Gene Kranz - Failure Is Not an Option

Since the spacecraft would do three orbits, the sites at Carnarvon, Australia, and Hawaii were critical to the preparation for deorbit and entry. Dan Hunter, who was leading my operations section, anchored the team at Carnarvon. During the final week of testing, the network achieved readiness and I gave the Go to Kraft for the remote site teams.

Many of the early astronauts, in particular Slayton and Shepard, doubted that CapComs who weren’t astronauts could stand up to the pressure of time-critical decisions and communications. They believed that only an astronaut should get the job as the remote site CapCom. I disagreed. My remote site teams had matured. In my view, astronauts assigned to remote sites were observers given the job of assisting the controllers if that became necessary. In any event, five days before the launch Slayton deployed astronauts Charles (Pete) Conrad and Neil Armstrong to Carnarvon and Hawaii, respectively, continuing the tradition of stationing astronauts at critical positions on the ground track. Hunter and Conrad were both men of strong conviction. But given orders, they would salute their leader and then execute with few questions asked.

Three days before launch, the mission readiness review was concluded, and the time had arrived to begin the countdown. After a great meal at Ramon’s Supper Club, Kraft and I returned to the apartment we were still sharing. We went over the next day’s schedule and then retired for the night. It seemed like we had barely dropped off to sleep when I heard a loud pounding on the door in the hall. Someone shouted, “Chris, we got a problem!” It sounded like Slayton. I rapidly pulled on a shirt and pants, wondering what the hell had happened. By the time I emerged, Kraft and Slayton were in a heated argument. Deke was exclaiming, “Dammit, Chris, get your guy under control!” Kraft then went nose-to-nose with Slayton. I felt that within seconds the dispute would escalate beyond shouting. Then, magically, both realized it was time to deescalate but not back down. Like two junkyard dogs, they circled. Slowly, I realized that Hunter and Conrad had tangled at Carnarvon over who was in charge of the site during the mission.

Conrad had quoted Hunter as saying, “Kranz put me in charge, and if you give me any more trouble, I want your ass out of the control room.” Conrad, a Navy carrier pilot and new astronaut, was not about to take that from anyone. Besides, Slayton had told Conrad that he was in charge. Kraft finally got Slayton calmed down. It was around 3:00 A.M. by then. Chris agreed he would write out some guidance for the teams at Carnarvon and Hawaii in the morning.

In preparation for a mission, the tracking stations worked on the same schedule as the controllers, so Hunter was on site when I called on the conference loop the next morning. I briefly mentioned Deke’s outburst and asked him what the devil was going on out there. Hunter said, “Conrad arrived and proceeded to take over. Then the maintenance and operations staff and the site manager came to me and wanted to know who to take their orders from. I told them Conrad wouldn’t know an acquisition aid if it fell on him. If Carnarvon wants to support the mission, they damned well better take their orders from me.” (The acquisition aid is a piece of equipment used to lock on the capsule signals and point the site antennas.)

“The site staff,” he concluded, “is still not sure who is in charge and they want a Teletype directive to cover their ass.” I told Hunter I would get on it, terminated the voice conference, turned and briefed Kraft on Hunter’s side of the story. With two days until launch, Kraft was not about to get into a hassle with Slayton over roles and responsibilities. Conrad was an unknown quantity to me and I thought we could paper over the differences until after the mission, then resolve it properly. This turned out to be a serious mistake. Working with Kraft, I drafted a message that clearly reiterated the job description of the remote site CapCom job, assigning Hunter the overall site responsibility. When Slayton arrived, Kraft handed him the report and the argument in the apartment started all over again, only this time before a large audience in Mission Control.

“Dammit, Chris,” Deke snapped, “if we are not going to put my astronauts in charge, it was a waste to send them.” Kraft cut him off: “Deke, I don’t have time to argue. We will put Hunter in charge of the site operations and Conrad in charge during real time.”

The deal was cut. Kraft marked up the changes and I had the instructions Teletyped to the Carnarvon and Hawaii CapComs. The next day, launch minus one, the entire network was called up for a final review of the mission rules and procedures. At the end of the call, Kraft began polling the sites for any open issues. When Hunter came on the line, he said, “I’ve got Conrad here and I’d like to understand the Teletype you sent yesterday.” I passed Kraft the message and he briefly summarized the content. The whole world, at least our part of it, was listening as Hunter continued. “This message does not resolve anything. When I get back, I am going to frame it and hang it on the wall in my crapper.” Controllers around the world listened, stunned. Kraft was speechless, and Hunter knew he had said too much. At the limits of his patience, a furious Chris snarled, “You’ve got your orders, young man!”

Following the launch-minus-one-day briefing with the tracking stations, we adjourned to the beach house that had been provided for the astronauts by Life magazine, who had exclusive rights to publish their personal stories, approved reluctantly by NASA. Grissom and Young, totally unaware of the Carnarvon flap, had invited Kraft, the controllers, and astronauts Cooper, Shepard, and Gene Cernan for a brief get-together prior to launch. I was preoccupied with how I was going to save Hunter’s career when he returned to Houston. Since Slayton was not in the MCC for the L-1 briefing, he was unaware of the friction he had helped unleash. Now he walked in and greeted Kraft with a cheery “How’s it going, Chris?”

Kraft, still fuming from his discussion with Hunter, didn’t respond. Instead, he made it clear he had no interest in talking to Slayton and walked over to Grissom. The customary mixing between the astronauts and controllers was missing. Controllers were in a group on one side of the room, the astronauts on the other, hovering around Grissom and Young. It was like a wedding in which the bride’s side and the groom’s side were strangers to one another. You could almost hear the usher: “Friend of the bride? Friend of the groom?”

Approaching nightfall, the controllers, especially John Llewellyn, had had enough to drink, and, as we were getting ready to leave, their feelings surfaced. Llewellyn responded to some remark from Shepard. By the time I got there, the two were going at it, Llewellyn yelling, “You better hope that Hunter covers Conrad’s ass. If he doesn’t, you can kiss Carnarvon goodbye for this mission.”

I grabbed John, moving him toward the door with Shepard on our heels. Llewellyn, forever the Marine, then commented on Shepard’s Navy background and again, to his face, said, “I got more Purple Hearts than you’ll ever see in your lifetime, you SOB.” I corralled Llewellyn again and hustled him outside, where a very concerned Mission Control team jammed him into a car and drove him back to the motel. This was no way to run a mission, and I hoped and prayed that cooler heads would prevail the next morning when we prepared to launch. We needed Llewellyn, and we needed a united team—controllers and astronauts—at every site, in the control center, and in the spacecraft.

Living as we did in an environment that combined the temperament of a football training camp and the confinement of a submarine, with ego and pride all around, as well as relentless pressure, I sometimes wondered why an occasional bloody brawl didn’t break out.