An Astronaut Removed from Memory: How “The Right Stuff” Affected the Public’s Perception of Gus Grissom
The act of exploration forces the human mind to identify the risk and reward of any potential pursuit. Similarly, as President John F. Kennedy spoke the U.S. space race into existence in the second half of the twentieth century, the daunting journey that would need to take place in order to land an American on the moon was laid bare before not only the nation, but the entire world. “We choose to go to the moon,” Kennedy proclaimed in 1962, “and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard.” This line of the speech he made at Rice University in Houston, Texas, is the most memorable, but the President had several additional thoughts on the matter. “Because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills, because that challenge is one that we are willing to accept, one we are unwilling to postpone, and one which we intend to win.”[1] Sounding more like a declaration of war than a desire to send an American to the moon, Kennedy believed the benefits of pursuing a lunar landing would far outweigh any setbacks along the way. Gus Grissom understood what reaching the moon might cost, and he was willing to do whatever it took to get there.
Considering that Grissom was the second American in space, the first to go to space twice, and the first to make orbit-changing maneuvers in space, one might assume that a man with such unrivaled experience would be the nation’s darling and NASA’s poster child. While the latter may be true, many Americans would go on to believe the story that came from Hollywood that Grissom was nothing but bad luck and a potentially devastating liability. These stories began to circulate after Grissom’s first space flight aboard the “Liberty Bell 7” where, after splashing down in the Atlantic Ocean, the hatch to his capsule exploded and took the craft down to the ocean floor before rescue crews were able to save it. The Right Stuff, a book written by Tom Wolfe focusing on the early days of NASA, was later made into a movie which gave the American people a front row seat to view Hollywood’s newest feature for themselves; Gus Grissom, the astronaut clown. That shadow followed Grissom’s legacy, but The Right Stuff fails to tell the whole story. After taking a glimpse into his experience in the military, his inclusion in the engineering procedures at NASA, even after the “Liberty Bell” incident, as well as the testimony of his fellow astronauts and the leadership at NASA, the pieces begin to come together as the reality of Grissom’s life becomes apparent and truth takes the place of ignorant perceptions. A truly representative memory of Gus Grissom is not of a failed astronaut, but of a military veteran who played a crucial role in the United States’ journey toward the Moon.
January 27, 1967 was simply viewed as one of many days of testing in Cape Canaveral, Florida, at the newly renamed “John F. Kennedy Space Center.” At 7:55AM, the launchpad technicians initiated the planned “plugs out” test by powering up the Apollo 204 capsule, which was to be the first mission of the Apollo program that would land an American on the moon years later. At 1:00PM, astronauts Gus Grissom, Ed White, and Roger Chaffee had entered the capsule on Launch Pad 34, when twenty minutes later, Grissom noted a “sour smell somewhat like buttermilk” emanating from the capsule. While this could have been an issue, a number of air samples were taken from the cabin, and without any serious red flags, the decision was made to resume the test.[2] Only an hour and twenty-five minutes after the sour smell was first noticed, the cabin was purged with an incredibly potent concoction of 100% oxygen, as protocol required, after which the astronauts inside the capsule continued to experience communication issues with the ground control.[3] “How the hell can you expect us to get to the moon,” Grissom asked, “if you people can’t hook us up with a ground station? Get with it out there.”[4] Unfortunately, similar issues crept on for hours without improvement until the late afternoon.
At 6:21PM, flight control noted either a cabin pressure or battery compartment sensor pressure increase without cause, when ten minutes later, a desperate voice was heard on the communication channel from the capsule.[5] “Hey…we’ve got a fire in the cockpit.”[6] Without fire extinguishers housed inside the capsule, Grissom attempted to release the cabin pressure through a dump valve that would certainly help kill the flames. However, it would take over a minute to release the appropriate pressure through a valve of that size, which was twice as long as it took for the cabin to rupture.[7] It was determined that White and Grissom had made “more progress opening the inner and outer hatches than officially acknowledged,” but even with this being the case, attempting to open an inward swinging hatch that was now being pushed shut by the incredible pressure from the fire was an impossible task.[8] The pure oxygen atmosphere within the cabin asked no one for permission as it stoked a seemingly insignificant electrical spark into a blazing inferno that would suffocate the three astronauts on board. In what felt like hours to those on the launchpad, the capsule’s hatch was opened by the emergency team only five minutes after the first indication of a fire. It was at this point that they were forced to view the reality of the disaster with their own eyes. With devastation and shock running rampant, the pressing question of everyone in Cape Canaveral, down the coastline in Houston, and across the world was simple. How could this happen?
