The Astro-families strode out of the Houston airport while paparazzi eagerly snapped away. Each of the wives slid into the backseat of a personalized convertible, the name of her astronaut on a red, white, and blue banner on the side. The ladies had to protect their hair from the breeze as the motorcade cruised toward downtown Houston.

All seven wives had by this time become expert at riding in convertible motorcades. The only decision to be made on the round-robin phone calls before the parade was "to hat or not to hat." Jackie had begun being seen formally without a hat, so the wives felt they were no longer obliged to wear them either. Trudy still wanted to wear one, but her friends tried to convince her otherwise. The bold move was sure to make an impression on their latest admirers, the jewel-laden hostesses of Houston high society.

As the motorcade cruised through downtown, thousands of onlookers sweated it out on the sidewalks. The families were waving and smiling like mad, as they did at every other parade they had been in. But this one was different. The crowd just stared. Where was the clapping, the cheering, the shouts of welcome they were expecting? It was unnerving. The wives began to wonder if they had made a big mistake in coming to the Lone Star State.

The convertibles soon headed to the Houston Coliseum. The astronauts, wives, and children were led up onto a stage at one end of the enormous arena, which had become a giant Texas barbecue. Rodeo-style whoops and yahoos greeted the wives and their s.p.a.cemen, all of whom were wearing white Stetsons to signal that they now considered themselves Texans. The sheriff was so excited, he wanted to make them all deputies. The astronaut families were introduced one by one and then the politicians and businessmen made speeches. The crowd was finally coming to life! Perhaps it had been just too hot outside for people to get excited and cheer.

Someone on the Welcome Wagon wrangled a little private dining s.p.a.ce for Houston's new prize cattle and folding chairs for the astronaut families to sit on. As the wives stared curiously at their hunks of brisket, a string of VIPs were ushered into the corral to say howdy.

"Hi, there, little lady! Just d.a.m.ned glad to see you!" said one man. "We've heard a lot of good things about you gals, a lot of good things."

The cowboy tyc.o.o.ns with Texas-sized bellies rolling over their Lone Starbuckled belts were eager to share what they had to offer: everything from the newest appliances to the latest furnishings. Lawrence Marcus, scion of the Dallas-based department store Neiman-Marcus, would later offer to outfit the wives-and hoped they'd be able to squeeze in the time to model for one of the upcoming charitable ladies' teas.

The families were offered free box seats to baseball games of the Colt .45s (soon to be renamed the Astros) and best of all, dream homes. The astronauts had never lived in dream homes, and dream homes were what they deserved after all the drab bases and Quonset huts they'd occupied over the years. Texas real-estate developer Frank Sharp had promised each astronaut family a free home, furnished and decorated, in his newly developed community of Sharpstown in Houston. What could be better than filling them with astronauts? Heck, they could even call it...Astronaut Row!

Unfortunately, the astronauts didn't want to live in Sharpstown, which they heard was near a ghetto. Besides, it wasn't exactly convenient, a ways away from NASA's soon-to-be-built mammoth Manned s.p.a.cecraft Center.

Could they simply take and then sell these free houses? Leo the lawyer gave the A-OK. If the s.p.a.cemen weren't obligated to do anything but pose for a few photo ops of modern Astro-living, free dream homes were just another perk, like dollar-a-year Corvettes, dollar-a-night hotels, and free hunting trips at the homes of millionaire gamesmen. Said gamesmen always provided free taxidermy, too, meaning the wives would have to live with all sorts of wildlife staring at them from their dream house walls.

But the idea of a free home didn't sit too well with the press. Who did these astronauts think they were? Superman? Soon the public was up in arms and NASA went ballistic. To make NASA happy, the astronauts turned down Astronaut Row, but by then the floodgates had opened. Tired of being barred from Astro-homes, tired of Life's preferential treatment, the press took the opportunity to put a spotlight on the Life contract. Should it be terminated?

John Glenn was not about to let the good life provided by Life escape without a fight. No Life contract meant Annie might be subjected to the bloodhounds of the regular press, who weren't likely to be as gentlemanly as Loudon Wainwright and who'd have a field day with her stutter. A lot was at stake. LBJ, chairman of the s.p.a.ce Council, let it be known that he didn't particularly care if the Life contract was terminated. Now that he was "bigger than Jesus," as Gus put it, John worked his insider position with the Kennedys.

The Glenns were invited for a sail on the Kennedy yacht, the Honey Fitz. On board, John got right down to business. Losing the Life contract was inconceivable for the families. It would mean losing not only their protection from the press, but also their life insurance.

Jack asked for John's opinion on the Life contract. After all, a soldier did not expect any special compensation for risking his life for his country. Right?

True, but what if the worldwide press scrutinized every move of that soldier's wife, kids, dog? Annie was already practically living under a cake dome.

For all of the astronauts, no more Life would mean having to try to live on their military salaries. But the Glenns' fame made them American icons, and as a result, they wielded considerable political clout. Annie had even let LBJ into the house, finally, for John's fortieth birthday party (in this case, the Glenns decided to let the vice president into their orbit). She'd invited some of the other astronaut couples to Arlington, too.

