A Ringside View of the Moon Shots, Part 1: "Living Room" to the Moon

Apollo 11 launch preparations created a great deal of interest at Kennedy Space Center’s Visitor Information Center.  Here, the author of this blog series, Steve Milner, reviews copy blocks he wrote for new displays there.  (NASA photo courtesy of Steve Milner)

By Steve Milner
Contributing Writer

Were it not for a persistent aerospace engineer-mathematician working at NASA Langley’s Research Center in Hampton, Virginia, there’s a good chance the United States would have missed President John Kennedy’s challenging timetable for sending men to the Moon and returning them safely to earth, before the end of the 1960s. Not only was Dr. John Houbolt sure his approach was the best one to achieve this incredible task, he had to convince a doubting National Aeronautics and Space Agency hierarchy, principally the Marshall Space Flight Center’s world-famous and assertive Dr. Wernher von Braun, that it could work.

Dr. John Houbolt developed the Lunar Orbit Rendezvous (LOR) concept, and convinced NASA to use it for its Apollo manned missions to the Moon. (NASA Photo L-62-5848)

Dr. von Braun wanted to send astronauts directly to the moon and have them return to earth on a not-yet-built-and-tested rocket that would have to be nearly twice as powerful as the Saturn V, the launch system later used. This direct approach was also the one writer Jules Verne depicted in his 1865 book, “From the Earth to the Moon.” And over the years, numerous science fiction movies and television programs featured this direct, fictionalized approach.

Instead, Dr. Houbolt suggested a Lunar Orbit Rendezvous (LOR) concept. Following this approach, astronauts would be launched into Earth orbit aboard a Command Module (CM), where they would rendezvous and dock with a Lunar Module (LM) that was carried on the same launch vehicle. And after making the three-day journey to the Moon and orbiting it, two astronauts would descend to its surface in the LM, while the third orbited overhead in the CM. Then the LM would ascend from the surface and again rendezvous and dock with the CM for the return trip to Earth.

"Why send the whole house to the Moon, when all you have to send is the living room?"

When I recently told my friend, Kathryn Barrett, a longtime and respected medical reporter who retired from Norfolk television station Channel 13, that I was writing this blog, she unexpectedly said she had interviewed Dr. Houbolt in his later years, long after the lunar dust had settled on the Apollo program. Commenting on his lunar approach, he told Kathryn, “Why send the whole house to the Moon, when all you have to send is the living room.” In this case, Dr. Houbolt was referring to the joined Apollo spacecraft and its lunar module. 

Jumping ahead to July 20, 1969, a lot of folks throughout the world breathed a sigh of relief when Apollo 11 astronauts Neil Armstrong and Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin touched down safely on the Moon in their lunar module, while Michael Collins orbited in the command module overhead.

In addition to practicing their missions in simulators, Apollo astronauts deployed experiments and picked up simulated moon rocks on a sandy field at Kennedy Space Center. In this view, Apollo 16 astronaut Charles Duke trains, as Florida Today space reporter, Sanders LaMont, in right background, talks with this blog post’s author, Steve Milner. (NASA photo courtesy of Steve Milner)

But a great many events had to be accomplished before the idea of a manned lunar landing could move ahead from science fiction to reality. Rocket and spacecraft hardware had to be developed and man-rated, ground launch support equipment had to be built and astronauts had to hone their in-fight skills in spacecraft simulators and on mock lunar surfaces.

Apollo 11 Mission Commander Neil Armstrong suits up for his historic launch to the moon on July 16, 1969. (NASA photo courtesy of Steve Milner)

July 16, 1969, was no ordinary Florida summer day as the three suited astronauts, mission commander Armstrong, Aldrin and Collins, sitting side-by-side and strapped snugly on their Apollo spacecraft’s couches, began the first leg of their nearly 240,000-mile journey from the Kennedy Space Center to earth’s mysterious celestial neighbor. Generating seven-and-a-half million pounds of thrust, their Saturn V’s five first-stage rocket engines performed flawlessly. Four days later, on July 20, Armstrong and Aldrin descended in a lunar module, call sign "Eagle," and became the first men to walk on the moon’s surface. While they were accomplishing this age-old quest, Collins orbited overhead every two hours, as planned, in the command module, nicknamed "Columbia."  

