president shortly after the flight, he saw a true statesman and, as the two became friends, he believed that the attraction of space exploration was very real for Kennedy. ‘‘He was really, really a space cadet,’’ Shepard said later, ‘‘and it’s too bad he could not have lived to see his promise.’’ Three weeks after Freedom 7, Kennedy nailed his colours to the space mast in one of the most rousing and inspiring addresses ever given in United States political history.

First came the adoration. On 8 May, each of the Mercury Seven, together with their wives and NASA Administrator Jim Webb, arrived in Washington, DC, to participate in a ceremony at the White House. There, in the Rose Garden, Kennedy pinned NASA’s Distinguished Service Medal onto Shepard’s chest. So nervous was the president that he dropped the decoration, joking that it had “gone from the ground up’’. Later, as they rode in an open-topped limousine along Pennsylvania Avenue, Vice-President Lyndon Johnson stated the obvious: “They love you!’’ he said of the crowd’s applause. “You’re a famous man, Shepard!’’

Others keen to be seen with the famous man included New York Mayor Robert F. Wagner, who hosted Shepard in a tickertape parade to rival that of Charles Lindbergh, first to fly solo across the Atlantic in 1927. Elsewhere, in Los Angeles, Mayor Norris Poulson tried to outdo Wagner with his city’s own celebration, whilst the people of East Derry – the astronaut’s hometown – organised their biggest-ever parade in honour of their famous son. Schools were named for him, including a newly-built one in Deerfield, Illinois, and everyone from senators and congressmen to foreign dignitaries and journalists to members of the public sought his autograph, a chance to meet him and the opportunity to shake his hand.

Shepard already knew of Kennedy’s intention to support NASA’s steadily – growing lunar landing project and he and the other Mercury Seven astronauts expressed their desire to participate. The gigantic rocket needed for the momentous journey, called ‘Saturn’, had already been under development for a couple of years and would undertake its maiden test launch in October 1961. Indeed, one of Wernher von Braun’s conditions for joining NASA had been that the agency should continue its work on the Saturn. Alongside the rocket was the spacecraft which would actually transport three-man crews to the Moon and this, too, had received a name: ‘Apollo’, after the ancient Greek sun god. However, many of the technical facets of how astronauts would reach their target remained unanswered.

Still, on 25 May, Kennedy stood before a joint session of Congress and publicly declared his vision. He knew, after a joint recommendation from Jim Webb and Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara, that the presence of men in space, rather than just machines, would truly capture the imagination of the world. The first part of his speech focused upon ways in which the United States could exploit its economic and social progress against the menace of communism, called for increased funding to protect Americans from a possible nuclear strike. . . and lastly hit Congress with his lunar bombshell. ‘‘I believe,’’ he told them, ‘‘that this nation should commit itself to achieving the goal, before this decade is out, of landing a man on the Moon and returning him safely to the Earth. No single space project in this period would be more impressive to mankind or more important for the long-range exploration of space… and none would be so difficult or expensive to accomplish.’’

Expense, indeed, was a major stumbling block. By the end of 1961, NASA’s budget would have grown to more than $5 billion, ten times as much as had been spent on space research in the past eight years combined and roughly equivalent to 50 cents for each taxpayer. Kennedy acknowledged that it was ‘‘a staggering sum’’, but reinforced that most Americans spent more each week on cigars and cigarettes. Still, he would have to face off harsh criticism from many quarters by placing the lunar goal ahead of education projects and other social welfare efforts for which he had campaigned so hard during his years in the Senate. He would admit in his speech that he “came to this conclusion with some reluctance” and that the nation would have to “bear the burdens” of the dream.

Some did not wish to accept such burdens. Immediately after the speech, a Gallup poll revealed that barely 42 per cent of Americans supported Kennedy’s push for the Moon. Yet he also gained immense support, both as a risk-taker and a bold statesman. The decision, said his science advisor Jerome Wiesner, was one that he made “cold-bloodedly”. It was also a decision that he firmly stood by. Only hours after Gus Grissom flew America’s second suborbital mission on 21 July 1961, Kennedy signed into law an approximately $1.7 billion appropriation act for Project Apollo. In a subsequent address, given at Rice University in Houston, Texas, in September 1962, he admitted that Apollo and Saturn would contain some components still awaiting invention, but remained fixed in his determination to “set sail on this new sea, because there is new knowledge to be gained and new rights to be won’’.

Kennedy’s visit to Rice coincided with his dedication of NASA’s new Manned Spacecraft Center (MSC), on the outskirts of Houston, and a year later he would again visit the growing space establishment. On 18 November 1963, he toured the Cape Canaveral launch facilities in Florida, then flew to Texas and was shown around MSC, which, by this point, had supported its last Mercury mission and was gearing up for the two-man Gemini flights. During this project, ten teams of astronauts would rehearse many techniques needed to get to the Moon – from rendezvous and docking to spacewalks to changing their orbits. In late 1963, America’s chance of achieving its lunar goal seemed to be growing brighter and the gap in space achievement with the Soviets showed signs of closing. Kennedy knew this and, around the same time, approached Nikita Khrushchev for the second time to propose a joint mission. Khrushchev agreed and it is possible that, had the two leaders remained in office, a co-operative venture sometime in the Sixties might have borne fruit.

An earlier attempt by Kennedy to interest Khrushchev in a joint project had fallen on deaf ears in June 1961, which some historians have seen as evidence of the Soviet leader’s reluctance to open up the real limitations of his space infrastructure. Or, as one analyst has observed: “The USSR literally had nothing to hide: if they didn’t hide it, everyone would know they had nothing’’.

The road to the Moon, however, remained fraught with risk. Reminding his audience that it was still “a time for pathfinders and pioneers’’, Kennedy recounted in San Antonio on 21 November the story of a group of Irish boys who came to an orchard wall, seemingly too high to climb. Throwing their caps over the wall, they now had no choice but to force themselves to find a way to scale it. “This nation has tossed its cap over the wall of space and we have no choice but to follow it,’’ he said. “Whatever the difficulties, they will be overcome.’’

The following day, whilst travelling through the streets of Dallas in an open – topped car, Kennedy was shot dead.