American History Tellers - Encore: The Space Race | Taking the Lead | 3
Episode Date: June 3, 2020In times of crisis, Americans had always put their confidence in their country’s superiority in power, technology and leadership. America had never failed them. And in 1961, hope and faith ...in their country burned brighter than ever as NASA prepared to launch the first man into space. A month out from launch, that light was effectively snuffed. The Soviets beat them to it. On April 12, 1961, cosmonaut Yuri Alekseyevich Gagarin became the first person in space and the first person to orbit Earth. The world was in awe. And America was in shock.Listen ad-free on Wondery+ hereSupport 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.
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Imagine it's April 12th, 1961.
You work for NASA at the Langley Research Center in Hampton, Virginia.
You're a press officer, and you're having a really bad week.
For one thing, it's 5.30 in the morning, and you're having a really bad week. For one thing, it's 5.30
in the morning, and you're still at work, still sitting at your desk burning the midnight oil,
or the early morning oil. There's barely room in your cramped office for your desk, not to mention
the cot you've jammed into the corner. You haven't slept in your own bed in days. There's just been
too much going on. Lately, NASA has been a madhouse. In less than a month,
Freedom 7, a Mercury-Redstone rocket, the brainchild of the infamous Wernher von Braun,
is scheduled to launch the first human being into space, Alan Shepard. Since the announcement,
media requests have been pouring in, and your phone literally hasn't stopped ringing. Until now.
It took you multiple days working around the clock to do it,
but you're finally done. All media requests have been handled, the schedule is set, and everything
is right as rain. And finally, at 5.30 in the morning, things at NASA have gone quiet.
So you turn off the bright fluorescent overhead light, you take off your tie,
you slip off your shoes, you lay down on the cot and breathe
a big sigh of relief. In a matter of moments, your heavy eyelids start to fall. Oh, you've got to be
kidding me. You're too annoyed to even get up, so you try another tactic. That'll teach him.
You start to lay back down, but before your head even hits the pillow...
What?
Is this NASA's public relations office?
Depends on who's asking.
Mr. Powers?
Do you know what time it is?
Is this John Powers?
Yes, who is this?
I was wondering if you'd like to comment on the...
You don't need to hear the end of that sentence.
It's 5 30 in the morning, and you're not commenting on anything.
If you want anything from us, you jerk, the answer is we're all asleep. You hang up the phone again, but this
time you're not taking any chances, so you rip the phone cord right out of the wall.
You plop down on your back, close your eyes, and drift off. Later that morning, you awake with a
start. Your supervisor is shaking you.
He doesn't say anything.
He just tosses a newspaper on your chest.
You rub your bleary eyes, grab the paper, and squint at the front page.
When you see the headline, your jaw nearly hits the floor.
It reads, Soviets put man in space.
Spokesman says, U.S. asleep. or wherever you get your podcasts. by joining Wondery Plus.
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 moment the U.S. finally pulled ahead of the Soviet Union.
This is Episode 3, Taking the Lead.
On April 12, 1961, an American victory looked a long way off.
On that day, a Soviet cosmonaut became the first person in space
and the first to orbit the Earth.
As the Vostok 1 rocket lifted off from Baikonur Cosmodrome,
the cosmonaut, Yuri Gagarin, shouted over the radio,
It was an informal, off-script ad-lib that became a rallying cry.
Translation, let's go.
No one saw the manned Soviet launch coming. Not NASA, not the U.S. government, and certainly not John Shorty Powers,
the NASA press officer in the story you just heard. He was unprepared when a journalist called
asking for comment about Gagarin. He had the unfortunate honor of being quoted in papers
all across the country. While America had showed her hand with Project Mercury, placing the significant seven astronauts
front and center in the media, the Soviets played their cards close to the vest.
And it was quite a hand they played.
Now, once again, the Soviets were out in front.
The question was, how would America's new president respond?
