The Unbroken Chain

Chapter 12 - The end of Apollo...

By the spring of 1973, we had said good-bye to the Grumman folks and NASA was preparing for the launch of its last Saturn 5. Although Apollo 17 had marked the end of the Apollo lunar series, we still had the Skylab program to look forward to, followed immediately by an orbital rendezvous and docking with a Russian Soyuz spacecraft. Lyndon Johnson had passed away in January and shortly after that, the Manned Spacecraft Center in Houston was renamed the Johnson Space Center in his honor.

In May, the world’s largest booster, the mighty Saturn 5, made its final voyage. Its goal was to place the Skylab space station, fashioned out of a converted Saturn 5 third stage, into orbit. Called the Orbital Work Shop, it contained living quarters broken up into two levels and separated by a perforated wall. It might be tempting to call this a floor, but you have to remember that in space, there is no up or down. The forward level was largely open and was used primarily for large experiments or experiments that required access to the airlocks. It also gave access to the docking adapter section. The rearward level was divided into three rooms opening into a sort of lobby area. The rooms were the sleeping quarters, the waste management compartment (that is, the toilet), and the wardroom. The lobby area contained stations for a variety of experiments and a number of storage lockers. Meals were prepared and consumed in the wardroom which included a window for Earth viewing.

Shortly after launch, problems appeared. The space station’s thermal protection shield broke loose and, in the process, ripped off one of the solar panels. To make matters worse, the remaining solar panel was found to be jammed by the wreckage. Our roomy space laboratory entered orbit, a crippled hulk.

Plans got underway to develop a thermal parasol that the astronauts of the first crew could deploy, thus giving the space station its needed shade from the sun. After that, they hoped to be able to deploy the solar panel by hand and return power to Skylab.

The three manned Skylab launches were assigned to Pad 39B. Because the Saturn IB that would boost the crew into orbit was considerably shorter than the Saturn 5, the stack was assembled on a pedestal that we called the “milk-stool.” That would allow us to continue using the existing umbilical towers and mobile service structure to service the Apollo spacecraft.

Mission numbering on Sky lab was a little confusing to the outsider. The unmanned flight that placed the massive space station in orbit was Skylab 1. Our first manned flight, crewed by Pete Conrad, Joe Kerwin, and Paul Weitz, would officially be known as SL-2. However, the flight crews called that one Skylab 1. Scheduled to follow it were SL-3, known as Skylab 2, and SL-4, known as Skylab 3.

In Huntsville, engineers and astronauts worked in the huge swimming pool referred to as the Neutral Buoyancy Tank to develop the EVA procedures that would be needed to perform the repair activities. At the same time, a group in Houston manufactured a special box that would be used to transport the thermal parasol. Now we had no idea what the box would look like. We had its basic dimensions - roughly 12 by 18 inches and about three feet long - but otherwise it was pretty much of a mystery. We knew that it would be loaded into the command module and be stowed under the center couch, but that was all.

The launch of Conrad’s crew was scheduled for May. NASA was concerned that Skylab was slowly being cooked by the sun’s radiation and everyone from JSC to KSC felt the rush to get the flight going. The Saturn IB was in place on the pad and the countdown started and we still had not even seen the box which contained the parasol. As a matter of fact, even after propellant loading, we still did not have the box. It was being flown in to the skid strip over at the Cape and we nervously awaited its arrival.

When the box finally arrived, it was speeded straight out to Pad B in a security car that had been given special clearance. Once in the white room, we had our first look at the gray aluminum container. Immediately we got to work stowing it under the couches with some straps and cast metal fittings. It was a little awkward getting the box positioned but we managed to muscle it into place. But in the process of tightening the straps, one of the fittings broke off. Now we had a problem.

Not wanting to broadcast the details to the world, I called Skip Chauvin on my headset and asked him to “go black phone.” This was a little phrase he and I had preplanned in case we wanted to talk privately. Now, I did not have a black phone in the white room and Skip understood that this meant that I wanted to speak with him on one of the unmonitored channels. But George Paige immediately started going off the deep end.

