Rocket Men

by Robert Kurson

Three of NASA’s titans. Left to right: Robert Gilruth, George Low, and Chris Kraft. It was Low who masterminded the daring change in mission for Apollo 8; Kraft and Gilruth risked everything to support his idea. “It took more courage to make the decision to do Apollo 8 than anything we ever did in the space program,” Kraft would say decades later. NASA

  “OUR TRIUMPH IN SPACE IS THE HYMN TO THE SOVIET COUNTRY!”

  The race to the Moon was an existential battle years in the making. Even on December 6, 1968, just days before the Soviet and American launch windows opened, the contest between the two superpowers was still too close to call. (Soviet propaganda poster, early 1960s.)

  Apollo missions required a year or more of planning and training. Racing to preserve President Kennedy’s deadline—and to beat the Soviets to the Moon—NASA had just four months to make Apollo 8 work. Here, the astronauts map out their lunar course, with Lovell pointing to a mountain he planned to name for his wife. NASA

  The crew of Apollo 8—Anders, Borman, and Lovell—during water egress training in the Gulf of Mexico. Borman believed he had the best crew ever assembled at NASA. NASA

  Apollo 8 crew taking a break during simulator training. NASA

  Lovell, after an altitude chamber test at the Cape. Since boyhood, he’d dreamed of exploring and pioneering, and there seemed to him no better way to do it than by becoming the first man ever to fly to the Moon. NASA

  The Apollo 8 spacecraft and Saturn V rocket being moved by NASA’s Crawler-Transporter to Pad 39A at the Kennedy Space Center. Until Apollo 8, the Saturn V had flown only twice, both times unmanned. Its first test had been a success, its second a near disaster. NASA

  Susan and Frank Borman in the living room of their home just before the launch of Apollo 8. Susan believed, with one hundred percent certainty, that her husband was going to die on the mission.

  Ralph Morse/Getty Images

  Jim Lovell kisses son Jeffrey at a beach near the launch pad while wife Marilyn and eldest son Jay look on. In a few hours, Apollo 8 would launch for the Moon. Yale Joel/Getty Images

  Breakfast on the morning of launch. Clockwise from far left: Borman, Lovell, Anders, security chief Charles Buckley, head of mission support Hal Collins, Buzz Aldrin (red shirt), George Low. NASA

  Borman suiting up for the launch of Apollo 8. NASA

  The Apollo 8 crew, led by Borman and followed by Lovell and Anders, depart the Kennedy Space Center before dawn en route to the launch pad on the morning of December 21, 1968. NASA

  The launch of Apollo 8, mankind’s first journey to the Moon. NASA

  Marilyn Lovell watches the launch of Apollo 8 with three of her children (from left, Susan, Jeffrey, and Barbara). Marilyn wanted to be as close to it and as much a part of it as possible. NASA

  Borman aboard Apollo 8 as the spacecraft streaks toward the Moon. The command module measured just thirteen feet by eleven feet and was filled with equipment. NASA

  Alan Anders, age 11, watching coverage of his dad’s mission on TV.

  Courtesy of Bill and Valerie Anders

  Mission Control on day three of Apollo 8’s journey to the Moon. The monitor shows an image that people throughout the world could see on their own television sets: Earth from a distance of 176,000 miles. For the first time in history, mankind was looking back at itself. NASA

  The view through Anders’s camera. Until Apollo 8, no human had ever laid eyes on the far side of the Moon. NASA

  Susan Borman watching television coverage of Apollo 8, which was scheduled to orbit the Moon during Christmas. She composed Frank’s eulogy around the time this photograph was taken because she needed to be ready. Lynn Pelham/Getty Images

  Earthrise, as photographed by Bill Anders on Christmas Eve, 1968. Fifty years later, this photograph remains among the most influential and impactful of all time. To Anders, it seemed strange—the astronauts had come all this way to discover the Moon, and yet here, they had discovered the Earth. NASA

  To many at NASA, leaving lunar orbit was the single most dangerous aspect of the Apollo 8 mission. Here, Valerie Anders and Susan Borman react at the Borman home as Jim Lovell confirms the crew has left the Moon: “Please be informed,” Lovell radioed to Earth, “there is a Santa Claus.” (Note the squawk box by Susan’s arm). Lynn Pelham/Getty Images