In spite of his rhetoric on the campaign trail, the fact was Kennedy was not all that
interested in space. Jerome Wiesner, Kennedy's science advisor, said that when it came to space
exploration, the president hadn't thought much about it. But after Gagarin's orbit around the
Earth, ignoring space was no longer an option. Kennedy's initial response was less than
reassuring. When asked at a press conference if America could ever surpass the Soviets, he replied, as I said in my State of the Union
message, the news will be worse before it is better, and it will be some time before we catch
up. In Russia, Khrushchev was thrilled. In a phone call with Gagarin, he boasted,
let the capitalist countries catch up with our country. The world was in awe, and America was
in shock. The Washington
Post commented, the Soviet space feat must be faced for what it is, a psychological victory
of the first magnitude, and new evidence of Soviet superiority. After seeing the world's response to
the Soviets' achievement, Kennedy changed his tone, saying there's nothing more important than
finding a way to overcome the Soviet lead in
space. Because if space didn't inspire Kennedy, beating the Soviets sure did. But less than a
week after the Soviet launch, Kennedy would be faced with another crisis, the failed American-led
invasion of the Bay of Pigs in Cuba. It was a major U.S. embarrassment. Kennedy needed to win.
23 days after Gagarin's launch, NASA would give him one.
A human spaceflight of its own.
On May 5th, 1961, Alan Shepard became the first American to reach space.
Hundreds of reporters and White House staff watched with amazement as the Freedom 7 capsule,
powered by von Braun's Mercury Redstone 3,
launched Shepard into the atmosphere.
When the rocket took off, a man in the control room yelled,
You're on your way, Jose!
After reaching the edge of the atmosphere, Shepard remarked,
What a beautiful view.
The flight lasted 15 minutes, 28 seconds before the capsule splashed down in the Atlantic Ocean,
300 miles from Cape Canaveral, where he and the Freedom capsule were helicoptered out of the water.
Shepard didn't make full orbit like a Garin, but it was still a massive
achievement. It captured the country's imagination, and perhaps the president's too. Shepard was flown
to the White House and received a hero's welcome from the Kennedys. On May 25, 1961, not long after
the launch, JFK gave a speech before a joint session of Congress. I believe that this nation
should commit itself to achieving the goal, before this decade is out, of landing a man on the moon and returning him safely to the Earth.
No single space project in this period will be more impressive to mankind or more important for the long-range exploration of space.
And none will be so difficult or expensive to accomplish.
The race to the moon was on.
Imagine it's July of 1961. You're a Navy helicopter pilot on board an old World War II aircraft carrier, the USS Randolph. Today, the Randolph is positioned off the coast of Florida. She's not fighting
Nazis anymore. These days, she's a recovery vessel for Project Mercury. As the rescue pilot,
your job sounds simple. Pick up the astronauts and their capsule after their post-mission splashdown.
But today's mission is a big one. Minutes ago, the Liberty Bell 7 capsule, manned by Virgil Ivan
Gus Grissom, was shot into space by the Mercury-Redstone 4
rocket. It's the second human
spaceflight in U.S. history.
You sit in the cockpit of your helicopter
on the flight deck, waiting.
You'd be lying if you said you weren't nervous.
Co-pilot John Reinhardt seems
cool as a cucumber. What's our ATD?
Any minute now, stand by.
Then, over the radio, you hear the words you've
been waiting for. Parachute sighted.
You open the throttle, slowly pull up on the collective, increase pitch, and depress the left foot pedal.
You're in the air and soaring across the Atlantic Ocean.
Off in the distance, you can see the capsule already in the water.
As you approach, you think through the mission step by step.
Grissom will wait for you to hover overhead, hook onto the capsule, and raise it out of the water. Once you give him the all-clear, Grissom will remove the cap from the detonator, pull the
safety pin, and blast open the hatch. From there, Reinhard will lower a horse collar and pull Grissom
to safety. If all goes as planned, Grissom won't even get wet. Moving in for egress now. Roger that.
But as you move into position over the capsule, you see something's not right. The hatch has already blown.
The capsule, filled to the brim with water, is starting to sink and Grissom is floating
in the ocean.
But you don't panic.
Grissom's suit is designed to keep him afloat.
The Liberty Bell, though, is sinking.
Save the capsule!
The capsule is sinking so fast, Reinhardt barely has time to make the connection between
the hook and a loop at the top of the spacecraft before the capsule disappears
below the ocean's waves.
From the water down below Grissom gives you a double thumbs up.
