Jim Lovell, R.I.P.

We lost a truly remarkable man on Thursday. Jim Lovell, Navy Captain, Naval Aviator, Gemini and Apollo astronaut, and all-around terrific guy died at the age of 97. I won’t go on about his many accomplishments since you can read all about them on any of the many online obituaries posted to the Internet. I’d rather just say a few words about how I got to know this man who is one of our nation’s true heroes.

Flying Recovery Helo for Apollo 13

I met Jim Lovell on the morning of April 17, 1970, when our crewmen hoisted him and two other astronauts aboard our Navy SH-3D helicopter not long after their Apollo 13 command module splashed down several hundred miles south of American Samoa in the South Pacific. At the time I was the helicopter’s co-pilot and Chuck Smiley, my Commanding Officer, was the pilot. Chuck, who died in 2016, was another of the great ones who had such an impact on my life.

Apollo13 Astronauts: Lovell, Swigert, Haise (L to R)

The Apollo 13 crew -- Jim Lovell, Jack Swigert, and Fred Haise -- had survived a near catastrophic roundtrip to the moon, a mission that forced NASA and this three-man crew to apply all of their knowledge and skills in ways never imagined. If you can't recall the problems that plagued the mission (or if were not alive back then), you can always watch the movie -- Apollo 13 -- or simply click here to read NASA's detailed description of the mission. 

Apollo 13 Splashdown (I took the photo from our helo)

Anyway, when we hoisted the astronauts aboard our helicopter I had never seen three happier men. We brought them aboard one-at-a-time and then flew them to the ship, the USS Iwo Jima (LPH-2), just a few hundred yards away. While their flight to the moon and back had been filled with life-threatening problems, the recovery went smoothly and trouble-free. The photo below depicts our crew (I'm second from left, all of 25 years old).

Crew of "66" -- Apollo 13 Recovery

Later that evening we had the opportunity to meet briefly with the astronauts, something we hadn't been able to do on Apollo 11 and 12, the previous moon landing missions. On those missions the astronauts were immediately isolated in a special housing, along with a NASA doctor. I suppose there was a concern for possible contamination from space-bugs.  

The next day we flew the astronauts to Pago Pago in American Samoa in three separate helicopters. Jim Lovell flew in our aircraft and I asked him if he'd like to take my co-pilot seat and join the Skipper in the cockpit. I'd just take the jump seat right behind them. He loved the idea, and I still recall the first thing he said as he sat down and looked at the instrument panel and the controls: "Wow, these helicopters are sure getting a lot more complicated." This from a man who'd just brought a spacecraft to and from the moon under the worst conditions imaginable.

Jim Lovell & Chuck Smiley Flying to Samoa

We had a great time on the flight and talked a little about their lunar mission. But Captain Lovell was more interested in learning about the work our squadron did when we weren't picking up astronauts. The flight went well, and we were greeted by a huge crowd of happy Samoans at the Pago Pago airport. Also waiting there was a USAF C-141 transport to fly the astronauts back home to the USA. 

Over the past 50+ years, I've probably conducted 200 or more presentations on the Apollo 13 recovery for all kind of groups, large and small. And in recent years, thanks to computers and PowerPoint I have the perfect means to include many of the photographs taken during the recovery. I've always been an avid photographer, and in those days, I was fortunate to own a wonderful Leica camera which I usually carried with me when I flew...hence the photos of the Apollo 13 recovery.

After the Apollo 13 recovery, our squadron got out of the Apollo business and headed west to Vietnam (there was a war going on) aboard the USS Ticonderoga. I had an opportunity to meet Jim Lovell on several subsequent occasions, all involved with spreading the word about the great things that had been done during those Apollo days. He was always pleasant and kind and interested in what had taken place in my very odd life. 

Few know that Jim Lovell was literally a rocket scientist, the perfect educational background for an astronaut. He was also a fellow alumnus of the U. S. Naval Academy, although he graduated quite a few years before my class of 1967. 

Jim lived to the age of 97, no doubt longer than I will live. He lived a long and very productive life, a life devoted to bringing knowledge to the world. But most importantly it was a good life. As a nation, we will miss him. 

May the Lord bless him and keep him always in His heavenly embrace.

