Apollo- Soyuz, as I lived it a half century ago Pt2

 

3,000 CHAIRS

It was mid-July 1975 and gone were the days when I could set aside paying attention to school, or anything else, and solely focus on a spaceflight. Now I had to “work.” Somehow, work still never ranked up there as high as spaceflight with me. There seemed to be this philosophical line between pushing a broom in an arena and the peaceful advancement of human civilization.

Before leaving for work on launch day of Apollo/Soyuz, I asked my mom to go down to the basement TV, where I had the TV tuned to NBC, and simply push the “record” button and then allow the tape to run out. I would handle the rest when I got home. Of course, I went so far as to have her actually practice pushing the button. Although she seemed a bit doubtful about the task, I assured her by saying that with any luck she would not screw it up. Hey, you can have an ideal kid, or you can have a space-buff, but you cannot have both.

I had spent the day before launch day at the Civic Center putting 3,000 chairs down onto the floor of Wendler Arena for a country and western concert. Getting up early the following morning I had just enough time to watch some of the Soyuz pre-launch coverage and then had to go back to the Civic Center and pick up 3,000 chairs.

The rest of America’s space-buffs saw the difference between a Soviet launch and a NASA launch. The space news commentators were picking out odds and ends, and in many cases guessing at what would happen next. Yet I was left in the arena with 3,000 chairs to manage.

The Soyuz’s booster was, at its foundation, essentially was the same R-7 booster that had sent Sputnik and later Gagarin into orbit. Now it was topped with uprated stages that would loft the Soyuz. Sealed into a nose fairing that was topped with an escape tower, the spacecraft itself could not be seen.

NBC’s John Dancy was reporting live from Moscow that the Soviet public was “very excited” about seeing live television of a space launch, as well as live TV of the Soviet launch control center. It was estimated that some 100 million Soviet citizens watched the launch live on TV. One feature that did not materialize was live video from inside the Soyuz. The Soviets normally had a video downlink from inside the spacecraft, but moments before launch the Soyuz camera failed.

         Aboard Soyuz 19 were two cosmonauts: Commander Alexei Leonov and flight engineer Valery Kubasov. Leonov was already a spaceflight legend having been the first man to ever walk in space. If the Soviets had been able to send the first man to the Moon, that would probably have been Leonov, although some historians might take exception to the notion. Kubasov was a civilian engineer who had become a cosmonaut in 1963 and flew on Soyuz 6 as a flight engineer. Both he and Leonov had been previously assigned to the ill-fated Soyuz 11 mission to the Salyut 1 space station in 1971, but were replaced by their backups, as was Pyotr Kolodin, when Kubasov suffered a lung ailment. It was the Soyuz 11 spacecraft that accidentally depressurized during reentry killing the three crewmen aboard (Gyorgy Dobrovolsky, Vladimir Volkov and Viktor Patsayev).

Soyuz was launched in a slightly smeared TV presentation as a translator gave the English version of the Russian calls.

“Ignition!” the translator stammered, “the engines are powered up. The launch! The booster is off! The flight is proceeding normally. The program maneuver of the booster rocket has been given… 20 minutes into flight.”

Apparently the difference between minutes and seconds was lost in the translation.

“The flight is normal,” the translator continued, “the engine is operating in a stable manner… there’s a slight movement of the booster, oscillation.”

A part of the awkwardness of the translation was the fact that the translator was projecting the words of both launch control and Leonov at the same time. No doubt our launch communications sounded just as awkward to the Soviets. Also, if the Soviet translator said anything wrong while narrating the mission the next stop could be the salt mines in Siberia. Soyuz 19 was inserted into orbit as planned and the next move was up to the United States.

