Children of Orion - Chapter 7

The TV was muttering in my study as I poured over some notes that the secretary Rice University had so thoughtfully provided had typed up. Cronkite was reporting on the flight of Gemini 9. "Despite repeated attempts, Gemini 9, crewed by astronauts Eugene Cernan and Francine Barry, was unable to dock with the Agena target vehicle. Tomorrow, Francine Barry will venture outside the Gemini space craft and become the first female astronaut to attempt a space walk. Meanwhile, at the Jackass Flats Orion test facility, a test article for a new nuclear bomb, designed to more greatly focus the force of the explosion to make the Orion travel more efficiently was successfully tested. After this break, President Johnson visits Camp Pendleton and a Marine unit just returned from South East Asia where American forces have been rendering assistance to the people in their fight against communist guerillas."

I remember thinking, where is South East Asia? Then I heard a cry, "Daddy!" Little Caroline toddled into my study, which she was not supposed to do when Daddy was working. But she was so cute, the little charmer, that instead of admonishing her, I picked her up in my lap and asked, "So what have you been doing, pumpkin?"

"Coloring."

Mrs. Alverez, our housekeeper/nanny came in, breathless. "Sorry, Dr. Neal."

"Quite alright," I replied, standing up, and handing the apple of my eye over to her. "Is Professor Neal home yet?"

"She called from the University and said she would be a little late."

That had been happening a lot as of late. Fortunately, Mrs. Alverez was a skilled and creative cook. Still, it irritated me that my bride could not be home more often for her two children. I was splitting my work between my university office and home to compensate. Even then, I had to be out of town on a frequent basis. The perils of a two career family, I suppose.

Mrs. Alverez carried Caroline out of the study and shut the door. I returned to my work and shortly smelled the heady aroma of TexMex cooking. I smiled. Marion did not know what she was missing. Maybe she would come early enough to not have to have her dinner rewarmed.

A discrete knock sounded at the door. Mrs. Alverez appeared. "Telephone call for you, Dr. Neal?"

I got up. "Is it Professor Neal?"

"No, Dr. Neal. It is a Mr. Slayton."

Deke Slayton? He was head of the astronaut office ever since a heart murmur had taken him out of the flight rotation. What did he want with me? I rushed out of the study and into the den. I picked up the phone. "Deke, what can I do for you?"

"Hi, Cornelius." I was on first name basis with a lot of astronauts in those days. "I wonder if you'd be interested in sitting in on a meeting in my office tomorrow. It's going to be about crew assignments for the Orion lunar expedition. About 10:30?"

"Sure, Deke. I'd love to."

I thought little about it at the time. NASA officials very often invited me to sit in on meetings as a matter of courtesy. I was able to be present at some of the key decisions made for Project Orion.

So I arrived at the appointed time and found Slayton alone in his office. "Good, you're here," he said. "Come in and shut the door." I did so, sitting down opposite the desk from him. "I'll get to the point, Cornelius. We've gotten a new mandate concerning the crew make up of the lunar expedition. As you know we've got slots for twenty to twenty five people. That's the beauty of the Orion system. We don't really have as much worries about mass as we would in a rocket ship. Anyway, along with the pilots, engineers, and scientists, we've decided to include three people from the media. We've got an idea that would be someone from a TV network, someone from a newspaper, and a professional historian. What do you think about being that historian?"

I sat there for a moment, stunned and speechless. I had never thought about the word "astronaut" and the name "Cornelius Neal" ever being used in the same sentence. Astronauts were tough, macho test pilots, or else brilliant scientists. They were certainly not historians of somewhat sedentary habits.

I babbled that I would have to think about it and discuss it with my wife. Being part of the crew of the first lunar mission would mean an absence of about a year. No small thing, even in an era where young men might be drafted and compelled to serve in a combat zone such as Southeast Asia.

Marion actually was home in time for dinner that day and seemed to be in a good mood. So, over the pot roast and the au gratin potatoes, I said, "I had a meeting with Deke Slayton today."

"Oh, what about?" she asked.

I laid out Deke's proposal to her. "I would have to be very busy, undergoing some of the same training as the rest of the crew. And I would be gone for a year, of course, starting in early to mid 1969."

She nodded. "Well, no offense darling, but you're hardly astronaut fit."

"True enough," I admitted. "But my eye sight is good. And there's nothing else wrong with me that a good exercise regime won't remedy."

She considered for a moment. "Then I think you better say yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Dear, the opportunity is too great to pass up."

I had expected to hear anything but that; reproaches for abandoning my family, even tears. But this was something else entirely. Her tone did not betray even a hint of enthusiasm. It was more like resignation.

Nevertheless, the very next day I called Deke up and told him that I was in. Shortly there after I presented myself to a NASA flight surgeon and began to undergo tests. Then I underwent some more tests. This was followed by tests. Every aspect of my physiology, anatomy, and psychology was examined to the nearest micron. I was rotated, whirled, baked, frozen, poked, prodded, x rayed, and otherwise abused in every fashion that modern medicine could devise. Every bodily fluid imaginable was given up for sampling. I was questioned about everything under the sun, including my childhood, my sexual habits, and things best left alone. Throughout it all, the flight surgeon jotted down in his little notebook.