Sudden Unexpected Memories

Sometimes memories of people and events from long ago just pop into my aging brain. Only rarely can I articulate why this happens. Often enough there doesn’t seem to be an obvious cause. For example, yesterday evening, as Diane and I watched one of Agatha Christie’s “Miss Marple” mysteries, out of the blue I thought of Aunt Ella and Uncle Edgar. Neither had crossed my mind in years, but there they were, interfering with my ability to follow a sinister plot that led to multiple murders in a quaint English village.

"Aunt" Ella and "Uncle" Edgar were not actually my aunt and uncle. I'm pretty sure Edgar McManus was my dad's second cousin, the first cousin of my paternal grandfather, making him my third cousin. Ella, of course, was related to me only through her marriage to Edgar. Edgar was born on March 13, 1876 and Ella on May 29, 1883. Moved by the arrival of these unexpected memories, I looked all this up last night. Their dates of birth surprised me since this discovery caused me to realize I have known people who were born almost 150 years ago. But that was true as well for all four of my grandparents. I just never thought much about it. The only conclusion from this revelation: I, too, am getting old.

Both Ella and Edgar died in 1959, she on August 22, at the age of 76, and Edgar less than a month later on September 15. He was 83 when he died. My folks were very close to this wonderful couple who I discovered were married on June 12, 1907, two years before my mom and dad were born. Interestingly, I'm currently the same age (76) as Ella when she died, and like Diane and me, this couple had been married 52 years. To be brutally honest, I thought Ella was very, very old. Of course, in September 1959, I had just celebrated my 15th birthday.

Back in 1959, we lived in Larchmont, New York, and Edgar and Ella lived in Holyoke, Massachusetts. We visited them occasionally, perhaps once or twice a year but, sadly, were not informed of their deaths. Both had already been buried before we learned anything. I can recall how devastated my folks were when they found out. It seems that Edgar just gave up the will to live after Ella's death and simply longed to join her. 

Edgar was an executive in the Insurance industry and part of what my dad called the Protestant wing of the family. The religious difference was absolutely irrelevant, though. Dad truly loved his cousin and whenever they got together the conversation would cover the waterfront. I learned a lot just sitting nearby and listening to these two men as they talked. Mom and Ella would, of course, carry on a simultaneous conversation as we all sat in their Victorian-furnished living room. I sometimes slipped away into the kitchen where I could watch the birds and squirrels come up to Ella's kitchen window to eat the seed and nuts she placed on a platform Edgar had attached to the window frame. And Ella always had a ready supply of cake and cookies which she would tell me to "eat until your tummy tells you to stop."

Ella, whose maiden name was Mayhew, was a descendant of an old Yankee family that arrived in this country in the 1630s. Her branch of the Mayhews descended from Thomas Mayhew, one of the original settlers of Martha's Vineyard. Ella had a huge (3 foot by 4 foot), very elaborate, and beautifully framed Mayhew family tree made in the late 19th century. It was truly a work of art, and included the names of hundreds of Mayhew descendants, including Ella herself. A few years before her death she inexplicably gave this family tree to my parents, even though we certainly had no direct familial connection to the Mayhews. Years later, I "inherited" the tree which we displayed on the wall of our family room until the day of a remarkably serendipitous phone conversation.

I was on the phone with Chuck Smiley, my former commanding officer, a dear friend, godfather of our eldest child, and truly one of the best men I have ever known. Knowing we lived on Cape Cod, Chuck mentioned that in the course of doing some genealogical digging, he discovered that he was a direct descendant of a Thomas Mayhew of Martha's Vineyard, an island off the coast of Cape Cod. Had I ever heard of him? I simply said, "Chuck, as we speak I am looking at Thomas Mayhew's family tree, which is hanging on our wall." I then asked, "Would you like it?" I had it safely packaged and shipped directly to Chuck and Sally who lived in San Diego. Both Chuck and Sally died not too long ago, but I expect one of their children now has the tree which for them must be a wonderful family treasure. I've always thought there was a reason, at the time unknown to all, why Ella Mayhew McManus gave that family tree to my folks. Just look where it is now.

