The Astronaut Wives Club Part 5

The launch was scheduled to take place in the spring. All of the wives were counting on "Miss Frosty" to show them how a proper wife acted when her husband was shot up into s.p.a.ce. Louise knew the worst could happen on Alan's shot, but she didn't give in to her fears. She sat calmly and worked her needlepoint. In Life's first feature on the wives, under the headline "Just Go Right Ahead, by Louise Shepard," Louise told readers, "I suppose I have the same faith in technology that most Americans have: this continuous steady feeling that the wheels of the car will turn and the brakes will work when I come to the next stop light. But I am a Christian Scientist and have a strong spiritual faith. If the brakes don't work, I know that something else will."

In the accompanying photo, she was wearing Bermuda shorts and a sleeveless white oxford blouse. She was dealing out a game of four-way solitaire to her girls, who wore outfits identical to their mother's. Her serene smile hid a tremendous will to keep everything looking perfect at their home.

Louise's "Who let a Russian in here?" comment to Alan turned out to be not so witty as when she'd made it. In April 1961, when Alan's launch was originally scheduled, NASA delayed the flight, suddenly wanting to make two additional tests of the Redstone rocket, including one with Ham the chimp. In the meantime, Alan was beaten to the chase by Russian cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin, who made history by actually orbiting Earth.

A reporter woke up Shorty Powers early one morning at the Cape to get NASA's reaction. A groggy Shorty yelled into the phone, "We're all asleep down here!" The morning's headline followed: "Soviets Put Man in s.p.a.ce. Spokesman Says U.S. Asleep." Alan was disgusted. "We had 'em," he said. "We had 'em by the shorthairs and we gave it away."

Alan was already in his capsule on the day of his flight when the big announcement was made that he was the One. Then the weather fouled up and the launch had to be postponed. Now that the surprise was blown, Louise worried that on the day of his rescheduled launch, May 5, she would be completely overrun by the press. She called the local police, but the chief's only suggestion was "Why don't you book yourself into a motel under a new name, lady?"

Louise decided she simply couldn't run away. She would speak to the press, but not until Alan was safely back on Earth. Still, there was one reporter and one photographer in her home with her. The Life contract stipulated that they would have intimate access to the astronauts' wives during their husbands' flights. So Louise had to smile and remain calm as Life looked on.

The night before the launch, Louise tiptoed out on her front porch and taped a message to the door: THERE WILL BE NO REPORTERS IN THE HOUSE. I WILL HAVE A STATEMENT FOR THE PRESS AFTER THE FLIGHT. All night long she heard reporters creeping across her porch reading the note. In the special astronaut quarters in Hangar S at the Cape, Alan awoke at 1:10 in the morning and sat down for his special "low residue" launch breakfast, which had been specifically designed by the NASA doctors to ensure no bowel movements in s.p.a.ce. Amazingly, it included bacon-wrapped filet mignon, scrambled eggs, OJ, and coffee, sans milk.

In the morning it was little Alice who woke up first. It happened to be her tenth birthday, but Louise had decided to postpone the party and dolls and tea sets until the following day. After all, Louise's two little girls still had no idea Alan was going into s.p.a.ce. Alice crept downstairs and drew back a corner of the pink homemade curtains. Lo and behold, a carnival had landed in her front yard, only it was a frightening kind of carnival because there were policemen with s.h.i.+ny badges and guns and German shepherds sniffing in Mommy's pretty flowerbeds around the house. Alice worried the police had come to take Louise away, and she ran upstairs, where Julie was asleep in their shared bedroom. "Julie, Julie, wake up! Mommy must have done something really bad!"

Together they went into Louise's room to tell her the terrible news. Louise was getting dressed. She said very calmly, "Now, girls, your father is going up in a Redstone rocket into s.p.a.ce today." Then she led Julie and Alice downstairs, where Louise's parents, who had come to keep her company for the launch, were already making breakfast. Grandparents, mother, and daughters sat at the dining room table and held hands in a group prayer. The Life photographer had his perfect family portrait.

After breakfast, they all got ready to watch Alan blast off on the black-and-white TV. In only fifteen minutes, he would fly in a parabola 116 miles above the Earth into "outer s.p.a.ce" and back. Louise sat in a chair holding a little all-weather transistor radio. She was concentrating deeply, repeating over and over in her mind, "Alan will be in the right place at the right time. Everything will be A-OK."

Her belief in the trinity of America, NASA, and the Shepards, all operating under a heavenly umbrella, was unshakable.