It was later confirmed that the electrical spark began underneath the Commander’s seat in the capsule who, in this mission, was Gus Grissom. As stated previously, Grissom had experienced setbacks in his first Mercury flight, when he was accused of panicking and opening the hatch prematurely after splash down which resulted in losing the capsule. With the groundwork already being laid, the idea that he was capable of kicking loose a wire that started a fire and took the lives of three men was not that far of a stretch.[9] Two and a half years prior to the eventual moon landing by the United States, the Apollo 204 tragedy could have derailed the entire space race for the Americans, but there were some who believed it could have been avoided if another commander had been in the capsule, thus preventing “little Gus” from “screw[ing[ the pooch,” again.[10] It was this persona that would cast a dark shadow over the legacy of a skilled engineer and pilot, who had lost his life in a test that resulted in devastation.
Virgil Ivan Grissom was born in a small Indiana town called Mitchell, on April 3, 1926, and had three younger siblings in addition to an older sister who died before his birth.[11] Grissom made the decision to enlist in the military after he graduated from high school and serve in World War II, but the war came to an end before he could complete his training. Upon his discharge, he married Betty, his long-time girlfriend, and attended Purdue University to become an engineer. Along with a diploma, Virgil Grissom picked up the nickname “Gus,” a name that the world would later come to know him by.[12] Immediately after graduation, Grissom decided, without the input of his wife, to re-enlist in the military to become a pilot in the newly established United States Air Force to see his dream become a reality.[13] However, promptly after his first solo flight during training, Grissom’s flight instructor suggested that he might want to be a navigator instead of a pilot, noting his initial difficulties trimming his T-6 Texan aircraft to the proper landing altitude.[14] After begging the instructor for another chance, a final opportunity was given, this time to fly with a senior instructor. Although incredibly persistent and hopeful, Grissom, to his own annoyance, was still unable to land the plane properly. While still in the air, the instructor, in a very conversational tone, asked why he “was not using [the] two small wheels located to the left of the pilot’s seat when he wanted to trim the aircraft for landing.”[15] This was a question that Grissom himself had no answer to, since those wheels had never been shown or explained to him. With an enlightened knowledge of the plane’s control capabilities, it took only took him an hour to master his aircraft and land consistently.[16] Grissom then completed basic training and left for Arizona where he received additional training and graduated in 1951 to become a fighter pilot and a second lieutenant in the United States Air Force.
Nine months later, Grissom and his squadron were sent to Kimpo, South Korea. With only twelve miles separating their base from the front lines, there was a long-held tradition that, while on the bus that the pilots rode to the runway, only those who had been shot at were permitted to sit down.[17] Grissom only stood on his first trip.[18] During the Korean War, Grissom went on to fly one hundred missions over six months and was awarded an Air Medal with oak leaf clusters, as well as the Distinguished Flying Cross for heroic conduct. The latter of the medals was awarded after he had “broken formation to engage a MiG-15 that was about to jump one of his squadron’s reconnaissance aircraft.”[19] Although fighting in a war is always a harrowing experience, Grissom viewed it as his duty as an American to serve in the military and he was more than willing to do so.