“What the hell is going on out there? He doesn’t have a black phone!”

The historic launch of Mercury-Redstone 3 carrying Alan B. Shepard into space. The Pad 5 blockhouse can be seen in the distance and as it is today (below).

Pad 14 and the launch of Mercury-Atlas 6 taking John Glenn to Earth orbit. Today a monument stands at the end of the ramp commemorating the historic flight ("right). The gantry is now dismantled.

A gathering of the ground crew at Pad 14. Astronauts John Glenn and Scott Carpenter stand front and center Guenter can be seen second from left at the front wearing his trademark horn-rimmed glasses.

A ground crew member wearing the revolutionary Nomex fire-resistant suit which all of the pad crew were obliged to wear during hazardous operations. A view of Pad 14 as seen through the blockhouse periscope today (inset).

Pad 19 prior to the launch of Gemini-Titan 5. With the erector lowered the white room cannot be seen in this view. A view of the Pad 19 blockhouse (inset), Guenter’s office can be seen to the left.

An aerial view of Pad 34 early in the Apollo program the pad is located on higher ground north of the Gemini and Mercury pads.

The picture at left shows the launch of Apollo 7 aboard von Braun’s Saturn IB rocket. The shot is taken from behind the blockhouse which can be seen in the center foreground of the picture above.

The blockhouse bristles with cameras and periscopes and is located surprisingly close to the launch pad.

All that remains of Pad 34 today is the concrete structure which can be seen at the base of the red tower immediately above the blockhouse.

A memorial plaque dedicated to the crew of Apollo 1 is mounted on the structure.

Guenter rides with the Apollo-Satum V rocket atop the enormous mobile launcher. The journey to the laua! pad was conducted at 1 mile per hour and set up resonant vibrations in the tower and rocket. The oscillation-unnerved the driver below but it was a favorite spot for Guenter on roll-out day.

One of the pad crew sorts out gloves for astronaut Jim McDivitt. commander of Apollo 9. Guenter makes notes lo McDivitt’s right.

Astronaut John Young is assisted by Guenter during an Apollo training session. Another pad-crew member can be seen holding Young’s ventilator and air-conditioner. Emergency breathing gear is in the foreground.

Director of Marshall Space Flight Center, Wernher von Braun chats with Kurt Debus inside the Apollo launi control center at Kennedy Space Center.

The extraordinary Apollo-Saturn V leaving Pad 39 carrying Apollo 10 to the moon. The white room and Guenter’s office was withdrawn before launch.

Concluding the countdown demonstration test Apollo 11 astronauts Michael Collins and Buzz Aldrin exit the command module while Guenter confers with Neil Armstrong in the background.

The legendary “Trophy Trout” presented by Michael Collins to Guenter just before Apollo 11 left for the moon. The trout sat for years in Guenter’s freezer before a taxidermist in Orlando finally freeze-dried it.

Astronaut Fred Haise and Guenter chat with suit-technician Joe Schmitt prior to the launch of Apollo 1.1. Notice Guenter carries the Rockwell logo on Iris overall while all around him are NASA personnel.

Guenter and the close-out crew pose for a snap-shot on the causeway. Apollo 14 sits on the pad in the background. The crew generally consisted of six individuals each performing a specific function.

Alan Shepard presents Guenter with a German army helmet. The caption on the front reads “Colonel Guenter Klink”. The exchange was televised around the world and caused some ruffled feathers at HQ.

One last time Guenter arrived at his favorite spot on roll-out day at the top of the mobile launcher. He was surprised to find the entire crew of Apollo 17 joined him to attend the roll-out of their vehicle.

The last man to walk on the moon, Eugene Cernan, goes through procedures for the countdown demonstration test for Apollo 17.

