John H. Glenn, Astronaut

By Lt.-Col. Philip N. Pierce

AT 9:47 on the morning of February 20, 1962, American life came to a breathless halt as millions paused to listen and watch while a mighty rocket hurled a man-carrying capsule into orbit around the earth.

The successful flight and safe return of Marine Astronaut Lt.-Col. John Herschel Glenn, Jr., have given his name a luster that few other American names have ever achieved.

But John Glenn is more than a name. He is a dedicated maker of history who modestly believes that his God-given talents, and his ability and opportunity to use them, are his destiny—indeed his duty to his country and the world.

Here, written by men who know him, is the biography of that remarkable man and his historic flight.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Papamoa Press
• Release date: Dec 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781789124293

Lt.-Col. Philip N. Pierce

LT.-COL. PHILIP N. PIERCE, U.S.M.C. was a U.S. Marine Corps writer and personal friend of Astronaut John H. Glenn. Born in Gardiner, Maine on September 20, 1917, he enlisted in the Marine Corps as a private in 1942. Spending two years with various combat units in the Pacific Theater during WWII, he was promoted to captain in 1944. Following WWII, he served at various posts in the States before returning to combat duty with the advent of the Korean War. He was promoted to major in 1951, and lieutenant-colonel in 1955. A qualified Russian interpreter, he served with Naval Intelligence and was a graduate of Strategic Intelligence School. After the Korean War, from 1951-1958, he served at many posts and stations throughout the States, the Pacific and Asia. From 1958 until his retirement, he was Director of Media at Marine Corps Headquarters in Washington, D.C. His articles and feature stories were published in national magazines and newspapers, including Bluebook, Argosy, Navy, Marine Corps Gazette, Leatherneck, and the Encyclopaedia Britannica. He was also the author of The Compact History of the U.S. Marine Corps (1960). He died in New Hampshire on February 4, 1985, aged 67. KARL SCHUON was a Corporal in the U.S. Marine Corps during World War II. Born on November 26, 1913 in Allentown, Pennsylvania, Schuon joined the Marines shortly before the end of World War II and became an artist on the staff of The Marine Corps Gazette. After war end, he was named Managing Editor of Leatherneck Magazine, which began life as a newspaper published by off-duty Marines at Marine Corps Base Quantico in 1917. After 30 years with Leatherneck, he retired as Editor-in-Chief in 1977 and began operating a business manufacturing specialized inks used by the Navy. Schuon was the author of ten books and wrote many short stories and several plays. He died in Colonial Beach, Virginia on November 16, 1984, aged 70.

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Text originally published in 1962 under the same title.

© Papamoa Press 2018, all rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means, electrical, mechanical or otherwise without the written permission of the copyright holder.

Publisher’s Note

Although in most cases we have retained the Author’s original spelling and grammar to authentically reproduce the work of the Author and the original intent of such material, some additional notes and clarifications have been added for the modern reader’s benefit.

We have also made every effort to include all maps and illustrations of the original edition the limitations of formatting do not allow of including larger maps, we will upload as many of these maps as possible.

JOHN H. GLENN

ASTRONAUT

BY

LT. COL. PHILIP N. PIERCE, USMC

AND KARL SCHUON

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Contents

TABLE OF CONTENTS 3

DEDICATION 4

ONE—Lift-Off! 5

TWO—The Boy Called Bud 8

THREE—The Islands, Hell Jelly; and the Yalu 15

FOUR—Test Pilot 27

FIVE—Bullet 34

SIX—Only Seven Would Serve 40

SEVEN—Colonel Pierce Recalls... 46

EIGHT—Training for Space 49

NINE—The Atlas and Friendship 7 57

TEN—The Long Wait 81

ELEVEN—The Big Day 85

TWELVE—Hero’s Return 102

APPENDIX A—Transcript of Lt. Col. John H. Glenn’s Message to the Joint Meeting of Congress, February 26, 1962 114

APPENDIX B—Chronology of Mercury Test Launchings 118

APPENDIX C—Glossary of Space Terms 120

REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER 126

DEDICATION

To

JOHN H. GLENN, JR.

and to those who helped, waited

...and prayed

ONE—Lift-Off!

IT WAS Tuesday, the twentieth day of February, 1962.

The sweep-second hand of the huge clock in the Missile Control Center seemed to pause at 9:46 A.M.

And the world stood still.

This is Mercury Control. T minus one minute and counting. All systems are reported in ‘go’ condition. John Glenn is ready....

A tense hush fell over the crowded beaches surrounding the launching site at Cape Canaveral, Florida.

Children stopped their play.

Thousands of faces turned toward the stark orange skeletons of the missile gantries, towering above the palmettos a few miles away.

The stillness was broken only by the plaintive cry of sea gulls, wheeling in soaring arcs against the infinity of limitless blue sky.

