Honoring the Mercury Seven

Everyone remembers Neil Armstrong.  Everyone remembers what he said on the moon: “One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”  But how many remember Alan Shepherd, Gus Grissom, or the rest of the Mercury Seven who made Apollo 11 possible?

According to Tom Wolfe in The Right Stuff, America’s first astronauts were larger than life men, test pilots like Tom Cruise’s character Pete “Maverick” Mitchell in the movie Top Gun.  Yet once they joined Project Mercury, they were grounded, and when they rebelled, and insisted that they be allowed to fly, the older, less capable planes they occasionally piloted couldn’t deliver the same thrills as the latest fighter jets.  Thus, they sated their “Need for speed” on the highway, in the fastest sports cars they could get their hands on.

All of them had fine careers to look forward to in their respective branches of the military.  Yet they gave those up, and for what?  To sit in a capsule and be shot into space?  Their fellow test pilots couldn’t understand their reasoning.  The engineers behind Project Mercury hadn’t believed pilots were necessary.  They had envisioned engineers sitting in those capsules, monitoring computerized systems, and providing medical information from all the sensors attached to their bodies.  Of the twenty-six Mercury flights, only six carried astronauts.  The rest were either computer controlled, or guided by the chimpanzees Ham and Enos, who had been conditioned to press all the right controls at the right times, and did so.  Imagine the ribbing the astronauts received from their former comrades.  “Yeah, congratulations on that mission of yours.  Did you enjoy it as much as the monkeys?”

None of these men ever resumed the aviation careers they had previously enjoyed.  For Alan Shepherd and Gus Grissom, their fifteen minutes of fame were literally fifteen minutes locked inside a capsule, as their Redstone rockets lacked the power to launch them into orbit.  John Glenn and Scott Carpenter reached orbit on the newer Atlas rockets, and got five-hour flights, while Wally Schirra followed them with nine hours in space.  Of all the Mercury flights, only Gordon Cooper got the most in return for all the potential flight-time he could have gotten had he stayed in the Air Force, as he logged thirty-four hours before his capsule returned to Earth. 

Poor Deke Slayton didn’t even get to fly in a Mercury mission.  Instead, NASA grounded him for medical reasons.

On the day we visited Space View Park in Titusville, Florida, what struck me was all that these seven men gave up to become America’s first seven astronauts.  Certainly, the Mercury missions made no sense to their peers.  After NASA’s initial presentations, virtually all the candidates agreed that the missions represented a divergence from the military careers each had built up to that point.  As Gus Grissom shares in We Seven, after NASA selected him, he asked himself, “Now what in hell do you want to get up on that thing for?”  A few sentences later, he answers himself.  “If my country decided that I was one of the better qualified people for this new mission, then I was proud and happy to help out.”

As my wife and I stood before the Project Mercury memorial, only one other person joined us: an older gentleman, with a cellphone pressed to his ear, leaned against one of the bronze plaques and discussed shipment schedules for his business.  After pausing before each of the other plaques, we left to visit the Gemini and Apollo memorials.  Later, as we headed back to the car, I decided to return, once last time, to the gleaming, silver Mercury 7 symbol.  Two young people now stood before it, and a third stood behind a camera set upon a tripod.  I listened as the young man and woman spoke, introduced the statue, and spoke about the men who had risked their lives, and their careers, to pilot those cramped, experimental capsules. 

Alan Shepherd.  Gus Grissom.  John Glenn.  Scott Carpenter.  Wally Schirra.  Gordon Cooper.  Deke Slayton.  You helped guide NASA's early efforts.  You proved man could survive the launch and reentry processes, and that he could survive beyond Earth's atmosphere.  You inspired a president and a nation, which made Apollo 11 possible.  Without your insistence on making space capsules completely controllable by the pilot, Apollo 13 might have turned out differently. Because of you, America eventually invested in a space shuttle program, and convinced the world to build an International Space Station.  If man ever sets foot on Mars, part of the credit will be yours.  

I will never forget the sacrifices you made for all of us.

Dragon Dave  

An Adults Only Hotel?

What could be nicer than a morning stroll along a beach
named after America's first astronaut?

Although I had come across Fawlty Towers Resort on the Internet, I had forgotten about it.  Thus, seeing the real Fawlty Towers came as a welcome surprise as we drove past on our way to Alan Shepherd Beach.  When we saw that the Beach Park officials wanted $7 for parking, we made a U-turn and drove into the parking lot of Pizza Hut, where we had planned on having lunch.  My wife entered the restaurant, and explained to the waitress that we wanted to eat there, but first we wished to take a walk along the beach, and promised to return in an hour or so.  She assured us that this would be okay.  So we headed off to explore the beach named after America’s first astronaut.

Provided you don't step on this guy.

After our walk, we returned to Pizza Hut.  The moment we walked inside, I realized what we had obligated ourselves to.  Several families with young children had joined their tables together, and while the parents ate and chatted, the children ran around and played.  The parents occasionally shushed one of their kids when he or she shrieked, but for the most part, it seemed they had grown used to the yelling and screaming, and so they merely ignored the noise their children were making.

We sat down and ordered our pizzas, and while we enjoyed our sodas, we dug into our pockets, and pulled out our earplugs.  These helped reduce the high-pitched noise to a manageable level, allowed us to carry on our own conversation, and saved our ears (and heads) from aching later on.  When the families left, we removed our earplugs and finished our pizzas.  As the waitress surveyed the disaster area, she called back to the kitchen such sentiments as, “At least the kids only drank water,” and “Can I go home now?”  Once, while she carried dirty dishes and trash back to the kitchen, she stopped by our table.  She sighed as she smiled at us.  “I noticed you had your earplugs handy.”

“In all things, be prepared,” I told her.

Our next home-away-from-home?

After our lunch, we couldn’t help but contemplate Florida’s version of Basil Fawlty’s famous hotel.  The management's Adults Only policy seemed inspired.  Sure, we might miss the children's smiling faces, and the wondrous sight of them at play, but without the sounds of their jubilation, the resort promised peace and tranquility.  Not only that, but should we need anything during our stay, the adjacent Adult Emporium promised an accessible and serene shopping experience.  Sorry, Fawlty Towers, but this year's accommodations have already been booked.  Perhaps next time we’ll consider you.

Perhaps….

Dragon Dave