In this ultra-wide "fisheye" view, the huge, 363-feet tall Apollo 11 (Spacecraft 107/Lunar Module 5/ Saturn 506) space vehicle is launched from Pad A, Launch Complex 39, Kennedy Space Center (KSC), at 9:32 a.m. (EDT), July 16, 1969. Aboard the Apollo 11 spacecraft were astronauts Neil A. Armstrong, commander; Michael Collins, command module pilot; and Edwin E. Aldrin Jr., lunar module pilot. Apollo 11 is the United States' first lunar landing mission. This view of the liftoff was taken by a camera mounted on the mobile launch tower. While astronauts Armstrong and Aldrin descend in the Lunar Module (LM) "Eagle" to explore the Sea of Tranquility region of the moon, astronaut Collins will remain with the Command Module (CM) "Columbia" in lunar orbit. (NASA Photograph S69-39959 via NHHC Photo Curator Flickr)

Back to July 16, when the crew’s Apollo/Saturn V vehicle lifted off at 9:32 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time, taking 11 seconds to clear its launch tower and an additional 12 minutes to reach earth orbit. Now, Houston’s Manned Spacecraft Center took control of this eight-day, manned lunar-landing mission, as the Saturn V left its Florida launch site. The Kennedy Space Center’s launch and support teams had done their jobs superbly, and continued to support Houston’s Mission Control as needed. The Apollo 11 space pilots were on their way, as millions of people throughout the world followed their exciting journey via television. Former President Lyndon Johnson was among the VIP’s who attended this historic launch.

Reporters interview astronaut Neil Armstrong’s wife, Janet, and sons Eric, left, and his brother, Mark, at Kennedy Space Center, following the successful Apollo 11 launch to the Moon. (NASA photo courtesy of Steve Milner)

After orbiting the Moon, Armstrong and Aldrin transferred to the "Eagle" and separated from their mother ship, "Columbia." As their LM touched down on the lunar surface, the world heard Armstrong report to Houston: “Tranquility Base here. The Eagle has landed.” Seven hours later, Armstrong climbed down the lunar module’s ladder, saying, “That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.” But confusion quickly arose when it appeared he had omitted the letter “a” before man. There’s a possibility the “a” got lost during Armstrong’s transmission. But the big news was that the lunar pair had turned a new and unprecedented page in aerospace history.

This interior view of the Apollo 11 Lunar Module (LM) taken by mission commander Neil Armstrong shows astronaut Edwin E. "Buzz" Aldrin Jr., lunar module pilot, approximately 57 hours into the lunar landing mission. While astronauts Armstrong and Aldrin descended in the LM "Eagle" to explore the Sea of Tranquility region of the moon, astronaut Michael Collins, command module pilot, remained with the Command and Service Modules (CSM) "Columbia" in lunar orbit. Armstrong took this picture of Aldrin wearing his intravehicular suit, a specially made set of garments designed to be as flame retardant as the rest of the ship, and made from the same fabric as the outer layer of the spacesuits. (NASA Photo AS11-36-5390, Project Apollo Archive)

After descending the LM's ladder, Edwin "Buzz" Aldrin stands on one of its footpads before stepping out onto the lunar surface. (Apollo 11 Hasselblad image from film magazine 40/S – EVA, NASA Photo AS11-40-5689, Project Apollo Archive)

Astronaut Edwin E. Aldrin Jr., lunar module pilot, walks on the surface of the moon near the leg of the Lunar Module (LM) "Eagle" during the Apollo 11 extravehicular activity (EVA) on July 20, 1969. Astronaut Neil A. Armstrong, commander, took this photograph with a 70mm lunar surface camera. While astronauts Armstrong and Aldrin descended in the Lunar Module (LM) "Eagle" to explore the Sea of Tranquility region of the moon, astronaut Michael Collins, command module pilot, remained with the Command and Service Modules (CSM) "Columbia" in lunar orbit. (AS11-40-5903, NASA Photograph Collection via NHHC Photo Curator Flickr)

