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diff --git a/78431-0.txt b/78431-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..75e15d1 --- /dev/null +++ b/78431-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,15926 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78431 *** + + + + +Transcriber’s Note: Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: +_italics_. + + + + + ALWAYS ANOTHER DAWN ► + + + + + Always Another Dawn + + THE STORY OF A ROCKET TEST PILOT + + _by A. Scott Crossfield + with Clay Blair, Jr._ + + CLEVELAND AND NEW YORK + + [Illustration: (Colophon)] + + THE WORLD PUBLISHING COMPANY + + + + + _Published by_ The World Publishing Company + 2231 West 110th Street, Cleveland 2, Ohio + + _Published simultaneously in Canada by_ + Nelson, Foster & Scott Ltd. + + + Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 60-14641 + + FIRST EDITION + + WP1060 + +Copyright ©1960 by A. Scott Crossfield and Clay Blair, Jr. All rights +reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without +written permission from the publisher, except for brief passages +included in a review appearing in a newspaper or magazine. Printed in +the United States of America. + + + + + To Joseph, who knows why + + + + +_Contents_ + + +(_Illustrations will be found following pages 134 and 294._) + + + FOREWORD 15 + + A NOTE ON SPEED 16 + + 1. “A Modern-Day Lindbergh” 19 + + 2. The Gypsy Caravan 25 + + 3. A Sense of Urgency 38 + + 4. Excitement and Frustration 45 + + 5. An Unusual Heritage 53 + + 6. An Isolated Environment 62 + + 7. “Take Her Up and Try a Spin” 72 + + 8. Change and Challenge 82 + + 9. Manhood and Maturity 89 + + 10. No Penalty for Being Late 99 + + 11. How Dark the Clouds 109 + + 12. A Short Man with Santa Claus Eyebrows 119 + + 13. “Barefoot Boy with Cheek” 125 + + 14. The Need for Speed 135 + + 15. Disaster on the Race Track 145 + + 16. Bright Light Under a Bush 154 + + 17. Light in the Open 162 + + 18. “Fastest Man on Earth” 171 + + 19. “Leaf in a Tempest” 180 + + 20. “Please Come to a Complete Stop” 190 + + 21. End of the Line 200 + + 22. End of an Era 209 + + 23. Secrets in the Cafeteria 217 + + 24. Ullage and Capsules 226 + + 25. Girdles, Brassieres, and Shattered Sinuses 234 + + 26. The Agricultural Approach 244 + + 27. A Tornado Named Stormy 246 + + 28. Wilting Straws in Plaster of Paris 253 + + 29. Eyes Toward Space 262 + + 30. Muting the Cassandras 271 + + 31. Working in a Fish Bowl 280 + + 32. Time for Extraordinary Action 289 + + 33. Circus Day 297 + + 34. A Carnival at Dawn 307 + + 35. Smoke in the Cockpit 317 + + 36. The Reluctant Dragon 327 + + 37. Engulfed in Disappointment 338 + + 38. “She Blew Sky High” 346 + + 39. The Old Pro 359 + + 40. Bad News with the Good 367 + + 41. “You Have a Fire!” 376 + + 42. Minor Miracles 388 + + 43. “The Real Significance” 399 + + 44. “Prophecies of the Next Age” 407 + + CHRONOLOGY 411 + + INDEX 415 + + + + +_Foreword_ + + +Long ago at Edwards, I heard a story that stuck in my mind. Two small +boys, the sons of pilots, were discussing their fathers. One said +to the other: “Aw, your father _can’t_ be a test pilot. He hasn’t +written a book.” + +Now I have joined the clan, but, I hope, with a difference. +Inevitably I have reminisced, as, it seems, all pilots must. But the +intent of this book is broader than mere memoirs. Put simply, the +objective is to restate an old principle: that not talk but action is +the key to man’s progress, and in this age, freedom from enslavement. + + A. SCOTT CROSSFIELD + +_Los Angeles, Calif. + + August 1960_ + + + + +_A Note on Speed_ + + +We have used the modern method of expressing aviation speed--the Mach +number. Mach 1.0 is the speed at which sound travels through the air. +On an average day at sea level, the speed of sound, or Mach 1.0, is +about 760 miles an hour. At higher, colder altitudes on the same day, +it is less. For example, at 35,000 feet it might be only 660 miles an +hour. Since most of the flying described in this account is at high +altitude, Mach 1.0 is, on an average day, about 660 miles an hour. +The speed is also expressed in terms of fractions of a Mach number. +Thus Mach .5 is half of Mach 1 or half of 660 miles an hour--about +330 miles an hour. Speeds above Mach 1.0 are also expressed in whole +Mach numbers and fractions of Mach numbers. For example, Mach 1.5 is +the equivalent of one and a half times the speed of sound, or about +1,000 miles an hour. Mach 2.0--or twice the speed of sound--is twice +660 miles an hour, or about 1,320 miles an hour. Mach 2.5 is about +1,650 miles an hour. Mach 3 is about 2,000 miles an hour. + + + + + ALWAYS ANOTHER DAWN ► + + + + + “There is no liberty except the liberty of someone + making his way towards something.” + + --ANTOINE DE SAINT EXUPÉRY + + + + +CHAPTER 1 ► + + “_A Modern-Day Lindbergh_” + + +A misty rain, typical of Seattle in the spring, fell across the lush +green campus of the University of Washington that afternoon. It was +1947. I don’t recall the exact date because that whole period of my +life remains fixed in my mind as a steady, uninterrupted blur of work +and study. I do remember that as I drove through the narrow streets +setting apart the ivy-smothered Tudor-Gothic buildings, I proceeded +with caution. My car was a veteran of many campaigns in Seattle +weather and traffic. It was barely hanging together. + +When I pulled into my special parking place behind the University’s +wind tunnel, I was quietly angry. I had just come from an advanced +class in aeronautical engineering under Professor Frank K. Kirsten, a +brilliant but crotchety old martinet. He had devoted the lecture to +a discourse on the jet engine, which, he held, had no future because +its fuel consumption was too great. I had challenged his assertions +and argued forcibly, concluding, with some heat, that other experts +in aviation had made such dogmatic statements, only to have them +later completely disproved. “Take Monteith,” I had said (actually +quoting Kirsten). “He predicted the cantilever wing would not be +practicable. Yet almost every airplane flying today has a cantilever +wing.” In the aviation world, as anywhere, I concluded, everything is +subject to change. We must believe this. + +I walked through the power room to a door marked: “Chief Wind +Tunnel Operator,” stashed my textbook and notes in a desk drawer, +and then scanned the bulletin board. Posted over the tunnel’s +Schedule-of-Operations sheet was a photograph of a smashed-up +automobile, with “Guess Who?” scrawled underneath. It was an earlier +car I owned, a veteran of several brief but devastating engagements. +It occurred to me then, for the first time, that both my problem cars +had been painted green. I recalled an old race-track superstition +against green cars. That was the trouble, I was sure. Overdriving +my car and its brakes in Seattle streets couldn’t be the reason, of +course. + +The wind tunnel of the University of Washington was one of the +first--and finest--modern wind tunnels built in the United States. +Many major aircraft companies, such as Boeing and McDonnell, +contracted work to the tunnel. The tunnel tests and analyses were +carried out by students under faculty supervision. I had worked in +the tunnel part-time since returning to the University in the spring +of 1946. We were then engaged in tests on the Boeing B-47 bomber. +Many years later the plane, bought in vast quantity, would become the +backbone of the Strategic Air Command, and a direct descendant, the +Boeing 707, would become the first U. S. commercial jet airliner. +In 1947 the plane’s concept--sharply swept cantilever wings, six +jet engines slung on pods beneath the wing--was controversial and +exciting. + +I joined a fellow student, Joe Tymczyszyn, near the tunnel control +panel and greeted him above the noise, the great rushing of wind, +and the steady humming of electric generators. Through a glass port +mounted on the bottom of the big wind tube, I could see a silvery +model of the B-47 rigidly fixed on a pylon. Sensitive force-measuring +devices supporting the pylon below the chamber showed the effects of +the blast on a row of meters on the control panel. Tym photographed +the meter readings every few moments on a special recorder. The panel +was marked “Secret” since Boeing and the Air Force considered the +data classified. + +I plopped into a chair and lighted a cigarette. Then Tym and I fell +into avid conversation on the topic that bound us as friends and +co-workers: aviation. Tym had a wide acquaintance in aviation. He +always had some bit of gossip or vital news to impart. + +“Did you hear about Slick Goodlin?” he began. “They say he’s +reluctant to fly the X-1.” Slick was a Bell Aircraft test pilot. +The X-1 was then the sensation of the aviation world--a tiny, +bullet-shaped craft fitted with a rocket engine. It was built for +research purposes, to provide high-speed flight data so that we, +and others in aviation, could get information we then could not +get from wind tunnels. In those days, when we pumped air through a +tunnel close to the speed of sound, strange things happened. The air +“choked” and the flow was distorted. As a result, most wind-tunnel +data near the speed of sound were suspect at a time when they were +vitally needed. The X-1 had sufficient power to fly faster than the +speed of sound. + +“He’s reluctant to fly it?” I asked. + +“Yeah,” Tym said. “They say he wants a lot more money.” + +Few could blame him. The rocket engine of the X-1, a complex device +which burned a fuel combination almost as explosive as dynamite, had +never been flown wide open. Engineers were split about fifty-fifty +over what would happen structurally when the X-1 reached the speed +of sound. Some said the plane would disintegrate; others, especially +engineers at Bell, said it would not. In any case, it might be a +risky flight. But the rewards, other than money, would be great. + +“Hell,” I said. “The man who flies that plane through the sonic +barrier will be a modern-day Lindbergh.” Tym nodded agreement and +returned to his log. + +For the rest of the afternoon I was busy putting together the data +from the wind-tunnel meters. But my mind was fixed on the X-1 and I +let my imagination soar. For a test pilot, the X-1 was the absolute +ultimate. There was nothing like it in the past; it would be years +before anything else surpassed it. I was still thinking about the +plane when I got home that evening. Before dinner, when my wife, +Alice, and I sat down for our usual martini, I was lost in thought. + +“What’s eating you?” she asked. Alice is a native of Seattle. Like +many people from that part of the country, typical of Norwegian +descent, she is usually quiet and straight to the point. After +four years of marriage she had come to terms with my obsession for +aviation and rarely questioned either my progress or my mood. I +didn’t encourage it. + +“Oh, nothing,” I said. + +I was mentally composing a letter I intended to write to Bell +Aircraft proposing that I be named the new test pilot of the X-1. +After dinner, while Alice was washing the dishes, I sat down to my +battered portable typewriter and carefully pecked out the letter, +stressing my qualifications: + +Age: 26. Flying time: 2500 hours, single-engine, World War II Navy +instructor and fighter pilot. Special flying: lead pilot, Seattle +Naval Reserve stunt team (which could be matched against any stunt +team in the country, I added). Education--prewar: three quarters, +University of Washington, basic freshman engineering. Postwar: five +semesters, aeronautical engineering (aimed at a Master’s degree). +Practical experience: prewar, production expediter, Boeing plant, +Seattle; postwar, partner in aircraft accessories firm (ash trays; +serving tables); University of Washington wind tunnel. Temperament: +reliable, family-man type; even disposition, cool in emergencies. +Salary? I would fly the X-1 for nothing, if necessary. + +It occurred to me, as I reflected over this letter, that anyone +outside the aviation world would have viewed this brief summary of my +life as the work of a single-minded zealot. This was not precisely +so. My interests ranged wide enough--from philosophy to farming. +Yet it was a fact that, since boyhood, almost every waking moment +had been devoted, directly or indirectly, to the single purpose +of scoring a mark in the aviation world. It was not a spectacular +record I sought--a round-the-world flight, a speed dash, or a new +altitude. Mine was a more serious bent. I wanted to follow in the +footsteps of the aviation giants: Boeing’s Edward (“Eddie”) Allen +and the Air Force’s James H. (“Jimmy”) Doolittle, and the like. They +were both serious scientists and superb pilots, a rare combination +and, in these days of specialization, a rapidly disappearing breed. +More specifically, my goal was to participate in the design and +construction of the most advanced craft man could conceive and then +take it into the air and fly it. + +This may strike many as a heady ambition for so young a man. It +never seemed that way to me. On this earth, at least, I believe man +is master of his own fate. Within his God-given physical and mental +limitations, he can do what he wants to do. I believe the secret +is to work intelligently, economically, and steadily toward a set +goal. I must have been about six years old when I made up my mind +what I wanted. Shortly after that, I was struck by a disease that +kept me bed-ridden, off and on, for almost five years. As a result, +I was told I would never fly. My mind shut out these predictions and +stubbornly plotted the future. There are many hurdles along the way. +I am scaling them, one way or another. Anyone with determination can +do the same, I think. + +That night when I drafted the letter to Bell I was still far from +completing what I believed to be an adequate foundation. For one +thing, my education, interrupted by the war, was considerably short +of my design. Yet I must admit that at heart I am also a gambler. +If I were lucky enough, I knew, the X-1 could catapult me directly +toward the very position I sought. The advanced education could come +later, with experience. Besides, who could resist the temptation to +fly the X-1, if there was a chance? + +Bell must have received many such letters from adventurous pilots. I +imagine they were all passed on to the public relations department +and from there to a handy waste-paper basket. I never received a +reply. Unknown to me, and to others who may have written, the Air +Force had already picked Goodlin’s replacement. Shortly after I +mailed my application, I read in the papers that Air Force Captain +Charles Yeager was assigned the job. In October, 1947, he flew the +X-1 through the sonic barrier with ease--and overnight became the +new Lindbergh of the aviation world. + +I felt not the slightest tinge of envy over Yeager’s feat. On +reflection I considered it just as well that my letter had not +been answered. My time had obviously not come. Not for one minute, +however, did I doubt that it would. I buckled down at the University, +working doggedly toward my Master’s degree. I supplemented my meager +G.I. stipend with the small returns from the aircraft accessories +business and my work in the wind tunnel, where, in time, I was +named student boss of operations. I kept my flying sharply honed in +exercises with my Naval Reserve unit. So as not to tempt fate further +on the streets, I painted my battered car bright blue with gratifying +results. + + + + +CHAPTER 2 ► + + _The Gypsy Caravan_ + + +In the spring of 1950, a few months before Commencement, I began +to lay final plans for my move into the aviation world. The way +the deck was stacked, it did not appear a ripe time for aspiring +aeronautical engineers. The Pentagon’s post-World War II economy +drive had severely deflated the giant aviation industry. There were +a few jets in production--Boeing’s B-47, North American’s F-86, +Lockheed’s F-80, Republic’s F-84, McDonnell’s “Banshee”--and many +others in the experimental test stage. Crack aeronautical engineers +were, as usual, rare; but new graduates were a dime a dozen, breaking +into the industry at less than $300 a month. Many able experimental +test pilots were killing time in routine jobs. But as the cards +were played out, my timing couldn’t have been better. No one could +then foresee the outbreak of the Korean War. In a few months this +war changed the atmosphere in the aviation industry one hundred and +eighty degrees. This change provided me with my great opportunity. + +That spring, as I reviewed the chances open to me, I concluded the +best stepping stone was a Civil Service job with the government as an +“aeronautical research pilot” for the National Advisory Committee +for Aeronautics (NACA). Unknown to the general public, NACA had for +years been the vital cauldron in which new ideas in aeronautical +engineering were brewed and sampled. The agency was founded in 1915 +by President Wilson, after the U. S. had lagged considerably behind +Europe in the exploitation of the airplane for civilian and military +purposes. The members of the committee, then the grandees of the +U. S. aviation world, were charged with keeping close tabs on all +domestic and foreign aviation developments, and to serve as a kind +of clearing house for U. S. engineers. The committee was supposed +to encourage officially any U. S. aviation development which held +promise. + +As the airplane grew in importance and complexity, NACA grew in size. +Langley Laboratory was founded at Hampton, Virginia, to test seaplane +hulls, new propeller designs, and important air foils. It was soon +equipped with wind tunnels and other tools of the aeronautical +engineers. Much later, in 1940, NACA founded a second aeronautical +research laboratory--Ames--at Moffett Field, near San Francisco. +Shortly before World War II, a third laboratory, Lewis, was built +in Cleveland, Ohio, to work on problems of propulsion. While some +NACA engineers dealt with hardware, much new basic theory--some of +it sound, some of it impractical--emanated from the ivy-covered, +college-like atmosphere of its laboratories. This theory, combined +with that from universities such as Washington, and considerably more +theory generated by the highly competitive aviation industry, served +to keep the U. S. abreast. + +The X-1 rocket plane was, in a way, a product of NACA. During World +War II, NACA was frantically busy “fixing” design shortcomings on +production military airplanes. In 1944, when the country stood on +the threshold of the jet age, NACA engineers came face-to-face with +the problem of the suspect data provided by wind tunnels near the +speed of sound. Seeking a substitute solution, the Air Force’s Ezra +Kotcher and a few NACA engineers, including Hartley Soule and John +Stack, together with Bell engineer Robert Woods, conceived the idea +of building a full-scale rocket-powered research plane that could +actually be _flown_ through the speed of sound to get the necessary +data. It was a bold--indeed, daring--move for the conservative +agency, and it paid handsome dividends in the long run. + +During the course of modern aviation history, NACA has been +alternately praised and damned. In 1935 the British _Journal of the +Royal Aeronautical Society_ huffed: “It is notorious that many of our +most capable design staffs prefer to base their technical work on the +results of the NACA.” After World War II, when the complete picture +of the astounding Nazi achievements in the field of aeronautics came +to light, NACA was severely criticized for the U. S. lag. Much later +it was blamed for permitting the U. S. to fall behind in the field +of ballistic missiles. These shortcomings, I believe, were more the +result of a national attitude than a specific research or policy +failure on NACA’s part. By and large, considering its shoestring +budget, NACA had performed ably. With only occasional exceptions, +the U. S. aviation industry has held NACA in high regard. One reason +is that the agency served as a training ground for many U. S. +aeronautical engineers. For example, my childhood hero, Eddie Allen, +was one of NACA’s first and best test pilots. + +From my point of view in 1950, NACA seemed a likely starting point. +I knew that NACA kept a small stable of test pilots at each of its +three major laboratories. Most of them were engineers, too--able +to translate a deficiency encountered in the air into precise +engineering terminology. A close association with these men for a +period would be valuable experience. Thus, without knowledge of a +specific vacancy, I mailed off a general application form to the +government. + +There were no openings, the government replied. I wrote again and +again without results. When graduation exercises were only a few +weeks away, I felt I had to take some land of direct action. I +decided to pay an unannounced visit to Laurence Clousing, NACA’s +chief test pilot at Ames. Clousing, I knew, was one of the best in +the business. If he did not know of a job, his advice alone would +make my trip worth while. + +I remember everything about that day. It was remarkable not only +because it was a turning point in my life, but also because it was +filled with coincidences, minor but eerie. The first of the latter +happened the moment I walked into Clousing’s office--unexpectedly, so +I thought. + +“Hello, Crossfield,” Clousing said. He was a tall man with a +deceptively shy manner. He seemed to me more like a college professor +than a test pilot. He thrust a friendly hand toward me. “We’ve been +waiting for you. Your wife called a few minutes ago.” + +I was very surprised by his greeting. I had told Alice only that I +was going to see a “guy named Clousing down near San Francisco.” That +she had been able to track me down to his office at the big NACA +facility amazed me. This feeling soon gave way to concern. I was sure +Alice would not call unless there was urgent news. + +“Is somebody ill?” I asked Clousing. + +“No,” he said. “She wanted to pass along the word that you received a +reply this morning to your civil service application. You’re invited +to Edwards for an interview. We have no openings here at all.” The +most surprising fact of all in this news was that Alice had opened +the letter. Not in seven years of marriage had she so much as touched +a letter addressed to me. Well, I thought, it’s lucky she did. I +turned to Clousing. + +“Edwards?” I asked. “Isn’t that Air Force?” At that time I knew only +that Edwards was a desert test center for experimental airplanes in +Southern California. It was at Edwards that Chuck Yeager had flown +the X-1 through the sonic barrier. Industry test pilots from the Los +Angeles area used the base for first flights of new planes. + +“NACA has a small experimental test group at Edwards,” Clousing said. +“Two or three pilots and a few engineers and mechanics. They came out +with the X-1 back in ’46. They’re doing some work there with other +planes. It was supposed to be a temporary group but they’ve made it +a permanent station now. Walt Williams runs the unit. The chief test +pilot is John Griffith. Do you want to go down and see them?” + +I wasn’t too keen on Edwards. Clousing’s brief comments brought to +mind a picture of a gypsy caravan from NACA camping in tents on +the edge of the Air Force base. What a contrast to the scholarly +atmosphere of the massive Ames installation! To me Ames was a known +quantity but Edwards a big question. But Clousing had made it clear +he was not hiring. Edwards, at least, was a foot in the door. I +thought it might be worth a gamble. + +When I said yes, Clousing put through a call to Walt Williams to +arrange a rendezvous. Soon I was on a train, chuffing slowly over the +coastal mountains toward the great, desolate Mojave Desert. + +Today Edwards, like the rest of Southern California, has grown to +spectacular proportions. It is a well-organized military base, manned +by some 10,000 men, with a neat base-housing area, cross-hatched +by streets named for pilots who have died in the course of duty at +Edwards. It has a Base Exchange, an Officers’ Club, gigantic hangars, +and all the rest. But on that day when I saw it for the first time, +it was little more than a runway scratched out of the desert. The +handful of pilots lived in “tarpaper” shacks and drank whiskey in a +roadhouse run by an aging but colorful aviatrix named Pancho Barnes. + +John Griffith met my train in Mojave, a frontier town not far from +Death Valley, once a stopping-off place for the famous twenty-mule +teams which labored across the desert hauling borax. The brown wastes +of the desert were harsh to