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Gemini, represented the logical next step for the U.S. program. Project Mercury, with its tiny one-man capsule, had yielded only one mission that lasted more than a day, while a typical Apollo lunar mission, designed to send three astronauts comfortably into space and land two of them on the moon, would require its crew to be "out there" for more than a week. NASA officials realized early on that the holes in their knowledge about the effects of space travel might be filled by tragic case studies unless they quickly gained more experience in long-duration flight. Gemini would give them the chance to do so, while at the same time giving the astronauts valuable hands-on experience in the skills they'd later use during Apollo. Alan Shepard and Tom Stafford were initially chosen for the first manned Gemini flight. The selection procedure, headed by Shepard's sidelined Mercury Seven colleague Deke Slayton, was becoming more complex as NASA enlarged its astronaut corps, adding nine new members in 1962 and fourteen more in 1963. Shepard, of course, had been the first American in space; Stafford was a highly regarded member of the second group. Highly competent, well respected by his peers, and already revered by the public for his first venture into space, Alan Shepard looked forward to inaugurating the manned portion of the Gemini program. But before the flight could take place, he developed an inner-ear imbalance that caused him to experience severe attacks of dizziness. As a result, he was removed from active flight status, and the backup crew of Gus Grissom and John Young was assigned to the mission. It was a setback flush with irony for Shepard and Slayton. Close friends, their past commiseration over Slayton's health problems gave Shepard's difficulties a depressing sense of deja vu. Fortunately, neither man's condition would ultimately prove irreparable, and both Shepard and Slayton were eventually returned to active flight status. Shepard landed on the moon as commander of Apollo 14; Slayton flew into space as part of the crew of the Apollo-Soyuz Test Project. The first manned moments of Gemini, however, belonged to Gus Grissom and John Young. With a whimsy that was lost on NASA administrators, Grissom dubbed the capsule Molly Brown, a reference to the popular Broadway play The Unsinkable Molly Brown. It was a subtle jibe at the Mercury capsule that had nearly caused him to drown when it disappeared beneath the waves of the Atlantic nearly four years earlier. The agency's concern that the nickname might undercut the mission's serious intent was muted by the public's ongoing enthusiasm. Even so, the astronauts' penchant for naming their spacecraft would be reined in after the flight, until the Apollo program, when distinct names would be required to identify separate craft flying in space at the same time.' As it turned out, Grissom and Young were able to validate the Gemini capsule as an advance over the Mercury design in both architecture and equipment. Lifting off atop a Titan II on March 23, 1965, they spent three orbits and nearly five hours in space. They performed several experiments that were only partially successful, due to faulty equipment (photography, for example, was hindered by an improper lens setting, and an equipment failure wrecked an experiment designed to gauge the effect of zero gravity on sea urchin eggs). Most important, they were able to maneuver the craft into higher and lower orbits - an ability of great importance to the program's future plans. Testing the Gemini system in space for the first time, their primary objectives were the standard goals of any craft on its first occupied voyage: a safe launch, flight, and return. These were the same aims set for Alan Shepard during the Mercury program's first flight into space, and for John Glenn during the first orbital mission. And they would also be the primary ambitions of Apollo 1 two years later. Part of the mission profile for Gemini 3 called for it to demonstrate controlled reentry and landing techniques. Unfortunately, the craft returned at a lower-than-anticipated angle, so the procedure was only partially successful. While there was no harm to the crew, the capsule splashed down about seventy miles from its target, and it took about an hour for the USS Intrepid to bring Grissom and Young aboard. Despite the minor glitches along the way, though, it was a far happier finish for Gus Grissom than the last time he'd returned from space. To its credit, and the relief of an appreciative Grissom and Young, Molly Brown proved authentically unsinkable. The success of their mission was probably best summed up by the minor furor that ensued afterward, over a practical joke Young had played during the flight. Goaded by Wally Schirra, Young had smuggled a corned beef sandwich on board for Grissom. The sight of the definitively earthly lunch meat in the austere, high-tech space capsule was yet another example of the