Of course, I missed the entire Soyuz launch because the fate of the free world hung on those 3,000 chairs that now had to be picked up. I rarely complained about work because the pay was fairly good and I always kept in mind what my Advanced Electronics teacher used to tell us when we complained about an assignment: “There are guys in the salt mines who have put in eight hours already.” We did have the local FM Rock radio station, WHNN, on the arena speakers, but they did not break the music for news very often. I skipped my lunch hour in order to leave work early so I could get home and watch the Apollo launch.

Arriving home I found that Mom had accomplished her task exactly as instructed. Just moments before the launch broadcast began I dashed upstairs to the kitchen to make an iced tea and on the way past I congratulated Mom on having done a good job.

“Well, I’m not a complete idiot,” she sneered in reply.

Heading back down to the basement I told her that such a conclusion was still in question.

CBS was my choice for watching the final Apollo launch. The Space Shuttle that NASA was talking about seemed to still be pie-in-the-sky even if they did tell us it was only four years away. As far as I was concerned, considering the political attitude toward spaceflight over the past few years, this ASTP launch might just turn out to be the last American manned space launch, ever. Thus, I was going to watch Cronkite and Schirra and I was going to enjoy every second of the launch. Perhaps the only thing better would have been to be at the Cape myself to see it go.

The reality for me, however, and for millions of other space-buffs across the United States was that my chances of being there in Florida were about as remote as my actually being aboard the Apollo spacecraft itself. There was simply no way. Oddly, about a month earlier, some pals of mine from the Civil Air Patrol had come up with a plan to drive down from Michigan for the launch. Unfortunately, that plan dissolved nearly as quickly as it had been cooked up. For me the launch would be experienced, as always, in front of our TV set.

At KSC the weather was simply outstanding for a Saturn launch. Coverage of the launch picked up at 3:30 Michigan time that afternoon, and compared to the coverage given to the previous Skylab launches, ASTP’s coverage would look like a marathon. The networks had brought in almost anyone that they could find who had flown an Apollo to either give comments or simply sit and look interested. NBC brought in Alan Shepard to co-host their coverage with Jim Hartz and John Chancellor. Frankly, Shepard was never comfortable being around the news media and it showed. I stuck with CBS.

Hyperbole over the ASTP mission had grown to such a point that NASA went as far as to have a full-scale mock-up of the Apollo CSM, the DM and the Soyuz constructed. Then they stuck it in the transfer aisle of the VAB. This allowed the astronauts, cosmonauts, politicians and news media, both US and foreign to pose in front of it in the seven months leading up to the mission. Apparently there was some petty cash left over in the Apollo budget.

Just like the previous Saturn IB that had boosted Skylab 4, cracks were found in the fins of SA-210 which was scheduled to boost ASTP. Those fins were changed-out in the same manner as they had been on the previous vehicle. However, there was one huge exception to this operation; there was no media drama surrounding the operation. In fact, the change-out was hardly mentioned at all. Gone was the scandal craze, because Watergate and Nixon were now both old news. Now political détente was the atmosphere of the day and the point that the producers of network news wanted to be pushed. The operation of changing-out the fins took place in the VAB and almost no one noticed.

Ignition of the eight H-1 engines of AS-210 was on time and the hold-downs released just 0.5 seconds later than planned. As the Saturn IB climbed into a nearly cloudless sky, the NASA cameras were feeding tracking views as well as an internal shots of the astronauts.

CBS’s technical folks presented both views at the same time as a diagonal split-screen for the first few minutes of the boost. Once the launch vehicle was too high to see much detail, they switched to just the inside view of the crew. The view was simply amazing. Space-buffs could see Brand, nearest to the camera, and Stafford, in the background; Slayton was not in the view. We watched, for the first time, as our astronauts threw switches and ran checklists and headed into space. Cronkite commented that he sort of expected the crew to be pinned to their seats. But Schirra, who had commanded the first Apollo atop a Saturn IB, said that the acceleration was so gradual and the training was so good that the astronauts were actually quite comfortable. Additionally, once staging took place the ride on the S-IVB stage was little more than 1g. From my point of view, however, this live shot inside the Apollo CM was fascinating. The Soviets had often used a TV camera inside the Soyuz, although its images were never seen live by the public. In a strange twist of fate, we put a camera in our Apollo because they had a camera in their Soyuz, then their camera system failed.

