NASA’s Greatest Failures

Here’s another one of father’s NASA stories. This includes a lot of what my father’s officemate, Bart Hacker, has referred to as “apocryphal” anecdotes. Another apocryphal anecdote appeared years later at the end of the Cold War. After the fall of the Soviet Union, some Russian and American scientists compared notes. The American scientists lamented that they were never able to successfully create a pen with which you could write in space. They asked their Russian counterparts how they solved the problem, to which they replied, “We used pencils.” This might be the actual source of my father’s space pen.

We followed the Mercury team’s pattern by dividing the Gemini Project into three parts—Concept & Design, Research & Development, and Operations—and I would select which of us would take which segment of the history to write. As I was the only team member with no degree in the physical sciences, plus the fact that the Gemini flights were just then taking place, I picked “Operations” for myself. To this end I would have to go to the Redstone Arsenal in Huntsville, Alabama, as well as to the Cape in Florida.

In the meantime, as we reviewed aspects of the evolution of Gemini, we were impressed by the number of sub-programs that went into the development of the final program and of the millions of dollars spent on them. There were two major duds among them. Two ground-landing Air Force program—Dyna-Soar and NASA’s Para-Glider—which never did get off the ground and cost millions! Our team was also struck by the cost of the space pen—$27,000+ to write notes in outer space! By the time we finished our preliminary research, we had counted more than a dozen costly sub-projects which failed to contribute anything obvious or useful to Gemini. This corresponded with our realization that, having settled into our History Office, we needed to make it more comfortable—and attractive. On a trip over to Gilruth’s (the MSC Director), I had noticed some stunning, large color photographs that had been taken in space. These were not uncommon in the hallways of the executive buildings. I thought we should have something comparable for ourselves.

Since we prided ourselves on being detached civilian “outsiders” determined to create the record of the program’s “achievements”, I thought we should have our own photographs of NASA’s lesser known achievements which, while never quite as triumphant as those festooning the higher corridors of NASA powerdom, had nonetheless been paid for at considerable cost to the U. S. taxpayer. Their framed appearance on the History Unit’s walls would serve as a daily reminder of NASA profligate use of public monies—a caution, if you will.

The Dyna-Soar and Para-Glide

From the photo lab in the building, I placed an order for about a dozen 16”x20” framed color photos, suitable for framing. In less than a week, our co-worker James Grimwood would come to work and be overwhelmed by our decorations. We had a picture of the Para-Glider and, beneath it, a little card with the name of the project—and its number!—and its cost in millions of taxpayer dollars. As one gazed ’round the walls, they were all there! The space pen, Dyna-Soar, “Shorty” Hetzel (the test pilot who lost 2”+ off his spine in hard landings), and nearly a dozen other projects we had rescued from oblivion. Grimwood was not amused—and neither would Security Officer Rod Puffer!

The first inkling I had that something was amiss, came the very next day, when I arrived at work. There was something decidedly new and different about our office . . . the walls were bare! And once again, impaled on my desk pen was a call-back memo: “Security Officer Puffer—stat!”

Grimwood was already in his doorway, pipe in mouth, as I left for Security. When I entered Puffer’s office, I could see a file cabinet, on the far right, with a drawer partly open—obviously crammed with large folded-over mounted photos. My eyes quickly shot back to Puffer whose neck veins were visibly distended, clearly from the mass of blood that had been pushed to his ruddy face by ever-mounting blood pressure.

“I’m not supposed to ask this question, but what exactly are your political affiliations?” Puffer glared at me as the surprise reaction set in.“Huh? I don’t know what you mean” I couldn’t see the purpose in starting this colloquy this way.

“I mean are you trying to subvert the work of this Agency—or what?” He thumped his desk for emphasis.

“I don’t understand.” I was indeed mystified.

“Parading NASA’s expensive failures all over the walls of the MSC—and at company expense I might add—is downright subversive! If it was up to me I’d can your sorry ass right now! . . . What the hell are you playing at?!”

“Well, I couldn’t help but notice all the photos decorating the halls in Building #4. Especially in contrast with the blank walls of our history unit, so I thought I’d order some to liven up our own quarters. There wasn’t the slightest intent of subversion.” I could see Puffer de-puff himself a bit. Well, at least this was not active, intentional subversion. Realizing that he would not be able to prove intent, he was stuck with the unauthorized requisitioning of government property—at about $125 top cost—and he knew it was hardly worth the aggravation.

“Look,” I added defensively, “NASA spent millions of dollars—and Hetzel nearly lost his life—on a program that the public has never heard of. Not to mention the $27,000 space pencil. What’s wrong about giving a token of recognition for the taxpayer’s?” Puffer broke the conversation off with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Get outta my sight you candy-assed intellectual!” and, as I turned to leave, “I’m keeping my eye on you. I’m going to get your sorry ass out of here yet!” My file was obviously growing.