As planned, Alan fell safely back to Earth fifteen minutes after he'd blasted off, dropping in his capsule into the Atlantic. After NASA called Louise to tell her that Alan was safely aboard the USS Champlain, a Navy jet flew over her house making an S in its contrail. Louise stepped out of her house, pink sweater draped around her slight shoulders, and met the press, kicking off another new Astrowife ritual-the post-flight press conference on the lawn. Though still not thrilled that their own husbands hadn't been picked to go up first, the other wives did have to admit Louise made a wonderful First Lady of s.p.a.ce.

Jackie

Pinch me, please. Louise was on cloud nine during the ceremony in the Rose Garden of the White House. "Ladies and gentlemen," said President Kennedy, "I want to express on behalf of us all the great pleasure we have in welcoming Commander Shepard and Mrs. Shepard here today." Alan winked at Louise. While Kennedy continued talking, Louise watched Jackie standing by his side, like something conjured up in a dream. When the NASA Distinguished Service Medal slipped out of the president's hand and clattered onto the felt-covered stage, Jack picked it up and handed it to Alan, but Jackie had a better suggestion for her husband, telling him, "Jack, pin it on him."

Jacqueline, who p.r.o.nounced her name Jackleen, in the French style, was a breath of fresh air after Mamie. What could be more perfect than the Kennedy White House with its resident queen? Jackie was not model thin, but her dress, one of many specially designed for her by the best designers in the world, made her look svelte and glamorous. She was dressed in an elegant midnight blue sheath, her only jewelry a thick gold chain around her neck and a small gold bracelet around her left wrist. She was perfectly regal. Louise thought she and Jackie had a lot in common; both having been raised in aristocratic surroundings on the East Coast, Louise at Longwood Gardens and Jackie summering at Hammersmith Farm in Newport, Rhode Island. Even though Louise was only the groundskeeper's daughter, she always held herself as if she were a Du Pont.

After the ceremony, Jack led Alan and his fellow astronauts off to the Oval Office to talk about the program, specifically his grand plans for NASA to go to the Moon. Kennedy's recent failed Bay of Pigs invasion of Cuba had been an absolute disaster and international embarra.s.sment for the president, and he was hoping to neutralize it with his ambitious s.p.a.ce program.

"We're not about to put you guys on a rocket and send you to the Moon," said Kennedy from his rocking chair. "We're just thinking about it."

Meanwhile, Jackie held court with the women in the formal Green Room. Louise was wearing a beige suit and a white hat with a big starched bow. She was fixated on Jackie, memorizing her every move and mannerism. Jackie, who was hatless, apologized that all the White House kitchen had to offer were crackers because the Kennedys had just gotten back from Hyannis Port. After a bit of small talk, Jackie tucked her arm into Louise's and led her off for a private tour of the White House.

After Louise returned to Virginia and back into the fold at Langley, the wives were desperate to hear her report. "What's Jackie like? You two hit it off, didn't you? She's lovely, isn't she?" They were hoping for some good gossip; they wanted to know what Jackie was really like. Louise acted sisterly, but she was perfectly politic. "She has big feet, just like me," she said, hinting that Jackie was "bigger-boned" in person. Soon all the wives knew that the First Lady's dress size was the same as her shoe size, which was a ten.

What was nice about Louise was even though her every movement and observation was controlled, she really made an effort to be just one of the girls. Louise would come at the drop of a hat to Langley to visit with the girls or meet them at the yacht club at Fort Monroe. She understood her new role as the First Lady of s.p.a.ce, especially when, a calculated twenty days after Alan's flight, President Kennedy announced to a joint session of Congress his goal of putting a man on the Moon by the end of the decade. In this speech Kennedy appealed to Americans' dreams for the future: "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...in a very real sense, it will not be one man going to the Moon; if we make this judgment affirmatively, it will be an entire nation. For all of us must work to put him there."

He also asked Congress for some Moon money, to the tune of an estimated $40 billion, but no matter: "A great nation was one that undertook great adventures."

Since becoming an astronaut wife, Betty had developed expensive tastes. It was impossible to find really nice outfits at the d.i.n.ky department stores near Langley. Gus knew his wife put up with a lot from him, and she never asked questions if he wasn't around much on the weekends. As a trade-off, he didn't complain about what she spent. Betty appreciated that.

"You know," Gus had told her, "we really have never had any money, but you always know what our limit is. You know what we can do and what we cannot do. I expect you to have clothes when you need them. I do not want you to have to go out and buy something at the last minute."

Five-foot Betty had once wanted to take to the skies as a stewardess, but Pan-Am required its hostesses to be at least five-two. She was so short that everything she wore needed tailoring. Nothing off the rack ever fit; the sleeves and pant legs were always too long. Since Gus would be next to go up into s.p.a.ce, he wanted his wife to look her best. So he gave Betty some mad money to go out and buy new outfits, something to make her look as good as Louise had when she stood next to the Queen of Camelot, Jackie.

