Medford mail tribune., April 07, 1963, Image 44

Family Weekly
April 7, 1963
Come Aboard
on a Trip
to the Moon!
HHI ' Vi
1
-"-''all
In a few short years, you'll be able to rocket your way through
" A ticket to the moon on next Thurs-
xi. day's rocket, please."
The year is 1975. The scene is a travel
agent's office. And the speaker that
could be you.
Fantastic? Not at all. Our first manned land
ing on the moon should take place in 1967, and
within a few years after that, lunar vacations
should be relatively commonplace.
All you will need will be the price of a round
trip ticket (probably several thousand dollars)
and the ability to pass a minor physical checkup.
After that, you will be whisked to Cape Canav
eral, Fla., via ballistic passenger liner (as de
scribed in Family Weekly, Sept. 2, 1961). You
might spend a short time in the beautiful resort
city of Cocoa Beach before boarding the majes
tic silvery Nova rocket that will take you out of
this world.
Just before flight time, a bus picks up you and
the other lunar tourists at the rocket port and
takes you to a van at the launch complex.
Here you put on your space suit, which is
much lighter and less cumbersome than the ones
used by our first astronauts. The suit is form
fitting, cotton-lined, and has a helmet which be
comes an oversized collar when not in use. You'll
wear this suit during the entire trip except in
the hotel on the moon.
The gantry elevator takes you up to the Nova
passenger cabin, which is in the third-stage sec
tion of the three-stage rocket. The stewardess
directs you to your contour couch, checks your
seat belt, and secures the air-lock doors. You can
4 family Weekly. April 7. IXJ
hear the conversation over the ship's intercom
between the pilot and blockhouse. When the
countdown reaches zero, you hear a tremendous
roar as the 4,500-ton rocket lifts away.
When its fuel is gone, the first stage of the
rocket separates and is recovered by a special
patrol boat 300 miles out in the Atlantic. The
second stage also separates when empty and is
picked up.
The third-stage section in which you are rid
ing fires until it reaches a speed that will allow
it to coast to the moon in 55 hours. Then the
motor shuts off, and you are weightless. After a
few moments, the pilot announces over the inter
com, "Lunar tourists, you are on your way. You
may open your helmets and unfasten your seat
belts if you wish to float around the cabin."
Tha NiWMt in Bird's-eye Views
There are grab rails along the aisles so that
you can pull yourself about. At a porthole you
watch the earth through binoculars and enjoy
the beautiful spectacle once reserved for astro
nauts. You gaze at the glorious, star-studded
heavens and then at the moon, which already ap
pears larger than you have ever seen it
"Heal time," says the stewardess.
Everyone returns to his seat and fastens him
self in. The food is in a hinged-lid pan which
clamps onto your knee. A fork, pincher tongs,
and a plastic squeeze bottle for beverages are
clamped on the side of the pan and connected to
it by strings. All food is bite-sized. While you
are chewing, the lid must be kept closed so your
food doesn't float away.
Before the eight-hour sleeping period, you go
to the rest room to wash up. You fasten your belt
to a hook and stick your hands inside a washing
tube. Pushing a valve with your foot causes
warm water to spray from several nozzles inside
the tube. A fan in the bottom of the tube pulls
the used water into a collector so little spheres
of the liquid don't float about the room. You suds
your hands and face, moisten a washcloth for
rinsing, and then dry yourself on a cycling
towel machine.
Sleeping weightless while strapped in your
couch is the easiest thing to do in space. When
you awaken, you eat breakfast, then the stew
ardess announces: "Those who wish to go out
side the ship, please form groups of three and
line up."
When it is your group's turn, the stewardess
ushers you into the air-lock chamber and closes
the inner door. You put on your gloves, plug the
lines from the radio and the air-supply container
on your belt into your collar receptacles, and
close your helmet. The stewardess checks your
equipment and makes sure your safety line is at
tached to a rail inside the air lock. Then she
touches the decompress button, a sign reading
"Vacuum" lights up, and the outer door opens to
the black, star-speckled void.
Over her radio, the stewardess says: "Push
yourselves gently out the door and you will drift
away from the ship. By gripping your safety
line and applying friction to it, you can stop and
hover several yards from the ship. When you
want to return to the air lock, draw on your line,
hand over hand, until you drift back in."
While you are hovering in this immense emp
tiness, your companions hand you their camera