Ham, a chimpanzee trained by the US Air Force, was the first great ape in space. He proved primates could perform complex tasks while experiencing the extremes of space travel, thus paving the way for human spaceflight.
Number 65
Relaxed and surrounded by the same familiar humans who had always strapped him into the same familiar seat, it seemed to Number 65 that he was getting prepped for another game. The usual wires and sensors were attached, and, once again, the humans put him into a cramped capsule, as they always did. He heard one mention another of his names. “Godspeed, Chop Chop Chang,” the voice said as the human closed the hatch. Inside, it was small, and though the capsule had a window, Number 65 could not see much. But, with arms and legs restrained, he knew it would soon be time to win more delicious treats.
Anxiously awaiting the colored light in anticipation of tasty tidbits, the time passed. Suddenly, an explosive, deafening roar erupted. This had never happened before. Number 65 was terrified. Then there was a sudden bright light with fire and smoke following. A pressure on his body crushed him against the seat as the capsule surged upward toward the blue sky at a speed the chimp had never felt before. Everything around him shook violently, and his chest felt like a python had tightened its grip around him. The suffocating pressure continued for minutes before the blue sky turned to a deep black and the pressure finally ceased.
Silence descended on the capsule. Number 65 now felt as if he was falling from a tree, but he wasn’t hitting any ground. Despite the restraints, he could feel his hands and legs suspended in the air. He had felt this strange feeling before with his humans. It made him dizzy.
The light flashed blue. Game time! Number 65 instinctively hit the lever, and out came his reward. The taste flooded him with memories of bananas; that’s why he loved this game. Despite the shock he got when he was too slow or pressed the wrong lever, those banana treats were irresistible. Another light—he responded quickly. Another treat. So easy.
The endless falling feeling suddenly shifted. Number 65 now felt which way was down again. He felt it in his stomach just before everything rushed that way all at once. Out the window, he could make out a giant, bright, blue ball. Then came a sudden jolt, a stinging shock, and a deep, bone-shaking rumble that filled the capsule. His body slammed back into the seat, just like before. The force increased, and Number 65 became scared again. He couldn’t move and couldn’t get out. The violent shaking abruptly returned. It got extremely bright, and the window glowed red. Another jolt and the capsule plunged. Falling, falling, falling, his head suddenly snapped forward, and he banged his nose on a rigid harness.
The capsule had hit a surface, and water began trickling into the cabin. This had also never happened before. Water splashed against the window, and the capsule bobbed up and down, but nothing else happened. Tired, confused, and still restrained, Number 65 could do nothing but wait.
A loud whirring noise eventually pierced the silence. The capsule heaved, shook, and took to the air once again. It swayed from side to side before slamming down on a hard surface with a loud bang. The hatch swung open, and cool air and harsh, bright light from the blue sky poured into the capsule. Unfamiliar humans looked down at Number 65 with smiles on their faces. He was still scared and nervous. He didn’t know these humans. They seemed happy and quickly unstrapped him and yanked him out. Bright flashes and excited chatter made him increasingly anxious. They tried to get him back into the capsule, but Number 65 resisted. Eventually, a hand reached out with an apple. That’s a good reward. He snatched it.
The Astrochimp’s Early Life
This true story is the tale of a chimpanzee now known to the world as Ham the Astrochimp, the first great ape to be launched into space. He was born in 1957 in French Cameroon. When he was an infant, he was captured by animal trappers and shipped off to the US, where he was taken to the Miami Rare Bird Farm in Florida, a facility that sold exotic animals. The US Air Force purchased the chimp for $457 and sent him to Holloman Air Force Base in Alamogordo, New Mexico. There, he was to become an integral part of NASA’s Project Mercury, a program that was to test the effects of space travel on animals before sending humans into the vast unknown.
Training for Space
During his 15 months of training in New Mexico, the chimp was known as Number 65 in order to prevent the public from getting attached to a named animal and to avoid negative publicity in the event of failure. Among his handlers, the chimp was referred to as “Chop Chop Chang.”
