Las Vegas Sun

March 29, 2024

God speed, Bob Maheu — and give my best to Gus Grissom

Click to enlarge photo

Bob Maheu (on the left, looking down), and his wife, Yvette, dine at Caesars Palace in this 1969 photo.

NOW:

One day a couple of years ago, my phone rang and the voice on the other end said it was Bob Maheu.

Because I watch "60 Minutes," I knew right away it was Howard Hughes' former right-hand man. Or at least somebody who could have performed that role in "Legends in Concert."

Anyway, I had written something in my column that day about how when I was a kid, my heroes were ballplayers and astronauts. It was the astronauts part that prompted Maheu's call.

We chatted for what must have been 20 minutes. I don't recall all the details about our conversation, but the gist of it was that Mr. Hughes' heroes also had been astronauts, so when they would splash down safely, he'd throw a big party for them in Las Vegas.

Anyway, it was one of those "only in Las Vegas" stories that I like to tell people when they ask why I live here.

Before I could ease Maheu into a conversation about the plot to assassinate Castro or any other FBI and CIA counter-intelligence secrets he might be willing to share from his spy days, he gave me his phone number.

I had every intention about coming up with a good question about Gordon Cooper or Wally Schirra that only he could answer. But, of course, I never got around to it.

When I heard today that Maheu had died, I went straight to Microsoft Entourage in my computer to see if I still had his number. There it was, right between Wendy MacPherson, the ladies' pro bowler, and Joe Maloof, one of the owners of the NBA's Sacramento Kings.

I think I'm going to leave it there, out of respect to him. And just to see if Langley calls.

THEN:

Another childhood memory -- not such a favorite one -- about astronauts. To go with my G.I. Joe John Glenn astronaut, my mom spent a lot of money on this cool gray plastic replica of Friendship 7, his space capsule. It was one of the best birthday presents I ever received.

Then one day, to simulate a splashdown, I took G.I. John and Friendship 7 into the bathroom and filled up the tub. Bad idea. It wasn't exactly a successful mission as the bath water ruined the paper instrumental panel.

As far as disasters go, it wasn't exactly like stirring the oxygen tanks on Apollo 13. But I remember crying. And I don't think the flight director -- my mom -- was too pleased, either.

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