served the meal on Henri’s best silver as silence descended with a crash.
Henri had prepared a sumptuous feast of breaded fried cardboard, uncooked potatoes, and a salad rotting from hours in the humid and hot Florida sun.
Suddenly, sobering silence gave way to hearty laughter that shook the motel’s walls all the way to the swimming pool.
The Mercury Seven had been had—in the tradition of those who drive airplanes—with a classic “gotcha.” It was just the ticket needed for the Gemini Nine to be warmly welcomed into the very exclusive astronaut club.
Gemini 5 ’s prime and backup crews: Left to right, backup pilot Elliot See, backup commander Neil Armstrong, prime pilot Pete Conrad, and prime commander Gordon Cooper. (NASA)
SEVEN
HOME FIRE
Smoke!
Why am I dreaming about smoke?
“Neil, wake up, Neil!”
Janet!
In that pleasurable place between sleep and wakefulness he could hear her. She was calling him and he could feel her hand on his shoulder. She was shaking him.
“Wake up, Neil, wake up!”
He rolled from his bed and set his feet on the floor. The smell was suddenly undeniable.
“Smoke, Neil, it’s smoke!”
He leapt to his feet, bolted from the bedroom, but instantly recognized he couldn’t see. His eyes were burning and there was heat and thick smoke and he wiped his eyes and swiped at the swirling burning fog. He managed to see a glow from the living room and with eyes throbbing and throat burning he yelled, “Janet, call the fire department. Call…” A spasm jerked his throat and he had to cough, and cough again, and finally he yelled a second time, “Call the fire department, the house is on fire.”
Neil fought back the choking, the coughing, and quickly swirled about. First! What’s first? Mark! Get the baby! He started to move but he couldn’t breathe, he could only hold his breath— hold it he ordered himself. Hold your damn breath , and he began scrambling through the smoke and heat and the 3:45 A.M. darkness and then he was in Mark’s room. He rolled the baby in his blanket and secured him in his arms. Fighting the smoke’s burning acidity, he managed to bring Mark back to their bedroom but Janet was gone. He could hear her outside, calling their next-door neighbors Pat and Ed White.
Ed White, the West Point athlete and astronaut who in little more than a year would become the first American to walk in space, was quickly over the five-foot fence between their yards ready to help.
Neil was standing there, out of the house with his arms outreached, handing Mark to Ed. “Take the baby,” Neil told him, spinning around and quickly grabbing a towel. He wet it and disappeared into their burning home again.
“Ricky,” he yelled as he wrapped the towel around his face and dropped to all fours. The inferno was growing and he began scrambling forward through the roiling smoke and under the flames that were curling down from the ceiling.
“Ricky, where are you, son?” he called, feeling his way move by move to his eldest son’s room. If only Ricky would scream or make some noise it would be easier, he thought. Then, suddenly he feared the worse. What if Ricky couldn’t scream? What if he can’t yell? Suddenly Neil was like a terrified spider moving beneath the smoke, scrambling past the flames until he was finally by Ricky’s bed.
He was okay. Ricky was okay.
He grabbed his terrified six-year-old and wrapped the towel around his face, and beat a record-setting retreat below the flames and through the heat and smoke until they were safely outside.
Janet grabbed Ricky. Ed White was busy fighting the fire with a garden hose. He had passed Mark over the fence to his wife Pat who had gotten through to the fire department, and now the living room wall was glowing red. He could hear the cracking of window glass mixed with the sound of the roaring flames, flames that were causing wood to explode with pistol-like shots telling Neil the fire was devouring their home.
The
Henri had prepared a sumptuous feast of breaded fried cardboard, uncooked potatoes, and a salad rotting from hours in the humid and hot Florida sun.
Suddenly, sobering silence gave way to hearty laughter that shook the motel’s walls all the way to the swimming pool.
The Mercury Seven had been had—in the tradition of those who drive airplanes—with a classic “gotcha.” It was just the ticket needed for the Gemini Nine to be warmly welcomed into the very exclusive astronaut club.
Gemini 5 ’s prime and backup crews: Left to right, backup pilot Elliot See, backup commander Neil Armstrong, prime pilot Pete Conrad, and prime commander Gordon Cooper. (NASA)
SEVEN
HOME FIRE
Smoke!
Why am I dreaming about smoke?
“Neil, wake up, Neil!”
Janet!
In that pleasurable place between sleep and wakefulness he could hear her. She was calling him and he could feel her hand on his shoulder. She was shaking him.
“Wake up, Neil, wake up!”
He rolled from his bed and set his feet on the floor. The smell was suddenly undeniable.
“Smoke, Neil, it’s smoke!”
He leapt to his feet, bolted from the bedroom, but instantly recognized he couldn’t see. His eyes were burning and there was heat and thick smoke and he wiped his eyes and swiped at the swirling burning fog. He managed to see a glow from the living room and with eyes throbbing and throat burning he yelled, “Janet, call the fire department. Call…” A spasm jerked his throat and he had to cough, and cough again, and finally he yelled a second time, “Call the fire department, the house is on fire.”
Neil fought back the choking, the coughing, and quickly swirled about. First! What’s first? Mark! Get the baby! He started to move but he couldn’t breathe, he could only hold his breath— hold it he ordered himself. Hold your damn breath , and he began scrambling through the smoke and heat and the 3:45 A.M. darkness and then he was in Mark’s room. He rolled the baby in his blanket and secured him in his arms. Fighting the smoke’s burning acidity, he managed to bring Mark back to their bedroom but Janet was gone. He could hear her outside, calling their next-door neighbors Pat and Ed White.
Ed White, the West Point athlete and astronaut who in little more than a year would become the first American to walk in space, was quickly over the five-foot fence between their yards ready to help.
Neil was standing there, out of the house with his arms outreached, handing Mark to Ed. “Take the baby,” Neil told him, spinning around and quickly grabbing a towel. He wet it and disappeared into their burning home again.
“Ricky,” he yelled as he wrapped the towel around his face and dropped to all fours. The inferno was growing and he began scrambling forward through the roiling smoke and under the flames that were curling down from the ceiling.
“Ricky, where are you, son?” he called, feeling his way move by move to his eldest son’s room. If only Ricky would scream or make some noise it would be easier, he thought. Then, suddenly he feared the worse. What if Ricky couldn’t scream? What if he can’t yell? Suddenly Neil was like a terrified spider moving beneath the smoke, scrambling past the flames until he was finally by Ricky’s bed.
He was okay. Ricky was okay.
He grabbed his terrified six-year-old and wrapped the towel around his face, and beat a record-setting retreat below the flames and through the heat and smoke until they were safely outside.
Janet grabbed Ricky. Ed White was busy fighting the fire with a garden hose. He had passed Mark over the fence to his wife Pat who had gotten through to the fire department, and now the living room wall was glowing red. He could hear the cracking of window glass mixed with the sound of the roaring flames, flames that were causing wood to explode with pistol-like shots telling Neil the fire was devouring their home.
The
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