The Unbroken Chain

Researching The Chain

By Russell Still Guenter and I began discussing the project of his biography in late 1999. I was immediately interested. His colorful personality and exciting career were well known to me. Not many people could boast the first-person experiences that he had had during decades in the space program. The stories of the astronauts in space and the ground controllers in Houston had been told and retold many times. But the reading public really had very little chance to learn the inside account of the ground operations at the Cape. Guenter, having known and worked with virtually every astronaut that left the ground, having played a critical role in nearly every test, having supervised the spacecraft preparations for every launch, and generally having spent more time at the launch pads than any human alive was the obvious man to tell the story.

The only problem with reverse engineering history to recreate a narrative is that many of the details have become cloudy and diffuse over the years. Each story or anecdote might bear slightly different color depending upon who you hear it from. Even among the biographies and memoirs already written by space program pioneers, many discrepancies can be found. Thus, my job was more than just to get inside of Guenter’s head - an issue, by the way, that he fought me on quite effectively for the first few months. My job was also to corroborate the stories from multiple sources and to weigh them and average them out when sources differed. Every NASA astronaut or official is quick to tell you that he was there. But that does not always help to answer the question when someone else who was also there disagrees.

Guenter and I made the drive together that relived much of his career. Literally. We drove from his old house on Merritt Island all the way to the old launch sites. Having grown up in central Florida myself during the early 1960s, I well remembered what the two-lane country roads looked like. With Guenter navigating the way, we took a tour in a time machine. I saw the landscape just as it was some 40 years before. He pointed to the roads that no longer existed, and to the wooden bridges that now are represented in concrete and steel. At Complex 56, we took a private tour of the old blockhouse. I looked through the window behind which von Braun had stood to witness America’s first astronauts’ entry into space. I sat in the dimly lit back room where Gordo Cooper had manned his CapCom console, seeing the launch only through the needles of his meters. Outside, a Redstone rocket stands proudly on its launch stand capped by a black Mercury capsule. But gone are the cherry picker, umbilical tower, and gantry. A lush growth of low Florida trees surrounds the perimeter fence now. But once, the area was scrapped down clean to the barren white sand and only a few hardy palmetto bushes existed. So much has changed, and yet so much has stayed the same. Listening to the sound of Guenter’s words, it all came back again, exactly as it was in 1961.

We climbed through the old Pad 19 white room, now undergoing restoration by Cape Canaveral museum volunteers. Guenter pointed here and there, directing me to the spots where his famous gotchas occurred. Unlike the rusting hulk of the Pad 19 erector, which now lies rotting in the sun, the white room will be saved. It will be there for future generations of historians and enthusiasts to visit and study.

Not much is left at Pad 14, the site where four Mercury astronauts were launched into orbit. The gantry was long ago towed out to sea where it forms today the basis of a coral reef. Only the structures of concrete still remain. But studying them is akin to studying fossil remains of a dinosaur. It is fairly easy to interpolate the missing pieces.

At Pad 34, we remembered Gus Grissom, Ed White, and Roger Chaffee. All that remains there is the blockhouse and concrete launch stand, painted with stenciled letters: “Abandon In Place”. Yet when you sit there and talk, it is easy to feel the ocean breeze and the warm sun and to imagine that the astronauts and pad crews felt exactly the same thing in 1967.

Many of the stories from the 1960s and 1970s may never be told with 100% accuracy. Although the space program is possibly the most heavily documented human endeavor of all time, the more subtle details remain tenants in the minds of the people who were there. And memories fade like smoke blowing out to sea. Some of these deserve further mention.

The launch of MR-1 will always be remembered as the “three inch launch.” Plenty of film exists to document the famous episode. But few facts remain accessible to describe the aftermath. Guenter has described in detail his involvement where he went out to the spacecraft to disarm the retro-rocket package. Yet in Chris Kraft’s book, that deed is attributed to McDonnell vice president, Walter Burke. As Guenter points out, Burke was an executive. He was not familiar enough with the spacecraft, let alone qualified, to go out to the pad and perform dangerous surgery. It simply did not happen that way.

In 1966, Life magazine featured a color picture of Adam West in his Batman costume on its cover. Guenter cut this picture out and used it as a gag inside one of the spacecraft. There is some question as to which mission this was actually done for. I have researched it and believe it was probably used on GT-11 and have thus placed it there in the story. But the truth is, we may never know for sure. In fact, many of the gotchas and gag gifts have been difficult to tie down definitively. Guenter recalls giving a hand-on-a-stick to Jim Lovell on Apollo 13 as a gag gift. But Charlie Duke remembers the joke being given to John Young on Apollo 16. Neither Young nor Lovell have been able to confirm the gift. So, I have decided to go with Charlie Duke’s recollection. He was not in the white room for Apollo 13 so it is impossible that he saw it there. But the fact that he remembers seeing it in the white room for Apollo 16 leads me to believe that Guenter may have simply confused the two. Again, a subtle detail that may never be resolved.

