Wally Funk dies at 87, the last Mercury 13 woman to reach space at 82

Wally Funk has passed away at age 87, according to Space.com. Her legacy is simple to state and hard to forget: after decades of pushing for a seat in human spaceflight, she finally reached space at 82, aboard Blue Origin's New Shepard on a mission called NS-16.

Blue Origin marked the moment with a clear reminder of how unusual it was. In a statement on X on Thursday (July 9), the company said “Wally was a pioneer in every sense of the word.” It also emphasized that “On NS-16, sixty years later, Wally made history as the oldest astronaut at the time and remains the oldest woman to ever fly to space,” calling it “a moment six decades in the making.” She described the trip as “incredible,” and in a livestreamed postflight briefing she said, “I’ve been waiting a long time to finally get up there.”

To understand why this death lands with extra weight in the tech and aerospace ecosystem, you have to rewind to the program Funk became famous for: “Mercury 13.” In 1961, she joined the group of women who completed testing that NASA's male Apollo astronauts underwent. The program was officially called the “Women in Space” program and was led by physician William Lovelace. The goal was straightforward but politically explosive for the era: see how women would fare under the same rigorous physical and mental tests as NASA’s astronaut candidates.

The testing mattered because it produced proof, not just optimism. Space.com notes that across the board, the women in the program either kept pace with or even excelled compared to the male astronauts they were benchmarked against. One specific data point has stuck for decades. In a sensory deprivation tank test, famed NASA astronaut John Glenn lasted three hours, while Funk stayed in for 10 hours and 35 minutes, a measure designed to test mental fortitude. But despite the results, the group did not translate into formal government sponsorship. And even when it was clear the women could do the work, access did not arrive on schedule.

That lag is a key takeaway for decision-makers now, because it echoes a recurring pattern across industries: performance can be demonstrated, yet institutional permission moves slower. At the time, NASA astronauts were all male, and the agency did not select a female astronaut candidate until 1978. Space.com frames it this way: while the program did not lead to women’s spaceflight access immediately, the participants “proved their capability beyond doubt.” Translation: the evidence was there, but the decision system needed more time, politics, and runway.

Funk’s career before spaceflight also helps explain why her eventual flight did not feel like a fluke. Born in Texas in 1939, she began flying as a teenager and became a professional aviator at 20. She joined the “Flying Susies” early on, then later became the first female civilian flight instructor at a U.S. military base. She also served as the National Transportation Safety Board’s first female Air Safety Investigator, competed in air races, and worked as chief pilot for multiple aviation schools across the country. And she never treated aerospace as a distant dream. When NASA began accepting women into the astronaut corps in the late 1970s, she applied three separate times, but was denied each occasion.

Even that denial did not cool the mission in her head. Space.com says she remained close to the space world, including attending a 1995 launch with fellow former Mercury 13 members to watch NASA astronaut Eileen Collins lift off as the first woman to pilot a space shuttle. And when Blue Origin finally had New Shepard “fully up on running,” Funk acted again, because for her this was always an active project, not nostalgia.

Her dream became reality on July 20, 2021, on the first-ever crewed flight of the suborbital spacecraft. Blue Origin founder Jeff Bezos was on that flight as well, along with his brother Mark, Funk, and Dutch student Oliver Daemen. Funk reflected on the possibility that students might not live to see it, saying at the time, “I don’t know if they’re going to get to see this or not … but I felt so charged. I was just a normal person going up into space.” That line matters for executives watching the modern space business: it captures the gap between technical readiness and human timing.

Funk’s story closes one chapter and reopens another. For boards and leaders, her arc is a reminder that the first proof of capability may not trigger immediate policy change, and the runway between “we tested you” and “we let you go” can be measured in decades. Her death is the end of a life, but her timeline also highlights why space companies, regulators, and institutions should treat access as a systems problem, not an afterthought. In a sector racing toward more frequent launches and broader participation, the question is no longer whether someone can perform, but how quickly the ecosystem translates performance into permission.