The Astronaut Wives Club Part 24

He told her that all three of the astronauts and their wives were "fakes and fools for allowing ourselves to be convinced by some strange concept of duty to be sent through all of these countries for the sake of propaganda, nothing more, nothing less." It was an interplanetary dog and pony show.

He called Joan a fake, too. They got drunker and drunker until they eventually fell asleep.

Two days later in London, the astronauts presented a genuine Moon rock to Queen Elizabeth. Rome was next. At the Vatican, the wives wore black lace mantillas for a private audience with the pope. The couples sat on thrones under a Renaissance ceiling painted with angels and clouds. After receiving his blessings, Buzz wanted to head immediately back to the hotel. That night was the big party at Gina Lollobrigida's.

Before they left, much to her chagrin, Joan got hit with a bad case of stomach flu. She spent her time in the bathroom while Buzz went to Gina's. Buzz didn't waltz in until dawn. He had spent the night as part of the international jet set. He may have felt he'd been in a scene right out of Fellini's La Dolce Vita. But it was clear that he was now in the doghouse.

16

Everywoman

Practically everyone Jane Conrad had ever known was at the Houston socialite's party at the Eau Gallie Yacht Club near Cape Kennedy on the eve of Pete's Apollo 12 Moon launch. It was an elegant evening, but Jane couldn't shake the feeling that it was all a dream. Familiar faces from all the way back to St. Mary's Hall, the boarding school she'd attended in San Antonio before Bryn Mawr, mixed with those she'd previously seen only in movies and on television: Jimmy Stewart and African American country singer Charley Pride, whose music Pete was taking with him to listen to on the way to the Moon. Pete's old s.p.a.ce twin, Gordo Cooper, was chatting up some French starlet, Yvette Mimieux, and the Astronaut Office's giant stuffed ape mascot wore a tux for photo ops. It all seemed surreal to Jane.

Jane's hair was cut into a short geometric Vidal Sa.s.soon bob, and she wore a candy-colored jersey minidress with kaleidoscopic swirls of deep purple, green, and bright sky blue that had been specially designed for her by Emilio Pucci. It had been a surprise personal gift from "The Marquis," with one stipulation. She had to wear it during the Apollo 12 launch festivities for good luck (and free advertising).

At one point Jane was called to the phone. She clacked across the dance floor in strappy black heels. "Dearie," as she called Pete, was quarantined over in the astronaut quarters at the Cape. "I love you," said Jane. Pete found it difficult even to say "I love you" back. All he ever said when Jane told him how much she loved him was a swift "Love you more." Whispering her good-byes, without ever saying the actual word "good-bye," as per the Astrowife tradition, Jane handed the receiver to her four ash-blond boys. They took turns talking to their dad.

In the weeks prior to his flight, Pete had practically disappeared from Jane's life, floating farther and farther away from her as if he were already in s.p.a.ce. He'd done the same before Gemini 7, but then he'd snapped back upon his return to Earth. She wasn't quite as delicate with him this time around. One weekend when he was home, he sat in the living room on the sofa, upholstered in bird print, flipping through his latest issue of Aviation Week.

"When you come back next time," interrupted Jane, "why don't you take a room at the Kings Inn, so I won't be tempted to bother you? I bet you don't even know you are home, do you?"

She knew he was busy training, but the old Astrowife routine of getting up at five in the morning to cook him steak and eggs seemed so dated. Jane felt a change coming over her, too, as Pete was getting closer to going into s.p.a.ce. Her own "personal countdown" was how she phrased it to friends.

After liftoff on November 19, 1969, Jane returned to Houston to ride out the ten-day mission. As one reporter noted, there were "no tears, no handwringing, no high drama" for Apollo 12 wives Jane, Sue Bean, and Fourteen wife Barbara Gordon. Barbara was affectionately known in the neighborhood as "the zookeeper" for wrangling her six rambunctious kids as well as a menagerie of pets, including a baby boa constrictor. If a neighbor was about to raise their shovel and murder a big ole poisonous viper, they'd better think twice because it might be "one of the Gordons' children's pets."

Apollo 11 had gotten all the festive rejoicing because it was the first Moon landing. Since Apollo 12 was a repeat, with the exception of landing on the so-called "Snowman" crater in the Ocean of Storms rather than the Sea of Tranquility, everyone expected a calmer reception. What had been accomplished once could be accomplished again. The press dubbed playboy Pete, Alan "Beano," and d.i.c.k Gordon (known among the astronauts as "the Animal") "the go-go crew," because unlike taciturn Neil, Buzz, and Mike, this crew was intent on having a ball. The three had gotten matching gold Corvettes from Jim Rathmann, and drove them around the Cape wearing gold aviators and their powder-blue NASA flight suits.

For the duration of Apollo 12, Togethersville turned into a giant community slumber party. At Sue Bean's home, guests were wrapped in blankets on the floor in front of the TV, munching on cookies and swilling c.o.kes at all hours. Sue's daughter Amy and Barbara Cernan's daughter Teresa Dawn ("Tracy," or "Punk," to her dad) sat with their mothers, two generations of best friends. Gene had come over with Barbara, but the lone man was soon sent home to sleep solo for a few nights.