When he returned to the States in 1952, Grissom was transferred to a military base in Alabama to learn to become a flight instructor, a line of work that would later send him to Bryan Air Force Base in Texas.[20] After flying one hundred missions in combat, one might imagine that no job would be more intimidating, but Grissom believed being a flight instructor was just that. Engaging an enemy in the air is one thing, but it’s an entirely different scenario teaching kids who had never stepped a foot inside of a cockpit to fly. “You had to think fast and stay cool or they could kill the both of you.”[21] Years later, he was accepted to the Air Force Institute of Technology at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base outside of Dayton, Ohio, where he studied aeronautical engineering. Upon completion, Grissom entered the Test Pilot School at Edwards Air Force Base in California, which was the most challenging training the Air Force possessed. He went on to graduate, and then move back to Ohio and Wright-Patterson in 1957 to work as a test pilot within the Fighter Branch, where Grissom admitted that “this [was] what [he] wanted all along…there wasn’t a happier pilot in the Air Force.”[22] After moving from one side of the country to the other and back again, the Grissoms, now including two young boys, were finally able to settle down in a small city that held similarities to their hometown in Indiana. Life had become comfortable and familiar until a top-secret telegram was delivered to him on January 27, 1957. The letter advised Grissom to report to the Pentagon in Washington, D.C., ordering him to not discuss the orders with any one and to wear civilian clothes upon his arrival.[23] To Grissom, it seemed like an opportunity that was worth taking, and this decision would alter the trajectory of his life forever.
Grissom arrived at the Pentagon on February 2, 1959, along with over one hundred of the best pilots the nation had to offer, who were all asked by NASA to participate in an extensive interviewing process that would split the pilots into three groups.[24] To Grissom, it seemed like a stunt, but his own curiosity got the better of him.[25] However, the idea that the men that NASA was searching for were to be used as test dummies with no say or control in the craft was a turn-off in the eyes of many prospective astronauts. Yet as time went on and Grissom learned more about the Mercury program, he realized that there were many opportunities to have a say in the process and handle himself in such an extreme environment. Grissom had no doubt that he could do what NASA was asking, in fact, he “knew [he] darn well could.”[26] As the interviews continued, it became clear that a majority of the other candidates had come to a similar conclusion, resulting in the interviews being stopped after the second group because more pilots had accepted the invitation than initially expected, resulting in only sixty-nine of the one hundred and ten candidates being fully briefed.[27] The selected pilots then underwent an incredible number of physical and psychological tests to determine whether they could handle the pressures and requirements that space flight demanded. These tests were so rigid, in fact, that Grissom was very nearly disqualified after the doctors found out that he had been previously diagnosed with hay fever. But after convincing them that since the astronauts “would be sealed in a pressurized cabin, and no pollen would be sealed in with him,” it would not be an issue.[28] The doctors would eventually agree with him and allowed Grissom to continue.
Once the interviews and tests had been completed, of the sixty-nine pilots who were briefed, Gus Grissom was chosen as one of the original seven Americans to go to space under the Mercury program. Alan Shepard was chosen to fly in the first Mercury mission, which instantly placed him on a pedestal as he became the first American to go to space with Grissom selected as the next in line. The goal of Grissom’s “Liberty Bell 7” mission was the same as Shepard’s “Freedom 7:” place a man in orbit and have him return safely to Earth, along with the added benefit of a few improvements made to the capsule itself since the inaugural flight. Two of the most crucial changes included a window for visual observation and an exploding mechanism on the hatch that was intended to improve the exit strategy for the astronaut. The mission went according to plan once Grissom was in the air, but after the “Liberty Bell” splashed down, the current of controversy swept him off his feet.
After completing his mission and having already splashed down, Grissom sat inside the capsule as it bobbed up and down atop the Atlantic Ocean, waiting for one of the two helicopters dispatched to retrieve him along with his spacecraft. Then, without warning, the hatch exploded and flew into the ocean, leaving nothing to keep the ocean water from filling the “Liberty Bell” and taking it to the ocean floor with its pilot still inside. Grissom sprang into action, jumping out of the hatch and into the water, separating himself enough from the sinking capsule so that he could be taken to safety. The only issue was that the rescue team was focused on the capsule and thought that Grissom would be alright until it was retrieved. This may have been the case, but the hose links on Grissom’s space suit that had previously been hooked up to the oxygen tank while in the capsule, were now open and sucking in water, turning the suit that protected him from harm in space into an incredible weight on earth that sought his destruction.[29] After spending more time than anticipated trying to save the sinking capsule, the “Liberty Bell” had taken on so much water that it was now too heavy for the rotors of the helicopter to support. With the capsule now sinking toward its destination at the bottom of the ocean, the crew then turned their attention to rescuing Grissom, who had somehow found a way to stay above water himself.