You're about to pull away when you notice something else. A warning light on your control panel.
I've got a possible engine failure here. How much time do we have? Five minutes tops.
It's now or never. Your helicopter has a lift capacity of 4,000 pounds, but the capsule is filled with water.
This will not be an easy lift.
You give it everything you've got and try your best to pull away,
but the ocean won't let you.
Just as the capsule's heat shield is almost clear of the water,
a massive wave crashes against the capsule,
sending it splashing back into the ocean.
You struggle to steady the helicopter,
but the capsule's weight is pulling its blades dangerously close to the water,
dangerously close to Grissom, fighting to stay afloat.
There's only one thing you can do.
Cut it loose.
As you pull away, a second team swoops in.
You watch as the helicopter hovers in place, lowers the horse collar cable,
and pulls Grissom to safety.
The pilot in that story is Jim Lewis.
Lewis followed protocol by trying to save the spacecraft first.
But when he made that decision, there was one thing he did not know.
Grissom was close to drowning.
When the hatch prematurely blew, Grissom acted quickly.
He tossed his helmet and disconnected his pressure suit.
As water poured in, he leapt into the ocean.
Lewis was right to
assume Grissom's suit was buoyant, but Grissom didn't have the time to activate the suit's
flotation mechanism. When he splashed into the ocean, his suit immediately started filling with
water. But that didn't stop him from trying to help Lewis save the spacecraft. Grissom survived,
but the Liberty Bell was gone, lost to the depths of the Atlantic Ocean.
After the Liberty Bell mission, Grissom faced a public backlash. Though Grissom denied it,
many believed he panicked and fired his hatch too early, resulting in the loss of the capsule.
Others maintained Grissom was a hero whose quick thinking saved his life. But one thing was certain.
After the Liberty Bell, many were beginning to question the capability of the U.S. space program. In response, NASA could have chosen to play it safe.
They could have delayed future launches. They could have shut down the program until further
notice, but they didn't. Instead, NASA pressed on. On February 20, 1962, just seven months later,
NASA launched one of the most important flights in American history, the Friendship 7.
Taking off from Launch Complex 14 at Cape Canaveral, Florida,
astronaut John Glenn completed a successful three-orbit mission,
making him the first American to orbit the Earth.
The U.S. had finally caught up with the Soviets.
Glenn was a national hero, and NASA was praised for its achievement.
But Friendship 7 was a far cry
from Kennedy's goal to put a man on the moon. To win that race, the U.S. would have to pay a hefty price.
The Apollo program, as the moon mission became known, would require new facilities,
new approaches, and new hardware. Not to mention a whole lot of money. Over the next few years, NASA's annual budget would skyrocket to over $4 billion.
But Kennedy understood that when it came to beating the Soviets, no cost was too great.
This was about more than space.
This was about restoring the perception of American superiority.
In 1962, addressing a large crowd at Rice Stadium in Houston, Texas, Kennedy famously
said, But why some say the moon? Why choose this as our goal? And they may well ask,
why climb the highest mountain? Why 35 years ago fly the Atlantic? We choose to go to the moon.
We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard.
Because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills.
Because that challenge is one that we're willing to accept, one we are unwilling to postpone,
and one we intend to win.
Kennedy was determined to put an American on the moon, and he wasn't the only one.
Back at NASA, von Braun was chomping at the bit.
Von Braun had dreamed of putting a man on the moon since even before his V-2 days in
Nazi Germany.
His Redstone rocket had sent humans into space,
but in order to send astronauts 234,000 miles to the moon,
he needed more power.
Von Braun had an answer, his Saturn rocket.
On October 1961,
NASA had successfully launched the Saturn I.
At the time, Von Braun himself
had called his design unprecedented
with 1.5 million pounds of thrust.
The Saturn I also marked the first time a large rocket had been built specifically for scientific, rather than military, purposes.
But to make it to the moon, the Saturn I would need even more thrust.
And that meant more money.
Money that, in 1961, simply was not there.
A year later, thanks to Kennedy's proposed budget,
von Braun finally got a chance to make his dream a reality. NASA gave him the green light to build
Saturn V. It would be the most powerful rocket ever built, generating 7.5 million pounds of thrust.