my eyes, which had looked for so long on +the green of the Northwest. I was not sure Alice would like it. Even +in May the heat was stifling. + +Griffith, a stocky, powerfully built man about thirty-one years old, +was appropriately dressed for the climate--slacks, sport shirt, dark +glasses. I felt out of place in my blue serge suit, but John quickly +put me at ease with his friendly smile and easy manner. We climbed +into his car and drove along an arrow-straight, black-top road toward +the base. It was hard to believe that this primeval environment was +the center of aviation’s most advanced flying. + +On the way to the field I learned a little of the history of the +NACA pilots at Edwards. The original group had consisted of Herbert +Hoover, and Howard Lilly, both fine pilots. Lilly was killed when an +experimental plane blew up on take-off. Hoover was killed later, when +a B-45 jet exploded in the air; his co-pilot, John Harper, escaped. +He subsequently went to work for Lear, Inc. To replace them, Griffith +came from Lewis Lab and Bob Champine from the Langley Lab to be +number two man. An able, sharp-eyed pilot, but not a very experienced +one, Champine soon developed a distaste for experimental flight +tests. He transferred back to Langley, leaving the opening for which +I was to be interviewed. Griffith was the sole pilot, a World War II +veteran. He flew for the Air Force in the Solomons and later joined +NACA. Superior to him was Joe Vensel, chief of Flight Operations, +then came Walt Williams, chief of the station. + +The NACA High Speed Flight Test Station occupied one of two small +hangars in the sand bordering the runway. As we drew close, I saw +there was just one building, a combination hangar and office. I +was soon to learn that the NACA operation was, as I had envisioned +it, completely parasitic. It leaned on the Air Force for water, +communications, fuel, fire protection--everything but salaries, +pilots, and engineers. But the primitive façade was deceptive. Inside +there was a highly contagious, pioneering spirit. The NACA group at +Edwards was ready to perform big deeds; even more spectacular plans +were in the works. + +The principal reason for this spirit, I soon found, was the boss, +Walt Williams, a thirty-one-year-old engineer from New Orleans. A +cocky, hard-working operator, Williams had cut his teeth in NACA’s +Langley Laboratory during the war. In 1946 he had come to Edwards +with twelve men under his command, to supervise the research phase +of the X-1 program. The plan then was that when Bell had finished +the initial flight tests of the plane, Williams and his group would +move in. They would fit the ship with instruments and begin recording +scientific data on each flight. This scheme had been unavoidably +delayed when Goodlin bowed out. + +After Chuck Yeager flew the plane through the sound barrier, other +Air Force pilots moved in to take the controls and set new records. +One of these was Major Frank K. (“Pete”) Everest, who zoomed to an +altitude of 73,000 feet. Others followed: Captain Jack Ridley and +Colonel Albert Boyd, who was then commander of the Edwards outpost, +and the epitome of a service test pilot. Herbert Hoover of NACA flew +the X-1 and became the first civilian to penetrate the sound barrier. + +There were actually _three_ X-1s, I discovered. The first, Yeager’s +plane, which he nicknamed _Glamorous Glennis_ after his beautiful +wife, had been shipped off to the Smithsonian Institution. The second +X-1 had been turned over to NACA. The third X-1 was still at the Bell +plant in Buffalo, New York, being fitted with a new low-pressure fuel +system which would enable it to go higher and faster. But many, many +months would pass before X-1 number three was ready for flight. It +held a grim surprise. + +I talked first with Joe Vensel, chief of Flight Operations. He was a +man cautious in decision but quick in physical movement. He bore the +scars of a rough life of flying: shattered sinuses. At 40, he wore a +hearing aid. Vensel had little to say or to ask. + +Griffith then took me directly to Williams’ office, a make-shift +area in one end of the hangar. Williams met me with a firm and +enthusiastic handshake. He bounced around the room impatiently, +pausing frequently to run his hand through his crew-cut brown hair, +or to doodle violently on a scratch pad. It was immediately clear +that Williams was a man of action. I liked him on first sight. He and +Griffith probed my background. + +“How is it you have so much single-engine time?” Griffith asked. + +“I like to fly,” I said. “I got my private license before the war. +During the war I was an instructor at Corpus Christi, Texas. We were +very busy. Lot of students. Lot of hours. I took extra students when +I could. After the war I was active in the Naval Reserve.” + +“What about this stunt team?” Williams asked. + +And so it went. As the interview progressed, I learned there were +two other pilots being considered for the opening, each with about +half my flying experience. This competition, unsuspected until then, +sharpened my senses. I talked earnestly about my desire to make a +serious contribution to aeronautical science. Before the session drew +to a close, Williams made it clear that the job was mine--if I wanted +it. I didn’t want to appear overly eager. I parried for a while, +seeking answers to a few questions of my own. + +“What kind of flying would I be doing here?” I asked. “It looks to +me as though Chuck Yeager and Pete Everest and the other Air Force +pilots have a corner on the market.” It was a deliberate needle and +it obviously touched Williams on a sore spot. He responded with a +spiel which sounded as though it had been drafted for a Congressional +committee. + +“The research airplane was conceived at NACA’s Langley Laboratory. +The funds are provided principally by the Air Force and the Navy. +NACA has technical jurisdiction over the flight programs, which are +designed to provide maximum data within a given time. Under the new +concept, civilian test pilots of the companies concerned in the +design and construction of the research airplanes make initial test +flights, verifying established design and structural points, engine +reliability, and so on. The Air Force pilots then take over and fly +them with an eye to military application, under NACA cognizance. +After that, so the plan goes, the ships are turned over to us here at +NACA for detailed flight research. The ... ah ... the Air Force has +been somewhat slow in turning over the planes, that’s true, but we +have encountered one unpredicted technical problem after the other +...” + +“I suppose--” I broke in. But Williams had not finished. He lunged +out of his chair and paced back and forth, warming to his subject. + +“We are blazing new trails in aeronautical science out here. The data +we are producing are fed directly into the aviation industry through +NACA reports available to all. Industry engineers are applying the +data to concepts for the next generation of jet fighters--a family +of supersonic fighters. We’re testing everything here: straight +wing, swept wing, tailless jobs. We’re running into all kinds of +phenomena. Some of them have been predicted in theory and tunnel +test; some are brand-new.” + +“What planes are you working with now?” I asked. + +“We’ve got an X-1 out there in the hangar now, and the X-4. Hell, +come on out and I’ll show you.” + +Williams boomed out of the office into the hangar space. I followed, +looking in detail for the first time at the collection of weird and +fascinating planes. The hangar was busy. Mechanics swarmed over the +little hot-rods, removing plates, pulling long snarls of wire from +their insides, shoving calibration carts here and there. The whine of +a pneumatic drill, accompanied by the staccato of a rivet gun, echoed +through the high-beamed, arched ceiling. The scene reminded me of +the feverishly busy pits at the Indianapolis race track a few hours +before the 500-mile Speedway race on Memorial Day. The analogy is not +far-fetched. These planes were nearly comparable to temperamental, +overpowered, dangerous, finely-tuned racing cars. Edwards, in +reality, was an Indianapolis of the air. + +A few of the planes, such as the X-1, were familiar to me; others +were new. We stopped alongside the X-4, a tailless plane powered by +two jet engines. It had just been turned over to NACA by the Air +Force, Williams said, patting the side of the ship. It was a metallic +white, like an icebox. + +“She was supposed to go Mach 1,” he said. “But she can’t make it. +It’s a little tricky to fly. The engines flame out at altitude. +She pitches a bit at Mach .9. British lost a couple of DeHavilland +Swallows of similar design. Mystery why they crashed. Maybe we can +find out with this baby.” Williams rattled on in this fashion as +we moved about the hangar. We came to another beautiful ship which +looked somewhat like the X-1. + +“This is the Douglas Skystreak, the D-558-I,” Williams said. “It’s a +Navy project.” + +“Oh, yes,” I said. This was the model that killed Lilly. I recalled +a few of the details of the program. “Gene May also flew that one, +didn’t he?” May was a Douglas test pilot. + +“That’s right,” Williams said. “We have two of these left. This one +is just like the X-1 only it has a jet instead of a rocket engine. We +had another D-558 version here, swept wing with a jet using JATO for +take-off, called the Skyrocket. Then there also is another swept-wing +version with a jet engine and a rocket engine. It’s back at the +Douglas plant now being modified to an all-rocket version. We’ll +air-launch it from a mother plane like we do the X-1.” + +_All-rocket, air-launch, swept-wing._ I turned these phrases over +briefly in my mind, little realizing then the impact this airplane +would have on my future. + +“What do you expect from that?” I asked. + +“Well, the figures are classified, frankly. But in round numbers and +stretching, we think she might reach Mach 2, and maybe 90,000 or +100,000 feet,” Williams said. He spoke in a low, confidential tone. + +“Who is the pilot going to be?” I asked. “Gene May?” + +“No.” Williams said. “Douglas has a new pilot, an ex-Navy type named +Bill Bridgeman.” + +“The Air Force doesn’t get this one?” + +“No. This is a Navy project. They do it differently. They’d just as +soon have the manufacturer establish the limits of the airplane. +Good, sharp outfit to do business with. They don’t mind racking up a +few records, but it is not their first order of business.” + +The way Williams spoke of “records,” he conveyed clearly the +impression that at NACA records per se were unimportant, if not +frowned upon. We wandered back to his office and sat down. + +“Now,” he said, “there are about four other types in the works. +Bell’s got a souped-up version of the X-1 coming out which will +easily exceed Mach 2, or better. They also have a swept-wing rocket +plane, the X-2, which is designed for nearly Mach 3 and about 150,000 +feet. Then there’s the X-3, a straight-wing job by Douglas. It is way +behind schedule and very complicated. It might turn out to be a dud. +Then we’ll have the Bell X-5, a jet-powered ship with an inflight +variable-sweep capability.” + +My head was swimming with figures and visions of these fantastic +airplanes. My top speed in an airplane then was maybe five hundred +miles an hour, clocked in a dive in a Corsair. Williams talked of +1500 and 2000 miles an hour as if those speeds were routine. I was +sold. + +“I would have a shot at those airplanes?” I asked. + +“If everything works out,” Williams said. + +“The X-2 as well?” + +“If everything works out,” Williams repeated. + +“When do I start?” + +“We’ll let you know,” Williams said. He glanced at his watch. “You +going back into Mojave to catch a train? Why don’t you hitch a ride +with Drake and Carmen?” + +Hubert M. Drake and L. Robert Carmen together made up the “advance +design” group at NACA’s Edwards installation. They were the +“dreamers,” paid to look far into the future and scheme new ways +to fly higher and faster. I didn’t know it then--and they didn’t +discuss it--but Drake and Carmen were doing work at night in their +homes on an airplane to put the best of dreamers to shame. It was a +rocket-powered craft that would fly four thousand miles an hour and +to an altitude of 500,000 feet. Five years later, after a tortuous +journey through a jungle of bureaucracy, and endless modification, +this craft became the X-15. Looking back now, I regard the fact that +these two men were picked to give me a lift to Mojave as something of +a coincidence. + +Of pressing concern to me at that moment was the fact that I was +almost flat broke. I had hitch-hiked down to the Ames Laboratory on +a Navy airplane and had intended to return to Seattle that same day +by the same means. The plane had long since returned; I was stranded +in the desert without nearly enough cash for a train ticket to +Seattle. There was no money in my checking account. However, by the +time I climbed out of Drake’s car at the bleak, dusty Mojave railroad +station and bid my hosts farewell, I had a plan. + +I checked with the station master. There was a north-bound train +scheduled to pass through Mojave at midnight. The daycoach fare to +Seattle, via San Francisco, was about $20, and this was about $10 +more than I had. + +“What’s the next stop beyond Mojave?” I asked. + +“Martinez,” the station master said. He eyed me curiously. + +“Okay,” I said, “give me a ticket to Martinez.” It was about $7.00. + +I then placed a telephone call, collect, to my sister, Elena Ruth +(“Babe”) Brown, who lived in Sierra Madre, just outside Los Angeles. +When she answered, considerably surprised to hear from me, I told her +I was taking the midnight train to Martinez and asked her to wire me +$25 in care of the station master there. I had not often borrowed +money in my life, but I didn’t mind asking her. Many years before, +when she was a student at Berkeley, I had hocked my camera in order +to lend her $40 for flying lessons, for which my father refused to +pay. + +After Babe assured me the money would be sent immediately, I hung +up and retired to a corner to count my remaining fortune. I spent +another dollar at the Silver Dollar Cafe for dinner, then blew the +rest on a ticket to the local movie. By still another coincidence, +the picture was about a test pilot and Humphrey Bogart was the star. +I plumped into a seat and watched while he wrestled with a rattling +control stick, braving the frontiers of flight. + +Hours later I was still deeply absorbed, not in that turkey of a +movie but in what I had seen and heard that day, when I felt a hand +on my shoulder. A voice spoke: + +“Are you Mr. Crossfield?” + +Startled, I broke out of my supersonic reverie and spun around. It +was the theater usher. + +“Yeah. I’m Crossfield.” + +“There’s a gentleman out front to see you.” + +I followed the usher up the aisle wondering who it could be. No one +on earth knows where I am, I thought. + +To my astonishment, I found Babe’s husband, Claude, and behind +him, my mother, Lucia, waiting in the lobby. My mother had been +visiting my sister when I called. After I hung up she talked my +brother-in-law into making the three-hour drive to Mojave to surprise +me. + +“But how did you know I was in there?” I asked. + +“Well, I cased every bar in town first, while your mother waited in +the car. I didn’t see you in any of them so I figured in a town of +this size the only place left was the movie.” + +We laughed and made our way to a nearby restaurant. At midnight, $25 +richer, I boarded a daycoach on the train. + +Back in Seattle, I collected my Master’s degree in aeronautical +engineering, resigned from my Naval Reserve unit, packed up the +family--Alice, Becky, age two, and our new addition, Tommy--traded my +1941 Ford for a ’49 Ford, and drove to the desert to begin a new life. + +Three weeks later many of my Naval Reserve comrades were mobilized +and shipped off to Korea. + + + + +CHAPTER 3 ► + + _A Sense of Urgency_ + + +A harsh, bitterly cold December wind, gathering momentum over miles +of flat desert, lashed the ramp behind the NACA hangar. I buttoned +my jacket close and bowed my head as I pushed against it toward the +airplane. Here and there I saw that the small puddles were frozen to +solid ice. The desert warms up during the day, but on a winter night +it is like the North Pole. Sometimes it snows at Edwards. + +I climbed into the cockpit and pulled on my crash helmet, grateful +to be shielded at last from the frigid blast. Ralph Sparks, who, +on that blue-cold morning, looked as though he was born before the +Wright brothers, closed the canopy and removed the aluminum boarding +ladder. I smiled and waved my hand sharply. Sparks claimed personal +authorship of most of aviation’s achievements, but there were few +mechanics at NACA, or anywhere for that matter, more able than he. He +stood by while I wound up the engines. They caught, and I taxied out +for my first X-4 flight, the first of a series of hurried checkouts +in NACA’s stable of thoroughbreds. + +My first six months at Edwards had been a tumultuous time of hurry +and change. Walt Williams, as a matter of routine, kept a fast pace. +When the Korean War broke out, our outfit, like all of the aviation +world, worked with a new sense of urgency. At the climax of the +dramatic shift, NACA’s top pilot, John Griffith, resigned to take a +job at Chance-Vought. In the new climate of the industry, journeyman +test pilots were desperately needed. I checked out in a couple of +jets, the F-84 and the Douglas Skystreak. Then, in the final days +before Griffith’s departure, I gathered what information I could +about the foibles of our temperamental champions. Suddenly, then, I +was completely on my own. The entire NACA Edwards test program was +dumped in my lap. + +Actually, I couldn’t have been more pleased. Looking back, I believe +now that the months that followed were, professionally speaking, the +happiest days of my life. I was then too new and too young to concern +my mind seriously with government and industry politics. My approach +to the job was completely starry-eyed. I could move at my own pace, +always fast. I flew morning, noon, and afternoon in the strangest and +most unpredictable airplanes man had ever devised. These flights were +never long. Experimental airplanes are like powerful rockets. They +blaze furiously for a few moments, during which the pilots strive +to probe an unknown area, and then they sputter and die. The one +big difference between the manned plane and the missile is that the +pilot brings the multi-million-dollar plane back to earth for another +flight. Usually. + +Before my flight in the X-4 that morning, Walt Williams and Joe +Vensel clucked around the hangar like two old maids grooming their +niece for a grand debut. I had read all the flight reports on the X-4 +and had picked Griffith’s brain thoroughly. I knew the weak points +of the airplane: its two engines were erratic above 30,000 feet; at +Mach .88 the plane became unstable; it broke into a steady porpoising +motion, like an automobile cushioning over a washboard road. Beyond +that, nearer the speed of sound, no one knew what would happen. The +X-4 had never been flown there. Williams and Vensel added a fact I +knew quite well: the plane was equipped with barn-door-sized speed +brakes. If popped in flight they would slow the X-4 abruptly and +allow her to withdraw from any zone of trouble. + +The X-4, by then, was a veteran of Edwards. The plane was conceived +in the postwar years by Jack Northrop, an imaginative inventor and +an unyielding advocate of the “tailless” concept. The X-4 was first +flown by Northrop’s renowned test pilot, Charlie Tucker, in 1949. +After considerable modification, it had been turned over to the Air +Force. Chuck Yeager, Pete Everest, Colonel Richard Johnson, and Al +Boyd flew it. Thirty flights later, NACA inherited the plane and its +mechanic, Ralph Sparks, who had been with the project from the outset. + +I pushed the twin throttles forward and as the fuel surged into the +burning chambers, the X-4 leaped toward the runway. In the distance +I could see a plane leaving Air Force Fighter Ops, headquarters for +the military test-pilot group. Pete Everest was the pilot of the Air +Force craft, an early-model F-86. He would join me to fly “chase,” +observing the performance of the X-4 and watching for danger signals +from close quarters. + +Officially, no rivalry existed between the pilots of the Air Force +and the NACA group. As Williams had said, the two jobs were poles +apart. Once contractor pilots, such as Tucker, had demonstrated that +the plane could fly, the Air Force flew it to evaluate military +applications. Then NACA pilots put the plane through an exhaustive +aerodynamic dissection, learning every new fact possible. + +In fact, there was a natural rivalry between the test pilots. Each +day at Edwards, the pilots played out a kind of small-scale Olympic +Games of the air. Occasionally these were major battles to break +records, staged by rival Navy and Air Force. More often, they were +small but significant demonstrations of a new flying technique or a +daring maneuver into the unknown, a step beyond the previous pilot of +the airplane. For example, some of the planes had vicious weaknesses. +If, on a given flight, the pilot was able to skirt these, he had +achieved a minor triumph, worth a toast at Pancho’s. Edwards was not +the place to attract non-competitive pilots. + +Some of the reason for the keen rivalry lay in the Air Force’s +approach to flight test. Along with its triumphs in the X-1, the +Air Force, first at Wright Field, later at Edwards, had set out to +create a cadre of schooled engineering test pilots on a par with the +best in NACA and industry. For example, Yeager was not an educated +engineer. He was an intuitive engineer, one of the best. He could +feel in an instant a deficiency in an airplane and come close to +pin-pointing its fault technically. A rare pilot, born to fly, like a +figure-skater born to skate, Yeager set standards of conduct in the +air that were emulated for years afterward at Edwards. The pilots +adopted even his understated West Virginia drawl, and ever afterward +the radio talk at Edwards reflected this. The pilots at Edwards--to +judge by the radio talk--were raised on hominy grits and corn +fritters. + +But Yeagers are rare. Later the Air Force sent vast numbers of its +pilots back to college to study aeronautical engineering and, still +later, founded a full-blown test-pilot school at Edwards, which in +recent years has graduated a fine group of young, educated test +pilots. But before this ambitious, challenging program, many Air +Force pilots, resisting the engineering approach, died needlessly. We +gave them little reverence: “Hell, he was dead before he took off.” + +I was not a member of the “inner circle” that morning in early +December. I had met Yeager, Everest, Jack Ridley, Boyd, and the rest, +but I had yet to prove my ability in the air. I knew that the moment +Everest locked wingtips, he would be watching every move. He had +flown the X-4. He would know when I goofed, and the word would soon +get back to the others. Conceivably, some leeway might be allowed for +the first flight, but it was not likely. Yeager gave little quarter +in the air. On his first flight in the X-1, he says, he had been +tempted to roll the ship in front of the Edwards tower, scant feet +above the ground. + +When I received radio permission to take off, I firewalled the +throttles. As the X-4 wobbled down the long, bumpy runway, I gingerly +felt out the controls. Then the churning jets took hold, and the +small X-4 abruptly lunged into the air. Backing off the stall point, +I nosed her over gently and leveled out. Then I eased back on the +stick and the tiny, tailless craft zoomed skyward like a winged +rocket. Behind me, Everest had opened his F-86 wide, trailing a long, +black snake of soot, but he could not keep up. I waited for him at +altitude, rolling and stalling the plane, getting to know its special +strengths and weaknesses. When Everest locked wingtips, I opened +the throttle wide, once again leaving him far behind. As predicted, +at Mach .88 the X-4 broke into its gentle but potentially dangerous +porpoising motion. I opened the air brakes, and the X-4 slowed +instantly, throwing me forward against my shoulder restraint straps. +Everest hurtled by, chortling on the radio. + +The Edwards base now lay far below us, nearly obscured in the vast +wilderness of the Mojave wastes. Here and there on the desert floor +I could make out the