From the moment that he was pulled aboard the helicopter, Grissom insisted he “did not do anything wrong” and that the “hatch just blew,” but there were many who did not believe his story.[30] The idea that he “screwed the pooch” and had proven himself to be incapable of keeping his cool under pressure had already begun floating through the minds of a number of individuals close to the space program.[31]
The bestselling book, The Right Stuff, painted this exact picture of Grissom to the world as an incompetent man who jumped the gun and had become NASA’s laughing stock.[32] As Tom Wolfe puts it, Grissom blew the hatch intentionally in a state of sheer panic since he believed that he was not going to be rescued in time. A NASA flight surgeon, Robert Moser, came to a different conclusion and, after the accident, said that he had “never believed that Gus panicked and hit the chicken switch…he was just too cool for such foolishness.”[33] Walt Williams, a NASA engineer during the Mercury missions, agreed while arguing that he “never believed that [Grissom] panicked and blew the hatch,” and this opinion was also shared by many others within NASA, including a number of astronauts who went to extreme lengths to prove his innocence.[34] Fellow Mercury astronauts John Glenn and Wally Schirra had both experienced bruises on the back of their hands from the plunger in the spacecraft that was a result of them blowing the hatch to their respective capsules, while Grissom had no such injury upon his return.[35] In fact, Schirra had already been hooked up to his rescue helicopter at the completion of his “Sigma 7” mission, but blew the hatch on purpose with the sole intention of proving a fellow astronaut’s story to be true.[36] Although he continued to maintain that the hatch blew on its own, the desire of Grissom to prove those who doubted him wrong galvanized an already passionate and motivated engineer and pilot. Until 1979, when Wolfe’s book was published, the American public had largely considered the “Liberty Bell 7” flight simply as a mechanical malfunction that did not affect how they viewed Grissom as an astronaut. But as years went by, and The Right Stuff became the primary source of information regarding how Grissom’s life should be viewed, the idea that he was a screw-up began to influence how the public would look back and remember his next two missions.
Grissom’s next opportunity to fly in space would be in the Gemini program, which was largely used as a means to create and perfect a number of maneuvers and processes that would be necessary for an American to eventually step foot on the Moon. Perhaps considered by some as the least qualified to take the next step, Grissom was chosen to command the first manned Gemini mission. This fact seems to highlight how he was perceived within an organization filled with leaders who understood that this program was one mistake away from having its funding cut and the whole agency scrapped. Some of the original Mercury 7 astronauts stayed in the program, while others left both on their own terms or due to health issues, so NASA brought in the second class of astronauts. Those new pilots included Buzz Aldrin, Neil Armstrong, and John Young, who was chosen to fly alongside Grissom as they began the Gemini missions. Named after the heroine who saved countless lives and refused to drown on the Titanic, Grissom’s Gemini capsule, the “Unsinkable Molly Brown,” was a window into his personality; a devoted pilot who could poke fun at himself while refusing to “be anyone’s fool.”[37] As memorable of a decision as it was, the name was not the only aspect of the flight that Grissom had a hand in. He was deeply involved in engineering the Gemini capsule itself, so much so, that those within the program referred to it simply as the “Gus-Mobile.”[38]
After its launch on March 23, 1965, the successful “Molly Brown” would go on to become the first two-man orbital space flight and the first to perform orbit-changing maneuvers and got the Gemini program off on the right foot. After being steered back to Earth manually by Grissom, the capsule was projected to land 192 nautical miles outside of the splashdown target due to a few errors in calculations as well as a higher de-orbiting speed than expected. However, “Gus managed to make up all but 60 of the nautical miles, but that was still significantly short,” resulting in a rough splashdown from their accelerated reentry.[39] Even after dealing with nausea and a broken visor upon splashdown, Grissom waited until he received the go ahead to open the now non-exploding hatch, just as he said he did on his Mercury flight.[40] Both Young and Grissom received a hero’s welcome as they returned to Florida, a celebratory custom that Tom Wolfe argued starkly contrasted the grim welcome that Grissom received after his “Liberty Bell” mission which had been “poisoned by [his] little secret” of losing the capsule.[41] How true this representation was is under debate, but it was now clear that, no matter the circumstances, all Americans slept a little better when their missions to space went on without any setbacks.
