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W alter Sullivan was hot on the story. It was the first week of October 1957, and the New York Times science reporter was primed to write a notice for the Sat- urday edition reporting that the Soviet Union was about to launch the world’s first space satellite into orbit. The news wasn’t far-fetched. Weeks earlier, the Soviets had launched their first intercontinental ballistic missile, one designed to carry a weapon between continents, so the idea of a human-made spacecraft circling the globe came as no surprise to Sullivan. Sullivan never got a chance to publish the story, as speculation turned to reality. Sullivan was at a cocktail party on October 4 at the Soviet embassy in Washington, D.C., when a wire-service alert fromMoscow reported the Russians had indeed placed the satellite in orbit. The news rocked the world. Named “Sputnik,” the Russian word for “fellow traveler,” the satellite was the size of a basketball and weighed only 184 pounds (83 kg), but it scared many people. U.S. officials seemed shocked, although the launch should not have come as a surprise. The administration of President Dwight D. Eisenhower and the military had been warned numerous times that the Soviets were on the cusp of launching the satellite. Eight days into Sputnik’s round-the-world journey, U.S. defense officials began to comprehend its significance. As they listened to Sputnik’s constant beep on the radio, they became increasingly disturbed by the Soviets’ ability to hurl such a hefty sphere 560 miles (901 km) above Earth. Sputnik could have easily been a nuclear warhead. They and others knew that Sputnik was a game-changer in the age of atomic weapons. When Percival Brundage, Eisenhower’s budget director, went to dinner with socialite and diplomat Perle Mesta, he commented that no one would remem- ber Sputnik in six months. “Yes, dear,” Mesta answered, “and in six months we may all be dead.” C H A P T E R 1 Science and the Aftermath of World War II

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CHAPTER 1