Every fall semester at Rice University I teach two classes: “Twentieth-Century American Presidents” and “The United States in the 1960s and 1970s.” My students are always pleased to learn that John F. Kennedy’s famous space oration on September 12, 1962, was delivered at Rice’s football stadium and that astronaut Neil Armstrong said “Houston. Tranquility Base here,” on July 20, 1969, when the lunar module Eagle reached the moon. Local pride in all things NASA remains understandably strong in Greater Houston, and especially at Rice, where we have a first-rate Space Institute. One of my undergraduate students, an apprentice rocket scientist, Sam Zorek, helped me collect oral histories and better understand the complicated engineering aspects of space exploration. Immense thanks to Rice colleagues Erin Baezner, Beverly Konzem, Kathleen Canning, Carl Caldwell, David Ruth, Lora Wildenthal, Marie Lynn Miranda, Allan Matusow, and David Leebron. Campus historian Melissa Kean pointed me to a recently discovered batch of NASA documents at Rice’s Fondren Library, which I fruitfully mined.
When lecturing at Rice on the American space program, I love to recount the parting gesture of Neil Armstrong and Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin. Just before climbing up the stairs of the Eagle to leave the moon, Armstrong asked Aldrin if he had deposited the NASA-sanctioned mementos they planned to leave behind. Aldrin, grateful for the reminder, reached into his shoulder packet, pulled out a package, and placed it on the lifeless lunar surface. Inside the packet were shiny medals honoring two Soviet cosmonauts: Yuri Gagarin (the first human to orbit the Earth, who had died in a 1967 MiG-15 crash) and Vladimir Komarov (killed in 1967, when his Soyuz 1 parachute didn’t open on descent from space). Also left behind by Armstrong and Aldrin was an Apollo 1 patch commemorating Gus Grissom, Ed White, and Roger Chaffee (who had perished in the Apollo 1 on-ground accident of 1967) and a gold olive branch pin, symbolic of the peaceful nature of Apollo 11. This NASA satchel still rests there in the lunar dust.
By honoring the deceased cosmonauts, NASA was encouraging Soviet citizens to proudly participate in the epic American moonshot. And for good reason. Without the prod of Vostok and Voskhod scientists and engineers, Kennedy simply could not have convinced Congress to fund Mercury, Gemini, or Apollo. Between 1969 and 1972, NASA orchestrated five more Apollo missions, with a total of twelve men walking the moon’s surface, repeatedly fulfilling Kennedy’s dream, even collecting 840 pounds of moon rock. Kennedy’s other hope, that the U.S. and Soviet Union could collaborate in space exploration together, had to wait until Richard Nixon left the White House and Gerald Ford was president. On July 15, 1975, Apollo and Soyuz spacecraft launched from Earth within hours of each other. In two days’ time they docked. To all appearances, the Cold War space race between the United States and the Soviet Union had ended in partnership.
Reminiscent of NASA during its halcyon years, there was a lot of teamwork in the writing of this book, which took years of research. Most important were the archivists and staff of the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum (Boston, Massachusetts); Lyndon B. Johnson Presidential Library and Museum (Austin, Texas); John Glenn Center at Ohio State University (Columbus, Ohio); Silicon Valley Archives at Stanford University (Menlo Park, California); National Archives (Fort Worth, Texas); the National World War II Museum (New Orleans, Louisiana); the Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University (Daytona Beach, Florida); the National Air and Space Museum (Washington, DC); the Marshall Space Flight Center (Huntsville, Alabama); the Canaveral Research Center (Cape Canaveral, Florida); and the NASA History Office (Washington, DC). The first-rate collection of NASA documents at the University of Houston–Clear Lake, in Texas, was especially helpful. Likewise, my friend Mitch Daniels of Purdue University hosted me on campus, where I studied the papers of Gus Grissom and Neil Armstrong in the Special Collections Library.
Beginning in the summer of 1962, Kennedy installed a secret taping system in the White House, presumably to aid in the writing of a White House memoir someday. Up until his death, Kennedy would tape White House conversations, including some on space policy. The Kennedy tapes, safeguarded by the National Archives, were a tremendous boon in writing this book. As were the fine oral histories and space artifacts housed in the JFK Presidential Library. The John F. Kennedy Library Foundation—especially my friend Executive Director Steven M. Rothstein—helped me better understand the intertwined relationship between JFK, computer science, and modern technology.
Throughout my writing and research I spoke about JFK’s space policy with members of the president’s family. Ethel Kennedy and Congressman Joe Kennedy III had invited me to lecture on the American moonshot in 2015 and 2016 at their summer compound in Hyannis Port, Massachusetts, for a gathering of distinguished guests. In 2017 I co-edited JFK: A Vision for America with the former president’s nephew Stephen Kennedy Smith, who proofread this book. Other members of the family who helped me include Rory Kennedy, Max Kennedy, Caroline Kennedy, Robert F. Kennedy Jr., Christopher Kennedy, Jean Kennedy Smith, and Kathleen Kennedy Townsend.
