- Murray, Charles and Catherine Bly Cox.
Apollo.
Burkittsville, MD: South Mountain Books, [1989, 2004] 2010.
ISBN 978-0-9760008-0-8.
-
On November 5, 1958, NASA, only four months old at the
time, created the
Space
Task Group (STG) to manage its manned spaceflight programs.
Although there had been earlier military studies of manned space
concepts and many saw eventual manned orbital flights growing
out of the rocket plane projects conducted by NASA's
predecessor, the
National
Advisory Committee for Aeronautics
(NACA) and the U.S. Air Force, at the time of the STG's
formation the U.S. had no formal manned space program. The
initial group numbered 45 in all, including eight secretaries
and “computers”—operators of electromechanical
desk calculators, staffed largely with people from the NACA's
Langley Research Center and initially headquartered there.
There were no firm plans for manned spaceflight, no budget
approved to pay for it, no spacecraft, no boosters, no launch
facilities, no mission control centre, no astronauts, no plans
to select and train them, and no experience either with human
flight above the Earth's atmosphere or with more than a few
seconds of weightlessness. And yet this team, the core of an
effort which would grow to include around 400,000 people at NASA
and its 20,000 industry and academic contractors, would, just
ten years and nine months later, on July 20th, 1969, land two
people on the surface of the Moon and then return them safely to
the Earth.
Ten years is not a long time when it comes to accomplishing
a complicated technological project. Development of the
Boeing
787, a mid-sized commercial airliner which flew no further,
faster, or higher than its predecessors, and was designed and
built using computer-aided design and manufacturing technologies,
took eight years from project launch to entry into service,
and the
F-35
fighter plane only entered service and then only in small
numbers of one model a full twenty-three years after
the start of its development.
In November, 1958, nobody in the Space Task Group was
thinking about landing on the Moon. Certainly, trips to the
Moon had been discussed in fables from antiquity to
Jules Verne's classic
De la terre à la lune
of 1865, and in 1938 members of the British Interplanetary
Society published a (totally impractical) design for a
Moon
rocket powered by more than two thousand solid rocket motors
bundled together, which would be discarded once burned out, but
only a year since the launch of the first Earth satellite and
when nothing had been successfully returned from Earth orbit to
the Earth, talk of manned Moon ships sounded like—lunacy.
The small band of stalwarts at the STG undertook the already
daunting challenge of manned space flight with an incremental
program they called
Project Mercury,
whose goal was to launch a single man into Earth orbit in a
capsule (unable to change its orbit once released from the
booster rocket, it barely deserved the term “spacecraft”)
atop a converted
Atlas
intercontinental ballistic missile. In essence, the idea was to
remove the warhead, replace it with a tiny cone-shaped can with
a man in it, and shoot him into orbit. At the time the project
began, the reliability of the Atlas rocket was around 75%, so
NASA could expect around one in four launches to fail, with the
Atlas known for spectacular explosions on the ground or on the
way to space. When, in early 1960, the newly-chosen Mercury
astronauts watched a test launch of the rocket they were to
ride, it
exploded less
than a minute after launch. This was the fifth consecutive
failure of an Atlas booster (although not all were so
spectacular).
Doing things which were inherently risky on tight schedules with
a shoestring budget (compared to military projects) and
achieving an acceptable degree of safety by fanatic attention to
detail and mountains of paperwork (NASA engineers quipped that
no spacecraft could fly until the mass of paper documenting its
construction and test equalled that of the flight hardware)
became an integral part of the NASA culture. NASA was
proceeding on its deliberate, step-by-step development of
Project Mercury, and in 1961 was preparing for the first space
flight by a U.S. astronaut, not into orbit on an Atlas, just a
15 minute suborbital hop on a version of the reliable
Redstone
rocket that launched the first U.S. satellite in 1958 when,
on April 12, 1961, they were to be sorely disappointed when the
Soviet Union launched Yuri Gagarin into orbit on
Vostok 1. Not
only was the first man in space a Soviet, they had accomplished
an orbital mission, which NASA hadn't planned to attempt until
at least the following year.
