"Live From Cape Canaveral": Covering the Space Race, From Sputnik to Today by Jay Barbree
Authors: Jay Barbree
Tags: United States, General, History, Military, 20th Century, State & Local, Technology & Engineering, 21st Century, Aeronautics & Astronautics
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be first. May’s not that far away.”
“Not a chance,” he said in that distant manner of his. “It’s the damn Sputnik thing all over again.”
FOUR
First in Space
H e drifted between sleep and wakefulness. That’s how it had been most of this night of remembering. They were memories he welcomed, the ones that reminded him of his father, a skilled carpenter who had worked daily to make their wooden home special, and the special memories of his mother. The memories of her smile, of her working in their home, making it warm and comfortable—memories of her kitchen, memories of something good to eat, especially her borscht.
Those were the memories he chose. Not his boyhood memories of the great guns, the ear-splitting thunder of the exploding shells, the earth-shaking rumble of German tanks moving through his hometown; the memories of a boy watching his parents obey the Nazis just so, whenever possible, they could forage for food inside the battlefields.
Only as he was nearing his teens would the other, good memories come—those memories with the welcoming sounds. The airplanes with red stars on their wings followed by terrible fighting, and the tanks pushing into their village, were Russian. The Germans fled, and the Russian tanks stayed. And as quickly as the war ended, young Yuri Gagarin studied day and night in school and at home so that one day he would qualify to become a pilot in the Red Air Force.
In 1955 he was accepted in flight school. Two years later he won his wings, the wings of a jet fighter pilot. He had become an expert parachutist, too, and in 1959 he volunteered for an exciting new program.
Cosmonaut!
He moved through the demanding training at the head of his class, and on April 8, 1961, only four days before this night of memories, his commander gave him the news: “You will be the first. You will travel first into space.”
Until now he really hadn’t believed it; it seemed so unreal. But suddenly Gagarin’s door opened, and it was real enough. They had come to get him prepared. He met with the doctors and the political commissar. Everything moved smoothly. Breakfast was fun. The flight surgeons said he was ready. Sensors were attached to his body, and his backup and close friend, cosmonaut Gherman Titov, helped him climb into his pressure suit and heavy helmet.
Sunrise swept over the launch pad, and Yuri Gagarin stood quietly for several minutes, studying the enormous SS–6 ICBM that would haul him into Earth orbit. No warhead atop this baby. Up there was Swallow , his Vostok spacecraft, weighing more than five tons.
Gagarin stopped on the ramp partway up the stairs to the elevator. He turned to speak to the fortunate group who would witness this dividing moment in history. They stood silently, not wanting to miss a word.
“The whole of my life seems to be condensed into this one wonderful moment,” Gagarin began with humility. “Everything that I have been, everything that I have done, was for this. Could anyone dream of more?”
He waved farewell, entered the elevator, and when they reached the top, Gagarin climbed aboard Swallow . Technicians secured his harness to the specially designed seat. He raised a hand and signaled he was ready. Technicians closed the hatch, and Yuri Gagarin was sealed inside with his destiny.
The countdown moved through its normal stops and starts, checks and rechecks, and then the final minutes…
“Gotovnosty dyesyat minut.”
Two minutes to go…
He braced himself and relaxed his muscles as he felt motors whining. The gantry with the service level was pulling away. He moved with the bumps and thuds as power cables were ejected from their slots in the rocket. He knew what the sounds meant. Now the mighty SS–6 was on its own, drawing power from its internal systems.
He heard a voice shout:
“Zazhiganiye!”
Gagarin needed no one to tell him he had ignition.
His body was suddenly shuddering. The SS–6’s rockets were burning with an
“Not a chance,” he said in that distant manner of his. “It’s the damn Sputnik thing all over again.”
FOUR
First in Space
H e drifted between sleep and wakefulness. That’s how it had been most of this night of remembering. They were memories he welcomed, the ones that reminded him of his father, a skilled carpenter who had worked daily to make their wooden home special, and the special memories of his mother. The memories of her smile, of her working in their home, making it warm and comfortable—memories of her kitchen, memories of something good to eat, especially her borscht.
Those were the memories he chose. Not his boyhood memories of the great guns, the ear-splitting thunder of the exploding shells, the earth-shaking rumble of German tanks moving through his hometown; the memories of a boy watching his parents obey the Nazis just so, whenever possible, they could forage for food inside the battlefields.
Only as he was nearing his teens would the other, good memories come—those memories with the welcoming sounds. The airplanes with red stars on their wings followed by terrible fighting, and the tanks pushing into their village, were Russian. The Germans fled, and the Russian tanks stayed. And as quickly as the war ended, young Yuri Gagarin studied day and night in school and at home so that one day he would qualify to become a pilot in the Red Air Force.
In 1955 he was accepted in flight school. Two years later he won his wings, the wings of a jet fighter pilot. He had become an expert parachutist, too, and in 1959 he volunteered for an exciting new program.
Cosmonaut!
He moved through the demanding training at the head of his class, and on April 8, 1961, only four days before this night of memories, his commander gave him the news: “You will be the first. You will travel first into space.”
Until now he really hadn’t believed it; it seemed so unreal. But suddenly Gagarin’s door opened, and it was real enough. They had come to get him prepared. He met with the doctors and the political commissar. Everything moved smoothly. Breakfast was fun. The flight surgeons said he was ready. Sensors were attached to his body, and his backup and close friend, cosmonaut Gherman Titov, helped him climb into his pressure suit and heavy helmet.
Sunrise swept over the launch pad, and Yuri Gagarin stood quietly for several minutes, studying the enormous SS–6 ICBM that would haul him into Earth orbit. No warhead atop this baby. Up there was Swallow , his Vostok spacecraft, weighing more than five tons.
Gagarin stopped on the ramp partway up the stairs to the elevator. He turned to speak to the fortunate group who would witness this dividing moment in history. They stood silently, not wanting to miss a word.
“The whole of my life seems to be condensed into this one wonderful moment,” Gagarin began with humility. “Everything that I have been, everything that I have done, was for this. Could anyone dream of more?”
He waved farewell, entered the elevator, and when they reached the top, Gagarin climbed aboard Swallow . Technicians secured his harness to the specially designed seat. He raised a hand and signaled he was ready. Technicians closed the hatch, and Yuri Gagarin was sealed inside with his destiny.
The countdown moved through its normal stops and starts, checks and rechecks, and then the final minutes…
“Gotovnosty dyesyat minut.”
Two minutes to go…
He braced himself and relaxed his muscles as he felt motors whining. The gantry with the service level was pulling away. He moved with the bumps and thuds as power cables were ejected from their slots in the rocket. He knew what the sounds meant. Now the mighty SS–6 was on its own, drawing power from its internal systems.
He heard a voice shout:
“Zazhiganiye!”
Gagarin needed no one to tell him he had ignition.
His body was suddenly shuddering. The SS–6’s rockets were burning with an
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