Neil Armstrong: A Life of Flight (9 page)

John Glenn launches from rocket row. (NASA)

John Glenn reports, “The moment of twilight is simply beautiful.” (NASA)

Glenn flew through the majority of his flight without a problem, but as he sailed through his third orbit consoles in Mercury Control lit up with a Segment 51 warning signal. It was telling flight controllers
Friendship 7’
s heat shield could have come loose. If so, extreme heat during reentry could cremate John Glenn.

Flight Director Chris Kraft and his team gave the warning priority attention. How could they save the astronaut? One idea quickly emerged. Survival might lie with the straps holding down the retro-rocket package.

The retropack contained six rockets. Three small ones had fired to separate
Friendship 7
from its spent Atlas rocket during orbital entry. Three larger rockets remained to decelerate Glenn’s spacecraft, slow it so it would fall out of orbit.

The flight program was specific. The retros fired, the Mercury capsule slowed to start its reentry, then a signal was to be sent to break the metal straps. This would separate the retropack from the spacecraft’s heat shield.

But what if you did not send the signal to break the metal straps? Would this not in turn hold the heat shield snuggly in place?

Flight controllers bought the plan. They had to do something to keep the first American to orbit Earth from returning as ashes.

John Glenn could see Florida and Mercury Control dead ahead. (Composite photographs, NASA)

Once back over the Cape and Mercury Control, Alan Shepard was Glenn’s capsule communicator and he gave the whole explanation to John for retaining the retropack. The marine understood the decision and told Alan Shepard to pass on his thanks.

“Roger, John,” Shepard told him. “Hang tight, Marine. Navy has your back.”

Friendship 7
and John Glenn raced around Earth on their final orbit, and when
Friendship 7
reached the California coast, the three retro-rockets fired. Glenn felt a triple thud and reported, “I feel like I’m going back to Hawaii.”

Instantly, Glenn could sense the heat buildup.
Friendship 7
swayed. There was a bang behind him: part of the retropack breaking away. He called the Texas station. They couldn’t hear him. He was plowing through an envelope of superhot ionized air. No signals could leave his spaceship. None could come in. All John Glenn could do was hold tight.

John Glenn rides through the life-threatening heat of reentry. (NASA)

America’s first in orbit was cocooned inside a growing fireball. Glenn stared out his window at the flames devouring his ship. A strap from the retropack was burning freely, hammering against his porthole’s glass. It burst into fire along with more flaming chunks that whirled away into space.

Then, he felt gravity forces building. He could have hugged them. That meant it was all holding together. He called Alan Shepard. He was feeling great, but there was no way to get through the ions. Not yet.

The heat shield on John Glenn’s back was staying put. It was 4,000 degrees outside—toasty and comfortable inside. He now could smile.

*   *   *

In Mercury Control all listened intently as Alan Shepard continually called John Glenn. No response. He just couldn’t get through. Notre Dame engineer Bob Harrington stood behind Alan Shepard, pleading, “Keep calling, Alan.”

“
Friendship 7
, this is the Cape. How do you read? Over.”

As instantly as they had come, the ions were gone and Shepard’s call finally reached the Mercury capsule.

Glenn’s reply was a simple mike check. “Loud and clear, Cape. How me?”

“Roger,” Shepard acknowledged. “Reading you loud and clear. How’re you doing?”

“Oh, pretty good,” Glenn replied, “but that was a real fireball, boy!”

Mercury Control broke out in cheers and handshakes, and Harrington broke out with the Notre Dame fight song.

There was dancing in the aisles, but only for a moment. They had an astronaut and a spacecraft to land.
Friendship 7
, the little champ that it was, landed perfectly on waters near its recovery ship,
Noa
.

John Glenn gives President Kennedy a tour of his Cape launch site. (The White House)

John Glenn had returned a hero of Charles Lindbergh’s stature. He had lassoed a share of the Russian lead, and President John Kennedy met him at his Florida launch site.

John Glenn receives a hero’s welcome with a ticker-tape parade in New York City. (NASA)

When Glenn reached New York City, four million screaming, cheering people showered him, his wife Annie, and Vice President Lyndon Johnson with a tumultuous ovation, plus a hero’s traditional ticker-tape parade.

*   *   *

Neil Armstrong leaned back in his chair. His low spirits from his daughter Karen Anne’s death were lifted somewhat by Glenn’s success. John, he thought, had taken another major stride needed for America to reach the moon. Neil was now certain that he wanted to be part of possibly history’s greatest journey. He would, of course, continue to fly his X-15 assignments with his fingers crossed that he wasn’t too late to join Glenn and the ranks of the astronauts.

John and Annie Glenn are honored with a parade in their hometown of New Concord, Ohio. (NASA)

Meanwhile the word went out from NASA. It’s a long way to the moon. Keep the astronauts flying. Next in line Deke Slayton said, “Let’s go.”

But there were rumblings. There was a rumor about Deke’s heart.

Presidential science advisor Jerome Wiesner, without a doubt the biggest hard-ass in the Kennedy administration, was at it again. The chief meddler spoke with the NASA boss. “Jim,” he told Webb. “The White House has heard about Slayton’s heart irregularity, and sending him into orbit could be a terrible mistake.”

“How,” Webb quickly asked? “He’s been cleared by the flight surgeons and he’s been flying … hell, he’s been test-flying with this irregularity for years. What’s the problem?”

“I know,” Wiesner agreed. “But if something should go wrong, anything, and the word got out that Slayton had an erratic heart, who do you think they would blame?”

“The president,” Webb agreed.

“That’s right, Jim. Take Slayton off the flight.”

Webb nodded.

Deke had idiopathic paroxysmal atrial fibrillation, a disturbance of the rhythm in the heart’s muscle fibers in the upper chambers. The NASA chief called for a medical panel to review the facts. The panel agreed with Wiesner. The job of telling Deke was handed to his friend, flight surgeon Bill Douglas.

“Goddamn it, Bill, those sons-a-bitches can’t do this to me,” Deke shouted. “No one was concerned about this during selection. Hell, I’ve been flying the hottest jets out there—no big thing.”

“I know,” Douglas agreed, “But it’s all about appearances. If something should go wrong, reporters would have JFK’s ass.”

“Instead it’s my ass.”

“Right! There’s more bad news,” the flight surgeon told him.

“What the hell now?”

“I know the rules call for the backup pilot to slip into the seat of an astronaut unable to make a mission,” Douglas said, “but Wally won’t be going.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Bob Gilruth decided Scott Carpenter, Glenn’s backup, has more time in the Mercury simulator than Schirra, so Carpenter will be going.”

Deke turned away disgusted. NASA gave him a few minutes with reporters who had gathered. Deke did what was expected of him. He put the best face possible on possibly the worst news of his life. He took one for the team, then got the hell out of Dodge.

*   *   *

In the coming weeks Deke waged a fierce battle to return to flight status, and his fellow Mercury Seven astronauts rallied round him.

John Glenn stepped forward. “We’re a team,” he told the others. “Deke’s still part of our team and we must give him his pride back.”

“Yeah, man,” Gus Grissom agreed.

“Let’s make him chief astronaut,” said Gordo Cooper, “but we’ll have to hurry.”

“Why’s that?” Wally Schirra asked.

“The word is they’re bringing in a general to take charge of us,” Cooper told them.

“Like hell they are,” Shepard, the future admiral, snapped.