  President Johnson, like millions around the world, watches Apollo 8’s reentry and splashdown live on television. Bettmann/Getty Images

  Borman thanks sailors aboard the USS Yorktown after splashdown, while Anders and Lovell look on. Note that Borman is freshly shaved; before the mission, he’d asked that an electric razor be available aboard the recovery helicopter that would pluck the astronauts from the ocean. NASA

  Anders and his family greet well-wishers at Ellington Air Force Base near Houston upon returning from their lunar mission. More than two thousand people showed up at 2:00 A.M. to welcome the astronauts home. NASA

  Bill Anders, just after the return of Apollo 8. At the time he was likely the most famous photographer in the world. Yousuf Karsh

  Borman, Lovell, and Anders in 2008 being interviewed by journalist Nick Clooney, on the fortieth anniversary of Apollo 8. NASA

  For Amy, my best friend in all the universe

  For Nate and Will, star sailors

  Acknowledgments

  This book would not have been possible without the cooperation of the crew of Apollo 8. Frank Borman, Jim Lovell, and Bill Anders welcomed me into their homes for a series of interviews, then gave generously of their time for more than two years as I followed up with endless emails, calls, and questions. No matter how redundant or obvious or personal my queries, each man answered with kindness, patience, clarity, and humor. It is rare when pinnacle heroes measure up in private to their idealized public images, but the crew of Apollo 8 are the genuine article. I have never met three finer gentlemen.

  I’m grateful to Marilyn Lovell and Valerie Anders for granting me interviews in their homes, and for delving deep into their personal lives and experiences. One cannot understand the story of Apollo 8, or realize the true strength behind the astronauts and their historic mission, without knowing these amazing women. I spoke briefly to Susan Borman while visiting in Montana, but she was too ill by that time to conduct interviews. Still, I feel like I came to know her through the memories and writings her husband and sons shared with me, and by being in her presence, surrounded by people who love her. I’m grateful to her family for allowing me that.

  Many thanks to Chris Kraft, one of NASA’s most legendary figures, for the two full days of interviews he gave me at his home in Houston. Kraft is a wonderful explainer, but by his eyes alone it was clear he still believed the decision to fly Apollo 8 to be the most courageous the space agency ever made. Others from NASA, including astronauts, engineers, and managers, granted me interviews in person and by phone, every one of them helpful to me in understanding both the Apollo 8 mission and the social, political, and scientific context in which it took place. For this, I’m thankful to Jerry Bostick, Mike Collins, Walt Cunningham, Gerry Griffin, Fred Haise, Glynn Lunney, Ken Mattingly, Milt Windler, and Al Worden.

  I owe a debt of gratitude to Dr. David M. Harland, Dwayne Day, Frank O’Brien, J. L. Pickering, and Asif Siddiqi, who explained to me the complex workings of space flight and lunar missions, the history of the Space Race, and NASA’s daring decision to fly Apollo 8. Warm thanks also to Clare Fentress and Andrew Billingsley for their superb research on this project; Charles Murray and Catherine Bly Cox for providing me with interviews they conducted decades earlier for their cla
ssic book Apollo: The Race to the Moon; Robert Feder, for his singular expertise on Walter Cronkite; Connie Moore at NASA; and to Ed Borman, Fred Borman, Dydia Delyser, Mark Foster, Jay Lovell, Susan Lovell, Sam Skinner, Pam Smith, and Mary Weeks for invaluable interviews and other contributions that helped me tell the story of Apollo 8.

  A special thanks goes to Apollo historian W. David Woods, a world-class expert on NASA’s lunar missions, and author of the book How Apollo Flew to the Moon. I discovered David while listening to a podcast about the Apollo program; I’d never heard someone explain technical matters so clearly and visually. I reached out to David at his home in Scotland and was thrilled when he agreed to consult with me. For the next two years, he answered questions, explained myriad concepts, and offered suggestions, all with a literary sensibility and the warmth and patience of an old friend. Writers sometimes need lucky breaks; one of my biggest came when I found David.