astronauts' good-natured humor, endearing in retrospect, and understandable in the context of lightening the emotional weight of the task at hand. But the stunt was viewed in dire terms by NASA's nonastronaut personnel. Still unsure about the potential effects of space travel on the human body, and concerned about the impact of even the smallest unforeseen changes to the exhaustively detailed and closely monitored capsule environment, the agency set new limits on the types of personal items astronauts could carry with them on future trips. The entire incident was apparently seen as a tempest in a teapot - or a space capsule, as it were - by most of the astronauts, and the controversy it caused faded quickly as the Gemini program moved forward. It was a humorous side effect of the space pilots' ongoing struggle to assert themselves in the mechanized superstructure of the program, and an indication of the vastly different cultures that had produced the astronauts and the engineers responsible for their flights. The men who flew in America's first space vehicles were for the most part fast-thinking, fast-acting professionals, courageous in the face of imminent personal danger, whose reaction to a crisis situation was in most cases to try something-anything-that seemed as though it might work. Patriotic, understanding of the necessity to take orders, but also sympathetic to the virtues of individual initiative, the astronauts favored the latter approach by a wide margin whenever conflict arose between others' advice and their own intuition. For all their physical exploits as the lead agents of a huge corporate venture, America's first astronauts proved by their actions and words that the program's success or failure ultimately depended at least as much on the proper functioning of the human beings in the spacecraft as it did on the hardware, systems, and computer code. NASA's vast teams of engineers and administrators and support personnel complemented the astronauts' lessons about the value of the individual with an equally compelling argument for efficient bureaucracyperhaps providing the only recent example of the term that is not an oxymoron. Bureaucracy worked for NASA in the 1960s; the hierarchical approach to problem solving allowed the agency to respond quickly to problems that arose in the course of the organization's unprecedented venture. When astronauts found themselves confronted with unexpected troubles in space, teams on the ground went to work immediately and efficiently to find solutions by methodical analysis, simulation, and careful weighing of the risks involved. Even where their cultural preferences clashed, the large-scale support of the people on the ground and the closely held intuitions of the astronauts in space meshed exceptionally well, often with miraculous results. Mercury veteran Gordon Cooper was paired with Charles "Pete" Conrad for Gemini 5. The mission's major objective was to double the amount of time in space of Gemini 4, again pushing the boundaries of what had previously been achieved, to see what effect the longer stay would have on crew and craft. In the course of its 120 orbits, Gemini S was also scheduled to test the efficacy of fuel cells for the first time (batteries were the primary source of electrical power on previous flights, and would be used for the last time on the shortduration Gemini 6) and to perform exercises that would allow ground controllers to evaluate guidance and navigation systems for future rendezvous missions. Frustrating difficulties seemed to plague the flight from the outset. A launch attempt on August 19 had to be put off when the ground crew was confronted with unexpected problems in loading cryogenic fuel into the fuel cell; liftoff came two days later. Additional problems cropped up with the balky cell once the craft was in orbit, eventually forcing flight controllers to abandon several important rendezvous objectives. To the credit of the crew in the capsule and the controllers on the ground, the mission was able to complete its scheduled 120 orbits, and the astronauts conducted a substantial array of experiments. They splashed down in good health after nearly eight days in space. NASA administrators added the fuel cell to their growing list of wrinkles that had to be ironed out on the way to Apollo and the moon. Other crucial challenges along the way included rendezvous and docking, and establishing that a flight of as much as two weeks would cause no irreparable damage to the astronauts or to the systems and equipment that would keep them in space. The challenges of rendezvous maneuvers would be addressed head-on in the next flight. Gemini 6, with Wally Schirra and Tom Stafford aboard, would be launched shortly after an Atlas rocket put an Agena satellite into orbit; they would then pursue the Agena in space and rendezvous and dock with it. Frank Borman and James Lovell, both group two astronauts, would then take on the long-duration problem in Gemini 7, staying in