Von Braun, his team, and the rest of NASA worked tirelessly, trying to figure out how to use the
rocket to get a spacecraft to the moon,
and how to get it back. They knew the Russians were racing to do the same thing. The clock was ticking. The task before them was monumental. In order to succeed, it would require the full
faith and backing of the U.S. government. But throughout the nation and the halls of Congress,
opposition to the space program was mounting.
Critics of the Apollo program had one complaint in common, the price tag.
Throughout the 60s, public opinion polls showed that a majority of Americans believed the country was spending too much to beat the Soviets to the moon.
The administration had estimated the program would cost between $20 and $40 billion by the end of the decade.
An August 1963 issue of Reader's Digest
asked, are we suffering from moon madness? The Wall Street Journal proclaimed a month later,
many Americans doubt manned lunar flight is worth huge cost. The article quoted one female bank
executive, a group of brilliant engineers have found a glamorous toy and want to play with it.
Others thought the money could be put to better use, paying for schools, unemployment assistance, or medical research. In a 1969 article,
Moondust and Black Disgust, Booker Griffin would write in the Los Angeles Sentinel,
Here is a country that cannot pass a rat control bill to protect black babies from rats,
but can spend billions to explore rocks, craters, and dust thousands of miles away.
Former President Eisenhower scoffed at the program's budget, saying,
anybody spending $40 billion in a race to the moon for national prestige is nuts.
Congress also pushed back, arguing in a 1962 report,
for momentary transcendence over the Soviet Union,
we have pledged our wealth, national talent, and our honor.
A decision must
be made as to whether Project Apollo is vital to our national security. If our security is not at
stake, a less ambitious program may be logical and desirable. In 1963, Congress cut NASA's budget
for the following year by almost $500 million. But in spite of growing criticism, Kennedy stood by the space program. On November 16,
1963, he visited Cape Canaveral, where he saw NASA's progress on the Gemini and Apollo missions
firsthand. While there, perhaps for the first time, Kennedy began to fully appreciate the scope
of these massive projects. The visit stayed with the president. Six days later, on a short flight
from Fort Worth to Dallas,
Kennedy said he planned to return to the Cape for the Saturn V launch in December.
He thought the space program needed a boost, and he wanted to do his part to help.
He would never get that chance.
On November 22, 1963, while riding in a motorcade through Dealey Plaza in Dallas, Texas,
Kennedy was shot by an assassin.
He was taken to Parkland Memorial Hospital, where a Catholic priest delivered last rites. At 1 p.m., President Kennedy was pronounced
dead. The nation mourned. And amid all the grief and uncertainty facing the country, there was
another question for those working at NASA. The loss of their champion in the White House made
the future of the U.S. space program unclear. But at a speech in San Antonio the day before he died, Kennedy had promised the crowd that whatever challenges
lay ahead, the conquest of space would go on. There will be, as there always are, pressures
on this country to do less and temptations to do something else that's perhaps easier.
But this space effort must go on. The conquest of space must and will go
ahead. That much we can say with confidence and conviction. Frank O'Connor, the Irish writer,
tells in one of his books, How as a Boy, he and his friends would make their way across the
countryside. And when they came to an orchard wall that seemed too high and too doubtful to try and too difficult to permit their voyage to
continue, they took off their hats and tossed them over the wall. And then they had no choice
but to follow them. This nation has tossed its cap over the wall of space, and we have no choice but to follow it.
Kennedy would never see his dream of landing on the moon fulfilled.
It would be up to his vice president, Lyndon Baines Johnson, to deliver on Kennedy's promise. For more than two centuries, the White House has been the stage for some of the most dramatic scenes in American history.
Inspired by the hit podcast American History Tellers, Wondery and William Morrow present the new book, The Hidden History of the White House.
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wherever you get your books. In November 1991, media tycoon Robert Maxwell mysteriously vanished
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determined to make something of his life. Taking the name Robert Maxwell, he builds a publishing
and newspaper empire that spans the globe. But ambition eventually curdles into desperation, Thank you. Kennedy had pledged to put a man on the moon.
This bold proclamation was made, in large part,
because Lyndon Johnson made him believe it was possible.