  My publisher, Random House, continues to be like family to me. I have been extraordinarily privileged to work with Kate Medina, my editor, since 2005, and have learned much from her about writing, storytelling, kindness, integrity, and decency; she remains one of my favorite people in the world. Anna Pitoniak, my other editor for this book, was a revelation. From the start, Anna urged me to view things at new angles and dig into lesser-known elements of the story, all with a gentle grace and deep insight into human nature. She pushed me even when I was convinced I’d gotten things right, and in every instance it made my work better. On top of it all, Anna is a wonderful writer and a lovely person. I was very fortunate to work with her.

  At Random House, Tom Perry believed in this book from the start and has always believed in me; Sally Marvin has been my champion and friend since 2000; Gina Centrello has warmly supported me since I arrived at Random House; Dennis Ambrose has deftly guided all of my books through production with patience and good humor. Thanks, too, at Random House, to Aaron Blank, Maria Braeckel, Emily DeHuff, Melanie DeNardo, Andrea DeWerd, Joelle Dieu, Benjamin Dreyer, Toby Ernst, Erica Gonzalez, Emily Kimball, Leigh Marchant, Mary Moates, and Bridget Piekarz. Carlos Beltrán and Edwin Tse designed the gorgeous cover for this book; Elizabeth Eno created its beautiful interior design.

  My literary agent, Flip Brophy of Sterling Lord Literistic, and my film and television agent, Jon Liebman of Brillstein Entertainment Partners, are two of the best in the game, and have been part of my family for years; when they talk about business they are also talking about life, and I am better for all of our conversations. In Flip’s office, Nell Pierce has been a joy to work with. In Jon’s office, Nicki Beltranena has been incredibly insightful and hardworking, and helped to develop this book for the screen. Many thanks, also, to Brad Weston and Scott Nemes of Makeready for connecting early and intuitively with this book, for their passion, and for recognizing the story’s potential for television.

  I’m grateful to these people who read early drafts of Rocket Men or have otherwise encouraged and supported my writing: Bill Adee, Dick Babcock, Andrew Beresin, Gabrielle Brussel, Andy Cichon, Josh Davis, Kevin Davis, Katelynd Duncan, Jonathan Eig, Joe Epstein, Robert Feder, Brad and Jane Ginsberg, David Granger, Peter Griffin, Rich Hanus, Elliott Harris, Miles Harvey, Neil Hirshman, John Jacobs, Jon Karp, Len and Pam Kasper, Jennie Lee, Melody Margolis, Gil Netter, Jason Steigman, Gary Taubes, Randi and Rob Valerious, Mark Warren, and Bill Zehme.

  Thanks, also, to Ken Andre, Dr. Sanford Barr, Stu Berman, Mitch Cassman, Dr. Michael Davidson, Dr. Samuel Goldman, Jordan Heller, Dr. Nolen Levine, Mitch Lopata, Donna Moy, Scott Novoselsky, John Packel, Tracy Patis, Victor, Sally, and Virginia Reyes, Scott Rosenzweig, Kevin Sanders, Dr. Dan Schwartz, and Dan Warsh.

  Ryan Holiday and Brent Underwood of Brass Check Marketing have been wonderful promoters for my books and have a very exciting company on their hands. Dr. Steven Tureff has been a blessing to my family for years. Joe Tighe was deeply kind and supportive during the writing of this book (and a keen reader, as well); I don’t know how to thank him enough. It was too late to remember Rachel Harris Doxey in my last book, so I’m doing it here and sending love to her family and friends; we miss you.

  My family always reads my work, cheers me on, and gives me wonderful (and honest) notes. Much love to Jane Glover (who read this book before anyone), Larry, Mike, and Sam Glover; the Wisniewski family; and to Ken, Steve, Carrie, and Chaya Kurson. Jane and Ken, my brother and sister, are better writers than I, but they are modest so I can live with it. My mom and dad, Annette and Jack Kurson, were the two best storytellers I’ve ever known; I hope I do them proud when I tell my kids stories on long drives and before bed, and in these books.