mottled outlines of the curiously shaped “dry +lakes.” These “lakes” are stretches of fine, closely packed silt, +left behind eons ago by the retreating seas and bleached almost white +by the hot desert sun. The soil of the lakes is quite unusual. When +mixed with water, it becomes slimy like oil. Industrialists mined the +soil as a lubricant for well drills. When the lakes are completely +dry, the surface is hard and flat, like concrete, and thus ideal +natural landing areas for airplanes. + +When it rains in the desert, the lake beds are temporarily put out +of commission. The water, unable to penetrate the fine, self-sealing +surface soil, collects on top in small pools, or sometimes, after a +hard rain, in vast, shallow, real-life lakes. This water is swept +back and forth by the brisk desert winds until it evaporates. The +gentle movement of the water smooths the surface of the lake beds, +eliminating bumps and ruts. During this “re-paving” process, the +surface becomes mushy and slick, dangerous for a heavy airplane. +There is sometimes a little rain in July which temporarily closes +the lakes. But the hard rainy season usually begins in mid-December. +Frequently, but not always, the intermittent rains keep the lake beds +either flooded or soft until March or April. No one can predict the +capricious desert weather. + +The Edwards base was set directly alongside one of these +lakes--Rogers Dry Lake--which in earlier times, appropriately enough, +had, like the great salt flats of Utah, been an automobile race +track. During the rainy season, at times, I have seen the water on +the lake so deep that it was lapping at the edge of the parking +ramps, and so penetrating that shrimp eggs of some prehistoric age +worked loose from the soil and came to life, mysteriously attracting +sea gulls from the distant California coast. To maintain year-round +operations, the Air Force had built a normal concrete runway at the +base, butting against the dry lake. In the dry season, if required, +the lake bed, marked by parallel black lines, could be used as an +extension of the concrete runway. For the rocket planes, which +required long take-off and landing areas, another runway, lying in +the opposite direction and seven miles long, had been painted on the +lake bed. Still other nearby lakes--Rosamond, Harper, Three Sisters, +Cuddeback--were designated emergency landing areas. When flying +experimental planes at Edwards, the pilots always kept within easy +reach of one of the dry lakes. + +After about fifteen minutes in the air, I felt at home in the X-4. +The plane responded so well, in fact, that it was hard for me to +keep in mind that I was piloting a marginally stable, experimental +race horse. Had all that talk of danger been the product of some +public relations mill? I was beginning to feel my oats now, and a +determination that hardly struck me as daring at the time seized me. +I would loop the X-4. + +Heading back toward Edwards, the check-out virtually complete, flying +wing to wing with Everest, without warning I pulled back hard on the +stick. The X-4 climbed rapidly, leaving Everest far below. The desert +disappeared from my windshield, replaced by the deep blue of the +clear sky. In a few seconds the X-4 was flat on its back at 27,000 +feet. Suddenly all hell broke loose. A noise like the sound of a +fifty-caliber machine-gun exploded through the cockpit. + +My maneuver had disrupted the smooth flow of air into the two engine +intakes. Starved for air, and sensitive anyway at my altitude, the +engines had rebelled, and after a flash of uneven running they gave +up completely. I righted the plane and sheepishly called Pete Everest +on the radio. + +“Lost both engines.” + +“Rog,” he said. Then I heard him calling Edwards Tower to report an +emergency. I could visualize the reaction there: sirens screeching, +fire trucks racing out to the runway, NACA’s Walt Williams and Joe +Vensel perched on the edge of their chairs. Now working desperately +to restart the engines in the air, and mentally locating the position +of the emergency dry lakes, I silently cursed my boldness. I could +imagine the talk that night: “That new fellow, Crossfield, down at +NACA. Pretty green....” + +I managed at last to win half the battle. One engine coughed to life. +If it kept running (a big if, indeed, at that point), I would have +sufficient power, at least, to reach the Edwards base runway. Without +the engines the X-4 would come in with a low lift over drag (L over +D)--in other words, it would glide like a brick, but I would be +spared the ignominy of landing on a lake remote from the base. Vensel +was taking no chances. By radio he ordered me to land on the lake. + +As we lined up for the approach, I could see the emergency trucks +parked along the edge of the lake; quite embarrassing. The X-4, +already sluggish, began to settle toward earth. As we descended, I +was further chagrined when Everest began to call altitude readings, +interspersed with occasional helpful hints on how to fly a plane. He +was ribbing and I had it coming, so when, finally, the X-4’s tires +screeched on the lake, I switched off the radio receiver. + +Joe Vensel was waiting anxiously on the NACA ramp when I rolled to a +stop in front of the hangar. I climbed down the ladder. + +“Well,” Vensel said, “what happened?” + +“I looped it and lost both engines,” I said. “Got an air start on one +and stop-cocked the other.” + +“Damn,” Vensel muttered. He stalked back to his office. + + + + +CHAPTER 4 ► + + _Excitement and Frustration_ + + +“You might as well try a rocket flight,” Joe Vensel said. + +We were sitting in his office, which faced the NACA hangar workshop. +His tone lacked enthusiasm. His whole attention seemed focused on the +pencil he was twirling between his fingers. + +It was the day after Christmas, twenty days since my first X-4 +flight. The Chinese Communists had entered the Korean War, +splitting and decimating our armies on the peninsula. The President +had declared a state of national emergency. In the Pentagon the +economizing Secretary of Defense, Louis Johnson, had been replaced by +General George Marshall. The aviation industry, now overwhelmed with +money, was gearing for a future freighted with uncertainty, perhaps +a global war with the Soviet Union. Its engineers desperately needed +data. Wind-tunnel results from scale models of the newly designed, +supersonic, Century Series jet fighters--the F-100, the F-101, F-102, +and F-104--had foreshadowed critical instability at high speed. Every +man at NACA was anxious to press ahead. + +“Okay,” I said. “I’ll tell them to get 945 ready.” + +The number 945 was our mundane designation for the Douglas D-558-II +Skyrocket, a research airplane with an impressive background and a +sensational future. + +It requires much time and planning to prepare a rocket plane for +a test flight. This was especially true in those pioneering days. +Rocket engines are complicated and temperamental, something like the +engines of expensive high-speed racing cars. They burn a powerful, +dangerous fuel combination of liquid oxygen (Lox) and water-alcohol, +and sometimes even more exotic fuels, which eat into the pipes and +fittings, corroding or unsealing joints. The fuel is pumped into the +engine through a complex maze of plumbing, which forever leaks and +loses pressure. The liquid oxygen is very cold, approaching minus +300 degrees Fahrenheit. This intense cold forms a coating of ice on +the outside of the tanks and the plane, and permeates everything, +sometimes freezing systems not designed for extreme temperatures. The +preparation of a rocket engine for flight was always an adventure for +our mechanics. + +I made my way into the hangar to pass on the word to Eddy Layne, our +crew chief on 945. + +“How about it, Eddy?” I said. “Can we fly tomorrow?” The skin of 945 +lay about the hangar floor. The bare skeleton was under siege by half +a dozen mechanics, who appeared to be devouring the plane like so +many piranha fishes. It hardly seemed possible that it could all be +reassembled in one day. + +“Sure thing, Scotty,” Eddy said. “Got a leaky regulator in the fuel +tank, but we’ll get it squared away in a while. Go ahead and plan on +it. Is this a speed run?” + +“No, just a check-flight,” I said. + +“I think Bridgeman and the Douglas people will be flying 943 in the +morning. You might want to touch base with them.” + +“Right,” I said. It was obvious that I had not yet scored among the +mechanics. What Eddy meant was that I had better check with Bridgeman +and find out how to fly the 945. I had already done that. + +I remained in the hangar for some time, looking over the ship and +recalling the plane’s history. + +In late 1944, when the Air Force and NACA launched the X-1, the +Navy, as part of the overall research airplane program, began a +separate project of its own, referred to as the D-558. (In the +Navy’s hopelessly confusing aircraft terminology, the “D” stands for +Douglas, the manufacturer.) The D-558 “Skystreak” was similar to the +X-1 in shape; the main difference was that the plane was powered by +a jet instead of a rocket engine. The X-1, which was intended to be +launched in the air from a mother plane, would fly fast in brief +bursts. The D-558, which was designed to take off conventionally from +a runway, was slower, but it could stay aloft longer. Between the two +designs, it was thought, the aerodynamics in the trouble area at, or +just below, the speed of sound could be thoroughly blanketed. + +Three of the original jet-powered D-558 Skystreaks were built. In +August, 1947, a couple of months before Yeager flew the X-1 through +the sound barrier, Navy Commander Turner Caldwell, flying the first +D-558, set a speed record of 640.7 miles an hour. Five days later +Marine Major Marion Carl pushed the same plane to 650.6 miles an +hour, a speed considered sensational at that time. In May, 1948, the +“time bomb” engine in one D-558 blew up on take-off, killing NACA +test pilot Howard Lilly. The second airplane became a Hangar Queen +and was cannibalized for parts. The third Skystreak was still at NACA +gathering data. I had flown it before my first hop in the X-4. + +From the outset the D-558 program grew into a second generation of +airplanes. To distinguish these from the earlier models, we called +the later ones “Phase Two” airplanes, which was short for D-558-II. +The plane was popularly called the “Skyrocket.” Three Phase Two +airplanes were built, all with the new swept wing. In 1946 there +was then much controversy, but little swept-wing flight data except +those which we had obtained from the Nazis. In each of the Phase Two +airplanes, the power-plant or launch scheme was deliberately varied +to cover a wide range of research possibilities. The first Phase Two +model was, like the 558-I, powered by a single jet engine. Designed +to take off conventionally, it was fitted with two small jettisonable +rocket bottles (JATO) to help boost it into the sky. The second +model, also intended for conventional ground take-off, was powered +by a jet engine _and_ a rocket engine, similar to the rocket engine +in the X-1. The third model (945), built to be dropped from a mother +plane like the X-1, was also equipped with a jet and rocket-engine +combination. Its maximum speed was about Mach 1.2, somewhat slower +than the X-1’s top of Mach 1.4. + +Douglas test pilots John Martin and Gene May first flew these +tricky Phase Two’s, taking off from the ground, burning the rocket +barrel, the jet engine, or both at once. The adventures they logged +would make a book in themselves. Ex-Navy pilot Bill Bridgeman of +Douglas was later recruited to make the Phase Two air-launched +demonstrations. By the time I arrived at NACA, the Phase Two +Skyrocket was a familiar sight on the Edwards runway, and Bill +Bridgeman was on his way to the Hall of Fame. + +Bridgeman flew the jet-rocket ground take-off version of the plane +fairly regularly at Edwards. The jet-only JATO-boosted version never +really panned out. The Navy ordered it shipped back to the factory +for changeover to an all-rocket version, designed for an air-launch +(causing even more model confusion). It was this plane that Walt +Williams, in our first interview, hinted might reach Mach 2 and +100,000 feet. NACA--I, to be specific--would get a crack at it after +Bridgeman had worked out the bugs. The third Phase Two airplane, the +air-launched jet-rocket combination, had been delivered to NACA in +the fall of 1950, after Bridgeman had made three test air-launches. +No NACA pilot had yet flown this model. This was ship number 945, my +next challenge. In the long run it turned out to be a very useful and +worthy research airplane in the trans-sonic zone, a work horse as +well as a race horse. + +On the following day, when I reported to the flight line, lugging +my parachute and crash helmet, the ground crews were ready. The +Skyrocket had already been “mated”--snugged up like a bomb in its +special nesting place in the belly of the B-29 mother plane. The +Skyrocket’s fuel tanks, for both the jet and the rocket engine, were +brimming. The B-29 mother-plane pilot was George Jansen, a top man +for Douglas, and experienced in air-launch. Douglas intended to +keep the mother plane until Bridgeman had checked out the all-rocket +version of the Skyrocket. + +I spotted the tanned bald dome of Bill Bridgeman towering above the +knot of men clustered near the boarding ladder of the B-29. He was +dressed in a flying suit. A crash helmet dangled loosely from his +right hand. I walked over. + +“You going along, Bill?” + +“Yeah. Might be able to help out a little,” he said with that +wonderful friendliness that was his hallmark. + +“Fine. Fine.” + +We climbed aboard and made our way back to the bomb-bay compartment, +into which the top of the Skyrocket fuselage protruded. The Skyrocket +cockpit canopy was erect. A maze of wires and tubes--the umbilical +cords--was plugged into the back of the Skyrocket, supplying power +from the B-29 en route to the launch point. At the proper time I had +only to climb into the cockpit, close the hatch, and fall away. + +Jansen lost no time. Through my earphones in the bomb-bay +compartment, I heard him contact Edwards tower, and the two chase +pilots, Fitzhugh Fulton and John Konrad, both Air Force types. +In the following years, Fulton became something of a legend at +Edwards. I think he must have spent three or four tours at the base, +specializing in mother-plane operations. He launched most of the +rocket pilots and was back again in 1959 to launch me in the X-15. + +Soon we were airborne, straining for altitude. I sat beside Bridgeman +on a bench, going through the long pre-flight check-list. At 10,000 +feet the crew went on oxygen and I started to board the Skyrocket. + +I climbed down into the tiny cockpit, connecting my oxygen hose +to the supply inside the Skyrocket. As Bridgeman towered over me, +helping to cinch up my shoulder harness straps, I wondered how that +long drink of water had ever managed to squeeze into the Skyrocket +cockpit. Bridgeman and the launch operator slammed the canopy shut. +The floodlights inside the bomb-bay compartment spilled through my +windshields, affording enough light for me to see the instrument +panel. At twenty minutes prior to launch, Jansen called the time. +Following an item on the check-list, I lit off the jet engine. This +added thrust would help the B-29 through the thin air and provide the +Skyrocket with flying speed when I dropped. + +Now all hands in the air kept a sharp watch for signs of danger. They +could come from a hundred points. At that time we had not yet lost a +rocket-powered airplane, either in the air or on the ground. But it +could happen at any moment--and did, in later months. The B-29s were +something of a problem, too. They were fire-prone. + +A few minutes before drop I primed the rocket engines. Chase pilots +Fulton and Konrad, who were flying alongside the B-29 beyond my view, +reported routinely: + +“Prime looks good.” + +As we bore down over the dry lake at 35,000 feet, seconds before +launch, I glanced one last time at the instrument panels and made +ready. Launching a rocket plane and lighting off the engine properly +is an exacting task. Improper observation of the numerous gauges +and their reactions, or a small mistake in their analysis, can +bring failure, possibly fatal. To gain maximum performance from the +engines--the basic purpose of any research airplane flight--they +should be touched off before the plane has dropped too far into the +thick atmosphere. The plane must also be maintained at a precise +angle of attack. If it noses down too steeply, precious rocket +fuel is expended regaining lost altitude. If the plane is overly +nose-high, the increased drag consumes fuel needlessly. + +In theory, the jet-rocket Skyrocket gave the pilot a nice edge. +He could launch with the jet engine going full blast. This would +help him maintain the plane’s equilibrium during the rocket-engine +light-off. + +The next sixty seconds were crowded with excitement and frustration. +Jansen, keying his radio mike, droned a brief countdown: “Five ... +four ... three ... two ... one ... DROP.” + +I heard a rattle as the two bomb shackles holding the Skyrocket +in its metallic perch were disengaged. Suddenly, then, brilliant +sunlight poured into the Skyrocket cockpit, blinding me. I was +falling like an elevator and flying! + +I pulled the nose up and climbed; there was not much time. The jet +engine, fed by scoops that were far too small and inefficient, +would soon starve for want of air. My fingers had flicked across +the separate switches for the four rocket barrels. I felt a gentle +forward surge, indicating a successful light-off. Chase pilot Fulton +drawled on the radio: + +“All four going.” + +I glanced momentarily at the rocket pressure-gauges. They were in +the green--I think. My eyes were still adjusting to the glare of the +sunlight. + +Five ... ten ... fifteen seconds. My Mach meter and altimeter seemed +to be running a clock-like race. Speed: Mach .9 and increasing. +Altitude: 40,000 feet and increasing. My chase planes were far +behind, left in a cloud of rocket dust. Altitude: 43,000 feet. + +In the next second, fifteen events--all of them bad--took place +simultaneously. In the first brief instant, I was suddenly thrown +forward against my shoulder straps, almost to the face of the +instrument panel. I heard the jet engines popping crazily, then +the rockets burned out, followed by eerie silence. I knew what had +happened: the balky jet had flamed out; the sudden loss of thrust +had sloshed the rocket fuel forward in the tanks, shutting down all +four barrels. Suddenly my chest felt as though it were supporting the +weight of a platoon of soldiers. The engines were out; cabin pressure +was seeping off. The battery, which should have supplied ship’s power +in the event of engine failure, responded slowly. Everything was out: +radios and electrical instruments. + +In that particular airplane, the windshield defogging system was +hooked directly into the electrical system. With no power to supply +defogging air to the windshield, a coat of ice quickly formed, +shutting off my vision. Now the emergency was complete; no power, +no instruments, no cabin pressure, iced-over windshields. Breathing +heavily under the strain of the decompression, I leveled the plane +and then banked until the sun beamed directly on the windshield. I +knew, at least, that I was pointed in the general direction of the +lake, which lay to the west of my position. + +By strange coincidence, it happened that the same critical sequence +of events had taken place on Bridgeman’s Skyrocket flight that +morning. When I suddenly left the radio circuit, he guessed +immediately what must be taking place in the Skyrocket cockpit. He +yelled on the radio for chase pilots Fulton and Konrad to pull up and +lock wingtips with my plane--to guide me, if possible, back to the +landing area. + +My battery came on the line at last and began to pump power. To +conserve it, I switched off all but the most important instruments. +As I descended, the ice began to thaw and the breathing became +easier. I reached up and scratched a small hole on both sides of the +windshield. Now I could see Fulton and Konrad sitting on my wingtips. +They flew formation on me until 10,000 feet, where the ice became so +slushy that I could brush it off with my hand. I never wore gloves. +Flying a sensitive airplane with gloves is like playing a piano with +gloves. + +I brought the Skyrocket in dead-stick and made a normal landing on +Rogers Dry Lake. The mechanics towed the powerless craft to the NACA +hangar with a tractor. + +“Scotty,” Walt Williams said later, “if we can just get you through +these first check-out flights, I think we’ve got it made.” + + + + +CHAPTER 5 ► + + _An Unusual Heritage_ + + +“Getting it made” was very important to me, and always will be. The +quest for perfection is a compulsion with me, and has been since +boyhood. One reason may be my unusual heritage. Another, without +doubt, was my father. Then, as always, it would seem, there were +those twinges of adversity, and stern compressions of circumstance, +in early life, which Winston Churchill writes “are needed to evoke +that ruthless fixity of purpose and tenacious mother-wit” which drive +men to unusual endeavor. There was, too, an element of denial, an +important factor in a man’s motivation, I believe. + +My family tree has always intrigued me. One reason may be that +while I was growing up I was very conscious of it. There was a +strong sense of “family” in our house, no matter how the luck ran. +There was a Crossfield mold which we children--my two sisters and +I--were expected to fit. We were constantly reminded that we were +entrusted with a tradition that spanned almost the entire history +of the New World. And because of the unusual mixture of our blood +we were acutely aware of matters of race and prejudice. I know it +is popular today to scoff, as decadent, at Southern traditions, and +mock the proper Bostonians who cling to family ties, and to trumpet +the dope-crazed sputterings of beatnik derelicts who, given complete +head, would destroy all concept of God and family. Perhaps here, in +this increasingly mobile society, this is one place we have failed. I +cannot be held responsible for my family, but I am proud of it. + +My mother, for example, fiercely proud and uncompromising, was +half Mexican. The other half was pure Irish, and a more fearsome +combination one is not often likely to encounter. She was a direct +descendant of a Spaniard named Holguin, a Conquistadore who served +under Cortés during the Conquest of Mexico. Every inch a lady in the +most severe Spanish tradition, my mother demanded extreme standards +of conduct and discipline in our home. These were seldom relaxed, no +matter how low our material circumstances, which at their nadir were +very low indeed. I inherited a great deal from my mother: jet-black +hair, dark eyes, a swarthy complexion, an insatiable curiosity, a +touch of the romantic, an appreciation of music, and a flair for +drawing and working with my hands. I profited even more by her +example. + +My mother’s side of the family is a little complicated. What I +know of it comes not from books and historical documents, but by +word of mouth from my relatives. For this reason it is not precise +but may be close. To describe it best I should begin with my +maternal great-grandfather, Thomas Aloysius Dwyer, who from all +accounts was an amazing character. Born in Ireland, he was one of +the youthful cadets who figured in the great Irish insurrection of +1848. He married a Lady Crocker who was, so the family story goes, +a lady-in-waiting to Queen Victoria. Just how this politically +incongruous match came about is lost in the mists of love and +history, but no doubt it accounts, at least in part, for the somewhat +adventurous, peripatetic aftermath. Thomas and Anne Dwyer immigrated +to Boston. Soon thereafter they moved on to Corpus Christi and San +Antonio, Texas, where Thomas Aloysius Dwyer, an educated man, became +a judge and sired six children, including Thomas Aloysius, Junior. + +Judge Dwyer, remembered as a distinguished-looking man with a +carefully manicured beard and pince-nez, was evidently not totally +dedicated to the law. He developed a good many side business +interests, including the shipment of various goods and supplies by +railroad from El Paso to small towns in Mexico. He sent his son, +Thomas Junior, my maternal grandfather, then sixteen years old, +to Mexico to oversee these shipments. Tom Junior