Famed hockey coach Herb Brooks once told the 1980 Men’s Olympic Hockey Team that “great moments come with great opportunities.” Astronaut James A. McDivitt could easily have been the inspiration for this statement. Born in Chicago but raised in the western Michigan city of Kalamazoo, a strong Midwestern work ethic propelled McDivitt from junior college graduate to Korean War U.S. Air Force pilot and then to Earth’s orbit. His great moments in space grew out of the opportunities McDivitt had as a military veteran to pursue an aeronautical engineering degree at the University of Michigan. Our joint status as Michigan alumni allowed me to request the opportunity to interview him in 2014 before he delivered that year’s John H. Glenn Lecture on Space History.
While I was hoping for a useful quote from him to add to my nearly completed thesis on astronaut photography in the 1960s, what I got exceeded my expectations: a personal conversation about his time at our alma mater and how it shaped his future. As it happens, college gave both of us opportunities that made for great moments. And to honor his passing last week at the age of 93, I want to provide some insight into what links the National Air and Space Museum, and me, to the two-time astronaut, the General James A. McDivitt.
Every day for 16 years, I started my working day by walking into the Museum’s National Mall and seeing the Gemini IV spacecraft, long on display in Boeing Flight Hall Milestones just inside the entrance with an astronaut floating outside a wide open hatch. I always thought about how the invisible person in this scene, the mission commander, must have felt watching his teammate leap and turn in the vacuum of space. McDivitt had the only live view of NASA’s most significant achievement to this point in June 1965. The public eventually saw that moment recorded on camera and in McDivitt’s still photographs, but it wasn’t quite does the same thing as witnessing it in person. McDivitt took the only seat for a live spacewalk (the first by an American astronaut) by mission pilot Ed White, with a sweeping view of Earth as the backdrop. I argued that the photographs McDivitt took forced a significant shift in how people understood human spaceflight activity, a profound moment of realization that humans could indeed leave Earth.
The recreation of this scene has welcomed Museum visitors for decades, but has failed to fully replicate the sublime experience. The partnership between these two men, McDivitt and White, intrigued me as much as the technology they used. What made these two people so well suited for this ultimate teamwork effort?
Like many astronauts in NASA’s first human spaceflight program, McDivitt’s career was born out of a passion for flight. He flew 145 combat missions during the Korean War, having enlisted rather than being drafted. His hours in the F-80 Shooting Stars and F-86 Sabers led him to post-war postings around the country before entering a University of Michigan program for US pilots. Air Force in 1957. A year after his time in Ann Arbor, he was working on his bachelor’s degree in aeronautical engineering science, McDivitt met Ed White, a West Point graduate and master’s student. The two met frequently through classes and while maintaining their flight hours. After graduating in 1959, they both moved on to test pilot school at Edwards Air Force Base in California, again overlapping in ambitions and flight times. The friends and colleagues both applied and were selected for NASA’s second group of astronauts in 1962, the group intended to fly Gemini missions in preparation for the Apollo lunar missions. In an environment that requires absolute trust in a partner, strong interpersonal skills, and the willingness to share an extremely confined space (barely as big as the front seat of a small car) with another human for days at a time , McDivitt and White had a leg up on the competition for an early mission assignment.
In my discussion with him in 2014, General McDivitt said their existing bond meant they didn’t need to build a relationship, allowing them to transition into technical training more quickly. And on Gemini IV, they deftly carried out their rookie mission together, solving problems that included a cumbersome umbilical line, a stubborn hatch, and a computer that failed before re-entry. The two “Michigan men” even visited Ann Arbor as part of their post-flight tour: they took part in a parade through the city, were treated to lunch at the Michigan Union, received honorary doctorates at a special convocation at Michigan Stadium, participated in the opening of a Space Research Building on North Campus and had a plaza named near the former Engineering Buildings on Main Campus in their honor. The events caused a stir in the city, and the city and state of Michigan declared June 15, 1965 “McDivitt-White Day”. The mayor presented the astronauts with the ceremonial keys to the city, and Governor George Romney personally escorted them on their visit. Talk even circulated that McDivitt might be a good candidate for state senate. Although that conversation passed, the success of the mission was far from the end of McDivitt’s relationship with his alma mater. He visited the campus many times over the rest of his life: after commanding the first Apollo mission to test the design of the lunar module, Apollo 9; on certain occasions associated with Apollo management work; and for other university programs over the years. He even had his NASA Exploration Ambassador Award exhibited at the College of Engineering in 2006. When I arrived in Ann Arbor in 1995, graduating exactly 40 years after James McDivitt, I had no idea as our shared love of corn and blue would bring us together one day to talk about our affection and appreciation for the University as a facilitator of great opportunities to achieve great moments later in our lives.
Communities often have a call to their lost members. The pilots fly the formation of the missing man over their graves. Military tradition includes the playing of “Taps” and a 21-gun salute. In the spaceflight community, we say “ad astra” (Latin, meaning “to the stars”). For my fellow Michigan alumni, General James McDivitt, I will quietly hum “Hail, to the Victors” and think of the “M” block that was invisibly etched in our hearts.
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