$29.95 He is one of the very few people to have walked on the Moon— and the only one of those to also pilot the space shuttle. He flew six missions in three different programs—more than any other human. His peers called him the “astronaut’s astronaut.” Recruited at the same time as Neil Armstrong and other aeronautical pioneers, he served with NASA for more than four decades. John Young’s career, accomplishments, and longevity within the space program are simply unmatched. Enthusiasts of space exploration have long waited for Young to tell the story of his two Gemini flights, his two Apollo missions, the first-ever space shuttle flight, and the first Spacelab mission. Forever Young delivers all that and more: Young’s personal journey from engineering graduate to fighter pilot, to test pilot, to astronaut, to high NASA official, to clear-headed predictor of the fate of Planet Earth. Young provides an antidote to the typical memoir that celebrates astronaut bravado and successes while at the same time contributing to the NASA mystique. With the assistance of internationally distinguished aerospace historian James Hansen, he recounts the great episodes of his amazing flying career in fascinating detail and with wry humor. He portrays astronauts as ordinary human beings and NASA as an institution with the same ups and downs as other major bureaucracies. Young, a consummate engineer, provides insights not only into his historic lunar walk and storied career as a shuttle pilot but also into such space events as the Apollo-Soyuz joint mission and the Challenger and Columbia disasters. In recent years, Young has become well known for his prognostications about the future of our planet, believing it is only a matter of time before a massive asteroid hits Earth, and in this volume he suggests ways to prevent it. Long after his compatriots retired from space exploration or moved on to other occupations, Young remained in Houston as a senior technical advisor, helping to plan and design future missions in an effort to make space flight safer for those who would follow in his illustrious footsteps. Forever Young is one of the last memoirs produced by an early American astronaut yet the first written by a chief of the NASA astronaut corps. Young’s experiences and candor make this book indispensable to everyone interested in the U.S. space program. Forever Young UNIVERSITY PRESS OF FLORIDA Florida A&M University, Tallahassee Florida Atlantic University, Boca Raton Florida Gulf Coast University, Ft. Myers Florida International University, Miami Florida State University, Tallahassee New College of Florida, Sarasota University of Central Florida, Orlando University of Florida, Gainesville University of North Florida, Jacksonville University of South Florida, Tampa University of West Florida, Pensacola FFoorreevveerr YYoouunngg AA LLiiffee ooff AAddvveennttuurree iinn AAiirr aanndd SSppaaccee JJoohhnn WW.. YYoouunngg wwiitthh JJaammeess RR.. HHaannsseenn FFoorreewwoorrdd bbyy MMiicchhaaeell CCoolllliinnss UUnniivveerrssiittyy PPrreessss ooff FFlloorriiddaa GGaaiinneessvviillllee || TTaallllaahhaasssseeee || TTaammppaa || BBooccaa RRaattoonn PPeennssaaccoollaa || OOrrllaannddoo || MMiiaammii || JJaacckkssoonnvviillllee || FFtt.. MMyyeerrss || SSaarraassoottaa Copyright 2012 by John W Young All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America on acid-free and recycled paper Frontispiece: Technicians hook up John Young for a weight and balance test at Cape Kennedy in June 1966 prior to the Gemini X launch. NASA photo S66-P-279 (http://johnwyoung.com/gt10/enlarge-gt10/66-p- 279.htm), courtesy of NASA. 17 16 15 14 13 12 6 5 4 3 2 1 All photos are from the author’s collection unless otherwise noted. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Young, John (John Watts), 1930– Forever Young: a life of adventure in air and space / John W. Young with James R. Hansen; foreword by Michael Collins. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references. ISBN 978-0-8130-4209-1 (alk. Paper) 1. Young, John (John Watts), 1930– —Biography. 2. Astronauts—United States—Biography. 3. Air pilots—United States—Biography. 