I was recently transported back in time. Not with Mr. Peabody’s “Way-Back” machine –perhaps you’ll remember Rocky and Bullwinkle’s adventurous canine friend and his protégée, Sherman – but just in my mind. The era to which I escaped was the early 1960s, when the original seven U.S. astronauts were beginning to be boosted into space (the final frontier) by the most powerful rockets ever devised by mankind.

This blast from the past was precipitated by the announcement from NASA that nine new astronauts have been selected to ride on the next-generation SpaceX and Boeing-designed capsules, hopefully by the end of this year. Since 2011, when the last American space shuttle flew, our space travelers have been hitching a ride to the space station aboard Russian capsules. Each seat can cost up to $82 million. Seems like a lot to me, but I think meal service is included. Legroom might be limited, though. I’m guessing there’s about as much maneuverability as you get with Premium Economy class on Delta.

The new capsules have cool names. There’s the SpaceX Dragon and the Boeing Starliner. Five of the nine newbies will ride on the first mission, and the other four on the second. This is not something SpaceX and Boeing are doing out of the kindness of their corporate hearts. (Now there’s an oxymoron.) No, it seems NASA (or We the People) has been paying billions to these companies to develop the crew capsules.

I got excited when I read the news report. And that was the trigger for my trip down memory lane. Space travel was brand new when Jack Kennedy was in the White House. Nobody knew what to expect – what was out there, how weightlessness would affect the astronauts, whether they could survive the blast-off and, more importantly, the re-entry into Earth’s atmosphere. The excitement was palpable when any of the seven took their Mercury and Gemini program rides. (Well, six, actually. Shepard, Grissom, Glenn, Schirra, Cooper, and Carpenter all got early turns. Deke Slayton didn’t get to go until later.)

The whole nation came to a standstill whenever Cape Canaveral started its countdown to lift-off. Schools stopped classes and piped in the live commentary over the loudspeakers. Teachers were every bit as enthralled as the kids. Multiplication tables and proper sentence structure took a backseat to orbiting the planet and splashing down in the ocean.

In May 1961, twenty days after Alan Shepard had his suborbital flight, JFK made the audacious announcement to a Joint Session of Congress that America would send a man to the Moon before the end of the decade. As the 1960s played out, when Civil Rights, assassinations, and the Vietnam War divided the nation, the space program was the great uniting force. Up until Neil Armstrong took “one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind” on the lunar surface on July 20th, 1969, every space launch was an event and definitely “must see” TV. Sometimes, when the capsules were returning, the cameras simply panned the sky for what seemed like hours. It didn’t matter. Walter Cronkite kept us well-informed as to what was going on. It was a thrilling time to be a witness to history.

And then it all stopped. Oh, there were more spaceflights, more trips to the Moon, and many promises of what was to come. Trips to Mars, colonies on the lunar surface, all manner of commercial endeavors were mentioned. I truly thought that by the time the new century rolled around, space travel would be commonplace and the proletariat would have the opportunity to be astronauts.

But the excitement didn’t last. The launch sites in Florida rusted. The Space Shuttle disasters occurred. And the U.S. space program couldn’t get an extra nickel out of Congress to continue its quest to conquer the heavens.

Now, though, hope springs eternal once again. At the very least, reports said there was a packed auditorium when the new astronauts were introduced. Their names probably won’t be known in every household as the original ones were (the most popular Halloween costumes for years were space suits and helmets with Wally or Alan or John or Gus written on them), but the next space travelers could usher in a brand new era of enthusiasm for a fresh generation of explorers and intergalactic buccaneers.

If things go well, I might even get my chance to take a ride someday (without breaking the bank). It doesn’t have to be a long one. Maybe six orbits. I’m easy. And I don’t mind going regular Coach. Just put me on one.

 

©MMXIII. William J. Lewis, III  Freelance Writer