Space Age Pioneer Glenn Returns to Orbit

At T-minus 28 minutes, Maury Povich was smack in the middle of what for him and much of America in the 1990s is a normal day--husbands and wives and trouble--and KCAL Channel 9 was televising it as usual. At T-minus 10, normalcy continued.

At liftoff, however, even Povich paused in his labors--or at least KCAL did--long enough to join the nation in watching John Glenn’s second liftoff into space.

Crowds gathered in restaurants, on street corners, in retirement homes and in schools.

The kids at John Glenn High School in Norwalk waved tiny flags, cheered and said things like, “It was very retro.”

At liftoff, wherever people were, they applauded. Some people even cried.

At T-plus 8 1/2 minutes, the engineers in Canoga Park burst into applause when their Rocketdyne engines shut off, their jobs well done.

Across the nation, curious schoolchildren, proud veterans and wistful baby boomers all found their ways to television sets and Web sites to see what they could of 77-year-old U.S. Sen. Glenn taking off into space. But as big an event--and cause for celebration--as it was for some, for many it was just one more blip on the screen passing quickly by.

In the 36 years between Glenn’s first Earth orbits and second return to space Thursday, transfixing events have become fewer and farther between, and they don’t last long.

Our national moments have been reduced to just that: moments.

Still, there’s something powerful about a little white dot disappearing into a deep blue sky.

Diner’s 5 TV Sets Tune Into Launch

In Atlanta, Anthony Campbell stopped at The Varsity, a drive-in restaurant that is a downtown landmark, where the five television sets were all tuned to the launch.

Campbell was accompanied by his wife and three young sons.

“We had to get something to eat, and the kids are interested in this old guy named John Glenn,” Campbell said with a smile. “They’ve got a grandmother his age.”

When 12-year-old Andy was asked what he would think if his grandmother did something like this, he shot back, “I’d be amazed.”

Dennis Letts, a New York City government worker, was on his way back to his office when he realized he wasn’t going to make it in time. He stopped to watch the launch on the giant television screen above Times Square. He wasn’t alone. The sidewalks of the entire block were filled with people.

“I think Glenn deserves a second flight,” Letts said. “I’m excited for him, irrespective of the experiment they are talking about. He’s a hero. It really shows you what America can do when we decide to do something. This launch is different [from the one in 1962]. I don’t think the average American has any idea what it takes to get on top of a rocket like that. It’s become so routine that the excitement has gone out of it. . . . Back then, the family would gather around the set and watch these launches like a required ritual.”

Engineers huddled around a conference table and TV set at Rocketdyne’s Canoga Park plant to watch history unfurl--and their engines perform. Rocketdyne engines powered Glenn’s first flight as well.

Before liftoff, some scientists dug their hands deep into the pockets of their khaki pants. Others crossed their fingers. One cried. When a flare of red shot out of the engines and the craft rumbled to life, the crowd applauded.

For another 8 1/2 excruciating minutes, they watched the screen silently as the shuttle faded to a speck. Then the engines they had made, their job done, disengaged.

The workers whooped.

“Beautiful,” one murmured.

Doris I. Murray, an administrative assistant, sobbed with relief.

“This is very emotional even for me to see,” Murray said. “I’m very proud. This is what history feels like; it’s great to be a part of it.”

Mechanical engineer Vince Wheelock helped install the engines on Glenn’s original Atlas booster.

“In 1962, it was a real tense operation,” said Wheelock, 66. “There was a lot of risk; we were dealing with experimental hardware.”

Friendship 7 Was Atop a Bomb

The year 1962 was in many ways a much simpler time. Even the rocket machines were simpler. Friendship 7, the Mercury capsule Glenn rode in, was little more than a thimble set atop a chemical bomb, which everyone hoped would explode in the right direction.

The computer-driven society of today with its Y2K complications and browser wars was a science-fiction fantasy. Computers less powerful than a PC filled whole buildings. Bill Gates was a 6-year-old.

