Saga of the Liberty Bell

The known and unknown perils of space stayed their hand last week as the U.S. shot a second man into space with almost clockwork success. What made the second flight less successful than the first --and nearly cost Astronaut Virgil ("Gus") Grissom his life--was the same primitive danger that threatened the skin-covered boats of neolithic man: the hostile and brooding sea.

In space, the Mercury capsule that bore Grissom 118 miles above the earth was a functioning--if not always perfect--vehicle; in the salt water of the Atlantic, it became as vulnerable as a paper boat in a storm. The difference spelled a near disaster that taught the U.S. space program some valuable lessons, and may cause a third astronaut to be flung aloft before the program can proceed with its plan to put a man into orbit.

Before his ordeal, Astronaut Grissom went twice through the tedious preparations for flight,..sealed each time into the Mercury capsule Liberty Bell 7 on the nose of the Redstone rocket. Twice the shot was scrubbed when clouds over Cape Canaveral threatened to spoil the photographic record of the flight. Air Force Captain Grissom, 35, took it all in stride. "I'll be ready when you are," he told officials as he stretched his limbs after hours of fruitless waiting in the cramped capsule.

Not a Philosopher. Gus Grissom's almost stoic calm in the face of the unknown was the product of both an introspective nature and a long and dedicated apprenticeship. The smallest (5 ft. 7 in.), most soft-spoken and most reserved of the astronauts, he tried the Air Force briefly as an aviation cadet just before World War II ended, later re-entered it after getting a mechanical engineering degree at Purdue. He flew 100 combat missions in the Korean war (Distinguished Flying Cross, two Air Medals), returned to the U.S. as a pilot instructor at Bryan, Texas. Says his pretty wife, Betty (they have two boys): "He told me Korea was safer than teaching cadets how to fly. He said flying was even safer than driving a car."

Grissom has flown more than 3,000 hours, 2,000 of them in jets. Chosen as one of the seven astronauts in 1959, he went about his tasks quietly and efficiently, was almost unnoticed as he backstopped the more ebullient Commander Alan Shepard during the first shot. His specialty: control of the space capsule's, attitude system. After he was picked as an astronaut, he admitted that he sometimes lay in bed thinking: "Now what in the hell do I want to get up in that thing for?" He had his own answer. "I'm a test pilot," he said, "not a philosopher. I'm too busy to worry. This is a day-to-day job for me." Just before he climbed into his space capsule for the second time last week, a reporter cracked: "See you in a couple of days." Replied Grissom: "Yeah. I'll see you in a couple of days--or never."

On the third try, dark thunderheads lined the eastern horizon, threatening to postpone the flight again. But the morning sky cleared as the launching time (7:20 a.m.) approached. The crowds of official and unofficial spectators grew tense with excitement, even though most of them had already witnessed Shepard's successful flight last May; they knew that the odds against success increased with each try. Least excited was Grissom. Strapped to his contour couch, he talked by telephone with his wife in Newport News, Va. He told her that he felt fine.

Bright Sun, Black Sky. At T minus 3, the "cherry picker" escape crane drew slowly away from the capsule. Away snapped the umbilical cord that had supplied oxygen, power and communication. The rocket was on its own. As it waited for the starter's button, a cloud of white vapor from the liquid oxygen spread like a puddle over its pad. The crowd fell silent. Exactly at T, the rocket roared, rose off the ground and, standing on its tail of flame, climbed smoothly into the sky.

News from Grissom began to be relayed over the control-room loudspeaker. He felt fine, and all systems were working properly. At T plus 141 sec., officials told the waiting crowd that Liberty Bell 7 had separated successfully from the Redstone booster. The crowd clapped and yelled. Grissom looked out through his four-pane "picture window"--a new feature of the capsule--but was at first too dazzled to see much. "Boy," he reported, "that sun is really bright." Later he saw the clouded coastline far below, watched the sky grow blacker--and became so fascinated with the view that he could hardly drag himself back to his duties.

As Liberty Bell 7 approached its apogee, traveling at 5,310 miles per hour, Grissom took manual control with a new and hopefully more precise set of controls. Weightless by now, he found the manual controls sluggish, had difficulty turning his capsule by means of its small hydrogen peroxide rocket nozzles. "Having a little bit of trouble with the manual controls," he reported. Seven minutes after launch, he managed to point the capsule and fire the retrorockets. They slowed his speed only slightly, but if he had been in full orbital flight, they would have curved him down into the atmosphere. Grissom's movements--he was running behind schedule in his work--were hampered as dust and bigger unidentified pieces floated around in the capsule.