Two of the models hired by photographer Jim Long to pose alongside the orbiter Enterprise on roll-out day in Palmdale. Guenter worked at Palmdale on the early shuttle tests. (Courtesy Jim Long)

After an enthusiastic letter-writing campaign the fans of the television show Star Trek managed to persuade NASA to christen the first orbiter Enterprise. The cast and Gene Roddenberry showed up for the roll-out.

{Courtesy Jim Long)

Guenter was easily identifiable in pictures of the shuttle tests at Dryden. His orange Rockwell suit was in marked contrast to the blue flight suits worn by everyone else. Here he greets Fred Haise and Gordon Fullerton after the successful completion of the first free flight of the orbiter Enterprise.

Guenter is caught wearing a blue suit as he inspects the Enterprise. Fred Haise stands at left while Gordon Fullerton walks towards him.

Back at the Cape, in charge of safety procedures, Guenter poses with astronauts John Young and Robert Crippen on the gantry with the first fully operational space shuttle Columbia behind them.

The practical jokes continued unabated during the shuttle program. Taking a shot at Joe Engle for his compulsive use of the telephone, Guenter installed this old rotary dialer in the Shuttle cockpit.

In the white room with shuttle pilots Joe Engle and Richard Truly. Truly later became NASA Administrator.

Actor Tom Hanks confers with Guenter on the set of Hanks’ From The Earth to the Moon. Guenter contributed to the accuracy of the Emmy award winning mini-series. (Courtesy Guenter Wendt collection)

Guenter and Tom Hanks share a joke on the set of From The Earth to the Moon with technical advisor and Apollo 15 astronaut Dave Scott. (Courtesy Guenter Wendt collection)

Anyway, Skip and I discussed the issue in private. I told him that except for the one broken hook, we did have the box secured and I believed we could safely continue. We went over the stowage considerations together, and Skip took a moment to consult with a structural engineer. The engineer agreed that it should be okay and we decided to go back on the command channel. I would say that a small problem was discovered while securing the box, but that we had fixed it on the spot and were ready to continue. This would let us circumvent all the details and get on with the launch.

We went back on the normal channel and recited our dialog. The problem was solved and the countdown proceeded on schedule. Later, though, Skip and I both caught hell from Paige who felt he had been cut out of the loop. I am sure he took it up with my boss, Mr. O’Malley.

With the stowage completed, we continued on with the crew insertion. Inside the command module, astronaut Hank Hartsfield assisted. After all was completed, he crawled out over the top of Joe Kerwin since the area below the couches was packed tight with gear. At 9:00 a.m., the three men blasted off toward the highest initial orbit yet achieved by a manned spacecraft. Five orbits later, the Apollo command module closed the final distance to Skylab.

It took little time for the crew to survey the damage. It was clear that the micro-meteoroid shield was gone as was solar panel number 2. Just as ground controllers had suspected. But the good news was that solar panel number 1 was intact and partially deployed. While Houston gave final consideration to the next step, the command module performed a tentative hookup with Skylab’s nose-mounted docking adapter.

After discussions, it was decided that the CSM would undock and fly around to the partially extended solar wing. Pete Conrad maneuvered the spacecraft while Paul Weitz stood up in the open hatch and attempted to free the panel with a long pole. The three astronauts worked hard as the command module oscillated dangerously close to Skylab, but it wasn’t working. A piece of metal held the panel tightly jammed and the decision was made to abort the activity. Returning to Skylab’s docking adapter, the crew encountered a new problem. They could not perform the requisite hard-dock. Multiple attempts failed and ground controllers were once again called on for assistance. An alternate procedure involving removal of the docking probe was decided on and after a total of three horns spent in attempts, a hard-docking was finally executed. The exhausted crew spent the night inside the command module while Houston radioed up commands to Skylab for its repressurization.

The next morning preparations were underway for entry into the space station. First a sample of the atmosphere inside the docking adapter was drawn and deemed safe for breathing. Then, after opening the hatch, the three crewmen drifted inside. Conditions were comfortable and a visual inspection showed it to be in good shape. Shortly after that, Weitz was inside the work shop itself and reported it to be a bit warm, but otherwise in acceptable condition.