The Beatles were a bar band looking for a drummer. On television, “The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis” and “Huckleberry Hound” were hit shows and the world--even the one with rocket ships--was black and white.

There were inklings of trouble ahead, though. Defense Secretary Robert S. McNamara met with military leaders to study the escalating troubles in a place few Americans had heard of: Vietnam.

Some diplomats were calling for a boycott of Cuba, and Brazil, its economy troubled, nationalized its American-owned telephone system.

The Cold War was real and forever threatening to turn hot. The Russians were already in space.

By riding that booster to a five-hour tour around the globe, Glenn helped lift a shadow.

“A man was going to circle the globe, and I was wondering if he was going to make it,” recalled Ken Rust, 80, a retired airline pilot, who watched Thursday’s launch at an Irvine senior center, where the drama played on three television sets in the cafeteria. “It was quite an epic event. We wanted to beat the Russians at their own game. I hated communism and envied them the success they were having in space.”

Some historians remember the tension but see its significance differently.

“It was a very big deal, but only because of the framework that the Soviets were beating us at something,” said Jon Wiener, a professor who specializes in recent American history at UC Irvine.

Andrew Porterfield, 36, was born that day--Feb. 20, 1962. The stories his mother tells of the birth always turn on how she couldn’t find a doctor. “They were all watching television,” said Porterfield, a public relations representative at the UCI School of Medicine.

To many of the 90 people having lunch at the Irvine senior center Thursday, the event paled compared to their memories.

But the room was nearly silent as they watched the initial boost of the rocket. There was a smattering of applause.

Carol Crouch, 81, watched the 1962 launch on a black-and-white television set along with her third-grade class on Long Island.

“There isn’t the wonder to it” now, she said, adding that she had a disagreement with her 42-year-old daughter about whether the “Glenn thing” was a good idea.

“I really wasn’t too gung-ho about his going up,” she said. “This isn’t a big boost for older people. I think most older folks do something more worthwhile than a man who has been up once before who wants to go up again for a ride.”

Students Turned on TV for the Launch

Jack Solomon, an English professor at Cal State Northridge, walked into his classroom Thursday to find that students had turned on the TV for the launch.

Solomon was transported back in time, “to the earliest day of the ‘60s, when everyone turned on their TV.”

“Here we have this unsullied American hero who has managed to be in the American imagination for almost 40 years without a stain. Part of the significance is this recapturing of an era that we regard as being more innocent than our current period.”

But even with the appeal that Glenn has brought to the space program, can the nation ever experience a collective moment like the one in 1962?

“No,” Solomon said. “It’s not cynicism. It’s the way things have changed.”

In the 1960s, the nation was united by the Cold War, brought together by the threat of a collective “enemy.” The nation also saw itself in limited terms.

“In the 1960s, ‘we’ meant white middle class,” he said. “ ‘We’ today means a very diverse society.”

The self-concept held in the ‘60s was never an accurate one, but it allowed for a sense of a collective experience. The ability to experience those moments changed with the Vietnam War, the civil rights movement and the feminist movement, all of which forced America to face the truth about itself.

“Our culture is much more self-conscious of being varied,” Solomon said. “We are fully aware that there are many different Americans. It’s difficult to imagine the drawing together. We don’t have the common enemy. We no longer have the common imagination.”

All Eyes Trained on Launch at the Deli

The lunch crowd was just beginning to flow into Jerry’s Famous Deli in Encino.

All eyes were trained on television sets. As the spacecraft roared into orbit, diners broke into applause.

“Go! Go! Go!” yelled a woman.

“Ohmygod!” gasped another.

“That is awesome. That is absolutely awesome,” a man said. Patty Andrews, an original member of the singing Andrews Sisters, wiped tears from her eyes.

“He’s 77 years old and he’s going into space,” the 70-something Andrews said. “He’s really an inspiration to older people. He ensures the fact that older people can do a job and they can contribute something to the world.”

For Andrews’ husband, Wally Weschler, the launch evoked vivid memories of Glenn’s first mission in 1962.