In a large white mansion at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, in Washington, D.C., a man with a familiar shock of brown hair falling across his forehead stood in a sun-filled room. Arms folded across his chest, he stared intently at a television screen.

Scattered over the top of the massive desk behind him lay papers of state, bills of legislation, the documents of a great nation—forgotten for the moment.

"T minus fifty seconds..."

Across the city, beneath the great dome of the Capitol, the halls of Congress stood empty.

Eight thousand miles to the west, in a simple dwelling beside the Nagara River, Koichiro Tanaka sat cross-legged on the straw tatami of his living-room floor. He, too, was waiting. Head cocked to one side, he strained to catch every word of staccato Japanese pouring from the ancient radio beside him.

It was almost midnight—a late hour for a rice fanner with a long day’s work in the paddies ahead of him.

"T minus forty seconds..."

In Grand Rapids, Michigan, the Honorable John H. Vanden, presiding over a session of Circuit Court, banged his gavel. Court will recess for fifteen minutes.

Judge, jury, and defendant leaned forward in their chairs, eyes fixed on the evidence of the case before the court—a stolen TV set.

"Thirty seconds...twenty-nine...twenty-eight..."

Now a rising note of urgency began to creep into the deliberate voice that tolled the ticking seconds.

In New York’s Grand Central Station the bustling activity of the world’s busiest railroad terminal slowed. Dwindled to a trickle. Stopped. The booming speakers that normally filled the station with loud announcements of train arrivals and departures were strangely silent.

Under the lofty, vaulted ceiling of Grand Central, a solid mass of humanity stood transfixed—faces raised toward the giant television screen above the long rows of ticket windows.

"Twenty-five seconds..."

In northwest Rome, in a palace of a thousand rooms, a man born Angelo Giuseppe Roncalli knelt in prayer. John XXIII, Supreme Pontiff of the Roman Catholic Church, solemnly invoked the blessing of heaven on a red-haired American Protestant.

Seated in the attractive living room of her home in Arlington, Virginia, a dark-eyed housewife watched—and waited.

She had waited before.

Many times.

Now the fulfillment of the long months of work, the bright dreams of tomorrow—and the waiting, were only seconds away.

This time, it had to be!

"Twenty-four...twenty-three...twenty-two..."

Staring at the image of the great silver rocket on the television screen, she saw only the face of the man she knew so well—waiting in the tiny capsule high above the earth. The quick, easy smile was gone. Now it was an intent, serious, freckled face she saw beneath the hinged visor of the gleaming space helmet.

"Please, dear God, let this be the time—for John’s sake"

Now, in the charged atmosphere of the Control Center, barking voices swelled in the final racing chorus of the countdown. Tense, hurried words tumbled over each other in their frantic race against time.

"Minus nineteen!"

Speed is check.

Pressurization?

"Go!"

Motor systems?

I have a blinking, high-level light.

"You are go!"

Range operations?

"Go!"

Mercury capsule?

"GO!"

All pre-start pilot lights are correct. The ready light is on.

Eject Mercury umbilical.

"Mercury umbilical is clear!"

All recorders to fast. T minus ten seconds, and counting engines start!

"Eighty seven, six..."

Godspeed, John Glenn.

"Three, two, one, ZERO!"

Ignition!

The voices were shattered by the earth-shuddering blast of man-made thunder. Billows of searing flame poured from the exhausts, shrouding the base of the rocket in an inferno of white-hot light.

"Lift-off!"

The great shining projectile seemed to gather itself. Slowly, almost reluctantly, it began to rise. Then, powerfully, it moved straight upward—urged faster and faster by the roaring thunder of gushing flame.

Faster.

Faster.

Now a flashing silver meteor, the giant rocket streaked toward space, leaving a white track of contrail in its path. Snarling engines quickly fading to a muted growl, the speeding rocket became a fiery dot against the blue sky.

Then it was gone.

And the world breathed once more.

TWO—The Boy Called Bud

THE RED-HAIRED Marine roaring into space on America’s first orbital flight made his squalling entry into the world on a hot, midsummer’s day in 1921. It was Monday, the 18th of July.

The event caused little excitement, except among assorted relatives, a few close friends, and, of course, the parents themselves. It took place in a white clap-board home at 1201 Foster Avenue in Cambridge, Ohio. Weighing in at an even nine pounds, the newcomer was named John Herschel Glenn, Jr.

The proud parents, John Herschel and Clara Sproat Glenn, had both grown up in the Cambridge area; their roots were deep in their native Ohio.

Clara Sproat, the youngest of four children, was born on a farm just east of Cambridge, near Lore City. Her forebears had come to America from Ireland many generations before. One of her ancestors had been a certain Colonel Ebenezer Sproat, who is credited with giving Ohio its nickname—the Buckeye State. It was a story that the family loved to tell and retell.