Compared to the command module, the work shop was almost cavernous] It contained fifty times the volume of the CM. Conrad reported that movement was easy and no one was feeling any symptoms of motion sickness. Things went along well and by evening the parasol had been deployed outside of the airlock. As temperatures started to come down, Conrad and crew set themselves to work with other business.

Over the following week limited experiments were performed, but electricity remained at a premium. The partially extended solar panel was providing some power, but not nearly enough. On day 14, Conrad and Kerwin exited the air lock on a risky EVA to get the panel deployed. With considerable effort they were successful and Skylab came fully awake, a comfortable orbiting home.

In the meantime, things were not going so well at my home. Henna’s health was slowly deteriorating. It was a particularly bad day when I got the call from her doctor asking me to come immediately to the office for a conference. The cancer had spread further throughout my wife’s body and there was little they could do other than try to make her as comfortable as possible. The doctor indicated that she had seen two dozen other patients in this state and that we could realistically expect Henna to live only another twelve to eighteen months. Obviously, I found the report devastating. It was a secret that I would have to keep to myself. If Henna knew the real extent of her disease, I was told, she could easily just fold up and pass away in a matter of weeks.

On that same day, I had been scheduled to give a speech at a big dinner for the Pioneer’s Club. It was supposed to be a humorous speech covering our days at the Cape and KSC. With just a few hours notice, I could not back out from the obligation. I cannot explain how difficult it was that evening to smile and relate funny anecdotes while thoughts of the wife and family boiled away in the back of my brain. It was the most difficult public appearance I made in my entire life.

Keeping the tragic news away from the family was a very lonely job. When I confided in our Presbyterian minister, the first thing he did was to pour me a very stiff glass of scotch and water.

Deceit, even when done with the best of intentions can be very difficult to carry out. We had been making plans to build our dream house on south Merritt Island and I had already contracted with a builder. Considering our position, it no longer made sense to continue so I was faced with the problem of canceling the project without letting anyone know the real reason. I explained the situation to the builder and he was very supportive. We devised a plan where he would meet with us and tell us that the price we had agreed on for the construction was too low. It would require at least 30% more. He was quite an actor and the ruse played out as planned. I acted all angry and told him just to cancel the whole thing and we would look elsewhere for another builder.

The Skylab program was moving along at a leisurely pace. After the launch of the second crew, I made arrangements to take four weeks off from work. With that time, Henna and I made an extensive trip to Germany to visit family and old friends. The relief from her long illness was apparent and it was one of the happiest periods for us both in quite a long time. It gave me the consolation of knowing that if Henna did pass away, we had at least done the things that she really wanted to do.

Throughout the remainder of 1973, her illness grew progressively worse. By the new year, it was obvious to me that I could not continue to hide it from her indefinitely. But, once again, fate stepped in to change the course of things. The NASA doctors had discovered some clinical trials for a new cancer treatment that were being performed by Upjohn. Through massive injections of an experimental drug, it was hoped that malignant tumors would be prevented from attacking healthy body cells. The medics pulled a lot of strings and managed to get Henna placed in the study.

Each day, we went to the doctor’s office for injections. To everyone’s great surprise, within just a few weeks, it was apparent that the cancer had stopped spreading. This was terrific news and no one had expected such dramatic results. It was decided that we could discontinue the daily visits to the office and I was shown how to administer the injections to Henna at home. I have never been one to worry about getting shots myself, but it was tough getting used to giving them to her. Each morning I drew the medication into the syringe and planted the needle. It was a job I never got quite used to.

Henna’s condition continued to improve and subsequent examinations gave us the news that we hoped for, but dared not to expect. Her cancer was in remission.

