Copyright Tim Furniss 2008
Spaceport Publishing
ISBN 978-0-9555651-0-6
tim@spaceport.co.uk
www.spaceport.co.uk
Spaceport Publishing presents...
One Small Steppe
Book One: 1948-1989
A personal story of the Space Age
by Tim Furniss
The inspiring story of a 12-year old British space enthusiast, whose interest in space was fired
by Yuri Gagarin's flight in 1961 and whose ambition was to become a spaceflight journalist.
Tim became Flight International magazine's spaceflight correspondent in 1984 and is also an author, broadcaster, lecturer and theatrical presenter of his personal space story.
In 1988, Tim was the first British journalist to witness a manned launch from the Baikonur Cosmodrome in the remote steppes of Kazakhstan. When he stood on the launch pad from where Gagarin was launched - while also meeting with veteran cosmonauts Gherman Titov and Alexei Leonov -Tim had come full circle, remembering that day in 1961.
"One Small Steppe" is an inspiring, amusing, moving and feel-good read, accompanied by a popular history of the international space age to 1989.
A second book in preparation will cover 1990-99 and again, will include personal stories and a continued popular history of the international space age.
Note: One Small Steppe does not cover the Challenger accident in detail, only briefly as part of the author's personal recollections at the time.
One Small Steppe: Now available to purchase through Paypal for £7 with FREE Postage & Packing.
Buy One Small Steppe now, and have the option of getting Tim's latest Ebook (Reporting on the Challenger Accident) absolutely free.
EXTRACT FROM BOOK
“ONE SMALL STEPPE”
5. Meeting the heroes (aged 22)
1970-72
(In the Sixties, we saw and we conquered the moon. In the Seventies, sadly we came home and space was never the same again.)
The new decade began with me writing to some publishers asking whether they would be interested in me writing a book about space. Why anybody would want me to, I didn’t know but I got a letter from Thomas Nelson and Sons in London asking whether I would like to meet with them. I had already written half of a book about the exploration of the moon on my Olympia Splendid 66 typewriter and went to London to meet a very nice lady at Nelson’s (I think her name was Nancy). She probably took one look at me and realised that I was not exactly experienced but she expressed interest in me doing a children’s book on space instead. Nothing came of it but I later wrote to her asking whether she would allow me to use the name of the company so that I could apply for a NASA press pass to see Apollo 13 from the press site, rather than a beach miles away. It was bit a cheeky but she said “yes”. Wherever that lady is, I would like to thank her for the chain of events that were to follow, which would be beyond my wildest dreams. I left my public affairs job at the National Freight Corporation
Iand. I wrote to ILC Industries in Delaware, which made the Apollo spacesuits, asking whether on my way to the KSC, I could pop in and wear a spacesuit. I got a reply saying, yes I could visit but they would have to see about wearing a spacesuit. I had visions of writing some articles for Flight International magazine. I also planned to tour the USA before getting to Florida. In these days of backpacking, it might seem pretty normal but for a 21year old limey to travel 18,000 miles across America in a figure of eight on his own in 1970 was pretty unusual. When I told Mum, she thought she would never see me again.
The next job was to get an air ticket, hand in my notice to the NFC - and appear in another show, “Oklahoma” for EAODS and produced by Dad and where I met another young lady, called Marilyn, who had a solo singing role. She is now a very well known opera and musical singer on radio, TV and concerts. We didn’t get to make music together. I also joined the Fetcham Players in nearby Leatherhead, appearing first in “Spring and Port Wine”, by Bill Naughton. It was a really fun time and we had a really good laugh during rehearsals. I was type-cast as Sid in “A Day in the Life of...” at EAODS with the local paper reporting that I “had a delightful Stan Laurel touch to persuade us of his empty headiness”. I was to enjoy many more happy years at Fetcham, as well as with EAODS.
With the Cape in my sights, I left the NFC in March and was given a very nice farewell, which made me feel a bit guilty since I couldn’t wait to get out. My mate Mervyn brought a tripod for my camera on behalf of my friends. If only I had used it more. I got my air ticket, packed my bag and finally, on Tuesday, 24 March 1970 I set off from BeechTree to Heathrow. Mum, who was really sad and worried, thought the 747 looked like a giant whale as the PanAm jet trundled down the Heathrow runway looking to her as if it would never take off. Among the hundreds of passengers in the long tube heading for New York was me, with $72 cash, $310 in travellers cheques, one of those unlimited travel Greyhound tickets and an extra £20 in cash, stuffed into my hand by my undemonstrative Dad before I went to the departure gate. I had no idea what lay in store, other than that I planned eventually to be at the Kennedy Space Centre, Florida on Saturday, 11 April to see Apollo 13 being launched.
