By dawn the East German soldiers had built a fence 2,500 feet long across the face of the Brandenburg Gate. On the radio the East German government announced:
In the face of the aggressive aspirations of the reactionary forces of [West Germany] and its NATO allies, the Warsaw Pact member states cannot but take necessary measures to guarantee their security and, primarily, the security of [East Germany] in the interests of the German peoples themselves.
They were therefore establishing controls
on the borders of West Berlin which will securely block the way to the subversive activity against the socialist camp countries.80
This “subversive activity“ referred to what in recent weeks had become an unceasing flood of East German refugees, fleeing to the West by entering East Berlin and taking the subway across. When rumors indicated that this escape route might soon be closed, the numbers of refugees skyrocketed to over 30,000 in July and almost 20,000 in the first twelve days of August. This exodus of East German citizens had made the communist state one of the only nations in the world with a declining population. In the twelve years since Frank Borman had seen those East German refugees in the Dachau camp, 2.8 million people, seventeen percent of the total East German population, had fled Khrushchev’s socialist paradise.81
Now that tide was to cease. Two weeks before, Walter Ulbrecht, East Germany’s President and Communist Party chief, had come to Moscow demanding that Khrushchev and the Soviets help him stop the flow. Together the two rulers decided that the solution was “the establishment of border control,” as Khrushchev euphemistically called the construction of the Berlin Wall.82 Khrushchev, like Stalin, still wished to see East Germany succeed as a communist state, and like Stalin, he had concluded that the only way to make this happen was to restrict the freedom of Germans to travel.
Controlling the movement of citizens was an important priority for Khrushchev’s government. In the Soviet Union if a person wished to relocate from the town of their birth, authorization was required, and indicated on a citizen’s passport. In the campaign to snuff out religion, now running at full speed, K.G.B. officers confiscated the passports of priests, and demanded that they leave the town and church to which they ministered. If a clergyman refused, the K.G.B. would arrest him and prosecute him for violating the passport regulations. At monasteries across the Soviet Union religious clerics were being arrested and jailed. One priest was condemned three different times, serving three and a half years of hard labor from 1962 to 1966. Each time he was released from prison he returned to his monastery, and each time the K.G.B. re- arrested him.83
Now Khrushchev moved to apply this same standard to East Berlin. He obtained a map of Berlin and he and Ulbrecht sat down to work out the details. “It was a difficult task to divide the city of Berlin,” he reminisced in his memoirs. “Everything is intertwined. The border goes along a street, so one side of the street is East Berlin while the other is in West Berlin.”84 After much discussion, the two communist leaders “decided to erect antitank barriers and barricades.”85
By Sunday night, East German guards were patrolling that barricade with machine guns and tear gas. At Teltow Canal, which also formed the border but where no wire fence had been built, many refugees escaped by swimming across its short width. By Monday, the border guards moved in, and when a young couple dove into the water, the guards opened fire. Though the couple escaped unharmed, the gunfire announced to all that refugees now risked death if they tried to flee East Berlin. On Thursday the East Germans proved their deadly intent. When another man tried to swim across, the guards ran out on a railroad bridge and fired repeatedly down at him until he disappeared underwater. West German frogmen recovered his body three hours later.86
Because the Soviets had restricted their activities to their own zone, any action by the West to interfere could have been seen as aggression, triggering greater violence. Despite the apparent injustice to the East Germans, tearing down the wall by force wasn’t worth risking nuclear war.
West Berlin Mayor Willy Brandt noted with disgust that the West’s inaction would cause “the entire East . . . to laugh from Pankow to Vladivostok.”87
KENNEDY
For President John F. Kennedy -- a major part of whose presidential campaign was an aggressive anticommunist stance -- the Berlin Wall was only one in a string of humiliations. Eight weeks earlier, for instance, the CIA-led attempt to invade Cuba and overthrow Castro had ended in total failure. When Kennedy refused to lend direct military support to the Bay of Pigs invasion, the 1,200 man rebel force was quickly overcome.88 “How could I have been so stupid as to let them go ahead?“ Kennedy complained privately to his advisors.89
In the race to dominate space, things were going badly as well. The National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) had announced the United States’ intention to put the first man into space sometime in the spring of 1961. The agency hoped that this flight would prove that the leader of the capitalist world still dominated the fields of technology, science, and exploration.
Originally scheduled for a March 6, 1961 launch, the short fifteen minute suborbital flight was repeatedly delayed. The Mercury capsule’s first test flight in January, with a chimpanzee as test pilot, rose forty miles higher than intended, overshot its landing by a hundred and thirty miles, and when the capsule was recovered three hours later it had begun leaking and was actually sinking. Then in March another test of the Mercury capsule included the premature firing of the escape rocket on top of the capsule, the unplanned release of the backup parachutes during descent, and the discovery of dents on the capsule itself.90
These difficulties caused NASA to postpone repeatedly its first manned mission. First the agency rescheduled the launch to late March. Then early April. Then mid-April. And then it was too late.
