Jim Lawel, who safely ruled Apollo 13, dies at the age of 97

Astronaut Jim Lawel, who safely managed Apollo’s 13th in 1970, died at the age of 97.

NASA said that “turned the potential tragedy into success” after the attempt to land for the moon was stopped from the blast on board a spacecraft, while it was hundreds of thousands from the ground.

Tens of millions looked at television when Lavell and two more astronauts sprayed back into the Pacific, and the moment that became one of the most iconic space travel.

Lawel, who was also part of Apollo 8, was the first person who went twice for a month.

Acting NASA Dafi’s duties said Lawel helped the American space program “Create a Historical Way”.

In her statement, the Laveli family said: “We will miss his unwavering optimism, feelings of humor and how he made each of us feel that we could do. He was really the only one of his kind.”

One Saturday, a 16-year-old girl pulled a heavy, three-meter tube into the middle of the large field in Wisconsin.

He persuaded his science teacher to help him make an improvised missile. For some reason, he managed to take his hands on the powder ingredients – potassium nitrate, sulfur and charcoal.

He pulled the welder’s helmet to defend. He packed him with powder, hit the match and ran like hell.

The rocket rose by 80 feet in the air and exploded. If the chemicals were packed a little differently, it would be blown into pieces.

For Jim Lawel it was more than a baby lark.

Having achieved his dream of becoming a missile scientist, he would become an American hero. But it would not be easy.

James Arthur Laul -Jellow was born on March 25, 1928 – just a year after Charles Lindberg made his historic trip through the Atlantic.

“Boys like either dinosaurs or planes,” he said. “I was a very boy of the plane.”

But when he was five, his father died in a car accident.

His mother Blanche worked all hours – fighting to keep the family in clothing and food. The university was far beyond their financial reach.

The answer was the US Military Fleet, which has hunted new pilots after World War II. It was not the construction of rockets, but at least it participated in the flight.

Lawel signed a program that sent him to college at the expense of the military, training as a pilot of fighters.

He spent two years gambling and moved to the Academy of the Military Fleet in Annolis, in the Gulf of Hausapik, hoping to work with his favorite missiles.

It was a happy decision.

A few months later, the Korean War began, and his former pilot was sent to Southeast Asia. Many should never complete their education.

The marriage was banned in Anopolis, and the girlfriends refused. The Military Fleet did not want his midship to spend his time on such frivolity.

But Lavelle had sweetheart. Marilyn Gerlach was a high school girl, which he shyly requested for a graduation evening.

Women were not allowed on a campus, and trips to the streets were limited to 45 minutes. For some reason the relationship survived.

Just a few hours after graduation in 1952, the recently ordered warrant officer Lawel married her.

By the death of Marylin in 2023, they would be together for over 70 years.

He did his best to advertise his love for missile.

His dissertation at the Navy Academy was in an unprecedented theme of liquid fuel engines. After graduation, he hoped to specialize in this pioneer new technology.

But the Military Fleet had other ideas.

Lawel was assigned to a group of aircraft carriers who flew out Banshee Jets with ships at night. It was a white, high -ranking business that came only for Daredevils. But this was not enough for the catch.

In 1958 he turned to NASA.

The Mercury project was an attempt by America to place a man in orbit around Earth. Jim Lowel was one of the 110 pilots -trials that he considered for the choice, but the temporary state of the liver paid by his chance.

Four years later he tried again.

In June 1962, after the debilitating medical trials, NASA announced its “new nine”. These would be men to put on the promise of President Kennedy to put US boots for a month.

It was the most elite group of flying people who gathered when they gathered. They consisted of Neil Armstrong, John Young and, while performing their baby dream, Jim Lowell.

Three years later he was ready.

His first trip to space was aboard two twins 7. Lawel and Comrade Frank Borman eaten breakfast and breakfast with steaks and blew up.

Their mission is to find out if men can survive two weeks in space. If not, the moon was unavailable.

The next Lawel flight, which was completed, was run by Gemini 12, as well as Space Rookie, Buzz Aldrin.

This time they proved that a person could work outside the spacecraft. Oldrin clutched into the void awkwardly, spending five hours, taking pictures of star fields.

Now for the moon itself.

Apollo’s crew 8 would be the first to go beyond the low earth orbit and entered the gravitational craving of another heavenly body.

It was NASA’s most dangerous mission.

Saturn’s rocket against Laulla, Borman and William Anders from our atmosphere of 25,000 mph was huge – three times greater than anything that is observed in the Gemini program.