Having a romantic vision about America, since seeing Rin Tin Tin on TV, I always thought my first step on its soil would be a memorable affair, like reaching the summit of Everest but it was just a bit of tarmac and passed by unnoticed. One view from the airport bus into New York city was remarkable: huge cemetery monuments in the foreground, against a background of skyscrapers, something that millions of tourists must be treated to.
I took my first Greyhound bus, heading for Dover, Delaware where ILC Industries, the Apollo spacesuit maker, was located. I stayed at the Shamrock Hotel for $7 - with a colour telly in the room: luxury. Next day, the hotel owner kindly gave me a lift to ILC, where I was badged-up to meet Bruce Ferguson, the public relations manager, who treated me so kindly, showing me Apollo spacesuits being assembled very carefully by lots of ladies with needles and thread. “The space rag trade”. I never got the wear the suit though - at least not this time. Bruce introduced me to Leonard Shepherd, an ILC vice president who I interviewed for some time and I was then taken to the Blue Boar Inn for a huge lunch. It was great day, I thought as I waited for hours for the next Greyhound to Washington DC, while hand-writing an “article” about my visit, which I sent by air mail to Flight International, which never used it.
I had already contacted the US Information Agency in DC and made an appointment to see them. I arrived in a rather unfashionable part of Washington DC at 2.40 in the morning, not the best time, especially when a drugged-filled man fell on me as I sat on a chair in the concourse of the Greyhound terminal with loudspeaker messages ending with “and thanks for going Greyhound”. By the time I got home after “visiting” dozens of terminals, I could hear the message in my sleep.
I don’t suppose that it is recommended today but I then spent six hours from about 3am to 9am walking around Washington, everywhere from the White House, where a policeman showed some concern about my safety, to John F.Kennedy’s grave at Arlington cemetery. I was completely knackered and smelly by the time I arrived at the US Information Agency to see what they might be able to arrange for me. The fact that I had already made my own way to ILC did not impress them and they weren’t that keen to help me further. So, that was that.
It was back to the Greyhound station late on 26 April and spending most of the next four days on buses, as I trecked westwards to California via Pittsburg, Columbus, Dayton, Oklahoma City, Tulsa and Alberqerque, where I treated myself to a room at the Hilton Hotel and had a beer via room service having my first taste of Bud, watching the Andy Williams Show on TV who, just to keep the space connection, had a guest named John Glenn!
The highlight of the next day, Easter Sunday, was a trip to the Grand Canyon, which was fantastic and absolutely breathtaking. I just wish I had stayed at places longer instead of moving on all the time. I ended up in Barstow, close to Edwards Air Force Base in California and I phoned Ralph Jackson, the PR man at NASA’s Dryden Research Centre there and arranged a visit. After arriving with the help of two lifts from some US Air Force folks, Ralph did me proud and took me to see various piloted lifting body craft, small precursor aircraft to the Space Shuttle that were dropped from B52 bombers.
I even said hello to Bill Dana, one of the pilots and an X-15 rocket plane astronaut, who had flown above 50 miles. I was given a lunch at the US Air Force mess where I joined some service personnel who were really kind and friendly. Hitching a lift out of the base, the driver took me to nearby Boron via the US Air Force rocket engine testing site. He just drove into the facility. There didn’t seem to be anybody there. No security. Nothing. Very strange.
I then headed back eastwards as quickly as I came west, via Greyhounds to my goal of Apollo 13. Los Angeles, San Diego, El Paso, Houston, New Orleans, arriving at Cocoa Beach, south of Cape Canaveral, Florida on 5 April. I stayed one night at the expensive Crossways Motel - discovering when I unpacked that I had lost my Grand Canyon film - and the following day got accommodation more in keeping with my budget and status, the modest Holiday Shores Motel on the beach, south of the town’s famous pier.
The Holiday Shores room had no TV, so my plans to follow the Apollo 13 mission seemed to be thwarted. I checked into NASA’s main press centre on the Cocoa Beach road - rather than at the Complex 39 press site at the Kennedy Space Centre (KSC), where it is now located. There I found a letter from Mum pinned to the noticeboard. It made me quite homesick but I was also buoyed by it. She told me that my place in goal for the hockey matches had been taken by a 60 year old. I didn’t quite know how to take that.