On May 5, 1961, NASA got back into the game, or at least the
minor league, when Alan Shepard was launched on
Mercury-Redstone 3.
Sure, it was just a 15 minute up and down, but at least
an American had been in space, if only briefly, and it was
enough to persuade a recently-elected, young U.S. president smarting
from being scooped by the Soviets to “take longer strides”.
On May 25, less than three weeks after Shepard's flight,
before a joint session of Congress, President Kennedy said,
“I believe that this nation should commit itself to
achieving the goal, before this decade is out, of landing
a man on the Moon and returning him safely to Earth.”
Kennedy had asked his vice president, Lyndon Johnson, what
goal the U.S. could realistically hope to achieve before the
Soviets, and after consulting with the NASA administrator,
James Webb,
a Texas oil man and lawyer, and no other NASA
technical people other than Wernher von Braun, he reported
that a manned Moon landing was the only milestone the Soviets,
with their heavy boosters and lead in manned space
flight, were unlikely to do first. So, to the Moon it was.
The Space Task Group people who were, ultimately going to be
charged with accomplishing this goal and had no advance warning
until they heard Kennedy's speech or got urgent telephone calls
from colleagues who had also heard the broadcast were, in the
words of their leader,
Robert Gilruth,
who had no more warning than his staff, “aghast”. He
and his team had, like von Braun in the 1950s, envisioned a
deliberate, step-by-step development of space flight capability:
manned orbital flight, then a more capable spacecraft with a
larger crew able to maneuver in space, a space station to
explore the biomedical issues of long-term space flight and
serve as a base to assemble craft bound farther into space,
perhaps a reusable shuttle craft to ferry crew and cargo to
space without (wastefully and at great cost) throwing away
rockets designed as long-range military artillery on every
mission,followed by careful reconnaissance of the Moon by both
unmanned and manned craft to map its surface, find safe landing
zones, and then demonstrate the technologies that would be
required to get people there and back safely.
All that was now clearly out the window. If Congress
came through with the massive funds it would require, going
to the Moon would be a crash project like the Manhattan
Project to build the atomic bomb in World War II, or the
massive industrial mobilisation to build Liberty Ships
or the B-17 and B-29 bombers. The clock was ticking: when
Kennedy spoke, there were just 3142 days until
December 31, 1969 (yes, I know the decade actually ends at
the end of 1970, since there was no year 0 in the
Gregorian
calendar, but explaining this to clueless Americans is
a lost cause), around eight years and seven months. What
needed to be done? Everything. How much time
was there to do it? Not remotely enough. Well,
at least the economy was booming, politicians
seemed willing to pay the huge bills for what needed
to be done, and there were plenty of twenty-something
newly-minted engineering graduates ready and willing to
work around the clock without a break to make real what
they'd dreamed of since reading science fiction in their
youth.
The Apollo Project was simultaneously one of the most epochal
and inspiring accomplishments of the human species, far more
likely to be remembered a thousand years hence than anything
else that happened in the twentieth century, and at the same
time a politically-motivated blunder which retarded human
expansion into the space frontier. Kennedy's speech was at the
end of May 1961. Perhaps because the Space Task Group was so
small, it and NASA were able to react with a speed which is
stunning to those accustomed to twenty year development projects
for hardware far less complicated than Apollo.
In June and July [1961], detailed specifications
for the spacecraft hardware were completed. By the
end of July, the Requests for Proposals were on
the street.
In August, the first hardware contract was awarded to
M.I.T.'s Instrumentation Laboratory for the
Apollo
guidance system. NASA selected
Merritt Island,
Florida, as the site for a new spaceport and
acquired 125 square miles of land.
In September, NASA selected
Michoud, Louisiana, as the production facility
for the Saturn rockets, acquired a site for the
Manned
Spacecraft Center—the Space Task Group grown up—south
of Houston, and awarded the contract for the
second stage
of the Saturn [V] to North American Aviation.
In October, NASA acquired 34 square miles for a
Saturn
test facility in Mississippi.
