by Jay Barbree
“No problems?”
“None.”
“I could make Jim Lovell available.”
Neil was taken a bit aback. He was aware some had difficulty getting along with Buzz, but not him. And there were none better than Jim Lovell and Mike Collins and that begged the question, Which would fly which? Would Mike still be command module pilot and Jim land on the moon or would Lovell, the most experienced command module pilot in the corps, remain in that slot leaving Mike Collins to move over as lunar module pilot?
Neil asked Deke, “Isn’t Jim Lovell commander material?”
“Yes, definitely,” Deke agreed.
“I wouldn’t want to interfere with Jim commanding his own flight.”
“Understand—just wanted to give you options,” Deke told him. “Let’s both think about it overnight.”
“Good idea, Boss,” Neil nodded, quickly reminding himself that experience should be his chief consideration for a crew.
Buzz Aldrin had nailed the EVA thing in Gemini 12 and Mike Collins was at the top of his game in flying the Apollo command module, but at this moment Jim Lovell was at the helm of Apollo 8’s command module.
Later, Neil would tell me, “If we switched things around too much, getting other people’s nose out of joint because we stole somebody from somebody else’s crew, we could have made enemies.
“And there were personalities—always personalities, and that’s one where I came up short,” Neil laughed, taking a good-natured jab at himself.
* * *
With the moon getting closer Apollo 8’s astronauts were waiting for Mission Control’s decision on whether or not they would slide into lunar orbit.
The three astronauts did not know if they would be spending Christmas circling the moon or making a single trip around its far side. Either way their flight was already a smashing success. It had opened the door to human exploration of our solar system, but, and it was a big but, everyone in NASA as well as the world’s billions in the radio and television audience wanted Apollo 8 to go all the way.
Neil knew in the astronauts’ service module was the SPS, Apollo 8’s largest rocket. It would be needed to reduce their speed to place them in lunar orbit, and then would ignite again to bring them safely home. The question in Mission Control was, “Is lunar orbit the safe thing to do?”
Neil also knew what the decision-makers must consider was critical not only to the mission but also to the lives of the three men. To slip Apollo 8 into lunar orbit, the big SPS had to fire at full thrust for precisely 247 seconds. Following shutdown, the crew would use its attitude-control thrusters to point the nose of its ship in the direction of flight. If the engine burn faltered or failed early, the astronauts would soar past the moon on a path that would not return them to Earth. If the rocket burned too long, Apollo 8 would crash somewhere on the lunar landscape.
If SPS failed to ignite altogether, or if Mission Control decided not to go for lunar orbit, Apollo 8 would be perfectly safe. It would swing around the far side of the moon, curving in its sharp orbit as if it were a celestial boomerang and, without using an ounce of rocket fuel, the astronauts would be on their way home. This was the “Free Return Trajectory” inserted into Apollo 8’s computers before it left Earth.
Neil leaned back in his chair knowing this was Mission Control’s “moment of truth.” He also knew all the control center’s monitors were “green.”
* * *
Astronauts Frank Borman, Jim Lovell, and Bill Anders were ready for any emergency. They were about to disappear behind a 2,000-mile-wide celestial body—fly across the side of the moon facing away from Earth where signals between Apollo 8 and Mission Control would be blocked for more than twenty minutes.
CapCom Jerry Carr received the nod. It was his job to give the astronauts their answer and everyone crossed his or her fingers to hear. “Ten seconds to go,” he told Apollo 8. “You are Go all the way.”
Jim Lovell’s voice was incredibly calm. “We’ll see you on the other side, Houston.”
With those words Apollo 8 vanished behind Earth’s closest neighbor.
* * *
Neil listened. But there was nothing to hear. The mission had simply gone quiet. No communications. No telemetry signals. No way of knowing if the three astronauts continued to exist.
What Mission Control couldn’t know until Apollo 8 emerged from behind the moon was at the precise moment dictated by its flight plan, Jim Lovell had fired Apollo 8’s biggest rocket for 247 seconds, a time he would later call the “longest four minutes I’ve ever spent.”
