Light This Candle: The Life & Times of Alan Shepard--America's First Spaceman

by Neal Thompson

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Praise

  Foreword

  Prologue

  Part I - BEFORE SPACE

  1 - “Alan was really kind of a loner”

  2 - “I think I love you”

  3 - “The kamikazes raised hell last night”

  4 - “UNSAFE FOR SOLO” in Zoom Town

  5 - A perfectly charming son of a bitch

  6 - Shepard should be court-martialed

  7 - “Do you wish to declare an emergency?”

  8 - “That little rascal”

  Part II - INTO SPACE

  9 - “We made them heroes, the first day they were picked”

  10 - Eyeballs in, eyeballs out

  11 - “A harlot of a town”

  12 - “I think I got myself in trouble”

  13 - “We had ’em by the short hairs, and we gave it away”

  14 - “Light this candle!”

  15 - “I believe we should go to the moon”

  16 - “I’m sick . . . should I just hang it up?”

  17 - How to succeed in business without really fllying—much

  18 - “Captain Shepard? I’m Charles Lindbergh”

  19 - “What’s wrong with this ship?”

  Part III - AFTER SPACE

  20 - “When you’ve been to the moon, where else are you going to go?”

  21 - “I saw a different Alan Shepard, completely different”

  22 - “This is the toughest man I’ve ever met”

  NOTES

  BIBLIOGRAPHY

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright Page

  For Mary

  Man must rise above the Earth—to the top of the atmosphere and beyond—for only thus will he fully understand the world in which he lives.

  —SOCRATES, 500 B.C.

  Praise for Neal Thompson’s

  LIGHT THIS CANDLE

  “Alan Shepard captured the imagination of America perhaps more than any other astronaut. I was so proud he was our friend, and even more proud of the example of courage that he set for so many people around the world. He was a good man, and Barbara and I loved him.”

  —President George H. W. Bush

  “Just a wonderful and gripping biography . . . meticulously reported in the best tradition of David Halberstam. It is written with eloquent grace. Most satisfying of all, Light This Candle is the can’t-put-it-down story of a modern swashbuckler determined to conquer the universe whatever the risk. In Thompson’s hands, an amazing life, the ultimate American life, comes alive so exquisitely.”

  —Buzz Bissinger,

  New York Times bestselling author of Friday Night Lights

  “Just what a biography should be: sharp, evocative, and brisk.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “Shepard was a very complicated individual. He had all the attributes to be successful, but he always lived on the edge. He had the perseverance to live through his medical problems to finally fly to the moon, but he didn’t always follow the rules. Light This Candle captures the many facets of Alan Shepard.”

  —Captain James A. Lovell

  “Thompson shows that Shepard was an immensely complicated and conflicted man whose many passions drove him to feats of extraordinary bravery and accomplishment, but also to dangerous flirtations with self-destructions.”

  —Smithsonian Air & Space

  “Story-telling at its best . . . Every page is alive.”

  —David Hartman,

  U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings

  “Tough to say what’s cooler: that Alan Shepard was the first American in space, or that he hit a golf ball on the moon. Light This Candle chronicles the amazing life of the brashest, funniest astronaut ever.”

  — Men’s Health

  “The fullest portrait [of Shepard] yet. Does much to illuminate the life and personality of perhaps the most private and complex member of the Mercury Seven.”

  —Library Journal

  “The thoroughness of his research is impressive, and his fast-paced narrative keeps the pages turning.”

  —Paul Stillwell,

  director, History Division, U.S. Naval Institute

  “Journalist Thompson reveals another side of this all-American navy pilot with the right stuff. A snappily written, factual counterbalance to Tom Wolfe’s sometimes poetic renderings of the heroes of the early space program.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Neal Thompson has taken a larger-than-life figure about whom we thought we knew all we needed to know, subjected him to rigorous investigative reporting and dogged shoe-leather research, and produced a gripping, highly readable tale that makes Alan Shepard, one of the iconic figures of the past half century, even more fascinating without diminishing his heroic dimensions.”

  —Robert Timberg,

  author of The Nightingale’s Song and State of Grace: A Memoir of Twilight Time

  “A valuable addition to the library of books on the space program.”

  — The Houston Chronicle

  “Thompson has thoroughly researched Shepard. . . . [The] first full-dress biography of a complex space pioneer.”

  —Booklist

  “A quick and thoroughly captivating read.”

  —Leatherneck magazine

  “A fine book that depicts Shepard vividly. [The] prose crackles with the kind of energy Americans remember from those first broadcasts from space itself. Thompson’s persistence in interviewing Shepard’s surviving colleagues has bared Shepard’s soul in ways the man himself seemed incapable of doing. Light This Candle, in contrast to the swagger of Wolfe’s Right Stuff, exposes Shepard as a complex individual who had to battle his own ambition and ego to become a better man.”

  —Kansas City Star

  “An illuminating look at America’s first spaceman. [Thompson] writes with eloquent grace. This is one of the finest books ever written about our space program. The thoroughness of the author’s research is impressive.”