In November, the
Saturn C-1
was successfully launched
with a cluster of eight engines, developing 1.3 million
pounds of thrust. The contract for the
command
and service module was awarded to North American Aviation.
In December, the contract for the
first stage of the
Saturn [V] was awarded to Boeing and the contract for
the
third stage
was awarded to Douglas Aircraft.
By January of 1962, construction had begun at all of the
acquired sites and development was under way at all of
the contractors.
Such was the urgency with which NASA was responding to
Kennedy's challenge and deadline that all of these
decisions and work were done before deciding on
how to get to the Moon—the so-called
“mission mode”.
There were three candidates:
direct-ascent, Earth orbit rendezvous (EOR), and lunar
orbit rendezvous (LOR). Direct ascent was the simplest,
and much like idea of a Moon ship in golden age
science fiction. One launch from Earth would send a ship
to the Moon which would land there, then take off and return
directly to Earth. There would be no need for
rendezvous and docking in space (which had never been
attempted, and nobody was sure was even possible), and no
need for multiple launches per mission, which was seen
as an advantage at a time when rockets were only marginally
reliable and notorious for long delays from their scheduled
launch time. The downside of direct-ascent was that it
would require an enormous rocket: planners envisioned a
monster called
Nova
which would have dwarfed the Saturn V eventually used
for Apollo and required new manufacturing, test, and launch
facilities to accommodate its size. Also, it is
impossible to design a ship which is optimised both for
landing under rocket power on the Moon and re-entering
Earth's atmosphere at high speed. Still, direct-ascent
seemed to involve the least number of technological
unknowns. Ever wonder why the Apollo service module had
that enormous
Service
Propulsion System engine? When it was specified, the
mission mode had not been chosen, and it was made powerful
enough to lift the entire command and service module off
the lunar surface and return them to the Earth after a landing
in direct-ascent mode.
Earth orbit rendezvous was similar to what Wernher von Braun
envisioned in his
1950s
popular writings about the conquest
of space. Multiple launches would be used to assemble a
Moon ship in low Earth orbit, and then, when it was complete,
it would fly to the Moon, land, and then return to Earth.
Such a plan would not necessarily even require a booster as
large as the Saturn V. One might, for example, launch the
lunar landing and return vehicle on one Saturn I, the stage
which would propel it to the Moon on a second, and finally
the crew on a third, who would board the ship only after it
was assembled and ready to go. This was attractive in not
requiring the development of a giant rocket, but required
on-time launches of multiple rockets in quick succession,
orbital rendezvous and docking (and in some schemes,
refuelling), and still had the problem of designing a craft
suitable both for landing on the Moon and returning to Earth.
Lunar orbit rendezvous was originally considered a distant
third in the running. A single large rocket (but smaller than
Nova) would launch two craft toward the Moon. One
ship would be optimised for flight through the Earth's
atmosphere and return to Earth, while the other would be
designed solely for landing on the Moon. The Moon lander,
operating only in vacuum and the Moon's weak gravity,
need not be streamlined or structurally strong, and could
be potentially much lighter than a ship able to both land
on the Moon and return to Earth. Finally, once its mission
was complete and the landing crew safely back in the Earth
return ship, it could be discarded, meaning that all of the
hardware needed solely for landing on the Moon need not
be taken back to the Earth. This option was attractive,
requiring only a single launch and no gargantuan rocket, and
allowed optimising the lander for its mission (for example,
providing better visibility to its pilots of the landing
site), but it not only required rendezvous and docking, but
doing it in lunar orbit which, if they failed, would
strand the lander crew in orbit around the Moon with no hope of
rescue.
After a high-stakes technical struggle, in the latter part of
1962, NASA selected lunar orbit rendezvous as the mission
mode, with each landing mission to be launched on a single
Saturn V booster, making the decision final with the selection
of Grumman as contractor for the
Lunar Module
in November of that year. Had another mission mode been chosen,
it is improbable in the extreme that the landing would have been
accomplished in the 1960s.
