_Live From Cape Canaveral_ - Jay Barbree [90]
Now Joe is definitely a great newsperson and a great boss. He’s also definitely a gentleman. But he’s just a little bit stupid. “I’ll come over and get you out,” he said, and proceeded to drive to the rescue of his crew. Joe had forgotten one minor detail: He wasn’t permitted to leave the press mound either. He introduced himself to the gendarmes, and they in turn introduced him to their jail.
Sitting behind bars, a light glowed. Should I call someone who would know what to do? Yep Joe, I would say that would be a good idea. We sent official NASA escorts to haul the red-faced culprits back to the permitted area about the time John Chancellor arrived.
Chancellor, anchor of NBC Nightly News, would host our launch coverage. Naturally we were all concerned about John’s well-being and comfort. Not that he demanded it; such a gentleman never would. But Chancellor deserved it. So we moved him into Dixon Gannett’s RV. It was a happy union. The largest stockholder in the Gannett newspaper chain was fully stocked with whatever he wanted, and when it came to beer, Dixon wanted Coors. Coors in those days could not be bought east of the Mississippi River because of its brewer’s discipline of constantly refrigerating his Rocky Mountain brew. Coors just happened to be John Chancellor’s favorite, and he found instant happiness in Gannett’s home on wheels. Only work forced him to leave.
Dixon Gannett and John Chancellor. Who has the Coors? (Gannett Collection).
Veteran moonwalker and NASA’s most experienced astronaut, John Young, had been assigned the command of Columbia’s maiden flight—the same John Young who’d carried a corned beef sandwich on board the first Gemini with Gus Grissom. The same John Young who would later fly twice to the moon, nearly wrecking his moon buggy in a lunar rock field. And, keeping with “the good old boy” spirit, NASA managers told the son of an east Texas roughneck to join Young for the Space Shuttle’s first launch. The rookie’s name was Robert “Crip” Crippen, and true to his east Texas roots, he drove a pickup truck with about a square foot of metal that hadn’t been dented.
NASA officials patted themselves on their decision-making backs. They knew in Crippen they had picked an outstanding test pilot, and they also knew they had selected an outstanding “Space Shuttle shakedown crew.” But on April 12, 1981, no one really thought the first Space Shuttle would lift off on only its second countdown. The machine was too complicated. Too testy, too damn many parts…over a million of them that had to work before the computers would cut the space plane loose.
The first countdown had been scrubbed two days earlier by a computer glitch. No harm; it had been expected. Launch-team members and astronauts alike were sure it was only the first of many. They even bought tickets for a cash-up-front pool on how many countdowns it would take to get the sophisticated, complicated tangle of high-tech mess into orbit.
Nevertheless, John Young and Robert Crippen sat fat and happy atop their 500,000 gallons of high explosives. They waited for the rich combustible liquid to ignite in the chambers of Columbia’s three main rocket engines. That should be a kick in the pants within itself, but the firing of the twin solid booster rockets should be something else. Talk about a kick! The power of the Saturn V moon rocket would be booting them into orbit, and I told our NBC audience, “Astronauts Young and Crippen