Last year when she laid eyes on a book about the Mercury 13 — the first group of American women who qualified for astronaut duty — Cynthia Ballew, president of the Adler Planetarium women’s board, thought: “These women have to be honored.”
The cabal of female pilots — who in the early ’60s had to endure swallowing 3-foot rubber tubes, among other secret, NASA-sponsored physical and psychological tests to qualify for the space program — never made it onto a mission. Some were the top female aviators of their time, but thanks to biases of the era, their participation in the astronaut program was nixed.
But in acing the same grueling requirements faced by male astronauts, the Mercury 13 ultimately paved the way for Sally Ride and the many other American women who have since traveled into space.
On Wednesday night, Ballew’s board brought together as many as could come and honored them with its Women in Space Science Award. “These women are pioneers,” said Colleen Creighton, who ably co-chaired the night. “And they hold no bitterness.”
The evening raised $22,000 and drew 300 people, including Apollo 13 astronaut Capt. James Lovell Jr.; Martha Ackmann, author of the book Ballew had spotted, “The Mercury 13: The True Story of Thirteen Women and the Dream of Space Flight”; and four of the Mercury 13 — including Evanston native Irene Leverton.
After cocktails, guests packed the Kroc Universe Theater, laughing and shaking their heads at an old newsreel. The male broadcaster asks Jerrie Cobb, the first woman selected for NASA’s secret testing, “Do you think you can compete with men?”
“I don’t think I’m competing with men,” Cobb replied. “I think both men and women will be flying in space.”
“Well, a pretty girl like you must have thought about marriage,” he persisted.
“I’m interested in this right now.”
“You mean you’re more afraid of boyfriends than [going up in space]?” he said.
Ackmann described how, in some cases, the women tested better than the Mercury 7 male astronauts, who became heroes. Still, President Lyndon B. Johnson put the kibosh on the women’s space program with four words. “Don’t Let This Happen,” he scrawled on a memo.
Onstage, the four women — now in their 60s and 70s — answered questions with wry good humor. “What was the worst or hardest test you endured?” one person asked.
“They pumped ice water into our ears,” answered Leverton, “and watched our eyes oscillate.”
“That’s torture,” whispered Pat Cramer, a women’s board member, shuddering. (The test established how well the women could withstand vertigo.)
At dinner under the Sky Theater’s domed ceiling, guests blew out the tables’ candles while an astronomer nixed the lights — to a communal sigh at the star-sprinkled, simulated heavens above, a replica of Chicago’s sky that night — if the city’s lights and pollution weren’t obscuring the wonder of it all.
The night marked a victory for another band of achievers — the 32-member Adler’s women’s board, which didn’t exist five years ago. Linda Celesia, an Oak Brook-based science buff, founded the group that has since raised more than $500,000. Said an appreciative Paul Knappenberger, the Adler’s president: “Tonight’s an example of the innovation and energy the women’s board has brought to the Adler.”
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lhahn@tribune.com
