Apollo 13’s astronauts never gave a thought to their mission number as they blasted off for the moon 50 years ago. Even when their oxygen tank ruptured two days later — on April 13.
Jim Lovell and Fred Haise insist they’re not superstitious. They even use 13 in their email addresses.
As mission commander Lovell sees it, he’s incredibly lucky. Not only did he survive NASA’s most harrowing moonshot, he’s around to mark its golden anniversary.
“I’m still alive. As long as I can keep breathing, I’m good,” Lovell, 92, said in an interview with The Associated Press from his Lake Forest, Illinois, home.
A half-century later, Apollo 13 is still considered Mission Control’s finest hour.
Lovell calls it “a miraculous recovery.”
Haise, like so many others, regards it as NASA’s most successful failure.
“It was a great mission,” Haise, 86, said. It showed “what can be done if people use their minds and a little ingenuity.”
As the lunar module pilot, Haise would have become the sixth man to walk on the moon, following Lovell onto the dusty gray surface. The oxygen tank explosion robbed them of the moon landing, which would have been NASA’s third, nine months after Apollo 11’s Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin took humanity’s first footsteps on the moon.
Now the coronavirus pandemic has robbed them of their anniversary celebrations. Festivities are on hold, including at Kennedy Space Center in Florida, where the mission began on April 11, 1970, a Saturday just like this year.
That won’t stop Haise, who still lives in Houston, from marking what he calls “boom day” next Monday, as he does every April 13.
Lovell, Haise and Jack Swigert, a last-minute fill-in who died in 1982, were almost to the moon when they heard a bang and felt a shudder. One of two oxygen tanks had burst in the spacecraft’s service module.
The tense words that followed are the stuff of space — and movie — fame.
“OK, Houston, we’ve had a problem here,” radioed Swigert, the command module pilot.
“This is Houston. Say again, please.”
“Houston, we’ve had a problem,” Lovell cut in.
Lovell reported a sudden voltage drop in one of the two main electrical circuits. Within seconds, Houston’s Mission Control saw pressure readings for the damaged oxygen tank plunge to zero. The blast also knocked out two electrical power-generating fuel cells and damaged the third.
As Lovell peered out the window and saw oxygen escaping into the black void, he knew his moon landing was also slipping away. He shoved all emotions aside.
“Not landing on the moon or dying in space are two different things,” Lovell explained, “and so we forgot about landing on the moon. This was one of survival. How do we get home?”
The astronauts were 200,000 miles (322,000 kilometers) from Earth. Getting back alive would require calm, skill and, yes, luck.
“The explosion could not have happened at a better time,” Lovell said.
Much earlier, he said, and the astronauts wouldn’t have had enough electrical power to make it around the moon and slingshot back to Earth for a splashdown. A blast in lunar orbit or, worse still, while Lovell and Haise were on the surface, “that would be the end of it.”
“I think we had some divine help in this flight,” Lovell said.
The aborted mission went from being so humdrum that none of the major TV networks broadcast the astronauts’ show-and-tell minutes before the explosion, to a life-and-death drama gripping the entire world.
As flight director Gene Kranz and his team in Houston raced to come up with a rescue plan, the astronauts kept their cool. It was Lovell’s fourth spaceflight – his second to the moon – and the first and only one for Haise and Swigert.
Dark thoughts “always raced through our minds, but silently. We didn’t talk about that,” Lovell said.
Added Haise: “We never hit the point where there was nothing left to do. So, no, we never got to a point where we said, ‘Well, we’re going to die.’”
The White House, less confident, demanded odds. Kranz refused, leaving it to others to put the crew’s chances at 50-50. In his mind, there was no doubt, no room for failure — only success.
“Basically that was the name of the game: I’m going to get them home. My team’s going to get them home. We will get them home,” Kranz recalled.
For the record, Kranz never uttered “failure is not an option.” The line is pure Hollywood, created for the 1995 movie “Apollo 13” starring Ed Harris as Kranz and Tom Hanks as Lovell.
The flight controllers went into crisis mode. They immediately ordered the command module Odyssey shut down to conserve what little power remained, and the astronauts to move into the lunar module Aquarius, now a lifeboat.
One of the low points, Lovell said, was realizing they’d be cramped together in the lander.
“It was designed for two people for two days. We were three people for four days.”
The carbon dioxide overload, from breathing, threatened to kill them.
Engineers scrambled to figure out how to convert the square air-purifying canisters in the dead capsule into round ones that would fit in their temporary home.
Such a nice story, made for a movie! Imagine that. I kept waiting for the punchline. 50 years and we cannot even get close to going back. Yeah, sure.
This is what Americans of the United States do in a time of crisis.
NASA’s finest moment
I was glued to that story, and we didn’t have non-stop coverage like we do now. I was so relieved when they made it back. It made a great movie, and it was NASA’s finest moment. Great story!
This is what we do every day. We climb 60 foot telephone poles. We intubate and bag thousands of patients every day. We fucking know what we are doing. Even when we don’t know what the fuck we are doing. Even when our eyes are bugged out and we are near panic. Even when we are overwhelmed.
Ronald Reagan said, “G-d Bless America”
Well, thank God April 13, 1970 was Monday the 13th and not Friday the 13th.
I remember watching this unfold before it was a movie…. absolutely exhilarating!