I went on a press tour of Cape Canaveral, closer to Cocoa Beach, seeing the Mercury Redstone and Atlas launch pads and the Mercury Redstone control room at Pad 5. I thought about that plaster of Paris moulding I made of the Cape and its pads and smiled. Later we travelled northwards to the KSC’s Vertical Assembly Building, as it was called then. It is now the Space Shuttle’s Vehicle (rather than Vertical) Assembly Building (VAB).
I photographed the Saturn 5 rocket stages for future missions being assembled and was then taken by car to launch pad 39A where the Apollo 13-Saturn vehicle was being readied for launch about 200 yards away. It was gigantic. It’s all very well being told that the Saturn 5 is as tall as St Paul’s cathederaI but it is mind-boggling to actually see that it is. I felt I was dreaming. As I and three veteran US journalists, including a reporter named Jay Barbree were being driven around in a press car, I found it hard to believe what I was doing and was so dumbstruck, that the NASA guide thought I was very shy. It all seemed so unreal. Incidentally, Barbree is still reporting from his Canaveral patch today.
I met two two veteran Cape press photographers in a breakfast bar in Cocoa Beach and got chatting with them. Ron and Scott from Florida Today - I wish I could remember their surnames - took me under their wing. They asked whether I would like to see a launch, not Apollo 13 but a very conveniently scheduled launch of a Titan 3C booster from Cape Canaveral carrying the Vela 11 and 12 early warning satellites on 8 April. They helped me get a press badge and we were bussed about 18 miles from Cocoa Beach to a viewing site. This illustrated the enormous size of the Cape area.
The US Air Force press viewing area was on Merritt Island about two and a half miles from the launch pad 40, across the Banana River, which is located at the northern end of the US Air Force Cape Canaveral base, close to its border with the NASA KSC. It was still night when we arrived for the dawn launch. The pad was bathed in bright searchlights and the rocket could be seen clearly. A voice on a loudspeaker gave a regular countdown status as Ron, Scott and I, as well as many other press people, chatted light-heartedly. Someone asked me, “you ever seen one of these?” I replied sheepishly, “no”.
It wasn’t easy to hear the countdown and as people closer to the speaker heard “T-15s”, they shouted down the line, so we could hear. Ron shouted the final seconds from the timer on his camera, “six, five....zero”. A sudden flash appeared at the base of the rocket and billowing smoke gushed out sideways, illuminated by the floodlights and the missile’s exhaust, as the Titan sped rapidly upwards. “Go baby, go!” shouted Scott, as camera motors and shutters could be heard - but no sound of the rocket.
A few seconds later, a humming sound was followed by the sound of a blowtorch on full throttle. It wasn’t quite as noisy as I had expected. All you could see was the long, golden exhaust of the Titan. A Titan on solid rocket boosters goes up fast. After about two minutes, Scott counted down again and we were able to see the flashes as the boosters were jettisoned. “Hey man! Look at that vapour trail!”, exclaimed Scott. It was beautiful, now being caught by the sunrise. Minutes later, we could still see the core stage of the rocket as a pinprick in the sky.
“Well, Tim what did you think?” asked Scott. “Bloody fantastic!” I replied. Ron laughed and repeated the words, which did not sound quite the same in an American accent. I was told that a lift-off of the Apollo’s Saturn 5 was different. “It just sits there with the engines running, then takes off”. Ron and Scott took me to breakfast and gave me a lot of advice. I would bump into them later at Apollo 13 conferences.
The following day I went to a lunar surface experiments briefing and saw one of my journalist heroes, the British space correspondent Angus McPherson of the Daily Mail. I thought, fancy having a job just covering space? Heaven! I also heard the news that Apollo 13 command module pilot Ken Mattingly was found not to be immune to German measles having been exposed to it by back up lunar module pilot Charlie Duke and the mission could be delayed. The weather forecast for Saturday, 11 April was not very good either. My heart sank. “All this way for nothing”, I thought.