As of this writing we space-buffs have never again been allowed to watch an ascent live as shown from a camera inside a U.S. manned spacecraft. The Russians, however, now routinely televise their launches live, including a live camera inside the Soyuz. Since American astronauts are currently forced to rent seats aboard the Soyuz in order to get to the International Space Station, the Russians now provide the TV that NASA never again provided.

Once the Apollo was inserted into orbit, the networks remained on and spent a little time discussing the fact that this was the end. It was the last Apollo and the last Saturn ever to fly. A sad and empty feeling came over me, not just as a space-buff, but as an American. I loathed the direction in which we were heading— like sheep being led by a myopic pop-culture that supported the myth that manned spaceflight was made up of all cost and no benefit. Worse yet was the prospect of having no more launches to watch and record, plus just one remaining splashdown. All I had left was hockey; of course the doctor said that I would probably be okay if I did not have a third concussion, so at least my winters would be full. Many years later a TV documentary implied that it was ASTP that doomed Skylab. They stated that now "...there are no more rockets and no more Apollo spacecraft..." That was completely untrue. At the time of ASTP there was another flight-ready Saturn IB, AS-209 (which today is on display at the KSC visitor's center), and more than one Apollo CSM, all of which could have been used to return to Skylab. 

The fact, however was that there was no more funding allocated by congress and the Office of Management and Budget for the use of those vehicles. Engineers reach for the stars- politicians, only reach for your pockets.

Watch for Part 3

    

Apollo- Soyuz, as I lived it a half century ago Pt1

 

ASTP

After nearly a year and a half of not having any Americans in space we space buffs were actually looking forward to this thing called the Apollo-Soyuz Test Project (ASTP). 

Launched on July 15, 1975 ASTP did not have its roots in science, discovery or exploration. ASTP was, in fact, little more than a political exhibition conducted in space. Amid the atmosphere of the Strategic Arms Limitation Treaty of 1972, better known as SALT-1, the Nixon administration cooked up the prospect to have an American Apollo vehicle rendezvous and dock with a Soviet Soyuz spacecraft in Earth orbit. It would use up one of the final remaining Apollo spacecraft, one of the final flight-ready Saturn IB boosters, and all of the remaining Apollo budget. For Nixon, ASTP also would satisfy his desire to best his historical political rivals. Too bad for him that he was compelled to resign from the presidency in disgrace before ASTP was stacked in the VAB. 

From the perspective of a space buff Nixon’s legacy in spaceflight was that AS-210, the ASTP Saturn IB, was launched on a Tuesday and on the following Friday 1,200 contractor workers at KSC were issued their pink slips. Sadly, it was only the beginning of an aerospace industry-wide recession. 

To most enthusiasts of NASA and the U.S. space program, ASTP meant little more than being able to witness an Apollo spacecraft fly again for the first time in more than a year. 

Without question the most exciting aspect of ASTP was the fact that the crew would contain one of the original seven astronauts, none other than Deke Slayton. Anyone who knew anything about NASA knew Deke’s story. He originally had been selected as the fourth of the seven original astronauts to fly, with his mission being one that would mirror John Glenn’s three orbits. He had named his capsule “Delta 7,” but as launch day drew near a single doctor looked at a minor heart fibrillation and decided to make it into a major issue. Slayton was grounded and ended up being the guy who selected new-hire astronauts and formed crews for missions. Then, some nine years after he had been grounded, Slayton began taking a regiment of vitamins to combat a cold and soon it dawned on him that his heart had not fluttered in months. After being examined extensively at the Mayo Clinic he was cleared for flight, and shortly thereafter he was cleared for spaceflight. The only problem was that all the remaining space missions were already assigned crews. Fortunately, along came one additional mission, which was ASTP. Slayton recommended himself for that mission. There was no one in NASA or in the spaceflight community who could have argued with that selection. Slayton’s only remaining problem was that he would have to learn to speak basic Russian.

