Starman_ The Truth Behind the Legend of Yuri Gagarin - Jamie Doran [40]
I kept a close eye on Gagarin, and he did well today. Calmness, self-confidence and knowledgeability were his main characteristics. I’ve not noticed a single inappropriate detail in his behaviour.3
In fact, Kamanin seemed to be having a hard time deciding which man should be the first to fly. Only the day before he had been leaning towards Titov:
He does his exercises and training more accurately and doesn’t waste his time on idle chatter. As to Gagarin, he voices doubts about the importance of the automatic spare parachute release . . . I had already suggested in one of my earlier talks that the cosmonauts make a training ejection from an aircraft, but Gagarin appeared reluctant to do this.
Kamanin seemed to accuse each of the two prime cosmonauts of similar failings with regard to the parachute escape training. Ultimately his final recommendation may have been influenced by a factor beyond his control: the political requirement to favour a farmboy over a teacher’s son. However, his diaries suggest a more subtle reason for his ultimate recommendation:
Titov is of a stronger character. The only thing that keeps me away from deciding in his favour is the necessity to keep a stronger cosmonaut for a 24-hour flight . . . It’s hard to decide which of them should be sent to die, and it’s equally hard to decide which of these two decent men should be made famous worldwide.
Kamanin obviously believed that Gagarin was capable of flying the single-orbit mission that had now been decided upon for the first manned space flight. He kept Titov in reserve for a more demanding longer flight in the near future. In the circumstances, Titov could not possibly have been expected to see this reasoning as a compliment on his superior discipline.
Some while before he made his fatal mistake with the R-16, Marshal Nedelin constructed a wooden summerhouse at Baikonur as a pleasant change of scene from the usual drab barracks and drearily functional blockhouses. It had an open framework, more like a gazebo than a proper building; a wooden floor; archways, trellises and columns prettily decorated in blue and white. A cool stream trickled nearby. In the cold of winter it was impossible to make sensible use of the building. The airless summer was also impractical, but in April, when the steppe was in blossom for a few weeks and the air was sweet with the scent of wormwood . . . There were times when the summerhouse was perfect for a party.
Today, white-haired 63-year-old Gherman Titov bemoans the old summerhouse’s sorry state. ‘It’s windy here now. There were some elm trees, but they cut them down. They should have been replaced, but no one cares. New Russians aren’t interested. For them, flying into space is just a business. At least under Nikita Khrushchev cosmonautics was developing. Under the modern Democrats everything just falls down. What’s all this history for? Silly fools, they don’t understand that when they die, memories of them will also be destroyed. There won’t be a single bump left. Not even a grave.’
History is important to Titov, because it was in this summerhouse on April 9, 1961, just three days before the first manned Vostok flight was scheduled, that they celebrated his removal from greatness with vodka, fresh oranges, apples and other splendid foods laid out on a long table. Vladimir Suvorov, the official cameraman, caught the scene on colour film.
The previous day, Suvorov’s camera had recorded a more formal event in another part of Baikonur, a special State Committee headed by Korolev, Keldysh and Kamanin, during which the First Cosmonaut was selected. The six prime candidates were standing before them. At the pivotal moment a proud Yuri Gagarin stepped forward to receive his historic commission. In fact, the whole thing was staged. The Committee had already met the previous day, in secret session, with none of the cosmonauts