Coming Down. Back at Canaveral, the electronic computers carefully watched the capsule's trajectory. They announced (through human intermediaries) that it would take Grissom to almost exactly the chosen impact point (302 miles down range)--though wind finally blew him six miles off target. Excitement rose on the aircraft carrier Randolph, whose helicopters were hovering to pluck the capsule out of the water. Second-by-second reports came down from space, Grissom chatting over his radio with Shepard.

As Grissom's craft began to push against the top of the atmosphere, the Gs rose--to ten, then to a fearful 10.2--and communication dimmed a little, but never wholly stopped. Grissom reported clearly at 65,000 ft. that the Gs were much lower now. Then, with the capsule at 40,000 ft., the men on the Randolph and the choppers strained to catch their first glimpse of it. Automatically the small, tough drogue parachute opened at 21,000 ft., checking the capsule's falling speed. One minute later, the great, striped, red-and-white main parachute (with a 6-in. triangular tear in it) blossomed like a zinnia and gently lowered the Liberty Bell 7 toward the almost waveless sea. Four choppers flailed toward the impact point.

Off with the Hatch. So far, the shoot had been a creditable demonstration of space virtuosity. Arriving two minutes after impact, the helicopters found the Liberty Bell 7 standing erect in the water. For unexplained reasons, Grissom first radioed from the capsule that he was ready to leave, then said: "Give me three or four minutes. I will be ready for you." Actually, he spent 11 minutes inside, presumably checking instruments. As one helicopter circled the capsule in an effort to cut the capsule's antenna before attaching a cable, Grissom announced suddenly: "I am going to have to take my helmet off and blow the hatch off."

What happened next added a new element of mystery to the recovery operation. "When we were about ten to 20 feet away from the capsule," reported Pilot James Lewis, "we observed the hatch being blown. We saw the astronaut egress from the space capsule and go into the water immediately after the hatch was blown."

The hatch, which is close to the water, is released by small explosive bolts that can be fired all at once, but it is not normally used until the capsule has been hoisted clear or at least stabilized in an upright position by the pull of a helicopter's cable. In this case its opening was disastrous. The sea was comparatively calm, but the Liberty Bell 7 was not built for seaworthiness with its hatch open. It wobbled, took in a surge of water and began to sink. Astronaut Grissom swam through the tepid water in his buoyant, silvery space suit, taking in great gulps of sea water dyed bright green to mark his landing. Though his remarks from the capsule at first led observers to believe that he had released the new-style hatch, Grissom later reported that he only meant to indicate his intention to leave through the hatch eventually. Said he: "I'm positive I did not blow that hatch." Scientists speculated that a simple short circuit might have blown the hatch prematurely.

Horse-Collar Rescue. Whatever the cause of the mishap, the next few moments were hectic. One helicopter tried to snap up the Liberty Bell 7. The second could not come too close to pick up Grissom because of the rotor blast of the first. So Grissom swam 25 yards to a calmer spot, where the second helicopter lowered a "horse collar" and lifted him out of the water. Hurried back to the Randolph, he made his first remark seconds after stepping aboard: "Give me something to blow my nose. My head is full of sea water."

Otherwise he was A-O.K. Within minutes he was talking on the telephone with President Kennedy.

The other helicopter was still struggling with the Liberty Bell 7. It finally got a cable attached, but found the waterlogged capsule too heavy to lift out of the water. When Pilot Lewis tried to tow the sluggish load toward the Randolph he got only a little way before his engine heated up from the strain. He had to release the capsule for fear of losing his helicopter. Moaned a crewman: "Oh, my God we lost it!" The swamped Liberty Bell 7 sank forever in water more than three miles deep, leaving behind for recovery only the parachute and a small section of the capsule's top.

Next day, at a press conference at Cape Canaveral, a matter-of-fact Gus Grissom said he had pulled the safety pins as a preliminary to blowing the hatch, and then: "I was lying there minding my own business when--pow! I saw blue sky. The biggest shock of the whole day was seeing that door blow off." Once in the ocean, he said, he found that he had neglected to close a port in his suit, and water was seeping in "and I was getting lower and lower." How did he feel then? Said the frank astronaut: "I was scared."

A solemn inquiry will no doubt solve the mystery of Grissom's unexpected exit, the in-flight difficulties of the capsule, and its poor resistance to the sea, which cost Project Mercury the prestige of making a second unmarred suborbital flight. But the capsule did not take too much of technical value to the bottom of the sea. Most of its performance in space was followed on the ground by excellent telemetering. The biggest loss was probably the camera films that recorded directly the readings of the instruments and the expression on Grissom's face. As anyone could see, that expression at flight's end was one of relief at a narrow escape.

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