American History Tellers - Encore: The Space Race | Playing Catch Up | 2

Episode Date: May 27, 2020

Information sharing was normal in the global scientific community, but when it came to rockets, normal rules didn’t apply. If the details got passed along to civilian scientists, there was no telling where that intel might end up…But for many Americans, the Eisenhower just wasn’t moving fast enough. Sputnik was still orbiting! The Soviets were winning! Eisenhower downplayed Sputnik,calling it “one small ball in the air,” but privately he was worried.The U.S. had the ability to beat the Soviets to space. But they didn’t. And Eisenhower wanted to know why.Warning: this episode is packed with as much explosive power as is packed in the warhead of a ballistic missile.Support us by supporting our sponsors!See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can binge new seasons of American History Tellers early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Imagine it's December 1956. The Cold War is in full swing. In Washington, where you work, rumors that the Soviets are about to launch a satellite into space have only added fuel to the fire. But that couldn't be further from your mind. Because right now, you have a deadline. You're sitting at your desk, staring at a blank page, hoping for a little inspiration.

You're a journalist, or you used to be. These days, you're what your boss calls a legman. Your job is to dig up political gossip. And lately, in spite of all the drama with the Soviets, good gossip has been scarce. You write for a daily must-read periodical. It's pretty lowbrow stuff, definitely not the New York Times, but hey, it's a paycheck. Yours is one of five offices housed in a yellow brick townhouse on 29th Street in Georgetown. Your boss is currently out of town on business, and that's perfectly fine

by you. He can be a bit of a jerk. Coffee, sir? Is she talking to me, you think yourself? I just made a fresh pot. The office girl almost never asks if you want coffee when the boss is around, but he left you in charge, so for today at least, you're calling the shots. Sure, why not? You got it. Oh, I almost forgot. An envelope came for you, hand-delivered. Who's it from? I don't know, sir. There's no name on it.

No address either. When you take the envelope in your hands, you notice a seal on one side. It's from the storied Willard Hotel in Washington. You flip over the envelope. On the flap at the top is a hastily scribbled, handwritten note. The words read, This may be of some use. You tear into the envelope. Inside, you find two documents. Almost immediately, you know what you're looking at. You've been on the beat in Washington long

enough to know classified records when you see them. And these aren't just any secret documents. They're military papers about the Army's ballistic missile program. You quickly scan the file. There's a trove of top secret info, missile launch dates, rocket specifications, and details about missiles still under development. And then your eyes land on something else, a big something. As you scan the words, you can't believe what you're reading. According to this document, earlier this year, the United States Army secretly launched Jupiter-C, the first ballistic missile fired into space. And what's more, according to the page in your hand, the Army is capable of putting a satellite into orbit, but is stuck awaiting Defense Department permission to fire.

Your heart pounds. Your mind races. So you do what any good writer does when they've been given the gift of inspiration. You pick up a pen. On a steno pad, you scribble a single sentence in sloppy cursive. This envelope is packed with as much explosive power as is packed in the warhead of a ballistic missile. You have no idea where this story is going to lead, but you can't wait to find out. You don't yet know that with these documents, you've waded into a firestorm. Your paper will be caught up in an interdepartmental rivalry affecting the highest reaches of government. Your anonymous source will be detected, charged, and punished for his crime.

And your story will never see the light of day. The government will bury it. But at this moment, you don't know any of that yet. Just then, the door opens. I forgot to ask, do you want it black, sir, your coffee? Actually, I think I'm going to need something a little stronger. Now streaming. Welcome to Buy It Now, where aspiring entrepreneurs get 90 seconds to pitch to an audience of potential customers. If the audience liked the product, it gets them in front of our panel of experts.