The Apollo architecture was now in place. All that remained was
building machines which had never been imagined before, learning
to do things (on-time launches, rendezvous and docking in space,
leaving spacecraft and working in the vacuum, precise navigation
over distances no human had ever travelled before, and assessing
all of the “unknown unknowns” [radiation risks,
effects of long-term weightlessness, properties of the lunar
surface, ability to land on lunar terrain, possible chemical or
biological threats on the Moon, etc.]) and developing plans to
cope with them.
This masterful book is the story of how what is possibly the
largest collection of geeks and nerds ever assembled and
directed at a single goal, funded with the abundant revenue
from an economic boom, spurred by a geopolitical competition
against the sworn enemy of liberty, took on these daunting
challenges and, one by one, overcame them, found a way around,
or simply accepted the risk because it was worth it. They
learned how to tame giant rocket engines that randomly
blew up by setting off bombs inside them. They abandoned
the careful step-by-step development of complex rockets
in favour of “all-up testing” (stack all of
the untested pieces the first time, push the button, and see
what happens) because “there wasn't enough time to
do it any other way”. People were working 16–18–20
hours a day, seven days a week. Flight surgeons in Mission
Control handed out “go and whoa pills”—amphetamines
and barbiturates—to keep the kids on the console awake at
work and asleep those few hours they were at home—hey,
it was the Sixties!
This is not a tale of heroic astronauts and their exploits. The
astronauts, as they have been the first to say, were literally
at the “tip of the spear” and would not have been
able to complete their missions without the work of almost half
a million uncelebrated people who made them possible, not to
mention the
hundred
million or so U.S. taxpayers who footed the bill.
This was not a straight march to victory. Three astronauts died
in a launch pad fire
the investigation of which revealed shockingly slapdash quality
control in the assembly of their spacecraft and NASA's ignoring
the lethal risk of fire in a pure oxygen atmosphere at sea level
pressure. The
second flight of
the Saturn V was a near calamity due to multiple problems,
some entirely avoidable (and yet the decision was made to man
the next flight of the booster and send the crew to the Moon).
Neil Armstrong narrowly escaped death in May 1968 when the
Lunar
Landing Research Vehicle he was flying ran out of fuel and
crashed. And the division of responsibility between the crew
in the spacecraft and mission controllers on the ground had
to be worked out before it would be tested in flight where
getting things right could mean the difference between life and
death.
What can we learn from Apollo, fifty years on?
Other than standing in awe at what was accomplished
given the technology and state of the art of the time,
and on a breathtakingly short schedule, little or nothing
that is relevant to the development of space in the
present and future. Apollo was the product of a set of
circumstances which happened to come together at one
point in history and are unlikely to ever recur.
Although some of those who worked on making it a reality
were dreamers and visionaries who saw it as the first
step into expanding the human presence beyond the home
planet, to those who voted to pay the forbidding bills
(at its peak, NASA's budget, mostly devoted to Apollo,
was more than 4% of all Federal spending; in recent
years, it has settled at around one half of one percent:
a national commitment to space eight times smaller as
a fraction of total spending) Apollo was seen as a key
battle in the Cold War. Allowing the Soviet Union to
continue to achieve milestones in space while the U.S.
played catch-up or forfeited the game would reinforce
the Soviet message to the developing world that their
economic and political system was the wave of the future,
leaving decadent capitalism in the dust.
A young, ambitious, forward-looking president, smarting from
being scooped once again by Yuri Gagarin's orbital flight and
the humiliation of the débâcle at the
Bay of Pigs
in Cuba, seized on a bold stroke that would show the world the
superiority of the U.S. by deploying its economic, industrial,
and research resources toward a highly visible goal. And, after
being assassinated two and a half years later, his successor, a
space enthusiast who had directed a substantial part of NASA's
spending to his home state and those of his political allies,
presented the program as the legacy of the martyred president
and vigorously defended it against those who tried to kill it or
reduce its priority. The U.S. was in an economic boom which
would last through most of the Apollo program until after the
first Moon landing, and was the world's unchallenged economic
powerhouse. And finally, the federal budget had not yet been
devoured by uncontrollable “entitlement” spending
and national debt was modest and manageable: if the national
will was there, Apollo was affordable.