NASA invited the press to a cocktail party at the Ramada Inn, Cocoa Beach and, dressed as smartly as I could with a modest wardrobe packed into a small case, I rather shyly entered the huge room and thankfully saw a face I knew - Bruce Ferguson from ILC, which calmed me down a bit. Then I ended up talking to Tom Stafford, the veteran Gemini and Apollo astronaut and asked him about Apollo 13. It was surreal. This guy’s picture hung on my wall at home among other shots of astronaut groups. He said that it looked likely that Mattingly’s back-up Jack Swigert would fly the mission and it was still scheduled for 11 April, thankfully. I suggested to Stafford that Mattingly would be recycled as CMP of Apollo 16. Not that I had anything to do with it but Mattingly did eventually fly Apollo 16 in 1972.
Buoyed by the news about Apollo 13 and with a bit more confidence, I went to say hello to the BBC TV’s James Burke who had been let out of the London Apollo studio to watch a launch. I then met a local radio reporter, Dave Denault who took me to a party in a room at the nearby Holiday Inn. We went up an elevator, down a corridor and Dave opened the door. I looked inside and couldn’t believe my eyes. There were dozens of astronauts having a party! I couldn’t believe it. More bedroom wall pictures were coming to life. I saw Donn Eisele, Al Bean and Jim Irwin and had a chat with Dave Scott and a longer one with Al Worden. They and Irwin were slated to fly Apollo 15. Worden talked about Epsom which he knew quite well because he used to be based at the Empire Test Pilots School at Farnborough. This had turned out to be dream day, I thought, especially as Denault and his colleague Kip, took me for a huge dinner, including a big steak. I am so grateful for the kindness of the people I met.
On 10 April I felt like a real space reporter, attending a briefing about the Sklylab space station by astronaut Walter Cunningham, who was seen at the time as a favourite to command the first visiting mission. His hopes were to be hijacked by astronaut politics and he never got to fly there. Cunningham was assisted at the briefing by a balding-astronaut, Story Musgrave, whose success in space was, by comparison, to be spectacular - but only after a long wait. Having recorded the briefing, I later wrote several versions of a long article in longhand about Skylab, which I reckon I spent 10hrs working on and sent it by airmail to Flight International. The magazine didn’t use it but at least the technical editor got to know my name.
At a pre-launch press conference, I sat with many seasoned space reporters while Apollo 13 briefings were given by NASA administrator Thomas Paine, astronaut chief Deke Slayton, doctor Charles Berry and Apollo chief and former Apollo astronaut, Jim McDivitt with deputies Rocco Petrone and Walter Kapryan. I was really getting excited about tomorrow. Apollo 13 was to be the third manned landing on the moon. Commander Jim Lovell, who flew aboard two Geminis and the famous Apollo 8, would be the first person the make four spaceflights. Fred Haise, an astronaut selected in 1966, was to be his lunar module plot. For those who were superstitious, not only was the mission Apollo 13 but it was to be launched at 13.13 Houston time. Houston was the home of Apollo mission control.
I arrived at the News Centre nice and early, armed with my Yashica Minister 35mm camera. For some reason I had not taken the tripod that had been given me by colleagues at the NFC. A fleet of buses headed the 20 or so miles to the Kennedy Space Centre operations building in the centre of Merritt Island where we would have the chance to witness the crew walkout to the transfer van, ominously nicknamed the “last photo opportunity”.
There was rush for positions close to where the transfer van would be parked. I got caught in the rush but not to be outdone crawled through the legs of the throng and crouched at the front just where the crew would climb aboard the van. There then followed over an hour’s wait crouching in an uncomfortable position, not wanting to be pushed out of the way. The wait was punctuated by the appearance of Deke Slayton, the astronaut chief who gave a status on the health of the crew. Eventually, the crew appeared and waddled out in their bulky spacesuits and just about 20 feet away from me smiled and waved at the crowd. I got some great pictures of each of them with my little Yashica. I just couldn’t believe I was actually there. Just four years previously I was still at school hoping to be doing something like this. And here I was. The van drove off for the journey to launch pad 39A where the 365ft tall Saturn 5 and Apollo on its top waited to belch out its 7,500,000lbs thrust.
It was over three hours before the launch and I thought “why the rush?” as the press headed for the buses. Nevertheless, I rushed and climbed aboard the first bus, for the short drive to the press site, close to the VAB and in front of a barge turning lagoon. The site had a large grandstand equipped with the necessary communications systems for the working press and alongside, were some “private” vans operated by the main American TV networks, including Walter Cronkite’s own CBS studio. I spotted the BBC’s Reg Turnill, a veteran of most US manned launches, another British space correspondent, Ronald Bedford and the enthusiastic James Burke. There were about 2,000 journalists and most took up positions on the grassy area in front of the grandstand, setting up their cameras. There didn’t seem to be any tenseness in the air. Three people were about to blast off the Earth and it was as if we were waiting to watch a tennis match.