Gwyneth Paltrow, Anthony Anderson, Tabitha Brown, Tony Hawk. Oh my God. Buy it now. Stream free on Freebie and Prime Video. From Wondery comes a new series about a lawyer who broke all the rules. Need to launder some money? Broker a deal

with a drug cartel? Take out a witness? Paul can do it. I'm your host, Brandon Jinks Jenkins. Follow Criminal Attorney on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. From Wondery, this is American History Tellers. Our history, your story. I'm Lindsey Graham. We're continuing our four-episode series on the space race with a look at the U.S. response to Soviet domination in space. The journalist in the story you just heard is a man named Jack Anderson, a writer for a daily

periodical called The Merry-Go-Round. The man who leaked the classified documents is Jack Nickerson. Nickerson worked with Wernher von Braun on the Army's Redstone program. He was upset that Redstone's satellite proposal had been snubbed in favor of the Navy's Vanguard project, even though Redstone was much further along. The government wanted to keep the future satellite program separate from Redstone's ballistic missile program, though. There were a few reasons. First, they wanted to emphasize that the satellite program was a peaceful mission. Having the Army head up the U.S. space program made it look like a military operation, not a scientific one.

The Navy's Vanguard project sounded more civilian-friendly. Plus, the Navy's rocket wasn't strong enough to carry a nuclear warhead, so it couldn't be converted into a ballistic missile. Second, the government didn't want its rocket technology winding up in the hands of foreign scientists. Information sharing was normal in the global scientific community. If the satellite technology were linked with the rocket program, secret details about the rockets might also get passed along to civilian scientists and even the Soviets. And third, government officials still didn't like the idea of German scientists pioneering the first American satellite. It was a matter of

pride and appearances, but Nickerson doubted these reasons, and he wanted the truth exposed. So Nickerson leaked top-secret documents. They accused high-ranking DoD officials of supporting Vanguard not because it was a better project, but because of their own financial interests. For this breach of the DoD's trust, Nickerson would later be charged under the Espionage Act. Although he would manage to avoid jail, he would be formally reprimanded and fined, and he would lose the rank of colonel for a year. Jack Anderson's story would never make it to press.

Abiding by the journalistic standards of the day, the merry-go-round took the documents to the DoD. They asked if they could be published without harming national security. The answer was no, and the document was seized. But Anderson was not the only American who was destined to learn the truth about the space race. A year after Nickerson's leak, and only days after Sputnik went into orbit, President Eisenhower would learn a hard truth of his own. In this episode, we follow Eisenhower as he attempts to get America's space program off the bench and into the game. This is Episode 2, Playing Catch-Up.

In 1952, President Dwight D. Eisenhower had won the presidential election in a landslide. As the former Supreme Allied Commander of the European invasion, Eisenhower was a true American hero. And at the time he was sworn in, America needed a hero. Relations between Russia and the U.S. were strained, and getting worse by the day. His predecessor, Harry Truman, had been forced to accept that the wartime alliance between the two superpowers was over. And now, the task of keeping America safe and maintaining technological superiority over the Soviets would fall to Eisenhower. During his first term, the U.S. ramped up its intelligence gathering using assets like the U-2 spy plane to monitor the Soviet buildup of military forces. But for all the surveillance

Eisenhower initiated, when the Soviets launched Sputnik into orbit in October 1957, he was completely blindsided, along with the rest of the world. Americans were terrified. If the Soviets could launch a satellite, it was only a matter of time before they could launch a nuclear warhead. In the race to space, the Soviets were off to a blazing start. And the United States hadn't even got off the block. After Sputnik, the media was in a frenzy. Many people were comparing the launch of Sputnik to Pearl Harbor.

Publicly, President Eisenhower kept his cool. As far as the satellite itself is concerned, that doesn't raise my apprehensions, not when I ought to. He downplayed Sputnik, calling it one small ball in the air. But privately, it was clear Eisenhower was concerned. Just days after the Sputnik launch, he received a report containing some of the same information Anderson, the journalist, had discovered almost a year earlier. The Army's Redstone rocket program had been ready to launch a satellite into space for months. The U.S. had the ability to beat the Soviets to space, but they didn't, and Eisenhower wanted to know why.

