Riding Rockets

Like pennant flags hanging in a stadium, large renditions of patches of the missions controlled from the facility decorated the walls. The front of the room was dominated by a floor-to-ceiling rear projection screen. This was where the sinusoidal orbit traces, spacecraft location, and other engineering data would be projected during an actual mission. From the floor in front of this screen to the back of the room were consecutive rows of computer consoles. Each row was terraced to be slightly higher than the one in front. On top of these consoles were signs with acronyms that labeled the function of the particular station. FDO referred to the Flight Dynamics Officer’s station, where a handful of men and women would monitor the trajectory of a launching and reentering spacecraft. INCO was the label for the Instrumentation and Communication Officer. PROP referred to the Propulsion systems controller. There were other labels: EVA, PAYLOADS, SURGEON, PAO, DPS, and more.

Our veteran astronaut escort had us take seats at the consoles and instructed us on how to wear the internal earpiece and microphone that were part of the MCC intercom system. He then began to explain the organization and function of each of the MCC stations. Every shuttle system, from the electrical system to the hydraulic system, from the environmental control system to the robot arm, had a controller who was an expert on that system and monitored its performance via the shuttle’s data stream. These MCC controllers were supported by their respective “back rooms,” which were filled with more specialists who had telephone access to the system contractors. In an emergency each controller had a wealth of brainpower to tap into.

Each MCC controller reported to the flight director, who occupied a console in the back of the room. “Flight” had overall responsibility for the conduct of the mission. They were the ones who faced the possibility of time-critical decisions carrying life-or-

death consequences for the astronauts. It had been Flight Director Gene Kranz who had issued the famous edict “Failure is not an option,” and had led his team in saving the lives of theApollo 13 crew. In my dozen years as an astronaut I would never meet a flight director I didn’t think was cut from the same mold as Kranz. There are no superlatives too great to describe the MCC teams.

The escort shifted our focus to the CAPCOM position. This was the only MCC position that astronauts filled. CAPCOM was the “Capsule Communicator,” the termcapsule a carryover from the days in which astronauts flew in capsules. Early in the space program it was correctly determined that only one person should be in voice contact with flying astronauts. To have each of the MCC controllers talking to a crew would be chaos. The logical person to be the astronaut “communicator” was another astronaut. It had been this way since Alan Shepard’s first flight when Deke Slayton had served as his CAPCOM. CAPCOMs, our leader explained, would work hand in glove with the flight director to make sure mission crews got the exact information they needed, nothing more and nothing less. As part of our training, we would all shadow a CAPCOM before filling that position ourselves.

The TV cameras mounted on the MCC walls were next brought to our attention. During missions these were always aimed at the CAPCOM and flight director positions. An indiscrete nose pick or crotch scratch might end up as material for one of the late-night comedy shows.

After answering some questions, our escort asked us to remain on the MCC intercom. He then called for a technician to “roll the audio.” What we heard were the voices of Gus Grissom, Ed White, and Roger Chaffee. The tape was from January 27, 1967. The three astronauts were in their Apollo capsule going through a dry countdown with Launch Control. For a minute the audio was mundane, just the acronym-laden techno-talk that is part of any spacecraft checkout. Then one of the voices urgently cried, “There’s a fire! Get us out of here!” NASA had designed the Apollo capsules to fly with pure oxygen atmospheres. Somewhere in Grissom’s capsule a spark had set it ablaze. In seconds the cockpit was transformed into a furnace. TheApollo I crew was being burned to death. “We’re burning up! Get us out of here!” Screams were cut off as the fire destroyed the communication system.