Fighting for Space

by Amy Shira Teitel

  But America was starting to turn its attention to NASA’s newest group of astronauts. Introduced on September 17, 1962, were nine men the New York Times told readers were “candidates for the lunar flight.” Like the group that preceded them, they were all pilots with military experience and extensive test flying backgrounds. Though two among their number were civilians—Elliot See and Neil Armstrong—they were both former naval aviators who had left the service to fly as test pilots for General Electric and NASA respectively. Neil had even flown near space as a test pilot for the X-15 program, reaching a peak altitude of 207,500 feet. The experimental rocket plane was launched from under the wing of a B-52 bomber to high enough altitudes that he had to rely on the same reaction controls the Mercury spacecraft used at the peak of his flight until the plane descended enough for traditional flight control surfaces to bite into air. This was a wholly different kind of flying than any of the Lovelace women had done, so though Elliot and Neil were civilian pilots, their skills as aviators set them apart.

  * * *

  “We all remember the pioneering flights of America’s beloved Amelia Earhart. Like many others, she gave her life to the advancement of aviation.”

  Jerrie spoke from the podium in the Grand Ballroom of the Statler Hilton Hotel in Cleveland before 250 people, most of them women, for the Zonta Club luncheon on November 28, 1962. The theme of the afternoon was “women in the space age” in tribute to Amelia. A handful of the older women there had probably met Amelia socially or at an air race, but only Jackie, who sat at one of the many tables set up in the ballroom, had really known her. The days they’d spent planning flights and the nights lounging in front of the fire at the Ranch seemed like a lifetime ago.

  “Jacqueline Cochran,” Jerrie continued her address, “has set more world aviation records than any other person in the world. In space it will be no different.” Spaceflight was no childish lark, Jerrie said. Women had long contributed to the advancement of science. This was no different, she said, imploring everyone there to contribute to the best of their God-given abilities. “Having been a professional pilot for many years, I feel that I could best contribute to space research in the area of astronaut testing and training. To prove that women have the capabilities of actively participating in space flight, I had the privilege of undergoing three cases of astronaut testing.” She had been appointed a NASA consultant, she erroneously told the gathered crowd, but, she said, “I’m the most unconsulted consultant in any government agency today.

  “I’m certainly not a feminist, nor do I want to be a space age Harriet Beecher Stowe. Certainly I do not wish to be a heroine or a martyr, but I would willingly give my life to this purpose and count it a blessing to have served my God and my country to the utmost. With God as my pilot,” she finished, “I hope to make that space flight.”

  Applause filled the room. Jerrie regained her seat as Jackie stood and moved to the podium before the Zonta women.

  “The Lovelace Foundation for Medical Research gave the first medical checks to the large group of astronaut candidates.” Jackie didn’t waste time on any preamble. “This unofficial and volunteer medical research project, through publicity, editorial license, and wishful thinking became parlayed into the fairly widespread belief that there is an astronaut program for women.” It was a very different version of the same story the Zonta women had just heard from Jerrie. “There is much misinformation on the subject. I know my facts.” She was friends with Randy Lovelace and had been a guinea pig for his experiments for years, she told them. Floyd was chairman of the Lovelace Foundation. She was friends with the top men in the armed services, at NASA, and even the vice president. She funded the women’s testing to the tune of $18,000.28 “The misinformation that has been floating around has actually slowed down rather than speeded up the possibility of a space program for women. There is no astronaut program for women. There has never been such a program for women. No woman in this country has passed the full battery of tests that would make her a candidate for training even if such a program were planned. NASA has never nominated, selected, or approved any woman for such role.” In establishing the qualifications for astronauts, she told the luncheon crowd, NASA hadn’t discriminated against women, it had discriminated against most of the world save a handful who happened to meet the nearly impossible standards it wanted to participate in the grand experiment of seeing whether humans could survive in space. She herself didn’t meet the standards and didn’t feel discriminated against. Besides, the Moon was just the beginning. Future missions would need trained scientists and technicians of both genders. “As to women,” she said as her speech came to an abrupt end, “it can well start with a program of the type I have mentioned.”

  Jackie’s speech was far less inspiring than Jerrie’s, but it resonated with decision-makers. As 1963 dawned, a copy made the rounds just as her March 23 letter to Jerrie had. She sent a copy to Jim Webb, who enjoyed her straightforward approach. She sent one to Hugh Dryden, who, pleased with her statesmanlike view of the role of women in the national space program, was happy to see that she was continuing to set the record straight. It even made its way to George P. Miller in the House of Representatives, who promptly had it entered as an appendix in the Congressional Record.

  * * *

  By the spring of 1963, Jerrie was losing her will to keep fighting, to keep pushing her increasingly lonely agenda. She’d been given answers by the experts in government, in aerospace, and hadn’t liked them. Arguing for a different answer was no longer a crusade; it was an obsession. Her public appearances hadn’t coerced NASA into changing its stance, so she made yet another appeal to the president. “It is difficult to write this letter knowing it will be read by your secretaries and assistants…” She didn’t know how else to start the letter. She felt she couldn’t do anything anymore but pour her feeling out and hope that this time, somehow, she wouldn’t be ignored.