Back in 1999 my book John F. Kennedy and Europe was published (with an introduction by the legendary speechwriter and counselor to our thirty-fifth president, Theodore Sorensen). At that time Ted suggested that a book about JFK’s leadership in space policy was needed. He was right. I began conducting interviews for this book in 2001, starting with Neil Armstrong and John Glenn. Over the years I’ve learned much from conversations with dozens of participants in the early years of NASA. Special thanks go to Sean O’Keefe (former administrator of NASA and my Sonoma County, California, camping friend) and George Abbey (the former director of Johnson Manned Space Center and a colleague of mine at Rice) for being sounding boards. NASA historian Bruce Odum—based in Huntsville, Alabama—offered me great insight on early rocketry.
John Logsdon, professor emeritus of political science and international affairs at George Washington University’s Elliott School of International Affairs, edited an early draft of this book. He was the founder in 1987 and longtime director of GW’s Space Policy Institute. His John F. Kennedy and the Race to the Moon (2010) and The Decision to Go to the Moon (1970) were foundational readings. He is a true gentleman.
I’m deeply indebted to Roger D. Launius—chief NASA historian from 1990 to 2002—for twice proofreading my entire manuscript. I’ve never known a scholar more generous with his time. Nobody knows more about NASA history than Launius. He is a national treasure. Two of his most recent books—The Smithsonian History of Space Expedition (2018) and Apollo’s Legacy (2019)—were indispensable.
Cold War historian Yanek Mieczkowski, the author of Eisenhower’s Sputnik Moment (2013), and a first-rate academic historian, gave this manuscript a close proofread. Michael J. Neufeld, author of Von Braun: Dreamer of Space, Engineer of War (2007), thoroughly edited my chapters pertaining to the V-1 and V-2 on two different occasions. The National Air and Space Museum is blessed to have such a fine intellectual as Neufeld serving as senior curator.
The honor roll of friends who helped me out in this project include Brian Lamb, Steve Scully, David Rubenstein, Jamie Kabler, Rodney Krajca, Marie Arana, Emma Juniper, Ian Frederick-Rothwell, Ben Riley, Melissa Schnitzer, Leslie Berlin, Mark Baily, Jon Meacham, Paul Hendrickson, Mark Winkleman, Walter Isaacson, Scott Hubbard, Duvall Osteen, David Gergen, Nate Brostrum, Chip Wiser, Neal Thompson, William Webster, Andrea Lewis, Ben Barnes, John Csepegi, Patt Morrison, Kyle Longley, John Lewis, Clayton Maxwell, Ted Deutch, Geoffrey Cowan, Jill Krastner, Larry Temple, Orly Jaffe, Helen Galen, Linda Forehand, Cynthia Barrett, Meredith Cullen, Irwin Gellman, James Denham, Ted Widmer, Mark Updegrove, Dennis Fabisak, Kathryn Hillhouse, Jessica Lowenthal, Luke Nichter, Kabir Sehgal, and Louis Paul.
It’s been a joy working with the New-York Historical Society, established in 1804, on all things related to U.S. presidential history. The director, Louise Mirrer, is a brilliant historian and friend, who is a pleasure to collaborate with on POTUS projects. Others at NYHS who deserve thanks include Dale Gregory, Alexander Kassl, Jennifer Schantz, and Alliy Drago. For nearly two decades Washington’s Speakers’ Bureau has organized my public lectures. Great thanks to Bernie Swain and Harry Rhoods Jr. for finding ways for me to travel around our nation to lecture on U.S. presidential history and leadership.
I serve on the board of trustees of Brevard College in North Carolina. The president, David Joyce, arranged access for me to visit the Pisgah Astronomical Research Institute, which has a partnership with Brevard. This was a Kennedy-established NASA watch spot from which Gemini and Apollo missions could be tracked. An amazing place to look at the stars high in the Blue Ridge Mountains. It is likewise an honor to serve on the National Council for History Education’s (NCHE) Board of Directors. Together we’ve explored new ways to teach U.S. space history in public schools.
First and foremost, American Moonshot is a work of U.S. presidential history (not space studies). In this tradition, I benefited mightily from the fine works of Kennedy scholars such as Robert Dallek, Chris Matthews, Steven Levingston, David Nasaw, Robert Caro, Richard Reeves, Fredrick Kempe, Andrew Cohen, Sally Bedell Smith, Martin W. Sandler, Jeff Shesol, Barbara A. Perry, Philip Nash, David Greenberg, Fredrik Logevall, Thurston Clarke, Nigel Hamilton, and Doris Kearns Goodwin.
