toward their rendezvous target. Their maneuvers inexorably closed the distance between the two spacecraft, the crew and ground perfectly executing the procedures, the team harmony and rhythm fluid and dynamic. Approaching the end of the third orbit over Hawaii, Gemini 9 slid smoothly into position, flying formation with the target.
As Stafford maneuvered, Cernan gave a running commentary during the approach, finally confirming our suspicion that the shroud had not separated. From a distance of a few feet away Stafford said, “The clamshell is open wide, the band holding it together is at the front. I believe the rear bolts were fired, and we can see the springs. The band is holding the whole mess together. It looks like an angry alligator.”
While the crew remained as observers, I directed my team to send a series of rapid attitude maneuver commands to attempt to shake the shroud loose. The crew saw the target’s motion as the thrusters fired, then reported, “No joy. It’s not doing any good. You might as well save the fuel.” With this new data, and to buy some time to develop other alternatives, we passed the crew maneuver data for the second planned rendezvous of the mission. This maneuver thrusted them away from the Earth and, if perfectly executed, placed them onto a football- type trajectory, returning to the target in exactly one orbit.
My Agena controllers left the console to attend a meeting with engineering to assess any reasonable shroud jettison alternatives. (Just to make life more confusing, we continued to have our controllers use the Agena call sign, despite the fact that on this mission the target vehicle was not an Agena rocket but a target made up of spare parts from Agena and Gemini.) After an hour and a half, they returned, reporting no one saw any way to separate the shroud. With Gemini’s orbit moving toward the area of sparse network coverage, I felt it was time to call it a day and get the crew moving toward the sleep period. A maneuver was passed to separate from the target and set up the conditions for the third and final rendezvous on my shift in the morning.
Lunney had been standing by during the second rendezvous, and at handover his Black Team took to the consoles in Mission Control. During my press conference most of the correspondents tried to engage me in speculation about a comment made by Stafford to Cernan that, “We might be able to nudge the target shroud off with the nose of the Gemini.”
During my shift I quickly discouraged Stafford from contemplating such a maneuver, and I did not want to give it any more credibility via the media. I advised the press, “Our priorities are to accomplish the three rendezvous, a complex EVA, and a bunch of experiments. Docking, while an objective, is now only frosting on the cake.” I paused, then added, “There is a lot of energy still stored in the thrusters in the shroud. When and if that band comes loose, I want Gemini long gone.”
After the press conference I went home for supper and some fresh clothing, then returned to the sleeping quarters above the lobby of Mission Control. Prior to hitting the sack, I went to the control room to check in with Lunney. I was surprised to find Cliff Charlesworth in Lunney’s chair. Cliff said, “They called Glynn to a meeting in the controller ready room to discuss tomorrow’s EVA.” I hit my boiling point in a second as I exclaimed, “What EVA?”
Cliff responded, “They want to do an EVA to release the shroud.”
Next to the sleeping quarters was a ready room for the controllers to observe TV mission status and listen to the other controllers and crew communications while relaxing before or after a shift. The lounge is on a floor midway between the two control room floors and I took the stairs two at a time in my haste to get there.
When I opened the door, the ready room was loaded. Present was an array of NASA’s top leadership: George Mueller, NASA associate administrator; Chuck Mathews, program manager; Robert Gilruth, center director; as well as Kraft, Slayton, Dr. Charles Berry, and assorted astronauts. Glynn Lunney, the only flight controller present, looked up as I entered, rolled his eyes, and silently raised his hands in exasperation. Standing up, he walked over and said, “They’re talking about doing an EVA to release the shroud.”
I was livid. The last word I had left was that in no case would we plan to try to release the shroud. Kraft saw my expression, walked over, and said, “Dammit, control yourself and settle down. No decision has been made yet.” As I watched, I concluded that astronaut Buzz Aldrin was the principal proponent of the gamble, since he was animatedly discussing possible procedures to release the band. William Schneider, the Gemini 9 headquarters mission director, motioned me to the corner, briefed me on the discussion, then asked me for my opinion. My response was tart: “Bill, there is little to gain, the risk is high, and I don’t want to compromise the planned objectives. This is nothing I will support.” Kraft, standing, was studying me, wondering what else I was going to say when my turn came.
