A phrase I heard a lot over the years was “Never meet your heroes.” That was, of course, meaning that you would be let down. Since coming on staff here a little more than 10 years ago, I have seen EAA smash that phrase into oblivion. This ranges from people I get to call coworkers and friends, to some of the aviators who have made aviation history and travel to Oshkosh to share their time and stories with our members. These are aviators who have led daring missions in combat, adventurous flights around the globe, flown rocket-powered test aircraft to the edge of the envelope, and those who have explored the stars. All of them have had an influence on me, but today there is one specific person I need to highlight.
Frank Borman, EAA Lifetime 300174, was born in Gary, Indiana, on March 14, 1928. He only spent a short time there as the air quality was having an effect on his sinus system, and doctors told his family that they should consider moving elsewhere. His father, holding a good job, did a brave thing and moved his family to Tucson, Arizona, where the warm, dry climate would be better for young Frank’s health. While in Tucson, Frank began experimenting with model aircraft. He built kits as well as flying aircraft, a hobby he would also hand down to his sons. He also began flying lessons and was in love with it from the start.
As Frank started high school, he earned a spot on the high school football team as the quarterback. But that isn’t the most important thing that happened to him there. Not even close. It was meeting Susan. Susan was the absolute best and most important thing that ever happened to him. They married in 1950, and whichever adventure Frank was going on, she was right there with him for all of it.
After high school, Frank attended West Point and then chose the U.S. Air Force as his career path. After training, he flew the P-80 in the 44th Fighter Bomber Squadron, which was commanded at that time by Col. Charles McGee of Tuskegee Airmen fame. “I was in awe of him,” Frank told me. “I knew that those guys had a hard fight before even getting into combat. So when I found out that I would be under his command I was immediately excited. We all respected him.”
In 1960, Frank was selected for the USAF Experimental Flight Test Pilot School at Edwards Air Force Base. He flew jets that were on the cutting edge of technology, most of which make up what is known today as the “Century Series” fighters. In 1962, he was accepted into NASA as one of the “New Nine” astronauts.
Frank’s first command came in the Gemini program on Gemini 7 in December 1965. He commanded the mission and, along with Jim Lovell, spent the next two weeks in space. “We got very close on that mission as the whole capsule was the size of the front seats of a small car. After a day or two one of us lost our toothbrush, so we had to share for the rest of the two weeks.” I once asked Frank about conditions like going to the restroom in Gemini. He described the procedure to me. I never asked about flying in space on Gemini again. At the end of those two weeks, the Gemini 7 crew had set an all-time endurance record for space flight.
His next mission came in a daring operation to perform a lunar fly-by before the end of 1968. His command of Apollo 8 took himself, Jim Lovell, and Bill Anders on what many consider the most historically significant mission of them all. From the launch pad, this mission was full of firsts. This would be the first manned flight of the new rocket, the mighty Saturn V. This rocket had 7.6 million pounds of thrust and was as tall as a 35-story building. This was the furthest man would travel. When Frank gave the call out “Go for TLI,” or trans-lunar injection, this was the first time mankind was exploring this far in to space. This was the first manned lunar orbit as well, making this mission vital to the future moon landings. It came with risk. “I was told that I had a one in three chance in making it back, but you had to go. This is what we signed up for. This was a Cold War mission and we had to come out on top.” Luckily the spacecraft and crew performed flawlessly, giving America and the world many moments to cheer about including arguably one of the most significant photos ever taken in space — the Earthrise photo.
After Apollo 8, Frank stayed at NASA for a time then retired and went to work for Eastern Airlines where he served as its CEO. He enjoyed time with Susan and his family, restored vintage aircraft, and on many occasions shared his aircraft with us here in Oshkosh. He won awards for restorations of his P-51 Mustang, a Waco, and a P-63 King Cobra.
He also supported EAA in other ways. Frank always gave deeply of his time, volunteering to speak at programs throughout the year at our wonderful museum, and of course at AirVenture in July. It is here that I really got to know Frank. He first came to speak at Space Day. When I first found out that I would be escorting him around, I was extremely nervous. This was THE Frank Borman. He was very quick to put that at ease. Soon we found ourselves talking airplanes, models, music, and more. He and my wife had a hilarious time of trying to hold the doors for one another. Managing Editor Hal Bryan, myself, and The Green Dot gang broke a door once accidentally opening it too hard, and Frank was there with us trying to repair it, laughing the entire time. He was quick to make you feel like you had known him for years. I cherished every visit we had with him.
He donated his collection of artifacts which span his career at NASA, and it is proudly on display here in the museum alongside a gallery belonging to Joe and Jeanie Engle. When we told him that Joe was “moving in next door to him” he said, “Well since it’s Engle, I am good with that.” Together those exhibits make up what is the first backbone of our space collection. As our museum curator Amelia Anderson said, “it is because of them that we became an air and space museum.” Because of their trust in us, we are able to inspire future generations of pilots, engineers, and maybe astronauts.
My friend Frank passed last week. I still am not sure it has sunk in, or that I want it to. Our frequent calls, jokes, and sometimes even a simple text about apple crisp (that is a whole story in itself), would be highlights of my day. I hope his too. It was a friendship I never in a million years thought I’d have. But I am lucky I did. It is another example of EAA smashing that phrase of “never meet your heroes.”
If Frank taught me anything, it is this. Meet your heroes. They may be even greater than you think they are.