A SPY IS A SPY NO MATTER HOW HIGH IT FLIES.

But Soviet propagandists complaining about United States camera technologies couldn't engage in their usual whataboutism.  Apparently, the United States "threw" the opening legs of the space race.

On September 20, 1956, more than a year before the Soviet Union launched the world’s first satellite, a four-stage Jupiter-C rocket stood on a launch pad at Cape Canaveral. It had three stages — sections that fire in turn and then are jettisoned. The rocket was almost identical to the one that would lift America’s first satellite into orbit 16 months later, and Wernher von Braun, director of development for the U.S. Army’s rocket program, was well aware of its capabilities. All he had to do was give it a functioning fourth stage, and with that much more power, the Jupiter-C could launch a small payload into Earth orbit — barely a decade after the end of World War II, and well ahead of anything the Soviet Union might accomplish.

But von Braun was not the only one who knew what the rocket could do. As he sat in his office overseeing the pre-launch preparations, the telephone rang. It was his boss, Maj. Gen. John B. Medaris. “Wernher,” said the general, “I must put you under direct orders personally to inspect that fourth stage to make sure it is not live.”

It was indeed a dummy, but the rocket’s first three stages soon showed their power. Firing successfully in sequence, they boosted the top stage to an altitude of 682 miles and a range of 3,335 miles. Both achievements set records, and von Braun came away from the launch fully aware that with only slightly more oomph, the top stage would have flown into orbit. Yet there was a reason for Medaris’s order, one with a background that went back 10 years.

In the Soviet Union, where chess was a spectator sport, nobody caught the greater import of that poisoned upper stage.

Medaris gave von Braun his stern command because the U.S. was thinking of the future. Space law was not yet a topic of discussion, and the right to fly a satellite over a foreign country was unclear at best. We knew the Soviets stood ready to shoot down U.S. airplanes flying over the USSR (as they would do with Francis Gary Powers and his U-2 in 1960), and if the U.S. launched a satellite into space, the USSR might claim the same right, to destroy the satellite or at least demand advance notification and permission. But by letting the Soviets launch their satellite and allowing it to fly unmolested, the U.S. could establish the principle of free spaceflight.

Yes, the Soviets enjoyed the prestige of a few early space spectaculars. But they didn't have the technical or intellectual capital to conduct a Moon mission.

Why was the U.S. so eager to establish free spaceflight that it would deliberately hand the Soviets repeated propaganda triumphs? Because we knew we would be launching spy satellites soon (though not soon enough to spare Powers 21 months of captivity), and if the Soviets could shoot them down with the sanction of international law behind them, the program would be worthless. The decision was a good one, because what those spy satellites found was well worth the humiliation of being beaten into space.

Put succinctly: the Evil Empire was pokazhuka. The United States actually won the Moon Race with Project Gemini: once they demonstrated rendezvous and docking (none of which is as easy as it sounds) it was game over.

Today, it's Russian technology shuttling astronauts and supplies to the Space Station.  "In a world where we now pay the Russians to fly our astronauts to the International Space Station, it all seems very long ago."

Perhaps, though, it's time for a little more American entrepreneurship, Our President's hopes of returning to the Moon and making a trip to Mars notwithstanding.