There were seven astronauts in all: the Mercury Seven. They would be the pioneers of American manned space flight. John Glenn would get to know each of his fellow astronauts extremely well over the course of the next three years.
Alan Shepard was a crack Navy pilot from New Hampshire. His dry wit helped lighten many a tense situation. But Al didn’t reveal much of himself to the others. It was hard to tell what was going on beneath that cool, calm exterior.
Like Glenn and Shepard, Gus Grissom had flown combat missions in Korea. He won the Flying Cross and Air Medal as an Air Force fighter pilot. Gus could be a real cutup. But he was all business when it counted.
Deke Slayton was an aeronautics engineer and a test pilot in the Air Force. Stubborn and forceful, he never let go of a problem until he had found a solution.
Navy pilot Wally Shirra was probably the most outgoing and talkative of the Mercury Seven. His pride and joy was a bright yellow Austin Healy sports car.
Gordon Cooper, an Air Force major, was a born flyboy. At age eight, he had learned to fly. At sixteen, he completed his first solo. Now thirty-two, Gordo was the youngest in the group. He figured his comparative youth would give him more time and experience in the space program. “I’m planning on getting to the Moon,” he would boast. “I think I’ll get to Mars.”
Athletic Scott Carpenter, Navy Air Force, was known as sensitive and articulate. As devoted to his wife Rene as Glenn was to Annie, Scott became Glenn’s best friend in the program.
These were the seven star sailors. All of them were different, but at heart they were much alike. A more patriotic, competitive, confident group of daredevils could not be found anywhere. They all possessed the adventurous qualities—what journalist Tom Wolfe would call the “right stuff”—to go into space.
At their first joint meeting, Robert Gilreth, director of Project Mercury, warned the astronauts about the unknown dangers ahead. “If for any reason whatsoever you decide it’s not for you,” he told them, “you can go back to your respective services, no questions asked.”
Not likely, Glenn thought. He was going to make it into space, no matter what!
The astronauts’ first hurdle was the next day’s press conference, planned to introduce the Mercury Seven to an eager nation. For most of them, the idea of talking to reporters was a whole lot scarier than blasting off in a rocket.
Blinding white television lights hit Glenn and the others as they walked out onto the stage at NASA’s Washington headquarters. The room was jam-packed with reporters and photographers, all jostling each other for a good view. The astronauts sat down at a table on which was displayed a model of the Atlas rocket and a Mercury space capsule. They tried not to wince every time a flashbulb went off.
After the press kits were passed out to the reporters, NASA director T. Keith Glennan stood up. “It is my pleasure to introduce to you—and I consider it a very real honor, gentlemen—Malcolm S. Carpenter, Leroy G. Cooper, John H. Glenn Jr., Virgil I. Grissom, Walter M. Schirra Jr., Alan B. Shepard Jr., and Donald K. Slayton . . . the nation’s Mercury astronauts.” The room erupted in cheers and applause. These reporters are really excited, Glenn thought. They know something special is happening here.
Then the question-and-answer period started. Reporters wanted to know everything about these incredibly brave young men—where they grew up, what they believed in, why they thought going into space was important. They were interested in what really made the astronauts tick—and they knew their viewers and readers would be, too.
Most of the astronauts spoke very briefly. They were not used to talking about themselves in front of a camera. Only Glenn seemed comfortable answering all the personal questions. Someone asked him whether his wife and children had “had anything to say” about his decision. “My wife’s attitude toward this has been the same as it has been all along through my flying,” Glenn said. “If it is what I want to do, she is behind it, and the kids are, too, a hundred percent.”
Another reporter asked about their religious beliefs. Glenn was happy to talk about his Presbyterian upbringing. “I was brought up believing that you are placed on earth . . . with certain talents and capabilities,” he explained. “It is up to each of us to use those talents and capabilities as best you can.”
It was clear that the reporters were hanging on his every word. Glenn had shown that he could handle himself well in front of a national audience.
Finally a reporter raised the question the whole country was dying to ask. “Could I ask for a show of hands of how many are confident that they will come back from outer space?” he said.
The astronauts all looked at each other. Then, one by one, each raised his hand in the air. Sure, they were coming back. They’d survived years of perilous flying missions. What was a little old Atlas rocket compared to a dogfight with an enemy fighter plane?
John Glenn was so confident, he raised both hands in the air.
The next morning the Mercury astronauts woke up to discover they had become national heroes. Newspapers across the country praised their bravery and patriotism. These courageous men, the New York Times raved, “spoke of ‘duty’ and ‘faith’ and ‘country’ like pioneers.”
It looked as if the astronauts were going to be overwhelmed by media attention. Obviously they didn’t have the time to fend off hundreds of snoopy reporters. So they decided to all band together and sign a deal with just one news organization—Life magazine. Only Life, it was agreed, would be permitted a glimpse into the homes and lives of Mercury astronauts. In return, each astronaut would receive $24,000 a year for three years. That was a great deal more money than any of them had ever made for one year in the military.
About three weeks later, they all went to Cape Canaveral, Florida, to watch the launch of an Atlas rocket. The Atlas was America’s first intercontinental ballistic missile (ICBM), powered by lox and RP-1 kerosene. If all went well, some of the astronauts would someday sit in a space capsule that would ride an Atlas rocket into orbit around the earth.
Although it had been in development since the mid-1950s, the Atlas still had a few glitches. Quite a few, in fact.
Glenn watched as the engines ignited and the mighty silver rocket rose in a burst of yellow-white flame and smoke. Up, up it roared into the sky—and then it exploded. The astronauts watched in silence as blackened shards of metal tumbled into the Atlantic Ocean.
“Well, I’m glad they got that out of the way,” Al Shepard joked.
Glenn and the others looked at each other in dismay. Would they ever make it into space?