Cosmonaut number three
Why Grigory Nelyubov didn't have a place in the Soviet space program
Sergey Tashevsky
The LAZ bus rumbled softly along the pockmarked concrete road across the steppe. Three people sat in the front: Gagarin, his first backup, Gherman Titov (in bright red spacesuits), and a third man, whose face is little known today. This man, wearing a military uniform with captain's stripes, had a cosmonaut ID card number 3, issued by Korolev himself, in one of the pockets of his uniform jacket, and he was Gagarin's second backup. Second, then, for the most extreme case. Therefore, his spacesuit lay on one of the seats behind him.
The spring sun shone outside the LAZ windows; the spacesuits, even though connected to life support systems, were already hot; the uniform jacket was much more comfortable. But it was hard not to notice the envy with which this man looked at Gagarin.
"Don't be sad, Grisha, our turn will soon come!" Titov said encouragingly, catching his eye.
— It will come, so what? We won't be the first.
— Does it matter?
— Important. Do you know who was the first to cross the ocean and reach America?
- Of course. Columbus.
— And who was second? And third? Don't you remember? Well, there you go.
Back in Moscow, ten days before the launch, they recorded their pre-launch speeches, one of which would be broadcast on April 12. The same scripted text, no improvisations. "My whole life seems to me now like one beautiful moment..." and so on. The speech was likely written by Khrushchev's in-house speechwriter, the talented diplomat Valentin Falin. All three delivered it, word for word. Back then, each still had hope of being first. And indeed, Titov almost had a stroke of luck: Gagarin developed sinusitis. Medications didn't help. But it soon became clear that a bad tooth was to blame, which was treated in two days, and he was ready for launch again. That's why they ended up on the Baikonur bus on April 12, 1961, in this final lineup: the first cosmonaut, Yuri Gagarin, his backup, German Titov, and the second cosmonaut, Grigori Nelyubov.
Grigory Nelyubov was born in 1934 in Crimea, near Yevpatoria. He grew up in Zaporizhzhia, studied at the Yeysk Aviation School (considered the USSR's main "training ground for fighter pilots" in the postwar years), and returned to his homeland, Crimea, to serve. Everyone there flew MiG-15 fighters, which were then flown by pilots from across the USSR and all socialist countries. It was the most widely used combat jet in history. While it was popular, it wasn't particularly reliable, as Nelyubov learned more than once. Once, during a flight, his engine failed, and he had to eject into rough seas. The search for him lasted a day, but he was eventually recovered alive.
By the age of 25, Nelyubov had already earned a reputation as a pilot with a true talent, a true master, and even a hero. He was also a handsome, charming man, the life of any party. The house where he and his wife, Zinaida, lived was always filled with guests, music played, and cheerful feasts were in full swing. But not at the expense of his work: his career as a fighter pilot was progressing as usual, and Grigory dreamed of new heights.
And then, in 1959, a commission from Moscow arrived at just the right time—looking for volunteers willing to master some "new technology." Naturally, Nelyubov jumped at the opportunity, and he and Zinaida set off for the capital.
He didn't yet know that they were talking about space flights, and that there were about 200 pilots like him who were "volunteering." The selection process was rigorous—based on height, weight, health, endurance, but most importantly, the ability to remain calm and make decisions in challenging situations. By March 1960, twelve people remained out of two hundred, and they formed the first cosmonaut corps. The oldest of them was 34, the youngest 23. Gagarin and Nelyubov, who were the same age, were both 26 at the time.
They, Nelyubov and Gagarin, were living with their wives in Moscow at the time, on Leninsky Prospekt, in adjacent rooms of a government-owned communal apartment that resembled more of a barracks. But they lived happily and harmoniously. No one knew what they were training for ("a military secret!")—technically, they remained junior officers, and their pay was minimal. Living practically hand-to-mouth, Zinaida soon found work as a typist and generously shared her food with the Gagarins. In essence, they lived as a large, cheerful commune, except the men often disappeared for long periods—for tests and training.
Soon, a sort of elite emerged within the cosmonaut corps (candidates came and went), a "top six," which eventually included Gagarin, Titov, Nelyubov, Nikolaev, Bykovsky, and Popovich. General Kamanin, head of the space flight department at the General Staff, wrote in his diary:
"All six cosmonauts are excellent guys. Nikolaev is the calmest of the six. Bykovsky is less collected than the others, capable of a certain amount of arrogance, and can say too much. Popovich is still an enigma: he gives the impression of a strong-willed man, but is overly soft-spoken when it comes to disagreements with his wife... There's nothing to say about Gagarin, Titov, and Nelyubov—they show no deviation from the cosmonaut model."
