Falling to Earth

by Al Worden

  In my day almost every astronaut was a test pilot, and we understood that accidents could happen. The shuttle was different: many shuttle astronauts came from academic science and engineering backgrounds, and Challenger even had a schoolteacher on board. Few were prepared for the possibility of death.

  Seventeen years later another group of families waited at the Cape, looking for the Columbia space shuttle to glide in for a landing. I, too, was standing outside a store in a little town west of the Cape, scanning the skies in vain. The shuttle never made it home. Spaceflight will always be a dangerous and unforgiving business.

  It just made the get-togethers we had as astronauts even more meaningful. The ASF has now become the focal point for reunions of old colleagues. Retiring shuttle astronauts have swelled our ranks, but that doesn’t lessen the impact of losing more and more of the original guys. Every couple of years, it seems, there is one more funeral, and one more voice I miss.

  I had known Wally Schirra for almost forty years by that point, and his sense of fun never diminished. He was always full of jokes, particularly those sneaky “Gotchas.” So when the ASF organized a riverboat cruise down the Mississippi River in 2004 to raise money, I decided it would be the perfect opportunity to pay him back.

  I was on the cruise with three of the original astronauts, Wally, Scott Carpenter, and Gordo Cooper. Paying guests joined us on the ride to raise tens of thousands of dollars for the foundation. After two days on the river, we were ready to play our trick.

  Scott, Gordo, and I hid in the bathroom of Wally’s guest room. The hotel manager and his female assistant climbed into Wally’s bed in what looked like a very compromising position. Then the ship’s host showed an unsuspecting Wally to his room.

  Wally turned on the lights and let out a yell. The woman on the bed looked back at Wally and screamed so loud it could be heard the length of the ship. Wally jumped in shock, and stood there, frozen in surprise, his eyes wide. Then the manager in the bed looked at him and said “My God, you are Wally Schirra, the famous astronaut.” Reaching over to the bedside stand he picked up a copy of Wally’s memoirs, held it out and calmly asked, “Would you mind autographing this for me?”

  That was our cue to burst out of the bathroom, as everyone in the room collapsed in laughter. Wally had to admit it was a world-class Gotcha.

  Gordo passed away just a few months after the cruise. Three years later, we lost Wally. I was saddened but also gratified that my last memories of my astronaut colleagues are so positive and fun.

  It might seem silly, after all these years, but when one of my colleagues turns to me after a successful ASF event and casually says, “Nice job, Al”—perhaps with a slap on the shoulder, too—it means the world to me. I let them down decades ago. Now, for the first time since my spaceflight, I’m getting those little nods of approval, a sense of belonging once again. It probably means more to me than to them, but that’s okay. I’ve completed the circle. I’m at peace.

  My family thinks I am crazy to work so hard at a time of life when many people take it easy. But earning back this friendship and trust is perhaps the deepest and most driving force I have ever felt in my life. It’s something that I have to do.

  As I explained earlier, I think running for Congress was more important to me personally than flying to the moon. When it comes to my public legacy, I think my work with the ASF will have a much greater long-term impact than my lunar mission. Going to the moon won’t be the most important thing in my life. If I can help a thousand of my country’s brightest students through college, they will make an enormous difference to the future of the world. That work is what drives me today. How can I retire?

  With Gordo Cooper (center) and Scott Carpenter in Mississippi in 2004

  Once I began to regain the approval of my colleagues, there was only one final step left for me. I needed to write this book. Forty years was a long time to hold in the full story. I didn’t have to wait that long. But I came from a large family where I learned to roll with the punches and try to get along. Not only did I not write the story down, I also didn’t talk about it with the public. When interviewers asked me about leaving NASA or the covers, I gave general answers with little detail.

  But four decades is long enough. At some point the true story needed to be told. Now it’s done. I can look back on my moon flight with no lingering sense of unfinished business.

  I still love to look at the moon. I think the moon is very comforting. When it rises, you know all is well.

  I look at the big dark circles on its surface and think about how they got there. I wonder what the moon must have been like four billion years ago. I also try to imagine what Earth must have been like that long ago. It still amazes me to see that enormous ball out there floating around Earth, circling, always keeping the same face toward us.