 All of the crews involved in the flight were required to learn to speak the language of the other nation. During the mission, the Americans would speak Russian to the Soviet crew and the Soviets would speak English to the American crew. 

Although there was very little technical advancement involved in ASTP, the political fluff was enough to draw the continued attention of the news networks. These same networks, who collectively ignored the splashdown of the Skylab 4 crew after their world record stay in space, now went all out to cover ASTP.

 Perhaps the most interesting aspect of ASTP for us space buffs was the fact that for the first time we would get a good look at the Soviet’s mysterious Soyuz spacecraft. For over a decade the details of Soyuz had been shrouded behind Iron Curtain secrecy. 

Now, in order for ASTP to actually happen, the ever-paranoid Soviets had to lift the covers. Additionally, the US demanded that our crews and NASA officials must be allowed to tour the top-secret Baikonur Cosmodrome launch site in Kazakhstan. Also, NASA insisted that US astronauts be allowed to examine the operational hardware such as the Soyuz spacecraft that would fly on the mission and the booster that would place it into orbit.

Although there was very little of ASTP for someone like me to get excited about, it did inspire Ravell to produce a 1:96 scale model kit for the event. The kit was based on their Apollo lunar landing kit of the same scale and it used the same CSM. New was the “International Docking Module” and a detailed 1:96 version of their long shrouded in secrecy Soyuz. I bought one of the kits in hope that it would annoy the Soviets.

 

WATCH FOR PART 2

RETURN TO THE MOON

 

    Each year when the Christmas holidays roll around I take the time to watch the CBS News coverage of Apollo 8. 

It still fascinates me... the absolute daring of NASA to conduct that mission. At the time I was 11 years old, and on Christmas Eve my parents had friends and family over to our house for a party. Of course it was 1968 and most adults and far to many kids who were my age were smokers. Thus, our tiny home soon filled with a blue haze of carcinogenic second-hand smoke. Being a scrawny asthmatic, I retired to my parent's bedroom, shut the door and used pillows to to stop up the crack below the door. Then I turned on the TV. The station that came in best over the rabbit ears was WKNX, channel 25 UHF. This was because they broadcast less than a mile from our house. I found Cronkite in a marathon of reporting about the greatest peaceful event in human history. There I sat in the glow of the black and white TV set and I felt as far away from the "party" as a kid could get. The communications were sparse and often I had no idea what the crew was talking about.

When the live TV of the lunar surface, close-up, came on it was captivating. They were there! Really, really there, going around the Moon! It was a Christmas Eve that shook the world. In the days following that event I  would peer through the tiny windows of my model command module and imagine what it must have been like to be in there and going around the Moon.

Just four Christmas Eves later, it was all over. Apollo 17 had returned from a record-breaking lunar exploration and Richard Nixon had cancelled the three future Apollo missions to the Moon.

Now, in the end of 2024, some 52 years later, we are again positioning to do an up-graded Apollo 8 style lunar mission. Yes, there have been delays- the largest of which was caused by another spaceflight detesting president who myopically cancelled NASA's entire human deep spaceflight effort and then did his best to slow-roll congress' effort to put it all back on track. Additionally, there is no "space-race" with the Soviet Union. Thus there is no rush to get things moving. Yet, the on November 16, 2022, at 01:47:44 EST Artemis I was launched and sent the Orion spacecraft on an un-manned trip around the Moon. Although the schedule has slipped, the next Artemis booster is set to send a four astronaut crew back to orbit the Moon as a return for an Apollo 8 style mission.

