Mike Mullane - Riding Rockets

I immediately called Donna with the news. “I told you! I told you, Mike! Didn’t I always say everything would work out for the best? I told you!” And she had. Again and again she had. She had never lost faith. I wanted so much to be with her to share in the thrill, but it wasn’t to be. I wouldn’t be home for another couple days.

I called my mom and dad and they were as stunned as I. My dad and I laughed as we reminisced about launching my homemade rockets. I could sense that my mom, ever the pragmatic parent, was already anticipating the danger this new job would bring. No doubt her rosary was going to get a workout over the next couple years.

I called my commander in Florida. After offering his congratulations, he said Brewster Shaw and Dick Covey, both test pilots in the squadron, had also gotten Abbey calls. They were in. But other pilots were receiving rejection calls. I hurt for them. But not for long. My boundless, intoxicating joy roared back.

That night I bought beer for the rest of my Mt. Home AFB office and included them in my celebration. At that particular moment I was glad I was away from my home squadron. Most of the Idaho EF-111 flyers were from the USAF Tactical Air Command and none had applied for the astronaut program. My celebration with them was unalloyed. That was not going to be the case at my Eglin AFB flight-test squadron, which was filled with test pilots and test engineers. Virtually everyone had applied. The losers’ disappointment was going to be as crushing as my joy was over-the-top. Shaw and Covey would have their celebration tempered by the presence of people who were dying inside.

When I was sufficiently sober, I left for my apartment. The base was far out in the desert and the road was deserted. I honked the horn and screamed like a teenage girl at a rock concert. I rolled down the window and screamed into the icy wind. I detoured into the desert, got out of the car, and screamed some more. I couldn’t calm down. I punched the air with my fists. I jumped and sprinted and kicked the sand and laughed out loud. Finally, I hopped onto the warm hood, lay back, and watched the stars turn over my head, just as I had done on countless occasions as a child. When a satellite twinkled over, my heart gave a small lurch. God willing, in a few years, I would be riding rockets. I would be in a satellite…the space shuttle.

Now, two weeks later, I was standing with the other thirty-four astronauts of my group. Though our official report date wasn’t until July, NASA had gathered us all together for an early, formal introduction to the world.

The Astronaut Class of 1978

(towns and cities are birthplaces)

Pilot Astronauts

Daniel Brandenstein, Watertown, WI, Lieutenant Commander, USN, age 34

Michael Coats, Sacramento, CA, Lieutenant Commander, USN, age 32

Richard Covey, Fayetteville, AR, Major, USAF, age 31

John “J. O.” Creighton, Orange, TX, Lieutenant Commander, USN, age 34

Robert “Hoot” Gibson, Cooperstown, NY, Lieutenant, USN, age 31

Frederick Gregory, Washington, D.C., Major, USAF, age 37

David Griggs, Portland, OR, Civilian, age 38

Frederick Hauck, Long Beach, CA, Commander, USN, age 36

Jon McBride, Charleston, WV, Lieutenant Commander, USN, age 34

Steven Nagel, Canton, IL, Captain, USAF, age 31

Francis “Dick” Scobee, Cle Elum, WA, Major, USAF, age 38

Brewster Shaw, Cass City, MI, Captain, USAF, age 32

Loren Shriver, Jefferson, IA, Captain, USAF, age 33

David Walker, Columbus, GA, Lieutenant Commander, USN, age 33

Donald Williams, Lafayette, IN, Lieutenant Commander, USN, age 35

Military Mission Specialist Astronauts

Guion “Guy” Bluford, Philadelphia, PA, Major, USAF, age 35

James Buchli, New Rockford, ND, Captain, USMC, age 32

John Fabian, Goosecreek, TX, Major, USAF, age 38

Dale Gardner, Fairmont, MN, Lieutenant, USN, age 29

R. Michael Mullane, Wichita Falls, TX, Captain, USAF, age 32

Ellison Onizuka, Kealakekua, Kona, HI, Captain, USAF, age 31

Robert Stewart, Washington, D.C., Major, U.S. Army, age 35

Civilian Mission Specialist Astronauts

Anna Fisher, New York City, NY, age 28

Terry Hart, Pittsburgh, PA, age 31

Steven Hawley, Ottawa, KS, age 26

Jeffrey Hoffman, Brooklyn, NY, age 33

Shannon Lucid, Shanghai, China, age 35

Ronald McNair, Lake City, SC, age 27

George “Pinky” Nelson, Charles City, IA, age 27

Judith Resnik, Akron, OH, age 28

Sally Ride, Los Angeles, CA, age 26

Margaret “Rhea” Seddon, Murfreesboro, TN, age 30

Kathryn Sullivan, Paterson, NJ, age 26

Norman Thagard, Marianna, FL, age 34

James “Ox” van Hoften, Fresno, CA, age 33

Actually, I was standing with thirty-four other astronaut candidates. Our group, ultimately to be known as the TFNGs or Thirty-Five New Guys, became the first to have the suffix candidate added to our astronaut titles. Until the TFNG handle stuck, we would be known as Ascans. (A later class would call themselves Ashos for Astronaut Hopefuls. ) NASA had learned the hard way that the title astronaut by itself had some significant cachet. In one of the Apollo-era astronaut groups, a disillusioned scientist had quit the program before ever flying into space and had written a book critical of the agency. Since his official title had been astronaut, his publisher had been able to legitimately promote the book with the impressive astronaut byline. Now NASA was hedging its bets with our group. For two years we would be candidates on probation with the agency. If one of us decided to quit and go public with some grievance, NASA would be able to dismiss us as nothing more than a candidate, not a real astronaut. Personally, I felt the titling was an exercise in semantics. In my mind you weren’t an astronaut until you rode a rocket, regardless of what a NASA press release might say.

Dr. Chris Kraft, the JSC director, welcomed us. As a teenager I had seen his picture in Life magazine articles about the Apollo program. Now, he was welcoming me into the NASA family. Pinch me, I ordered my guardian angel.

A NASA public relations officer began to read each of our names and an audience of NASA employees applauded. There were fifteen pilot astronauts. I was one of twenty mission specialist (MS) astronauts. MSes would not be at the stick and throttle controls of the shuttle. In fact, most of us were not pilots. Our responsibilities would include operating the robot arm, performing experiments, and doing spacewalks. As the name implied, we would be the specialists for the orbit activities of the mission.

As the role call neared the “Ms,” my heart was trying to make like an alien and explode out of my chest. I still couldn’t believe this was for real. When he got to it, I expected the announcer to pause on my name, look bewildered, consult with Chris Kraft, and then say, “Ladies and gentlemen, there’s a mistake on this list. You can scratch R. Michael Mullane. He’s a typo. He couldn’t count backward by 7s.” Then, two burly security guards would grab me by the elbows and escort me to the main gate.

But the announcer read my name without hesitation. He didn’t stumble. He didn’t consult Dr. Kraft. He read it like I was supposed to be on the list. It’s truly official now, I thought. I had to believe it. I was a new astronaut…candidate.

The diversity of America was represented on that stage. There was a mother of three (Shannon Lucid), two astronauts of the Jewish faith (Jeff Hoffman and Judy Resnik), and one Buddhist (El Onizuka). There were Catholics and Protestants, atheists and fundamentalists. Truth be known, there were probably gay astronauts among us. The group included three African Americans, one Asian American, and six females. Every press camera was focused on this rainbow coalition, particularly the females. I could have mooned the press corps and I would not have been noticed. The white TFNG males were invisible.