A young man said, “Does anyone know?”
“Sure. Some people in the Kremlin and the bureaucracies that deal with such things in the Soviet Union know the answer to that.”
“I’m Patricia. Patricia Hernandez. You sounded so optimistic about space exploration to Ned. How could you be that optimistic with just two men who went up and down and one who went for three orbits?”
“It’s pretty easy. It is because of the incredible pace of progress we’ve made so far. Please remember that it was October of 1957 when the Soviet Union, using the same booster for their ICBM’s, launched their Sputnik One satellite. We couldn’t get off the ground. In fact, Sputnik One was the proof to us that they had an Intercontinental Ballistic Missile—an ICBM. The 4th of October is when it went up from the Soviet Union so that was around five years ago, wasn’t it? We had nothing. We had tried to send up an ICBM for a test fight—an Atlas—in June of 1957 and our Range Safety Officer—Range Safety guy—the guy who just sits there and presses a button that blows up rockets whenever he has to; he had to intentionally blow it up because right after launch it was headed toward Cocoa Beach instead of just going up and then down into the ocean. Before it went way off-course he blew it up before it did any damage to Cocoa Beach. Our first successful launch of a satellite wasn’t until January of 1958, and just think—not much after that we all celebrated when we got a recording of President Eisenhower’s voice giving a pre-recorded Christmas Greeting from an orbiting satellite in 1958’s Christmas Season. That’s as far as we came just around three years ago. Then we had an Atlas-Able—a ninety foot rocket—blow up on the launching pad. That was in 1959. Then we tried another Atlas-Able on Thanksgiving of 1959 with it targeted to hit the moon. It didn’t hit the moon. It got launched off the pad this time but it missed its target of the moon and kept going through space. One unexpected plus on that one was that it became the first man-made satellite to orbit the sun. It became part of our solar system. But those are all—I won’t call them failures because we always learn from tests—but they didn’t do what we hoped they would do. With all that behind us—and I left so much out, we now have had three successful space flights with human beings: Shephard, Grissom and Glenn with Glenn orbiting from a successfully launched Atlas Rocket. If we moved that fast—and we did—from June of 1957 when we had no successes to what we saw last week—not even five years later—that’s not bad. Yes, everyone in this class will be able to be Astronauts. It won’t be easy but you’ll be able to do it.”
Then, from a young man came, “What I want to know is—and maybe this is basic and I just don’t know it but what is the difference between a missile and a rocket?”
Chris nodded. “I know those two terms get mixed up a lot and I even get them mixed up after all these years, but I can best explain the difference by using ‘Friendship 7’ that most of you saw launched on television. It was launched by an Atlas called MA-7 standing for Mercury Atlas and then its designation—it’s Number Seven. If that Atlas had a warhead or a simulation of a warhead for testing under its nose cone, that particular Atlas would have been correctly called a missile. But it didn’t. Instead it had a space capsule as its top-stage and so that Atlas was correctly defined as a rocket. Rockets and missiles are words that are dependent on their mission’s top-stage’s target. It would be correct to say that the Atlas is a booster that can launch a top stage that makes its booster a delivery vehicle for a mission of war or peace, and is therefore called a missile capable of wearing a warhead on top, or it could be a rocket totally dependent on its mission to send a different kind of top stage into a defined area of space.”
“Are Atlas’ built without knowing exactly what they’re going to do when they’re finished?”
“Sure. An Atlas alone as a first stage without having anything attached has the potential of being either a missile or rocket and at that time of its life, just nothing. At that time of its life it could correctly be called a booster stage but without a mission—just sitting there I guess—or used as an exhibit someday. Originally President Eisenhower didn’t want any missile used as a booster for space-flights. Instead he wanted all space missions to be launched by a new rocket called ‘Vanguard’ for space flights alone—and not allowed to be used as a potential war-time booster. Mixing up the two, he thought, could cause world-suspicion. Vanguard didn’t work out. One after another, Vanguards kept blowing up. Missiles went through that kind of history too, but President Eisenhower hoped we could get Vanguards off the pad with the ability to launch frequent space vehicles and with the mission to launch only space vehicles. No luck.”
The same young man followed up by asking, “Is the Atlas the only rocket we have for now for the flight of Astronauts?”
“No. Shephard and Grissom went up in Redstones. Those are smaller and less powerful than an Atlas. They weren’t used for orbiting an Astronaut but for Astronaut flights going up and down in space. The next manned spacecraft after the Mercury 7 series is to be a series called Gemini, and Geminis will house two Astronauts at once and the Gemini series will be launched by Titans, not Atlas’. Titans have been used for simulating a warhead and Titans have been defined as a missile for those test-flights. Soon they will be designated as rockets because they will be used as spacecraft flights. Get it?”
“Who is left of the Mercury-7 Astronauts?” a young woman asked.
“Scott Carpenter, Wally Schirra and Leroy Gordon Cooper known as ‘Gordo.’ Then we will see about the medical decision for Deke Slayton.”
“You know Shorty Powers?” a young man asked.