Colonel Sproat had been an officer in the American Revolution under General George Washington, and later became one of the original settlers of Ohio. Together with other pioneers, he helped to found the river town of Marietta. When Marietta became the seat of government for the governor of the Northwest Territory, Colonel Sproat occupied the office of high sheriff. Even on the edge of the Ohio wilderness the business of government sometimes required trappings and ceremonies. Such goings-on made a big hit with the local Indians. They were particularly fond of the spectacle of the high sheriff leading a formal procession with drawn sword.

Big Buckeye, they called him. Heap Big Buckeye.

Buckeye was their term for the large horse-chestnut trees which still abound in that area. The name was indeed appropriate, for Colonel Sproat was a large and sturdy man.

John Herschel Glenn, whom everyone calls Herschel, was also born on a farm—in Westland Township, near Claysville, Ohio. A descendant of one of the pioneer Guernsey County families, his ancestry can be traced back through several generations of Scottish stock, Glenn senior is as proud of his Scottish lineage as he is of the fact that both of his grandfathers were Civil War soldiers.

For many centuries, all branches of the Glenn family, who are descended from the Scottish Clan Mackintosh, have used the same coat of arms. The Latin motto inscribed on the shield is Alta Pete—Aim High. Some two hundred years ago, one of the Glenns, perhaps blessed with prophetic insight, added the phrase Ad Astra—To the Stars.

After Clara Sproat graduated from Cambridge High School and later from Muskingum College, she became a schoolteacher in one of Guernsey County’s rural schools. The following year she transferred to the Cambridge school system, where she taught elementary school.

During this time, the pretty blonde schoolteacher was keeping company with a young farmer who was soon to become her husband. John and Clara had been introduced by John’s nephew, Don Glenn, who had been a high school classmate of Clara’s.

John and Clara had been going together about two years when America became involved in World War I. John immediately enlisted in the Army, and was sent to Camp Sherman in Montgomery, Alabama. Shortly before he was sent overseas, Clara made the trip to Montgomery where she and John were married on May 25, 1918. When her soldier-husband received orders to board a troopship for France, Clara returned to Cambridge. To fill in the time until John’s return, she again took up her schoolteaching career.

As a member of the American Expeditionary Forces, John took part in the heavy fighting at Verdun and Saint-Mihiel on the western front, emerging from the war with his hearing permanently impaired. He often refers to the hearing aid he wears as the only decoration I got during the war. Following his discharge from the Army in 1919, John Glenn, Sr., returned to Cambridge and a job with a local plumbing firm, where he was employed at the time of the future astronaut’s birth.

In 1923, two years after the birth of their son, the Glenns moved a short distance of nine miles to New Concord, Ohio, where Mr. Glenn opened his own plumbing business. Although the senior Glenn has now been retired for about three years, the Glenn Plumbing Company sign—one of the biggest in town—still occupies a conspicuous place on the corner of Liberty and Main streets.

Young John, who was later destined to become New Concord’s most famous son, was never plagued with the name Junior. For some reason no one seems to remember, he was tagged with the nickname Bud early in his life—and it is by this name that he is still known in his hometown.

Growing up together with his sister Jean, who was born a few years later than her famous brother, redheaded Bud Glenn engaged in the normal pursuits of any boy in a small Ohio town. According to his mother, he spent a considerable amount of his youthful time and energy playing airplane. Before he started school, he built planes by nailing old boards together. When he wasn’t busy constructing a new plane, he and his small friends flew around the back yard. Arms outstretched, they zoomed and banked around the Glenn home on Bloomfield Road as fast as their legs would carry them—filling the neighborhood with airplane noises as they revved up their verbal motors.

Whenever the Glenns made a shopping trip to Columbus, a slight detour was always the order of the day. It was mandatory that they stop a while at the Port Columbus airport so young John could watch the planes take-off and land.

A few years later, he graduated to model plane building. John and his cousin, Bob Thompson, spent many hours with balsa wood, sharp knives and a gluepot constructing scale models of World War I planes. Even in those days, young Glenn’s primary interest appeared to lie in fighter planes. Most of the models turned out to be Spads and Nieuports. These model aircraft were among John’s most cherished possessions. When one of them got busted up, it almost busted me up, Glenn remembers today.

But airplanes weren’t the only interest in the young man’s life. Like any other active youth, he brought home his share of lumps and bruises picked up in neighborhood and grade school football games. Somewhere along the line he learned to swim in neighboring Crooked Creek, and began to develop considerable interest in basketball and tennis.

By the time he had reached high school, Bud Glenn had his mind made up about two things—a future in aviation, and the girl he was going to marry. Just what branch of aviation he was going to make his life’s work was still a matter of some debate—he only knew that it had to involve flying. About the girl there was no doubt at all. She was Anna Castor, daughter of Dr. and Mrs. Homer Castor, who lived a few houses north on Bloomfield Road. Somehow, the more formal name of Anna