When the picture appeared in the Dallas Morning Herald the following day, their unease was palpable. The caption called both Noreen and Jerrie “fans of Miss Cochran.”
Days later, Jerri Sloan sat on the stage while Jackie addressed a gathered group of business pilots at another Dallas event. Speaking to a mixed crowd about her time with the WASPs, Jackie praised the courage her girls had demonstrated in flying planes like the B-17 that the men were wary of, painting them as the best and bravest of the war.
Jerri Sloan was shocked. She couldn’t believe that Jackie would stand in front of a group of pilots, many of them combat veterans, and insinuate that she had led the most significant contribution to the war. She couldn’t let it lie and refused to be intimidated.
“Those were good men,” she said when she approached Jackie after the speech was finished, “and they were shocked by what they just heard.” Then she let loose. “I will tell you something. I will never sit on a dais with you again. Never. You embarrassed the hell out of me and I am ashamed to be a woman pilot.”
“Damn you!” Jackie wasn’t used to anyone speaking to her like that, least of all a woman junior to her. “And you want to be in the Mercury program?”
“Jerrie Cobb has already told me I’ve been accepted,” she shot back, happy to know something about the program that Jackie apparently didn’t. Which only served to make her angrier.
“Jerrie Cobb isn’t running this program,” Jackie shouted back. “I am!”
Chapter 18
Lovelace Clinic, January 1961
Jackie was a little miffed as she watched Jan walk on a treadmill, a clamp on her nose and a tube in her mouth so doctors could measure her lung function under stress. She had the unhappy feeling that Randy either didn’t want her there or that he was trying to keep her at arm’s length from the women’s testing program. He hadn’t seen fit to answer one of her letters himself, and he hadn’t been overly communicative on the issue during his latest visit to the Ranch. Jackie pushed the thought from her mind as Jan walked, taking care to position herself, clipboard in hand, in view of the photographer capturing the scene for Parade magazine. The media was still running with the story of Jerrie’s testing, erroneously referencing a “women in space” program and calling her the first female astronaut trainee. Jackie was determined to use the Dietrich twins’ testing to set the record straight; she’d picked them because they espoused things Jackie herself valued—both were hardworking and beautiful. As such, she’d not only paid for Jan’s visit to the clinic, but she’d also hosted the pilot at the Ranch for a week as preparation. Jackie had invited Jerrie along, too, but she had declined, citing an agreement with LIFE magazine that precluded her from any association with another publication. This was the first Jackie had heard about any of the girls having any exclusive publicity “contract” for a test program that was supposed to be kept quiet until a formal press release, and Randy wasn’t forthcoming with any explanation.
On Jackie’s dime, Jan spent the third week of 1961 submitting to the Lovelace doctors’ poking and prodding. Every night Jan wrote a letter to her sister Marion, not divulging any details, but offering sound advice. She warned her twin she’d be up at five-thirty or six every day and suggested she arrive with some extra weight on her since the days would be long, exhausting, and without time for three square meals. She also advised Marion to try not to have her color portrait taken on the day the doctors rubbed clay on her head for the electroencephalogram and not to take certain exercise tests on the day that would start with three enemas in two hours, though she knew her twin would have little control over the schedule.
At the end of the week, the clinic doctors told Jan she was in the upper 10 percent of all pilots who had gone through this medical testing program and the second woman to pass. A delighted Jan wrote to tell Floyd, one of the few people with whom she could share her good news since the testing still wasn’t being publicly announced.
* * *
As few details as Randy had given Jackie on the women’s testing program, he did agree with her that a sample size of two was hardly enough. Even the women Jerrie had helped him pick—all of whom would be getting their formal invitations soon—were too small a group. Jackie had the list and knew that even if half of them passed, the group would still be too small, so she started looking for more candidates. Floyd, meanwhile, took over the financial side of the program. Estimating that each girl would cost the Lovelace Foundation about $600 to $800 apiece,17 he sent Randy 2,500 shares of the Federal Resources Corporation that, at market value, amounted to $7,400.18 The money was earmarked to reimburse the Lovelace Foundation for the cost of the tests with the understanding that Floyd would advise Randy on where any excess funds should go.