was a curious +blend of hard-headed businessman and romantic. He reported to his +father in beautifully scripted letters (some of which I have seen), +and sometimes enclosed drawings and sketches stroked with skill +and talent. In Jimenez, Mexico, the youthful, talented Tom Junior +branched out. He became, successively, a Wells Fargo agent, the +proprietor of a general store, a streetcar magnate (the cars were +pulled by mules), a lumberman, and a distributor for the ubiquitous +Singer sewing machines. + +In Mexico Tom Junior met, admired, and married a seventeen-year-old +senorita named Paula Holguin, my maternal grandmother. Paula, both +an artist and a musician, was truly gifted, stubborn, and proud. I +enjoyed her piano-playing in later years, but communications between +us were difficult: as a matter of personal pride she refused to speak +any language except Spanish. In her ladylike way she was also quite +fearless. + +The marriage between Tom Dwyer and Paula Holguin produced fifteen +offspring, ten of whom survived childhood. One of these was my +mother, Lucia. For a while the large family lived in happiness on a +great, prosperous ranch. My grandfather’s businesses expanded. As new +mines were developed in Parrall and Terron, Mexico, he sent men to +open general stores and to establish wagon-train routes. + +Then in about 1910, the Mexican bandit Madero, who preceded Pancho +Villa, rose up to strike down the prosperous. Americans especially +suffered in this period of anarchy, and for a long while it was +touch-and-go for my grandparents. As a child I listened in awe to +the tales of how my mother stood off groups of marauding Mexican +_banditos_ with a bull-whip. When the United States President +declared he could no longer guarantee the safety of Americans in +Mexico, Tom and Paula Dwyer sent the ten children by train to El +Paso. My mother, Lucia, then 19, was one of the first to go. She +was followed in time by the others, now virtually destitute, having +lost everything in the retreat. Lucia, who was educated by nuns in +a convent in Mexico, inherited much of her mother’s talent for music +and art. She dabbled briefly at writing and then took a job teaching +elementary Spanish in an American school in El Paso. A year or so +later, in 1914, she went to the University of California at Berkeley +to study for the summer. There she met my father. + + * * * * * + +The Crossfields came from England; I have never been able to +determine just when, but it was probably seven or eight generations +ago. They settled in New England. There is a court record noting the +marriage of a Crossfield before the Revolution. One branch of the +family moved to Kentucky. The Scott in the name comes from the same +family as does General Winfield Scott, who was, I’m told, a distant +relative. Scott has been a middle name on the Crossfield side of the +family for generations. + +My paternal grandfather, Amasa Scott Crossfield, was a lawyer from +New England who married Louise Brown, a direct descendant of Governor +William Bradford. I am certain of the latter point, because some +of the Governor’s furniture was passed along in the family. It was +traced to us and later asked for by a museum. We still have a highboy +which I believe is authentic Governor Bradford. + +About 1885 someone conceived a plan to build a canal in Minnesota +connecting Big Stone and Traverse Lakes to provide a direct water +route between the Hudson Bay and the headwaters of the Mississippi. +Somehow my grandfather Crossfield became interested in that project +and moved from Boston to Browns Valley, Minnesota. (The Brown was +no kin to my grandmother.) When the canal project fell through, my +grandfather entered local politics. He was an Indian Reservation +Agent and later he ran for and won a seat in the state legislature. +I’m told that he won his first election when he bested his political +opponent at knuckle-bending before a large crowd of voters. My +father, Albert Scott Crossfield, one of three children, was born in +Browns Valley. + +From all the family stories I’ve heard, I surmise that my grandfather +Crossfield was a rugged, pioneering type, a two-fisted drinker +with a restless soul, seeking new frontiers to conquer. In any +case, he didn’t stay in Browns Valley long. Soon he turned up in +the Philippine Islands as Chief of the Customs Department under +the colonial administration of Governor William Howard Taft. My +father, his brother, who later died, and a sister were raised in the +Philippines. My father’s sister, Ruth, married Peter A. Drakeford, a +brother of Sir Arthur Drakeford, Australia’s Air Minister in World +War II. + +The move to the Philippines brought prosperity and success to my +grandfather. He built up a coconut and hemp plantation, the Kumassie +Plantation Company, on the Bay of Davao on Mindanao, which still +exists, I believe. In time he became a pillar of the Philippines. +He was appointed a judge of the Supreme Court in the Philippines. +Contemporary with him was a woman journalist, Bessie Dwyer, an editor +of the Manila newspaper, a daughter of Judge Dwyer of San Antonio, +Texas, and my great-aunt on my mother’s side. Judge Crossfield and +Bessie Dwyer were close friends in the Philippines. + +My father was a conscientious young man who took his schooling +seriously. He was a scientist by nature, especially interested +in chemistry. He took most of his secondary education in the +Philippines, then graduated from high school in Berkeley, California, +where he lived with his mother, who had temporarily returned to the +States to give the children a U. S. education. Later he studied +chemistry at the University of California and was a graduate Fellow +at the Mellon Institute in Pittsburgh. + +Bessie Dwyer wrote to her niece, Lucia, then studying at the +University of California, suggesting that she get in touch with +the family of her good friend Judge Crossfield, then residing in +Berkeley. By then my father was a graduate student taking advanced +work in chemistry. When the two met, love bloomed and they were +married in 1916. One chemical result of this union was me, Albert +Scott Crossfield, Junior, one-quarter Mexican, with a sprinkling of +pure English, Irish, Boston Brown, and the good Lord only knows what +else. + +My father was slow and deliberate, a man who patiently looked at all +sides of an issue and was forgiving, yet in his quiet, detached way +quite demanding. As I think about it, he was a very unusual person. +I have a lasting and profound respect for him. + +He was basically a chemist, a scientist, if you please, one +whose natural bent leaned to theory but whose life led him into +the practical application of science, or as we call it today, +development, as opposed to pure research. When World War I broke out, +he took a commission in the army and worked for the Chemical Warfare +Department trying to perfect bizarre new weapons. After the war he +turned to the petroleum industry. He was a pioneer in the then new +field of extracting oil deposits from shale. This work ultimately led +to an executive position with the Union Oil Refinery in Wilmington, +at that time a small waterfront and refinery town in Southern +California. + +Outwardly my father was the coolest man I have ever known. He used to +tell me: “A gentleman never laughs, but he may chuckle. Nor does he +cry.” When he punished me, he never displayed anger or emotion. He +was completely detached about it, as though analyzing some chemical +compound. I don’t think I ever heard him raise his voice. He was not +altogether without personal fear, but I never saw any signs of it +and, believe me, I searched diligently. + +He took great pains to disguise his courage. During the first World +War, he was a leader of a small group of chemists who developed a +new and effective gas mask, an urgently needed item in those days. +My father was one of those who entered gas chambers to test the +mask. The tests apparently were not always successful; the repeated +exposures to gas in the chamber robbed him of much of his hair--my +earliest recollection is that he was bald--and left a grim reminder +on his body--white splotches where the gas had discolored his skin. I +was quite old before I was able to worm out of him the fact that he +had taken part in this hazardous experimental work. + +My father routinely worked seven days a week and eventually he rose +to be superintendent of the Union Oil Company in Wilmington. On +Sundays, when there was no school, he sometimes took me to the plant +with him. In those days, as in these, the men kept a careful watch +for fires; a refinery fire is a vicious and terrible catastrophe. +One Sunday while we were walking through the “cracking plant” a fire +broke out. My father ordered everyone to keep back. As I looked on, +he draped a blanket over his head and asked the firemen who had +answered the alarm to douse him thoroughly with water. Then, quietly +and calmly he walked into that roaring inferno and closed off some +valves in order to keep the fire from spreading. His burns were +severe and he was confined to a hospital for days. Not a word about +the fire ever was mentioned in our house. + +Dad was infinitely polite and proper. He was neither aloof nor +snobbish, yet I think it is a fact that he was little understood by +his friends and co-workers, perhaps because of his studied emotional +detachment. Perhaps it was because of his granite-like principles +about right and wrong. He was unyielding in this respect. On one +occasion he clung to his principles so tenaciously that it cost him +his position at the refinery and changed the whole course of his life +and ours as well. + +The oil refinery in those days, around 1930, imported many Mexican +laborers for the dirty work. They were paid, I believe, fifty cents a +day, and they lived in shacks around Wilmington; the area soon became +pretty much of a Mexican community. My parents had a natural sympathy +and pity for these people and my father was outspoken at the refinery +about this “exploitation” of alien labor. With time these feelings +grew deeper and more pointed. + +When the depression struck Southern California, these imported +workers were the first to lose their jobs at the plant. It was my +father’s duty to fire them. A number were shipped back to Mexico, but +a good many remained, out of work and penniless and, because they +were aliens, not entitled to the usual governmental or community +relief. Feeling responsible to some degree for the distress of these +people, my father set aside a good deal of his own money for their +support. My mother spent the money for food, scouring the markets for +day-old bread and rejected vegetables which she cooked and passed out +to the Mexicans. She was running a soup kitchen, really, and at times +it seemed as though we fed half the population of Wilmington. + +As the depression worsened, the firing went on at a more rapid and +ruthless pace. One day one of my father’s bosses pointed out to him +that there were still people on the roster with Spanish and Italian +names. That was true, my father replied, but those people were not +aliens: they were Americans, born on the soil of the United States, +and many of them excellent workers. Never mind that, they must be +fired before the ones with Anglo-Saxon names, was the order from the +boss. This my father refused to do, and he was thus forced to resign. +He left the oil industry entirely. I do not believe there are very +many men who would have given up a top position at the height of the +depression for the sake of a principle. + +Our family was not destitute--far from it. Dad was not frugal, but he +was not a spendthrift either, and during his years at the refinery +he had managed to lay aside a healthy nest egg. He used most of this +money to buy a small creamery. Like many chemists he was fascinated +by the challenge of producing some unusual substance--a plastic, for +example--from the waste-products of milk. I think his plan was to +operate the milk company as a livelihood and spend his evening hours +experimenting with the casein waste-products in a laboratory. + +He never realized this goal. Not long after he bought the creamery, +a vicious price war erupted in Southern California, and in time it +wiped us out completely. The trucks were overturned and the men were +beaten up. When Dad began in the business, he bought the raw milk for +six cents a quart and after it was processed sold it for about eleven +cents a quart delivered to the home. At the peak of the milk war the +raw-milk cost remained fixed by the NRA but the price on delivery +fell as low as one and a half cents a quart. Caught in the squeeze, +Dad trimmed the business to the bare bones, but his capital dwindled +rapidly. + +The final days were grim. The whole family rushed to the rescue. +My mother collected money on the milk routes, then being served by +several trucks which were driven by my father and a man named Harold +Babb. I often rode the trucks and ran up to the houses with the milk +bottles. Later in the day I ran the bottle-washing machine, which +cleaned about 7,500 bottles a day, all of which had then to be put +into crates and stacked. I was not in the best of health. Often, in +the midst of the grueling work, I was so tired that I hid behind +the crates--where my father, who never seemed to tire, couldn’t see +me--and bawled. Typically, my father refused to give up on that +milk business until he ran through his last dime. When the business +finally collapsed, he must have been hurt deeply, but he showed no +outward signs of his feelings. + +There was one noteworthy facet of Dad’s character, which in +retrospect seems important, and perhaps contradictory. Although he +certainly held a tight rein on us children, at the same time he +allowed us great individual responsibility. We were given complete +freedom, for example, in our choice of courses in school. “What +you make of your schooling is your own business,” he said. On the +question of learning, he was not didactic, but had what was probably +a shrewdly calculated way of spurring us on. At the dinner table, +where we had the closest contact with him, he would never say, “Well, +why don’t you know that?” about some subject. Instead he would say, +“That’s strange. I thought you _knew_ that.” This, of course, made +us feel like idiots and soon after dinner we were all flying to the +encyclopedia. + +My father’s unusually severe and unyielding spirit dominated our +home, where I can remember no emotional scenes. Every family problem +was discussed with judicial calm, and the solution arrived at was not +an expeditious one, but a just one as my father saw it. Mother was a +full and enthusiastic partner in these discussions. She was treated +by my father, and by us children as well, with regal respect. This +atmosphere might have seemed to some outsiders as oppressively dull. +I am certain it had a profound impact on me, a pint-sized kid who +might otherwise have grown up to fear his own shadow. + + + + +CHAPTER 6 ► + + _An Isolated Environment_ + + +I believe the fact that I was told I would never be physically able +to fly was the single greatest spur in my life. I was a healthy baby, +but all this changed rather abruptly one day. + +In Wilmington we lived in a big pink stucco house on the corner of +Lakme and L streets. There was a huge eucalyptus tree in the parkway, +so large that its roots had tunneled beneath our house and disturbed +the foundations. We were fond of that tree, but my father decided +after painful consideration that it would have to go. Its removal was +an enormous task, requiring many men, bulldozers, and other pieces of +earth-moving machinery. The job took a whole day. I was five years +old. There were no boys my age living on the block, so I usually +played alone, or with my older sister, Elena Ruth, then eight. My +younger sister, Mary Ann, was a toddler, going on three. The day the +men removed the tree was a big one for all three of us. The weather +was cold and damp, but we stayed outside from dawn to dusk watching +as the bulldozer gouged the earth from the yard. + +This prolonged exposure left Elena and me with bad cases of +pneumonia. She recovered quickly, but I was seriously ill. My lungs +were severely damaged and my heart was affected. For a while my +parents thought I was going to die. They sent for our priest, Father +Skiperelli. I can still remember the moment he entered my room. +The walls were covered with pictures of airplanes. Father “Skip” +joshed: “But what about the Lord?” My mother led him to a picture of +the Sacred Heart, almost obscured by the montage of airplanes. He +administered the last rites. + +It was touch-and-go for days on end. My mother smothered me in +mustard plasters. I was in a coma for some time. Our family +physician, Dr. E. J. Rowan, knew a man at the University of +California who was trying to develop a new serum for pneumonia. +He injected some of this serum into my blood. Finally I began to +recover, but the illness had left its mark. For years I was sickly +and small--and would always be the smallest boy in my class. + +A year or so later, perhaps as an aftermath of the pneumonia, I came +down with rheumatic fever. I was not strong and the fever struck +me harder than it does most people. I was in bed, flat on my back, +for at least four months, possibly longer. Then for the four years +following--until I was about ten years old--every so often for weeks +at a time I was made to lie down and rest until dinnertime. My mother +and father thought I might be crippled for life. They didn’t tell me +this. My father’s strategy was to feign complete indifference lest +I feel sorry for myself. Not once did anyone ever say to me that I +might be a cripple. On the contrary, my parents used to joke about my +having developed “rheumatism” at so young an age. But I sensed that +from a physical standpoint I was lacking. + +I grew to adolescence in an unusual, isolated environment, finding +things to pass the long hours at rest that few other boys do. +Although it now pains me to recall it, my mother taught me how to sew +and knit, and I became quite adept at embroidering. I also became +skilled at drawing. I had once withdrawn from school for a while, but +my fifth-grade teacher, Mrs. Paymiller, came to my house to award me +the class prize for art. My main interest, however, was aviation, and +most of these long, lonely hours were devoted to it. + +This interest was stimulated originally, I am certain, by a close +friend and neighbor of my father’s named Charles (“Carl”) Lienesch, +a pilot for the Union Oil Company. The company maintained one +airplane, a wire and fabric Eagle Rock (or “Eagle Brick,” as Lienesch +used to call it). This was probably one of the very first “executive” +airplanes. Lienesch, who was also a chemist, visited at our home +frequently. He was a colorful character, quite a story-teller. I +believe his rambling air stories bored my father and mother. But in +me he had an eager one-boy audience. Lienesch brought fascinating +word pictures into my restricted life, and I always looked forward to +his visits. + +He gave me my first airplane ride. It took place in 1927, when I was +about six years old. Oddly, I can remember but a few details of the +flight, although it was undoubtedly the high point of my childhood. +Lienesch remembers that after flying 45 minutes or so in the front +cockpit of the biplane, I fell sound asleep. This, too, strikes me as +odd--if not inconceivable, though my own youngsters today do this. It +may be the lulling effect of the engine. + +In those times, everyone involved in aviation was a walking public +relations man for the trade. I don’t know why Lienesch singled me out +for a special pitch. It couldn’t have been simply the fact that I was +an eager listener. In any case, my earliest recollection is that this +generous friend was determined that some day I should be an aviator. +Although he knew I was not too strong physically, he urged me on and +continued to do so for many years. I really didn’t need much urging. +Lienesch had captured me from the outset. When I was old enough to +realize that my health was shaky, and told by some doctor that I +could probably never pass a flight physical, I was more determined +than ever to be a pilot. + +I leaned heavily on my imagination in those days. When I was about +nine, during the time I had to rest each day after school, my mother +set aside a special wicker chair for me in our small lattice-work +“summer house” in the back yard. The chair had deep, downy pillows +and broad arm-rests to hold my books and drawing board. To this chair +I rigged some special devices of my own: an airplane control stick +and rudder pedals. With the books lying open on the arm of the chair, +I “flew” hour after hour, carefully following the instructions. In +that chair I learned the correct stick and rudder motions for every +conceivable airplane maneuver. My imagination took me across oceans, +into deep valleys, and above the mountains. I dreamed of flying from +California to New York non-stop and setting a new record! + +Meanwhile, I had become a model airplane addict. I built models +of many airplanes then in the air. The models were not hastily or +sloppily made. They were near-professional, I hoped. As I grew older, +I sought absolute perfection. This work led, in turn, to considerable +research into the theory of flight and aircraft construction. I read +everything available on the subject and wrote away, for example, to +NACA, for reports on various wing airfoils and aircraft structures. I +kept meticulous files. Soon I was designing my own model airplanes. +Later I helped some boys build Southern California’s first model +airplane powered by a (handbuilt) gasoline engine. + +Flying was then a sports rage in Southern California. I think there +were at least a hundred small airports in and around Los Angeles. +When I could manage it, I used to hang around these places. I was +impressed by any pilot. But I was especially fascinated when I heard +about pilots who flew air races, which in those days were frequent +and dangerous events. A boyhood hero of mine--heroine, rather--was +Pancho Barnes, the aviatrix who later built the ranch near Edwards. +In those days she was idolized locally, something like the way Amelia +Earhart was nationally. Pancho had a new airplane known as the +Travelair _Mystery Ship_. She swaggered around in boots and flying +jacket and won nearly every race she entered. + +For several years Los Angeles, or more specifically Burbank Airport, +was the starting point for the 1500-mile Transcontinental Bendix +race to Cleveland. Carl Lienesch took me out to Burbank to watch the +start. I can still remember the frenzied last-minute preparations +by the ground crews, and the high-pitched whine as the ridiculously +tiny, stubby-winged, man-killing planes took off into the darkness +with no radio and no instruments. I saw and worshiped all the great +pilots: Roscoe Turner in his Weddell-Williams Special, Jimmy Weddell +in another Weddell-Williams, and Benny Howard in _Ike_, _Mike_, and +_Pete_, and _Mr. Mulligan_, the plane that nearly killed him. I built +models of all these planes, and followed air racing around the +country, from long distances, as some people follow baseball games +and players. I was aware of the most obscure racing pilots, and every +new racing design that emerged from their garages and workshops. + +From one side of the family or the other, I must have inherited a +broad stubborn streak. I did no special exercises or took no special +medicines; but somehow, by sheer will power and the help of God, I +began to regain my strength. I firmly believe that if the spirit is +willing, the flesh will keep pace. I think my father’s example--his +refusal to display physical or emotional weakness--influenced me +tremendously in this regard. You can’t be around a man like that very +long and feel sorry for yourself. I think, too, the fact that Carl +Lienesch treated me like a normal, healthy boy who would obviously +some day be a pilot, had a strong psychological impact on me. By the +time I was twelve years old I was well on the road to recovery, and +as a result of my long years of confinement a dedicated airplane +fanatic. + +About that time I took over a newspaper route for the Long Beach +_Press-Telegram_ from a boy named Norman Laird. By coincidence, or +maybe it wasn’t coincidence, one delivery point on the route was the +Wilmington Airport, a small grass field in a slough, operated by a +great colorful aviator named Vaughn McNulty. McNulty had an Inland +Sportster, a high-wing