With the moon closer to them than Earth, the astronauts had a crater-potted lunar surface staring them in the face. (NASA)
It was a splendid, epochal moment sixty-nine hours and fifteen minutes after launching from Earth, and when the rocket burn was completed, Apollo 8 had locked itself into lunar orbit.
* * *
Mission Control only knew it should have happened, and the flight controllers continued their cliff-hanging suspense, counting the minutes and seconds before Apollo 8 would emerge from the other side of the moon.
Jim Lovell fires Apollo 8’s largest rocket engine and places humans in orbit around the moon. (NASA)
CapCom Jerry Carr could only keep up his persistent call, “Apollo 8 … Apollo 8 … Apollo 8…”
It seemed like an eternity but then the intense clock-watching was over. Headsets and speakers crackled, and Neil heard the voice of Jim Lovell calm as always, “Go ahead, Houston.”
Those three words—coming just at the instant they should have—sent Mission Control into a bedlam of cheering, whistling, shouting, and backslapping.
Apollo 8’s telemetry flashed numbers on the big viewing board. It was in an orbit 60 by 168.5 miles above the moon. Later, on the third trip around the lunar surface, the ship’s big rocket fired again and dropped the astronauts into the desired, nearly circular orbit of 60.7 by 59.7 miles.
But the thrilled global audience didn’t want numbers. It wanted to know what the moon looked like.
“Essentially grey, no color,” reported lunar tour guide Jim Lovell. “It’s like plaster of Paris or a sort of greyish beach sand.”
In their first two telecasts, the astronauts transmitted video from lunar orbit of the wild and wondrous landscape pitted with massive craters. “It looks like a vast, lonely, forbidding place, an expanse of nothing,” said Borman as Lovell saw the distant Earth as a “grand oasis.”
The third member of the crew Bill Anders added, “You can see the moon has been bombarded through the eons with numerous meteorites. Every square inch is pockmarked.”
Lovell added, “The vast loneliness is awe-inspiring, and it makes you realize just what you have back there on Earth.”
* * *
That Christmas Eve in 1968 was extraordinary not just for Neil and Deke and the others in Mission Control, but for the billions that had been brought together before their television sets. They were seeing wondrous never-before-seen video of the moon moving quietly below Apollo 8’s lunar orbit when Bill Anders spoke: “For all the people on Earth,” he began soberly, “the crew of Apollo 8 has a message we would like to send you.” He paused briefly and began reading from the verses of the book of Genesis: “In the beginning, God created the heaven and the Earth…” As Bill concluded the fourth verse, Jim Lovell read the next four with Frank Borman concluding with, “And God called the dry land Earth, and the gathering together of the waters He called seas. And God saw that it was good.”
Once in orbit around the moon, one of the first things seen by Apollo 8’s crew was Mother Earth rising above the lunar landscape. (NASA)
Earth, the place God took his time to make. (NASA)
The moon with its view of the distant, soft blue marble of life had become host to poets, and Borman signed off with, “And from the crew of Apollo 8, we close with good night, good luck, a Merry Christmas, and God bless all of you—all of you on the good Earth.”
* * *
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br /> Neil clutched his emotions thinking, I hope my Mom saw this. She would have enjoyed it he told himself rising from his chair.
His thoughts returned to the questions of the moment. If what he and Deke had been talking about came to be, he’d be there soon, possibly on the moon itself, and Neil went off to find Deke. They had agreed on a final meet.
The two found an out-of-the-way niche, again in the back of Mission Control. When each had their say Neil was content that Mike Collins and Buzz Aldrin would serve with him on Apollo 11. Jim Lovell, Bill Anders, and Fred Haise would be their backups.
“I’ll be announcing the crews next month,” Deke told Neil, and when I saw him later, Neil told me off the record he would likely command Apollo 11.
“Doesn’t surprise me a bit,” I nodded, smiling. “You are obviously the most qualified pilot. But possibly more important, you have the character and training to handle it.” “Maybe,” he said. “It was the luck of the draw.”