With the rhythmic sleep cycles of the American public unaltered, Grissom’s second mission had been completed successfully, having performed checks on all twelve systems resulting in a “truly excellent engineering test flight of the vehicle.”[42] However, after high level leadership at NASA expressed their distaste of the name that Grissom and Young had chosen for their mission, NASA decided to never again allow the astronauts to name their capsule, instead utilizing the program’s name followed by the flight number within that program. Based from Wolfe’s narrative, the fact that Grissom, who had just received a chance to redeem himself, would now use the name of his second mission to make a joke out of the fact that he had lost his first capsule, played into the idea that he himself was the joke and cemented this idea in the public’s eye. Regardless, the next Gemini mission was also a success, now with an unnamed capsule, and brought with it the first American extra-vehicular activity and spacewalk by Ed White, allowing the American people began to feel as if a lunar landing was only steps away.
A mission’s commander requires a sure hand and a trustworthy pilot who can carry out the mission by the book and do his part to ensure success. Having already been chosen to command the second Mercury flight, and the first manned Gemini flight, Grissom was slated to command the first Apollo flight as well. The fateful program that hoped to finally place an American man on the moon. If Grissom truly was true to Wolfe’s interpretation, then being chosen to command the “Liberty Bell” was a mere oversight, while the following two selections unveil a growing thread of insanity within NASA. Along with the mounting pressure of Kennedy’s challenge to get to the moon by 1970, the nation was also fighting against time as the Russians threatened to beat them there, a feat that they had done every step of the way. With the deadline looming and only four years remained until the end of the decade, even those who may have had reservations regarding Grissom’s ability and involvement in the space program would be willing to look the other way and allow the United States to beat the Russians to the moon. But just as much as he wanted to do his part and get the program moving, Grissom, as commander, was not willing to sacrifice safety to meet a timeline. No, he wanted it done the right way.
There were many individuals throughout NASA who were concerned over the quality and reliability of the “piece of crap” Apollo capsule in addition to a perceived unwillingness on the part of the agency to use their money “to rebuild [the capsule] right.”[43] There were several occasions when Grissom even “criticized his own colleagues for accepting inferior work instead of holding out for a better solution to a technical problem. He became such a gadfly…in trying to enforce his standards of excellence that some contractor personnel tried to work paths around him.”[44] In fact, after what would be his final visit home during a break he had in training, Grissom went so far as to pick a lemon off of a tree outside his home in Houston to hang on the Apollo flight simulator so that his disgust would be made known to all.[45] The Apollo mission was not the only thing on Grissom’s mind, however, as only a year before the projected launch date of the first Apollo mission he considered leaving NASA all together to fight alongside a number of his friends in Vietnam. Having already fought in the Korean War, he was concerned that he was not doing “his part. He was angry about the situation over there.”[46] Those same friends then tried to convince him that he should stay where he was in NASA, a notion which he would finally go on to agree to.[47]
Back in Florida, there continued to be many within the space program who were still uneasy about the quality of the Apollo capsule, even as the projected launch date began its approach. John Moore, a former jet instructor and manager of the Apollo test operations for North American Aviation, the company that NASA contracted to build the capsule, tried to convince Grissom to delay a planned countdown simulation in Cape Kennedy. This is because Moore not only had to questions surrounding the inward opening hatch, but also because of the pure oxygen atmosphere that the astronauts would be subjected to inside.[48] Although having second thoughts himself, Grissom wrote Moore off as being overly conservative, possibly due to the fact that Moore was “nearly burned to death in an aviation accident.”[49] Wally Schirra, a fellow astronaut, also urged Grissom only days before the plugs out test on January 27, 1967, to get out of the cabin if any problems arose, no matter how significant, and received a simple response. “Got it.”[50]