On the morning of October 8, 1957, the president held a private conference in the Oval Office with DOD personnel. His Deputy Secretary of Defense, Donald A. Corals, confirmed the accuracy of the report. Eisenhower realized he had a political problem on his hands. If Congress or the American people found out about this, there would be hell to pay. But there was a silver lining. By putting Sputnik into orbit, the Soviets had themselves established the concept of open skies.

If the Soviet Union could orbit a satellite over foreign lands, then so could the U.S. Days after Sputnik, Eisenhower made a bold announcement. A launch would happen before the end of the year. Vanguard would get priority, but as a plan B, Redstone would be activated as well. Von Braun was one step closer to making his dream a reality. Back in Huntsville, Von Braun was pleading with the new Secretary of Defense, Neil H. McElroy, for permission to fast-track his Redstone rocket. Vanguard would never be ready in time for a December launch, Van Braun argued.

The Redstone was technologically superior, and it was ready to go. Still, as Secretary McElroy left Huntsville, he remained noncommittal. Commander John Bruce Medeiros was head of the Army Ballistic Missile Program. He knew something had to be done, so he stuck his neck out for the Redstone Program. He instructed von Braun to take the Jupiter-C rockets out of storage and await further instructions. But unfortunately, those instructions didn't come fast enough, because in November 1957, barely a month after the surprise launch of Sputnik, the Soviets deployed Sputnik 2. The world was shocked. And not just because the Soviets launched another satellite, but because this satellite had a live canine passenger. Her name was Laika. The head of the Soviet Union, Nikita Khrushchev, loved the idea of a space dog

as a publicity stunt. But Sergei Kiroov, the scientist behind the Soviet rocket program, wasn't playing a PR game. He wanted to find out the answer to a very important question. Can a living creature survive in space? Time was of the essence. The 40th anniversary of the Russian Revolution was just around the corner. That event had toppled the Tsar's regime and eventually led to the formation of the Soviet Union. The anniversary was a chance for the USSR to show the world that four decades later, its communist experiment was thriving. There was no time to make new equipment. Instead, the Soviets quickly adapted the nose cone of the rocket with life support systems and monitoring equipment. On November 3rd, 1957, Sputnik 2 and its canine passenger were launched into space. For years, Soviet propaganda

concealed Laika's true fate, claiming she survived until the fourth day in orbit. In reality, Laika died of overheating after about only six hours. Despite Laika's sacrifice, Sputnik 2 was a definite upgrade. It was bigger and heavier, roughly the size of a small Volkswagen. The new satellite orbited the Earth at an altitude 500 miles higher than that of Sputnik 1. It also carried 500 pounds of scientific instruments to measure solar radiation, temperature, and pressure, and to study cosmic rays. Again, just like with Sputnik 1, the Soviets hadn't notified the rest of the world until the satellite was safely in orbit, and the scientific community was in awe.

Alan T. Waterman, the director of the National Science Foundation, said the Soviets, again, deserve credit for a difficult engineering accomplishment. An article in the first edition of Newsweek claimed that Sputnik 2 forever discounted the idea that a communist system couldn't be competitive with Western democracies in the areas of creativity and thought. But it wasn't entirely a glowing review. The article implied that the Soviets were using science as a way of competing in the Cold War, with the eventual goal of gaining technological superiority over the West. For President Eisenhower, Sputnik 2 was a disaster. A Gallup poll conducted shortly afterwards showed that the launch of the Soviet's second satellite

caused Eisenhower's approval rating to drop 22 percentage points. In times of crisis, Americans had always put their confidence in their country's superiority in power, technology, and leadership. In an article that appeared in The Nation magazine in December 1957, Walter Millis wrote, We committed our national security to a military policy which fundamentally rested on the assumption of our own superiority in military technology. But now that assurance was beginning to waver. The pattern of tit-for-tat was broken. America needed a big win, and the Eisenhower administration

knew it. While von Braun and the Huntsville team waited impatiently in the wings, Eisenhower put his hopes in vanguard. Imagine it's December 6th, 1957. You and your husband sit in the living room of your modest house in Huntsville, a small cotton town in nowhere Alabama, where at least it used to be nowhere, until the United States Army moved to town and changed everything. Most people don't even call the town Huntsville anymore. Around the country, it's known by another name, Rocket City. At first,