This Apollo 8 type of mission will of course not shake the world. The second Artemis mission will fly in an era when spaceflight is really heating up. SpaceX is launching Falcon 9 missions on nearly a daily basis it seems. China and Russia are all launching crewed missions and a private U.S. company has not only launched crews into Earth orbit, but has also done the first private stand-up EVA aboard a SpaceX Dragon spacecraft. To top it all off SpaceX has also launched the world's largest booster and then power-recovered the first stage in a feat that was previously science fiction. Of course, none of these sent humans back to the Moon.

Now I can hear the SpaceX foamers babbling, "but... but... the Starship... blah, blah, blah..." Let's keep it in mind that the magnificent Starship, as amazing as it is, as of this writing- has yet to send as much as a stainless steel screw to the Moon. Thus, for now, our bets are all on Artemis.

Of course, this time we'll watch it in color... and there will be less people smoking.

SKYLAB 4 RETURN TO EARTH

THE FIRST SPLASHDOWN NOT COVERED ON TELEVISION SINCE IT HAD THE CAPABILITY TO DO SO

The following is an excerpt from my book "Growing up with Spaceflight- Skylab/ASTP" the text is protected by Copyright 2015 Wes Oleszewski and no portion of this may be republished in any manner.

Early on mission day 85, the crew of Skylab 4 closed the hatch on the Multiple Docking Adaptor for the final time and took their seats in the Apollo Command Module. It was February 8, 1974. Other than a capture latch snagging, the undocking went off without a hitch. The only real glitch was that the CM Reaction Control System’s (RCS) number two ring was showing a helium leak when it was pressurized. Mission Control, suspecting an impending fuel leak in the ring, decided not to use ring two and to simply reenter on ring number one. If the crew were to have a problem with ring one, Mission Control directed them to set the CM into a rolling reentry and proceed. CBS radio’s spaceflight announcer Reid Collins, while describing the pending reentry, stated that the crew of Skylab 4 would be coming in “on one ring and a prayer.”

Since I had taken the day off from school to watch this historic event on TV I had a whole 60 minute cassette tape ready to fill. I knew full well that it would be a year and a half before the next manned American spaceflight, and so I was going to catch every word of the TV coverage. It struck me that when the subject came up on the morning news shows, there was no mention of when the networks would start their coverage. At the expected time I was set up and ready to go, but there was no coverage.

Those of us on the outside who were growing up with spaceflight were not the only ones who were screwed by the TV networks; the Skylab 4 astronaut’s families got the shaft as well. Since there was no prior notice that the three TV networks were not going to cover the splashdown, the families of the crew had invited guests into their homes to watch the event on TV and celebrate. Instead of a joyful family moment that would be long remembered, they were treated to a great disappointment far beyond what those of us in the space-buff ranks had experienced. Later that evening Walter Cronkite, while talking about the Skylab 4 crew’s return, made it a point to highlight this historic slight on his CBS evening news broadcast.

“Their landing today,” Cronkite announced, “the first not covered live on television since it had the capability to do so.”

In the book, “Around the World in 84 Days,” Jerry Carr recalls that his son, Jeff, was so upset by the fact that all of the TV networks had elected to ignore the splashdown that he wrote letters to the presidents of NBC, CBS and ABC asking why they had done so. Surprisingly, he received replies from all three, and essentially they all said the same thing. The splashdown, although a historic event, was, in their opinion, not newsworthy. The mission was greatly overshadowed by an independent trucker’s strike, legal fights over Nixon’s White House tapes and gasoline shortages across the nation.

From the very beginning, the Skylab program had been given the brush-off by the snobs running the three TV networks. Thus, the snub of this historic moment should have been no surprise as it took a back seat to soap operas and game shows.

 

 

SKYLAB 4: CONTEMPLATING A SHORT FALL DOWN THE BASEMENT STAIRS

 The following is an excerpt from my book "Growing up with Spaceflight- Skylab/ASTP" the text is protected by Copyright 2015 Wes Oleszewski and no portion of this may be republished in any manner.

