Twenty years ago I worked for a Colonel and at his first
commanders call (kind of like a team pep-rally) he jokingly said the only thing
he knew about the launch business was to put the rocket on the pad pointy end
up and light the bottom. He laughed and
then said to the group, “seriously that’s why YOU are here. You make this happen.” He was right about one
thing, well actually a couple things, the rocket does in-fact go on the pad
pointy end up and the people around him were the ones that made the thing work.
Times have changed and responsibilities have shifted but
regardless of who wields the wrench, the result is the same thing; pointy end
up-light the bottom. After being
involved with 170+ launch campaigns, I can say (with fervor) that it never gets
old, regardless of the role.
The allure of the rocket business caught me like many kids that
grew up drinking Tang™ during the Apollo Program.
Space-enthusiasm was everywhere, from TV shows like “I Dream of Genie”
to the names of cars, i.e. Galaxy, Vega and Nova just to name a few. It just seemed like that was where we were
going and there would be no stopping. I
remember having a plastic Saturn V with a lunar excursion model that would
separate the capsule via two springs. I would
reach escape velocity in the yard and give the command to jettison the capsule.
Next stop the moon… and then where?
As a kid in the Appalachian Mountains we didn’t have cable
TV or fancy suburban sidewalks, so exposure to the subject was pretty much a
headline story from the single channel on a black and white television. My mom encouraged my interest allowing me to
sleep in front of the TV any time an Apollo Mission was in progress. She said it was history and that I was
witnessing one of man’s greatest achievements.
We walked outside and looked up at the moon and with a tone of amazing
appreciation she commented about how brave man where on it’s surface looking
back at Earth. She was glad she lived to
see it and she wanted me to appreciate the moment. She was fighting her own challenge with
cancer and died before the program ended.
In a strange way, I’m glad she lived to see it and died believing it was
just the first step for man. She never
had to see the enthusiasm wane.
After she died, I went to live with my Dad, which meant
basically a new reality. Two very
important things happened that year.
First was a science teacher that was just one of the coolest guys I had
ever met. He introduced me to model rockets. He would loan us his catalog and if we wanted
to buy something he would collect the money and go to the big city and buy
everything for us. Once a month we would
have launch day in the grass behind the school.
We didn’t have a fancy pad like in the catalog or even an electrical
starter. He simply stuck the launch rod
in the dirt, slid the rocket into place and started the engine with cannon
fuse. He was cool.
The other significant thing that happened was a trip to the
Kennedy Space Center. Wow! I got to see
a Saturn V in person. HOLY!!!@##@$^$!!!!
Everything was so big. I was in awe.
Next we got a tour of the VAB by a lady astronaut- Sally Ride. She
explained how they were preparing for the first Space Shuttle to arrive and
begin the next great chapter in human space exploration. While the shuttle program was a tremendous
achievement it can be argued that (along with many factors) it lacked the same
sense of exploration demonstrated by Apollo-a point to point destination.
Many years passed and I once again found myself immersed in
the subject matter. After arriving at
Vandenberg as a missile maintenance troop I was shocked to find out that there
was no museum program and no astronomical observatory. Seriously, I thought that everyone must be
interested in this stuff at Space Command base…right? Well not so much. What I found was a dedicated group of
individuals, and a lot of folks that only worried about their specific task and
not the macro of the subject matter.
That’s when I started beating the bushes to try and get a museum program
up and running.
I was not the first to try the idea but previous attempts
would just loose momentum and die. Once
learning this, I was determined to find ways to approach the problem that would
not require a linear decision. If a
singular decision could make it succeed, it could also make it disappear. Taking a lesson from the early space pioneers
about finding simple solutions and not putting all of your eggs in one basket, I
set out to learn, preserve and share their story.
I am forever indebted to my friends for their
support and hard work to make some herculean efforts seem commonplace. A few simple examples: over a period of months,Ted Silver and I hauled several tons of grass and ice plant from the
surface of the parking lot and the access roads. Perception is reality; Ray Riggens and his
wife helped me tape over rust holes so that we could paint surfaces and make it
seem more “doable” to certain naysayers in leadership. Truth be told, I am also indebted to those naysayers because
their obstinacy literally fueled my resolve and still does.
There is another group of dedicated folk that inspire this program
as well. They are equally passionate about the subject and have challenged me to find answers
along the way. Why save such stories? Who cares- well, authors like Dwayne Day,
Neil Sheehan and my good friend Joe Page just to name a few. They have shown
that there is demand for this story.
Researchers like Jonathan McDowell, Dwayne Day, Tom Maultsby, Sheila
McCarthy, and Roy McCullough prove that this isn’t just about story telling but
storytelling with purpose that can provide tools for current projects and ways
to look ahead. None of the current museum story would have happened if it were not for one simple thank you letter from Dr. Jonathan McDowell. His letter was validation.
Regardless of what the future holds for the program, I
can say with all honesty that I believe it continues to make a difference. Has it become the program I envisioned? No,
not even close. Times have changed, as did the momentum. However, I do believe that it has planted a
few seeds and provided a glimpse into another time and more importantly another
“way”. A way that isn’t afraid. A way that is hungry for a challenge to
produce something that matters. A way
that by it’s very existence defines itself and stands on its own merit. A way that doesn’t have to make excuses or be
defined by something or somebody outside of itself for some perceived fashionability. After all, shouldn’t we all be striving to
say that? Perhaps then we won’t need
labels to identify differences that marginalize people and their ideals. Maybe
if we can get over ourselves we can truly reach our potential and be worthy to
travel the deep sky. I hope to see you
out there.
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