Armstrong and Aldrin spent about 21 hours on the Moon, gathering 40 pounds of rocks and taking soil samples for analysis on earth. With the moon’s gravity one-sixth of earth’s, they bounced along its surface. Their samples might provide clues to the origin of our universe. They planted an American flag, and Armstrong took a close-up photo of his crewmate—with his own image reflected in Aldrin’s helmet’s golden visor. This iconic view became synonymous with the Apollo 11 mission, and was the cover of a birth announcement my wife, Enid, and I chose for our oldest son, Michael, who was born two months later. I had asked the mission’s Launch Operations Director, Walter Kapryan, if he would request the Apollo 11 crew to sign Michael’s birth announcement when they returned to the Florida spaceport to thank space workers who had sent them on their historic journey. I also asked Dr. Kapryan, who had called on me to write speeches, to sign the same birth announcement, which he did. Years earlier, the launch director had relocated from NASA’s Langley Research Center to the Cape.

When the Apollo 11 crew returned to Kennedy Space Center to thank its personnel for their successful launch to the Moon, they signed a birth announcement for the eldest son of this blog’s author, Michael, who was born two months after their mission. (Courtesy of Steve Milner)

Astronaut Edwin E. Aldrin Jr., lunar module pilot of the first lunar landing mission, renders a salute to the deployed United States flag during Apollo 11 extravehicular activity (EVA) on July 20, 1969. The Lunar Module (LM) "Eagle" is on the left, and the footprints of the astronauts are clearly visible in the soil of the moon. Astronaut Neil A. Armstrong, commander, took this picture with a 70mm Hasselblad lunar surface camera. While astronauts Armstrong and Aldrin descended in the LM to explore the Sea of Tranquility region of the moon, astronaut Michael Collins, command module pilot, remained with the Command and Service Modules (CSM) "Columbia" in lunar orbit. NASA Photograph Collection. (NASA Photo AS11-40-5874, Project Apollo Archive)

The Apollo 11 command module and its crew safely splashed down in the Pacific Ocean July 24, 900 miles southwest of Hawaii, and were taken aboard the Navy’s prime recovery ship, USS Hornet (CVS 12), to a Mobile Quarantine Facility for a few days. Here, President Richard Nixon spoke to them through their trailer’s protective glass window, before they were transferred a few days later to a more comfortable Lunar Receiving Laboratory in Houston. NASA was concerned they might have brought back “lunar germs,” which proved not to be the case.

The Apollo 11 crew splashed down in the Pacific Ocean 900 miles southwest of Hawaii, eight days after beginning their successful moon mission.  Here, U.S. navy pararescueman Lt. Clancey Hatleberg closes the command module hatch prior to their pickup and brief helicopter flight to the mission's prime recovery vessel, USS Hornet (CVS 12). (NASA Photo courtesy of Steve Milner)

It was all smiles at the Mobile Quarantine Facility, aboard the Apollo 11’s prime recovery vessel, USS Hornet (CVS 12), as United States President Richard Nixon, greets the flight crew through protective glass. They astronauts are, left-to-right, mission commander Neil Armstrong, Michael Collins and Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin. (NASA Photograph Collection via NHHC Photo Curator Flickr)

The Apollo 11 crewmen, still under a 21-day quarantine, are greeted by their wives on July 27, 1969.  Looking through the window of a Mobile Quarantine Facility (MQF) are (left to right) astronauts Neil A. Armstrong, Edwin E. Aldrin Jr., and Michael Collins. The wives are (left to right) Mrs. Pat Collins, Mrs. Jan Armstrong, and Mrs. Joan Aldrin. The crew of the historic Apollo 11 lunar landing mission remained in the MQF until they arrived to the Crew Reception Area of the Lunar Receiving Laboratory at the Manned Spacecraft Center (MSC). The astronauts were from quarantine on Aug. 11, 1969. (NASA Photograph Collection via NHHC Flickr)

The top Pacific Fleet Admiral, John McCain, Jr., accompanied the president on Hornet, only two months before his son, a U.S. Navy pilot and the future Arizona Senator, John McCain III, was shot down and captured over North Vietnam. Apollo 11’s lunar rocks also were isolated initially for study, and the crew began its far-reaching public appearances, beginning with a traditional ticker-tape parade in New York City.