“Fire!”[51]
“It was devastating.”[52]
“The news hit…with the force of a sledgehammer.”[53]
“I suppose you’re much more likely to accept a loss of a friend in flight, but it really hurts to lose them in a ground test.”[54]
“I don’t think you could have survived if you had dwelled on it.”[55]
They were gone. Ed White, Roger Chaffee, and Gus Grissom had paid the ultimate sacrifice in the ambitious journey toward the moon. Gone, not over two hundred thousand miles away from the Earth, or even in its orbit, but during a “plugs out” test, two-hundred and eighteen feet off the ground. Where problems were supposed to be solved. Not only did Grissom lose his life, but also the opportunity to be the first man to walk on the moon, as he had been chosen to do so had the Apollo I mission went according to plan.[56] But this eventual moon landing would have never taken place, according to NASA’s first Flight Director, Chris Kraft, who stated that without the lessons that NASA learned from the Apollo tragedy, it is likely that “the moon may have never been reached.”[57] While the bad significantly outweighs the good, the silver lining to this tragedy was that there were many changes made to the capsule that resulted in the successful completion of following missions. Of the thirteen hundred and forty-one total technical adjustments made to the capsule, two primary improvements focused on the most crucial factors of the catastrophe.[58] The first of which pertained to the cabin atmosphere, as pure oxygen would never again be used inside the capsule during a ground test, instead opting for a safer mixture of oxygen and nitrogen, as well as a complete redesign of the hatch so that it would open outward and could do so within three seconds. [59] However, these improvements were not entirely technical, as there were many changes to how NASA would move forward operationally. Only days after the tragedy, NASA Flight Director Gene Kranz called a meeting in Houston which included the flight control team to address what had happened at Cape Kennedy. Speaking “slowly, deliberately, and with conviction,” Kranz outlined how the devastating outcome of Apollo I would affect the mindset, expectations, and dedication of NASA and its Mission Control from that day on.[60]
“Spaceflight will never tolerate carelessness, incapacity, and neglect. Somewhere, somehow, we screwed up. It could have been in design, build, or test. Whatever it was, we should have caught it…
“From this day forward, Flight Control will be known by two words: ‘Tough and Competent.’ Tough means we are forever accountable for what we do or what we fail to do. We will never again compromise our responsibilities…Competent means we will never take anything for granted. We will never be found short in our knowledge and in our skills…Each day…these words will remind you of the price paid by Grissom, White, and Chaffee. These words are the price of admission to the ranks of Mission Control.”[61]
Looking back on the legacy of Gus Grissom, there were many who viewed him as a “screwup” who had no right to be involved in the space race due to the perception that he was incapable of following procedures.[62] A longtime friend and fellow Mercury 7 astronaut, Deke Slayton, disagreed while stating that Grissom was “a good pilot and a good engineer, and he was willing to get in there and do whatever job was necessary.”[63] Slayton later served as the Director of Flight Crew Operations after he was grounded for medical reasons during the Mercury program, which made him the deciding factor of who got to fly and in what order during the Gemini and Apollo missions. “Gus Grissom was probably my best friend of all the astronauts,” Slayton admits, “but I don’t think it really colored my opinion of him.”[64] Regardless, their relationship did raise some questions within a number of astronauts as to whether or not Grissom had earned his position due to his own experience and track record or if he was handed them because he was one of Slayton’s “buddies.”[65] This idea attempts to change the perspective of Grissom from an unlucky guy who did everything right, but still lost his capsule, to a kid who got on the team because his dad was the coach and he did not know any better.