After landing on the Moon, Pete cried out "Whoopee! Man, that may have been a small one for Neil, but it's a long one for me." He and Beano went through their checklist flipbooks attached to the wrists of their white s.p.a.ce suits. Their backups had included a surprise in their books: Playboy centerfolds. Miss September spread across Pete's lunar checklist with the caption "Seen any interesting hills & valleys?" The line above Miss December's voluptuous body was "Don't forget-describe the protuberances."

Setting their special Westinghouse Lunar Color Television Camera on its tripod (another technological improvement made since the primitive black-and-white camera used on Apollo 11 only months ago), Beano accidentally pointed it directly into the sun, burning out the lens. The TV networks were beside themselves-they had counted on covering the entire moonwalk-until someone had the bright idea of building a mock-up of the Moon in the studio. Actor stand-ins walked around in moon suits, synched to the live transmission of the real astronauts' voices.

"Dum de dum-dum-dum," hummed Pete.

Jane hummed along with her Moon man. Her superst.i.tious live-in maid refused to believe that Pete was on the Moon. "Oh no, Mrs. Conrad, you pullin' my leg."

It was the wee hours of the morning when Jane's Moon landing party finally petered out. Wandering out to the backyard and staring up at the sky, she remembered how she used to look for the Man in the Moon when she was a girl.

"Now there is a man on the Moon, and it's my husband!" thought Jane. It was amazing. There was a numinous reality in it that far transcended life in Togethersville, and for a moment, she felt part of it. She wondered if this was what it was like to be on LSD.

For their press conference, Jane Conrad, Sue Bean, and Barbara Gordon wore matching white knit pantsuits and tied patriotic Ed White Memorial Fund silk scarves, autographed by all of the astronauts, around their waists as belts. They emerged from Jane's house wearing their best Astrowife smiles, perfected now over many years, and raised high above their heads cardboard signs they'd decorated with their kids' red and blue magic markers. Jane held up HAPPY, Sue held up PROUD, and the third wife, Barbara Gordon, was THRILLED.

The Moon mission was on a roll. Jim Lovell was set to land on the Moon next on Apollo 13. This time, Marilyn got her trip in beforehand. They went to Florence, Siena, and Pisa.

On April 11, 1970, as Jim lifted off on Apollo 13, Marilyn stood in the VIP bleachers at Cape Kennedy, overlooking the eager crowd. She watched until the Saturn rocket carrying Jim, Jack Swigert-"a swinging bachelor with a girl in every airport," Life reported-and Fred Haise rose out of sight. Down on Earth, Fred's wife, Mary, was seven months pregnant.

Two days later, an oxygen tank exploded on the s.p.a.cecraft. The lunar landing was aborted, but that was the least of NASA's concerns. With the damage caused by the explosion, Mission Control was unsure if Apollo 13 would make it home. Jane Conrad arrived at Lovells' Levels on the back of Pete's new red Honda motorcycle and was there with Marilyn when she heard the news that Jim was stranded a quarter of a million miles from Earth in a crippled s.p.a.cecraft. The three crewmembers were running out of usable oxygen and had to squeeze into the two-man lunar lander, which had now become a lifeboat.

Marilyn's house was filled with people for days. Moon mementos of Apollo 8, which hung on the family room walls, created an ominous stage set. Father Raish was expected to come over to offer communion to Marilyn and her friends, including Jane and Jo Schirra.

Marilyn's twelve-year-old, Susan, became hysterical when she saw the priest at the door. Marilyn found her lying facedown upstairs in her bedroom. She told her daughter that just because the priest was there, they weren't preparing for the end. Susan didn't seem persuaded, so Marilyn took her downstairs and tiptoed out the back door. She led her down their sloping backyard to the ca.n.a.l on Taylor Lake, where they sat in the shade of a favorite tree.

"Now, tell me exactly what you're worried about," said Marilyn.

"What do you mean?" Susan asked, sniffling. "I'm worried Dad's not going to come home."

"That?" She smiled at Susan. "That's what's bothering you?" Marilyn shook her head. "Don't you know your father's too mean to die?"

Susan looked astonished. "Dad's not mean."

"No, of course Dad's not. But Dad's stubborn, right? And he's the best astronaut I know."

Susan nodded.

"Now, do you really think the best astronaut either one of us knows is going to forget something as simple as how to turn his s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p around and fly it home?"

She was right. Jim and his crewmates made it home. Two weeks later, when Jim flew out for routine NASA business, Marilyn, who had held it together through the entire s.p.a.ce debacle, completely fell apart. She just knew that she would never see him again. Jim came home in one piece, of course, but now whenever he headed off in his car to do some mundane errand, Marilyn was gripped by fear that she'd never see him again. Finally, she decided she had to see a psychiatrist, no matter the taboo. Her fears were unbearable.