The other wives still thought of Betty as an unsophisticated Hoosier and didn't know that Betty (whose full name was Betty Lavonne) saw herself quite differently. Betty cared a lot about fas.h.i.+on and thought she was the best dresser of the group. "The wildest, too," she bragged (in the near future she would be the first Astrowife to buy fur hot pants).

Not many in the group sought out her friends.h.i.+p, but Louise Shepard was always sweet to her. She always complimented her on her adorable new accessories, a watch or a pair of screw-back earrings, color-coordinated to one of her spiffy outfits: "If there is anything out new like that," Louise would say, gently touching a new wrist.w.a.tch, "you've got it, Betz." Louise was the only person who ever called Betty Grissom Betz-like she was Bette Davis or someone.

"I need some clothes! I'm not doing too well down here," Betty complained at one of the wives' get-togethers. Hearing her cry for help, Annie Glenn invited her to come to Arlington for the weekend, and they would go shopping in Was.h.i.+ngton.

On the train, Betty wondered if she'd in fact invited herself up and Annie had just been too polite to turn her down. She'd never been to the Glenns' home, and she didn't know Annie as well as the other wives. Annie had been a little aloof since the beginning of the program, especially since John had chosen for her and their two kids, Lyn and Dave, to remain in their house in Arlington rather than move near Langley as the other families had. Annie didn't talk much at wives' gatherings either, just smiled, as if she were above it all. The other wives initially mistook Annie as standoffish until they finally realized the source of her extreme shyness.

The Life ghostwriter, Loudon Wainwright, in vigilant keeping with the magazine's no-flaws policy, had glossed over what was embarra.s.singly obvious in person. Annie had a terrible stutter. She'd had it since childhood, as had her father, Doc Castor. The only time Annie could get through an entire sentence unstuttering was when she sang hymns behind the organ. John boasted, "Annie could make an organ talk." In public, Annie usually just smiled and nodded.

When Annie met her at the station, Betty nervously prattled on about whatever was on her mind, while Annie silently listened. Annie was very sensitive to others speaking, for she knew that when she herself needed to speak, her interlocutor would have to wait out her stutter and be patient while she formed her words. She didn't want anyone finis.h.i.+ng her sentences for her. Betty had to bite her tongue to hold herself back.

As the two women roamed the big Was.h.i.+ngton department stores like Garfinckel's and Woodward & Lothrop, running their fingers along fabrics and testing the resilience of stockings, Betty realized how difficult this simple activity was for Annie. Salesgirls would struggle to keep a straight face while she stuttered out her requests. Some even laughed. While it probably hurt her feelings more than she'd ever admit, Annie didn't seem too fazed by it. The Marine wife, the only one among the Astrowives' ranks, had developed an effective system; if she wanted anything, she'd write the salesgirl a note or bring something from home that she needed.

Betty had never been on such a shopping spree. She tried on all sorts of stylish ensembles, the whole works: heels, gloves, hats, skirts, and dresses with full "New Look" swing skirts worn with lots of fluffy, floaty petticoats-which were usually reserved for teenagers, but Betty wanted to let out her wild side. If it fit and she looked good in it, especially if it was in patriotic colors, she bought it, laying down the cash. Sunny yellow was her favorite, but the public seemed to prefer the astronaut wives in red, white, and blue.

After hugging Annie good-bye, Betty boarded the train with shopping bags full of pretty new clothes, including a light blue dress with a matching jacket-vest she had chosen to wear for the launch. As the train whipped along, she thought about her visit with Annie and concluded they'd really hit it off. Betty envied Annie's house in Arlington, far from the rest of the wives. Betty and Annie might have been an unlikely pair, but somehow they fit. They shared the same worries and concerns. Betty, who spoke in a Hoosier tw.a.n.g, often worried about whether she was saying the right thing. "Is that the right words?" she'd ask her ghostwriter.

Gus Grissom just wasn't the sort of man who could play Perfect Mr. Family for Life. That was all too apparent when Gus told the magazine in their feature about the Gold Team, "Betty and I run our lives as we please. We don't care anything about fads or frills or the P.T.A. We don't give a d.a.m.n about the Joneses." It was enough to make NASA cringe, especially from one of their elite Gold Team. They expected each astronaut not only to keep up with the Joneses, but to surpa.s.s the Joneses, with at least two and a half perfect strapping milk-fed children with plenty of badges from the Boy and Girl Scouts. Gus took a lot of flak for that quote, but Betty knew what he meant. She had tried going to a few P.T.A. meetings at the various bases where they had lived, but whenever she went, all the parents ever seemed to be voting on was whether or not to allow chocolate milk in the school cafeteria. Betty finally gave up. She sometimes wondered if her lack of social skills would affect Gus's astronaut career, but he rea.s.sured her, "You didn't sign up for this. I did."

