Flying to the Moon (13 page)
Read Flying to the Moon Online
Authors: Michael Collins
but I drew it like
, and nobody
discovered the mistake until after the flight. We all liked the eagle, but he didn't look too peaceful until someone suggested we put an olive branch, the symbol of peace, in its claws. Now we had our emblem. From here it was an easy step to name our lunar module
Eagle
, but the command module was a more difficult choice. Finally we settled on
Columbia,
after Christopher Columbus, who discovered America.
discovered the mistake until after the flight. We all liked the eagle, but he didn't look too peaceful until someone suggested we put an olive branch, the symbol of peace, in its claws. Now we had our emblem. From here it was an easy step to name our lunar module
Eagle
, but the command module was a more difficult choice. Finally we settled on
Columbia,
after Christopher Columbus, who discovered America.
When July arrived, Neil, Buzz, and I moved from Houston to Cape Kennedy, where we stayed in special rooms prepared for us. The idea was that we could stay away from most people and not catch their germs, so we wouldn't get sick at the last minute. Of course, we still had to be near a lot of people every day as we worked. We also had our own cook, who tried to get us as fat as possible before launch day. One time President Nixon wanted to come have dinner with us, but a NASA doctor said he shouldn't because we might catch his germs, and he didn't come. I thought that was pretty silly.
The last couple of days before launch I also had some fun, flying a T-38. The purpose was not to have fun but to do some aerobatics and cause the fluid in my inner ears to slosh around. This sloshing was to imitate space, where weightlessness would cause the fluid in our inner ears to float. It wasn't a very good imitation, but it was better than nothing, and we wanted to do whatever we could to accustom our bodies to space. Occasionally an astronaut had become sick to his stomach in space, and we thought that doing aerobatics might help prevent this. Anyway, I did a lot of loops and rolls, and I felt fine. I was ready to go to the moon.
D
eke Slayton woke me up at four o'clock on the morning of July 16, 1969. Gemini 10 had been launched in the afternoon, but Apollo 11 was scheduled for an 8:32 a.m. departure, and we had a lot of things to do before then. I started with a quick shave and a shower, followed by a very brief physical exam. Then I joined Neil and Buzz and a couple of friends for the astronaut's traditional launch-day breakfast of steak and eggs. It was a bigger breakfast than I normally eat, but steak is good any time. After breakfast, I returned to my bedroom and brushed my teeth really well. I also finished packing up my clothes. Some of them were to be delivered to my
home in Houston and others were going into the germ-proof laboratory in which we would live for two weeks if we really did bring back some moon rocks.
eke Slayton woke me up at four o'clock on the morning of July 16, 1969. Gemini 10 had been launched in the afternoon, but Apollo 11 was scheduled for an 8:32 a.m. departure, and we had a lot of things to do before then. I started with a quick shave and a shower, followed by a very brief physical exam. Then I joined Neil and Buzz and a couple of friends for the astronaut's traditional launch-day breakfast of steak and eggs. It was a bigger breakfast than I normally eat, but steak is good any time. After breakfast, I returned to my bedroom and brushed my teeth really well. I also finished packing up my clothes. Some of them were to be delivered to my
home in Houston and others were going into the germ-proof laboratory in which we would live for two weeks if we really did bring back some moon rocks.
The next step was to get dressed in our pressure suits and make sure the suits weren't leaking. This procedure took nearly an hour, and then we were ready to make the eight-mile trip to the launch pad. As we left our building, several hundred people who had worked on our spacecraft were there to say goodbye, waving and shouting. Inside our sealed bubble helmets, we couldn't hear what they were saying, but we did smile and wave back. Then we climbed aboard a small van and headed for the launch pad. Tourist traffic was bumber-to-bumper and barely moving, but our van was in a special lane and we sailed on past the tourists and turned off the highway onto a small access road. We could tell from the blue sky that it was a pretty day, and we knew (because it was July in Florida) that it was hot, but inside our suits all we could feel was the cool flow of oxygen. As we approached the Saturn V, I got my usual feeling of awe as I looked up at it. It was a monster! Over three times as tall as a Gemini-Titan, taller than a football field set on end, as tall as the largest redwood tree, it was really impressive, and the closer we got, the bigger it seemed.