  “It is a fact that the American people want the United States to put the first women in space. While NASA refuses, the Soviet Union openly boasts that they will capture this next important scientific first in space by putting their lady cosmonaut up this year. We could have accomplished this scientific feat last year, and even now, could still beat the U.S.S.R. if you would make the decision. It need not even be a long orbital shot, or interfere with the current space program; on a rush basis a sub-orbital shot would suffice or an X-15 flight to a 50 mile altitude. Any aerospace doctor or scientist will tell you the scientific data obtained from such an experiment would be of lasting benefit. May the Lord guide you in your decision.” She packaged her letter with a scrapbook of her correspondence with NASA and several news clippings about her fight to get into space and sent it off to the White House.

  Jerrie’s parcel was rerouted to Jim Webb’s desk, and it pushed him over the edge. He was fed up with her persistent letters, her increasingly critical tone, and that she was still passing herself off as a NASA consultant. He decided to end the matter once and for all. “It is certainly fine with everyone in NASA for you to work towards any goal that you believe in. Your association with NASA has come to an end.” He was leaving no room for interpretation this time. “I did not think it would help you work towards your goal to criticize this relationship under which you had been asked to serve as a NASA consultant, and that this relationship has not proved of the value I had hoped it would. Now that your appointment as a consultant has expired, I think you should certainly pursue your goals in any way that you feel you should.”

  In Jerrie’s stead, Jim appointed Jackie the new NASA consultant on women in space. It was official this time, with a private swearing-in ceremony on June 11 in Jim’s office. Jackie was keen to avoid publicity; she didn’t think any good would come of her celebrating this new appointment. She did, however, ask for copies of the pictures for her own records.

  Jerrie had one more trick up her sleeve: with her old writer-friend Jane Rieker, she was releasing her memoir. Woman into Space: The
Jerrie Cobb Story went through her teenage years learning to fly, her tumultuous relationship with Jack Ford, her meeting Randy Lovelace, and offered readers an intimate look at her astronaut medical tests. It was her last-ditch effort to draw attention to the issue by sharing her whole story with the nation. She could only hope that renewed public interest might finally force NASA to reconsider its stance on women.

  “At this writing, we are waiting still,” the final pages of the memoir read. “The real movers of this country are its more than 180,000,000 inhabitants, and they’re going to see that an American woman has an early place in space!” It was a final plea directly to the American people, but it came too late. On June 16, just days before Jerrie’s memoir was due to hit shelves, Valentina Tereshkova flew as the pilot of Vostok 6. The first woman in space was a Soviet.

  * * *

  Reading about Jerrie and the other women pilots whom the American media described as “astronaut hopefuls” and “candidates” in early 1962, Soviet scientists were interested. Particularly Nikolai Kamanin, the head of recruitment for the cosmonaut program, though his interest was political rather than scientific. He didn’t want the first woman in space to be American; that, he thought, would be unacceptable to patriotic Soviet women. Moreover, he knew that the nation that launched the first woman would score a significant propaganda victory, and this alone made a female mission worthwhile. He figured that if the right woman could be trained in about six months and fast-tracked into the next Vostok mission, the Soviet Union had a real chance of launching the first woman.

  From a list of pilots, skydivers, and parachutists who met the age, height, and weight limitations imposed by the Vostok spacecraft, fifty-eight names landed on Nikolai’s desk. Though disappointed in the poor caliber of candidates, he didn’t bother widening his search. The Vostok spacecraft the woman would fly was entirely automated, so she didn’t need to be overly qualified. The most challenging part of the flight would be the landing. Vostok couldn’t land softly enough to protect the cosmonaut inside, so whoever became the female pilot would, like Gagarin, eject at about 10,000 feet and land by personal parachute. With this in mind, he’d handpicked twenty-three women to put through medical tests. After three rounds of eliminations, Nikolai selected five women, all experienced parachutists and only one with any piloting experience.

  The female cosmonaut candidates joined their male counterparts in March of 1962, but the transition from a unisex to coed program wasn’t seamless. As the women received flight instruction, experienced centrifuge runs, and were subjected to extended isolation tests, the men remained largely hostile. The pervading opinion among those still waiting for a flight assignment was that the stunt of a female flight was doing little more than taking a mission away from a man who had earned it. A few men, however, enjoyed the social element of having women in their midst.

  A year after the women started training, Nikolai made his choice: Valentina Tereshkova, a mill worker and amateur parachutist, would make the female flight. Soviet premier Nikita Khrushchev endorsed the choice owing to her favorable propaganda profile—she was single, good-looking, hardworking, thoughtful, and the daughter of a farmer who had been killed in 1940 during the Soviet-Finnish War. She was, in short, a fantastic role model for Soviet women of all ages.

  Valentina was told on May 21 that she had been chosen to make the first female flight. Less than a month later, she was in space.

  * * *

  America was suddenly interested in women astronauts again. Valentina’s flight was called “an embarrassment” more than once. Journalists reported that Jerrie could have been up first in articles that contained ads for her memoirs. Reports rehashed the hearing, saying US lady pilots were “boiling mad that Jimmy Webb turned them down.” But not all the press was positive. Some people questioned whether Valentina’s flight was essential or whether it was little more than a publicity stunt that had no real bearing on the space race.