monoplane, which he used to teach people to +fly and to take up passengers. There were a few other planes on the +field--an old C-3 Cub, an Eagle Rock, and a Travelair. + +Those were tough days for small airport operators. The depression had +hit Southern California and few people had dollars to shell out for +airplane rides; fewer still had money for flight instruction. McNulty +was ripe for the deal I proposed to him. + +The newspaper delivered at the airport cost him sixty-five cents a +month. I offered to supply the paper free (I always had a couple of +extras) in return for one half hour of flight instruction a month. +McNulty agreed, I think, not because it was an equitable business, +but because he was moved to help a starry-eyed kid get a start in +aviation. I was tremendously grateful and performed odd jobs around +the airport for McNulty: sweeping out the hangars, cleaning mud +from the airplanes, and so on. My association with McNulty and the +Wilmington airport was a very personal secret. My parents did not +know I was taking flying lessons. + +By my thirteenth birthday I had logged several hours in McNulty’s +Inland Sportster. I wasn’t yet ready to solo, but McNulty had taught +me some of the basic rudiments of flying, how to handle an airplane +in flight. For me each practice minute in the air was a fantastic, +wonderful experience, and a tonic as well. Each minute removed me +that much further from the possibility of backsliding into illness, +and took me closer to my dream. I continued these flights, off and +on, until my father became involved in the milk-price war and I was +recruited to help wash those 7,500 bottles every day. + +In sum, the seed of my life’s ambition had sprung from a twinge of +adversity and it grew boldly and intensely in the face of denial. By +the time I was thirteen it was clear to me that nothing could stand +in the way. Moreover, what had begun as ambition had, perhaps because +of the stern compression of circumstances, subtly been transformed +into an urgent drive toward perfection. I would be not only a pilot +but the best damned pilot in the world. + +My father’s ill-timed move into the milk-processing business +had certainly proved to be one of the “stern compressions of +circumstances.” He was left at the depth of the depression jobless, +virtually penniless and wounded in spirit, I think, although +typically he showed no outward flicker of unhappiness or distress. +I know the experience moved him profoundly. He broke all ties with +the past. He gave up his chosen field of chemistry, at which he had +excelled for eighteen years or more, and moved all of us to a new +and totally different environment. It is idle, perhaps, to probe +too deeply for motivation in matters of this kind for, as we know, +nothing is so clear-cut as it may appear. My own belief is that in +starting life anew he responded to what I believe is a basic and +fundamental urge in all of us to return to the soil whence we come +and where we shall return in death. He sold our house in Wilmington +and bought a heavily-mortgaged, run-down 120-acre farm in the rich +but remote Boistfort Valley near Chehalis, Washington, about midway +between Seattle and Portland, Oregon. He got it for $50 an acre. + +I was both pleased and stunned when I first saw the farm. The setting +was beautiful. Boistfort Valley was lush green and stayed that way +the year round. It was a land of rich, virgin timber--towering +Douglas fir trees--lovely grape arbors, and rushing, salmon-filled +streams. A river ran right next to our property. About sixty acres +of our farm lay along this river. There were twenty more acres under +cultivation and these lay higher, on a hill overlooking the river. It +was a clean, silent country, full of wild fruits and berries. + +Apart from the setting there was not much about the farm I could +admire. The main house was a rambling, drafty, thirteen-room monster, +with detached toilet facilities: a two-seater privy, which in the +deep of winter was less than comfortable. Out back there was also a +tottering barn, built in 1884, and a wobbly chicken shack, the whole +enclosed by a broken-down, zig-zag wooden fence. Then in the winter +there was mud, more mud than I ever dreamed existed on the face of +the earth. The barnyard, the grounds, the paths, the driveway--all +were a bottomless sea of mud. + +My father’s approach to this new challenge was somewhat startling. +From the outset he was determined to transform that bruised and +battered piece of ground into a show place. He was an intelligent man +and his method was intelligent. He studied farming. He sought advice +from other farmers. He consulted often with the county government +farm agent. He stretched every dime to the breaking point. Typical, +I think, was his scientific handling of the chickens. He despised +chickens. Yet he became the champion chicken farmer in the valley. He +did it by keeping greatly detailed, endless records. He logged every +egg that was laid. He carefully analyzed the results of different +feed combinations on the chickens, noting if a new type increased +or retarded the laying rate, how frequently the chicken house had +to be cleaned, and so on. Everyone laughed, until in due time his +painstaking research began to pay off handsomely. + +He followed the same system with the cattle. His objective was to +build up a dairy herd, the best in the valley. He couldn’t afford +to buy good cattle: pure-breds cost four or five hundred dollars. +Instead he bought grade cattle for $50 apiece or less. Then when +he found a good cow, he bred her. Again he kept unending records. +By trial and error, and trading cows left and right, he built up a +herd of twenty-five, which produced a much greater return than the +pure-bred herds. + +As I think back on it, my father had soon organized everything on +that farm to perfection. + +The work was limitless. Every morning and night for seven days a week +we milked those twenty-five cows. In the spring we did the plowing, +a brutal, grueling, seemingly hopeless task. We couldn’t afford +tractors or even good draught horses. We used cayuses, worn out from +years of labor in the nearby logging camps. It was usually my fate to +draw the walking plow. Near the river on the bottom land, the soil +was a thick, black loam. We plowed two acres a day, moving at a fast +clip, and worked several cayuses to death. In the fall we harvested +the hay, wheat, and oats--a hundred tons, cured to a “T”--and stored +them in the barn, after the appropriate and detailed data on the crop +had been drawn up and filed away for study. + +After a year or so the farm was still a long way from a show place. +But I do remember one evening when my father closed his account books +with a smile. He said: “We’re now one dollar in the black, the net +result of twenty years of work.” + +In the curious way that life unfolds, as the farm grew so grew Scott +Crossfield. This parallel has never occurred to me until now. I +arrived there weak and puny and not fully recovered from my childhood +illness. But as the months passed--months of hard labor and good +healthy food--I no longer pooped out easily or noticed any shortness +of breath. I gradually became as strong as an ox. Consciously or +unconsciously my father was transforming his own son, as well as a +patch of earth. Perhaps somewhere in the unfathomable depths of his +mind, my father knew what he was about. I will never know. I never +came near reaching perfection, but from the moment I landed on that +farm, with one exception, I never again became ill. + +As my own strength grew, so did my determination to achieve my life’s +ambition. In one sense, the farm was also a denial, a greater one +than my illness in Wilmington. I had been transplanted from the +center of aviation to a remote outpost. Here in this isolation I +developed a great thirst and craving for any news of my interest. +This craving, I think, inspired resourcefulness and a sense of +independence, which in turn fostered a boldness that might not +otherwise have sprouted. I was not trapped in the routine of my +interest, nor influenced by mediocrity, nor bound by the usual +conventions. My mind was free to try anything that occurred to it. + +My room was on the second floor of our big house. After the day’s +work, the last chores, I retired there not to dream but to work on +model airplanes, or to read magazines and books on aviation, or to +go through my files, which, after seven years, had grown to great +proportions. I hung a blanket over the window so that my parents +could not see the light reflecting on the ground below. There, alone +with my thoughts, I worked until two or three in the morning. + +Out of this room emerged what I thought was a new and brilliant +idea for making a radio-controlled model airplane. Such models are +common now, but in those days the concept was fairly _avant garde_. +Proudly I revealed my new idea to the son of a friend on the adjacent +farm, a young man who was a Doctor of Physics at the University of +Washington. He said it would never work. He followed this comment +with a general lecture on sizing up and working within one’s +capabilities. This lecture served only to convince me that nothing +would stand in the way of building that model. + +Everything about the model was new and different. My greatest +problem was to devise a lightweight structure to carry the enormous +radio “payload.” For the fuselage I selected a new and radical +method of construction known as “geodetic,” which had been devised +and published by a British aeronautical engineer. (Later I learned +that the British used this construction to build the World War II +Lancaster bomber.) The finished fuselage weighed about half as much +as with the usual methods. + +The development of the special radio gear, and the devices which +would translate a radio signal into a movement of the model’s +control surfaces, took months. Knowing little of radio circuits or +the theory of radio, I had to start from scratch and teach myself +everything--with the help of some ham operator friends. The result, +if I may brag, was ingenious. It was as good as, or better than, the +units I have recently seen in current radio-controlled models, with +transistors and “printed circuits.” + +The final product of my labors, a graceful, gullwinged model, weighed +a total of seven pounds and was capable of lifting a seven-pound +payload of radio gear. In any man’s league this is very efficient +aerodynamics. The model flew like a dream and the radio worked +perfectly. Then one day during a flight the plane dipped behind a +tree which interfered with the radio signal. The ship crashed and was +destroyed. + + + + +CHAPTER 7 ► + + “_Take Her Up and Try a Spin_” + + +I went to Boistfort High School, a consolidated country school about +nine miles from our farm. There were fifty-six pupils in the whole +school, quite a contrast to the big 3000-student schools in Southern +California. The superintendent of Boistfort School, Carl Aase, was a +most unusual man and to me, at least, a very generous one. For some +strange reason my teachers have always made a lasting impression on +me. I can recall everything about them, including their names: in +kindergarten, Mrs. Wallin; first grade, Mrs. Clark; second grade, +Mrs. Meade; third grade, Mrs. Thomas; fourth grade, Mrs. Humphries; +fifth grade, Mrs. Paymiller; sixth grade, Mrs. Blossom. And so on. + +Carl Aase, an intelligent and resourceful man, became a good +friend of my father’s. He visited our farm frequently, but he +didn’t let this friendship stand in the way of doing his job, or +of administering discipline to incorrigible boys. In this respect, +he was quite like my father. Mr. Aase never displayed anger or +emotion. Like the other farm boys, when I reached the age of fifteen +I was a tough, scrappy youngster. We boys used to fight often, and +occasionally Carl Aase would suspend me from school. He was very calm +and matter-of-fact about it. “Scott,” he would say, “don’t wait for +the school bus today. Just walk on home right now.” + +At first I was not an exceptional student. My grades averaged about +“B.” They improved later when I was seriously preparing for college. +But at sixteen my interests were many and my time too limited for +concentrated study on anything but aviation, for which I was not +given credit in school. I joined in 4-H Club work and raised several +prize dairy animals. I was also intrigued by photography. I converted +one of the unused rooms on the second floor of our home to a dark +room. I took all the photographs and made the woodcuts for the school +yearbook. I had no time for sports such as football, tennis, or +swimming, and I haven’t found time for them yet. + +The farm and the school absorbed most of my hours. I got up early +to do my chores, spent most of my day at Boistfort, in the evening +returned to my chores, and then to my private room on the second +floor. But there was one other spot to which I was drawn like a metal +filing to a magnet: the Chehalis municipal airport. I didn’t get +there as frequently as I wanted to. When I went, it was in secret. I +didn’t want to trouble my parents with my ambitions to be a pilot. +Although he never mentioned it directly, I believe my father hoped I +would study law or medicine. A professional education, he thought, +was a necessary part of a gentleman’s preparation for life. + +The Chehalis municipal airport was a cow pasture adorned with two +skeletal airplane hangars, a tiny CAA weather shack, and a tattered +wind-sock. It was home for about a dozen old wire-and-fabric +airplanes, several of them derelicts and veterans of the first World +War, which had then been over for eighteen years. The field was +operated by a man named Donahoe, who somehow managed to stay one step +ahead of the sheriff. The people who hung about that airport were, +I think, typical of the depression era, young and old who almost +on faith alone stuck with aviation, consciously and unconsciously +knowing its future. Some, like me, were called “airport bums.” +Chehalis Airport was a Garden of Eden to me. The pilots to a man were +my special heroes. + +Whenever I had the money, which was seldom, although the amount +required was ridiculously small, I took flight instruction from +anybody and everybody. I was lucky to squeeze in one hour a month; +many months went by during which I received no instruction at all. +It was slow going and I’m not certain that the instruction was top +quality. But I was learning, inching toward my first solo flight. +It finally came quite unexpectedly, and it turned out to be rather +exciting. + +“Why don’t you try it by yourself?” one of the pilots said to me +one day at the airport. At this time I probably had accumulated +about seven or eight hours of flight instruction. A solo flight was +technically illegal: I had no student permit. But at Chehalis there +was a sort of devil-may-care attitude about rules and regulations. A +small knot of airport hangers-on gathered around us. “Yeah, Scotty, +take her up and try a spin.” The crowd broke up with laughter. + +I crawled into the cockpit of the Curtiss Robin. It was a high-wing +monoplane powered by a cranky OX-5, the engine that was used in +World War I. Someone spun the prop and soon I was bumping over +the cow pasture toward the end of the strip. Without fear or +hesitation--indeed, very happily--I gunned the engine and horsed the +Robin gracefully into the air. The deep green Chehalis Valley spread +out below me. The engine, laboring heavily, took me to 4,000 feet, +which was about the ceiling of that airplane. + +I flew about over the valley for ten or fifteen minutes, turning, +twisting, and tracing lazy eights in the sky. This, I thought, was +it, the absolute ultimate! Here man had a new view of his life and +the world. He was detached, removed from the detail of it--the mud, +the privy, the school fights, the chicken house, the slights and +denials. Here, high in the sky, man’s vision was unobscured. He +could see far and wide, the whole picture of God’s world, a model of +grace and perfection. At the same time there was challenge: a man, a +brain, some muscle, and a machine pitted against the air, a basic and +important element of that earthly perfection. + +I was an ace now, zipping low over the battlefield returning to my +aerodrome in France. Then I was Lindbergh, passing over wild Nova +Scotia, eight hours out of New York, ready to bank over the cold gray +Atlantic. Then I was Benny Howard, poised on the end of the runway +at Burbank Airport in tiny _Mr. Mulligan_, ready for an incredible +1500-mile non-stop flight to Cleveland. Then I was Scott Crossfield, +setting off in a new plane of his own design to break the Los +Angeles-to-New York record. + +The long years of denial made these moments far more endearing and +meaningful than I can possibly describe. I wondered: did more denial +lie ahead? Maybe I had better squeeze every drop out of this flight. +Maybe I had better see how far I could go: find out where nerve left +off and fear began. Find out, in one fell swoop, if I had it. + +“Try a spin,” the crowd had said. Well, while I’m about it, why +not? The crazy thought absorbed my attention. I climbed higher. I +deliberately pulled the nose up steep and stalled out. The Robin’s +right wing dipped. Earth and sky alternated in the windshield. I was +spinning. + +Suddenly I was aware of a strange and startling noise, a kind of +banging, foreign to the ordinary noise of the plane. What was it? +Quickly I pushed the stick forward and the rudder pedal hard left and +brought the Robin to normal, level flight. The noise disappeared. Was +I imagining something? What happened? + +I climbed back to altitude and dropped the Robin into a second spin. +Once again the fearful racket began. Again I brought the Robin to +normal flight. No, I definitely was not imagining the noise. It was +not my nerves. It happened when I put the ship into a spin. Curiosity +overwhelmed me. What was it? + +For the third time I climbed and spun the Robin. This time when the +clattering began, I strained and looked behind me, searching for the +answer. Then I found it: the rear door of the plane was loose. In +ordinary flight the slipstream kept it firmly in place. But in the +spin gyrations it was banging open and shut. I laughed aloud at my +concern. + +Time was running out. I had to land. I banked in a large circle and +lined up on the cow pasture. The Robin ghosted down. Her wheels +struck the soft grass and she clung. I taxied toward the knot of +people near one of the hangars, shut off the engine and climbed out, +showing not a trace of excitement or elation. I was as dead-pan as an +undertaker. + +“How’d it go?” someone asked. + +“Good,” I said. I knew they had watched the three spins. There was no +need to brag about it. + +“No trouble?” Then with a start I realized I was the subject of a +practical joke. The crowd _knew_ what happened to the Robin’s door +in a spin. I was being hazed, like a college freshman. But I was +determined to give them no satisfaction. + +“None at all,” I replied. I read disappointment on all their faces. + +I returned to the farm and my chores. At the dinner table that night +I felt very proud. But I dared not say why. + + * * * * * + +Carl Lienesch visited us from time to time on the farm. He no longer +worked for the Union Oil Company. He had moved to Seattle, where +he took a job as a Civil Aeronautics Board inspector. One day he +proposed that I go up to Seattle with him to watch the first flight +tests of Boeing’s new Clipper. + +Compared to anything I had seen, the flying boat looked huge, +squatting on Lake Washington, on the eastern edge of Seattle. It had +four powerful engines mounted high on the metal wing, and a towering +single tail. The test pilot was Eddie Allen. + +Eddie Allen would have been quite surprised, I’m certain, to know +how much the young man standing on the Lake Washington dock knew +about him. By then my files on test pilots matched or surpassed my +files on racing pilots and other famous characters in aviation. Jimmy +Doolittle was far and away the most famous U. S. test pilot. On the +East coast the top dog was James Taylor, who flew mostly for Grumman. +On the West coast the top dog was Eddie Allen, who was also Boeing’s +Chief Engineer. As I have said, he began his career with the old +NACA shortly after World War I. At Boeing his word was considered +law. He participated in the design of the airplane he would fly. If +he didn’t think a piece of equipment ought to be on an airplane, it +wasn’t put on the airplane. There was no great gap between Allen and +the airplane designers. He _was_ an airplane designer. + +I watched as Allen taxied the mammoth plane through the water. The +engines roared to life and the plane plowed through the water gaining +speed. Allen lifted it a few feet into the air and splashed it back +down again. A short while later he returned to the dock. The Clipper +lacked fin area. Allen directed that two additional fins be added to +the airplane. + +As we were driving back to Chehalis, Lienesch, visibly impressed by +the flight, was garrulous. His expensive Auburn was making nearly a +hundred miles an hour. + +“Now, Scotty,” he said, “if you’re going to get into the aviation +business, Allen’s job is the one you want to shoot for. That’s the +top of the ladder. You don’t want to be a barnstormer, or a racing +pilot, or a military pilot. Get a degree. Be an engineer. Help +build the airplanes. Then fly them and find out what you did wrong. +Then fix it. That’s a real profession. It has dignity as well as +excitement and challenge. You can combine all your energies and focus +them toward one single objective: to improve the airplane. Who knows, +maybe you might contribute something in this never-ending, restless +urge of man to do better.” + +I was profoundly impressed. + + * * * * * + +My father’s limitless energy and meticulous research--his drive for +perfection--had a telling effect on the farm as the months rolled by. +It was still far from a show place, but it was no longer bruised and +battered. The herds were growing and producing. The chickens were +profitable and were pointed to as examples by the County Agents. The +barn had a new addition. We had stemmed the sea of mud somewhat with +gravel walkways. The main house was equipped with an indoor toilet. +The farm produced enough money to support us and to send my older +sister, Elena Ruth, to the University of California in Berkeley. + +Although it appealed to me not at all, I was caught up in the rural +way of life and naturally influenced by the people. As the son of an +increasingly successful farmer, and naturally competitive, I took +some pride in contending with the sons of other farmers. I became +a leader in our 4-H Club. My pure-bred Guernsey bull, which I had +nursed to a beautiful showpiece, won many prizes at county livestock +fairs and brought me an invitation (which I accepted) to represent +the State of Washington in the International Livestock Show in +Chicago. I was also assured of a scholarship to Washington State +College provided I majored in agriculture. + +None of this gave me any real satisfaction. My basic interest lay +elsewhere and was deeply rooted. I liked to pal around with the +farmers’ sons, but they were not my closest friends. Indeed, my +really close friends seem a strange lot to me now. I probably fitted +in perfectly. + +One of my friends was a ham radio operator, Art Beal, who was +about forty years old. I first met him when he came to the farm to +investigate my weird radio-transmitter signals which were disturbing +the airways. He taught me a great deal about radio and helped me +build the radio-control model. Through him I met Elden Reed, about +twenty-five years old, and Bill Young, about twenty-eight, and blind +from birth. All three were avid hams; they never seemed to sleep. All +of us, together with a tomboy about four years older than I, Louise +Wilrich, became fast friends. Art, Elden, and Louise all learned to +fly at Chehalis. + +Bill Young was an extraordinary person. He lived on a small pension, +alone except for his seeing-eye dog, and picked up extra money tuning +pianos. In Nature’s strange way, having denied Bill sight, she +developed his ears to perfection. Bill was often the only operator +who could pick up signals from North Africa. During the war the Air +Force used his cheap home-made gear and sensitive ears to communicate +with North Africa when military radio could not get through. I +remember the time when a thief broke into Bill’s house, robbed him, +and killed his seeing-eye dog. I