As our van pulled up next to the launch-pad elevator, I noticed a strange thing. Every time I had been here before, the place had been a beehive of activity, with swarms of workmen everywhere, getting things ready. Now their work was done, and the place was deserted, with not a soul in sight. It was like visiting a deserted city. Also, the rocket looked different today. Filled with kerosene fuel now, plus
the super-cool liquid oxygen and hydrogen, it was steaming in the sunshine. Its sides were coated with ice, where the moist Florida air came in contact with the freezing-cold skin of the rocket in the vicinity of the liquid oxygen and hydrogen tanks. This steaming ice somehow made the rocket seem alive.
the super-cool liquid oxygen and hydrogen, it was steaming in the sunshine. Its sides were coated with ice, where the moist Florida air came in contact with the freezing-cold skin of the rocket in the vicinity of the liquid oxygen and hydrogen tanks. This steaming ice somehow made the rocket seem alive.
As our elevator finished its brief journey, I realized that our trip to the moon had already begun. We had left the surface of the earth, which of course was itself hurtling through space in its orbit around the sun. As I got off the elevator, 320 feet above the Florida sand, I could look out and see the beautiful beach and the calm blue Atlantic. If I closed my right eye, that is all I saw. But if I reversed the process, and closed my left eye, all I could see was machineryâa huge pile of it, rocket and gantry and cables and pipes all jumbled together in confusion. It was quite a contrast. I hoped someday to get back to the beach and a simpler life, but for the next eight days, part of this machinery would be my home, and I must concentrate on it.
As Neil, Buzz, and I walked across a narrow bridge between the elevator and
Columbia,
our command module, we were greeted by a small team of men who would help us get aboard
Columbia
and then lock the hatch behind us. The team leader was Guenter Wendt, and it was an astronaut tradition to play a joke on him on launch day. For the past month, Guenter had been telling me what a great fisherman he was, and how large the trout were that he was accustomed to catching. I had located a tiny trout, the smallest one to be found, and had had the smelly thing nailed to a wooden board with a sign saying “Guenter's Trophy Trout.” I took it out of a paper bag I had been carrying and
presented it to Guenter as I climbed on board, and we both had a good laugh. Years later, Guenter told me he still had it in his deep freezer, which I guess is the only place to keep an uncured fish.
Columbia,
our command module, we were greeted by a small team of men who would help us get aboard
Columbia
and then lock the hatch behind us. The team leader was Guenter Wendt, and it was an astronaut tradition to play a joke on him on launch day. For the past month, Guenter had been telling me what a great fisherman he was, and how large the trout were that he was accustomed to catching. I had located a tiny trout, the smallest one to be found, and had had the smelly thing nailed to a wooden board with a sign saying “Guenter's Trophy Trout.” I took it out of a paper bag I had been carrying and
presented it to Guenter as I climbed on board, and we both had a good laugh. Years later, Guenter told me he still had it in his deep freezer, which I guess is the only place to keep an uncured fish.
Once inside
Columbia,
the three of us had some last-minute checks to make while Guenter and crew were departing, and then it was time for us to go. I was lying in the right-hand couch, with Buzz in the center and Neil over on the left side. If the Saturn blew up, Neil could twist a handle he held in his left hand and our spacecraft would be lifted (by three small rockets on our nose) up and away to safety. At least that was the way it was supposed to work. If during the next eight days, everything worked as advertised, then our job would be fairly simple. But I doubted that every last piece of machinery would work perfectly. There were simply too many things that could go wrong. I guessed that our chances of actually carrying off the entire flight as planned were about even. But there was no time left for worrying about such things, for now the voice on the radio was counting down to lift-off. At nine seconds before lift-off, the five first-stage engines of the Saturn ignited, and the people on the ground checked their power as it was increased to the lift-off thrust of seven and a half million pounds. When everything looked O.K., the clamps holding us to the launch pad were released, and we were on our way.