I had been expecting some wild scheme since we first learned of the shroud problem. While politics was not my long suit, I knew enough to address my comments to the real players, Mueller, Mathews, and Gilruth. They seemed to be the swing votes. I could not yet figure out who was for the EVA besides Aldrin.
It was obvious that the top brass knew little about the shroud mechanism, so for about ten minutes I briefed them on the details. Then I talked about what the ATDA EVA would require Stafford to do—station-keeping with the ATDA while Cernan, free-floating on the umbilical with no handholds or footholds, tried to cut the band or pull the safing pin. Summarizing my argument, I said, “There is a lot of stored energy in the ATDA shroud mechanism. It is cocked and ready to fire and I don’t see any way to safely get it loose. When it separates I don’t want an astronaut or even the spacecraft in the vicinity. This is only our second EVA and it is already sporty enough. When we return to the target tomorrow morning, we will have completed our primary rendezvous objectives. The planned EVA is long and complex and Cernan should do the one he trained for. When we get this done, we will have done damned well on this mission.”
The discussion continued for another half hour until finally Mathews, the Gemini program manager, made his decision: “I think we should do an EVA to see if we can release the shroud so we get our docking objective. I think we can make the risk acceptable.” As he summed up the debate, I was surprised that no one in the room challenged his decision. Mathews closed the meeting saying, “Does anyone have any more comments?” Walking out the door, I took my last shot: “This is a stunt… a dangerous and unnecessary one and we’re going to kill someone.”
By the time Lunney and I got back to the control room, Charlesworth’s team was on the console and the Black Team had gone home. Lunney turned to me and said, “What are we going to do?” I replied, “Get smart.” I don’t react well when management starts second-guessing me, but I knew I had to keep a lid on my anger.
I was surprised and frustrated that Kraft did not shoot this crazy idea down. As I walked by his console I fired at him. “Chris, this is my last damned mission. I am through.” Kraft looked me straight in the eye, saying, “You got your orders, now do your job.” Red-faced, I turned away, thinking, “Screw the role of the flight director. When push comes to shove, the flight director is just another management flunky.” Later, Kraft denied he had directed me, but in the heat of battle it sure seemed like direction to me.
As quickly as my anger came, it went. If I had to implement a bad decision, I would make it come out right. My job had not changed. If it looked as if Cernan or Stafford was over their head, I would wave it off during the EVA. In the heat of real time, none of my bosses would be in a position to turn me around.
There was no sleep for me that night. I had to build a plan for the new EVA prior to starting my shift at 4:00 A.M. I had missed the early part of the meeting, so Lunney summarized the details of the proposal by Aldrin. When John Aaron heard about the shroud, he rounded up the crew systems team we worked with on the original EVA. The team and I worked through the night, searching for any hazards to the integrity of the space suit and the umbilical.
The shroud area provided the largest single hazard, littered with razor-sharp edges and items that could snag Cernan’s suit or catch the umbilical. Our plan was to have Stafford fly formation at the open jaws of the shroud. Cernan, on the umbilical, would check to see if the band was under tension, then verify that the springs were in the ball socket. From there the procedures became vague. Some believed that if we pulled the safety pin the band would release. Others thought Cernan should try to cut the lanyard with some medical scissors. This was the best we could do to keep Cernan away from the stored energy. Stafford, the commander, would have to use his judgment on when to call it a day if he didn’t like the setup.
When Charlesworth briefed me at shift handover, he said that astronaut Dave Scott had been in the Los Angeles area and, prior to returning to Houston, examined a shroud at the Lockheed plant. Later, in the shift over Carnarvon, Scott briefed the teams on his observations. Everyone was pitching in to try to keep Cernan out of trouble during the ad hoc EVA.
After I came back into the control room for my shift the next morning, Charlesworth advised that the crew was completing the third rendezvous in the first twenty hours of Gemini 9.
Approaching the end of our first day in orbit, Charlesworth gave the Go for EVA preparation over Carnarvon,