The reality is that Grissom’s abilities and experience speak for themselves, and if he truly had no business commanding a NASA mission, on three separate occasions, the agency did not lack potential candidates to replace him and would have done so with haste. As far as the media was concerned, Tom Wolfe’s best-selling book, The Right Stuff, introduced the general public with an unlucky and fearful representation of Grissom that did not sit well with his friends and family. A majority of whom viewed the book, as well as the movie, as “just a joke.”[66] Fellow astronaut, Pete Conrad, even remembered a book that came out soon after the Apollo disaster that contained a “crackpot theory” that the fire was a part of NASA’s plan to get even with Grissom after he lost the “Liberty Bell” so that he would be unable to walk on the moon. As distasteful of thought that it was, the real shock was that some people actually bought into it.[67] NASA’s Director of Public Affairs, Paul Haney, strongly disagreed with the notion that Grissom was “a bad luck astronaut,” and believed that both Tom Wolfe and Hollywood served him a great injustice.[68] But what if there was something to it? Grissom himself had told his wife that “if there’s ever a fatal accident in the space program, it’s likely to be me.”[69] Was this an acceptance of the cruel deck that fate had dealt him or a recognition of the incredible odds that he faced as an astronaut along with the knowledge that his pursuit of success might require the highest price? The world may never know. Although some were vocally skeptical of Grissom, sympathy prevailed in the aftermath of the Apollo 204 catastrophe, and perhaps a taste of redemption arrived over thirty years later, when Grissom’s “Liberty Bell 7” capsule was pulled from the ocean. After close examination, a lack of burn marks, and a warped strip of titanium around the hatch opening pointed toward the hatch having opened unprovoked, but for some, there will never be enough evidence to reverse their own verdict.[70]
As the fiftieth anniversary of the United States becoming the first nation to land a man on the moon has recently passed, the names of America’s space pioneers come to mind with a terrific sense of pride. Icons such as Neil Armstrong, Alan Shepard, John Glenn, Buzz Aldrin, and Jim Lovell, among others, are all deserving of admiration. In addition, there is one worthy figure who has been looked down upon, if remembered at all. Virgil Ivan Grissom was just a boy from a small Indiana town who went on to be the forerunner in many aspects of NASA’s space program. He was the second American to go to space, the first American to go to space twice, the first to perform orbit-changing maneuvers, and was even chosen to be the first American to step foot on the Moon. But even more importantly, at least to those who knew him best, Grissom was seen as not only reliable, but also as a respected and integral member of an agency of explorers who were attempting the impossible.
Looking back on President Kennedy’s speech at Rice University, the “we” that he referred to when speaking of the choice for America to go the moon was the nation as a whole. No common United States citizens would shoulder the challenge, nor would they in an appropriate position to see it as “one that we are willing to accept.”[71] No, that burden was placed on a select group of astronauts, engineers, manufacturers, and visionaries, all who became the engine to power these incredibly high aspirations into reality. Although a majority of these players lived to see the United States reach the moon, there were many who lost their lives in its pursuit. The fictional tale of “little Gus” who aimlessly ignored procedures and could not keep his cool under pressure is a farce, all while blatantly ignoring the historical truth behind the legacy of a man folks in Indiana knew as Virgil, but the world came to know as Gus.[72]
Reference List
[1] Text of President John Kennedy’s Rice Stadium Moon Speech. Accessed March 31, 2019. https://er.jsc.nasa.gov/SEH/ricetalk.htm.
[2] Burgess, Colin, Kate Doolan, and Bert Vis. 2003. Fallen Astronauts: Heroes Who Died Reaching for the Moon. Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press. 85.
[3] Apollo 1 Fire Timeline. https://history.nasa.gov/SP-4029/Apollo_01c_Timeline.htm.
[4] Burgess, Fallen Astronauts, 85–86.
[5] Apollo 1 Fire Timeline.
[6] Leopold, George. 2016. Calculated Risk: The Supersonic Life and Times of Gus Grissom. West Lafayette, IN: Purdue University Press. 189.
[7] Leopold, Calculated Risk, 188–189.
[8] Ibid, 190.