you were annoyed at all the hullabaloo, but the Rocket City has been good to your family. Your husband lost his job when the factory closed down during the Depression. But when the Army came to town, they put your husband back to work. He's a civilian employee for Redstone, the Army Ballistic Missile Agency. You were able to quit your job as a secretary, which you hated anyway. These days, you teach piano to the kids in the neighborhood. You don't need the money, but it's something fun to do while your husband is off being a rocket man. Life is good. But today, as you're gathered around the TV, it's not your husband's rocket on the launch pad at Cape Canaveral. It's the Navy's Vanguard rocket. It should have been the Jupiter. Your husband doesn't respond.

What was Eisenhower thinking? I'm sure he has his reasons. Your husband is too polite to say a bad word about the president, but you're not. What's he so worried about anyway? Being called a Nazi lover? Your rocket's better than theirs by a long shot. Eisenhower's a fool. Dear, he's the president. Your husband's a Boy Scout, and it drives you nuts. Eisenhower should have given Redstone priority, and everyone in Rocket City knows it, including your husband, whether he wants to admit it or not.

But you can tell he's on edge, so you don't force the issue. Are you all right? I just really hope this goes well. Well, so do I. And that's the truth. In spite of everything, you want the Vanguard to succeed. If Vanguard succeeds, America succeeds. As the countdown winds down, you turn up the volume.

This is the moment the world has been waiting for. The rocket lifts a few feet in the air, and then... Well, you have just witnessed a severe propaganda defeat for this country. Your husband is in shock, and so are you. You don't know what to do. You open your mouth to speak, but the words don't come. So you do the only thing you can think of. You reach over, take your husband's hand, and squeeze it tight.

In silence, you both watch the TV as the Vanguard rocket disintegrates into fire and smoke. The Vanguard explosion was televised internationally. People from all over the world watched as the 70-foot rocket rose a few feet before collapsing into a blazing inferno. Luckily, no one was hurt. But the press had fun with the disaster, calling the Vanguard names like Flopnik, Oopsnik, and Kaputnik. The Soviet Union poured salt in the wound by offering the U.S. aid through a United Nations program that gave technical assistance to primitive and developing nations. America's dreams of winning the space race had quite literally gone up in flames, and American confidence was at an all-time low. In their race to space, not only were the Soviets ahead, they had a commanding lead.

Eisenhower had no choice but to initiate Plan B. Von Braun and the Huntsville team were finally going to get their chance. Dracula, the ancient vampire who terrorizes Victorian London. Blood and garlic, bats and crucifixes. Even if you haven't read the book, you think you know the story. One of the incredible things about Dracula is that not only is it this wonderful snapshot of the 19th century, but it also has so much resonance today.

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or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to Criminal Attorney early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Von Braun had been waiting for this moment for decades. But when he got the official green line, there wasn't a huge sense of urgency. At least not on his part.

Most of his work was already done. He would later recall, Our Jupiter Cs were practically ready to go. The big job was out in Pasadena at the JPL. That's the Jet Propulsion Laboratory. Its task was to build the satellite that von Braun's rocket would blast into space. The Huntsville team called this project Missile 29, but JPL had another name for it, Project Deal. That's because after Sputnik, Jack Froelich, the project manager at JPL and a seasoned card player, allegedly remarked, When a big pot is won, the winner

sits around and cracks bad jokes. The loser cries, deal. JPL had been dealt a tough hand. Unlike the Huntsville team, they had their work cut out for them. To begin with, they had to design a brand new satellite, complete with loads of scientific instruments. Additionally, the network of ground stations required to track the yet-to-be-assembled satellite needed significant expansion. The rocket's upper stages also needed refitting, and a single fourth-staged rocket had yet to be added to ensure the satellite made orbit. There was also the issue of time. From the moment they got the official go-ahead, JPL had fewer than 90 days to meet their deadline. If Redstone did not launch by the end of January,

