ARMED FORCES: Descent to the Future

After ham and eggs one night last week, Air Force Captain Joe Kittinger, 31, drove up to a 2 a.m. rendezvous in the clear, cold New Mexico desert and methodically climbed into one of the strangest costumes ever worn by man. First he put on two suits of insulated, porous underwear, then a partial-pressure suit, heavy, quilted long underwear, standard Air Force flying suit, heavy G.I. socks, electrically heated socks, heavy woolen socks, rubberized boots (called Li'l Abners), nylon gloves, high-altitude pressure gloves, electrically heated flying gloves, glass-faced space helmet. At 3:30 a.m. he lay down on a tarpaulin on the desert floor and began breathing pure oxygen. In just five hours, red-haired Jet Pilot Joe Kittinger, father of two children, holder of the Distinguished Flying Cross for his historic balloon ascension to 96,000 ft. 2½ years ago (TIME, June 17, 1957), was to jump toward the earth from the fringes of space in the longest parachute leap in history.

Blips & Survival. At .0615, Kittinger climbed onto a flat-bed truck and squeezed into a small gondola that was strung from a huge plastic balloon. Harnessed on his back was an elaborate instrument kit (14-channel tape recorder for voice, heartbeat and respiration rates, time blips, temperature, etc.). On his left wrist were a rear-view mirror, a small box with built-in altimeter and stopwatch, and a survival knife and scabbard. To one leg was strapped a tiny receiver-transmitter radio, and on his back were two parachutes and an alternate oxygen system.

Minutes later, Kittinger rose slowly in his gondola, "flying" his polyethylene balloon as expanding helium lifted it skyward. At each 5,000-ft. altitude mark, he checked by radio with ground-control technicians, monitored his instruments ("I certainly could not have died of boredom"). Then, at 0831, Kittinger checked his altimeter: 76,400 ft. An officer on the ground radioed the countdown: "Joe, it's X minus two minutes." Then: "X minus one minute."

The Step. Kittinger ran down the final items on his checklist (e.g., disconnect electrical connections), then rose heavily from his seat. He faced the opening in the gondola and, as he says, "stepped out the door."

Through the thin, -104°F. air he fell freely, first face down, then atumble, then on his back—1,000, 5,000, 10,000 ft.—reaching a flashing terminal velocity of about 450 m.p.h. As he plummeted, he took readings on his instruments, and with cool self-possession, tape-recorded his "subjective reactions and observations of this interesting experiment." On he dropped, like a stone into a void—until at an altitude of 12,000 ft., 2 min. 58 sec. and twelve miles after he had bailed out, a barometric device on his pack blew open his parachute, and he sailed slowly and safely to the ground.