  Outside of those observations, I don’t dwell on the fact that I’ve been there. The moon is such a tiny step for humans; I am waiting for us to go somewhere that really means something. I have become convinced that there is a genetic drive in us that says we have to go into space. Why? Not because we want to visit Mars, but because someday we will have to find a new home. Our sun won’t last forever. We’ll need to protect the species by going somewhere else. We may have to travel enormous distances, so we had better begin learning how to do it. If we don’t start now, we’ll never get there.

  In the meantime, I think about Earth. Having seen it from a distance, I appreciate what a finite object it is. I plan to focus on what we’ve got here, far more than what is out there.

  Of all the places I have traveled, it is still hard to beat a Michigan summer. I like to walk in the woods and fields, just as I did as a kid back on the farm. Except now, I’m not alone. On a warm evening I’ll be with my children, and their children. Sitting on the grass, I can feel the living soil as I rest my hands on it. There’s new life there, new potential, waiting to grow. It’s comforting.

  Sometimes, while I sit and enjoy the good company of my family, the moon will slowly rise above the trees. I generally don’t pay it much thought. But occasionally I am reminded of my brief glimpse into infinity while alone on the moon’s far side. I still have lingering questions about what I experienced. The answers won’t come in my lifetime. That will be your job.

  Try it, sometime. Some day all of us who journeyed to the moon will be gone. Take a walk on a summer night, look up at the moon, and think of us. A part of us is still there and always will be.

  EPILOGUE

  As a senior, veteran astronaut at the time of the Gemini, Apollo, Skylab, and Apollo-Soyuz missions, over the years, I have encouraged the crew members of those flights to write down their insights of their participation in history’s greatest achievements and adventures. The Apollo 15 crew explored the moon, both on the surface and in orbit, and flew one of the world’s greatest scientific expeditions. Al Worden did a superb job as a vital member of that crew. I am pleased he has finally shared his story.

  After I commanded the Apollo 10 mission to the moon, I replaced Alan Shepard as chief of the astronaut office, followed by a promotion to deputy director of Flight Crew Operations. I was involved in numerous key decisions made behind closed doors about who would fly in space and who would not, as well as issues surrounding astronauts who had bent the rules. In the early days of the space program, we determined that it was best for the program to keep these decisions internal and informal, not passed up through the chain of command to the top bureaucrats. In most cases, they wouldn’t want to know some of the issues that involved astronauts, nor would they probably have understood the best course of action.

  Any organization, after its first fresh and lean years, tends to become more bureaucratic, and NASA was no different. At some point, the days of astronauts with a large degree of autonomy and influence were bound to fade. The difference between the authority of the original Mercury Seven and today’s NASA astronauts is striking. The question was never if the change would happen, bu
t when. And change did happen, over a period of many years.

  After several incidents toward the end of the Apollo program, the bureaucrats moved in for good. Many of them felt for years that we astronauts had far too much power, prestige, and responsibility. Things were never as informal as they had been before. NASA changed and lost some of its original pioneering and engineering spirit. All of the rules were now laid out in black and white, and every decision passed through multiple layers of middle and upper managers.

  Al Worden brought his talent to NASA during a time when the balance had started to shift. Deke Slayton was the director of Flight Crew Operations, and as part of his duties had capably managed the astronauts on a basis of trust and personal responsibility. Al, too, was a trusting guy and had no reason to doubt his superiors. After approving Al’s selection as an astronaut, Deke Slayton gave him one of the earliest flight assignments in his selection group—backup for Apollo 12. It was obvious that Deke thought a lot of him. When it came to carrying out his flight duties, Al performed superbly.

  The nonflight issues surrounding the Apollo 15 crew were traumatic for Deke and the entire Apollo community. The events ended Al’s astronaut and military career, and it is unfortunate that he feels it tainted his name for decades. Personally, I always thought he was an outstanding individual and test pilot, going back to our first meeting, and my opinion of him has never changed. The Apollo 15 mission should be remembered primarily as a perfect flight, greatly advancing our scientific knowledge of the moon. The crew did a great job of flying all aspects of their challenging mission. Al should not have his efforts degraded by the decades-old, short-lived publicity surrounding some postal covers carried on board.

  So, I’m delighted that Al has finally chosen to document his experiences and relate the outstanding success of his Apollo 15 mission to the moon. As one who commanded a mission to the moon, flying the first lunar module to orbit low over its majestic surface, I can relate.