New York City welcomes Apollo 11 crewmen in a showering of ticker tape down Broadway and Park Avenue on August 13, 1969, in a parade reported to be the largest in the city's history. Pictured in the lead car, from the right, are astronauts Neil A. Armstrong, commander; Michael Collins, command module pilot; and Edwin E. Aldrin Jr., lunar module pilot.  (NASA Photo S70-17433 via NHHC Flickr)

Editor's Note: In addition to serving as public affairs officer for 17 years at Norfolk Naval Shipyard, Steve Milner was also a public affairs contractor with the National Aeronautics and Space Administration at Cape Canaveral during the manned Gemini, Apollo and Skylab programs.

Ninety Years Ago: Lucky Lindy's Forgotten Navy Flight and the Lost American Legion

Before being put on temporary display at Potomac Park in Washington DC, a Sailor touches up the lettering on the Spirit of St. Louis while another inspects the other side of the aircraft on June 12, 1927, the day after it was uncrated from USS Memphis (CL 13) at Washington Navy Yard. The object protruding from the upper left corner of a window on the aircraft's port side is the periscope that pilot Charles Lindbergh used to see ahead of him while flying. (Naval History and Heritage Command image)  

Seated in a wicker chair behind a giant fuel tank and looking at the world before him through a periscope mounted on the port side of his plane's fuselage, 25 year-old Charles Augustus Lindbergh took off alone from Long Island at 7:52 am on May 20, 1927, bound for Paris. Traveling at 108 miles per hour for 33 hours and 39 minutes, sometimes through impenetrable fog or just above Atlantic wave tops he could not see, Lindbergh flew without a radio and with only two compasses to guide him.  The following evening at 10:22 pm, he landed an airfield northeast of Paris, 3,610 miles away.

Charles A. Lindbergh, pictured at NAS San Diego (now known as NAS North Island) before taking off for St. Louis on May 10, 1927, on the first leg of what would become his history-making transatlantic trip.  "Lindbergh would come back to the West a hero," wrote Naval Air Rework Facility North Island historian Elretta Sudsbury, "but in the early days of May, 1927, he was just another hopeful."  (Naval History and Heritage Command image)   

Although Lindbergh was a captain in the Army Air Service Reserve Corps and the Missouri National Guard before his solo flight, he had been a civilian airmail pilot for the Robertson Aircraft Company in St. Louis.  Besides earning worldwide fame, he also nabbed the Raymond Orteig Prize, a $25,000 award (about $365,000 today) for the first person to fly non-stop from New York to Paris, not to mention the first Distinguished Flying Cross ever awarded, plus a promotion to colonel in the Army Reserve from President Calvin Coolidge himself. 

The eight St. Louis businessmen who underwrote Lindbergh's quest gave his specially modified Ryan M-2 its name, yet his journey across the Atlantic had actually begun at Naval Air Station San Diego (now known as NAS North Island) on May 9, not far from where the aircraft had been constructed by Ryan Airlines.  There were many other Navy connections to Lindbergh's journey, not the least of which is that he and the Spirit of St. Louis returned to America aboard the Omaha-class light cruiser USS Memphis (CL 13), which left Southampton, England, on June 3.  

Crates containing the Spirit of St. Louis are loaded aboard the light cruiser USS Memphis (CL 13) at Southampton, England, aboard which they and pilot Charles A. Lindbergh will depart on June 3, 1927 for Washington Navy Yard. (Naval History and Heritage Command image)

Although commemorations of his feat center around his daring solo flight across the Atlantic and his exultant welcome in Paris, lesser remembered is the central role the U.S. Navy played in bringing the American hero home to his first stateside welcome.  Although professional press photographers captured his departure from Europe and his heroes' welcome at the Washington Navy Yard on June 11, it took the camera of a member of the Memphis crew, machinist's mate Irvin Blair Clarke, to capture these never-before-published images of Lindbergh coming aboard and mingling with the crew.  