“A man was going to fly in space. Who ever heard of that?” said Weschler, who is also in his 70s. “We all had the fear that something terrible was going to happen; that we were doing something against God; that we were going somewhere that we shouldn’t go. But he proved that it was just space.”

Not everyone was bowled over by the blastoff, however.

“This is like a movie of the week; it’s so hyped,” said Bruce Flick, a 50-year-old writer from Northridge. “If they took an average elderly American into space, that would be different. With Glenn, it’s sweet but not necessarily earthshaking.”

Straining to See School’s Namesake

Students at John Glenn High School in Norwalk filed into the library, straining to see the man their school was named after.

For some, the event brought recognition and unity to the school.

“He’s taking a journey back,” said Laura Mercado. The 16-year-old said it was like they were going into space along with Glenn. “We’re like a part of him.”

Amina El-Annan said the experience has been a “unifying one.” The 17-year-old senior said they had studied for weeks to prepare.

Many students admitted, before the mission was announced, that they knew little about Glenn or space exploration.

As the countdown began, some waved small American flags and counted along. Signs saying “Best wishes John Glenn” and “Godspeed John Glenn” were waved as the countdown began.

“Even though we weren’t here for the first time, we’re here for the second,” senior Dal Yang said.

Seeing the launch was something “you could tell your grandkids” about, said Zach Kosareff, 15. “It’s one of those things you remember exactly what time and where it happened.”

Nashata Garcia, a 17-year-old senior, said the excitement of the day was heightened by the fact that she had “never seen an actual launch.” After the rocket was in orbit and students returned to their classrooms, Chockie Tom, 17, said it was “very retro. Like the ‘60s. The same excitement. History has started again.” After seeing Glenn launch into space for herself, Tom said she felt “I can really relate to my parents.”

Sitting in Easy Chairs for 1st Launch

The first time Glenn rocketed into orbit, Ed Caine and his neighbors sat in the easy chairs and couches of his Woodland Hills home and watched and prayed.

This time, the 73-year-old Caine gathered with new neighbors at the Sepulveda Veterans Administration Nursing Home Care Unit. The dining room looked more like a drive-in theater for convalescents than a living room, with wheelchairs parked spoke-to-armrest in front of a large-screen television.

“I’ll bet you all over the world people are watching this and thinking about us, thinking about America,” said Caine, a Navy medical corpsman in World War II. “People all over the world will be almost as excited as we are.”

As the countdown began in earnest after a brief pause, the room grew quiet.

Caine took almost a full minute to lean forward in his chair, slowly inching himself and adjusting his pale blue pajama top in anticipation of the big moment. The shakes from the Parkinson’s disease that put him in the VA, he apologized, grew worse in his excitement.

“We are all so proud of John Glenn; we’ve all been talking about it: three days until Glenn goes up, two days until Glenn goes up,” Caine said. “He could have quit a long time ago, he could be in Palm Springs goofing around, but he kept working.”

As the rest of the crowd clapped at the successful liftoff, Caine breathed deeply and blinked hard over misty eyes.

Some of those gathered were blind, Caine said. Others were deaf. But they still wanted to be there, to share in the excitement and relish in pride for their country--and their efforts for their country--one more time.

“One of the rewards for being in a war is winning, winning for days like today,” Caine said. “I was thinking of America when I watched that launch. America. Us.”

“It’s the greatest thing I’ve ever seen.”

By noon, normalcy had reasserted itself in most places.

The airwaves had returned to their rightful owners--Montiel and Jenny and their friends and enemies. The scroll of the market ticker told us Microsoft Corp. was up a buck and cynicism once again was as strong as gravity, but for a while there--in Manhattan and Canoga Park and Norwalk--the 93-million horsepower rocket that lifted the shuttle to escape-velocity was strong enough to pierce even all that.

Times staff writers Jocelyn Stewart, Peter M. Warren, Kate Folmar, Abigail Goldman, Karima A. Haynes and Katie Ismael in Los Angeles; special correspondent Lisa Meyer in New York; and researcher Edith Stanley in Atlanta contributed to this story.