The Nearest Thing

In its size and shape, its instincts and intelligence, it was the nearest thing to man that has yet made the perilous voyage into space and returned safely. The occupant of the capsule was a three-year-old, 37-lb. chimpanzee, fired by the U.S. last week on a headlong trip through outer space's underbelly and recovered. The flight was part of the U.S.'s man-in-space program, Project Mercury. When it was over, the historic moment when man himself would speed into space seemed much closer--yet still agonizingly far away.

The booster on the pad at Cape Canaveral was a Redstone, a militarily obsolete but reliable Army rocket. Perched on its nose was a Mercury space capsule, designed to carry a man into orbit and bring him back alive. The capsule was standard size, but its interior had been tailored for a chimp and supplied with special gear and fittings for its non-human passenger.

At midnight before the flight, the chosen chimp was given a final physical examination. At this stage his official name was "No. 65." because the National Aeronautics and Space Administration did not want him to achieve too much public personality, just in case he did not return alive. His name while in training at the Air Force's Holloman Aeromedical Field Laboratory had been Chop Chop Chang. Only if he survived his space trip would he be permitted to use the appealing name "Ham," derived from the initials of his training place.

Gelatin & Diaper. For breakfast Chimp No. 65 got an ounce of baby cereal, 4 oz. of condensed milk, cooking oil, gelatin, vitamins and half an egg. Then he was wired for recording instruments, dressed in a baby diaper and strapped on his back on a personally fitted contour couch, his arms left free. The environmental control system (air pressure, oxygen, temperature, etc.) was much the same as for a human astronaut.

Chimp No. 65 had been trained at Holloman to work a simple system of lights and levers. He had learned that if he pushed one lever at least once every 20 seconds, he would avoid a slight electric shock in the pad of one of his feet. When a blue light flashed, he knew that if he pushed another lever in less than five seconds, he would also avoid a shock. His performance would show how much his psychology was affected by the stresses and strains of space flight.

At 11:55, the Redstone spouted flame and rose on what seemed to be the planned trajectory. When the Redstone burned out, the capsule was supposed to separate, coast to an altitude of 115 miles, then fall to the sea 298 miles downrange, where a swarm of ships and aircraft was waiting to grab it.

But the Redstone burned too vigorously, developed 1,000 m.p.h. extra speed. This irregularity triggered the emergency system supposed to work in case of launching failure. The escape rocket fired, giving the capsule an additional boost of 800 m.p.h. The retrorockets intended to slow the capsule on its descent through the atmosphere came loose and separated. As a result of all these malfunctions, the capsule hit the sea 414 miles downrange, an error of 116 miles.

For a while it looked as if Chimp No. 65 might be in trouble. Lacking retrorockets, the capsule had streaked through the atmosphere much faster than was planned, but the parachutes worked fine. Aircraft swooped toward the spot where the capsule was falling. A Navy plane spotted it while it was still drifting down on its parachutes. In about two hours a helicopter picked up the capsule and 46 minutes later lowered it gently on the deck of the recovery ship Donner.

"He's Talking to Us!" Then came an anxious moment. Had Chimp No. 65 survived? The capsule's heat shield had disappeared, and its landing-shock bag was torn. Air Force Veterinarian Major Richard Benson stood close beside the mechanics as they took off the capsule's hatch. From inside came a whimpering sound. "He's alive!" cried Major Benson. "He's talking to us!" Soon the chimp chamber was on the deck. No. 65 grinned and shook hands with Major Benson. Then he was rushed to the Donner's battle dressing station for a physical exam. Pronounced healthy, he was then officially given the name Ham.

Voluminous records of the flight proved that Ham had performed magnificently. In spite of fearful acceleration forces (up to 18 Gs) and weightlessness that lasted seven minutes, he had worked his light-and-lever system without a single error, never getting a shock.

What was accomplished by Ham's flight? Certainly, Project Mercury had taken a considerable forward step. The monkeys, dogs and other animals previously brought down from space performed no mental tasks; they merely survived. Ham proved that a central nervous system much like the human brain can do a trained-in task under space conditions.

Ham's flight was watched by the human astronauts who have been selected to ride in Project Mercury's spacecraft. If it had been completely successful, one of them would have been scheduled to take a similar ride in a few months. But the erratic launching behavior, the loss of retrorockets and heat shield, and the seepage of sea water into the capsule will almost surely persuade NASA to use more chimps before risking a man.

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