From its inception in the 1950s,
Johnson had been one of the space program's greatest champions and advocates.
As a senator, Johnson created a stir over the Soviet Union's launch of Sputnik,
forcing Eisenhower into a public space race he didn't want.
Johnson helped write the legislation that created NASA,
and as vice president, he'd advised Kennedy on what America's space policy should be.
Now, tragically thrust into the presidency,
Johnson would fulfill Kennedy's dream of making it to the moon.
On the subject of the space race, Johnson said,
I do not believe that this generation of Americans is willing to resign itself going to bed each
night by the light of a communist moon. The space program had a friend in LBJ,
but like Kennedy, Johnson would discover that the race to space was a marathon and not a sprint.
Imagine it's March 23rd, 1965.
At exactly 9.24 this morning, the world watched as the Gemini 3 rocket blasted off into space.
Inside, it carried two pieces of precious cargo.
John Young and Gus Grissom.
Molly Brown, Cape Capcom.
That's you. You're the capsule communicator, or Capcom.
Your job is to talk directly with the astronauts.
And Molly Brown, well, like all astronauts,
Grissom had a habit of nicknaming his ships.
Last time he went with the Liberty Bell.
But after the Liberty ended up at the bottom of the ocean,
Grissom decided he wanted something more resilient.
Molly Brown, as in the unsinkable Molly Brown.
Go ahead, Canary Capcom. Pretty spectacular up there, huh? Yeah, it really is. We didn't get
to see too much of the stage, though. Too many clouds, huh? Roger. The launch went really well,
but it's too early to start celebrating. There's work to be done. You listen as the astronauts
undertake one of the key goals of this mission, testing space
food. Do you want your meal? Hot dog, good old food. Want one of these? They said to leave the
brownies closed. Let me have some of that juice when you get done. Get any water? Yeah, good stuff.
In a few hours time, the Gemini 3 will splash down in the ocean and you can enjoy some well-deserved
rest and relaxation. But then you hear something strange over the intercom.
What is it?
Corned beef sandwich.
Your jaw just about hits the floor.
Where did that come from?
I brought it with me.
Let's see how it tastes.
This is not good.
There were lots of pre-approved foods to be tested.
Hot dogs, brownies, chicken legs, applesauce.
But you know for a fact that a corned beef sandwich was not one of them.
And now you're starting to get worried.
Smells, doesn't it? Yes, it's breaking up.
Approved NASA food comes carefully contained in tubes or tightly sealed plastic packages,
but this sandwich is not approved.
And in a zero-gravity environment, those floating crumbs could interfere with electronic equipment.
I'm going to stick it in my pocket.
You breathe a sigh of relief.
It was a thought, anyway.
Yep.
Not a very good one.
Yeah, no kidding.
Once the higher-ups at NASA find out about this, they'll be hell to pay.
Pretty good, though.
If we would just hold together.
Want some chicken leg?
No, you can handle that.
You think about writing up the incident in a memo, but a memo about a space sandwich seems a little over the top. So you decide to let it go. They're flying a successful
mission. That's all that matters. After all, these astronauts risk their lives on a daily basis.
They need to have a little fun to ease the tension, then so be it. Besides, it's just a sandwich, right?
The man in this story is L. Gordon Cooper Jr., the capsule commander for the Gemini 3.
The day of the launch, one of the Mercury 7, Wally Shearer, bought a corned beef sandwich and gave it to John Young as a prank.
Young slipped it into his pocket before boarding the Gemini 3 with Grissom.
Their mission would be the first to carry two U.S. astronauts into space.
The sandwich may have been a joke, but for many, it was no laughing matter.
The incident resulted in hours of investigations and heated debate between NASA leadership and the government.
Grissom and Young were subject to a congressional subcommittee hearing and received a strong reprimand.
Members of the U.S. House called the corned beef the $30 million sandwich.
Tensions were already high leading up to the Gemini 3 launch.
Over the last few years, the Soviet space program had achieved some remarkable firsts.
In 1963, the Soviets had put the first woman in space, Valentina Tereshkova. In the U.S., women weren't even part of NASA's astronaut program.