“The voice of Mercury! Sure! Good man!”
“Is he really short?”
“No. He’s a giant. He probably knows more about the Mercury-7 program than anyone else. You know he invented the term you heard John Glenn use in his flight when he answered the Capsule Communicator’s question by saying “A-Okay!”
“I mean in height—is he short?”
“I never gave it any thought. I’ll pay attention the next time I see him for you. Now let me get back to the story I hoped to tell you this evening: It starts a long time ago—I mean a really long, long, long time ago. And feel free to interrupt me at any time by raising your hand. You don’t need to wait until after I get done speaking and I won’t wait until then to answer you. At the most I’ll just complete whatever sentence I’m saying at the time.”
A young woman’s hand was raised already.
Chris nodded and said, “Yes?”
“I’m sorry, sir. Please go ahead.”
“No. It’s okay. What?”
“That statement you made about President Eisenhower’s voice. I don’t remember that happening. It was a recording of his voice played back from space?”
“Yes. It was called Project Score. Anyone hear of the Broadway Musical, ‘Call Me Madam’?”
“Yes, sir” another of the young women said. “It was a movie, too, I think.”
“I think you’re right. Either way it had to be around the early 1950s so most of you were probably kids at that time. But it was a big musical by Irving Berlin: you know, he had written ‘God Bless America’ and ‘White Christmas’ and a lot of songs and he wrote the music and lyrics for ‘Call Me Madam’ and one of the songs he wrote was called ‘They Like Ike and Ike is Good on a Mic.’ That was short for microphone. Get it? Mic. That was before General Eisenhower ran for the Presidency and so a lot of people got mad because they thought this was a push for him to run against Adlai Stevenson. In short, they claimed it was a campaign song in a Broadway Show. Maybe it was; I don’t know, but it was very popular. And, of course he did run and became President of the United States. Now, the song title was right because as we all learned he was very good on a Mic—on a microphone. Years after he won the presidency—that thought of how good he was on a mic gave the inspiration of having a space flight in 1958 while he was in his second term as President. Not that long ago—it was about four years ago. Listen to this:
“
Even if you know what I’m talking about you probably don’t know that there were only 88 people who knew about this particular project going on. It was held in secret. I don’t mean a national security secret but just something that President Eisenhower and NASA wanted to keep secret because it was meant as a Christmas Gift or Card or something like that—to the world from the United States by the President tape-recording a Christmas greeting and we—we would get the tape to an orbiting rocket of ours in space and send the message to earth for transmission from space to the world. It was so secret that after some months 55 of the 88 were told they could go ahead to other assignments, but to retain the secret. The transition for those 55 going back to previous assignments left only 33 people who were still working on Project Score; but all original 88 still pledged to secrecy. Most people who worked on the Cape thought that this Atlas would be used for another testing of systems of the Atlas Intercontinental Ballistic Missile system—an ICBM.”
Some young man confirmed its translation, “That’s what they’re called for short.”
“Good. Good. Right,” he said somewhat bothered because he already said that. “ICBM. Now, one loose word by any of those who knew its real mission meant the project would be cancelled. Not for the usual reasons of security but it was intended to be worth celebrating.”
“But you said we keep nothing in secret.”
“No, I didn’t say that we keep nothing secret. Or if I did then I put it wrong. I surely didn’t mean to say ‘nothing.’ We keep plenty of things secret that involve national security; now even some satellites depending on their mission. I hope I said that we don’t keep launches of manned flights secret and, instead, if the U.S. networks want to put it on television or radio and even if foreign television networks send camera operators here to photograph its launch—that’s fine. Get it?
“Let me go on about that unique voice message of President Eisenhower: Don’t think I’m trying to be dramatic. It’s the way we live. The bird—meaning the Atlas Rocket, and the red and white checkerboard tower that shelters the rocket, and the umbilical tower that keeps charging it; feeding it, and really all the elements above the yellow temporary bolted ‘holder’—the launcher that unlatches—allowing the freedom of the Atlas—become our friends. We applaud when all the elements work as planned, and we blame ourselves or, candidly, maybe we even cry when they do what we don’t want them to do.
“So in ten days from the rocket’s arrival, it was driven to its tower and erected so as to be embraced—hugged by the tower doors that could be moved up and down either for shelter in their embrace or to stand alone prior to test or launch.
“The countdown was now Minus Fifteen Days and Counting. Added to the 8700 pounds was President Eisenhower’s message, recorded by him and later to be transmitted from a tape in Atlas 10-B’s communications package, then beamed down to the Earth and carried by radio to listeners anywhere on the world that could receive it.
“First, a static test, performed on every liquid fueled rocket or missile days before flight time, actuating every system needed to be rehearsed except launch itself. That is the dress rehearsal while the rocket is free from its red and white tower’s hugging embrace; now parked by its side, while still held, now as captive by its yellow launching device holding tight on the rocket’s thrust section.”
“Were you there?” one of the young men asked.
“Some of the time.”
“What did you do on it?”
