_Working in a Fish Bowl_
We, among others, had anticipated Sputnik but utterly failed to
predict its profound impact on the minds of all men. When it came,
on October 4, 1957, we were astonished by the reaction. As the sense
of public shame spread throughout the country, we--engineers on the
most advanced “space” project in the United States--were overwhelmed
by special misgivings. Maybe we should have pushed the X-15B, the
orbiting vehicle, harder. We debated. Had we been right to lie low,
virtually keeping it to ourselves? Perhaps a concerted, intelligent
presentation in Washington would have sold our case, even in those
days before Sputnik when space was taboo.
This painful speculation did not go on for long. No sooner did we
feel the impact of Sputnik than a second rocket crashed into our
camp. This one had North American insignia. It was Stormy, urging us
to put together a completely detailed proposal for an orbiting X-15B
_right now_. Fortunately, the preliminary design section had worked
out most of the details. Ours was mainly a job of assembling various
loose pieces of paper and bringing the report up to date. Within a
few days it was ready and Stormy hurried off to Washington.
The X-15B concept was awe-inspiring even to those of us who had
thought about it for many months. In the plan Stormy took to
Washington it was a three-stage monster, tall as a seven-story
building. The basic booster system, or first two stages, developed
the staggering total of 1.3 million pounds of thrust. The first
stage consisted of two giant Navahos, bound together and calculated
to generate about 830,000 total pounds thrust. The second stage was
a single Navaho, capable of 415,000 pounds thrust. The third and
final stage, perched atop the cluster of boosters like some massive
arrowhead, was the X-15B itself, with a slightly more powerful
engine than the RMI XLR-99. As a matter of fact, the engine we had
in mind for the X-15B, a proven, reliable chamber, was the North
American-built Atlas “sustainer” engine, which develops about 75,000
pounds thrust.
The X-15B was a far more sophisticated ship than the craft we were
then building. It was larger, capable of carrying not one pilot,
but two. The skin was tougher, to withstand the higher post-orbit
re-entry heating. The fuel tanks were rearranged and larger, to
gain added third-stage thrust. But as for the basic shape and the
systems--controls, both conventional and ballistic, pressure suit,
instruments, and so on--the two airplanes were fundamentally the
same. Years of development on the X-15 would save much time in
perfecting the X-15B.
According to our proposed flight plan, the X-15B would be fired from
a launching pad in Cape Canaveral, Florida. The huge double-Navaho
first stage would lift the massive structure toward the sky. After
about eighty seconds the first stage would fall away. Then the second
stage would light off and boost the shrinking structure higher and
faster. When the second stage burned out, it too would fall away,
leaving the X-15B alone in the sky. At that point the X-15B pilot
would light off the rocket engine and the 30,000-pound ship would
soar into orbit, 75 miles above the earth and at a speed of 18,000
miles an hour.
After three orbits around the earth, the X-15B pilot would prepare
to return. First he would fire “retro-rockets” to slow down the
craft and bring it back out of orbit. When the ship neared the
thick atmosphere the pilot or pilots would align the ship with the
ballistic controls and then make a similar approach to that planned
for the X-15, a shallow, gradual descent into the atmosphere. When
the ship had fully re-entered and slowed to more or less conventional
X-15 speed, the pilot would set up for a conventional landing on one
of the dry lakes near Edwards. This was, in essence, my “commuter”
space ship.
We were proud of that proposal and damned happy that we were in
shape, that we had created a team and the think-how to carry it
through to completion within a matter of four years, the terminal
date we set in the proposal. But as we were soon to learn, other
airframe companies had not been idle. When the space taboo was forced
aside by Sputnik, hundreds of engineers descended on Washington with
literally hundreds of proposals for every conceivable type of space
craft. Stormy returned to the plant in a dark mood.
“When I left Washington,” he said, “there were exactly 421 new
proposals before the Pentagon and NACA. There’s talk of creating
a new ‘space agency,’ and I’m afraid some time is going to elapse
before they get organized and sort through all those proposals.
Furthermore, the President has stated publicly that he is opposed to
having the Air Force and the Navy engage in big space projects unless
they have some clear military application. We’ll have to take that
heavy instrumentation load out of the X-15B proposal and substitute
a weapons system, a bomb, reconnaissance cameras, or something like
that.”
“Well, that’s certainly no problem,” Feltz said.
“The other thing is, I encountered a lot of resistance to an advanced
X-15. They still want to see how a plain X-15 will do on landing and
so on, before they move to any more advanced projects. Also, they
don’t like the Navaho booster system and I’ll have to admit they
have a point. The Navaho is proven, but the staging _is_ complicated
and big. I have a feeling, as far as orbiting man is concerned, they
will probably want to start with something smaller and a little less
complex. My guess is that whoever is given responsibility for putting
man in space will probably begin with Don Flickinger’s MIS program.”