You see, Ella and Edgar had no children...at least that's what I thought. Because my dad was almost like a son to this couple, I suppose giving the tree to my folks made some sense. On all those many visits I can recall no one ever mentioning children, but I do remember my mom once saying they were a childless couple. But then yesterday I found a photo of their gravestone on findagrave.com. The stone contains three names: Edgar, Ella, and a child with the unusual name of Lepha Duncan McManus. It seems they had a daughter who was born on May 9, 1909 -- just weeks before both of my parents were born -- and died only six months later on November 23, 1909. I was astounded and saddened, and wonder if my parents even knew about this contemporary of theirs who died so young. I was saddened, too, that nobody had added the year of their deaths after Edgar's and  Ella's names. 

All of this began with last night's uninvited memory, caused by who knows what, and yet led me to recall this wonderful couple about whom I really know so very little. I will add them and their infant daughter to my prayers. And maybe, if I ever again get to Springfield, Massachusetts, I'll stop by their grave and leave a bouquet along with a prayer.

So many people I have known, so many I have forgotten, so many memories to arise when I least expect them.

An Anniversary and Memories

I tend to view my life as a long succession of specific events, and I suppose that's normal. I suspect most of us measure the passage of our lives by the unique, special days that occasionally occur. For example, I can actually recall much that happened on the day I graduated from Archbishop Stepinac High School in White Plains, NY back in June 1962. But I have absolutely no recollection of anything that took place on the days immediately preceding or following it. Certain events in life just don't seem to achieve the level of importance demanded by our faulty memories. 

There are, of course, exceptions. Some years ago, during my days as a Navy pilot, I had a friend, now deceased, who spent many years as a prisoner of war in North Vietnam. The communists treated him abominably, tortured him frequently, and forced him to spend most of that time in solitary confinement. He told me that he had never thought of his memory as anything but average. In fact, he said in college he had struggled with foreign languages and organic chemistry because both demanded so much of his memory. But then he was thrown into solitary confinement in Hanoi. He was not yet 30 years old, and in an attempt to maintain his sanity, he began to review his life, working backward in time, trying to remember everything he could. He was surprised by how much he was able to retrieve, and came to believe that every detail of his life was stored away in brain cells. He just had to learn how to access it all. He got to the point where he could remember the names and faces of every child in his first grade class. (I can remember only one: Bonnie Trompeter, a beautiful little girl who I later learned went on to become a supermodel. That tells you more about me than about Bonnie or my memory.)

As for my life, the key events begin with a day I cannot remember: my Baptism in 1944, at the age of 11 days. I do, however, remember my first communion and confirmation -- first communion because it was in Bridgeport, Connecticut where we lived while our Larchmont, NY house was leased to another family (We had just returned from Germany); and confirmation at age 10 because I was enamored of a cute, little red-haired girl named Sherry. (There seems to be a pattern here.) 

Yes, I was a fairly normal kid, if a bit skinny, with many extraordinary talents, as depicted in the following photos;

Little League Athlete 

Concert Pianist

Future Aviator - Model Airplane

Of course I have many other memories -- the years our family spent in Panama City Beach, Florida and Heidelberg, Germany back in the early 1950s. High school is a bit of a blur, but in the midst (or mist) of it all I can actually recall dozens of events, many good, some not so good. I won't bore you with details of my year at Georgetown's School of Foreign Service or my four years at the U.S. Naval Academy. In general those were five good years during which I made many lifelong friends and even learned a few useful things.

On September 16, 1967 I met Dear Diane on a blind date, an event that changed my life for the good. This was followed by two other events that occurred only two weeks apart. Diane and I were married in Pensacola, Florida on November 2, 1968 and I received my Navy pilot's Wings of Gold on November 15. The former was far more important, but the latter wasn't too shabby.

Just Married - 2 November 1968

This leads me to the anniversary I celebrate today. 50 years ago, on April 17, 1970, I was the co-pilot of the recovery helicopter that picked up the Apollo 13 astronauts when they returned from their ill-fated mission to the moon. Chuck Smiley, our squadron's commanding officer was the pilot, and as his co-pilot I got to tag along. When I wasn't taking pictures with my old Leica iiiF, he actually let me take the controls for a while. Chuck, who died just a few years ago, was one of those remarkable people who shape the lives of others. He certainly shaped mine. Chuck was my hero, a very special man who taught me more than even I will ever know.

