Meanwhile, at home back on Earth ...


Entertaining anecdotes flesh out the lives of America’s astronauts.

In 1959, the wives of the seven original American astronauts posed for the cover of Life magazine. The space program was in its infancy, with the astronauts’ names having been announced only a few months before and two years to go before the initial flight. The Life article was to serve as the country’s official, in-depth introduction to the wives — the “astrofamilies” had all signed lucrative, multiyear, exclusive contracts with the magazine and the seven women participated in a cover shoot in which they posed at Langley Air Force Base gathered around a model of the Mercury space capsule.

As instructed by NASA and Life, all the women wore pale shirtwaist dresses, with the exception of saucy Rene Carpenter, who defied orders with a flowered scoop-neck sundress. But even she toed the line and wore the pink lipstick the women had agreed upon.

Yet when the magazine was published, the women’s lipstick had been altered to look red. As Lily Koppel writes in The Astronaut Wives Club — the book’s cover image is the Life photo in question — “The wives were completely shocked, worrying about how America would judge them. They would never wear such a bold colored lipstick. They were mothers, not vixens.”

Such anecdotes fill this breezy and entertaining book, which — like the women themselves — takes pleasure in playing up and defying the stereotypes of the time. Koppel notes that the wives’ stories, or at least the unvarnished versions afforded by hindsight, have never been told, and she deserves credit for recognizing the richness of the subject matter. More than 50 years after its inception, many of us now take the space program for granted, but Koppel reminds readers just how bold and innovative it felt in the Sputnik era, and how mysterious the wilderness of space remains.

As their husbands changed overnight from anonymous military pilots to international heroes, the astrowives were pulled along. Each woman’s life was defined by an essential contradiction: To increase the chances of her husband being picked for a coveted mission position, she needed to make their marriage as stable as possible, or at least appear stable. If her husband then was picked, she had to endure the hellish stress of watching and waiting while, in view of the entire country and much of the world, he put himself in extreme danger.

The wives referred to the launches as death watches, and their fears weren’t misplaced. A NASA insider told Susan Borman before the 1968 Apollo 8 mission — in which Susan’s husband, Frank, and two others would orbit the moon 10 times — that the men had a “50-50” chance of survival. During the mission, in the presence of her 15-year-old son, Susan began composing her husband’s eulogy. Though those men returned safely, eight astronauts died in the program’s first 12 years.

Even if a marriage was on steady ground to start with, having your husband launched into space was the perfect recipe for its undoing. With the men in Florida most weekdays for training, the wives were often raising young children almost as single parents. “When you come back next time,” one astrowife sarcastically told her unhelpful husband, “why don’t you take a room at the Kings Inn, so I won’t be tempted to bother you?” Extramarital female attention to the astronauts was so abundant that the wives had multiple nicknames for potential temptresses: a Suzy or, if the other woman sought out the men near Cape Canaveral, a Cape Cookie.

With their husbands away and preoccupied, the wives looked to one another for support. Particularly after the families settled in 1964 in the astronaut suburb nicknamed Togethersville, near Houston’s Manned Spacecraft Center, the women could dash in and out of one another’s backyards, push strollers together on walks and, during missions, hold sleepovers.

Koppel clearly admires her subjects, although they are increasingly difficult to keep straight. Additionally, without citations, the sources of Koppel’s facts and quotations are not apparent. The initial seven Mercury wives receive the most attention and emerge with semi-distinct identities, but by 1963, several “generations” of astrofamilies populate Togethersville.

To be fair, Koppel chronicles a cultural moment more than any particular person, and in this she excels. The details are superb, from the ham loaves the women cooked to the Virginia Slims they chain-smoked, the fur hot pants and Pucci dresses they wore, the luaus and shrimp-boil parties they threw, and the Mercury-capsule-shaped community swimming pool they shared. In a moment that perfectly summarizes time and place, Koppel describes Sue Bean and her friends lining up before a party so that Sue’s astronaut husband, Alan, a perfectionist engineer, could “put on their fake eyelashes for them. He could align and glue the black wisps ever so precisely.”

If the astronauts’ salaries were relatively modest, the perks for the families were practically unlimited: Corvettes rented for a dollar a year, hotel rooms rented for a dollar a night, tickets to Broadway plays, gift certificates to Neiman Marcus and visits to the White House, where two astrowives borrowed evening dresses from Lady Bird Johnson and the first daughters baby-sat their children.

In spite or perhaps because of such adventures, most astromarriages didn’t last. “It had been a patriotic duty to keep one’s marriage together in Togethersville,” Koppel explains, but the first divorce in the late ’60s “opened the floodgates.” Ultimately, of the original 30 space couples, only seven stayed together.

At the book’s conclusion, Koppel catches up with several astrowives who remember their time in Togethersville as “golden years.” Perhaps. But a particularly convincing statement comes from astrowife Barbara Cernan, who remarked, “If you think going to the Moon is hard, try staying at home.”

Curtis Sittenfeld reviewed this book for The Washington Post.

Read more Books stories from the Miami Herald

 <span class="cutline_leadin">STONE MATTRESS: </span>Nine Tales. Margaret Atwood. Nan A. Talese. Doubleday. 288 pages. $25.95.


    Past looms large in new stories from Margaret Atwood

    In Margaret Atwood’s new collection, the past looms large for aging protagonists, but sympathy and regret abound, too.

  • What are you reading now?

    “I just finished Claire DeWitt and The City of the Dead by Sara Gran, which I love, love, loved. It’s a mystery set in New Orleans shortly after the storm and solved by girl detective, Claire DeWitt, who applies her special method of detection which is pretty much based on yoga and Buddhism combined with the altered mind states of drugs, drink, dreams and growing up in Brooklyn.”

 <span class="cutline_leadin">WHAT STAYS IN VEGAS:</span> The World of Personal Data — Lifeblood of Big Business C — and the End of Privacy as We Know It. Adam Tanner. PublicAffairs. 316 pages. $27.99.


    ‘What Stays in Vegas’ examines data packaging and the end of privacy

    Journalist explains how data packaging makes American companies the biggest threat to privacy.

Miami Herald

Join the

The Miami Herald is pleased to provide this opportunity to share information, experiences and observations about what's in the news. Some of the comments may be reprinted elsewhere on the site or in the newspaper. We encourage lively, open debate on the issues of the day, and ask that you refrain from profanity, hate speech, personal comments and remarks that are off point. Thank you for taking the time to offer your thoughts.

The Miami Herald uses Facebook's commenting system. You need to log in with a Facebook account in order to comment. If you have questions about commenting with your Facebook account, click here.

Have a news tip? You can send it anonymously. Click here to send us your tip - or - consider joining the Public Insight Network and become a source for The Miami Herald and el Nuevo Herald.

Hide Comments

This affects comments on all stories.

Cancel OK

  • Marketplace

Today's Circulars

  • Quick Job Search

Enter Keyword(s) Enter City Select a State Select a Category