Houston, No Problem Here

My brother and I have wonderful memories of ordering, building and flying model rockets when we were youngsters. What a thrill it was to see them soar into the sky! It was our way of participating in the space race back in the 1960s.

We would purchase our model rockets from the Estes Model Rockets company in Colorado. In eager anticipation we would watch for the mailman to deliver our newest order. And the mailman eventually got pretty excited, too, He would even sometimes wait around to see what we ordered as we eagerly accepted the package.

On the days we weren't around when he delivered our latest order he would inevitably ask about it later. As kid mission control experts we were happy to tell him all about it and even relay details of our recent launches.

Years ago I wrote about our exploits. You can read below about how we, Tom and Doug, enjoyed this hobby. It was a highlight of our youth.

Estes Model Rockets catalog circa 1974

Copyright 2003 by Tom Gilbert, all rights reserved

The sun is blazing down on an August day in Arkansas. It’s one of those hot, humid days where the mosquitoes are more annoying because they buzz around the sweat dripping above my ears. Nevertheless, I’m smiling.

We are rocketeers! Yes, my brother and I are in an open field getting ready to launch our latest Estes model rockets. We’ve been getting them by mail order for the past couple of months. Even our mailman is hooked. He’s come to recognize the packages and will even linger while we open the latest box. He must have the stars in his eyes, too.

Doug and I are scampering around trying to catch grasshoppers. This new model has a capsule in the top and we need a payload, preferably alive. What will our astronaut think about rocketing into the summer sky? It matters little to us if grasshoppers think or not. We’re really riding there in our imaginations.

“5-4-3-2…1!” “Alright, who-hoo! Look at it go!”

The missile shoots up until it is a speck in the brilliant blue canopy above. A dull thump is heard as the second charge goes off that jettisons the capsule. The parachute opens and the rocket begins its twirling descent to earth. We chase after it, laughing and ignoring briers and stickers in our path.

Doug gets there first and holds up the capsule. “Looks like he’s still alive” he shouts. I catch up and, bending at the knees, examine the critter inside. His antennae are jutting in two directions and I can’t tell if he’s been shocked by the experience or not, although I imagine he has.

“That a way, John Glenn!” My brother and I are grinning from ear-to-ear, arms around each other’s shoulders.

“Wanna launch it again?”

“Are ya kiddin?!”

We both run back to the launcher. Houston, no problem here!

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