This confluence of circumstances was unique to its time
and has not been repeated in the half century thereafter, nor
is it likely to recur in the foreseeable future. Space
enthusiasts who look at Apollo and what it accomplished
in such a short time often err in assuming a similar
program: government funded, on a massive scale with lavish
budgets, focussed on a single goal, and based on special-purpose
disposable hardware suited only for its specific mission, is
the only way to open the space frontier. They are not
only wrong in this assumption, but they are dreaming if
they think there is the public support and political will
to do anything like Apollo today. In fact, Apollo was
not
even particularly popular in the 1960s:
only at one point in 1965 did public support for funding
of human trips to the Moon poll higher than 50% and
only around the time of the Apollo 11 landing did 50%
of the U.S. population believe Apollo was worth what was
being spent on it.
In fact, despite being motivated as a demonstration of the
superiority of free people and free markets, Project Apollo
was a quintessentially socialist space program.
It was funded by money extracted by taxation, its priorities
set by politicians, and its operations centrally planned and
managed in a top-down fashion of which the Soviet functionaries
at Gosplan
could only dream. Its goals were set by politics, not
economic benefits, science, or building a valuable
infrastructure. This was not lost on the Soviets. Here
is Soviet Minister of Defence
Dmitriy Ustinov
speaking at a Central Committee meeting in 1968, quoted by
Boris Chertok in volume 4 of Rockets and People.
…the Americans have borrowed our basic method of
operation—plan-based management and networked
schedules. They have passed us in management and planning
methods—they announce a launch preparation schedule in
advance and strictly adhere to it. In essence, they have
put into effect the principle of democratic
centralism—free discussion followed by the strictest
discipline during implementation.
This kind of socialist operation works fine in a wartime
crash program driven by time pressure, where unlimited
funds and manpower are available, and where there is plenty
of capital which can be consumed or borrowed to pay for it.
But it does not create sustainable enterprises. Once the
goal is achieved, the war won (or lost), or it runs
out of other people's money to spend, the whole thing
grinds to a halt or stumbles along, continuing to
consume resources while accomplishing little. This was
the predictable trajectory of Apollo.
Apollo was one of the noblest achievements of the human species
and we should celebrate it as a milestone in the human
adventure, but
trying
to repeat it is pure poison to the human destiny in the
solar system and beyond.
This book is a superb recounting of the Apollo experience,
told mostly about the largely unknown people who
confronted the daunting technical problems and,
one by one, found solutions which, if not perfect,
were good enough to land on the Moon in 1969. Later
chapters describe key missions, again concentrating on
the problem solving which went on behind the scenes
to achieve their goals or, in the case of Apollo 13,
get home alive. Looking back on something that
happened fifty years ago, especially if you were born
afterward, it may be difficult to appreciate just how
daunting the idea of flying to the Moon was in May 1961.
This book is the story of the people who faced that
challenge, pulled it off, and are largely forgotten
today.
Both the 1989 first edition and
2004 paperback revised edition are
out of print and available only at absurd collectors'
prices. The Kindle edition, which
is based upon the 2004 edition with small revisions to
adapt to digital reader devices is available at a
reasonable price, as is an
unabridged audio book, which is
a reading of the 2004 edition. You'd think there
would have been a paperback reprint of this valuable
book in time for the fiftieth anniversary of the landing
of Apollo 11 (and the thirtieth anniversary of its
original publication), but there wasn't.
Project Apollo is such a huge, sprawling subject that
no book can possibly cover every aspect of it. For
those who wish to delve deeper, here is a reading list
of excellent sources. I have read all of these books
and recommend every one. For those I have reviewed,
I link to my review; for others, I link to a source where
you can obtain the book.
- The NASA History Series
- Spacecraft and Components
- Missions
- Mission Control
- The Cape
- Photo Galleries
If you wish to commemorate the landing of Apollo 11 in a
moving ceremony with friends, consider hosting an
Evoloterra
celebration.
July 2019