Vanguard would retake priority. But against all odds, JPL rose to the occasion. By January 24th, the rocket was erected at Cape Canaveral, concealed behind a shroud to keep the preparations from public view. On Monday, January 27th, a dress rehearsal of the countdown went smoothly. The Jupiter-C was locked, loaded, and ready for takeoff. But on January 29th, the day of the launch, Mother Nature had

other plans in mind. Imagine it's January 31st, 1958. You're a technician for ABMA, the Army Ballistic Missile Agency. You and dozens of your co-workers are crammed into a small blockhouse on Launch Pad 26 at Cape Canaveral, Florida. She's a beauty, isn't she? Sure is. You and your co-worker glance out the green-tinted bulletproof windows. In the distance, about 100 yards from the blockhouse, you see her. The Jupiter-C rocket, illuminated by floodlights,

like a finger pointing towards heaven. Let's just hope it's not a middle finger. You force a smile, but the truth is, you're in no mood for jokes. Today is a big day, and the atmosphere is tense. You and the rest of the men in the room have been working tirelessly for months to get ready for this moment. And now the launch is in jeopardy. The Jupiter-C rocket has been on the launch pad for three days. But two days in a row, the launch has been postponed due to high winds.

Can you believe they didn't invite von Braun? I heard he's in Washington. I guess they didn't want a Nazi spoiling all their fun. Your friend laughs at his own joke, but you don't think this one's funny. Von Braun's proven his loyalty to his country. The Jupiter-C is his brainchild. As far as you're concerned, he has every right to be here. Let's just hope the third time's a charm.

We'll make it, right? Of course. You almost say something else, but you bite your tongue. You almost say it's now or never. You almost say that if Jupiter Sea doesn't get off the ground tonight, it might never happen. Your co-worker, never shy with his opinions, says it for you. If we screw this up, those pretty boys at the Navy will get to take back the reins.

Your co-worker is right. If Jupiter-C doesn't launch tonight, all the work you've done for the past few months will be for nothing. Just then, Jack Froelich, project manager, steps forward. Gentlemen, gather around. We've detected what might be a fuel leak underneath the first stage engine. You wince. Fuel is your department. What can we do to help, sir? You already know the answer before Frolic can reply. Jupiter-C is a live rocket. With the launch window closing, there's only one solution.

Someone will have to crawl under the rocket's engines and check for a leak. We're asking for volunteers, only men with no families. You look to your friend, but he's already looking at you. They need a volunteer, one with no dependents, and you fit the bill. Your hand is already in the air before you have time to reconsider. I'll do it. Good on you, son. Follow me. You're escorted to the launch pad straight away. If it is a fuel leak, there's a chance the rocket might go up in flames, and with you underneath it. As you draw near, you look up and see the massive Jupiter-C rocket towering above you.

Take a deep breath, drop down to your hands and knees, and start crawling. As you disappear beneath the air vein, you think of only one thing. Don't be a fuel leak. Don't be only one thing. Don't be a fuel leak. Don't be a fuel leak. Don't be a fuel leak. Fortunately, it was not a fuel leak. It was just spillage, and the rocket did not go up in flames. The brave man in this story, an ABMA technician,

walked away unharmed and was able to confirm that the rocket was good to go. At 10.58 p.m., on a signal from Commander Medeiros, the head of the launch crew said, firing command. A member of his team pulled out a metal ring on a console and gave it a twist. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, fire in command. Fire in command. Fuel tank pressurized. Lock tank pressurized. Missile power. Ignition. It is now a matter of history that at five seconds past 10.55 p.m. on January 31st, 1958, Satellite Explorer was placed in orbit. This achievement is another step forward in man's drive to better understand the world and universe in which he lives.

We are no longer Earthbound. Soon we will begin to explore the solar system far beyond the boundaries of our tiny world. In the years to come, man will continue to use rocket vehicles like Jupiter-C to expand the frontiers of knowledge. Jupiter-C successfully launched the American satellite into the skies. But did it work?