Stormy, as usual, had shrewdly sized up the Washington scene. A few
months after his informal report to us, Congress did, in fact, create
a new space agency--the National Aeronautics and Space Administration
(NASA). NACA formed the nucleus for the new agency. Dr. T. Keith
Glennan moved in as NASA Administrator, and NACA’s former boss, Dr.
Hugh L. Dryden, remained as Glennan’s deputy. The President gave
NASA responsibility for almost all non-military space projects. And
as Stormy had predicted, NASA selected Flickinger’s MIS program as a
start for putting man in space. MIS became Project Mercury. (Late in
1959 Walt Williams moved from Edwards to NASA’s Langley Laboratory to
help push the Mercury program.) NASA awarded the contract to build
the orbiting, manned Mercury capsule to McDonnell Aircraft Company in
St. Louis, Missouri. Then NASA selected seven members of the armed
forces, all of them test pilots, to serve as our first spacemen.
NASA labeled these seven men Mercury Astronauts. Although both the
X-15 and Project Mercury came under NASA jurisdiction, they were
separate, distinct programs. The X-15 has frequently been confused
with Project Mercury, and I have often been mistaken for one of the
seven Astronauts, but there is no connection between the two projects
other than a friendly rivalry and a complete exchange of information.
* * * * *
Sputnik hit us hard in more ways than one. The press, inquisitive by
nature and eagerly seeking an answer to Soviet space triumphs, turned
klieg lights on the X-15 project. Reporters, radio and television
commentators, and a variety of other media descended on us in droves,
seriously complicating our already difficult task. These endless news
reports, stories, and feature articles generally exaggerated the
X-15 mission. The X-15 was confused with the X-15B proposal, which
had been published in a trade journal, or else it was deliberately
misrepresented. Quite soon our research airplane had the title of
“the U. S.’s first space ship.”
We were astonished and baffled by this activity, and especially
concerned when the government removed the secrecy from all but the
most obscure technical details of the X-15. For the first time in
history an aircraft company found itself building a research airplane
completely in the open. All details, failures as well as successes,
were available almost day by day to the nation. It was like working
in a fish bowl. It made us uncomfortable, not to say edgy. It is
disconcerting to build an airplane as revolutionary as the X-15 with
a reporter leaning over one’s shoulder.
Believe me, under such circumstances the multifarious demands of the
modern communications media can be overwhelming. I should know. As
the X-15’s first test pilot, I was naturally singled out for special
press treatment. Invitations to interviews, to make speeches, to
appear on television shows, came by the hundreds. There were so many
that I could have stopped all work on the X-15 itself then and there
and devoted full-time to fulfilling these requests. In some special
cases--those I thought would particularly benefit the project--I
_did_ make time for them. But although I rejected about ninety per
cent of these invitations and ducked the press whenever possible, I
was soon glamorously and erroneously tagged “Our First Man in Outer
Space.”
It is not easy to deal with the press. It is a time-consuming and
delicate operation. If you grant one man an interview and refuse
another, the latter becomes angry. In the press, as in the aircraft
industry and elsewhere, there are many good men but there are also
many small-minded and bigoted prima donnas. For months upon months
I walked this tightrope, desperately hoping that I would not offend
someone who would take out his anger on the X-15 project itself, or
on Charlie Feltz or Stormy. I tried, actually, to steer the reporters
to Charlie and Stormy, the two men who deserve the real credit for
building the X-15. But the press was not too interested. They kept
returning to me, the pilot, kept on giving me undue credit. This
constant publicity, unsought but unavoidable, considerably strained
my day-to-day working relationship with the fine X-15 project team at
North American and with our customers, the Air Force, the Navy, and
NASA.
To all of the press there was one line I refused to cross: the
threshold of my home. Each newsman, naturally, wanted to interview
Alice and our tribe of children, five of them by that time. Since
my Mach 2 flight in the Skyrocket, I had conscientiously shielded
my family from the press. There were many reasons for this. First
and foremost, this attention embarrassed Alice and made the children
uncomfortable. I was willing to give my all for the X-15 and nation,
but I saw no compelling reason to involve the members of my family
against their wishes. Another reason was my uncertainty about what
effect the publicity might have on the children. There was always the
chance that, seeing their pictures in a newspaper or magazine, their
young heads might be turned early in life. I wanted to avoid this at
all costs. My adamant policy in this regard made many of the newsmen,
especially the photographers, furious. Some of these men suspected
that I had some mysterious ulterior motive. Perish the thought!
Behind the scenes, ironically, my role in the flight test of the
X-15 was being cast in almost inverse ratio to my press clippings.
From the outset NACA or, as we now call it, NASA, had deliberately
seized a firm technical grip on the X-15 flight-test program. Unlike
most previous rocket-research airplanes, the X-15 would not go first
to the Air Force for shake-down flights and then later to NASA.