On April 12th, Tass, the Soviet news agency, proudly announced to the world that Yuri Gagarin had become the first human to enter space. Unlike NASA’s planned fifteen minute suborbital flight, Gagarin’s launch vehicle had reached escape velocity and orbited the earth. As the New York Times noted in an editorial, “The political and psychological importance [of this accomplishment gives] the Soviet Union once again the ‘high ground’ in world prestige.”91 Or as the Soviet government and the Central Committee of the Communist Party stated, “In this achievement, which will pass into history, are embodied the genius of the Soviet people and the powerful force of socialism.”92
Three weeks after Gagarin’s flight, the United States finally entered the space race. Unlike the Soviet launch, where press coverage had been tightly controlled and no public announcements made until the mission was completed and successful, hundreds of newspapermen swarmed about Cape Canaveral.
Twice this first American space flight was scrubbed due to bad weather. Finally, on May 5th at 10:34 AM (two and a half hours late) the Redstone rocket lifted off, pushing astronaut Alan Shepard to 115 miles in altitude before quickly descending to splashdown 302 miles off the coast of Florida. In all, this first American space flight lasted fifteen minutes and twenty-eight seconds, traveling at most 4,500 miles per hour. Compared to the Soviet achievements, it seemed almost pitiful. Gagarin had traveled a hundred times farther, four times faster, and six times longer. And his rocket had put almost four times the weight, five tons, into orbit.
To President Kennedy, this Soviet superiority simply could not be allowed to stand. On May 25, 1961, three weeks after Shepard’s short hop into space, Kennedy stood before Congress to deliver what some dubbed his “second“ State of the Union speech. He opened by bluntly saying what he saw as his country’s role in the Cold War that was raging across the globe.
We stand for freedom . . . No friend, no neutral, and no adversary should think otherwise. We are not against any man -- or any nation -- or any system -- except as it is hostile to freedom.93
He then outlined a number of proposals for increasing the American effort in this “great battleground for the defense and expansion of
freedom.” He called for additional funds to finance radio and television broadcasts in South America. He reaffirmed his commitment to NATO, pledging at least five more nuclear submarines to that alliance. He described plans to reorganize the Army (giving it greater flexibility) and to increase the size of the Marine Corps. He called for a renewal of the civil defense program, tripling its funding and the building of more fallout shelters.
And then he asked for something more.
If we are to win the battle that is going on around the world between freedom and tyranny, if we are to win the battle for men’s minds, the dramatic achievements in space which occurred in recent weeks should have made clear to us all, as did the Sputnik in 1957, the impact of this adventure on the minds of men everywhere who are attempting to make a determination of which road they should take. Now it is time to take longer strides -- time for a great new American enterprise -- time for this nation to take a clearly leading role in space achievement which in many ways may hold the key to our future on earth.
Kennedy had no illusions about his reasons for accepting the Soviet challenge to a space race. After noting to all how the Soviets had a clear “head start“ with “their large rocket engines,” and also noting that his country was willing to take “the additional risk“ of joining that space race in full view of the world, he reiterated the political issues that underlay his decision: “We go into space because whatever mankind must undertake, free men must fully share.”
To have found a congressmen or senator who opposed this position would have been difficult that night. Nonetheless, all were stunned to silence when Kennedy made his next proposal.
I believe 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 earth. No single space project in this period will be more exciting, or more impressive to mankind, or more important for the long range exploration of space.
Many have forgotten in the ensuing decades that Kennedy did not propose this project merely to prove that America could achieve glorious and bold triumphs. When he made this commitment, Americans were truly frightened by the possibility that the Soviet empire was beginning to outstrip them in technology. Worse, this technology gave the Soviets the ability to launch missiles directly at the United States. Khrushchev’s words, “We will bury you!” hung over Congress like a thunderhead. Many, both in and out of Washington, believed that their lives and the future of everything they believed in depended on the success of Kennedy’s proposal.94
HOUSTON
On September 17th, 1961, nine men out of a pool of 253 applicants were chosen to become America’s second class of astronauts, joining the original seven. The list included Neil Armstrong, Pete Conrad, and John Young, the first, third and ninth men to walk on the moon, as well as Ed White, the first American to walk in space.
Also in that list were Frank Borman and Jim Lovell.
For Lovell, it was a dream come true. When NASA picked the seven Mercury astronauts in 1959, Lovell was among the 110 test pilots screened as possible candidates. For several weeks he endured a series of absurd and painful tests. “The enemas,” he remembered. “They did enemas all over the place.” The most ridiculous test, however, had the doctors strapping his arm to a table, palm up. They took a large needle with an electric wire attached and pierced this through the heel of his hand, just above his wrist. As the doctors gathered around an oscilloscope to watch, they sent a powerful and painful electric charge through the needle, making Lovell’s fist involuntarily ball up.
Unfortunately, the oscilloscope wasn’t working, so they removed the needle, called in a television repairman to fix it, and then started over. Several times they sent a charge through Lovell’s hand, eying the meter as if it were the Delphic Oracle. The patient meanwhile was writhing in pain, his hand balling up and opening and balling up and opening.