Number 65, or Chop Chop Chang, emerged as a top candidate from the original 40 chimpanzees that were selected for spaceflight training. Joseph V. Brady was the leading neuroscientist involved in the program. His job was to condition the chimps into pressing levers in response to colored lights. They had to do it quickly. Within five seconds, in fact. Success meant a banana-flavored pellet. Failure led to a mild electric shock to the feet.
During the training program, the chimps experienced simulated launch conditions, G-force, and weightlessness. Number 65 was chosen for the Mercury-Redstone 2 mission in large part due to his calm temperament and ability to press the right lever when experiencing stress.
The Historic Flight
On January 31, 1961, Number 65 was strapped into a pressurized capsule inside the Mercury-Redstone 2 rocket at Cape Canaveral, Florida. The flight plan was for the rocket to reach an altitude of 115 miles and hit speeds of up to 4,400 mph.
However, a valve malfunction at launch delivered a higher thrust than intended. This caused the craft to overshoot, reaching an altitude of 157 miles and hitting speeds of up to 5,857 mph. It also triggered a chain of events that left the capsule without its retro-rocket pack, a system of small rockets designed to slow down a spacecraft. With that, Number 65 had to endure intense forces—up to 17 g at launch and 14.7 g during re-entry.
During the 16-and-a-half-minute suborbital flight, the chimp experienced a total of 6.6 minutes of weightlessness—but still managed to successfully hit the right levers, with reaction times only marginally slower than those he showed on Earth. This proved that primates, and by extension, humans, could perform tasks in space almost as well as they could on terra firma.
When the capsule eventually splashed down in the Atlantic Ocean, it was 420 miles off-target. The heat shield also damaged the capsule upon impact, and it began to take on water.
Coming Back Home
It took the USS Donner recovery team nearly three hours to locate and retrieve Number 65’s capsule. Any longer and the chimp would have drowned. The fatigued great ape was dehydrated, had a bruise on his nose, and had lost weight but was otherwise in good physical health.
Footage shows him with an open-mouthed expression that some interpreted as a happy grin. However, experts, most notably English primatologist Jane Goodall, later informed that the expression was actually a sign of fear and stress and, as per the respected British publication, The Guardian, claimed to have “never seen such terror on a chimp’s face.”
When handlers attempted to place him back into the capsule for publicity photos, he resisted, panicked, and had to be restrained. Shortly after his return, NASA officially changed the chimp’s name from Number 65 to “Ham,” an acronym for Holloman Aerospace Medical Center.
Despite all the technical issues, NASA considered the flight a success and used the data to proceed with Alan Shepard’s human spaceflight on May 5, 1961.
Life After Fame
After his return, Ham spent two more years at Holloman Air Force Base for medical evaluations. Eventually, he was transferred to the National Zoo in Washington, D.C. There, he was known to be agitated by visitors and did not take kindly to media attention. He lived in the zoo in solitary confinement for 17 years, despite efforts from staff to improve his living conditions.
In 1980, public concerns over his isolation led to a transfer to the North Carolina Zoo. He lived in social conditions with other chimps for the first time since his capture from Africa, although the success of his reintegration was somewhat limited due to his previous years of isolation. He remained at that zoo until his passing from heart and liver complications in early 1983.
Following Ham’s death, controversy arose over what to do with his remains. Originally, the Smithsonian Museum planned, rather grimly, to taxidermy him for display, just as the Soviet Union had done with its space dogs Belka and Strelka. However, public outcry soon put a stop to this brutal idea. Instead, his soft tissue and skin were buried at the International Space Hall of Fame in Alamogordo. His skeleton, on the other hand, was kept on display at the National Museum of Health and Medicine in Maryland and remains there to this day.
A Bittersweet Legacy
Despite his role in space history, Ham’s life after the mission was largely a lonely and uncelebrated one. This was in stark contrast to the lives of the human astronauts he paved the way for. But, in reaching for a simple banana-flavored treat, this humble chimpanzee also, and unknowingly, reached for the stars on behalf of all humanity.
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