  Lt. General Tom Stafford, USAF (Ret.)

  Pilot, Gemini 6A

  Command Pilot, Gemini 9A

  Commander, Apollo 10 and Apollo-Soyuz

  Former Chief of the Astronaut Office

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A great number of people throughout my life helped me through the events, good and bad, recounted in this book. You know who you are, and you have my continuing thanks for your friendship and support.

  I’m most grateful to the team at Smithsonian Books, who believed in and backed this project with dedication and enthusiasm. Roger Launius, a senior curator of the Space History Division at the National Air and Space Museum and NASA’s former chief historian, kindly added his authoritative voice to those recommending that this book be published. Carolyn Gleason and Matt Litts ably steered this project to fruition, with the expert editing of Lise Sajewski, who sharpened and clarified the story considerably.

  A number of space researchers, friends, collectors, and enthusiasts were of great help when writing this book. They provided archival materials and information that helped us make every page as accurate as possible. For some, it was simply to confirm one small detail. For others, the help went much deeper. Our thanks go to Harry Andonian, Jurg Bolli, Paul Bramley, Marcy Frumker, Jay Gallentine, Rich and Rob Godwin, Ed Hengeveld, Ray Holt, Tracy Kornfeld, Hamish Lindsay, John Macco, Bruce Moody, Willie Moseley, David Newell of the Fred Rogers Company, Robert Pearlman of collectSPACE, J. L. Pickering, David Shomper, Lee Starrick, Bill Stoval, and Simon Vaughan.

  Reading and rereading draft chapters is a thankless task, but outside eyes often pick up details we would otherwise miss. For their assistance, our appreciation goes to Brent Bernasconi, Rossco Davis, Erin French, as well as Anne and Bill Morrell for their valuable insights. Reading chapters from a space historian’s viewpoint also greatly improved our early drafts, and for this task we were lucky enough to have the expert team of Colin Burgess, Jim Busby, Michael Cassutt, and John Charles. Their vast knowledge of the subject area sharpened the book.

  Kris Stoever is a true triple threat: the daughter of an astronaut, a bestselling author, and one of the world’s best editors. She focused her unique talents and insights on our manuscript; the book was greatly improved by her assistance, friendship, and sound advice.

  Thanks to Jo Schirra for access to her late husband’s papers. And Wally Schirra—wherever you are—thank you for your lifelong support and friendship.

  Thanks also go to my many astronaut friends who provided me with information on some of the more obscure corners of our mutual adventures. Tom Stafford has pushed me for years to write this book, and provided helpful confirmations of the closed-door politics that went on around some of the events in this story. Dick Gordon was probably my closest friend in the entire program and wrote a great foreword to this book, one more special moment in a lifelong friendship. Neil Armstrong and John Glenn provided much-valued suggestions. Special appreciation to fellow astronaut Tom Jones for his friendship and advice in getting this book published. As someone who journeyed to the moon with me in spirit, Farouk El-Baz was kind enough to make that trip with me one more time, carefully reviewing the lunar geology sections of the book. Dee O’Hara was a great support at the time of the events we relate, and that care continues to this day. Thank you, Dee, for everything.

  Thanks to the Research Division of the National Museum of the U.S. Air Force; the Office of History and Preservation of the U.S. House of Representatives; the National Personnel Records Center of the National Archives and Records Administration; and the Iowa Women’s Archives, University of Iowa Libraries. Each contained documents that confirmed and reignited old memories. Thanks also to Sonia López, who carefully scanned and meticulously restored numerous old photos.

  A thank you to the unknown transcribers who, four decades ago, carefully recorded our words from space and in the later congressional hearings. The events I recount are burned deep in my memory (flying to the moon tends to do that), but to have my exact words from so long ago at hand helped me relive events with even sharper clarity and precision.

  I want to reserve my final thank you for my wife Jill. We are approaching thirty years of married life together and have shared many wonderful adventures. She’s always understood how important it is for me to tell this story, and I thank her for her support while we researched and wrote the book. I’m looking forward to our next few decades of adventures together.

  I’ve tried my best to describe people and events in words; however, I know there will be places in this story where a reader would like to see a photo. As there is only a limited amount of space in the book, I have added more photos to my website—www.alworden.com—from my life today back to my childhood. I hope you enjoy them.