In the end, Lovell was rejected because he had a slightly high level of bilirubin in his liver. He wasn’t sick, it didn’t affect his performance, but the doctors needed some criteria to reduce the list. Out he went.95
When three years later NASA announced a second call for new astronaut applicants, Lovell jumped at the chance. He was then flight instructor at the Oceana Naval Air Station in Virginia Beach, teaching pilots how to handle the increasingly complex hardware and weaponry of the modern fighter jet. Though the work was interesting and challenging, it still wasn’t rocketry or space exploration. Lovell could only watch from a distance as other military test pilots no more qualified than he flew in space, or tested experimental aircraft like the X-15.
He had made it into the Naval Academy on the second try. Maybe the same thing would happen with NASA. He sent in his application, and was quickly accepted.
Frank Borman meanwhile had decided that being a test pilot was no longer advancing his Air Force career. It was important and exciting work, but he wanted more. He had seen how the Mercury space flights had moved the public and the world. He also sensed that the men who became astronauts had a chance to make history. And like Kennedy, Borman strongly believed that what these astronauts did might very well have a direct influence on the outcome of the Cold War.
When NASA announced its call for new astronaut applicants, Frank asked Susan what she thought. Her answer was unequivocal. “I’ll do whatever you think is best for your career.” In the twelve years of their marriage, she had endured both cinderblock homes in the burning desert and Quonset huts in the steaming jungle. She had witnessed plane crashes and seen smoke rise from airfields, knowing that any one of those accidents could have claimed her husband.
Frank and Susan Borman in the Philippines, 1953. Credit: Borman
And she had even risked a plane crash of her own. When Frank had been assigned to the Philippines in 1951, he secured a government house for them to live in, if she could get there by a certain date. Since an ocean voyage would take too long. Susan would have to fly there with three-month-old Fred.
The Bormans, like most young military couples, had very little money. The only thing of value they owned was their car. She sold it for $1,500, which happened to be exactly enough to pay the airfare for herself and Fred.
Owning nothing but her luggage, she and Fred climbed into a Pan Am clipper for the initial part of the journey, a ten hour flight from Los Angeles to Honolulu. From there they would fly another ten hours to Guam, followed by another seven hour flight to Manila.
Halfway to Hawaii, with almost five hours to go, Susan glanced out her window and noticed that one engine was smoking badly. After a few minutes the propeller stopped, and the captain appeared to explain to all the passengers that though they had lost one engine, the plane still had three left, and would make it to Honolulu.
Thirty minutes later Susan looked outside again and was startled to see a second engine also grind to a halt. The captain appeared a second time. With only two engines left on one wing, it was questionable whether they could stay in the air for another four hours. He warned the twenty or so passengers that they might have to ditch the plane in the Pacific. He and the stewardess began drilling everyone on the exit procedures should they land in the water.
Now everyone’s eyes were glued to the engines on the other wing. Soon Susan could see these smoking as well, overheating from the strain.
The crew opened a rear door and began throwing things out to lighten the load. Everything unnecessary was tossed away, from blankets to food to liquor supplies.
Rather than try to reach Honolulu, they aimed for the easternmost Hawaiian city of Hilo. With his last two engines belching fire and smoke, the pilot managed to bring the plane in for a smooth landing. The passengers then made an emergency exit. Fred was strapped to her chest, and Susan was the first to slide down the ramp and into the hands of a crew of airport firemen.
Her airplane troubles weren’t over, however. Her next two attempts to leave Hawaii, on replacement Pan Am Clippers, were both forced back because of engine trouble
s. All told, it took her three more days to get to Manila.
A year and a half later, she gave birth to Ed, her second-born. “It was just like the TV show M*A*S*H.” She was in one hut when the labor pains began, and they had to wheel her across the camp to the operation room, with expectant father Frank trailing alongside.
And yet, Susan wouldn’t have traded these tribulations for the world. She and Frank loved each other and had two growing children -- what matter they were poor and sometimes endured risk? They were a family and would fight it out, together.
Now Frank wanted to become an astronaut. Susan figured that it couldn’t be much different from being a test pilot, with immeasurably better possibilities for success. She was with Frank all the way.
The Bormans arrived in Houston in the late fall of 1962, checking into the Rice Hotel as per orders. The Manned Spacecraft Center was being built in a swampy empty field forty miles south of the city at Clear Lake, and until the astronauts built their own homes, they would live in Houston and commute.
The men went off to the Manned Spacecraft Center to build rockets, fly simulators, and learn everything they could about the space capsules that would send them into space. The hours were brutal, the work was intense and never- ending, and the challenge exhilarating.
The women were left with the job of building a community in the empty farm fields near Clear Lake. The Bormans hadn’t even completely unpacked when Frank told Susan that it was up to her to find some land near the Space Center and have a house built. Then he left for Florida, as ordered, to witness the launch of Wally Schirra in the fifth Mercury space flight.
“I had been a pampered and innocent child,” she remembers. They had always lived in government housing, had never even rented an apartment. Now she had to create a home from scratch, on her own, on an astronaut’s salary of about ten thousand dollars per year. It was exciting, and frightening.
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