think that if the rest of us had +caught the thief we would have killed _him_. + +When we went to the Chehalis airport to fly, or just to shoot the +breeze with Donahoe and the other pilots, Bill always came along. +However, the airplane was something of a mystery to him. He walked +about, feeling the wings, the fuselage, and the propellers. But +it was too big and complex and he couldn’t “see,” as he said, the +whole concept of the plane. I think this distressed him considerably +because in that crowd we talked of little else besides radio and +airplanes. Bill’s inability in this regard touched me, because to +me Bill was a kindred spirit, a piece of nature’s bruised fruit. I +helped him to understand the airplane by bringing along my models. +With these miniature versions he could “see” the airplane as a whole. + +It was about this time that I began building my own life-size +airplane. The idea came to me one day when I read in one of the +many aviation publications I subscribed to that a French company, +LeBlonde, had produced a very lightweight, efficient gasoline engine +of 15 horsepower. One of these engines successfully powered a small +plane. There on the farm, over six thousand miles from France and the +nearest LeBlonde engine, the seed took root and sprouted. An engine +that small ought to be pretty inexpensive, I thought. If I built the +airplane, I would find a way to buy the engine. + +As my father lacked enthusiasm for my flying, so he viewed with less +enthusiasm my plan to build an airplane. I suppose any rational +father would try to talk his son out of a scheme like that. But +in spite of my father’s advice to the contrary, I was determined +to carry the idea through. I worked late at night, drawing up the +plans and designing my vehicle, the sum product of a 17½-year-old’s +aeronautical know-how and skill with a pencil. + +I had long talks with my school principal, Carl Aase, about the +material for the airplane. One problem was that the spruce I intended +to use in the wing, tail, and fuselage was very expensive. Aase +suggested that I substitute Port Orford cedar, which in the old days +the Indians used to build canoes. It was strong and flexible, a good +inexpensive local substitute. I saved my money and sent away for the +cedar. Since I had little money, I spaced the orders far apart. + +I enjoyed building anything. This full-scale airplane that could +take me into the boundless sky turned into an intense work of +love. I doubt that ever in history an airplane was built with such +painstaking care for detail. Each piece of cedar--one-inch square +strips--was handled like a piece of gold. After steaming it into +shape, I sanded it carefully and then laid it in place. Then I tacked +it down with glue-coated nails (which I ordered as required, with no +allowance for surplus) and mortised each individual joint. As with my +models, I strove for perfection. It was slow going. It took months +and months to complete the fuselage. Then I saved for more cedar, +built some jigs and laid out the wing spars. + +Though I worked on the airplane only after my chores were finished, +I always felt guilty about the time it took. In a way it was like +waving a red flag in my fathers face. He was becoming very attached +to his piece of the earth and its mounting production. I believe he +hoped I would share his enthusiasm and in time take over. Perhaps +because it was a symbol of my conflicting ambition, annoying to my +father, I never finished the airplane. It became a kind of unfinished +Hangar Queen--in this case Barn Queen. I would meet other Hangar +Queens later. + +Carl Lienesch convinced me that my approach to my chosen profession +should begin with a solid college foundation in engineering. Upon +graduation from high school in June, 1939, my plan was to go straight +to basic freshman engineering at the University of Washington. But +this well-laid plan went astray. I was delayed a whole year by a +variety of factors. + +In January of 1939, several months before I was to graduate, my +younger sister Mary Anne, fourteen years old, was stricken by polio, +and after a brief but severe illness she died in an iron lung. She +was a pretty girl, already determinedly planning a career on the +stage. Her sudden death was a stunning blow to my parents and me. It +brought us closer together than ever before. To leave for college +then, to leave my mother and father alone on the farm, seemed to +me like deserting them. (My older sister was still enrolled at the +University of California.) + +The farm was simply too big for my father to operate alone. For +several years he employed a boy named Harold Jones, who lived nearby, +to help with the heavy work. Over the years Harold became another son +in the Crossfield home. But in 1939 Harold went away to college to +study agriculture, and my father could not afford to hire a full-time +employee to replace him. A year later it would be a different story. +But now my father obviously needed my help. + +After turning these facts over in my mind, I decided to stay home on +the farm for one year. At the time it seemed a dreadful decision, +an agonizing delay, a frustrating denial. Yet I probably gained by +it. In 1940, through the combined efforts of my father and myself, +the farm was a going concern. We were able to afford automatic +milking equipment and--believe it or not--a tractor. I traded my old +Oakland jalopy (bought in high school for $26) for a 1935 Chevrolet +and tuned the engine to near-perfection. I filled in some lacking +school credits by taking correspondence courses in math, physics, and +chemistry from the University of Nebraska. I logged an increasing +number of flying hours at Chehalis airport with my constant +companions, Art Beal, Elden Reed, Louise Wilrich, and Bill Young. + + + + +CHAPTER 8 ► + + _Change and Challenge_ + + +In retrospect, the brief twenty months of my life from September, +1940, when I left the farm, to May, 1942, seem a disjointed period, +a tumultuous time of change and challenge. Perhaps because of this +it was in some ways the most fruitful. I was about eighteen when +it began; by the time I was twenty I had entered the University, +graduated from a civilian aviation school, officially soloed, and +obtained my private pilot’s license, withdrawn from the University, +worked for Boeing Aircraft Company, quit to join the Air Force +briefly, worked for Boeing again, quit again to join the Navy. My +course was solidly set straight toward the aviation world. During +that important transition in my life, however, new and sharp +influences disturbed my compass, causing it to “hunt.” One towering +influence was the outbreak of World War II, which in one way or +another disturbed the lives of all my contemporaries as well as my +elders. + +When I left the farm in September of 1940, I marched upon the +University of Washington with determined strides, as though I had +only a few weeks in which to absorb all it could provide. Thumbing +through the catalogue, I signed up for twenty hours of college +courses per quarter; this was about twenty-five per cent above the +average load. When my counselor discovered that I had to work to +pay my way, he advised me to cut my schedule. He might just as well +have been talking to a sphinx. I explained that I was accustomed to +working long hours and sleeping only a little. He protested again and +again, but eventually I won the argument. He gave up to let me find +out the hard way. + +I was not used to many luxuries, but I must say I had a tough time +of it during the first year in Seattle. I lived in depressing +boarding houses which served up a monotonous diet at mealtimes, and +I worked at odd jobs that I found through the University employment +bureau. The first of these was an agonizing experience for a lad +fresh from the farm. I was a glorified butler in a snooty sorority +house. I tended the furnace, put on a white jacket to serve tables at +dinnertime, and washed the dishes--all for twenty-five cents an hour. +Later I found a job mowing lawns; then I worked in a gas station; +then I became a chauffeur. Finally I turned my skill with a pencil to +profit as a part-time draftsman, tracing radio circuits. + +The University was a fantastic well of knowledge and intelligent +people, and my appetite to devour this knowledge was insatiable. +I had neither time nor inclination to make many new friends or to +join in the heavy college social life. (For a short time I shared an +apartment with two Dekes, one a member of the University crew, but +this didn’t work out at all.) I was a lone wolf on a special mission, +moving steadily from class to class and part-time job to part-time +job. It took hard study to overcome some of the gaps from Boistfort +Consolidated School, which was seldom called on to provide college +preparatory courses. At the end of three quarters my grades were +averaging B. But in one year I advanced one and a quarter years in +college. + +I went back to the farm for the summer of 1941. It was reaching +perfection and the yield was enough so that my father could afford +full-time workers. I helped harvest the hay and grain and did other +chores, and still found time to smooth out and advance my flying. + +As part of the general defense preparedness the government was in +the process of converting the old CAA pilot-training program to +something new called Civilian Pilot Training (CPT), designed to +encourage a great number of young people into aviation. The new +program, affiliated with colleges and universities, amounted to a +government subsidy for aviation ground school and flight training. +Through normal channels it then cost about $200 to get a private +license. Under CPT it was free. For me this bargain-basement offer +couldn’t have come at a better moment. That summer I promptly +enrolled in CPT at Centralia Junior College near Chehalis. Art Beal, +Elden Reed, and Louise Wilrich joined me. Unfortunately Bill Young +could not join us; but in the evenings he got much of what we had +learned second hand. + +The flight instructor of our small, almost informal CPT class was a +man of about fifty named Elvin V. Puckett, a one-time Montana cowboy +with a weather-beaten face and large, strong hands. Years before, +having tired of “riding fences” on a horse, Puckett bought a plane +and taught himself to fly, thus patrolling the huge ranch boundaries +the easy way. He went on to barnstorming, finally settling down in +Washington State. Puckett “sat” an airplane as I’m sure he sat a +horse, easy, relaxed, natural. Maybe he wasn’t the best instructor +in the world, but he taught me one lesson that stuck: the pilot of a +plane is captain of his ship and fully responsible for its operation +at all times. “No one else should ever be allowed to interfere with +the pilot’s controls or to overrule the pilot’s judgment,” he told us. + +As luck would have it, it fell to me to stick by that rule to my +possible disadvantage on one of the biggest days in my early flying +life. Having completed flying with Puckett’s class, now came time for +the big test. A Civilian Aeronautics Administration inspector, G. +S. Buchanan, climbed into my airplane to pass me or fail me for my +private license. When we reached altitude, Buchanan leaned over and +pulled the engine throttle to idle. + +“You’ve just lost your engine,” he said. + +Puckett’s rule ran through my mind. Yet, I thought, here certainly is +the exception. I debated. But no, a rule is a rule. There should be +no exceptions to rules in the air. + +I stared at Buchanan and said: “Keep your hands off the controls of +this airplane.” + +He stared back. + +“When I’m flying this airplane, you are a passenger,” I said. “The +passengers don’t handle the controls. If you want to simulate a lost +engine, you tell me and _I_ will pull the throttle back to idle.” +I pushed the throttle forward to regain air speed, thinking well, +that’s that and I fail. + +As it turned out, Buchanan found the episode amusing and yielded. + +“All right,” he said. “You win. You lost an engine.” + +I pulled the throttle back and followed through with emergency +procedures for a lost engine. When we got on the ground, Buchanan +gave me an “up-check,” meaning I passed. + +Officially then I “soloed” in the summer of 1941 and got my license. +But at that point I probably had more than fifty hours in the air. +Quickly I moved up the grade, accumulating more time and passing +official government tests for larger and more powerful airplanes. I +bought a one-third interest in a Taylorcraft, but it cracked up on +take-off at Tacoma and killed my two partners. It was a funeral pyre. +The coins in their pockets were melted. + +I returned to the University in the fall of 1941 with my mind made +up to stay off the sorority-house butler circuit. My search for a +better-paying and more interesting job soon led to Boeing’s Seattle +plant, which had just secured enormous contracts to build bombers +for the U. S. Air Force and the British. Boeing was desperate for +new people. The word was that they were hiring anything that walked. +I applied for a job, planning to schedule my college courses around +my work. But when I hired on for the seemingly fabulous wage of +sixty-two cents an hour as an assembly page clerk--making certain the +stockroom numbers were kept up to date--that plan went out the window. + +When I got my first look inside the Boeing plant I was fascinated. +Everything about it thrilled me: the rattle of rivet guns, the +heavy thumping of the presses, the shrill grinding of the saws, the +whirling of the lathes. But greatest of all was watching an airplane +grow in shape and perfection all in one room: from the confused +beginnings of the production line to the end product which rolled out +the door. In this environment thoughts of the ivy-smothered buildings +at the University were lost. This was action. This was it! + +The pace in the plant is best described as frantic. The war was +coming fast and the Air Force wanted airplanes yesterday. My job, as +it turned out, couldn’t have been better suited to my purposes. I +was not tied to any specific point; the whole factory was my domain. +As an assembly page clerk, I was called or sent to every part of the +plant and production line. Where there is strong interest there is +strong retention. Quite soon all the apparent confusion made eminent +sense to me, and I became intimately familiar with the problems and +techniques of building real airplanes. In this job I was an observer +with a free ticket to a great show. + +Some time around my twentieth birthday I was promoted to the position +of production expediter, a glorified title for a bottleneck-breaker. +In my new job I was to chase down certain parts that were not +available in time and hand-carry or expedite them through their many +processes so that they arrived at the assembly line in the right +quantity at the right time. This work led to greater responsibility. +Having noted my talent with a pencil, my boss assigned me the task +of drawing up special change-orders and engineering change-orders +for various small airplane parts. Most of this was “emergency” +work, trying to salvage a part from damaged material, or devising +a substitute for a part for which no material was available. This +job, too, took me to all corners of the plant. I think that in a +few months I learned as much as many men who work for years in an +aircraft plant assigned to a specific detail. I worked long hours +seven days a week and occasionally slept on the drafting table +through the remaining hours of the night. + +When the Japanese struck Pearl Harbor, my duty was clear. I would +have to lay aside my personal ambition and go win the war--in an +airplane, of course. The week following Pearl Harbor I visited an Air +Force cadet recruiting center and filled in all the papers. A few +days later I reported for a physical examination. I flunked it. My +pulse rate, possibly an aftereffect of my childhood illness, was too +high. It might also have been the result of the long hard hours at +Boeing. The Air Force doctor told me to rest up a few days and come +back for a second try. + +The years of discipline from working on the farm and training under +my father paid off. The disappointment was short-lived. I would do +something about this. I would not be denied my life’s determination. + +I looked up a private physician in Seattle. Everyone, I suppose, was +feeling patriotic in those days and they all wanted to help any boy +get into the service. The doctor gave me a handful of pills--probably +sedatives--and told me to take one before retiring, one on arising, +and one just before the physical. The pills did the trick. I passed +the physical. + +For a long time I was plagued with this high pulse rate on physicals. +In due time I learned to control my pulse--to hold it down--almost +by yogi. Once I tried the traditional trick of using the depression +of a hangover to pass a physical. It worked, but it wasn’t worth it. +Certainly this annoyingly high pulse rate never in any way hampered +or restricted my endurance and flying ability, which may or may not +prove something about the accepted routine of flight physicals. + +My boss at Boeing was greatly put out when he learned I had been +“called up.” First he offered to get me a draft deferment, and then +he insisted on it, declaring I was essential to the war effort. I +couldn’t make him understand that I _wanted_ to go. Finally, to +preclude drastic action on his part, I simply told him I was in the +Reserves and there was nothing he could do about it. My friends at +Boeing gave me a small farewell party, and off I went to the wars. + +I was back at Boeing a week later working at the same job. + +The Air Force shipped me from McChord Air Force Base near Tacoma +to Williams Field, a processing center in Arizona. Williams was a +madhouse. Evidently every recruiting office in the nation was swamped +by boys eager to join the Air Force. The base was saturated with +starry-eyed kids. There were no living quarters nor places to feed +all these people. The officers in charge shipped me back to McChord. +There I was told to go home and wait until there was an opening in a +cadet class. While waiting, I returned to my old job. + +I waited and waited, wondering if the war would be over before I +could get into the service. In the second week of February, with +still no word from the Air Force, I went down to a Navy recruiting +station. The requirement then for Naval Aviation cadets was at +least two years of college. The Naval officers examined my record +at Boeing, my University credits, my private flying background +(some three hundred hours now), and waived the two-year college +requirement. Frankly, I think they were overjoyed to snatch an Air +Force cadet. I took three more pills, passed the Navy physical, and +was sworn in on February 21, 1942, in Seattle. I then resigned from +the Air Force. + +The Navy was giving primary training to some of its aviation cadets +at Sand Point Naval Air Station in Seattle, a fact that pleased me +no end, having briefly glimpsed the parched-earth and desolation at +Williams Field in Arizona. I was scheduled to join a Cadet Class +at Sand Point on the day I was sworn in, but I was delayed by a +ridiculous but, to the Navy, vital matter. I am a “junior,” and +that fact was duly published on my birth certificate. I never used +the junior in my signature. Thus I filled out my Navy papers “A. +Scott Crossfield.” When the discrepancy was spotted, the officers, +following meticulous Navy regulations, insisted that my papers +be returned and corrected. Because of this I missed my class. My +reporting date was postponed until the next class convened on May +7th, two and a half months later. + +While waiting, I kept on at my job at Boeing. As before, I worked +seven days a week, never hesitating to accept greater responsibility. +When I think about it now, I laugh at some of the quick and (to +me) awesome decisions I made there. Actually, I suppose, the +mind functions pretty clearly between the ages of nineteen and +twenty-five. It is not yet encumbered by experience and mistakes, or +corralled by conservatism, which is the product of fear of making a +mistake. It is bold and aggressive, and difficult to deny. + +I believe those nine furious months at Boeing were among the most +valuable in my life. + + + + +CHAPTER 9 ► + + _Manhood and Maturity_ + + +I served in the Navy four years, until I was twenty-four. I never +achieved my goal of engaging the enemy plane-to-plane over the +Pacific. After winning my wings I was waylaid as a flight instructor +for eighteen months. I very nearly made it. When the war ended, I was +in training in Hawaii with a carrier air group for the invasion of +Japan. + +My Navy tour laid the groundwork for the contribution I made to +aviation and the nation years later in a different kind of war. In +the Navy I became a professional, disciplined aviator. + +Ironically, I almost flunked at the outset. It happened during my +two months of “elimination” service in Seattle in May and June of +1942. Like many men who already knew how to fly when they entered +the military services, I found my past experience in the air not a +help but a hindrance. A civilian pilot is an individualist. In the +military a pilot is part of a closely meshed precision team. The +adjustment is difficult to make. Civilian pilots learn many “bad +habits.” One day my instructor said: “Crossfield, I don’t think +you’re going to make it.” I did make it. In fact I never got a +“down-check” although there was one close call. + +It was a glove that almost did me in. One of our final checks at +Seattle was an emergency landing in a small tree-bordered field. My +airplane was an old N3N or “Yellow Peril” biplane, built in about +1933. While flying near this field one day my instructor gave me the +signal to simulate an engine failure. I throttled back all the way +and aimed for the field, calculating my glide-path, intending to make +a perfect approach and landing. + +I miscalculated. We were quite low when I realized I had undershot +the field and would have to open the throttle. My instructor reached +this conclusion about the same instant. He moved his gloved left hand +to the throttle. As I pushed forward a split second before him, his +glove caught and jammed in the throttle bracket. He tried to pull +the throttle back momentarily to disengage the glove. Unaware of +this mishap, all the while I was pushing the throttle hard forward, +wondering what was holding it. + +The ground was rushing up fast. I had to land. There was a hole +between the trees that looked large enough to squeeze through. We +grazed over a barbed-wire fence and penetrated the hole. It was too +small. The right wing brushed the top of a tree, making a fearful +racket on the taut dope-covered fabric of the wing. The plane bounced +on the grass strip and rolled out. My instructor crawled out of the +front cockpit, lit a cigarette, and paced about the plane, inspecting +the broken ribs in the wing and the torn fabric. I sat in the cockpit +awaiting the inevitable. Soon, I knew, I would be headed for a ship +as a seaman second class. + +I wondered why my instructor was delaying. Then it dawned on me. He +was worried that we had damaged the plane so badly that it would fall +apart in the air. + +“As long as we’re here,” he said, “I’ll just stay on the ground and +watch while you make a few precision landings between the markers +over there.” This was the next phase of my test, scheduled to be +carried out at another field. It was true that it would save time to +do these maneuvers at this field. But I had a hunch the real reason +was that the instructor wanted me to take that plane up and test-fly +it--alone. + +Very well, I thought, I’ll do it. I got us into this fix. I gunned +the engine and took off. The plane held together and I made the +precision landings without further incident. The instructor climbed +in and we flew back to main base. He gave me an “up-check,” but I +believe I earned it by default--because he was ashamed to report +the glove snafu and because I had tested the airplane for him. +Thereafter, in the way some men respond to error, I was determined +never to repeat that fiasco. In time and with exacting practice, +landings became the strongest point of my flying. + +We moved from Seattle to the Naval Air Training Center in Corpus +Christi, Texas--the big league. What a sight! It was the Boeing +plant all over again. The Navy was just gearing for the instruction +of aviators on a mass scale. Thousands of people were pouring into +Corpus Christi each week. Everywhere new