space for fourteen days. But NASA's careful planning was thrown into disarray when the Atlas-Agena exploded shortly after it lifted off on October 25. Schirra and Stafford awaited their own launch nearby in Gemini 6, but with no target to pursue, their mission was scrubbed. Several days passed while the space agency pondered what to do next. Then, in an early display of the innovation and boldness that would characterize many of the steps along the way to the moon, NASA officials announced that the Gemini 6 and Gemini 7 missions would be combined, undertaken at the same time in December. Since Gemini 7 would be in space for fourteen days anyway, it would provide a viable target for Schirra and Stafford to track down. Although the vehicles were not yet ready for docking, the rendezvous maneuvers could at least be worked out, and the presence of four astronauts in space at the same time would provide a comfortable cushion of hands-on expertise should any unforeseen circumstances arise. Gemini 7 launched first, on December 4, 1965. An attempted December 12 launch of Gemini 6-A, as the Schirra-Stafford flight had been renamed, failed when the engines of the Titan II launch vehicle shut down. The astronauts' onboard computer indicated that the Titan II had briefly left the launch pad before the malfunction, which meant that the crew would have to forcibly eject themselves from the capsule, but Schirra and Stafford simultaneously agreed that the instruments were in error, and chose to stay inside the spacecraft. It was an excellent example of quick thinking and split-second decision making by the astronauts, and their joint intuition turned out to be accurate. The Titan II remained on the pad, and the capsule and crew remained safely on top of the launch stack. The mission finally lifted off on December 15. Once they were aloft, Schirra and Stafford made the most of their time in space. They caught up with the target Gemini 7 during their fourth orbit, and executed the planned rendezvous with great skill and surprising ease. Acting as the pursuing craft, Gemini 6rA performed flawless station keeping with the passive Gemini 7, Schirra and Stafford managing to stay in close proximity with Borman and Lovell for more than five hours and several trips around the earth. The two craft floated alongside each other at distances ranging from 1 to 295 feet during the exercise, which constituted a major success for the mission and a significant relief for the program, as the Gemini craft overcame one of the major challenges to the eventual moon flights. Their objectives accomplished in fine form after more than a year of training, mission preparation, and launch delays, Schirra and Stafford brought the Gemini 6-A back to earth after a little more than a single day in space. Borman and Lovell continued on for the remainder of their planned stay, splashing down on December 18. The combined success brought the year to a close on a remarkably high note for NASA, validating the overall direction of the space program and providing valuable experience and information for the future. According to the U.S. space agency's plan, 1966 would feature NASA's final preliminaries before the last lap to the moon could begin in earnest. The last round of Geminis - five more flights - were scheduled to fly by year's end, bringing back answers to the last remaining questions about the safety and feasibility of setting human beings down on the lunar surface. The first casualties of that grand journey were astronauts Elliot See and Charles Bassett. See, a group two selection in 1962, and Bassett, of group three, had been selected as the crew of Gemini 9. They had endured the long preparation and rigorous training necessary to get assigned to a mission, and were to fly in space for the first time in May. But it was not to be. The two astronauts were killed in an airplane crash on February 28 while flying to the McDonnell Aircraft plant in St. Louis. The sad ironies of the deaths were overwhelming. They had worked hard and gotten within easy distance of their long-sought opportunity, only to be dealt their grim fate in an altogether earthly flying vehicle. And yet, by their service and in their passing, they gave the space program positive examples of the dedication that distinguished the work of all the astronauts. The accident gave everyone connected with NASA a distinct moment of pause, to reflect on the hugeness of their collective aims and the fragile humanity of the people who were the vanguard of their most cherished dreams. Tom Stafford and Gene Cernan - the backup crew for Gemini 9 - were flying alongside See and Bassett in a second T-38 when the crash occurred. They watched in horror as the first plane fell through the dense fog and crashed just before it was to have landed at the McDonnell facility. Yet the grim reality of the situation dictated that Stafford and Cernan move up to become the prime crew for Gemini 9.
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