Was the satellite truly in orbit? The Redstone engineers weren't sure. When asked if the mission was a success, one team member said he could conclude with 95% confidence that there was a 60% probability that the satellite was in orbit. Medeiros fired back, don't give me any of that probability crap, is the thing up there or not? But the satellite was in orbit. Madaris fired back, don't give me any of that probability crap. Is the thing up there or not? But the answer was unclear. They expected to

receive a signal fairly quickly, but no signal came. And then, just shy of two hours after the launch, good news came from the California ground station. California has the bird. In the blockhouse at Cape Canaveral, the Redstone team erupted in cheers and applause. Upon hearing the good news, Eisenhower responded in his typically measured manner, That's wonderful. I sure feel a lot better now. The mission was a success, but there was one issue left to be resolved. What to call it? Missile 29 and Project Deal were just pet names.

They didn't pack a punch. Many ideas were bandied about. Highball, Top Kick. In the end, Eisenhower settled on Explorer, and the Explorer mission made von Braun a national hero. The country celebrated, especially in Huntsville. After all, their team and their man von Braun had sent a U.S. satellite into space. For this, von Braun made it to the cover of Time magazine. The launch on January 29, 1958, was remarkable, not only because America put a satellite in space, but because of what the satellite helped discover. Onboard Explorer 1 was a tiny instrument created by a man named James Van Allen,

an American space scientist at the University of Iowa. Early on, Van Allen had designed a cosmic ray detector to be compatible with either the Vanguard or the Explorer. After Sputnik orbited, Van Allen and his assistant George Ludwig worked around the clock to ensure the instrument could withstand Jupiter-C's high acceleration. Luckily, Van Allen's instrument did survive the harrowing launch. Explorer 1 confirmed the existence of two donut-shaped bands of charged particles clustered around the Earth, what we now call the Van Allen radiation belts. And Explorer's significance carried well beyond the scientific sphere.

Even after the shock of Sputnik and the embarrassment of the Vanguard explosion, the launch of Explorer demonstrated that America could act with speed and innovation in space. 1958 was a big year for the U.S. space program. In March, following the successful launch of Jupiter-C, the Navy's Vanguard would put the first solar-powered satellite in space. In December, as part of Project SCORE, ABMA would launch the first communications satellite. In the game of tit-for-tat, the U.S. had two massive, unanswered moves with no Soviet response. The U.S. was now in the game, and they were about to go all-in. The Sputnik launch ignited the fire that propelled the U.S. into the space race,

but it also led to the creation of the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, or NASA. Nearing the end of his time in the White House, Eisenhower was coming under fire. Explorer 1 was a massive success, but in the minds of many, Eisenhower wasn't doing enough. Democrats hammered him to build air raid shelters, Congress wanted to spend $3 billion to jumpstart missile programs, and educational groups pestered the government for loans in order to feed money into math and science programs that would bridge the apparent education gap between the U.S. and the Soviets. All the while, people pressured the White House to overhaul the Defense Department and military space organizations. So in July 1958,

Eisenhower signed into law the National Aeronautics and Space Act, and NASA was born. Eisenhower boasted that space exploration holds the promise of adding importantly to our knowledge of the Earth, the solar system, and the universe. Eisenhower appointed T. Keith Glennon as NASA's first administrator. His job was to get Project Mercury up and running, and to send a human being into space. Glennon realized this was no small task, and there were plenty of problems to be solved, mainly how to protect the astronaut from high-energy radiation and get him back to Earth alive. In 1958, $89 million was approved to help NASA tackle these issues. NASA quickly began absorbing other research teams and laboratories,

such as the Navy's Vanguard program and JPL in Pasadena. Missing, however, was von Braun, the hero of the Explorer launch. Von Braun's team in Huntsville feared, rightfully, that in the eyes of NASA officials, their German-ness outweighed their American-ness. They worried they would be left to the wayside as NASA explored space and eventually landed on the moon. Von Braun assured his team that the call for help would eventually come, but privately he must have had his doubts. The Department of Defense had ignored the Redstone program, and the cost to America's perceived superiority over the Soviets had been immense. Surely Von Braun had to wonder,

will NASA make the same mistake? While von Braun waited for an answer and for the phone to ring, NASA was moving swiftly and strongly without him. This is the emergency broadcast system. A ballistic missile threat has been detected inbound to your area. Your phone buzzes and you look down to find this alert. What do you do next? Maybe you're at the grocery store. Or maybe you're with your secret lover. Or maybe you're robbing a bank. Based on the real-life false alarm that terrified Hawaii in 2018,