  — The Indianapolis Star

  “An extremely readable account of the life of a Navy pilot and America’s first astronaut hero.”

  —Dallas Morning News

  “A highly readable effort to explain this remarkable American.”

  —The Charlotte Observer

  “The story remains irresistible, no matter how often it’s told. . . . Thompson’s biography hits all the right notes . . . professional, conscientious, and honest.”

  —The Buffalo News

  “A rare, warts-and-all portrait—and Shepard had a lot of warts. Thompson does a stellar job painting a real-life figure who never really showed his true self to anyone.”

  —The Vancouver Sun

  “ ‘Light this candle’ is a phrase that tells us a lot about the way America’s first spaceman lived his life . . . an enjoyable composition spiced with humor and anecdotes.”

  —The Charleston Post and Courier

  “Alan Shepard comes through as ambitious, cold, and often selfish. He also comes through as competent, determined, and brave.”

  —The Washington Times

  “A well-researched biography [and] a long overdue account of Alan Shepard . . . A welcome addition to the history of the nation’s space programs.”

  — Sea Power

  “This excellent biography . . . attempts to explain how such a remarkable personality could remain almost invisible to public scrutiny. Thompson’s thorough research has u
ncovered a surprising amount of information about Shepard. This book is long overdue and a fitting tribute to America’s first man in space.”

  —Flight Journal

  FOREWORD

  Today, it is all too easy to think of the first 15-minute ballistic flight of Project Mercury as a mere blip on the history screen of manned space flight. In 1961, believe me, it was anything but a simple thing to do. The buildup to this flight by the media, Congress, the White House and, frankly, the entire world was overwhelming. The space race with the Russians had been heating up for some time, and the technical reputation of the United States hung in the balance.

  Add to this the fact that the reliability of a rocket-propelled system in 1961 was not much better then 60 percent and you may begin to have a feel for the anxiety all of us were experiencing. All but the most optimistic flight surgeons questioned the human response to being at zero gravity for extended periods of time. Many learned doctors in the medical community predicted dire results, such as total disorientation, loss of vision, and a lack of capability to perform the smallest task. Skeptics who thought we were venturing beyond the state of the art were many. And we were informed several weeks before the flight that it was to be done with real-time coverage of the world press.

  All of us in flight operations came into the space program with varied backgrounds and education. My personal background was from the airplane flight test group of the NACA at Langley Field, Virginia. My entire career had been spent interfacing with new and high-speed airplanes. We were accustomed to exploring the outer edges of the envelope of an airplane’s performance. But we had no idea what we were getting into in the realm of space.

  I was familiar with the personalities one could expect from men who recognized they worked in a dangerous and sometimes unpredictable business. In the time period that Alan Shepard participated in the U.S. Space Program, there were many astronauts who performed outstanding feats. But among the first seven chosen in 1959, Shepard almost immediately stood out as the leading candidate to be the first man in space for the United States. He appeared to many as an egotist bent on being first, and his sometimes aloof attitude left an impression that he was a cold and distant individual. However, to those of us with whom he worked and trained for one of the most grueling tasks as a space test pilot, he was always the pilot who we knew would not only excel but perform precisely as advertised.

  Shepard came to the NASA Space Task Group as a veteran and proven airplane test pilot. His experience as a flyer was well documented, and his reputation at the Navy Flight Test Center at Patuxent River, Maryland, was exemplary. Therefore, as we began training for the first manned flight of the Redstone, it was no surprise to me that he was all business and ready to make his mark on history. I must say that from day one of our meeting in mission control to begin the detail training for the first manned flight, I was impressed with Shepard’s desire to do it right. He was intelligent, well versed in the Mercury spacecraft systems, ready to perform all of the tasks required, and totally committed to the purpose of proving man’s capability to work and survive in the rigorous environment of space.

  Put yourself in the seat with Alan Shepard as you sit on the top of a rocket standing on the launchpad fuming gaseous oxygen and resting on three solid rockets to be used for reentry into the atmosphere, and an escape rocket above you triggered to slam you away from a system that could be headed in a direction other than planned or exploding while you hope that the escape rocket will automatically carry you away from the resultant fireball. On top of that, you are inside a spaceship that is about to carry you straight up to about 115 miles and then deposit you in the Atlantic Ocean more than 300 miles downrange. If you can imagine that experience, then you can understand the type of man Alan Shepard was.

  The other thought you should have as you venture into this story is the impact that the success of one of man’s first space flights had on the country and the world at the time. It was this singular event that prompted President Kennedy to challenge the technical and scientific communities of the United States to land men on the moon and bring them safely back to earth in the decade to follow.

  Alan Shepard’s life is documented in this book to help the reader understand who this American hero was. It is a tremendous read about a great human being that dedicated himself—not just once, but many times during his life—to extending the frontiers of flight.