Back in 1959, a privately funded group had put 19 American women through some of the same
physiological screening tests as the male astronauts. Thirteen women passed, known unofficially as the Mercury
13, but NASA wasn't swayed, and there would be no American women in space until 1983,
20 years after the Soviets. In 1964, the Soviets had launched the first multi-person crew,
beating the Gemini 3 mission, America's first multi-person spaceflight, by five months.
And in 1965, less than a week before the launch of Gemini 3,
the Soviet cosmonaut Alexei Linov became the first human to perform a spacewalk.
In the game of manned spaceflight, the Soviets were winning.
But they would soon face an insurmountable setback.
In January 1966, Sergei Karalov, the head of the Soviet space program, died of cancer.
Just two weeks later, Luna 9, a Soviet spacecraft, made a soft landing on the moon.
Although Luna 9 was unmanned, it was a significant achievement that put the Soviet Union one step closer to landing a man on the moon. But now the Soviet space program
would have to continue without its leader. Karalov's death left a huge void. Luna 9 would
be the Soviets' last big first in space for a very long time. While the Soviets were mourning
Karalov, Project Apollo was moving swiftly towards a launch,
but the Americans would soon face their own tragedy.
On January 27, 1967, the Apollo 1 conducted a launch rehearsal test.
At the helm once again was Grissom.
In spite of the Liberty Bell debacle and the scandal over the space sandwich,
Grissom was an accomplished astronaut.
He had
successfully commanded Gemini 3, and he was about to get another chance at glory with Apollo.
Grissom's flight team was equally impressive. Ed White was an Air Force lieutenant colonel.
He had become the first American to make a spacewalk on Gemini 4 in 1965. Robert Chafee
was a Navy lieutenant commander. He had served as the CAPCOM on Gemini 4,
but the Apollo mission would be his first time in space.
He was looking forward to it, saying,
I think it'll be a lot of fun.
His colleagues weren't so sure.
Many astronauts in the Apollo program didn't think the command module was ready yet,
especially Grissom.
I've got misgivings, he admitted to the press.
We've had problems before, but these have been coming in bushelfuls.
Frankly, I think this mission has a pretty damn slim chance of flying its full 14 days.
Death was a distinct possibility.
Grissom knew it.
The day of the test, the crew entered the command module.
The problem started immediately.
First, a bad smell delayed the countdown.
Then communication problems caused
Grissom to complain, how are we going to get to the moon if we can't talk between two or three
buildings? More delays followed. Then at 6.31 p.m. came an urgent cry. We've got a fire in the
cockpit. We're burning up. On a closed circuit television monitor pointed toward the spacecraft,
NASA personnel could see white flames. They heard a scream of pain and then silence.
Rescue crews finally managed to pry the door open, but it was too late. All three astronauts,
Grissom, White, and Chaffee, died in the fire. At a press conference before the accident,
Grissom had spoken some foreboding words.
If we die, we want people to accept it.
We're in a risky business,
and we hope that if anything happens to us,
it will not delay the program.
Conquest of space is worth the risk of life.
The country was devastated.
Many began to lose faith in the space program entirely.
Americans were distraught and confused, and the country was demanding answers. A NASA review board found a
stray spark had started the fire. Fed by flammable materials and the pure oxygen environment,
the blaze had quickly spread. The astronauts had tried to escape through the hatch once the fire
started, but the door was designed to keep the astronauts and atmosphere securely inside the spacecraft.
The pressure inside had sealed the door, making it impossible to open.
The U.S. Senate also conducted an investigation.
It published a damning 3,000-page report accusing NASA of negligence for failing to report its problems with Apollo. The next Apollo spacecraft
was still under construction, but the Senate report documented 1,400 design flaws. As a result
of the findings, the Apollo spacecraft was reworked to improve crew safety. Flammable items were
removed. A nitrogen-oxygen mix replaced the pure oxygen environment for ground tests. Most
importantly, the door was completely redesigned.
The next time a crew needed an emergency escape, it would open within seconds.
But these changes would take time and money.
The Apollo project had seemingly ground to a halt.
Once again, it looked like the Soviets would pull ahead.
That May, at a dinner meant to commemorate the anniversary of Shepard's flight,
the mood was somber.