A month later I received an official letter from NASA. I was to be accepted to the position of "Observer Astronaut", provided that I would agree to undergo a program of rigorous physical exercise. Not too surprising, I was too flabby and too out of shape to be an astronaut. It was hoped that at two hours a day, five days a week, that this would change for the better.

My new change of status was not released to the press. The announcement of the crew for the first lunar expedition would not be made, officially, until early the following year, after the Gemini program was concluded. There were rumors, of course, especially about who would be the commander. It would be Gus Grissom, some said with great assurance, pointing out that it would have to be one of the original Mercury astronauts. Walter Shirra's name came up as well. Two guys from one of the subsequent astronaut classes, who had flown Gemini missions, Neil Armstrong and Pete Conrad also had their champions.

Francine and I used to laugh about those rumors over lunch at the Manned Space Flight Center dining room. We frequently ate together in those days, sometimes alone, sometimes with two or three other people. We had not, at that time, repeated our intimacy. What had happened in 1963 was not even spoken of. I had begun to think that the encounter had been a single moment of passion, brought on by the excitement of Francine's impending mission, not likely to be repeated. I felt a mixture of vague regret and very real relief, the latter because I recognized what an affair would likely lead to.

Meanwhile, the first flight of the Dynasoar was scheduled to take place. Dynasoar, a project to test a winged vehicle that would take off atop a Titan 3C booster and land like an aircraft, was taking place under the auspices of the Air Force. But NASA and her contractors, busily designing the space shuttle to be launched on the Saturn V, were paying close attention. How Dynasoar would behave in real flight would determine a lot about how the space shuttle would be built.

The first pilot of the Dynasoar would be Air Force Captain Desmond Thomas, a test pilot who had already served a tour of duty in South East Asia. He was also slated to be the first black man to fly in space. Of course my brother Harrison still said "Negro" and our parents said "colored" when they were being polite. It reminded me of a story the great jazz singer Ray Charles once told. When he started out, he was a great colored musician. Then he was a great Negro musician. Then, he was a great black musician. He profoundly wished that the white man would figure out what to call him. (How about a great musician, I thought when hearing the story.)

Anyway, the media covered the flight as if it were the first Moon landing and managed to mention Captain Thomas' ethnic origin at least every other sentence. This bemused Captain Thomas to no end. When I interviewed him for my latest volume, he told me that he really wanted to be judged as a pilot and as a man and that skin color was just skin deep.

Thomas' mission would see him launch from Cape Kennedy on top of a Titan 3C and perform one orbit of the Earth before landing at the dry lake bed at Edwards Air Force Base, where the X 15 had been landing for years. So I could choose to see the launch or the landing. I choose the landing, since I had seen by then plenty of space launches and not one space craft landing horizontally.

Thomas and his Dynasoar craft lifted off from Cape Kennedy without any problems. The planing phenomenon, involving the air flow over a winged space craft moving at hyper sonic speeds that worried so many people proved not to be much of a problem. A few minutes later, Captain Thomas was in orbit.

Meanwhile I was at an observation post at the dry lake bed, sweltering in the heat, fiddling with my binoculars. There were a lot of Air Force types with me. This mission was officially an Air Force show, though NASA was of course heavily involved. It therefore was the first military space mission to be launched by the United States.

We heard rather than saw the Dynasoar first, a distant roar. Binoculars, including mine, instantly rose to pairs of eyes and scanned the clear blue sky. Someone yelled, "There it is!" And so it was, painting a white contrail against the sky. It was followed by the contrails of two chase planes, F 104s as I recall.

The Dynasoar circled, dumping speed, before making a final approach. Landing gear lowered and the vehicle touched down on the dry lake bed. The full throated cheering of the spectators was all but drowned out by the F 104s passing overhead as if in salute.

The Dynasoar pulled to a halt, the engines already cooling in the hot, desert air. A space suited Desmond Thomas opened the canopy and climbed out. He pulled off his helmet and flourished it in triumph as the ground crew vehicles swooped down upon him and his space craft. Thus the first flight of the Dynasoar was completed as a complete success.

I remember wondering what effect that a black astronaut, newly returned from space, would have on black Americans, newly freed from Jim Crow, but many not by social economic circumstance or lingering racism.

My trip to California was not over yet. Two days later I found myself at Desilu Studios, which had been founded by Desi Arnez and Lucille Ball. A smiling, slightly rotund man, named Gene Roddenberry greeted me. My literary agent had set up this part of my trip for me, so that I could write an article for TV Guide. I was supposed to see this new television show that was debuting in the fall.