Columbia,
the three of us had some last-minute checks to make while Guenter and crew were departing, and then it was time for us to go. I was lying in the right-hand couch, with Buzz in the center and Neil over on the left side. If the Saturn blew up, Neil could twist a handle he held in his left hand and our spacecraft would be lifted (by three small rockets on our nose) up and away to safety. At least that was the way it was supposed to work. If during the next eight days, everything worked as advertised, then our job would be fairly simple. But I doubted that every last piece of machinery would work perfectly. There were simply too many things that could go wrong. I guessed that our chances of actually carrying off the entire flight as planned were about even. But there was no time left for worrying about such things, for now the voice on the radio was counting down to lift-off. At nine seconds before lift-off, the five first-stage engines of the Saturn ignited, and the people on the ground checked their power as it was increased to the lift-off thrust of seven and a half million pounds. When everything looked O.K., the clamps holding us to the launch pad were released, and we were on our way.
There was no doubt in my mind, either, for right away the rocket engines began jerking back and forth, swiveling to keep us in balance as we climbed. We felt this as little sideways jerks, like sometimes, when you first start out on a bicycle, you have to jerk the wheel back and forth to
prevent tipping over. Once you pick up some speed, on a bicycle or in a rocket, you can steer more smoothly. But the first few seconds of the Saturn V were jerky and very noisy, and I was glad when they were over. As we climbed out over the Atlantic, I noted with satisfaction that all my dials and instruments were normal, and I could see out of the corner of my eye that Neil and Buzz were also pleased with what they saw. Buzz was checking with our computer, which indicated we were on the right flight path. After two and a half minutes, the first stage shut down and fell off into the sea, and the second stage, with its own five engines, took over. At nine minutes they, too, had finished their job and were discarded, and we were left with the single engine of the third stage to see us safely into orbit. Finally, at eleven minutes and forty-two seconds after liftoff, we arrived in orbit, one hundred miles up at a speed of 18,000 miles an hour. The first big hurdle was behind us. Only ten more to go!
prevent tipping over. Once you pick up some speed, on a bicycle or in a rocket, you can steer more smoothly. But the first few seconds of the Saturn V were jerky and very noisy, and I was glad when they were over. As we climbed out over the Atlantic, I noted with satisfaction that all my dials and instruments were normal, and I could see out of the corner of my eye that Neil and Buzz were also pleased with what they saw. Buzz was checking with our computer, which indicated we were on the right flight path. After two and a half minutes, the first stage shut down and fell off into the sea, and the second stage, with its own five engines, took over. At nine minutes they, too, had finished their job and were discarded, and we were left with the single engine of the third stage to see us safely into orbit. Finally, at eleven minutes and forty-two seconds after liftoff, we arrived in orbit, one hundred miles up at a speed of 18,000 miles an hour. The first big hurdle was behind us. Only ten more to go!
In the three short years since Gemini 10, I had forgotten how beautiful the view was, as clouds and sea glided silently by my window in the pure sunlight. We were upside down, in that our heads were pointed toward the earth and our feet toward the black sky, but since we were weightless, it didn't really matter which way we were pointed. We had picked this direction because it allowed our navigational instruments, which were in the belly of
Columbia
, to point at the stars. Before we left the relative safety of earth orbit, we wanted to make sure that our navigational equipment was working properly, and that meant using our sextant to sight on two stars. When it came time for me to make these star sightings, I remembered a bet I had made
with one of the simulator instructors. If I took a perfect sighting, the computer would tell me that my error was 00000. We called this reading “five balls.” If my reading was less accurate, the computer would start adding numbers in place of the zeros. I had bet a cup of coffee that my first reading would be perfect (00000), and the instructor had bet that I would be off by two one-hundredths of a degree (00002). When I took my sighting, I got my answer: 00001, four balls one. It was a tie, and I called Houston and said, “Tell Glenn Parker down at the Cape that he lucked out. He doesn't owe me a cup of coffee.” I'm sure the people in Houston didn't have the vaguest idea what I was talking about, but they didn't admit that, and said simply that they would pass the information on.