Considering that my family had now moved to the country and I was now in a good school, it was pretty hard for me to come up with a reason for staying home from school to watch and record the Skylab 4 launch. Previously my Junior High school had been such den of chaos that my parents were certain that I was learning more sitting home watching spaceflight on TV than I would “…in that damned school…” as my mom often stated. Now, however, being in a good school, I was sure that such was no longer the attitude of my folks. Of course, I considered playing sick, but being a lifelong asthmatic and generally sickly kid, my folks would easily see the difference. And an asthma attack that just happened to coincide with a Skylab 4 launch would be just too obvious for my parents to buy. I could plead and make big eyes, but at age 16 that would just look pathetic. Then, just as I was watching the evening news and contemplating a short fall down the basement stairs as a reason to stay home from school tomorrow, my Mom heard Cronkite talking about the next day’s launch.

“Is that goin’ up tomorrow morning?” she casually said.

“Yep,” I half sighed in reply.

“I suppose,” she asked rhetorically, “yer’ gonna stay home and record it.”

“Yep,” I answered feigning confidence.

“Okay,” she softly sighed.

Dang! That was easy.

November 16^th, 1973 Skylab 4 was set to launch at 09:01 and coverage of the Skylab 4 launch began with assorted spots on the TV network’s morning news shows. Continuous coverage of the launch started on CBS at 8:45 that morning and NBC started five minutes later. Living in a new location, I found that NBC’s WNEM Channel 5 had the best sound so I decided to record from there, but changed over to CBS later just before launch. Deploying my implements for capturing history, I took my normal space-buff position to watch the historic launch that most of America would ignore in spite of network attempts of the news media to trump up an air of impending danger surrounding the replacement of the launch vehicle’s fins due to the discovery of some minor cracks.

At the Kennedy Space Center the weather was perfect for a change as opposed to the string of previous Skylab launches. Skylab’s 1 and 2 had jumped from the pad and into the clouds in a matter of seconds, and likewise Skylab 3 had done nearly the same sort of departure. Now, however, clear skies and unlimited visibility were the backdrop for Skylab 4. For the first time since Apollo 7 the cameras would be able to follow the Saturn IB all the way up. Considering that I had been held hostage in my fifth grade classroom learning about the state bird of Iowa, or some such pointless thing, during the Apollo 7 launch, this would be my first chance to watch an entire Saturn IB boost live on TV.

I was as giddy by the clear weather as I was that it was a launch day. Also giddy that morning were the three rookies in the Command Module. Gerry Carr later said that once they were “closed out” with the hatch sealed and everything was quiet, he sat up a bit from his couch and looked across his two crewmates. They all looked back and they all “giggled like a bunch of schoolgirls,” because they had been waiting so long for that moment.

Much of the media focus on launch day involved the fin replacement efforts and the perception that they may fall off at Max-Q. The countdown was normal and I started my trusty tape recorder. At launch it seemed as if the flame was nearly as large as a Saturn V, but the Saturn IB was tiny in comparison. It is interesting to note that the thrust of all eight of the IB’s H-1 engines combined was roughly equal to just one of the Saturn V’s F-1 engines.

On prior Skylab IB launches the launch vehicle was not discernible in the haze, so this time it was fun to watch. Cronkite kept exclaiming that this was the best we had ever seen one of these (meaning a Saturn IB), and since I had not seen Apollo 7, I had to agree.

Cronkite alerted viewers prior to Max-Q, which came at 69.5 seconds after liftoff. The drama of the fins falling off had to be hyped up I guess. Of course, nothing at all happened, no fins were lost. Then staging took place at 141.29 seconds into the flight and we got a good view of the retro and ullage motors firing. Then, 29 seconds later, we saw the escape tower and boost protective cover jettison and tumble away. Thereafter, Skylab 4 simply became a dot on my TV screen. The ride on the S-IVB was described later by Gibson as being “like an elevator.”