4. Space flight to the moon. I. Hansen, James R. II. Collins, Michael, 1930– III. Title. TL789.85.Y67A3 2012 629.450092—dc23 [B] 2012018907 The University Press of Florida is the scholarly publishing agency for the State University System of Florida, comprising Florida A&M University, Florida Atlantic University, Florida Gulf Coast University, Florida International University, Florida State University, New College of Florida, University of Central Florida, University of Florida, University of North Florida, University of South Florida, and University of West Florida. University Press of Florida 15 Northwest 15th Street Gainesville, FL 32611-2079 http://www.upf.com CCoonntteennttss Foreword 8 Prologue: “Go” or “No-Go” 9 PPaarrtt II.. AA FFllyyiinngg CCaarreeeerr 1. From Cartersville to Georgia Tech 15 2. Gunnery Officer to Naval Aviator 28 3. Fighter Pilot to Test Pilot 36 4. Pax River 45 PPaarrtt IIII.. IInnttoo OOrrbbiitt 5. The New Nine and Project Gemini 58 6. Countdown 70 7. Three Orbits 77 8. Dual Rendezvous 83 PPaarrtt IIIIII.. LLuunnaarr JJoouurrnneeyyss 9. From a Fire to the Moon 105 10. Call Sign Charlie Brown 117 11. From Tranquility to a Lost Moon 130 12. To the Descartes Highlands 141 13. In the Briar Patch 158 14. The End of Moon Landings 178 PPaarrtt IIVV.. TThhee SShhuuttttllee EErraa 15. Enterprise 195 16. “The Boldest Test Flight in History” 204 17. Advent of the “Operational” Shuttle 219 18. A Steep Spiral Staircase 231 19. The Challenger Disaster 246 20. A Mountain of Memos 265 21. “The Next Logical Step” 286 22. On a Wing and a Prayer 296 Epilogue: When Worlds Collide 318 Abbreviations 334 Notes 338 FFoorreewwoorrdd “Unique” has become such a trite word that I can no longer use it to describe John Young. But “unusual” certainly fits, even in a group that, if not unique, was at least close to it. Apparently his bosses also thought him unusual, as he was the first in his group of nine to be selected to fly in space, with Gus Grissom on Gemini III, the first manned Gemini flight. On Gemini X John was the first to do an unaided rendezvous with a passive, inert target satellite. On Apollo 10 he was the first to fly solo around the moon. For him a second flight to the moon, commanding Apollo 15, must have seemed almost routine. By that time I had left NASA, but I watched with admiration as John, the consummate engineer, continued to lead the astronaut group into ever more complex territory. In addition to having made the most spaceflights, John was also famous as the memo-writing champion of the Astronaut Office. While often presenting a pessimistic view of future hazards, the primary focus of his memos was always on improving crew safety. But if John seemed obsessed with the well-being of his fellow crew members, he apparently had absolutely no regard for his own safety. For example, consider his fifth venture into space, the maiden voyage of the space shuttle. Heretofore, new rocket craft had always been tested unmanned for a couple of flights before putting a crew on board. (The Russian shuttle’s first and only flight was unmanned). But in 1981, when John and Bob Crippen climbed on board Columbia, it was with the acute realization that this immensely complex new machine, powered by both liquid and—for the first time—solid propellant motors, had never lifted an inch off the ground. Not content with simply proving the shuttle airworthy, two years later John flew Columbia a second time, his sixth and final spaceflight. It was a first, of course, the first flight of Spacelab, and a resounding success, as had been all his previous flights. Long after his compatriots had been put out to pasture, or discovered other green fields, John hung in there in Houston, acting as a senior technical advisor. It made sense; it was where he belonged, helping to plan and design, fretting about the future, trying to make spaceflight safer for those who would follow in his illustrious footsteps. Maybe he was even unique. Michael Collins Gemini X, Pilot Apollo 11, Command Module Pilot PPrroolloogguuee ““GGoo”” oorr ““NNoo--GGoo”” Undocking the lunar module from the command and service module is a moment that no Apollo astronaut can ever forget, whether he’s leaving in the LM or staying behind in the CSM. You have every confidence that, following a successful Moon landing and lunar orbit rendezvous, you’ll be seeing your mate again—in our case T. K. “Ken” Mattingly, our command module pilot on Apollo 16—but so many things can happen on the way down, and back up, that you can’t be sure. After undocking you also get a first good look at your spacecraft in flight. For T.K. looking out at the LM and for Charlie and me looking back at the CM, it made us even more respectful of the genius and meticulousness