Columbia
, to point at the stars. Before we left the relative safety of earth orbit, we wanted to make sure that our navigational equipment was working properly, and that meant using our sextant to sight on two stars. When it came time for me to make these star sightings, I remembered a bet I had made
with one of the simulator instructors. If I took a perfect sighting, the computer would tell me that my error was 00000. We called this reading “five balls.” If my reading was less accurate, the computer would start adding numbers in place of the zeros. I had bet a cup of coffee that my first reading would be perfect (00000), and the instructor had bet that I would be off by two one-hundredths of a degree (00002). When I took my sighting, I got my answer: 00001, four balls one. It was a tie, and I called Houston and said, “Tell Glenn Parker down at the Cape that he lucked out. He doesn't owe me a cup of coffee.” I'm sure the people in Houston didn't have the vaguest idea what I was talking about, but they didn't admit that, and said simply that they would pass the information on.
We were over Australia now, exactly one hour after liftoff, and all our machinery seemed to be working perfectly. We would have one more earth orbit to make sure, and then we would be on our way to the moon. We spent the time checking as much equipment as we could, just as we had agreed to do months before in meetings with the various experts. When the time came, on our second pass over Australia, Houston said, “You are
go
for TLI,” which meant that we had permission to ignite the Saturn's third-stage engine for the second and last time. It would increase our speed from 18,000 to 25,000 miles per hour, and we would have broken the bonds of earth's gravity. When the moment came, and the engine ignited, I felt both relief and tension. Relief because without it we would never reach the moon, and tension because now we were committed, and turning back would be almost impossible. The thirdstage engine of the Saturn had a character all its own. The first stage had been very busy, steering from side to side, while the second stage had been as smooth as glass. The third stage vibrated quite a bit, not from side to side but with a choppy fore-and-aft motion which was felt as almost a buzz. The engine's thrust pushed us back into our couches gently, with a force of slightly less than 1 G. It was a marvelous machine, which took liquid hydrogen stored at â423° and liquid oxygen atâ293° and burned them seconds later at over 4000°. For almost six minutes we enjoyed this ride, and then the engine shut down automatically, and our computer told us we were headed toward that empty point in the sky where the moon would be three days from then. “Hey, Houston,” said Neil, “that Saturn gave us a magnificent ride.” It was hard to believe that we had passed our second hurdle already. I bet that many of the one million people who were at Cape Kennedy to watch our launch were still caught in the post-launch traffic jam.
go
for TLI,” which meant that we had permission to ignite the Saturn's third-stage engine for the second and last time. It would increase our speed from 18,000 to 25,000 miles per hour, and we would have broken the bonds of earth's gravity. When the moment came, and the engine ignited, I felt both relief and tension. Relief because without it we would never reach the moon, and tension because now we were committed, and turning back would be almost impossible. The thirdstage engine of the Saturn had a character all its own. The first stage had been very busy, steering from side to side, while the second stage had been as smooth as glass. The third stage vibrated quite a bit, not from side to side but with a choppy fore-and-aft motion which was felt as almost a buzz. The engine's thrust pushed us back into our couches gently, with a force of slightly less than 1 G. It was a marvelous machine, which took liquid hydrogen stored at â423° and liquid oxygen atâ293° and burned them seconds later at over 4000°. For almost six minutes we enjoyed this ride, and then the engine shut down automatically, and our computer told us we were headed toward that empty point in the sky where the moon would be three days from then. “Hey, Houston,” said Neil, “that Saturn gave us a magnificent ride.” It was hard to believe that we had passed our second hurdle already. I bet that many of the one million people who were at Cape Kennedy to watch our launch were still caught in the post-launch traffic jam.
Worrying about Apollo 11, before it even started
Our first glimpse of
Eagle,
nestled in the top of the empty Saturn
Eagle,
nestled in the top of the empty Saturn
Eagle
gets a chance to try its wings
gets a chance to try its wings
Up close, the moon doesn't look too friendly
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