In the first week of February, Wally received her formal invitation from the Lovelace Clinic at her home in Lawton, Oklahoma. “Examination of potential women astronauts is continuing,” the letter began. “We have reviewed the credentials you have sent in and find that you are acceptable for these examinations.” Pleased to finally hear back after so many months, Wally read on to find she was only getting three weeks’ notice; the letter asked her to arrive in Albuquerque on Sunday, February 26, to begin testing the following morning. Randy also reminded her that the program was, for the moment, secret. There would be no announcement or press release until all the women had gone through the exams. Only then would the names of those who passed be released, with their consent, as a group. She was in it alone for the moment, but Randy’s mention of a potential meeting of all the candidates “late this spring” hinted at some future sisterhood. Randy also made it clear that she could thank Jackie for being “kind enough to review the entire program.”
* * *
Jim Webb arrived in Lyndon Johnson’s office in the Senate Office Building on January 30. A lawyer turned lobbyist and businessman who had served as head of the Bureau of the Budget and as undersecretary of state during the Truman administration, Jim had been handpicked by the vice president to serve as NASA’s new administrator. He was, however, wary of taking the job. In its two years of existence, NASA had grown to absorb Wernher von Braun’s team at the Army Ballistic Missile Agency in Huntsville, Alabama, as well as Caltech’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena, California. Still, the agency had nevertheless gained a reputation as something of a boondoggle. The Mercury program was going through early tests, and while there was some talk about space stations and missions to the Moon, everyone agreed nothing so exciting would happen before 1970 at the very earliest. In the meantime, whoever ran the agency would have to stand up to the army and the air force trying to wrest control of space activities, all while also handling the responsibility of his agency potentially very publicly killing an astronaut. NASA scientists were excitedly pushing the boundaries of exploration, but the word in Washington was that as soon as America launched the first man into space, the country would lose interest in its real-life Buck Rogers. Space was glamorous now, but when the appeal faded, it would take its administrator down with it. It was, in essence, a career killer that Jim wanted no part of. To Jim’s great relief, he found NASA’s deputy administrator, Hugh Latimer Dryden, sitting on the sofa in the front room.
“I don’t think I’m the right person for this job,” Jim told Hugh as he joined him in the waiting room. “I’m not an engineer and I’ve never seen a rocket fly.”
“I agree,” Hugh replied. “I don’t think you are, either.”
“Well, can you tell the vice president?” Jim was desperate to find some endorsement for him not taking the job.
“I don’t believe he wants to listen to me on that.” Hugh had a hunch Lyndon’s mind was made up, and he wouldn’t be dissuaded. His sense of unease growing, Jim went in to meet with LBJ.
Hugh was right; Lyndon’s mind was indeed set on having Jim run NASA. His lingering post-election depression was exacerbated by the powerlessness of an office that left him feeling useless and ridiculed as Kennedy staffers increa
singly “forgot” to include him in key meetings. The space program was proving to be the only area where the vice president had any power, so Lyndon threw his efforts into the job. He needed Jim Webb to run NASA because Jack Kennedy wanted Jim to run NASA.
Jim made it clear to Lyndon that he wouldn’t accept the appointment secondhand; if the president wanted him to run the space agency, he’d have to ask him himself. Furthermore, the whole discussion would be moot unless the president also consented to keep Hugh on as deputy administrator. So LBJ got on the phone to JFK and set up another meeting, this time at the White House.
“You need a scientist or an engineer,” Jim repeated his objections to the president later that day.