After the climactic end to the Skylab program, we began making preparations for the last Apollo flight - The Apollo-Soyuz Test Project. This was to be a joint flight with the Soviets where three astronauts would fly into orbit and dock with a Russian Soyuz spacecraft crewed by two cosmonauts. Although there was much internal arguing about the wisdom of it, this was a particularly satisfying project for me. For one thing, it was to be commanded by my old friend Tom Stafford. I could not think of a better person to lead the final Satum-Apollo mission. But of even greater interest was that Deke Slayton had been returned to flight status and would accompany Stafford and Vance Brand into space. After some sixteen years in waiting, the grounded Mercury astronaut would get his chance.

ASTP provided the opportunity for one of our final gotchas. Bob Crippen had been on the final Skylab closeout crews and was scheduled to fill that role for ASTP. Thus, he spent a considerable amount of time at the Cape. Now Bob was a very charismatic guy, handsome and with a million dollar smile. I suspect a lot of women found him very attractive.

With a little planning, we developed an elaborate sting operation. One of the secretaries at the O&C building had a pretty sister who agreed to participate. There were frequent parties where Crip would be in attendance and we made sure that the young lady was always there, too. Each time, she would seek him out and engage him in some innocent conversation.

The day after the first party, we put the plan into motion. Crip answered the phone in the astronaut office to discover a very sexy female voice on the other end.

“Hello, Bob,” she would say. “I saw you at the party last night.”

She introduced herself as June and began to describe some of the things that had happened the night before, including the time he had spent talking with the young lady in the red dress. Crip accepted the bait.

June went on to tell him that she was much prettier than the other girl and hinted at some of the things she could do for him. What Crippen did not know was that June’s real name was Harvey. He was a raunchy looking inspection supervisor who had the exceptional talent of being able to impersonate voices.

He was really very good at it.

This went on for a number of weeks. After each party, June would call Crip on the phone and offer suggestive comments. He would try to get her to identify herself, but she just kept leading him on.

After we had the Apollo command module mated to the Saturn IB, June called Crip with a request. She wanted to send him a pair of her black lace panties and have him stow them in the spacecraft. After the flight, he would return them to her and she would show him what would fit into those panties.

For the next step, I had my oldest daughter go out and purchase a pair of very sexy black panties. We sprayed a bit of perfume on them and packaged them up in a brown manila envelope. It would not work if I simply planted the package in the astronaut quarters, so I had my daughter address the envelope to Astronaut Bob Crippen and I mailed it to him through the postal service. The word quickly got around that Crippen had received some black lace panties in the mail. It was time to pull the noose shut.

Just a few days before the launch, June called Crip and arranged to meet him at a local restaurant called The Mousetrap. Of course, everyone was going to be there to witness the embarrassing moment. As luck would have it, however, the damned place burned to the ground the evening before their planned meeting. Our weeks of preparations were down the tubes. We were forced to hastily develop a Plan B.

On launch day we waited in our trailer inside the VAB. Soon, our closeout crew would be on its way out to the pad for our final closeout. I brought up the issue of the black lace panties and asked about June. Crip assured us all that he had never met her.

“Well that’s a real shame,” I told him. “You’re going to be leaving for Houston and you’ll never get a chance to see her.”

I mentioned to Crip that I thought she worked in the VAB and maybe we should call her over while we awaited the completion of tanking. Bob’s curiosity got the better of him and he agreed. After a quick phone call, I returned to the group to await her arrival. I will never forget the expression on his face after feeling the tap on his shoulder.

“Hi, honey,” the high-pitched voice said. There stood Harvey in his coveralls, full beard and greasy fingernails. “I’m June.” Raucous laughter broke out from the two dozen people who had slipped in close to watch. We got him good, alright.

Later that day, Tom Stafford, Deke Slayton, and Vance Brand became the last three men to launch into space atop a Saturn rocket. I watched the final launch from the fallback area, fully aware that our pioneering days were over. Never again would an Apollo spacecraft enter space. And with the Shuttle program still several years away, many people were observing their final manned launch of any type. As the vehicle arched out over the Atlantic, I watched union shop supervisors hand out termination notices. For many, many dedicated workers, the end of the chain had been reached.