outlying flying fields were +being scratched out of the dry, ugly Texas soil. Hangars, maintenance +shops, barracks and officers’ clubs, it seemed, were sprouting all +across the great expanse of Texas. It was semi-organized confusion on +a grand scale. For the next six months, along with the fifteen other +members of my cadet class from Seattle, I lived, studied, and flew +hard while this transformation was taking place. We paid it scant +heed. Our minds were set on learning our profession and going on to +war, to the Pacific, where Naval aviators were desperately needed. + +The skies over Texas were black with airplanes flown by young +inexperienced pilots, feeling their oats, frozen in the grip of that +infantile phase all pilots must go through: flat-hatting, or buzzing +the ground. I don’t know how or why all pilots get this disease. +Maybe it’s simple showing-off, or some kind of deep-seated craving +for the sensation of speed, or a reaction to the highly disciplined +military formation flying. It is very dangerous. But a lot of fun. + +We had several special flat-hatting tricks calculated to stretch any +pilot’s nerves to the breaking point. First there was wind-milling. +The surface of Texas is a forest of windmill-driven water pumps. We +used to dive at these lazily turning windmills, scream across the +ground, lift the wing as we passed over the tower, and kick the +rudder. When the plane’s slipstream hit the blades of the windmill, +they would turn at tremendous speed, gushing water in a torrent, and +probably grinding up the pump gears. + +Another trick was the rare sport of playing leapfrog with +automobiles. We would spot a lone car driving on a long, straight +Texas road. Then we would ghost down and land behind him. We would +clip along, waving at the awestruck kids in the back seat, their +noses pressed against the rear window. We’d gun the engine and hop +over the moving car, taxiing on down the road at high speed. I saw +one pilot do this to a moving van. When the plane’s slipstream hit +the broad side of the van it knocked the truck into a ditch. + +Then there was the railroading. What better sport than to fly down +a railroad track at night, directly toward an oncoming train, and +at the last second turn on the plane’s landing lights and pull up +steeply, all the while enjoying the vision of the engineer grinding +his brakes into steel filings, wondering what he was about to smash +into. + +Bridges, of course, held the greatest fascination to the youthful, +inexperienced pilot. There was a bridge up near Smithville on the +Colorado River that loomed as my greatest flat-hatting challenge. +It was tricky because there was a little turn involved just before +passing under the bridge. Flying below the river banks, the drafts +and winds were confusing and I had to take care that the plane didn’t +drift into one of the bridge foundations. I made several tries before +I finally plunged under. As it turned out, there was plenty of +room--fully twenty feet clearance between the bottom of the bridge +and the water. My dream was to loop around that bridge, but for some +reason I never did. No guts, I guess, or maybe I had a little sense, +at that. + +These were rare diversionary moments in a rigid schedule of work +and study. Mostly we flew in formation under strict observation. We +advanced steadily in our profession, on the ground and in the air, +learning about engines and propellers, navigation, night flying, +bombing, gunnery, and the niceties of being a Naval officer. I +learned one special discipline. On the night before a special +check-flight, I would mentally fly the complete trip from take-off +to landing, going through every motion of the controls and relating +the movement of the plane to the geography. At Edwards many years +later I was still able to commit a complicated experimental airplane +flight to memory the night before flight. This left my mind free to +concentrate not so much on flying but on gathering the aeronautical +data we sought. + +In December, 1942, one year after Pearl Harbor, we graduated as +ensigns and full-fledged pilots. I had just turned twenty-one. Of +the twenty-five men who were commissioned that day twenty-three got +orders to the fleet. Two drew orders to remain at Corpus Christi as +flight instructors. I was one of the two. At the time it seemed the +blackest day of my life. I partially offset my deep disappointment +by thinking that I had been selected for the job because I was an +outstanding pilot. But I am sure they just picked my name out of a +hat. I came to this conclusion when I saw what poor pilots some of +the instructors were. + +For six weeks I attended a school to learn how to be an instructor +in advanced bombing and gunnery, then I was assigned to Kingsville +Naval Air Station--a desolate outlying field. There I soon learned +that instructors are not the infallible monarchs I had considered +them when I was a cadet. Instructors are men like all other men, +full of imperfections, contradictions, and uncertainties. Most of us +were very young--twenty-one or twenty-two. We lived in dirty BOQs, +engaged in seemingly endless cycles of new students, parties, poker +games, graduation, new students, parties, poker games, graduation, +new students, and so on. The pace we kept would defy all aero-medical +studies on pilot fatigue--especially my own. I slept hardly at all. I +flew probably four and sometimes six flights a day, with occasional +time off during brief periods of bad weather. I never missed an +assigned flight. + +The second stage of infantilism in an airplane comes when the pilot +learns aerial acrobatics and can be sure of a captive audience. As +instructors we had such an audience in our students. One sure way +to get a rise was to make a series of barrel rolls around a tight +formation of student airplanes. This was one of my specialties until +one of the new instructors, a former student of mine, tried to +imitate it. Evidently he had not first practiced the maneuver behind +the student formation. He miscalculated and smashed into a student +plane, killing himself, the student, and another student in the +rear seat. After that, I was far more conservative in the air when +students were around. + +I don’t mean to overdramatize this incident. Death is the handmaiden +of the pilot. Sometimes it comes by accident, sometimes by an act of +God. Over the years I have tried to become calloused about death. +This attitude began at Corpus. Twelve out of the sixteen members of +my original class at Seattle were eventually killed in airplanes. +Hundreds of students, many of whom I knew well, passed through Corpus +to a quick death in the Pacific. Eleven men in my training squadron +were killed at Corpus. Indeed, come to think of it, three-quarters of +all the pilots I ever knew are now dead. + +There was a camaraderie among the instructors, and a sharp sense +of competition. Teaching bombing and gunnery week in and week out +eventually turned us into pros. One reason was that we shot and +bombed far more than anyone else, including pilots in combat. When a +new class reported in, we instructors began with a “demonstration” +of bombing and gunnery, each with a student in the back seat of the +plane. For us this was a moment of high drama. Instructor was pitted +against instructor. We laid huge money bets for high score. In our +eagerness to win we very nearly drove our planes into the ground or +into the target sleeves. It must have been quite an indoctrination +for the students. Some of them resigned after the demonstration +flight. + +We felt pretty good about our gunnery records until “Bogie” Hoffmann, +a senior Navy pilot, came up from DeLand, Florida. A mustang from +the famed Fighting 2 off the Lexington, Hoffmann, with Captain John +(“Jimmy”) Thach, had developed a new gunnery technique. It was +astounding in its simplicity and it greatly improved our scores. +Alongside Hoffmann we instructors, supposedly the pros, felt like +amateurs. I made every effort to hitch a ride in the back seat of +Hoffmann’s plane when he made a demonstration. I strove to imitate +him. The results were gratifying. From that point on, I met few men +in the Navy who could seriously challenge me in aerial gunnery, but +I could never touch Hoffmann’s shooting. + +Flying over Corpus shepherding my flocks amid the hundreds of planes +milling about, both in daylight and at night, and with a near-crisis +every ten minutes, I learned the value of stern discipline in the +air. Too often in times of trouble I witnessed tragedies which could +have been averted had the participants remained at least outwardly +cool. Too many times I heard people shouting conflicting advice--and +orders--into radio circuits. I saw then the advantage of my father’s +detached, emotionless attitude. I deliberately emulated it, striving +never to raise my voice but to take positive command in times of +emergency and do what I thought was right. Some people--those who +knew only this calculated glacial exterior--thought I was a cold +fish. No matter. The technique paid off. + +One day, for example, I was leading a group of my students on a “tail +chase”--a sort of follow-the-leader of aerial acrobatics, including +loops, rolls, Cuban Eights, chandelles--the works. Somehow one of the +pilots fell out of place and the prop of his plane chewed into the +tail of the plane in front of him. The first word I had of impending +catastrophe was a blast on the radio: + +“Jones. Land immediately. Your tail is chopped off.” + +The first thought of inexperienced aviators who get into trouble is +to get back to earth quickly. They get down low only to find out the +plane is no good and it is too late to bail out. The proper course is +to keep all possible altitude until someone can find out how badly +the airplane is damaged. I broke in on the radio circuit, my voice +deliberately held low: + +“Jones. Remain at your present altitude until we check your airplane.” + +Jones started to argue back. + +“Shut up,” I said calmly. + +I moved in and took a look at his plane. Quite a bit of the tail was +missing. + +“Head for base,” I ordered. + +I flew alongside, coaching him through gentle maneuvers to feel out +the plane. One of these showed that if he slowed to ordinary landing +speed, the plane would not fly. If he had followed the first advice +on the radio, he would have been killed. + +“Okay,” I said. “You land that plane about ten or fifteen knots above +normal speed.” + +Just then someone else broke in and radioed the base tower: + +“We’ve got a crash coming in! Emergency! Emergency!” + +This yelling only served to rattle the pilot of the stricken plane. +Holding back my rage, I spoke on the radio: + +“Defer the emergency. We don’t need any special equipment. Jones, +remember to land fast.” + +The pilot landed the plane, saving his own life and a piece of +expensive government equipment. Experiences like these drove home +the lesson never to permit foolish, though well-meant, interference +to supplant a pilot’s responsibility in the air. The lesson is +documented by a long roll of dead pilots. + +As the months rolled on the flying was hard, endless, and gratifying. +Life in the BOQ at night was soft, endless, and boring. Night after +night we gathered in one room or another and drank until the bottle +was empty, hangar-flying and telling endless, untrue sea stories. +I tried correspondence courses to pass the time, but the insidious +magnetism of that fun-loving bunch of troops shot down that effort. +It did not take keen observation to see this was not doing some of +us any good. In a few it was reflected by poor flying which made +me wonder about my own flying. Here I would not compromise in the +slightest--this nonsense had to stop. I had to get off that circus +wagon. + +I was engaged to a twenty-two-year-old girl from Seattle named Alice +Knoph, a beautiful blonde who worked as a long-distance telephone +operator. I met Alice on a double date back in the days when I worked +at the Boeing plant. She was a vivacious Nordic type with a talent +for singing, and she quickly became the delight of my life. She was +engaged to a friend of mine, a picture I was determined to change. On +our first date I told Alice I would marry her some day. She laughed, +but six months later she was wearing my ring. Very sensibly we +decided not to marry until the war was over. + +But one day in April, 1943, I called Alice on the telephone and +asked her to come down to Corpus Christi and marry me. The call cost +$56.00, but this and the money I sent her for train fare was the +best investment I ever made. Her sudden answer to my call for help +naturally dismayed her family. But in the end they became reconciled. +Alice lost her luggage on the trip down. When we were married by a +Justice of the Peace in Corpus Christi she wore one of my shirts as a +blouse. A cab driver was best man. + +Alice and I rented an apartment in Corpus. Inevitably it became +a hang-out for my bachelor friends among the instructors. There +were too many parties. In that wartime atmosphere it was not quite +possible to avoid a party even if we wanted to, which was not always +the case. But when Alice came, it was as though I gained a balance +wheel. My entire outlook changed. + +I was always profoundly conscientious about my students. Slipshod +instruction in gunnery and bombing could cost a combat pilot his +life. But now I took on a new, voluntary chore. I became a specialist +at saving the pilots slated for wash-out--the imperfections of our +factory. In a way it was faintly comparable to my job at Boeing, when +I redesigned parts that would otherwise have been scrapped. + +I’m not certain just how or why I was moved to do this work. It may +have started one day when I learned that an entire flight of cadets +was about to be washed out. I looked into it and discovered that +their instructor was a former student of mine. Had some imperfection +in my own teaching caused this chain reaction? In any case, to my +regular flights I added hundreds of hours of overtime work with these +bruised pieces of fruit. To me this work, an attempt to mold these +wayward men and their machines into perfect fighting units, was the +most trying, and in some ways the most rewarding, of all. I tackled +the job with missionary-like zeal. + +Most of the work amounted to patient tutoring, simply building +confidence first, then teaching technique. Occasionally, however, it +was a matter of using common sense. I remember one case. The cadet +was an ex-theology student. He stopped at our apartment one morning +after church. + +“Mr. Crossfield,” he said. “What can I do? I don’t want to give up.” + +He came in and sat down while Alice rustled up some coffee. This +was a very sad case. The cadet had been before three different +boards. Each board failed him. For some reason he simply could not +make precision landings, which were crucial to flying on and off an +aircraft carrier. + +While we sat waiting I looked at him, trying with him to ferret out +his lack. Then I noticed his legs. They were the shortest I had ever +seen on a man. An idea flashed in my mind. + +“Can your feet reach the rudder pedals?” I asked. + +“Yes, sir,” he said. But as I thought about it and mentally measured +his legs in the cockpit, I knew he wasn’t being completely frank. He +probably reached the pedals, but with difficulty. + +“Tell you what you do,” I said. “I’ll get you another flight and +tomorrow when you go up I want you to put a pad--_two_ pads--behind +your back. This will bring you forward and closer to the rudder bars.” + +Next day the student flew with two pads behind his back. From then on +the precision landing was a cinch. It was that simple, after over two +hundred hours of apparently indifferent instruction. The flying board +reversed its decision and he went on to fight in the Pacific. I don’t +know what happened to him. + +The best way to learn anything thoroughly, I believe, is to teach +the subject to others. This is no new thought: college professors +and scientists have known it for centuries. With each new student +you begin all over, retracing the same fundamental course, each +time exposed to a fresh, inquiring, and often challenging mind, and +sometimes superlative ability. During my eighteen months at Corpus I +logged 1,400 hours of single-engine time. Thus in one sense I learned +to fly a thousand times, repeating the same familiar steps over and +over and over, but each time adding a little knowledge and polish. + +I think that this single tour of duty, more than anything else, honed +my flying to a point of near-perfection. + + + + +CHAPTER 10 ► + + _No Penalty for Being Late_ + + +The last fourteen months of my active Navy service amounted to a +determined but futile endeavor to get to war. This crazy-quilt +travelogue took me from Corpus Christi to Jacksonville, Florida, +back across the country to San Diego, to Seattle, to Klamath +Falls, to Seattle, to Pasco, to Arlington, to Seattle, to Hawaii, +to Philadelphia, to Norfolk, and back again to Seattle. Along the +way, intense operational training improved and broadened my flying +considerably. + +The rat race began in September, 1944, when at last I was sprung from +my duties as instructor in gunnery and bombing at Corpus and issued +orders to the fleet. I was told to report to the Naval Air Training +Center in Jacksonville, Florida, for a brief operational transition +course. Alice and I packed our worldly belongings in our 1940 Mercury +and set out. When I reached the new base and checked in, I was again +forced to acknowledge that the Navy was not run for my express +benefit. I had drawn an assignment to dive bombers. + +To a fighter pilot, being a fighter pilot is very important. Fighters +are the _avant garde_, the lancers, the agile fencing foils of +the fleet, the spearhead of offense and defense in any pitched +air-and-sea battle. The forte of the fighter pilot is individuality, +perhaps erroneously, but nevertheless romantically, inspired by two +wars. I had connived to be assigned to fighters when I was a cadet +at Corpus Christi. With mixed feelings of adherence to duty and +instructions, I decided to try again to bend the course of events +more to my inclinations. If I didn’t try, I thought as a salve to my +feelings, what a waste of two years of intensive training! + +“Can’t I get fighter orders?” I asked the officer at the desk. + +“We don’t have any fighter-plane orders,” he said. + +“Well, in that case, consider me on leave.” I had about twenty-two +days coming, as I had foregone leave since I was commissioned. My +thought was to postpone my reporting date until some fighter orders +came in. Alice and I rented a cottage on Jacksonville Beach. Each day +for three weeks I drove eighty miles to the Naval Base to see whether +any fighter orders had arrived. + +During this time--it was October 20, 1944, to be precise, and I +don’t know why I remember the specific date because I remember few +others--a hurricane struck the beach where we were living. This +incredible unleashing of nature’s power was without doubt the most +impressive thing I have ever seen in my life. The pounding sea +ripped up the concrete seawall and stove in cottages. It swept over +automobiles, including ours. I tried to save it, and others besides, +feverishly working on the drowned-out engines while the wind-driven +rain pelted me like BB shot. It was useless. I pushed the Mercury +against a fence which I hoped would prevent the car from drifting out +to sea. Then Alice and I caught the last Coast Guard rescue truck, +which took us to a brick schoolhouse in an emergency housing area for +the displaced people. Before that storm hit us I never quite realized +the awesome force the earth has cached in its storehouses. When this +model of perfection goes awry it is a sight to behold. Against this +force man’s efforts seem feeble indeed. + +Against the U. S. Navy this man’s efforts were feeble, too. I was +assigned to dive bombers, along with eleven other instructors from +Corpus. Our instructor was a Marine and a wonderful aviator. He +greeted us thus: “Boys, bombing is my business. If any of you want to +put a little money on the bombing competition, I’ll be glad to match +it.” Without telling him we had been bombing instructors too, we all +laid bets. Dive bombing turned out to be far easier than the glide +bombing we were doing in Texas every day for eighteen months. We won +in a walk. The result was really to our benefit. In the strange way +that a competent pilot shows his respect for other competent pilots, +our instructor worked us night and day with no quarter, and gave us, +rather than a transition, a post-graduate course in the finer points +of dive-bombing tactics. + +As a result of my desire to be a fighter pilot, I found my rear-seat +man an annoyance through no fault of his own. To this day I find +it hard to justify a flight crew of more than one in almost any +airplane. The additional crew encumbers the pilot and compromises the +performance of the airplane with added weight and duplication. Most +of the new rear-seat men remembered all the horror stories they heard +in training school about target fixation on a dive. So whether the +pilot liked it or not, the men insisted on calling out the altitudes +during the dive. The only cure for this was for the pilot to recover +at such high G that the rear-seat man blacked out. Sooner or later +he’d get the point. But my man stumped me. He never gave up. Once I +dived almost into the ground and pulled out viciously. On the way +down the rear-seat man called the altitudes: “10,000 ... 5,000 ... +2,000 ... 1,500 ... 1,200 ... 1,000 ... 