Recovery Helicopter Crew - Apollo 13

Over the years I've been asked many times to speak about the Apollo 13 recovery. Eventually I put together a slide show, and then a PowerPoint presentation, to tell the key parts of the story. Here's a link to the presentation, should you want to relive that now-ancient history.

Apollo 13 Recovery Presentation

I suppose I'll continue to remember that day in 1970, perhaps even little shreds of it when I'm locked away in one of Florida's many memory care facilities. My hope, of course, is that my body does not outlive my memory.

Chuck Smiley: Mentor and Friend

As we age it seems our thoughts more often turn to the past than to the future. The past, after all, represents a far greater percentage of our lives than does the future which, quite honestly, could be very brief indeed. And as we settle into a kind of quasi-retirement, our plans and hopes tend to focus on a less distant horizon. I also believe that, because our extensive pasts are brimming over with a lifetime of experiences, our thoughts naturally turn in that direction when we encounter something new. We measure the new by placing it alongside that which we have experienced and evaluate it accordingly. But it's not just our own experiences that enter into the mix, but the experiences of the special few who have had a major influence on us. 

If one is fortunate his life will be blessed by a few people who have freely offered not only their wisdom but also their encouragement, their advice, and their hope. And if one is extremely fortunate, that wisdom will always be timeless, that encouragement always positive, that advice always sound, and that hope ever fulfilled. I for one have been extremely fortunate.

My father, John McCarthy, is certainly at the very top of the list of those who changed my life, who changed me, always for the better. But there were others -- just a few others -- and right up there on that same list with my father was Captain Charles Boone Smiley, United States Navy, Retired.

Chuck and I cutting cake 1970

Several days ago I was going through some boxes filled with old documents and photos when I came across a photo taken back in 1970. It's a photo of my commanding officer and me cutting a cake celebrating our helicopter squadron's return to our home base at then Naval Air Station Imperial Beach in Southern (very Southern) California. The Navy has traditionally celebrated important events with cakes and since we had just completed the recovery operation for the Apollo 13 ill-fated lunar mission, I suppose a cake was in order. 

That commanding officer, Chuck Smiley, then already a mentor, eventually became a lifelong close friend. Interestingly, Chuck's wife, Sally, filled the same role for my young wife, Diane. Indeed, whenever Diane uttered the words, "Well, Sally said...", I knew that further discussion was unnecessary; all was settled; Sally had spoken. 

Sally & Chuck (2008)

Anyway, after finding that photo, I picked up the phone and called Chuck. He and Sally have made their home in San Diego for decades and I hadn't spoken to them for several months. As I punched in their number I felt a bit guilty for calling so infrequently. The phone was answered by their son, David, who informed me in a broken, grief-filled voice that Chuck had died only days before. He was 85 years old. At first I was heartbroken and could think only of the many lives, including my own, that would be emptier with Chuck gone. But then, after a wonderful, long chat with Sally, I realized that all those lives had been blessed by Chuck's presence, and that Chuck Smiley was still with us because he had influenced so many people in so many wonderful ways. Our lives weren't emptier; rather, they had been filled by this remarkable man.

Did two people share a greater love?

Chuck had suffered from multiple myeloma for a dozen years, which in itself was remarkable. I suppose I had simply concluded that he was indestructible, and would go on forever. But on those few occasions when he spoke about his illness with me, he revealed that he knew it would likely take his life at some point. In the meantime, though, he fought it tooth and nail. That was just the way he was. Simply to be in his presence was an ongoing learning experience.

C. B. Smiley: 1930-2016

For me personally, however, Chuck's most instructive traits were his deep Christian faith and his remarkable humility. The former ruled every aspect of his life and led Diane and me to ask Chuck and Sally to be the godparents of  two of our children. The latter taught all who served with him what it meant to be a naval officer. He never placed his personal ambition above the needs of the country, the Navy, and those under his command. Unlike many who "serve" today, Chuck Smiley was no careerist. And I suppose, from the point of view of some, he paid a price for that. Chuck, of course, would disagree.

A wonderful husband, father and grandfather, a friend like no other, a patriot, and a faithful servant in the Lord's vineyard -- how we will miss him! 

May The Lord bless you and keep you, Chuck. May His face shine upon you and be gracious to you. May He look upon you with kindness and give you peace.

Rest in peace, Chuck. If I could bake a cake, I would.