I knew this man standing before me never lobbied to make the first landing. He never sought any more consideration than his fellow astronauts, and I could only stare at him. I was amazed this humble man truly believed he was only selected because he was next in line.
I understood why the other astronauts believed that, but there was no question in my mind that the engine driving this selection was the NASA bosses’ awareness of Neil’s devotion to flying the Lunar Landing Training Vehicle until he had this landing on the moon thing nailed along with his incessant need to know what to expect. He simply had to be prepared for the unexpected.
“This is off the record,” I told Neil. “As you know Deke and our man Harold Williams are fishing buddies, and he told Harold straight out he wanted you first, and if you had to abort he knew Conrad could handle the job on Apollo 12, or if not Conrad, Jim Lovell could get it done on 13.”
Neil gave me a little smile that said maybe yes or maybe no, and I stood there admiring the raw fairness of this man. I told him sincerely, “Neil you are too good. You are the most considerate person I’ve ever met, and you may not think you’re special but everybody else does. And dammit,” I raised my voice, “if you ever need me to run interference for you just let me know.”
Neil nodded and gave me the greatest compliment of my life. “I’d like you as my blocking back anytime,” he smiled.
“Just ask,” I said knowing the best part was that he was sincere.
Early in the morning of Christmas Day, Apollo 8 moved through its tenth and final orbit around the moon and was again out of contact with Mission Control. The critical rocket firing would either start them on their journey home or leave them stranded in lunar orbit. At the appointed moment, Borman, Lovell, and Anders felt their big SPS rocket come to life, creating a long stream of flame and a wide plume of fire behind the engine. On the 304th second the engine shut down, right on the mark.
Time dragged maddeningly for a waiting world.
Finally, Jim Lovell’s voice came through with pure joy: “Please be informed there is a Santa Claus,” he said. “The burn was good.”
It was better than that. After twenty great hours in lunar orbit, Apollo 8 was driving right down its own pioneered Earth to moon interstate, down the mathematical highway it had to fly to reach a point 400,000 feet above Earth—the exact angle and altitude to reenter with a speed greater than any human had ever flown.
Two-and-a-half-days after leaving the moon, Earth’s gravity reached out and dragged Borman, Lovell, and Anders back into its atmosphere with Apollo 8 becoming a man-made meteor. Temperatures soared to those on the surfaces of stars, and plunging downward the astronauts knew their lives depended on how well their ship had been built.
A telescopic camera caught this picture of Apollo 8’s reentry into Earth’s atmosphere. Only fire could be seen, blinding white flames within a red sheath leaving a burning trail 125 miles long. (NASA)
Apollo 8 traded its speed for heat. The hotter the fire flowing from the heat shield the slower the spacecraft, and suddenly they were safely two miles above the Pacific, in sight of Christmas Island, and three large parachutes streamed away, blossoming wide and full.
The world cheered.
The astronauts returned to a thundering ovation.
The road to the moon was open.
Neil Armstrong, Mike Collins, and Buzz Aldrin: the misfits at the rollout of their Apollo 11 Saturn V rocket. (NASA)
FIFTEEN
THE MISFITS
The talk around NASA was the first “moon landers” had been selected. All eyes focused on Deke Slayton, and on January 4, 1969, he called Mike Collins and Buzz Aldrin into his office. Neil was already there.
“I’ll get right to the point,” the director of flight crew operations began. “Neil will be commanding Apollo 11, and we’d like you, Mike, to be the command module pilot.” He shifted his eyes to Aldrin. “Buzz we’d like you to handle the lunar module and shepherd the experiments.
“It’s conceivable you guys could make the first landing on the moon,” he told them soberly. “We want you to train that way.”
Collins and Aldrin grinned like Tennessee mules eating briars as stoic Neil Armstrong, long a devotee of Zeno of Elea, a pupil of Parmenides who was unmoved by joy or grief, stood without expression. Neither Collins nor Aldrin had a clue Deke and Neil had been meeting during Apollo 8.