A solemn von Braun paid his respects to the fallen astronauts. A different decision could have given us the first flight, but could so easily have ended in failure. Our total space
effort today is second to none. I want every chance for this country to be first in everything
it does. And yet, if we should lose the race to the moon, say, for example, by a month,
we cannot be more than temporarily dismayed.
We will be remembered, in fact, for how we did it
and not when we did it.
But the United States still had not given up its dream
of beating the Soviets to the moon.
It still wanted to be first.
And so NASA looked to the man
the American government had once doubted,
the man who launched the first American satellite into orbit
and the man who had sent the first American to space.
NASA once again put its hopes in Werner Von Braun.
Richard Bandler revolutionized the world of self-help all thanks to an approach he developed called neuro-linguistic programming.
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Imagine it's the morning of November 9, 1967.
You live in Port St. John, a small town on the eastern coast of Florida.
You're making breakfast for one today.
Normally, you and your husband eat together, but today, he got up before dawn to head out to the Kennedy Space Center.
He's covering the launch today for the Orlando Sentinel.
A few months back, the 36-story rocket was rolled out onto Pad 39A.
After weeks and weeks of rigorous testing, the big day is finally here.
Your husband said it's one of those days that makes being a journalist feel worth it.
A chance to witness history in the making.
The first flight of the Saturn V moon rocket.
Just as you're about to sit down to eat your eggs and drink your coffee,
it's Sylvia, your friend from down the street.
Am I interrupting?
I was just making breakfast.
Do you mind if I come in?
No, of course.
Is everything all right?
She hesitates.
She's clearly anxious.
I was hoping Charles might know something. Today's theates. She's clearly anxious. I was hoping Charles might
know something. Today's the launch. He's there now. He knows what everyone knows.
They say it's the most powerful rocket ever built. Are you worried? Aren't you? Not really.
It sounds thrilling. I would have joined him, but they wouldn't let me in with his press pass.
You pour your friend a cup of coffee and settle at the kitchen table. You push your eggs aside.
Charles was in Huntsville last year when they fired up the Saturn V for the first time.
He said it felt like an earthquake.
And here I thought I could avoid them if I never went to California.
He said he looked around the room and everyone's clothes were flapping.
Men's ties, women's skirts, all moving together in rhythm.
The acoustic wave, he called it.
Did you go?
No, I was here.
They didn't know what was going to happen. They went door to door. They told people for a hundred miles around to stay
out of buildings. The two of you look at each other. You've both had the same thought. The
launch is due to start any minute. Should we get outside? That's a thought. Just then, you hear it.
A low rumbling, getting louder and louder.
The table in front of you starts to shake as coffee sloshes over the sides of the cup.
The hallway bookcase rocks and you watch paperbacks edge off their shelves and drop to the floor.
In the kitchen, the window pane rattles and suddenly cracks right through the center.
Dishes fall from the cabinet shelves and shatter on the kitchen floor.
The low grumbling builds to an explosion,
the loudest sound you've ever heard. That's enough for you and Sylvia. Pushing back your chairs,
you bolt to the front door and run out to the street for safety. At 7 a.m. on November 9, 1967, the Saturn V rocket made its presence known.
The rocket's engines roared to life, and seconds later, 7.5 million pounds of thrust
launched the Saturn V skyward.
Scientists confirmed that the noise created by the launch was one of the loudest ever,
man-made or natural.
The launch of Saturn V was a massive achievement. was one of the loudest ever, man-made or natural.
The launch of Saturn V was a massive achievement.
Watching his life's work rise from the launch pad,
von Braun cheered it on,
Go, baby, go!
Not only did the mission go off without a hitch,
but it was proof of concept for sending a manned spacecraft into the moon's orbit.
After the flight, Johnson said,
The whole world could see the awesome sight of the first launch of what is now the largest rocket ever flown. This launching symbolizes the power this
nation is harnessing for the peaceful exploration of space. The country was one step closer to
putting a man on the moon. By the end of 1968, NASA was determined to launch a manned rocket
into the moon's orbit. That mission would be Apollo 8.
But even with the recent successes of the Saturn V, Apollo 8 remained a bold undertaking.