But what standard did the general have in mind? Certainly, it wasn't just the standard of health and professionalism. And not just the standard of formal party membership (all cosmonaut candidates were immediately accepted into the party, how else?). But the image of the first cosmonaut also had to meet the strict standards of the "Soviet man": courage, determination, resourcefulness, a ready smile, charm, selfless devotion, unwavering obedience to orders, and—modesty.
The main thing is modesty.
Modesty, the ability to "keep a low profile," "not get cocky," and, despite any victory, to assert that "anyone could have been in my place"—those were considered essential human qualities in the USSR. And here, Nelyubov was precisely the one with problems.
He didn't feel like "anyone."
He wanted to be first.
When Korolev approved Gagarin for the first flight, he issued the first three cosmonaut flight certificates—to himself, Nelyubov, and Titov. The first three spacesuits were also made for them. But Nelyubov, of course, was right about Columbus's fame. It seems no one but him expected the worldwide fame that was destined for Gagarin. From an unknown lieutenant, he instantly became a global celebrity, received the title Hero of the Soviet Union, a new three-room apartment, embarked on a world tour, met with kings and presidents, and so on and so forth... However, the rest of the "star six" were also immediately awarded the Order of the Red Star, new apartments in Star City, and were accepted into the Zhukovsky Academy without examination. Now their names were, as they say, "on everyone's lips"—as those "on the waiting list" for space.
Nelyubov, holding the third cosmonaut certificate, was supposed to be the third to fly, after Gagarin and Titov. He was already preparing for a long-duration flight on Vostok 3. However, these were unspoken rules, and the final decision here was made by Korolev. Or maybe not exactly him.
Everyone remembers the joke about the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union ordering the cosmonauts to fly to the Sun, and when they were horrified, they consoled them: "The Central Committee isn't stupid. Fly at night!" Something like this probably actually happened. Most likely, Khrushchev called Korolev. And, while preparing the next "paired" flight of the two spacecraft, Vostok-3 and Vostok-4 (they were launched one after the other, 24 hours apart, to meet in orbit), he suddenly approved Andrian Nikolayev and Pavel Popovich as the lead pilots. The former was Chuvash, the latter Ukrainian. "This flight of two 'space brothers' is dedicated to the friendship of peoples," the newspapers wrote. Rumor had it that Korolev had been asked to launch cosmonauts "of a non-titular nationality," meaning all the other candidates, Russian by passport (including Nelyubov), were unsuitable for the mission. Perhaps only as backups. But Nelyubov was also disqualified from the Vostok 5 mission due to a common cold (Bykovsky ultimately went). Korolev consoled him: no big deal, you'll fly on the sixth ship in the series...
But then suddenly—another phone call from the Central Committee, where someone had learned from intelligence that the Americans were allegedly preparing a woman for space flight. This couldn't be allowed; the woman in space had to be ours, a Soviet, socialist woman! And so, in the end, Tereshkova was assigned to Vostok 6.
Tereshkova flew into space for three days in the summer of 1963, but her mission was not without problems—it turned out to be the last for the Vostok spacecraft. A new program was beginning, with a new spacecraft—Voskhod. But for this spacecraft, the older cosmonaut candidates would have to retrain for a year or two. And it was clear that their younger colleagues now had the advantage.
Nelyubov's cosmonaut ticket number 3 was a losing one. Everyone from the "six" went into space except him.
And yet, perhaps none of them dreamed of pioneering glory as much as he did! And to say it was frustrating would be an understatement. When Grigory realized he was getting further and further from space, he fell into depression. He was temporarily removed from training and sent home to rest for a couple of weeks. But he couldn't sit still. He wanted to unwind somehow, maybe have a drink or two to calm his nerves.
It's not that he was a big fan of alcohol back then. He drank like everyone else. True, Star City was dry, so (as the cosmonauts' diaries suggest), when there was a reason to drink, they'd drink the alcohol generously provided by the quartermaster. But asking for alcohol for himself alone was shameful. So he donned civilian clothes (he was officially on leave, after all) and walked four kilometers from Star City to the station, where there was a refreshment bar.