In Gene Cernan’s book, Last Man on the Moon, Gene describes his regret at not seeing Guenter in the closeout crew for Apollo 17. He related to me that this was from memory, but he stood by it. Yet Harrison Schmitt said that he did remember Guenter being there. Furthermore, I have seen a note written by Ron Evans to Guenter in 1989. It says, “I will never forget your smiling face that night 16+ years ago.” My conclusion here is that Cernan’s recollection is probably wrong. I believe Guenter was there. He does, too.

In the official transcripts taken during the Apollo 17 closeout, an unidentified closeout crew member is quoted as saying “The next face you see better be that of a frogman or you’re in trouble.” These are also the words from a statement Guenter made to Wally Schirra after the closeout of Apollo 7. My presumption is that it was Guenter there, preparing for the final launch to the moon and getting a little extra mileage out of an old joke.

The tragic stories of Apollo 1 and STS-51L were first laid out to me by Guenter. From there, I moved into the supporting documents. The Phillips Report, developed by the Apollo Program Director, gave some valuable insights into the relationship between NASA and North American Aviation prior to the fire that took the lives of the three astronauts. The (legendary) Baron Report remains a subject of much debate. I was only able to locate an abbreviated version of the report but did find it to be an interesting, if not frightening, part of the history. Although many researchers continue to question the official findings of the Apollo 204 Review Board, I studied their report and found it invaluable. Harrison Stomas’ book, Angle of Attack, provided important details on many of the managerial aspects of the case.

The loss of Challenger in 19S6 marked a singular point in United States history. Unlike the Apollo 1 fire, it was televised live. The horrible vision was witnessed by millions. And unlike Apollo 1, where the facts seem cloaked in secrecy and intrigue, the STS-51L disaster is more clouded by emotion. I accepted The Rogers Report as a thorough and accurate dissertation, but there is always the crowd who believes it commits the sin of omission. Internal Morton Thiokol memos, credited to Roger Boisjoly, were of particular interest. 1 would suspect that anyone wishing to dig further into the Challenger accident would want to study them carefully. His description of a teleconference with NASA managers the night before the tragedy is particularly sobering.

I don’t think that I could be as comfortable as I am with the overall accuracy of this project had it not been for the assistance of Rick Boos, our Historical Consultant. Rick and I spent many hours studying photographs and videos to make sure that the descriptions put on paper were unerring. We carefully went over videos of old news broadcasts so that we could be sure that the “feel” of the times was related properly. And studies of film of white room and pad activity insured that we placed the people in the right places, dressed as they really were, and doing what they were really doing. Rick’s knowledge is only surpassed by his sometimes maddening demands for accuracy. Many a section was rewritten at his urging. He was a true star on this project.

While first-hand interviews occupied a good deal of my research, much of the timeline was reconstructed from the books probably considered the Bibles of NASA history: This New Ocean, On the Shoulders of Titans, Moonport, and Chariots for Apollo. I used David Baker’s The History of Manned Spaceflight to double check many facts. I have to admit, however, that I did worry that these books and many others probably used each other as references. And as good as they are, they still contain the odd mistake here and there. Photographic research formed a very important part in corroborating many details. That is the one area where I considered the account they told to be the final word.

Although a lot of people were very generous with their time, I want to particularly thank Wally Schirra, Gordo Cooper, John Young, Dick Truly, and the late John Yardley for taking the time to read large sections of the manuscript and give us important critiques as we went along. Guenter spent untold hours developing outlines, dictating tapes for me, and proofreading the manuscript. But sometimes it helps to have an outside party join in. Finally, our special gratitude goes to Dr. Roger Launius of the NASA History Office. He read early versions of the manuscript and replied with excellent suggestions. His help by providing transcripts, pointing me to oddball internet pages, and getting me access to NASA archives is most appreciated. In the KSC archives, Elaine Liston and Barbara Green went to great lengths to help me dig out old photos, memos, and documents of all types. I could not have navigated the stacks without their diligent assistance.

Recognition for ancillary contributions should be extended to two talented computer guys. Rob Pearlman donated his own resources to develop Guenter’s internet web-site. He did a fine job. I would suggest that you visit another of Rob’s sites at www.collectspace.com for a wealth of space program information. Don Magnusson of Concept! USA was kind enough to work on early CD-ROM prototypes of a software application that may yet see the light of day. His sophisticated work should be regarded as the precursor to the more generalized CD-ROM which is included with this book. You can find out more about Don’s considerable computer graphics talents on his company’s web-site: www.concept-usa.com.

Guenter and his lovely wife Ellen were gracious hosts on my many visits to Kennedy Space Center. There is nothing like sitting on a dock with a springtime sun at your back, the VAB on the horizon in front of you, and listening to tales of rocket launches related by the one man who saw them all. When you look over the Indian River toward Merritt Island, the long flat horizon is punctuated only by the structures of the Kennedy Space Center. You realize that sky takes up more of the panorama than does Earth. The perspective it gives reminds one that the earth is only our cradle. It reminds me that we were never supposed to stay here.

- Russell Still, Atlanta, August, 2001