“Mike, you, Jim Lovell, and John Young are at the front of the line when it comes to handling the command module,” Deke continued. “You’ll be taking care of your crew’s only ride home,” he said grinning, “and if I were Neil and Buzz I’d keep you happy.”
They all laughed and Mike said, “I’ll keep the home fires burning, Boss.”
Deke nodded, turning again to Aldrin. “Buzz, your spacewalk on Gemini 12 was a classic, rid us of lots of problems. That was a great job, and we’re convinced you can do the same as Apollo 11’s lunar module pilot.”
“You’ll get the best I have, Boss,” Buzz nodded.
“Good, we want you to know every bolt and washer in that LM [pronounced Lem], and if it gets a gut ache, I want you to be ready with the Alka-Seltzer.”
“I will, Deke,” Buzz assured him once again.
“As commander Neil will make all the decisions, asking of course for your input. He’ll have a full working knowledge of both ships and Neil has come a long way in mastering the landing of a lunar module primarily with the LLTV, and Buzz,” Deke cleared his throat, “we want you to use that MIT sheepskin of yours to please the science boys with the experiments. You’ll be setting them up, and the science guys would like for them to work for decades—we want them chirping back their data to every interested scientist on Earth.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We won’t let you down, Boss,” said Mike, adding his own assurance.
“It’s going to be a great flight whatever the mission turns out to be,” the newly appointed Apollo 11 commander added. “We’ll be ready, Deke.”
The director of flight crew operations offered his hand for each of them to shake, believing he had a solid crew to make the first landing on the moon.
The NASA brass was in full agreement with Deke’s decision. The boys at the top—considering the era they were all boys—were sure that if Neil were the first on the moon he would not cheapen that honor by enriching himself. The world would not see a chain of “Neil Armstrong’s Moon-Burger Drive-ins,” or toothpaste endorsements. This American son, who began earning his own way at age ten, would honor the historic gift with deserving dignity. This alone, disregarding the fact that Neil Armstrong was arguably the best pilot in the astronaut corps, was reason enough to give him the job. If problems cropped up and Apollo 11 had to be waved off, Apollo 12 had a commander who wasn’t too shabby himself. His name was Pete Conrad and no one would argue Pete couldn’t fill Neil’s shoes—certainly not Neil. Either, along with the likes of John Glenn, James Lovell, Alan Shepard, Dave Scott, John Young, and Gene Cernan would serve America well as its first
ambassador to a place other than Earth. No one was more aware of this fact than Neil, who would spend his life believing any one of his astronaut brethren could have performed as well as he did.
* * *
NASA announced the Apollo 11 crew five days later following White House ceremonies for the Apollo 8 astronauts. Outgoing president Lyndon Johnson awarded Frank Borman, Jim Lovell, and Bill Anders medals and the Apollo 8 crew received standing ovations at a joint meeting of Congress.
Neil was pleased with Mike’s and Buzz’s selection even though many in the space family regarded the Apollo 11 crew as the “Misfits.”
Socially that description may be true. Neil and Mike and Buzz weren’t pals. They saw little of each other while not at work; they even drove their own separate cars to the job. But Neil knew when it came to Apollo’s command module there was no one out there who could best Mike Collins. The same was true when it came to Buzz Aldrin. Who was going to compete with Buzz in the smarts department? He graduated third in his West Point class. He was an F-86 combat pilot in Korea with a couple of kills. Those pilots were simply the best, and Buzz received a doctor of science degree in astronautics from MIT, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Who better for the lunar module and setting up experiments on the moon?
Neil’s roots were in rural Ohio—well planted with small-town comfort, security, privacy, and most important to him proven values.
This was also true for the original Mercury Seven astronauts.
As John Glenn put it, “Growing up in a small town gives kids something special. They learned how to make their own decisions, and maybe,” Glenn added, “maybe it’s no accident that people in the space program, a lot of them come from small towns.”
“The small towns I grew up in were slow to come out of the Depression,” Neil said. “But we weren’t deprived. My father’s annual salary was about $2,000, and we never had much money around. But to some of my friends, the fact my father had a job meant that the Armstrongs were rich.