"What on earth are you going to serve?" someone asked Annie.

"My ham loaf."

"Ham loaf?"

"Why not?" Annie smiled calmly. "Everybody likes it. I bet you Lady Bird asks for the recipe, too."

Sure enough, as Lyndon Johnson gave his hostess a good-night kiss, Lady Bird asked for her ham loaf recipe-two eggs, milk, cracker crumbs, tapioca, fresh ground and smoked ham and ground beef, minced onion optional, put in the oven with brown sugar sauce for two hours at 350F, basting frequently with a heap of love. Yields eight portions. Annie was like Betty Crocker, the nurturing housewife who left all America feeling warm inside.

Ultimately, John Kennedy agreed that the Life contract should continue. Their slice of the $500,000 pie secure, the Glenns finally built their real dream home. The site of the new Manned s.p.a.cecraft Center was in Clear Lake City, located on the sh.o.r.es of its eponymous recreational lake. The Glenns preferred the quainter Taylor Lake nearby, and snapped up a lot at the head of the little ca.n.a.l that fed into it. They staked their flag in the brand-new subdivision of Timber Cove.

The banks had offered deeply discounted home loans at 4 percent for astronauts, and with homebuilders promising to build at cost, the Astrowives could splurge on BlueStar kitchens with electric ranges and blenders built right into the countertops. The Glenns' had sliding gla.s.s doors and a patio, which would be perfect for weekend family barbecues.

The Carpenters built next door to the Glenns, and two blocks away the Grissoms and Schirras built their own suburban fortresses. Betty Grissom would no longer have to draw the curtains on the day of a launch, because her house had no front windows. There was even a hole in the backyard fence so that she could slip, unseen by the press, over to Jo's. Both houses featured turquoise kidney-shaped swimming pools. Finally, Betty thought, Gus would get to swim in peace, far from the eyes of the inevitable s.p.a.ce tourists.

The Coopers built a house across Taylor Lake in the subdivision of El Lago Estates. The Slaytons would move into the aptly named Friendswood, a historic Quaker community, also nearby. The Shepards were the only family who opted to live in Houston proper, downtown in the tony neighborhood of River Oaks.

During the summer of 1962, while their houses were being built, the astronaut families were housed in the cabanas at the Lakewood Yacht Club. Since their new houses wouldn't be ready until the fall, the Lakewood Yacht Club had graciously offered the use of its cabanas, on the beautifully landscaped banks of Clear Lake. There the couples and their kids lived in style, enjoying full access to the clubhouse. All the club expected in return was a Valentine's Day photo op of America's favorite sweethearts squeezed together into a rose-red heart.

Houston was abuzz with the arrival of the astronauts and their wives. The Houston Chronicle heralded the s.p.a.ce ladies as members of "Houston's most exclusive women's club," even more elite than the Junior League or the River Oaks Garden Club, which invited Jo Schirra to be a special guest at the sneak preview of their annual Azalea Trail.

Back at Langley, the formal event of the year had been the Air Force Ball, but down here the social calendar offered frequent fetes, supported by Houston's deep reservoirs of oil money. The doyennes of high society vied to have astronaut wives at their parties, and Jo was much in demand and getting plenty of coverage now that her Wally was to be the next man to go up into s.p.a.ce. His nine-hour Sigma 7 flight was scheduled to take off on October 3, 1962.

Though she had begun as one of the shier of the wives, Jo was finally coming into her own down here in Texas. She radiated such a healthy glow that Wally called her Sunray. She'd taken to pulling her hair back into a sporty headband, far different from her conservative "before" look in her first Life profile. Now the Chronicle featured sophisticated, blue-eyed blonde "Josephine," a regular on the Houston social circuit.

On one occasion, Jo and Wally were flown via private plane to the Coffield Ranch, an oil-bought haven for rich sportsmen who had a taste for hunting quail. Touching down on the palm-lined runway, the token Astrowife fit seamlessly into this socialite preserve. In a feature in the fashion pages of the Chronicle that followed, Jo looked fabulous in a cashmere sweater, checked wool pants, camel coat, cat-eye gla.s.ses, and her signature headband.

Now the Astrowife was about to host the most exclusive party in town-her launch party. Jo wouldn't have to draw the curtains because her house, like the Grissoms' next door, had been custom-built with no front windows. Joining the other wives, Betty arrived through the rabbit hole, just like the two cats, Miss Priss and Gus. Jo had named the latter for her grouchy astronaut neighbor, who hated cats.

Outside, a pack of neighborhood dogs played on the lawn among the teeming reporters. There were more newsmen than ever, rejuvenated by the Texas-style fanfare of the s.p.a.ce program moving to Houston. Jo fixed her carrot-topped twelve-year-old Marty some gelatin salad to snack on, hoping to distract him from the chaos outside. To no avail-the little rascal wouldn't quit playing peekaboo over the fence with the photographers.

"This tower is a real sayonara!" Wally said as he took off. After a few corny jokes, Jo's thirty-nine-year-old husband got down to dutiful s.p.a.ce flying. He called it "chimp mode." No taking snapshots like a s.p.a.ce tourist. No wasting fuel.