The white Apollo Saturn booster was just less than three miles away and looked as big (or small) as a matchstick held at arm’s length. The sky was a milky-grey colour and the white rocket did not stand out that well against the background as it had done on previous launches, such as Apollo 11, which took off against a bright blue sky. A huge digital clock on the grassed area counted down the seconds and about three or so minutes before the launch, everybody got themselves ready and in position.
I sat on the edge of the lagoon with lots of other rather light-hearted people who were perhaps a little more nervous than they wanted to admit. Launching astronauts was a dangerous business. Someone said to me “if it blows up, just turn and run!” And we were three miles away.
As the final seconds were being relayed over the loudspeaker, everyone fell silent, their eyes or cameras fixed at the white matchstick about to light up. T-10, 9, 8...ignition sequence start........but I don’t remember anything else! I was so busy looking at the sight through my 35mm Yashica that I saw the whole thing much smaller and continued to snap away until the rocket was a gentle murmur in the sky.
I can’t remember the noise. The excitement. The drama. The spectacular blast off. I could have kicked myself. All this way and it was a complete anticlimax. One of my dreams had come true. My prayer answered. I felt so disappointed. They say a blast off is like sex. I already knew a lot about anticlimaxes.
Thankfully, I had recorded the whole event, so could at least listen to it again. Having “missed” the blast off, I was to make matters even worse later in the Apollo 13 mission. Instead of staying and following the mission at the news centre, because I was stretched for cash, I decided to continue my plan to take some Greyhounds to travel further around the States. After all, I could watch the moon landing on TV somewhere.
So, I headed off to Jacksonville, Atlanta, Nashville and St Louis. Travelling on a bus isolates you from the world and when I got to Nashville, I discovered that there had been a problem with Apollo 13, never realising how serious it was. A fuel cell had exploded inside the service module and Apollo 13 was a dead ship and the astronauts were in peril. They needed to use the lunar module - thankfully, still attached - as a lifeboat. The drama of all this passed me by as I drove on to Kansas City, then to Denver, where I was able to watch the triumphant splashdown of the great mission, later immortalised by Apollo 13’s commander, Tom Hanks.
I then fully realised the seriousness of the accident and understood how the whole world had been captivated by one of the most famous spaceflights in history. Just think, I could have followed the whole drama in the news centre at the KSC! Hanks’ “Apollo 13” film obviously had to have some poetic license and it is a pity that the most famous utterance from Apollo 13 was misquoted in the film. “We’ve had a problem here”, said Swigert. Then, Lovell came on the line and said, “we’ve had a problem, we’ve had a Main B bus undervolt”. Hanks says, “We’ve had a problem. We’ve had a main bus B undervolt”. The funny thing was, that Lovell was wrong because it really was called the “Main Bus B”!
On I went: Ogden, Bute, Miles City, Madison, Chicago, Cleveland, Pittsburg, Philadelphia - and finally New York, where I had a nasty experience. I checked into the one of the seediest establishments you can imagine because I was worried about money. The owner showed me a room and asked whether I was going to get someone. It was a sort of brothel. I was really out of my depth. I closed the door to my room, tried to lock it, went to bed and attempted to sleep. In the middle of the night a nasty looking man fell into my room, drugged up the eyebrows.
I just got everything together, ran out and checked into a posh hotel down the road as a refuge. It was a lot cheaper than I thought and I was able to stay there while I explored New York, went up the Empire State Building - and watched John Wayne in the Fighting Seabees on the TV in my room. I also went to Mass in a Catholic church nearby. It was the last time I went to Mass for a very long time. Also, despite doing all those things I prayed about, I never bothered to thank God for answering my schoolboy prayers. I had been to the Cape, seen a launch and met astronauts, exactly as I had asked - but never really gave Him a thought. I reckoned I must have travelled 10,000 miles as I set off for the airport. I was also broke. While waiting for the plane at New York, I had got talking to a US soldier who had just returned from Vietnam and was travelling onwards in the USA. When the Jumbo was airborne, a stewardess gave me a bottle of Bud, with a bon voyage message - from my soldier friend, Lennie. Thanks Lennie, wherever you are.