“No,” Jack replied. “I need somebody who understands policy. You’ve been undersecretary of state, and director of the budget. This program involves great issues of national and international policy, and that’s why I want you to do it.” Jack assured Jim that he wouldn’t be a figurehead, that he’d actually have a chance to direct the agency and shape its future. In the end, Jim couldn’t turn down the chance to do something that might be important for his country, and he certainly couldn’t say no to a president. He was sworn in as administrator on February 14 with Hugh Dryden as his deputy and Robert Seamans as associate administrator. With Hugh as his technical sounding board and Bob managing the employees, the triad running the space agency was a powerful one. Now they just needed to know what to do with that agency.
* * *
On March 6, 1961, Floyd sent Jackie an interoffice memo. “The girl who passed the tests last week is Mary Funk,” he wrote, adding that “she is a flight instructor for Army pilots but I don’t know just what that means nor do I know about her air hours, etc.” Mrs. Virginia Holmes, meanwhile, was a heavy smoker and her heart hadn’t stood up to the bicycle test. Wally Funk was officially the third woman to make it through the medical tests. “The twin,” Floyd’s memo told her, referencing the Dietrich girls, “starts her tests this coming Wednesday.”
On the morning of Wednesday, March 8, Marion Dietrich crossed the road from the Bird of Paradise Motel to the Lovelace Clinic. It had been a bit of a whirlwind. She’d had just two days’ notice that the clinic had a window to put her through the medical tests, but she wasn’t worried. Jerrie had told her, Joan Merriam, and Patricia Jetton—the other women testing that week—that it was really just a series of medical exams. She also took strength from Jan, who reminded her that no matter the pain or discomfort, the doctors weren’t going to do anything to hurt her. Besides, Marion reasoned, if Jan had passed the tests, she could, too.
What Marion did feel that morning in Albuquerque was enormous pressure. She believed that these tests were an opportunity she couldn’t let slip away, that these medical tests were her first step in qualifying to become an astronaut candidate. Filled with pride and honor, she checked in with Vivian at the front desk.
Her first stop was the lab. Watching five vials of blood flow out of her arm, Marion wondered whether her physical performance might be affected. She didn’t have time to dwell on the idea. She immediately moved in to the circulation tests, stress tests, and thorough x-rays. That night she ate like a small horse and exhaustedly went to bed on fresh sheets.
Thursday started with a gastric exam, for which she followed Jan’s advice and removed her dress before donning a smock. She soon found out why—it was with considerable gagging that the nurse helped her swallow a length of the tube. The rest of the week brought more doctors who checked every possible nook and cranny on her body. All the while, Marion managed to maintain a chipper disposition. She knew taking each test cheerfully and without hesitation or complaint mattered. Every time things felt difficult, she reminded herself why she was doing these tests, and whatever pain she was experiencing melted away. Her last morning at the clinic, doctors gave Marion the results. Both Joan and Patricia were unfit, but she had made it through the medical tests.
* * *
Rhea Hurrle hadn’t told anyone, not even her parents, that she was taking a series of medical tests at the Lovelace Clinic. They knew she was an ace pilot and had a handful of races under her belt, but her week at the Lovelace Clinic was a private affair. The only people who knew she was there were the clinic staff; Jerrie, who had told her about the testing in the first place; Jackie, who had paid for her week in Albuquerque; and Betty Miller, who checked into the Bird of Paradise Motel the same night. Both girls arrived right after Marion, Joan, and Patricia left. At the end of their week, Betty proved medically unfit owing to a sinus problem that impacted her breathing. Rhea, meanwhile, became the fifth woman to pass the Lovelace medical exams.
* * *
By the end of March 1961, John Glenn was growing increasingly frustrated.
Two months earlier, in January, Bob Gilruth had called the seven astronauts into his office and asked each of them to vote for the man other than himself who he thought should make the first flight. John had been horrified. He’d been giving everything he had to his astronaut training, and now the first flight assignment had come down to a peer vote. He knew he’d been rubbing his peers the wrong way for months, taking it upon himself to chastise their extramarital indiscretions and overall bad behavior for the sake of their public image, and sure enough, he lost the peer vote. Al Shepard would make the first flight with both John and Gus Grissom serving as his backups. John had been upset enough to write Bob a letter urging him to reconsider, saying a peer vote was an unfair system and that if NASA wanted to put its best foot forward, it should send him up first. The letter hadn’t garnered any reply.
