Read "Live From Cape Canaveral": Covering the Space Race, From Sputnik to Today for Free Online Page B

moved about the Cape’s buildings and launch complexes with a driven determination. A frown on his face was a major part of his daily dress, and on one particular day, when the astronauts were working on the Mercury-Redstone launch pad, Williams suddenly remembered he had to make a luncheon speech in Cocoa Beach. “I’ve gotta be in town in twenty minutes,” he complained. “I left my car back atthe office.”
    Alan Shepard stepped forward. “Take my ’Vette, Walt, I’ll catch a ride in with Gus.”
    Walt Williams was rarely offered a favor. He wasn’t sure how to respond. He did, however, manage a slight smile. “Thank you, Commander Shepard,” he said politely. “But I don’t know if I can drive a hot car like yours.”
    “Sure you can, Walt,” Alan assured him. “C’mon, I’ll help you get it started.”
    The two men rushed across the parking lot, and Alan helped buckle Walt into his ’Vette. The Project Mercury director sat there, staring at all the knobs, buttons, switches, and instruments. “What the hell,” he mumbled, fussing with the unfamiliar controls.
    “Here, Walt,” Alan said, reaching across and starting the vehicle.
    “Thank you,” Walt said, closing the door.
    Alan heard his ’Vette’s gears cry in agony as Walt jammed the stick in first and chugged away, stopping and starting and eventually getting the sports car to move at a somewhat steady pace.
    Alan turned and ran into the launch pad’s office. As Walt was turning onto the main road, he phoned the cops. “This is astronaut Alan Shepard,” he shouted. “Some sonofabitch just stole my Corvette. He’s headed for the south gate.”
    Walt chugged and jerked Alan’s ’Vette up to the Cape’s exit, and the guards pounced on the stoic man, lifting him from the car and spread-eagling him over the hood.
    Alan was already on the phone with NASA security chief Charlie Buckley. “You better get to the south gate right now, Charlie,” he laughed. “They have the boss in handcuffs.”
     
    T hen, it was the day.
    The seven astronauts doodled at their desks in their office at the Langley Research Center in Virginia. It was January 19, 1961. Tomorrow, John F. Kennedy would be sworn in as President of the United States. But right now Robert Gilruth was more important to the Mercury Seven. As chief of the Space Task Group, Gilruth ran Project Mercury. He owned the candy store. He was Walt Williams’s boss, and he would say who would be the FIRST TO GO! That had been the engine driving the Mercury Seven’s training, and that afternoon Gilruth had called the astronauts. “How about hanging in after quitting time, guys? I have something to tell you.”

    Astronaut Alan Shepard atop the back of his beloved Corvette. (Barbree Collection).
    There it was. He’d made his decision, and each of the seven reviewed where they stood in the program. There’d been an unquestioned breakthrough in mid-December when a Redstone carried an unmanned Mercury capsule through a perfect flight. That’s when Gilruth said oh so casually, “Everybody better start thinking about who goes first.”
    Okay. Each astronaut voted for himself. Then Gilruth smiled and said, “I would like for you guys to take a peer vote. If you were unable to make the first flight, select the man you think should go.” He was aware of their discomfort and smiled. “Drop your choice by my office soon.”
    The astronauts couldn’t determine whether Gilruth had really given them a vote or if he was playing it clever. Either way, the Mercury Sevenknew he could simply select the man he wanted, and the astronauts would never be the wiser.
    The door opened. Gilruth came in and got right to the point: “What I have to say to you must stay with you. You can’t talk about it, not to anyone, not even to your wives. Now let’s keep it that way. Each of you has done an outstanding job. We’re grateful for your contributions, but you all know only one man can be first in space.
    “What