  CHRIS KRAFT, August 24, 2004

  NASA’s first flight director, former director of the

  Johnson Space Center, and author of the New York

  Times bestseller Flight: My Life in Mission Control

  PROLOGUE

  John Glenn was furious. He thought he’d played it just right, made all the right moves, and that he would surely become the first American in space. It’s what they all wanted, all seven men who’d been chosen to vie for the job.

  When Glenn wasn’t picked first, or even second, he tried to tell his bosses that they’d made a mistake. You don’t want Alan Shepard, he said. You don’t want this guy, the one we call the Icy Commander, with his egotistical insouciance, his questionable morals, his disregard for authority, and disdain for the press. Glenn moped, fumed, and bitched, wrote letters, and complained to family and friends. But it was no use. NASA ordered him to stop “backbiting” and deal with it.

  When the decision finally became public a few months later, on May 2, 1961, the press wanted answers, too. They had adored John Glenn from the start and expected all along he’d be America’s first spaceman. So they pestered NASA’s gruff little spokesman, Shorty Powers, for an explanation. Why Shepard?

  Shorty, in his mellifluous and condescending military voice, tried to explain how the Mercury Seven astronauts were all exceptional men and among the nation’s most dauntless test pilots. But one had to go first, and Shepard, he said, “had what all the others had, with just enough to spare to make him the logical man to go first.”

  Whatever that meant. The truth, which NASA chose not to acknowledge at the time, was simply this: Alan Shepard was the most capable of the bunch. In 1961—at the height of a seething cold war against a seemingly evil empire, and in the early days of a young president’s tentative new administration—NASA couldn’t take any chances. As one NASA official involved in the Glenn-versus-Shepard decision put it: “We wanted to put our best foot forward.” So they picked the best of the best of the best.

  A few minutes past 1 A.M., six hours before launch time, Bill Douglas, the astronauts’ gentle and soft-spoken physician, poked Alan Shepard on the shoulder.

  “Come on, Al,” Douglas said. “They’re filling the tanks.”

  “I’m ready,” Shepard said, rising and pulling on a white bathrobe. “Is John up?”

  “John’s awake,” Douglas said. “We’re all awake. Did you sleep well?”

  “Very well,” Shepard said. “No dreams.”

  Shepard whistled as he took a brief shower, shaved, then shuffled into an adjacent office where Glenn, already wide awake and wearing an identical terry-cloth robe, sat waiting for him. The cook brought in two nearly identical trays of food.

  “Here we go again,” Glenn said. “You ready?”

  Shepard nodded. The breakfast menu was the same as it had been for a week: filet mignon wrapped in bacon, toast and jelly, eggs and orange juice—a so-called low-residue diet, so Shepard wouldn’t find himself in need of a toilet in space.

  “What a tough life, huh?” Glenn said. “Filet mignon every morning.”

  Shepard appreciated that, preferring jokes to any of Glenn’s “maudlin sentimentality.” He didn’t want to think about the importance of the coming event, only about the technical tasks at hand. When asked later about his feelings at breakfast, Shepard said that when you’re preparing to roost atop many tons of high explosives, “the last thing on your mind is being a page in a history book.”

  But May 5, 1961, was a day for the history books. The entire earth was watching. A battle between the world’
s superpowers was being fought in strange new nonmilitary ways, and the Soviets had struck first three weeks earlier when cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin had circled the Earth—a stunning achievement that could have, should have been Shepard’s. Now it was the United States’ turn and they couldn’t afford any mistakes. Shepard kept reminding himself of that: Don’t fuck up.

  To Shepard’s relief, the weather report looked good. No signs of rain.

  As he finished eating, Shepard became vaguely aware that people—technicians, photographers, and doctors—were milling around him, watching him. Some were more nervous than he was; they didn’t want to screw up their part of the mission, either. Yet they were amazed that the guy headed for the hot seat appeared so poised and rock-steady.

  After breakfast, Glenn rode out to the rocket to make final preparations on the capsule. Shepard strode into Bill Douglas’ exam room, took off his bathrobe, and let the doctor survey every inch of his sinewy, five-foot-eleven, 165-pound, thirty-seven-year-old body. Douglas asked how he felt, and Shepard acknowledged a few butterflies—but happy ones. When he finished looking down Shepard’s throat one last time, Douglas rapped his patient playfully on the chin, and Shepard broke into a toothy smile.

  A little past 2 A.M., Shepard went to the astronauts’ office and called his wife, Louise. “I was hoping it was you,” she said. She had wanted to be down at the Cape watching the launch, but he’d suggested she avoid the hype and the media crush and stay in Virginia Beach. Louise had decided ever since the first days of his Navy career, during the final year of World War II, that it was best to give him space to do his job. Theirs was a relationship built around long distances and lengthy separations; telephone calls had become their lifeline.

  Three days earlier—when NASA finally announced that Shepard, not Glenn, had been chosen to ride a Mercury Redstone rocket into space—the press found Louise anyway. Reporters cawed and pecked like a flock of crows outside the squat brick ranch house until Louise, hunkered inside with her daughters, taped a note on the front door: There are no reporters inside. I will have a statement for the press after the flight.