Now, he, Gus, and Al were presented as a trio in an attempt to keep the media pressure off Al. They appeared on the cover of LIFE magazine together and were jointly described as the three front-runners for America’s first spaceflight. But because articles listed them in alphabetical order, many gave the impression that John was the favorite. He himself recognized that he was the one most often quoted in newspaper articles and knew that the media’s love affair with the verbose family man persisted.
But there was a bigger problem than the flight order. After launching a handful of successful unmanned missions and chimpanzee flights, NASA was still nervous about launching a human, and the astronauts were united in their frustration over the agency’s inaction. Especially Al. He wanted to fly, he was ready, and the other six astronauts backed him up as a group. They knew what they were doing was dangerous, but they also knew they were prepared, as individuals and as a program. The agency’s final cautious move came from Wernher von Braun. The man behind the Redstone rocket wanted one more test in order to be completely sure the rocket was functioning perfectly. On March 24, 1961, an unmanned mission classified as a booster development flight launched flawlessly. It could have been Al’s flight, and the astronauts worried that that unmanned mission had cost America its chance to beat the Soviet Union into space.
* * *
The day of the Mercury booster development test, the Lovelace Clinic sent a letter to Bernice Steadman, who preferred to go by her initial B. “Examinations of potential women astronauts is continuing,” the letter began before saying that, after reviewing her credentials, it deemed her “acceptable for these examinations.” Miss Jacqueline Cochran, it went on to say, would be reviewing the program as well as offering financial assistance.
In Flint, Michigan, where most women went to college in pursuit of their “Mrs.” degree then worked for the Bell Telephone Company or a local bank until they got pregnant and started to “show,” B stood out. She was the successful owner and operator of Trimble Aviation, the pilot school she’d founded before she got married. She’d read about Dr. Lovelace and the Mercury astronauts, and she knew Jackie by reputation. Because of the two of them, there wasn’t a doubt in B’s mind that this program was not only legitimate, it would surely become a real female astronaut program. She would, of course, be accepting the invitation.
Less than two weeks later, on April 2, B checked in
to the Bird of Paradise Motel and was delighted to find she wasn’t alone. Jerri Sloan was checking in at the same time. Both women, who were married with children, were so happy to have a companion for the testing that, although they had separate rooms, they immediately took to calling each other “roomie.” Having someone else in Albuquerque gave B the feeling that the program was a little more legitimate. Everything had felt so distant and strange to that point, but B, who believed Randy was testing women on behalf of the US government, figured disorder was a product of bureaucracy.
B also had the support of her husband, Bob, back home in Michigan. Bob had no qualms about women taking on something as audacious as spaceflight; he was thrilled that his wife had the opportunity to do these medical tests. During her week in Albuquerque, Bob called B every evening, teasing her to make her laugh so she could release a little stress. She, in turn, confided everything to him. “I really don’t know if I can do this test. I haven’t ridden a bike in so long,” she confessed the night before the bicycle stress test.
“Just remember,” he told her, “when you get really exhausted, you have a second wind.”
She kept his words in mind when her turn came for the stress test. As the doctors increased resistance on the bike’s back wheel, she took a deep breath and found her second wind.
Jerri Sloan, however, didn’t have the same support from home. Though unsure about a space program that seemed to consist of a bunch of rockets with a tendency to explode, she thought the whole thing was exciting enough to go through the medical tests. Her stepfather felt differently. He had warned her that by taking the tests, she would be competing with her husband, Lou, a pilot himself, and that could only mean trouble. Jerri had ultimately ignored her stepfather’s advice and arranged for her mother to babysit the kids for the week she was in New Mexico. It turned out her stepfather was right. Though Lou had supported his wife as a flyer, talk of “astronaut testing” proved to be too much. He called her every night, but far from the uplifting calls B got from Bob, these spousal check-ins left Jerri despondent.
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