“What I always do—pushed buttons on a computer and kept my mouth shut. I didn’t open it until the world already heard the message and we had clearance.”
“All to hear a recoding?” a young man asked.
“Keep in mind it was the President of the United States and at the time the Soviet Union didn’t have the technology to broadcast their leader’s voice through space, and besides, General Secretary Nikita Khrushchev wasn’t known to be good on a Mic.
“For us, this forthcoming launch, our Atlas which was originally built to be an Intercontinental Ballistic Missile had its mission changed to be used as a powerful rocket booster for radio transmission throughout much of the world in—as I said—for the 1958 Christmas Season starting on December the 18th—our time; Cape Canaveral’s time being the 18th at launch. Shortly after that was when millions of people around the world heard the voice of President Eisenhower; and minutes after transmission, his words were translated in many languages. It was a simple but meaningful message.” Then Christopher took a folded piece of paper from his top left inside pocket of his suit-jacket and began reading:
“‘This is the President of the United States speaking. Through the marvels of scientific advance, my voice is coming to you from a satellite circling in outer space. My message is a simple one: Through this unique means I convey to you and all mankind, America’s wish for peace on Earth and goodwill toward men everywhere.’”
Chris added, “It was the beginning of our communications satellites.” Chris looked at the young woman who had originally asked him about it since she hadn’t remembered hearing about it. “Does that answer your question about what it was about?”
“Yes, Mister Straw,” she said.
By the time Christopher Straw got done telling stories about the adventures of space it was close to 9:00 P.M. and the previously ordered pizza arrived. Chris held up both hands and said,” Don’t get up to bring the pizza to your desks just yet. I never got around to saying what I wanted to say at the beginning of this session about something that happened a zillion years ago—and it’s very short:
“I believe that God created outer space. And he painted it black and called it the heavens. That black of the heavens became a mystery for Man. Millennia passed one after another all the way into your time of births in the 20th Century with the mystery sustained. But somewhere near the beginning of your lifetimes Man started to build towers to reach the heavens. The first time ever. And he painted them red and white and called them the Towers of Canaveral.”
There was a silence that overcame the schoolroom. The students were staring at him but without any audible reaction.
So Chris got up to get some pizza for himself. “All clear for pizza,” he said. His ‘Astronauts-to-be’ followed him to the back of the schoolroom to get slices for themselves to bring back to their desks.
“I love it!” he told Anna on the telephone about his first teaching assignment that night. “Great kids! They are great kids! I’ll be doing this once a week—I hope. Every Thursday night.”
“Wonderful! Where are you now?”
“Back at the Silver Spray. My apartment.”
“Alone?”
“Oh, Anna. Please.”
“Well, I don’t know who you meet in your adventures and decide to bring home; I don’t know. Maybe there’s a pretty teacher there. How do I know?”
“You don’t know and I want you to worry about it. Then maybe you’ll hurry back home.”
“It sounds like you really enjoy teaching about space.”
“Of course. I love it.”
“I’ll go with you one of these Thursday nights.”
There was silence followed by Chris saying, “I don’t know if they allow guests.”
“Oh, come on!”
maestro
THEME SEVENTEEN
THE UNLIKELY CELEBRITY
ALL THE TRANSITIONS CAME WITH FREQUENCY; welcome or unwelcome, breaking the sureness of yesterday. Unexpectedly, the most unscheduled transition was the one to come to Raj Bhavnani because he would not stand still, first leaving New York City, then he became a Lincoln-Mercury car salesman in Buffalo, then a bartender at the Old Town Ale House in Chicago, then he had a job changing clothes on mannequin displays at Schuster’s Department Store in Milwaukee, then a waiter at Café du Monde in New Orleans then an Assistant Manager at Bullock’s Wilshire in Los Angeles, then an Assistant Manager at In-N-Out Burgers in Baldwin Park. He did all that somehow remembering the advice that Chris told him his father had
given to him to “travel throughout the United States” and learn. And then in early October of 1962 came the biggest change of all when he went from the United States to join the Indian Army in Kashmir that was fighting the invasion of India’s two major enemies; the People’s Republic of China’s Liberation Army on the battlefield of India’s north-east border, and the Republic of Pakistan—or at least its proxies—on the battlefield of India’s north-west border with West Pakistan.
It was a war that prompted little interest by most in the United States because at the time the United States was justifiably immersed in events taking place ninety miles from its own shores of Key West; the Cuban Missile Crisis.
Although China and its ally, Pakistan, took land from what had been territory of India, Raj became a hero for having come back to his country of birth to help India retain much of its territory from the invaders. He was promoted from his first rank of Havidar up to Second Lieutenant. “Is Field Marshal open?” he asked but was not answered. No matter; his greatest acclaim was given by civilians as he attained celebrity status in some villages, towns, and cities, with Raj known as “the Bharata who went to America and came back home to fight for his Homeland.” That term, “Bharata” was significant as the Indian subcontinent was named Bharat some two thousand or more years back and still affectionately used by many as a sign of national inheritance.
Raising the Baton Page 14