In 1966, the Gemini 11 had traveled 850 miles into space,
taking its astronauts farther than anyone had gone before.
But to reach the moon's orbit, the Apollo 8 would have to go 234,000 miles.
The task was a big one.
First, the astronauts would have to break out of low Earth orbit at a speed of almost 23,000 miles per hour.
As they approached the moon, they would need to enter its gravitational field while maintaining control of the craft.
Then, using engine power, they would have to slow down to a speed of about 4,000 mph to enter lunar orbit.
NASA official Chris Kraft told von Braun,
Von Braun was confident and quickly replied,
On December 21, 1968, three astronauts, Frank Borman, Jim Lovell, and Bill Anders, were launched into space.
It was arguably the most dangerous manned mission in the history of space exploration.
On the third day of the voyage, they made it more than 200,000 miles into space.
They were roughly 38,000 miles away from the surface of the moon when the moon began to pull them into its orbit.
NASA knew that when the astronauts disappeared behind the moon when the moon began to pull them into its orbit. NASA knew that when
the astronauts disappeared behind the moon, they would lose radio contact. If something went wrong,
NASA would have no way of knowing. There was no room for error. The Apollo 8's engines had to
fire for exactly 247 seconds. Exactly 247 seconds. If they did not, the ship would miss the lunar
orbit and the astronauts would be left
drifting in space forever. For 20 minutes, Apollo 8 was on its own as it drifted into lunar orbit.
NASA was in the dark, waiting. On the radio, they called out,
Minutes must have felt like hours.
And then, Jim Lovell's convoys... Go ahead, this is Apollo 8.
Very complete.
Our orbit is 160.9 by 60.5.
Jubilation rang out in mission control.
On Christmas Eve 1968,
the astronauts broadcast to half a billion people from space.
The vast loneliness up here is awe-inspiring, Lovell said. It makes you realize just what you
have back there on Earth. Then the astronauts took turns reading the opening passages from
the Book of Genesis about the creation of the heavens. Borman wished viewers
back home. And from the crew of Apollo 8, we close with good night, good luck, a merry Christmas,
and God bless all of you, all of you on the good earth.
He would later add, looking at the earth rising over the moon's horizon,
this is the most beautiful, heart-catching sight of my life.
On Christmas Day, Apollo 8 finished its tenth and final orbit around the moon and was bound for home.
The engines again fired, this time exactly for 304 seconds,
taking them out of the moon's orbit and on their two-and-a-half
day trip back to Earth, where they splashed down in the Pacific Ocean. After the mission, the Apollo
crew got a phone call from a very happy man, President Johnson. This is a message to Colonel
Borman, Captain Lovell, and Major Anders. We thank God that you are back safe again. My thoughts this
morning went back to more than 10 years ago, when we saw Sputnik racing through the skies, and we realized that America had a big job ahead of
it. It gave me so much pleasure to know that you men have done a large part of that job. Well done.
Johnson had run a strong leg in the race, but he was not destined to make the final lap.
His presidency, tarnished by the horrific
brutality of the Vietnam War, Johnson declined to seek a second term in the White House. The task
of putting a man on the moon would fall to his successor, Richard Nixon. The Nixon administration
would have to pick up the baton and finish the race. In the dash to the moon, the U.S. was finally
ahead, but the Soviets were nipping at their heels. America knew the Soviet
Union would do everything in its power to retake the lead. On the next episode of American History
Tellers, we follow the Nixon administration as they race the Soviets to the finish line
and try to be the first country to put a man on the moon.
From Wondery, this is episode three of The Space Race from American History Tellers.
On the next episode, we follow the Nixon administration as they race the Soviets to the finish line
and try to be the first country 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. lover, or maybe you're robbing a bank. Based on the real-life false alarm that terrified Hawaii in 2018, Incoming, a brand-new fiction podcast exclusively on Wondery Plus, follows the journey
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What am I supposed to do? Featuring incredible performances from Tracy Letts, Mary Lou Henner,
Mary Elizabeth Ellis, Paul Edelstein, and many, many more.
Incoming is a hilariously thrilling podcast that will leave you wondering,
how would you spend your last few minutes on Earth?
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