  A special thanks goes to my friend Dave Shapson. I met him on the day I arrived as a freshman at the University of Wisconsin-Madison in 1981. By 2:30 A.M., I was homesick and unable to sleep, and wandered into Open Pantry, where I found Dave (the only customer in the store) thumbing through magazines about science and space travel. We spoke about our mutual love of astronomy and our admiration for NASA, and I understood it when he lamented that so many great innovations in technology and space would come after our lifetimes. Dave has been among my closest friends ever since, one of the most unique and thoughtful people I’ve met. He is, at once, a master storyteller, a brilliant cook, a wonderful musician, a great listener, and a first-rate thinker. He sees more beauty in the world, and especially in the ordinary, than anyone I’ve known. I knew Dave would be excited when I undertook this book project, but couldn’t imagine he would end up spending hundreds of hours to help me research, study, refine, and think it through. I never could have done this without him.

  Finally, thanks to Amy, Nate, and Will Kurson. My sons always read my writing and talk through the architecture of my thinking. They find planets with me on smartphone apps when we look into the evening sky. They know things I don’t know about the Moon. Amy is my best friend and soul mate. She gave more hours, and more love, to this book than most people give to their own careers, all while running her own full-time business and making a beautiful home. During the past three years, as I worked on this project, several people watched Amy and told me I was the luckiest man in the world, and I agree. My family is my everything. They guide me in the dark. They are my stars.

  Author’s Note

  In late 2014, I took some friends to the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago, my hometown. It had been a few years since I’d seen U-505, the German U-boat that is one of the centerpiece attractions in the museum, and a perfect match for the submarine I wrote about in my first book, Shadow Divers.

  On the way out, we came across a space capsule, about ten feet tall by thirteen feet wide. It appeared to be scarred from its journey, wherever it had gone, and its open hatch revealed three cramped seats and a universe of controls inside. Kids circled around the spacecraft, which looked at once to have come from the past and the future.

  A nearby placard announced that this was the command module of Apollo 8, which had carried the first men ever—Frank Borman, James Lovell, and William Anders—to the Moon. I knew almost nothing about that mission. Like many, I was much more familiar with the story of Apollo 11, man’s first lunar landing, and of Apollo 13, when an explosion on board the spacecraft nearly resulted in tragedy. A few weeks later, I got around to reading about Apollo 8.

  What I found was one of the most incredible stories in American history.

  It had everything—daring, adventure, risk-taking, a race against time that came down to the final hours, an existential battle against a magnificent adversary. It blended cutting-edge science and technology with the eternal human yearning to explore. It told of the power of three unbreakable women and the love of children and family, of America’s ability to do the impossible when pushed to its limits, of the moment when mankind first reached the place that had called to it for eternity—the Moon. It told of how three men lived extraordinary lives after becoming the first ever to leave the world. It
was even a Christmas story.

  The more I read about the odyssey of Apollo 8, the more startling it seemed that so little had been written about it. This is the best space story of them all, I thought, and I wasn’t the only one. Early in my research, I came across interviews with the late Neil Armstrong, the first man to set foot on the Moon (and a backup crew member for Apollo 8). He remembered how excited all the astronauts and NASA personnel had been for Apollo 8, how it changed the course of the entire American space program. “It was an enormously bold decision,” he told an interviewer on film. It was the way he said the word “enormously” that stayed with me. In ways, it sounded like Armstrong thought Apollo 8 to be an even bigger leap for mankind than landing on the Moon.

  Other astronauts and NASA personnel said as much directly. Several called Apollo 8 the riskiest and most thrilling of all the Apollo missions. Few remembered having dry eyes as Borman, Lovell, and Anders spoke to the world on Christmas Eve as they circled the Moon. All of them—along with billions of others around the world, more than any than had ever listened to a human voice at once—remembered what these three astronauts said.

  As I pushed deeper into researching Apollo 8, I found another story, one with striking parallels to life in America today. Apollo 8 flew at the end of 1968, one of the most terrible and divisive years in the country’s history. Assassinations, riots, war, and other events split the country and turned neighbor against neighbor, Republican against Democrat, young against old. When Apollo 8 flew at the end of December, it looked like nothing could heal a nation so badly wounded from the inside.