I was not at first very hopeful. With few exceptions, television space adventures tended to be a little cheesy, oriented toward children. Roddenberry assured me that his project was different. He told me about it over lunch. Apparently the show was set on board an exploration space ship three hundred years hence. The crew would consist of people from all over the world, and even some aliens. Every week they would explore some new planet or else get into some hazardous situation, which would be resolved in an hour, minus commercials. A couple of the actors and production crew dropped by.

Roddenberry took me to a small theater and we screened the pilot episode, which had already been put together, along with special effects. I watched the thing, all agog. It was as if I were really on board of a 23^rd Century star ship.

The plot of the episode was even more amazing. The star ship, the USS Constellation, was in pursuit of an alien vessel in a very close orbit around a star. Something having to do with the ships whipping around the star at high speeds threw both of them back in time to the late twentieth century.

The alien ship apparently had a mission, which was to stop the diversion of Damocles and thus allow the Earth to be destroyed. Thus the Earth Federation and the USS Constellation and her crew would not ever exist. Naturally the crew of the Constellation stopped the alien plot, without letting the crew of the Orion know about it. The next to last scene had Constellation observing the Orion diverting the killer asteroid, saving the Earth they knew. Then Constellation went home, taking the same path to get back to the 23^rd Century.

When the lights went on, I could hardly breath. "What do you think?" asked Roddenberry.

"I'm almost speechless," I said. "You show us being saved."

"That's part of my personal mission," Roddenberry said. "To show people that there is a future beyond Damocles. That it's a future among the stars."

Star Voyages, as the show was called, debuted on NBC on Thursday nights and was still running as the 21^st Century dawned, with a lot of cast changes and the creator of the series long since passed away. In the first season it starred Jeffrey Hunter as Captain Christopher Pike, Majel Barrett as "Number One', Leonard Nimoy as Lt. Spock, and Sally Kellerman as Dr. Elizabeth Piper. The show was ground breaking as it showed women in positions of authority, paralleling the role of female astronauts in real life like Francine. Starting in Season 2, Bill Cosby as Security Chief Huxtable and Walter Koenig as Ensign Chekov joined the cast, showing a black man and a Russian as part of the crew.

I flew back to Houston from LA in good spirits. I got home in the evening and rode a cab back home. I found Marion playing with Caroline in the middle of the living room. She looked up, smiled when she saw me, and, picking our daughter up, went over to embrace me.

"I didn't expect you back so soon," she said.

I kissed her, then our daughter. Then Marion set her down. "I got an earlier flight out of LA."

"So how was everything?"

"Remarkable." We sat down on the couch and I told her about my trip.

Marion listened to me intently about the TV show. This surprised me as I had never seen her watch anything except for the occasional news show or something on public television.

When I finished, she looked thoughtful for a moment. "Women in roles of authority," she said. "I don't think that show has a chance."

"Because there is a female First Officer and a female Doctor?"

"The main audience for that kind of show are young, unsocialized males who can't get dates. They find most women intimidating as it is. Women in authority would be a big turnoff."

"We do have women astronauts."

"True, but how many have actually commanded missions?"

I thought for a moment. "You got me there, Marion."

"This show will last half a season. If that."

With that depressing thought I got up from the couch and went to the liquor cabinet and poured myself a drink.

"Isn't it a little early in the day?" Marion asked.

It likely was, but she had put me in a bad mood and there was nothing for it but bourbon. I found myself wondering what Francine would think of Roddenberry's space opera. I was willing to bet she would be pretty excited indeed.

It was a while before dinner, so I went into the study and started on the first draft of the TV Guide article. I wrote about how the Damocles situation was started to affect popular culture. Star Voyages was just one example. There was a whole genre of literature depicting life after 2001, mostly being produced by science fiction writers such as Clarke and Heinlein. Clarke was rumored to be working on a movie with Stanley Kubrick about 2001. Before Damocles, Kubrick had been working on a movie about nuclear war, which he abandoned because it seemed to be pointless. If the world was going to be destroyed it would not be by a nuclear holocaust. The story line of the new movie was as closely a guarded secret as the nuclear launch codes, however.

Was all of this outpouring an attempt to say to ourselves, yes there will be a future after 2001? Damocles was not going to be the end. Somehow we would survive and live on. Somehow I found that comforting. After all, I wanted future generations to read my history of these times. If not, then what was the point of writing it?

I finished the article just before supper and stuffed it into an envelope to be mailed to the magazine the next day. After supper, which consisted of fried chicken, roasted potatoes, and a green salad, I settled down for some light reading of technical scenarios for the upcoming lunar mission.

At some point, too late, I set aside the reading and went up to bed. Marion was already asleep. Briefly I thought about waking her for love making, but then thought the better of it. Our marital coitus had taken on a perfunctory quality the last year or so and, while still pleasing after a fashion, was not worth losing any more sleep over. I had a full day at the Space Center and Marion had a new course syllabus to refine.

So gingerly, I changed into pajamas and slipped into bed. Marion stirred and murmured. I kissed her on the top of the head and whispered, "Good night, darling."

"Night," she muttered.

We fell asleep quickly side by side.

Children of Orion - Chapter 6