“Smooth as glass, Houston,” Carr reported.

The S-IVB boosted the CSM to just over 86 miles in altitude, where it pitched slightly downward and flattened its trajectory to gain velocity. At 577.18 seconds into the boost the single J-2 engine of the S-IVB shutdown and Skylab 4’s rookie crewmembers were no longer space rookies.

The following Monday I showed up as usual for my first hour Earth Sciences class at Freeland High School. My teacher, Mrs. Warner, asked where I had been on Friday. Expecting the normal rolled eyes and shaking head from her as I had seen in my previous school, I simply said that I had stayed home to watch the Skylab 4 launch. Instead of disdain, she put down her role-book and her eyes got wide,

“Oh man,” she sighed, “I wish I could’ve done that.”

What a difference moving to the country makes.

For your copy of Skylab/ASTP click HERE

SKYLAB 3: SCRIBING LITTLE WHIMSIES

 

 

Skylab 3:

SCRIBING LITTLE WHIMSIES

For most of the month of September 1973 Skylab 3 seemed to, again, nearly drop from the news completely. Personally for me, a huge transition took place in that same period of time. I was headed for high school and the high school that I had been headed for was one of the worst in mid-Michigan. Knowing that a smart ass like their son would quite likely get knifed within a week at that school, my parents did the only thing that they could; they sold our house in Sheridan Park and the entire family moved. Of course that up-rooting did not happen immediately. Instead, they bought a home that was under construction in the little farm town of Freeland, Michigan. I had an aunt and uncle who resided there and it was arranged that I could start high school in Freeland and live with my relatives until our new house was finished. Thus, I took up residence in the bedroom left behind by one of my grown cousins and started attending a school where actual learning took place and you could walk the halls in safety. We were on a “half-day” schedule and classes started at 6:50 in the morning, but got out at noon. That left plenty of time in the afternoons for space stuff. The only problem was actually finding the space stuff. Jack Lousma conducted a protracted TV tour of the Skylab in the closing days of the mission, but only small bits of that were broadcast by the national news media. It was almost as if Skylab was not aloft at all.

On September 25, 1973, the reentry and splashdown of Skylab 3 was scheduled for 7:19 p.m. Eastern Time. I had spent much of that Tuesday afternoon listening to the radio’s news reports of the progress of the returning crew.

I also had plenty of time to ponder the fact that my cousin had spent some effort scribing with a ballpoint pen little late 1960s hippie whimsies about “love” on the mortar joints between the bricks of his bedroom walls. “How little I know about love, but how much I wish I knew,” and crap such as that. Since I was not really a part of that stoned, flower child movement, I found the writing to be a bit odd. Of course, I was about to do something odd myself as I grabbed my tape recorder and set it up to catch the reentry and splashdown of Skylab 3 on TV.

As I was setting up the recording equipment my aunt came into the room and asked me what I was doing. I replied that I was getting ready to record the Skylab 3 splashdown.

“Well, what do you wanna do that for?” she asked condescendingly.

I explained that I recorded all of the splashdowns.

“I don’t see why you wanna do that,” she quipped, as if trying to motivate me to do something more “hip,” perhaps with a ballpoint pen.

I asked if she could please excuse me because the coverage was about to start. She left the room shaking her head and mumbling something about “nonsense.” Apparently she thought my time would be better spent down in that bedroom, stoned and scripting whimsies about “love” on the mortar joints between the bricks.

Splashdown of the Skylab 3 crew went as advertised. CBS News had the best coverage with Morton Dean and Wally Schirra hosting the event. I managed to get nearly a half-hour of the splashdown activity on tape in spite of my aunt’s disdain for spaceflight.

A few weeks later my folks moved into our new house in Freeland and I moved out of my older cousin’s old bedroom. Before leaving I could not resist taking a ballpoint pen and scribing a whimsy of my own on the mortar joints between the bricks on the wall; something that would really make my relatives scratch their heads if and when they ever read it.