There, Nelyubov seemed to have had some luck at first. Sitting at the table were two of his acquaintances, new cosmonaut candidates and trainees Ivan Anikeyev and Valentin Filatyev. Both were in uniform (they'd been briefly absent from their unit while "AWOL") and were having a drink. Grigory eagerly joined them. And then everything happened quickly and awkwardly. Here's how one of his fellow servicemen recalled it, from his own words:
"There was a beer slam at the buffet, the guys started arm-wrestling, and they accidentally dropped a salt shaker. The barmaid was outraged, and a patrolman was passing by…"
In principle, the military patrol posed no threat to Nelyubov himself: he was on leave and had the right to do whatever he wanted. But he began to stand up for his acquaintances, reprimanding the patrol commander, asking if he knew who he was dealing with. The commander decided he was being insulted, and all three were taken to the commandant's office, where a report was filed.
The commandant's captain waved this report under Nelyubov's nose and demanded an apology. Otherwise, he said, everything would go to the military unit. But Grigory, furious, refused. He also refused to repent and apologize at the party meeting convened the next day. He sincerely believed he had nothing to apologize for. And that, in essence, was the case—he was simply standing up for his friends. And not at all while drunk (he hadn't even had a drink). But what did that matter?
Korolev, who (in words) wanted to keep Nelyubov in the cosmonaut corps, did nothing to ensure this. And the enraged Kamanin, having discovered such a blatant deviation from the "cosmonaut standard," ordered all three expelled.
Nelyubov was sent to the Far East, to the 224th Fighter Regiment, where he had to start all over again. He mastered new fighters once again (the MiG-21, almost as popular as the MiG-15 and almost as fragile, had just arrived). He rescued and landed dying aircraft in seemingly hopeless situations, demonstrated his unique "piloting style," delighted his fellow soldiers, became the life of the party, played the guitar, and recited Yesenin's poems.
Many recalled how he loved going out with other pilots and their families to the "nature," to the hills where poisonous snakes literally swarmed in the spring, and, to the horror of his fellow pilots, he recklessly grabbed the dangerous reptiles with his bare hands. He seemed to know no fear at all—and continued to believe in his lucky stars. And he still wanted to be first.
Nelyubov tried again and again to return to the cosmonaut corps. He flew to Moscow several times and, through his old friend Pavel Popovich, negotiated with party officials, so to speak, "casting a line" in Kamanin's direction, seeking a way to return to Star City. Unfortunately, the answers were disappointing. There were plenty of problems there: the new Voskhod spacecraft was still not fully completed, other cosmonauts had been waiting their turn in space for several years, and no one cared about Nelyubov.
Then, together with Popovich's wife, Marina (then one of the most famous Soviet pilots), Nelyubov went for retraining and passed his test pilot exams with flying colors. He was promised assignment to a regiment stationed near Moscow. The matter had already been decided; he returned to Primorye to say goodbye to his comrades and pack his things, but here, too, his luck seemed to fail him again. Suddenly, a message arrived that the order had been rescinded. Why? It's unclear. He didn't know (and even now it's only known from rumors) that one of his cosmonaut colleagues, who had risen to high rank, had said at the time: "Do you want problems with his egotistical and proud character? Well, then, by all means, take Nelyubov as a test pilot." And they didn't take him.
And at the end of 1965, when the cosmonaut corps celebrated its fifth anniversary, Grigory came across a major newspaper with a photograph on the front page. It featured all the top candidates preparing to fly on the Vostok. The entire cosmonaut corps. He remembered the photograph. But one person was missing. In place of Nelyubov, a simple Soviet retouching technique had been used to depict a blank wall.
“Look,” he said to his wife. “Look, I… I’m gone.”
From that moment on, he began drinking seriously. Flying was now out of the question; his fellow soldiers were more concerned with keeping him alive and preventing delirium tremens. Nelyubov wouldn't be sold alcohol at the garrison store, and the buffet wouldn't serve him anything. But then he'd go to the station, board the first train he saw, go into the dining car, and pull out his Cosmonaut Number Three ID card or some autographed photos of Gagarin and Korolev. This worked without fail; he'd be treated immediately. Then, a day or two later, he'd return home from these alcoholic journeys. Until the end of 1965, Grigory, in his lucid moments, continued to dream of going to Moscow, meeting Korolev, and asking to be reinstated in the cosmonaut corps. After all, he'd never asked Korolev for anything! Maybe now...
But in January 1966, Korolev died suddenly. And with him, Nelyubov's last hope died. And on February 18, he left his wife a short note: "Zinok! You were always the best. Women like you have to look hard to find. Forgive me."
His body, thrown by the train, was found near a railway embankment. He had suffered a terrible blow to the head, so Nelyubov could only be identified by his clothes. And because police found cosmonaut identification number three in one of his coat pockets.