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Imagine it's February, 1959. You're sitting in a waiting room inside the Langley Research Center, just outside of Washington, D.C. You're nervous. And you should be. Today is a big day. You're an Air Force man, a test pilot, but you don't fly run-of-the-mill planes. You fly the newest, most advanced, most powerful aircraft mankind has ever created. And that's why you're here. Your country needs you for a very important mission. Right this way. This is the moment you've been waiting for. You take a deep breath, rise to your feet, and follow the man in the suit into his office. Can I offer you anything? No, sir. I'm not your commanding officer. I'm an engineer. Call me Charles, please. Yes, sir. I mean, Charles. He chuckles. For a moment,

it puts you at ease. I just want to say thank you for this opportunity. On behalf of everyone at the STG, thank you for your service. STG. That's Space Task Group. Just thinking about it makes you giddy. It's like something out of a Ray Bradbury novel. The American government is going to send a man into space, and that man might be you. Charles reaches into a drawer and pulls out a personnel file. Your personnel file. He puts on his reading glasses and begins flipping through the documents. Out of a pool of 500 plus candidates, mostly Air Force test pilots like you, you've been selected to be part of the Mercury Project. You've been summoned to Washington to participate in a series of tests,

interviews, and psychological reviews. If you're selected to continue with the Mercury program, you could become one of the country's first astronauts. But what comes next won't be easy. You'll be shipped off to the Loveless Center in Albuquerque, where you'll be subjected to intense physical examinations. After that, it's off to Ohio, where you'll endure extreme mental and physical environmental tests.

It's no picnic, but your country needs you, and you are here to answer the call. Your chances are good. They'll definitely pass you through to the physical exams. They have to. You check all the boxes and then some. You're tall, but not too tall. Slim, physically fit, smart, and most importantly, you're a test pilot with well over 1,500 hours of flight time. The man takes off his glasses and looks you in the eyes. This is the moment you've been waiting for. Son, I'm afraid I have some bad news. Your heart sinks into the pit of your stomach.

Sweat beads on your brow. Is it about the exams? I thought I did well. You did fine. It's not the exams. It's your physical. A million thoughts flash through your mind in an instant. You're in peak physical condition.

Tip-top shape. You even quit smoking and doubled the length of your morning runs to make sure you'd be ready for this. What is it, then? You're aware there's a height limit. Yeah, but I'm 5'10". You were 5'10". He slides you a piece of paper from your file. He points to the number.

Six feet? You've grown two inches since you started, son. I'm afraid we can't pass you through. But sir, at your height, if we send you into space, there's no guarantee we'd be able to get you home in one piece. I'm sorry, son. And you into space, there's no guarantee we'd be able to get you home in one piece. I'm sorry, son. And just like that, it's over. He shakes your hand, thanks you for your service, and shows you the door.

On your way out, you see a few of the pilots shooting the breeze by a coffee station in the break room. Charles is right. You tower over them. But right now, you're the one feeling a bit small. The man in that story was one of six candidates for Project Mercury who were all eliminated because they grew during the selection process. Charles J. Donlan, the assistant director of STG, was in charge of the evaluation committee. It was his job to help pick America's first astronauts. Potential candidates needed jet pilot training and a college degree and had to fall between the ages of 25 to 40. Moreover, they could not stand