Charles Lindbergh is piped aboard the Omaha-class light cruiser Memphis (CL 13) before his journey back to America in June, 1927. (Clarke Photograph Collection, Hampton Roads Naval Museum)

Charles Lindbergh (center right) poses with crew members of USS Memphis while the aviator and his history-making aircraft, the Spirit of St. Louis, were returning to America aboard the cruiser in June, 1927. (Clarke Photograph Collection, Hampton Roads Naval Museum)

Charles Lindbergh meets a group of Sailors aboard USS Memphis (CL 13) shortly after boarding with his aircraft, the Spirit of St. Louis, which is in a crate just behind the Sailors. The starboard wing float of one of the cruiser's two Vought UO-1 aircraft can be seen just above the group.  Lindbergh would take a flight aboard one of the seaplanes during the voyage he took back to America.  (Clarke Photograph Collection, Hampton Roads Naval Museum)

"There was nothing like the deluge of news which has followed Lindbergh at every step and flooded the country," wrote a commentator in New York World in an article published the day he returned. The thirst for news about anything that he did seemed insatiable, and that included his transit aboard Memphis.

The World's correspondent continued:

Lindbergh eats dinner with the crew--Lindbergh climbs to the crow's nest--Lindbergh is trapped on the bow of the Memphis and a wave breaks over him. A conquering hero is returning home.  The news keeps pace with him at every step.  And it is apparent that the welcome which lies just ahead will outdo anything by way of welcomes that this country has seen for many years.  in fact, it is doubtful whether we have ever had anything just like this before.

And, of course, what else would you expect the world's most famous pilot do on his voyage other than fly? 

Charles Lindbergh, seated forward on one of two Vought UO-1 planes aboard USS Memphis, prepares to be catapulted into the air during his return trip to the United States from Europe in June 1927. (Clarke Photograph Collection, Hampton Roads Naval Museum)

Charles Lindbergh is catapulted into the air in a Vought UO-1 from the light cruiser USS Memphis (CL-13) during his return trip to the United States from Europe in June 1927. (Clarke Photograph Collection, Hampton Roads Naval Museum)

After Lindbergh's triumphant return to America at the Washington Navy Yard, where an estimated 300,000 had converged upon the city to see him, the Spirit of St. Louis was unpacked and reassembled by local Sailors and put on temporary display upon a barge on the Potomac River (to deter the types of souvenir-taking that threatened to disintegrate the plane in Paris).  It is estimated that one-third of the nation saw him during the nationwide tour that commenced afterward.

And he lived happily ever after (sort of).

Surrounded by adoring throngs, Charles Lindbergh (highlighted) departs the pier at Washington Navy Yard in a limousine bound for Potomac Park after returning from Europe on Saturday, June 11, 1927, leaving behind the light cruiser USS Memphis, which had brought him and his aircraft, the Sprit of St. Louis, back across the Atlantic. (Harris & Ewing Photographers/ Naval History and Heritage Command image) 

If not for the fact that Charles Lindbergh was a man with a long and complicated public and private life, perhaps he would have simply lived happily ever after.  The ups and downs of his later life are well-documented, yet it should never be forgotten that, amongst Lindbergh's many competitors that spring in 1927, two young naval aviators were also striving for the Orteig Prize.  Not long before Lindbergh's attempt ended in triumph at Le Bourget Field, theirs ended in tragedy at Langley Field near Hampton Roads, before it even really began.

The Lost American Legion

Source: Langley Field: The Early Years (Langley AFB, Office of History, 4500th Base Wing, 1977), 78. 

On April 26, 1927, Lieutenants Noel Davis and Stanton Wooster were killed during a test flight of their Keystone Pathfinder, which stalled and crashed in the Back River, which borders the airfield now known as Langley Air Force Base.  Although the aircraft was not completely destroyed, both pilots were trapped in the cockpit when their American Legion nosed into the river, and they drowned. They became two of six men who died either preparing to cross the Atlantic or while making the attempt.

We will never know how history might have been different had they lived, and possibly claimed the prize and the world's adulation for themselves.  In any case, once it was proven that a single aircraft could cross the Atlantic nonstop, the aviation industry received a tremendous boost in public profile, not to mention investor confidence, and the world would never be the same.