that went into the design and operation of these extraordinary flying machines. It was Thursday, the twentieth of April, 1972. We had lifted off from Cape Canaveral four days earlier. Our goal was to make America’s fifth manned lunar landing. Our mission: the first exploration of the Moon’s central highlands. “Okay, Ken,” I said from the left side of Orion, our lunar module. “Go ahead and undock whenever you want to, and then go ahead and separate.” From the controls of Casper, the Apollo 16 command module, Mattingly answered: “Okay, coming up. Give you a countdown for the release: five, four, three, two, one, release.” “Hey,” exclaimed Charlie Duke, to my right inside Orion. Mattingly: We didn’t go very far. [Laughter] Okay. We’ll let it sit here for a second. Okay, we’re going to back off more now Young: Very good. Duke: Is he going? Young: Yeah. Mattingly: Right on time to the second. This thing is a dream. One thing we wanted was a good close-up visual inspection of the lunar module by T.K., so he could see whether the LM’s entire three-legged landing gear had extended properly and could confirm that the damage to the surface of the LM, which we suspected had happened when we saw particles streaming off its exterior back during lunar orbit insertion, wasn’t too bad. Mattingly: I see you rolling, or yawing, as you guys do it. I see one, two, ought to see three legs. Haven’t seen them all yet. Duke: Okay, you can close. Okay. How’s your window looking, John? Young: Looks great. Mattingly: I can see three legs loud and clear. And looks like that one panel up there that we were watching shred is the only one that I see that is shredded. The rest of it’s all intact. Duke: Okay, all your [docking] booms are in. Mattingly: I see full view. You’ve got three legs down. What more can you ask for? Young: Okay, Charlie. Helmet and gloves off. Boy, Ken, you look great! Duke: You really got a pretty spacecraft! Mattingly: Yours is a damn pretty one, too. The entire separation had taken place while we were on the far side of the Moon and out of communication with Earth. But less than a minute after Charlie and I took our helmets and gloves off, Orion and Casper came around from the back side, separately this time, and Mission Control in Houston happily received our signals. Because the LM was having problems with its S-band antenna, T.K. had to make sure that the CSM’s S-band was pointed toward Earth; other than that, we were in great shape. I couldn’t yet see our landing site down in the Descartes Highlands, but we had seen it well on a previous orbit. From that high-altitude view, the site sure looked landable. But a lot can happen “on the way to the Forum” or … down to a Moon landing. Flying solo in the command module, T.K. prepared to fire up his Service Propulsion System (SPS) engine to “circularize” Casper’s orbit. In order to get the LM to a low enough altitude above the Moon to start its powered descent to the surface, our combined spacecraft before separation had burned into an orbit that was elliptical, with a high point of 69 miles and a low point of 9 miles. Now to get back into the parking orbit in which T.K. would await our return—and from where, if need be, he could try to come to our rescue in the event of an aborted landing—T.K. alone in the CM had to execute a burn that would adjust his orbit to circular at the 69-mile altitude. But first he had to test out the control system for the service module’s steerable rocket engine. Everything seemed to be going fine. Routing electrical power to the SPS engine, T.K. activated the GSM’s gyros and began to turn a set of little thumb-wheels that controlled the gimbal motors for the SPS engine nozzle. To his surprise and chagrin, when he turned the thumbwheel that controlled yaw, Casper began to shake. That was not good. When he pulled his hand back off the thumbwheel, the shaking stopped, but it picked right up when he tried it again, even after changing some switch settings. “It’s not gonna work,” T.K. reported. He tried one more time to change some switch settings, to no avail. Nothing that he did—and kept doing—was any different from what he had done a hundred times in the Apollo spacecraft simulator. But this time something wasn’t right. T.K. couldn’t be sure what it was, but he knew it meant trouble for the landing. “I be a sorry bird,” he told his crewmates. Mission rules for the Moon landing clearly stipulated that all the systems T.K. needed