After contractor demonstration flights the ship would go direct from
contractor to NASA. The complete flight-test program would be laid
out by NASA. The Air Force, Navy, and NASA would contribute one pilot
plus a “back-up” pilot for the airplane. But these men would fly
under strict NASA supervision.
As contractor test pilot I would fly the airplane first. We would
demonstrate many points, such as engine reliability, flight
stability under negative G and positive G, Lox top-off and launch
capability, and safe landings. These flights would be short-legged,
conducted over or near the Edwards base. I had been specifically
told that I would have speed and altitude restrictions which would
keep me well within established records. NASA did not want a long
delay in contractor demonstrations just seeking new records. We
protested this at first, not because North American was interested
in establishing records, but because some of the restrictions
made the demonstration points more difficult and dangerous. For
example, at high speed and altitude we could demonstrate high-speed
controllability without fear of disaster, but at lower speed and
altitude it was far more ticklish and less fruitful. Nevertheless,
NASA had the final say-so, and very early in the game they set North
American flight limits on the airplane of Mach 2.0 and 100,000 feet.
Iven Kincheloe, who had earned the name “Mr. Space” in four flights
of the X-2 before Apt crashed, was selected as the Air Force X-15
pilot. A handsome, eager young blond, with wavy hair and deep blue
eyes, he was the press agent’s dream of a test pilot. But Kinch, as
we called him, was much more than that. He was an engineering test
pilot, an educated man, dedicated, fearless, and able. During the
building of the X-15, he was constantly in the plant going over the
plans and discussing the technical details of the ship. Kinch was
obviously a winner and we were glad to have him on the X-15 team. His
back-up on the Air Force team was Major Robert White, a graduate of
the Edwards test-pilot school and a very able pilot. White had never
flown a rocket plane--by the time he came along they were all either
retired or crashed--but he had plenty of experience with all of the
Air Force’s supersonic fighters and bombers.
NASA selected its most senior pilot, Joe Walker, to fly the X-15. I
knew Walker well. He had worked with me for years at NACA, Edwards.
He learned to fly rocket planes and the other weird vehicles in
NACA’s stable, including the X-4, X-5, and the underpowered X-3. In
his tour of duty at NACA, Edwards, Walker had accumulated thirty-one
rocket-powered flights in the X-1-A (in which he narrowly escaped
death when it exploded in the mother-plane belly), X-1-B, and the
X-1-E. He was well qualified for the X-15 assignment.
Since the Navy had contributed a small percentage of the X-15
cost, it, too, was entitled to assign a pilot to the flight-test
program. Lt. Comdr. Forrest (“Pete”) Petersen, a pilot from the
Navy’s Patuxent River Test Station, was selected. Petersen had
helped wring out most of the new Navy carrier-based fighters, such
as the F11F, F8U, and F4H. A quiet-spoken man who liked to stay out
of the limelight--and did--Petersen impressed me as a “sleeper,” a
man of Colonel Marion Carl’s caliber. I was certain that, given the
opportunity, Petersen would perform very well for the Navy.
* * * * *
In due time the government considered the X-15B proposal which we
had submitted in the wake of Sputnik and, as Stormy had predicted,
rejected it. Convinced that our approach was a sound follow-on, or
parallel program, with NASA’s Project Mercury, we kept trying to
sell it as a laboratory or weapons system. We greatly simplified the
booster system, switching from Navaho to Martin’s newer and more
powerful Titan ballistic missile. But NASA had its hands full with
Mercury. The President was not yet convinced that the Air Force could
mount a weapons system in space. Communications and early-warning
satellites were obviously valuable, but there was considerable
controversy about the efficiency and practicability of launching a
bomb from space. Pending the President’s final decision, the Air
Force awarded a long-range study contract to Boeing and Martin for an
orbital, or sub-orbital, vehicle known as DYNA-SOAR.
Meanwhile, our X-15, which was then beginning to take shape in the
manufacturing division, was regarded with new and increasing respect,
not only throughout the nation and aircraft industry, but also at
North American. Our baffling stepchild had suddenly ballooned into
the nation’s front-running vehicle to put man into space. Our project
group increased in size from 65 to over 250 people. Every division of
the plant was eager to help us with our problems. Beaming proudly,
North American erected with pride a huge neon sign over the main
production buildings proclaiming:
HOME OF THE X-15
From the very beginning of the X-15 project we worked with a sense
of urgency. Our goal was to build a research aircraft to provide
data for military combat airplanes in time. Now, having seen the
psychological impact of Sputnik, we realized that a safe flight
of the X-15 to the fringes of space would not only provide these
data but also, as a by-product, bring the nation great prestige,
especially if we got our man there--and back--before the Russians.
Frankly, considering the size and advanced state of development of
the Soviet booster rockets, we believed our chances of getting there
first were slim indeed. Nevertheless, following Sputnik, we of the
X-15 group felt we were engaged in a kind of private race with the Russian
scientists, and we ran to win despite the odds.