As a navigator, Lavelle took with him a sextant to take star reading – in case the computers were unable and they had to find their way home.

Sixty -eight hours after takeoff they made it.

The engines fired, and Apollo 8 silently slid for a month. The men heard a pond in the headset when the radio signal fell to the mission and then failed.

Out -shaped astronauts pressed against the windows, the first people who saw the far side of our nearest heavenly neighbor. And then, from the coming horizon, an incredible sight.

“Earth,” gasped by Borman.

“Get the camera fast,” Lavl said.

It was a Christmas Eve of 1968.

America was incured in Vietnam abroad and civic unrest. But at this point it seemed that humanity was united.

People of the world saw their planet as the astronauts saw it – weak and beautiful – shining in the devastation of space.

Lawel read from the book of being, the basis of many great religions in the world, to the people of the earth.

“And God called the world of light, and the darkness he called at night. And in the evening and in the morning were the first day.”

For him, it was an image that changed our world forever. He put his thumb to the window and the whole world disappeared behind him. It was the most mobile experience of his life.

As the spacecraft appeared again from the darkness, Lawel first announced the good news. “Please report it,” he said when the radio crashed into life, “there is Santa Claus.

At this very moment, 239,000 miles, a man in a blue roller-ray rose near the Houston House.

He walked past dozens of journalists housed on the street and handed Marilyn the box.

It opened a fabric paper with a star and pulled the mink. “Merry Christmas,” said the map that came with her, “and love from the man on the moon.”

They rose as astronauts and left with celebrities. People of the earth followed every movement on TV.

There were tips of Ticker ribbons, awards in Congress and a place on the cover of Time. And they didn’t even step for the moon.

This honor, of course, went to Nile Armstrong and Basla Oldrin.

A year later, Kennedy’s dream was posthumously considered. A small step was taken and humanity made its giant leap. New nine did their job.

In April 1970, Jim Lawell’s turn came. Fortunately, Apollo’s crew 13 did not believe in unhappy figures.

Lawell, Jack Svigert and Fred Haise were people of science – a highly skilled and determined to monitor the Armstrong and Oldrin to the moon surface. But everything went bad.

They were 200,000 miles above the ground and closed on their goal when they noticed low pressure in the hydrogen side. It took the excitement to stop the super cold gas that had settled into the layers.

Swigert Flicked switch. It had to be a normal procedure, but the command module, Odyssey, shuddered. The pressure of the oxygen fell and the power closed.

“I believe we had problems here,” Svigert said. Lawel had to repeat the message on the stunned mission control: “Houston, we had problems.”

It was one of the greatest humiliations of all time and peoples. The crew was in great trouble – the dramatic explosion turned off their craft.

Haise and Lavell worked fervently to load the moon module, Aquarius.

It didn’t need to be used until they reached the moon. He did not have a thermal shield, so it was impossible to use the Earth’s atmosphere to re -enter the atmosphere. But it can keep them alive until they hit.

The world stopped breathing and watched.

Jim Lowell for the second time united the world as one. The first time it was for the land, the second would be witnessing its struggle for survival.

“Within four days,” said Marilyn, “I didn’t know if I was a wife or widow.”

The temperature dropped to freezing, nutrition and water were rationalized. It took a few days before they limped back to the outskirts of the Earth’s atmosphere. They climbed back to the Odyssey and prayed that the thermal shield was not damaged.

The radio silence that accompanies re -entry has passed much longer than usual. Millions watched on TV, many made sure that everything was lost.

After six excruciating minutes, the voice of Jack Svigert cut his silence.

The team on the ground kept breathing until the parachutes unfold, and the crew safely sank.

The mission was NASA’s greatest failure and, without a doubt, its best hour.

Lavell retired from the fleet in 1973 and chose a quiet life while working in the Bay-Houston towing campaign, speaking with speeches and holding the presidency of the National Eagle scouts.

His book “The Lost Moon: Apollo 13” became a dangerous film in 1995, which was attended by Tom Hanks as Jim Lawel.

For the film, the director asked him to dress as an admiral. It was a cameo for the scene, shaking Hanx’s hand when the crew was saved from the sea.

But the old American hero did not have it.

Jim Lowel twice for the moon, witnessed that he had been luggage and narrowly avoided cold death in space – and did not see the reasons to burn his resume falsely.

He pulled out his old military -marine form, dusted it and put on the appearance of a camera.

“I retired as a captain,” he insisted, “and the captain I will.”