Apollo 14 took off on January 31, 1971, commanded by Alan Shepard. Louise Shepard remained as composed as ever. The day before, Alan had told her not to expect his 5 p.m. call. "I'm going to be leaving town," he said. Louise, the wives' own "Jackie O," had been telling the papers, "I'm constantly aware of the Moon these days. It takes on a whole new look when you know your husband is going up there for a visit."

But everyone wondered what was going on in her new white-columned mansion in River Oaks, referred to as a "sw.a.n.kienda" in Maxine Mesinger's Big City Beat gossip column about Houston's elite in the Chronicle.

Alan had made some shrewd business maneuvers, including becoming the co-owner of a local bank. He was still keeping up his reputation as a skirt chaser; like the wives, the Shepards' rich new Houston friends wondered if he and Louise had some sort of "arrangement."

Alan finally had surgery for his Meniere's syndrome, defying Louise's Christian Science beliefs. Just like that, he recovered his balance, and after almost a decade on the bench running the Astronaut Office, he was eligible to fly again.

"It's been a long way, but we're here," forty-seven-year-old Alan, the oldest American astronaut, said as he took his first step on the Moon. Surveying the Fra Mauro Highlands landing site, he cried at the view of Earth. "Before I went to the Moon, I was a rotten s...o...b..," he would say afterward. "Now I'm just an s...o...b.."

He'd stowed away the head of a Wilson six-iron on his craft and attached it to a lunar sample-scoop shovel. Holding the makes.h.i.+ft golf club in his thick s.p.a.cesuit gloves, he swung before the live television camera. The ball didn't go far, but Alan was no quitter. He whacked a second one, which soared, as he put it, for "miles and miles and miles."

"Astronaut Does ESP Experiment on Moon Flight" read the headline after Apollo 14 landed. A reporter had caught wind that on the way back from the Moon, Alan's rookie crewmate, Ed Mitch.e.l.l, had tried to telepathically transmit his thoughts to his friends back on Earth. Ed's tomfoolery enraged Alan and NASA, not to mention Ed's wife, Louise, who'd been waiting in vain for her husband to come down to earth since long before he left it. She knew Ed wasn't doing himself any good with his ESP talk. He'd tell her how he wanted to explore the field of parapsychology. Ed had been getting into hypnosis, also Eastern religions, as had lots of young men, including the Beatles with their very own "giggling guru," Maharis.h.i.+ Mahesh Yogi.

Now Ed was telling her that he'd had a "Savikalpa samadhi" experience on his way home. His ego momentarily dissolved and he grokked the immense fire spirit governing the universe. It was enough to make Louise throw up her hands. Ed later accused her of wanting to be married to a shoe salesman. Louise and Ed divorced shortly thereafter.

Now that it was the seventies, the spirit of the sixties was finally seeping through the cracks of Togethersville. The ladies began smoking their Virginia Slims out in the open, even in front of reporters. The Bormans were long gone, packed up and moved out of town after Frank went to the Moon on Apollo 8.

And since NASA had gotten "soft," there was no one left in Togethersville to grab the "token hippie" in the Astronaut Office, as Pete Conrad called Rusty Schweickart, throw him into the bas.e.m.e.nt, and cut off his long red hair and scruffy beard. In fact, it wasn't that long; it kind of curled cutely around his ears, but it was long compared to a crew cut. His wife, Clare, stumped door-to-door for liberal causes. The neighborhood kids loved her and gathered at her house, where she would entertain by playing her ukulele and singing folk songs. It was her version of Hootenanny.

Clare was a free spirit. She had five kids, including twin boys, Rusty Jr. and Randy (whom she used to get confused before she started dressing Rusty in red), and was taking graduate school courses at the University of HoustonClear Lake on the African independence movements. She and Rusty partic.i.p.ated in a couples' book club in the neighborhood, which discussed the latest consciousness-raising literature, like a book t.i.tled s.e.xual Suicide, but she didn't particularly love Rusty's scruffy look either-his long sideburns were awful-looking, and what's more, he knew how she hated them. She knew that he wasn't growing out his hair for her and it upset her to think that he might be growing it out for somebody else. Clare tried to keep an open mind as Rusty encouraged her to. He was partial to picking up any New Age craze and once told her, "Jealousy is an outmoded emotion." In fact, Clare was inclined to give him a taste of his own medicine. But was she really going to find a partner at her usual spots? The Rendezvous, a family restaurant near NASA, or Weingarten's, the Na.s.sau Bay supermarket? As Mother Marge once said, deploring the dearth of available men for her widowed girls, "There just aren't any good bachelors here or in Houston."

The signs didn't show a very bright future for Rusty at NASA, ever since his s.p.a.ce sickness on Apollo 9 when Mission Control almost had to cancel his s.p.a.ce walk (because if he threw up into his helmet he could've choked out there and died). Now that his career was basically shot because of his weak stomach, Rusty seemed to be doing everything in his power to expand his horizons.