She worried his personality never really came across in interviews, but Gus had a few tricks up his sleeve. "I can't act like they do," he'd complain, knowing he'd never be as polished as John Glenn, or as calculating as Alan Shepard. "I just have to do my work and mind my own business and that's it." Though he wasn't good at kissing up to NASA, or playing the perfect family man, he kept his mind on his own business and excelled at his work.

After several delays because of rain and threatening weather, Gus's shot finally took place on July 21, 1961. The wives gathered at Betty's home in Stoneybrook. Louise had ridden her mission out solo, and after the onslaught of reporters she suffered, the wives realized it was too great a burden to endure alone. Hungry for some insight into the astronaut wife, her children, anything, the press had even surrounded a hapless diaper salesman. Did Louise feed her astronaut Wheaties every morning? After the press asked the man all sorts of trivial questions, they realized he was not even going to the Shepards'! Louise didn't have a baby, and certainly no need for diapers. He was going to the neighbors'.

Betty was not intending to let the press run all over her. Gus had convinced the Newport News police to patrol his patch of green and protect it from being ruined as the Shepards' yard had been. Everything was very tense that morning, beginning when CBS's famous newscaster-Nancy d.i.c.kerson-accosted Betty when she was putting the Buick in the garage. Betty told the news lady not very politely to scram, and then shut the rolling door in her face. The other wives gave each other significant looks.

Betty and her two boys talked to Gus on the phone as he lay flat on his back in the capsule before he blasted off. Betty hadn't seen him for two weeks, but they'd talked almost daily. After receiving their many wishes for a good flight, Gus finally jokingly told his family that if they stopped yakking, he might catch a couple of winks before his flight.

There were several holds on the countdown to liftoff, and at T minus fifteen minutes, Betty went into the kitchen to soft-boil some eggs, dropping them carefully into the water. But then Marge called her back out because the countdown had resumed. At T minus five minutes, Betty suddenly remembered her eggs and dashed into the kitchen, only to realize that they were not soft-boiled, but hard. She felt like one of those hard-boiled eggs, encased in a fragile sh.e.l.l. Perched on the sofa in her spa.r.s.ely furnished home, she watched the countdown. The last two seconds before liftoff were almost unbearable for her.

After she watched the rocket blast off Gus's Liberty Bell 7 capsule, she stayed glued to the TV for the fifteen minutes until the news reported his successful splashdown into the Atlantic. While all of the other girls, chatting away, went into the kitchen to get something to eat, Betty alone watched the coverage of Gus's rescue. She was the only one who heard that something had gone wrong. Gus was okay, but his hatch door had blown prematurely and his capsule had flooded and sunk.

Betty was sick to her stomach with worry that Gus had done something wrong. She didn't understand a lot of the technical details of his mission, but she knew enough to know that the capsule was definitely not supposed to sink. Was it Gus's fault?

The question plagued her as she emerged to face the dozen or so reporters on her lawn. Wearing her new blue dress and white Minnie Mouse heels, flanked by a son on each side, Betty said she was happy that Gus's flight was a success, but she said with genuine regret, "But I am so sorry the capsule was lost."

A reporter told her NASA had reported that her husband had been tidying up his s.p.a.cecraft when the hatch blew. "Is he tidy at home?"

"He does not pick up things around the house very well," Betty replied. She was smiling and animated with the reporters, though she felt on pins and needles. This interview was even more stressful than watching the flight on television, and she told the reporters as much.

Asked if she had prayed during her husband's flight, she replied, "Certainly."

Asked if she would like Gus to be the astronaut to make the big leap in Project Mercury, the first orbital flight, she replied, "I think I would because he would. I hope he calls when he reaches Grand Bahama Island. Now I can rest for a few days and get back to normal."

Betty spent the rest of the day watching television and answering the phone. Finally Gus called. Betty wanted to sound casual, so she said, "I heard you got a little wet?" "Yeah," said Gus, who was not much of a talker, especially today. The line crackled with static, but they chatted for another tense minute. Finally Betty couldn't help it any longer and blurted out a stabbing little question: "You didn't do anything wrong, did you?" "No," said Gus. "That hatch just blew." She could hear in his voice that he was wounded, but she knew he would admit it if he had done something wrong. He did not lie. He told her the Holiday Inn had lost a stack of his s.h.i.+rts and slacks, so when she came down to meet him in Florida, could she bring along some clean clothes?