  News of a Soviet woman in space didn’t change Jackie’s mind on the issue. In light of the importance of the Mercury and Apollo programs, she still felt NASA had made the best decision. She was so confident she offered to make a statement and issue a press release in her official role as a NASA consultant on the matter. She wasn’t alone in thinking the Soviet feat had little bearing on American women pilots. “I don’t think Valentina’s orbit is going to help us one bit,” K Cagle told a local Macon newspaper that identified her as a representative for the thirteen women under consideration for a spaceflight of their own.

  * * *

  By November 22, Lyndon Johnson had to admit that his term as vice president had been one of the unhappiest times of his political life. He was even losing his zeal for space. The public was still enamored with the astronaut program, but support for NASA as a whole was waning. There was increased talk of space being used for national defense, and with the cost of Apollo steadily rising, JFK was thinking of scaling things back. Two months earlier at the eighteenth United Nations General Assembly, the president had asked why the United States and Soviet Union were duplicating their space technologies when they could be working together on a joint lunar mission. Nothing in space was certain anymore, and Lyndon was deeply unhappy about it. He walked down the hall to Jack’s suite in their Dallas hotel and told the president that if he was going to seek reelection, he would have to find a new running mate.

  Members of both teams in the hallway couldn’t hear the words; they could only hear the heated exchange between Jack and Lyndon.

  The next day, Lyndon sat in an open car driving behind Jack’s as their motorcade moved slowly through Dallas. Out of nowhere, he heard a bang—then before he knew it one of his Secret Service men was lying on top of him, pressing him into the seat of the car. He was vaguely aware that Lady Bird was being similarly forcibly protected. In the car ahead of them, Jack Kennedy had been shot. Within hours, Lyndon was sworn in as president, suddenly thrust from the least powerful office in the nation to perhaps the most powerful position in the world.

  Jack Kennedy had promised Americans a nation where government was good and the American dream was accessible to everyone. But his assassination revealed the country was more fractured than it seemed. Civil rights groups, impatient with the slow pace of change in Washington, were increasingly finding their voice. Betty Friedan wrote The Feminine Mystique. Wives and mothers nationwide realized they weren’t alone in feeling unfulfilled. Women began speaking out against the “family values” that had been keeping them confined to domesticity, inspired to want more from their lives than being wives and mothers.

  But not all of JFK’s hopes risked crumbling in the wake of his death. The president’s assassination added an emotional element to the lunar landing goal. Now, the space agency wasn’t just following a presidential order, it was honoring the dream of a fallen president. NASA had no choice but to get to the Moon by the end of the decade, and Lyndon couldn’t have cancelled Apollo if he had wanted to. Amid everything else he inherited from JFK, LBJ redoubled his support behind the lunar landing goal.

  * * *

  Three months later, as Lyndon was settling into his new role, a letter from Jerrie landed on his desk. In it, she urged him to reconsider the question of women in space as it was now a matter of catching up to the Russians. “If it is absolutely impossible to phase women astronauts into the Gemini or Apollo projects at this time,” the letter read, “would you please consider the possibility of letting a woman pilot work in the X-15 research project and, if competent, fly the X-15 to the fringes of space?” He could tell she was trying any means necessary to get into space. Inclosed was a copy of his own letter from two years earlier, the one wherein he said he had no problems with women in space. As Jack Kennedy had done so many times, Lyndon passed the responsibility of answering off to someone else.

  The response, signed by the president but written on his behalf, left no room for interpretation. NASA’s decision to select test pilots as astronauts was as valid now as it h
ad been in 1959, and the first likely “modification of this policy will be made to permit properly qualified scientists to serve as crew members during Project Apollo missions.” As for her request to fly the X-15, this was patently out of the question. “From your own experience, I believe you are aware of the exacting demands placed on the pilots of extremely high-performance jet aircraft. These demands, however, are at least an order of magnitude less than the demands placed on the X-15 pilots.” There was no chance NASA would let a pilot of propeller planes join a highly specialized program to fly this rocket-powered experimental plane to the fringes of space.

  The letter ended reminding Jerrie that she had special skills and qualifications that could be used in other ways to help the country through any number of worthwhile organizations and encouraged her to pursue these options.

  * * *

  Jerrie walked along the beach in Jamaica. She’d needed an escape after everything that had happened in Washington and the final rejection letter from the president, so she had returned to the island where she’d once been so happy, but she couldn’t stop the thoughts running through her head. She’d lost her fight to get into space. She was nearly broke from traveling so much in pursuit of that mission. She had lost her first love when Jack Ford had died, and now she felt her second love—her passion for spaceflight—had been stolen from her. She did have “special skills and qualifications,” as the president had told her, but none of that felt important now that she didn’t have a purpose. She couldn’t understand why. Why had her loves been taken from her? Why had she spent years devoting herself to spaceflight only to have it lead to nothing? She had always believed in God, but she couldn’t understand why He would take everything from her when she felt like she was doing everything right.