Anybody reading my notes can easily ascertain which books, memoirs, documents, oral histories, and articles I found most useful. Nevertheless, I’d like to give a double thumbs-up to the following space history classics: William E. Burrows, The New Ocean (1998); Piers Bizony, The Man Who Ran the Moon: James E. Webb, NASA, and the Secret History of Project Apollo (2006); Andrew Chaikin, A Man on the Moon: The Voyages of Apollo Astronauts (1994); Paul Dickson, Sputnik (2001); Francis French and Colin Burgess, Into That Silent Sea: Trailblazers in the Space Era, 1961–1965 (2017); Monique Laney, German Rocketeers in the Heart of Dixie: Making Sense of the Nazi Past During the Civil Rights Era (2015); Walter A. McDougall, . . . the Heavens and the Earth: A Political History of the Space Age (1985); Yanek Mieczkowski, Eisenhower’s Sputnik Moment (2013); Charles Murray and Catherine Bly Cox, Apollo (2004); Asif Siddiqi, Challenge to Apollo: The Soviet Union and the Space Race, 1945–1974 (2000); William Taubman, Khrushchev: The Man and His Era (2003); Neil deGrasse Tyson and Avis Lang, Accessory to War: The Unspoken Alliance Between Astrophysics and the Military (2018); and John Noble Wilford, We Reach the Moon (1969). All these books are fixtures in my Austin home library.
A number of the Mercury, Gemini, and Apollo astronauts wrote autobiographies. The most useful were John Glenn with Nick Taylor, John Glenn: A Memoir (1999); Buzz Aldrin, Magnificent Desolation: The Long Trip Home from the Moon (2009); Scott Carpenter with Kris Stoever, For Spacious Skies (2003); and Alan Shepard and Deke Slayton, Moon Shot: The Inside Story of America’s Race to the Moon (1994). The best biography ever written of a NASA astronaut is James R. Hansen’s First Man: The Life of Neil A. Armstrong (2005). I’m indebted to Professor Hansen for proofreading an early draft of this book.
It is my personal opinion, based on all that I’ve read, that Wernher von Braun was culpable for war crimes associated with the German Third Reich, using slave labor to build his V-2s during World War II. Too many studies of von Braun try to sugarcoat his questionable Nazi past. While von Braun should be studied and honored within the guided corridors of engineering and space exploration, he should not be treated as a sustainable twentieth-century American hero. I’m grateful that von Braun scholars Dr. Michael J. Neufeld of the National Air and Space Museum and Monique Laney of Auburn University have helped expose the dark side of this enigmatic personality in their first-rate books.
Diane McWhorter, the author of the Pulitzer Prize–winning Carry Me Home: Birmingham, Alabama: The Climactic Battle of the Civil Rights Revolution, proofread the manuscript with laserlike eyes. She is a marvelous person and a walking encyclopedia of Alabama history.
I’m lucky to have Harper as my publisher for nearly a quarter century. President and publisher Jonathan Burnham is one of the most erudite and thoughtful friends I have. There is nobody better to discuss the book world with (and he takes my weekend calls). Doug Jones (publisher), Kate D’Esmond (publicity), Trent Duffy (editorial services), and Katie O’Callaghan (marketing) all deserve thanks. Associate editor Sarah Haugen did an incredible job of preparing this book for publication. Similarly, Matt Hannafin helped me retool and trim the manuscript down to a more reader-friendly size. The photo guru was Lawrence Schiller, who discovered the amazing Kennedy era images within. And then there is Jonathan Jao, my primary editor, counselor, and guide, who never lets me down. His new son, Julian, was born while we were closing this book. May he inherit his father’s calmness, wisdom, and work ethic.
Dr. Mark Davidson—my former personal assistant, now chief archivist for Bob Dylan—is an Internet genius. He helped me locate a number of hard-to-find space-related documents and helped me solve primary source problems. My friend Julie Fenster, a marvelous historian, helped me in myriad ways. The book benefited mightily from her amazing sense of Cold War history, editorial instincts, and savvy advice. Sloan Harris, my International Creative Management (ICM) agent, was a huge help on numerous fronts.
My mother died during the writing of this book at age eighty-four (heart attack). During my childhood, she had me watch every Apollo mission on television and took me on a study trip to Cape Canaveral. My ninety-year-old father, Edward Brinkley, has gone on living without her. A great student of American history, he was a marvelous sounding board for this project. I love him dearly.
My personal assistant for the past two years is Erika Bell, a mother of three children in Austin. She grew up in Hubbard, Iowa (population 800), and earned an undergraduate degree from the University of Northern Iowa. She is meticulous, conscientious, and hilarious, and is a warm soul. The Brinkley family adores her. Her husband, Garrick Bell, a longtime law-enforcement officer, is a blessed man.
And, finally, words cannot fully convey my gratitude to my wife, Anne Brinkley, and our three school-age children, Benton, Johnny, and Cassady. Together we visited Florida’s Space Coast (Florida), Armstrong Air and Space Museum (Ohio), Johnson Space Center (Texas), the National Air and Space Museum (Washington, DC), and the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum (Massachusetts), and many other space-related sites. They also enjoyed the John F. Kennedy Birthplace in Brookline, Massachusetts, run by the National Park Service. Together, we made the American journey to understanding the politics of space exciting and fun.