more than 5 feet 11 inches tall and needed to weigh less than 180 pounds. Out of a pool of over 500 candidates, only a handful would be selected. While NASA was busy narrowing the field, the Mercury capsule was in development. The vehicle would have to be aerodynamically stable so it wouldn't flip over as it went through the atmosphere at 15,000 miles per hour. Tests were underway to figure out how to best regulate temperature, pressure, and oxygen supply. On April 9, 1959, NASA announced their final selection of seven Mercury astronauts. The group included a man named John Glenn, the oldest of the recruits. The country and the press was in awe of the significant seven,

as they were called. When asked why they were willing to risk so much, Glenn responded, I believe we are placed here with certain talents and capabilities. It is up to each of us to use those as best we can. I think there is a power greater than any of us that will place opportunities in our way if we use our talents properly. Another recruit, Alan Shepard, took a less religious tone. I don't mean to slight the religious angle, but the Mercury Project is merely one step in the evolution of space travel. For him, it was not a higher calling, it was a job, but one where death was understood as part of the equation. The astronauts were seen as true American heroes. Time magazine wrote in April that from a nation of 175 million, they stepped forward last week, seven men, cut from the same stone as Columbus, Magellan, Daniel Boone, Orville,

and Wilbur Wright. Later that spring, the seven men would go to Cape Canaveral and observe the launch of the first Atlas rocket, which was intended to take them into orbit. The big crowd gathered and watched as the rocket lifted off perfectly. But then it took a staggered turn and exploded, to the horror of everyone watching. Inside the bunker, Shepard turned to Glenn. Well, I'm glad they got that one out of the way. I sure hope they fix that. After another failed attempt to fire the Atlas, von Braun would finally get the call he'd been waiting for. On October 21st, 1959,

Eisenhower announced his plans to bring von Braun's Huntsville team to NASA. After 15 years, von Braun and his team were no longer working for the U.S. Army, but finally, officially, for a space team. Under Eisenhower, the U.S. had gotten into the space race, launched the first American satellite, and founded NASA. But for many Americans, the Soviets were still winning, and Eisenhower was to blame. Ike's time in the White House was coming to an end, and the country was ready for something new.

The political winds were starting to blow in a bold, new direction. If Eisenhower was slow to respond to the space race, on the campaign trail, Kennedy would come out sprinting. Famously, in his speech accepting the Democratic Party's nomination, Kennedy said, We stand today on the edge of a new frontier, the frontier of the 1960s, the frontier of unknown opportunities and peril, the frontier of unfilled hopes and unfilled threats. Beyond that frontier are uncharted areas of science and space, it would be easier to shrink from that new frontier, to look to the safe mediocrity of the past. But I believe that the times require imagination and courage and perseverance.

The Democratic platform on which Kennedy would run went after Eisenhower, calling him blind to the prospects of space exploration. On the campaign trail, Kennedy hammered away at the ideas of revitalizing American progress. He coupled that with a fear that the Soviet Union was taking the lead and doing damage to American prestige. Kennedy put the issue of space front and center. He offered the American people a bold new vision for the future of the country. And on November 8, 1960, JFK was elected the 35th president of the United States. But for all his talk on the campaign trail, Kennedy paid little attention to space during his transition. No one from the transition team made contact with NASA.

Prior to inauguration, Kennedy didn't even nominate anyone to replace Eisenhower appointee T. Keith Glennon as NASA administrator. Space had been a useful tool on the campaign trail, but the reality was the president-elect and his advisors did not give space high priority. As JFK took the oath of office on January 20th, 1961, there was a growing uncertainty about the future of the U.S. space effort. Would JFK truly bring America into the new frontier, or would the new president repeat the mistakes of the past? From Wondery, this is episode two of The Space Race from American History Tellers. On the next episode, a new president, a new day,

and a new goal to put a man on the moon. If you like American History Tellers, you can binge all episodes early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey. American History Tellers is hosted, sound designed, and edited by me, Lindsey Graham, for Airship. Additional production assistance by Derek Behrens. This episode is written by Stephen Walters, edited and produced by Jenny Lauer, produced by George Lavender. Executive producers are Marsha Louis and Hernán López for Wondery. We'll see you next time. wild origin stories that you had no idea about. From the Levi's 501 jeans to Legos. Come for the products you're obsessed with.

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