“Houston,” I scrolled in tiny letters, “the Falcon is on the Plain at Hadley.”

Growing up with spaceflight in the 1970s, it was important to get the last laugh.

 

M2-FI First Flight Anniversary

 

It was 60 years ago today that test pilot Milt Thompson piloted the world's first lifting body aircraft, the M2-F1 on its first flight.

Towed behind an R4D (the Navy version of the Air Force C-47 which was the the civilian DC-3) the M2-F1 was taken to an altitude of 12,000 feet. Jack McKay and Don Mallick piloted the tow plane while Vic Horton monitored the M2-F1 by way of the R4D's plexiglass bubble in the aircraft's roof. The plan was to make a series of wide 360 degree turns over the lakebed attached to a 1,000 foot long tow line. The line itself had a primary release on the M2-F1 and a backup release on the R4D. Fred Haise was flying chase in a T-37. After reaching 12,000 feet and completing the turns, pilot Thompson was sure that the aircraft was flying well. "NASA 1" the mission controller gave the go ahead and Thompson cut loose. Down on the ground Dale Reed, the father of lifting bodies and creator of the M2-F1 saw the vehicle drop like a stone!

Reed had come up with the concept of a an actual manned lifting body aircraft. In order to convince his boss to let him make that project come to life, Reed, a long time R/C model airplane builder and flyer made a model of his concept, attached it to one of his R/C airplanes and towed it aloft as his wife shot 8mm movies of it. When his boss, Paul Bikle, saw the footage he agreed to to fund the project on a shoestring.

Dale Reed and his flying M2-F1 model

Since the M2-F1 had to be very light weight it was constructed of plywood by sailplane maker Gus Briegleb. 

Likewise the under carriage was in-house made with steel tubing and landing gear from a Cessna 150 aircraft. At the demand of NASA management an ejection seat was also added.

Famed test pilot Milt Thompson became a part of the lifting body program very early on. He spent hours in a kluged simulator and when the actual aircraft was completed he actually sat in it and flew it in the wind tunnel. So, when the time came to start flying it, no one else was gonna do that.

The early flights were "car tows" where a sup'ed up Pontiac pulled the M2-F1 fast enough to get it flying. Thompson did scores of these where the aircraft would lift off  the lakebed, climb a few hundred feet and then cut loose, flair and land. Fred Haise often did the car driving and by way of doing so got to do some of the tow flights. When asked about the driving the car he told me, "...it was fun, but then I got to fly that thing!"

So, on August 16, 1963 the M2-F1 was flying on its own. Although the steep "dive bomber" approach caught the observers on the ground, including Dale Reed, by surprise, Milt Thompson was fully in control. He did a simulated landing flair at 9,000 feet and then went right back into the descent profile. Landing exactly on his planned touchdown point he let the bird roll to a near stop before turning to roll clear of the desert runway.

When I was in high school in 1976 I designed my own lifting body "shape." It was a part of my 11th grade drafting class final project. While I was working on it- along with a model rocket booster and launch service tower with a retracting service structure (that I'm sure NASA stole from me), my drafting teacher the late Dan Craig came up and looked at the project.

"What's that wedge thing?" he asked.

"It's a lifting body," I replied as if he should know what I meant, "it's a wingless aircraft."

He simply shook his head and walked away. I go a "C" on the project mostly due to assorted tiny drafting errors, and on the lifting body he scrolled a message,

"Aircraft can't fly without wings- you should know that!"

Mine flew. Many years later my college roommate saw one of my lifting body balsa wood models and was so fascinated I gave him one. He went on to work as a NASA contractor at then Dryden, and Dale Reed's deck was just a short distance from his. So, he showed Mr. Reed my lifting body. The father of lifting bodies was impressed and said, "That would also make a great hypersonic shape."

But not constructed of balsa wood... of course

My original high school lifting body