[9] Slayton, Donald K., and Michael Cassutt. 1994. Deke! — U.S. Manned Space: From Mercury to the Shuttle. New York, NY: Tom Doherty Associates. 195.
[10] Wolfe, Tom. 1979. The Right Stuff. New York, NY: Picador. 231–232.
[11] Leopold, Calculated Risk, 6.
[12] Leopold, Calculated Risk, 26.
[13] Ibid, 27.
[14] Burgess, Fallen Astronauts, 91.
[15] Ibid, 92.
[16] Ibid.
[17] Burgess, Fallen Astronauts, 92.
[18] Leopold, Calculated Risk, 37.
[19] Burgess, Fallen Astronauts, 93.
[20] Ibid.
[21] Ibid.
[22] Ibid, 94.
[23] Leopold, Calculated Risk, 58.
[24] Ibid.
[25] Burgess, Fallen Astronauts, 95.
[26] Ibid.
[27] Leopold, Calculated Risk, 57.
[28] Burgess, Fallen Astronauts, 95.
[29] Grissom, Betty, and Henry Still. 1974. Starfall. New York, NY: Thomas Y. Crowell Company. 102.
[30] Grissom, Starfall, 104.
[31] Wolfe, The Right Stuff, 231.
[32] Ibid.
[33] Leopold, Calculated Risk, 103.
[34] Slayton, Deke!, 100.
[35] Burgess, Fallen Astronauts, 103.
[36] Ibid.
[37] Leopold, Calculated Risk, 129.
[38] Ibid, 137.
[39] Young, John W., and James R. Hansen. 2012. Forever Young: A Life of Adventure in Air and Space. Gainesville, FL: University Press of Florida. 82.
[40] Ibid, 82.
[41] Wolfe, The Right Stuff, 233.
[42] Young, Forever Young, 85.
[43] Hansen, James R. 2005. First Man: The Life of Neil Armstrong. New York, NY: Simon & Schuster. 307.
[44] Burgess, Fallen Astronauts, 83.
[45] Ibid, 82.
[46] Slayton, Deke!, 188.
[47] Burgess, Fallen Astronauts, 82.
[48] Wagener, Leon. 2004. One Giant Leap: Neil Armstrong’s Stellar American Journey. New York, NY: Tom Doherty Associates. 162.
[49] Ibid, 163.
[50] Shepard, Alan, and Deke Slayton, with Jay Barbree and Howard Benedict. 1994. Moon Shot: The Inside Story of America’s Race to the Moon. Atlanta, GA: Turner Publishing. 196.
[51] Burgess, Fallen Astronauts, 87.
[52] Shepard, Moon Shot, 207.
[53] Ibid, 205.
[54] Hansen, First Man, 307.
[55] Grissom, Starfall, 189.
[56] Slayton, Deke!, 191.
[57] Hansen, First Man, 310.
[58] Young, Forever Young, 115.
[59] Hansen, First Man, 310.
[60] Kranz, Gene. 2000. Failure Is Not an Option: Mission Control from Mercury to Apollo 13 and Beyond. New York, NY: Simon & Schuster. 204.
[61] Ibid.
[62] Slayton, Deke!, 317.
[63] Ibid, 185.
[64] Ibid.
[65] Smith, Andrew. 2005. Moon Dust: In Search of the Men who Fell to the Earth. New York, NY: HarperCollins Publishers. 163.
[66] Slayton, Deke!, 317.
[67] Conrad, Nancy, and Howard A. Klausner. 2005. Rocket Man: Astronaut Pete Conrad’s Incredible Ride to the Moon and Beyond. London, England: Penguin. 158.
[68] Burgess, Fallen Astronauts, 103.
[69] Slayton, Deke!, 191.
[70] Simon, Stephanie. Mystery Unhatched. Accessed March 28, 2019. Los Angeles Times, CA. https://www.sfgate.com/news/article/Mystery-Unhatched-A-Kansas-museum-has-new-clues-3312238.php.
[71] Text of President John Kennedy’s Rice Stadium Moon Speech.
[72] Wolfe, The Right Stuff, 232.