After Wally's successful splashdown in the Pacific, Jo stepped outside for her post-flight press conference. "It was a perfect landing, especially," she said, underscoring how her husband hadn't overshot his mark (like one astronaut whom she did not mention). Wally had landed within five miles of the recovery ship.

"Are you going to feed Wally steak and cake when he gets home?" asked the hungry press.

Jo just stared at the newsmen in bewilderment. She didn't even bake. All Wally wanted when he got to Earth was a smoke.

Nevertheless, "Astronaut's Wife Will Bake a Cake" ran the headline in the Houston Chronicle, the accompanying article detailing how upon her astronaut's return to his new dream home, Jo was planning to serve him an extra-special meal. The press was determined to keep her in the kitchen.

Dropped off on the Kearsarge carrier in the Pacific, Wally was flown to Hawaii, where he was met by dancing hula girls. He didn't arrive back in Houston till one o'clock in the morning. The mayor and the governor were on hand to welcome him back to Texas. Six police cars escorted the Schirras on the drive to Timber Cove. Jo's mother, Mrs. Admiral Holloway, was there to greet her hero son-in-law in proper form.

Finally Wally got a first look at his new California-style ranch house. He'd been training at the Cape all summer and had left Jo to deal with the movers. ("He planned that very well!" she told her friends.) Jo had furnished the house with a modern Oriental flair. Wally, who had served in World War II aboard the USS Alaska in j.a.pan, and had met Jo at the train station carrying a samurai sword upon his arrival back in the States, felt immediately at home.

"My view of the Moon was so much better than what you can see from Earth," he explained to his mother-in-law. He happily reported to Marty, his pride and joy, "The Moon is not made out of green cheese."

It had been a long, long day, and now it was almost morning and Wally was in his pajamas, finally ready for bed. Jo asked him, "Wally, will you please take out the garbage?" He was fully down to Earth at last.

Only a week and a half later, Earth would seem almost as dangerous a place as outer s.p.a.ce. For fourteen days the world teetered on the edge of nuclear war. Though the Russians were still ahead in the s.p.a.ce race, America was winning the arms race. Nikita Khrushchev made a bold move to even the score: he began building a missile installation in Cuba, from which his medium-range missiles could easily target the United States. When Kennedy learned of the site on October 15, he knew he had to stop him. He set up a naval blockade around Cuba. As Russian ships grew closer and closer to Cuba, the world held its breath. Finally Khrushchev blinked. He agreed to remove his missiles from Cuba. In exchange, the United States agreed never to invade Cuba. The world breathed a sigh of relief.

Kennedy was more determined than ever to win the s.p.a.ce race. "We choose to go to the Moon!" Kennedy had told a sweltering crowd at Rice University in Houston in September 1962. "We choose to go to the Moon in this decade and do the other things-not because they are easy but because they are hard."

A new group of astronauts was announced to redouble his efforts. Along with the Mercury Seven, the New Nine astronauts would be manning the next phase of the s.p.a.ce program. Named Gemini, it would feature two-man s.p.a.ce capsules, the first American s.p.a.ce walk, and rendezvous, a critical maneuver where two craft joined in orbit. All of this was preliminary to the Apollo program that would take America all the way to the Moon.

The New Nine were Neil Armstrong, Frank Borman, Charles "Pete" Conrad, Jim Lovell, Jim McDivitt, Elliot See, Tom Stafford, Ed White, and John Young. The test pilot world was a small one, so the Mercury wives knew some of the New Nine who would soon be moving to Clear Lake. Pete Conrad and Jim Lovell had been in the same flight training cla.s.s as Wally Schirra at Pax River in Maryland, so Jo was already friendly with Jane Conrad and Marilyn Lovell. She had sent each of them an elegant cream-colored welcome card, and even offered to show them around the neighborhood and help find a builder, too, although the girls probably wouldn't get the great at-cost deal the Mercury families had been given.

As it turned out, they did, which gave the Mercury wives some reason for concern. At a get-together, the seven ladies discussed what they should and should not do for the incoming "Gemini wives" about to invade their turf.

As always, Betty was conspicuously missing from the group. She wanted to make sure she finished all her ch.o.r.es before she went anywhere, even next door to Jo's house. She even did the sweaty ch.o.r.es that Jo reserved for Wally when he came home on weekends from the Cape. Betty proudly mowed her own lawn, and expertly fished out hard-to-reach leaves and floating dead bugs from her pool. She wanted Gus to have maximum relaxation time with her and the boys when he got home, to feel like the king of his castle.

"Well, I don't intend to let them run all over me," said Betty when she finally arrived.

Would the goodies be spread too thin with the addition of these new wives? The Life deal wasn't due to end until the following year, when Gordo would make the final Mercury flight. A new contract was to be negotiated for the Gemini program. The new deal, rumored to be for a million dollars, would have to be divided into sixteen slices this time-the Mercury Seven plus the New Nine.

The Mercury wives looked to Jo. Wasn't Jane Conrad married to New Nine astronaut "Princeton Pete"? Didn't she already have enough goodies?