800....” And from there on +I was blacked out. Coming to in the climb, I could almost hear him +shaking off the blackout, foggily picking up where he left off, +calling altitude as we _climbed_. I gave up. + +A few weeks later came the last straw. Sometimes on our flights we +carried aloft a three-pound bag of powdered gilt-paint pigment. If +the usual floating targets were engaged by other flights, we tossed +the bag of paint out of the cockpit. When it splashed into the +ocean, it spread out and made a good substitute target. I handed my +rear-seat man the paint bag and told him to drop it if and when I so +instructed. + +It was an unforgettable take-off. By regulation we kept the +greenhouse canopy open, and the cockpit was always very windy. About +midway down the runway my rear-seat man got curious and opened the +bag. Then he dropped it. The bag burst. The rushing wind caught the +powdered paint and swirled it through the cockpit--a regular blizzard +of gold. I was almost blinded. The gold flecks coated everything, +including our faces and hands, sticking to the oil film that usually +covered us on those flights. I cleared my eyes somehow and landed. +The cockpit, the instruments, everything--and both of us--were +beautifully gold-plated El Dorados. Weeks went by before I got all +the flecks out of my hair. Incidents like this strengthened my desire +for the lonesome fighter cockpit. + +Fate intervened favorably. After a couple of months, I was ordered +to report to San Diego for fleet orders--without my rear-seat man. I +packed the car again and we set off cross-country. Alice was about +two months pregnant. + +We were leaving Shreveport the next morning when suddenly I recalled +all the stories I had heard at Corpus about the bigness of the State +of Texas. “I’m going to cross Texas the long way in one day,” I said +to Alice. It was 986 miles to El Paso. We made it, but the cost was +high. A little further along, in New Mexico, Alice had a miscarriage. + +My orders required me to report in “on or before” a certain day that +January of 1945. Time was short. If I took Alice to a hospital I +would have to leave her there alone in New Mexico, an unthinkable +desertion. But I knew the long drive remaining would be dangerous for +her. Trying to make the best of an impossible situation, we decided +to push on as rapidly as possible to leave Alice in the care of my +sister, Elena Ruth, who lived near Los Angeles. + +I drove on swiftly, without sleep, completing the cross-country +drive from Jacksonville to Los Angeles in eighty-eight hours. +When we reached my sister’s house, Alice was very ill. She almost +died. It was a sobering lesson for a young man. I made up my mind +then that no matter what challenge loomed in my life I would never +tackle it at the risk of involving her or anyone else. I would go it +alone--all the way. From that time on, Alice, with my encouragement, +drew a protective cocoon around her life. She never inquired about +what new Mount Everest I might be scaling, and in fact until she +read this book she had little idea of the flying at Edwards. I’ve +pointedly ignored it, both with her and the children. I’ve lived in +two different worlds: in hers with our family, and in the world of +my other love, aviation. This separation is a boon. It removes the +insidious and encumbering influence of expressed day-to-day concern +so common in the lives of pilots. And to some degree--to a great +degree, I hope--it has spared her the anguish of waiting for the +telephone call so many of her friends have received when their men +bought the farm. + +When I was certain Alice was in good hands, I raced on to San Diego, +reporting in twenty minutes before the deadline. + +Good news was waiting for me at the end of that mad journey. When I +got there, the last man to report, some of the other pilots had been +assigned to dive bombers, torpedo planes, and so on. But at the very +last minute a request came through for a few fighter pilots for Air +Group 37, based in the Seattle area, of all places. I snatched up the +orders and hurried north to Seattle, then to Klamath Falls, Oregon. +As soon as she was well, Alice joined me. + +We had time to visit with her family and to spend a few days on the +farm in Boistfort Valley. I found my father and mother--like most +farmers during the war--short-handed but more prosperous. My father’s +research and diligence were bringing handsome returns. He was laying +plans to build a modern barn with an automatic milking line, and to +buy new power tools and tractors. + +He was reconciled to my chosen profession by then, but he openly +urged me to do more. “A pilot,” he said, “is nothing more than a +glorified chauffeur. Use your skill and talent in flying as a tool to +help accomplish something lasting and significant for mankind.” + +From Air Group 37 at Klamath Falls I was re-assigned to Air Group +51 at Seattle. We recommissioned that famed squadron and moved to +Pasco, Washington. Air Group 51 prepared for war. We flew morning, +noon, and night. Our skipper, Commander William Lamb, an Annapolis +graduate, was one of the ablest men I have ever met. He rated others +strictly by performance. Although I was a senior lieutenant, with +many more flying hours than most of the pilots, I flew last man +Charlie until I proved to him in the air that I knew what I was +about. After that he assigned me to command a division. All Naval +officers must assume a collateral duty, and as I had been with every +squadron, I was assigned as an Engineering Officer. When we changed +a wing, or conducted a major overhaul of an airplane, it was my job +to take the plane into the air for the first test hop, to make sure +it had been put back together properly. This was not flight-test +work in its purest sense, but as close as I could come. I took keen +satisfaction in squeezing longer life from some of those tired old +birds and tried to keep them in near-perfect mechanical order, just +as I did my automobile. + +One man I especially admired in that outfit was a boot ensign named +Smith. He was a natural hunter like Sergeant York, or Gabreski, or +Chuck Yeager. No matter how hard I tried--and I went full-bore--he +could always top my score in aerial gunnery. He was eventually +transferred to another outfit, but of all the men I knew in the Navy +this Ensign Smith stands out in my memory like a sore thumb--or an +unscaled Mount Everest. I don’t know what ever happened to him. + +We were scheduled to ship out on the aircraft carrier Cabot, but she +broke a shaft, so our Group sailed to Hawaii, planeless, on an LSV +that burned out a bearing and so proceeded at a top speed of six +knots. It was one of the longest voyages of the war, I’m sure. The +ship was crowded with aviators and soldiers. I remember it as one +long Acey-Deucy tournament, which in the end I lucked out and won +(the pot was $28.00). In Hawaii we were assigned to the aircraft +carrier Langley and given brand-new, 400-mile-an-hour F6F airplanes. + +And that was as close as I came to the war. In Hawaii we moved +down to the island of Maui and for several months trained with +the Second Marine Division, preparing for the invasion of Japan. +The training was quite realistic, with live ammo and bombs. We +were assigned a specific landing point on the coast of Japan, and +on Maui we practiced our invasion role on terrain similar to it. +Then the scientists unlocked the power of the atom and ended the +war. We boarded the Langley, lashed down our planes, and steamed +to Philadelphia via the Panama Canal. We based in Philadelphia for +a few weeks at Mustin Field. From there we moved to Norfolk for +decommissioning. Alice had been waiting on the farm ever since I +shipped off to Hawaii. + +For a while I considered remaining in the Navy after the war. It had +many appeals for me. I met some of the finest men in my life in the +Navy. It was a good life if you approached it from the right point +of view in the right frame of mind. It was an opportunity to do my +country a service in my chosen endeavor. The Naval Air Test Center at +Patuxent River, Maryland, where new Navy planes are flight-tested, +had just opened up, and I thought of applying for a test pilot’s job +there. In fact I talked to Commander Lamb about it at length. He +gave me little encouragement to buck the Academy men and those with +technical training with my “trade school” background. I decided then +to return to college for a sound engineering education. I was well +grounded in aviation, but too many people, such as Commander Lamb, +clearly held an advantage over me. If I had known then that the Navy +would send many of its officers to college after the war to obtain +engineering degrees, I might have stayed on and thus avoided the +tight financial squeeze that soon followed. + +A lunatic episode, the maddest race of all, climaxed my Navy career. +I’m not certain how it began. I think that the separating officer +at Norfolk resented reservists who were deserting the Navy. “Okay,” +he said, “we’ll separate you in Seattle, the point closest to your +home, and fast, too. You’re due at the separation center there not +‘on or about’ but ‘on or before’ five days from now. You’ll have no +transportation priority.” + +“But how do you expect me to get to Seattle in five days with +no priority?” I asked. It was November 1, 1945, and the entire +transportation system of the nation was staggering under the load of +returning servicemen. Without a priority commercial airlines were +out of the question. All military airplanes were jammed. Trains were +packing people in like sardines and running days behind schedule. + +“That’s your problem,” the officer said. He handed me my orders. + +This return trip to Seattle suddenly and curiously emerged as a great +game. I don’t know why. I guess it was because the officer implied +that I could never make it. _All right, I thought, if that’s the way +it is, that’s the way it is. And I’m not about to report in late +for the first time in my Naval career and spoil a perfect record._ +I packed a few clean clothes in a suitcase, sealed and shipped my +foot-lockers (which arrived months later), and set off. + +From beginning to end the trip was insane. I left Norfolk on a train, +standing in the aisle. We chugged north for a thousand years and then +south for another thousand, then east, I think it was, and finally +arrived in Washington, D. C., which is about a hundred miles from +Norfolk--fourteen minutes by fighter plane. I made up my mind right +then that I would get back on a train only as a last resort, after +trying a mule. Incidentally, I still feel that way about trains. I +checked in at Military Operations in Washington and by great luck got +a hop almost immediately to Olathe, Kansas. I waited patiently there +for a ride farther west, or north, or northwest, but the few planes +that came through were jammed with priority passengers. The time was +ticking by rapidly. + +When I heard that I might have better luck in Chicago, I wormed my +way on board a military plane going there. In Chicago I felt richer: +I was now far ahead of the train. I could have boarded a train in +Chicago that day and made it to Seattle with ease. But the thought of +that prolonged trip was enough to make me gamble. Heavier air traffic +was moving across the South so I jumped on another military airplane +and wound up in Fort Worth, Texas. This move put me _behind_ the +train schedule. I had to make it by air, or else.... + +In Fort Worth I waited. Without a priority it seemed hopeless. But +luck is where you find it. I discovered very late that night that +the Naval officer dispatching people on the airplanes was an old +student of mine from Corpus Christi days. As a favor to a buddy, he +stamped my orders with the lowest possible priority. Still it _was_ a +priority and it moved me ahead of about a hundred people in the line. +Hurrying now, for I was far behind the train schedule, I scrambled +aboard a plane heading for Oakland, California, with an intermediate +stop in Phoenix, Arizona. If I didn’t get bumped in Phoenix, I knew I +had it made. + +I got bumped in Phoenix. I then had less than twenty-four hours to +make it to Seattle. + +I paced the floor of the waiting room. The clock ticked on. Then +a minor miracle happened. Completely unexpected, an airplane came +through Phoenix headed for San Francisco. It was an old R4-D, +converted to a hospital plane, manned by a flight crew and a staff of +male and female nurses, flying back and forth between the East and +West coasts, hauling the wounded to hospitals in the East and caring +for them along the way. They were returning for more. I have never +seen people so dead tired. I don’t think any of them had slept in a +bed for a month. Yet they immediately turned their thoughts to my +comfort. They gave me a sleeping bag, some hot coffee, and a ride to +San Francisco. This little touch of humanity made me feel like a new +man. Moreover, this hop to the Coast made up much lost time and put +me ahead of the train again. + +In San Francisco I boarded an Air Force plane bound for Seattle. As +fate would have it, just then some luckless pilot drove an airplane +into a mountain nearby. The plane I was on was diverted from its +destination to help in the search for survivors. They dropped me off +at the end of the world--Medford, Oregon. I might have made it to +Seattle by train yet--a ten-hour trip--but having come that close, I +refused to give up, although I was getting pretty tired at this point +and was badly in need of a bath and clean clothes. + +The next morning I met an Air Force colonel who had flown down to +Medford in a B-17 bringing a ground rescue crew. At that moment he +was debating with himself whether to return in heavy weather to his +base at McChord Field, Tacoma, about thirty miles south of Seattle. +I got into the debate, urging that the weather wasn’t so bad and that +he return to McChord with me as his passenger. At about three in the +afternoon we took off into a raging snowstorm. I sat shivering in the +plexiglass nose turret. + +When we got to Tacoma about dusk the snowstorm was still in +full fury. I think the Colonel would have sought another field +then--probably _any_ pilot would have--except for the expression on +my face which plainly said: “It doesn’t look so bad to me.” Coming +from a Naval aviator, it was a challenge to this Air Force type, +perhaps. He lowered the gear and we threaded our way up the river +through the storm groping--and I do mean groping--for McChord Field. +It was dark and snowing hard when we landed. The runway lights were +on, the tower was manned, but otherwise there was not a soul to be +seen. No jeep came out to the plane; hell, the weather was too lousy. + +My clock was running out. Without so much as a “thank you” to the +Colonel, I plowed through the deep snow to a road where I hitched a +ride in a truck that happened along. The truck dropped me at the base +gate. I then moved out onto the main highway and thumbed a ride--I +believe it took two rides--to Seattle. I arrived at the Processing +Center at eleven o’clock that night, one hour before my deadline, +November 6, 1945. + +I have recounted these last days and hours of my active Naval service +in some detail for special reasons. For one thing, the recollection +of that trip has always astonished and amused me, especially the +way those Florence Nightingales just happened along in Phoenix in +the hospital plane and took pity on a forlorn traveler engaged in a +restless, disjointed journey, a crazy race against time. That was +the dénouement of the trip; that hop really let me win. And to those +people, whose names I cannot recall, I shall be forever grateful. +Another thing: I think this screwball tale tells a lot about the +workings of the feeble clot of gray matter which I call my mind. + +I should close this account by adding the significant fact that there +would have been no penalty whatsoever if I had arrived late. Even a +couple or three days late. + + + + +CHAPTER 11 ► + + _How Dark the Clouds_ + + +During my four years at the University of Washington in Seattle after +World War II, I kept strong ties with Naval aviation. In early 1946 I +helped organize a reserve squadron, VF-74, a group of mature “Weekend +Warriors.” The pilots were experienced aviators, mostly married men +and veterans of the war. Under Navy supervision we trained hard to +achieve a high degree of readiness, prepared for instant mobilization +in the event the nation went to war again. We flew drills two days +a month and spent two weeks on active Navy duty every year. Our +squadron was consistently among the leaders in Naval reserve gunnery +scores, but we could never claim a trophy because our maverick pilots +were indifferent to paperwork. For me personally, my tour with this +hard-flying outfit provided not only the most rewarding moments in +the air but also in one instance the most humiliating. + +The rewarding moments came during the months and months of weekend +flights around Seattle. Our squadron was furnished a mixed bag of +F6F and F4U Corsair airplanes, leftovers from World War II requiring +constant maintenance. After the Navy demobilized, funds were scarce +for reserve squadrons and thus our operations were run on a +tight-fisted basis. One result was that we pilots could not shift +around, checking out in different airplanes. I was an F6F pilot, +restricted to that type of airplane. This annoyed me. The Corsair was +considered something of a flying challenge, a fairly unstable plane, +quick to stall and difficult to recover from a spin, but none the +less a superior gun platform. I longed to master that beast and at +the same time possibly improve my gunnery score. + +One day while I was waiting in the operations office for my airplane +assignment, the officer detailing the airplanes piped up: “Hey, I +need a Corsair pilot.” It happened that at that moment there were +none around. + +“Put me down,” I called. I had been waiting for just such a chance. +It never occurred to this officer to ask me if I were checked out +in the plane. He neatly printed “Crossfield” on the blackboard in a +space alongside the number of the airplane. + +In a way, airplanes are like women, that is to say impossible to +understand fully, and often ticklish to handle. It takes a little +time to get to know them, to find out how and to what they respond. +Some must be manipulated by fingertips, with infinite finesse, others +must be pushed around like trucks. Some forgive the pilot’s sins; +some don’t. The Corsair was very nearly inscrutable. She was hard +to figure, slightly forgiving, and she required a great deal of +attention. + +I found this out under extraordinary circumstances. Soon after my +name appeared on the board, I took off with five other planes. The +flight had moved out so quickly I had time only to glance briefly +at the airplane handbook in the cockpit. The flight leader was in a +frisky mood. When we reached altitude he whipped the formation into +the damnedest tail chase I have ever been in. I found myself in that +totally strange airplane doing Cuban Eights, loops, barrel rolls, +chandelles, and the Lord knows what else. Only a pilot can fully +appreciate this situation, I suppose. Locked in that crazy ride, with +one plane twenty feet ahead of me and another twenty feet behind, +I really sweated. I thought to myself: “You damned fool. How’d you +ever get into this?” But I wasn’t about to pull out, to admit that I +couldn’t hack it. + +The Crossfield luck rode with me that day. I sinned, but the Corsair +was in a forgiving mood. There was no mid-air collision. The whole +flight came down alive and landed. From that point on I was a Corsair +man and glad of it. My gunnery score improved. Much later someone +noticed that my paperwork was not in order for that plane. But it was +too late then and the fact was overlooked. The outfit was an action +squadron. + +Our squadron skipper was Commander William Flateboe, a married man +a little older than I, twenty-nine or so. We had served together at +Corpus as instructors. When he was an ensign at Corpus, Flateboe was +one of the wildest flat-hatters in Texas, a champion windmiller. When +we organized the Reserve squadron, he was as conservative in the air +as an airline pilot. But as the weeks and months dragged on, both +he and I became restless and bored in the air and a second stage of +infantile flat-hatting set in. I think I must have logged fifty hours +flying below the rim of the Columbia River gorge. + +In the midst of this flat-hatting renaissance, the thought struck +me that we ought to legalize our flat-hatting. Thus was born the +13th Naval District Stunt Team, which in time became one of the best +aerial stunt teams in the country, and we felt, of course, that it +was _the_ best. There were four of us on the team: Flateboe, the +“slot” man, Lou Colvin, a wingman, and an ensign named Bill Helsell, +my usual wingman; I was the leader. The really remarkable fact about +this stunt team was that we performed our precision formations in the +supposedly dangerous Corsair. + +Helsell was a fabulous aviator, one of the few men I have known whom +I completely trusted in the air. He was low on total flying hours, +and from a technical standpoint he knew and cared little or nothing +about airplanes, but he was a rare natural pilot. + +I first met him in a University car pool. He was the son of a Seattle +lawyer. He studied engineering at Yale, achieving a straight A +record; then he switched to law at the University of Washington, +graduating cum laude. He was a dour-faced lad, outwardly a cynic and +cold as ice. But that was a mask; he displayed many a kindness but +feigned annoyance at the necessity. + +Formation stunt flying, to my mind, is the quintessence of +precision, and beyond any doubt it requires much skill and intense +concentration. All four planes, tucked in as tight as we could get +them without scraping paint, flew through the air as though locked +together by invisible steel bars. As the leader, I guided the team. +The other three planes flew “on me,” adjusting speed in minute +increments, always keeping their eyes fixed on my plane. If I looped, +they looped in unison. If I rolled, they rolled in unison. If I +pulled a Cuban Eight, they pulled Cuban Eights in unison. Had I flown +straight into the ground, they would have flown straight in with me +in unison. + +I set a hard pace. Striving for perfection and developing a flair +for showmanship, which is the ultimate goal of most stunt teams, +we worked at our drills at altitude. When we flew them cold, we +performed right on the deck, a wingspan above the ground. We were +soon very much in demand for various events. We felt that even in our +aging Corsairs we could show the Regular Navy Blue Angels in their +Bearcats a thing or two. + +The original team did not last long. Flateboe was the first to go. +Something had been eating away at him. One weekend evening while +working at the base on some papers, he got up and said: “To hell with +it.” He jumped in an airplane and set a course to rendezvous with one +of the squadron flights on a training exercise out over the Strait of +Juan de Fuca. Flateboe overhauled the flight at great speed and wound +his plane into a gigantic barrel-roll around the formation. That was +the last anyone ever saw of him. He evidently dived straight into the +water. Later Colvin dropped out, leaving Helsell and me to carry on. + +A subtle shift in emphasis then took place. Showmanship became +secondary, the spectators unimportant. The stunt team changed into a +delightful, though perhaps dangerous, aerial contest between two very +competitive pilots. All attempts to make Helsell cry “uncle” failed. +This contest reached its peak one day in Astoria, Oregon. I pulled +out of a giant loop not more than twenty feet above the ground, +screaming across the airport at 350 miles an hour. A tower, part of +an adjoining skeet range, loomed in our path, dead ahead. I bore +on, casually lifting my wing to clear the tower in the last second. +Locked in beside me, Helsell skillfully followed my maneuver, never +once batting an eyelash. + +“_That_ ought to scare you,” I radioed. + +“You’ll have to do better than that, Dad,” Helsell replied. + +There was a professional stunt team, a barnstorming outfit complete +with wing-walkers and a delayed-parachute performer, giving a show +on the same field that day. After we landed, the leader of this team +came up to me and said: “Hey, fellow. Do us a favor, will you? Will +you please stay away from the fields where we’re working? You’ll put +us out of business.” + +I considered that one of the finest compliments ever paid us, but the +man had no cause for worry. Helsell and I soon put ourselves out of +business. One day during a regatta on Lake Washington, I led Helsell +through a low-altitude formation roll over a crowd watching the crew +races. Such a maneuver was routine to us then (we had logged five +hundred hours of precision-stunt-flying), although by CAA regulations +illegal. Probably a hundred amateur movie cameras caught the act. The +13th Naval District received a mass complaint shortly afterwards and +restricted us to an altitude minimum of 1,000 feet. + +“Hell,” I said, “at 1,000 feet it’s no fun.” + +“I know,” the Old Man said, “but that’s an order.” He abruptly ended +the conversation. And with that the stunt team folded. + +Working with that team, working that fine artistry in Corsairs, was +one of the most rewarding periods in the air I have ever experienced. +Every second of each maneuver was a supreme satisfaction, a delight +akin to playing fine music. + +With me the bad always comes with the good. The most humiliating +experience I had in an airplane occurred during a routine drill with +VF-74. The fact that I was a party to this fiasco has stuck like +a lance in my side ever since. It seemed impossible that our fine +outfit could pull such a blooper. It began one day while we were on +two weeks’ active duty, flying out of Sand Point. + +It seems that the Naval Reserve unit in land-locked Denver, Colorado, +was having difficulty in stirring up public interest and getting +recruits. Someone conceived a grandiose plan: our whole air group, +including VF-74, some twenty-five fighters and fifteen torpedo +planes, would fly to Denver en masse and land amid contrived hoopla +and press coverage. As a good-will gesture and public relations +stunt, we would bring along an ice-packed salmon caught that same +day in Puget Sound and present it to the mayor of Denver. Afterwards +there would be a big official dinner party, more hoopla, and finally +a gay time for us on the town, we hoped. We packed our smartest +uniforms and took off. + +Disaster struck the torpedo planes flying in separate formation. +Caught in a bad storm, they were forced to land on a field in Helena, +Montana, in a stiff ninety-degree crosswind. The long crosswind taxi +of these cumbersome birds burned out the downwind brakes on several +of the planes. With no brakes the planes were finished, grounded. The +salmon, a key item in the good-will gesture, was on board one of the +torpedo planes. It never left Helena. + +The remaining airplanes, our twenty-five fighters, first ran into +trouble at Ogden, Utah, when we landed to refuel. Fifteen of us took +off without difficulty, but the engine of the sixteenth plane conked +out on the narrow taxiway, blocking the remaining nine planes. They +could not get into the air until the disabled plane was towed out of +the way. The fifteen of us waited at altitude for a quarter of an +hour, then radioed that we were pushing on alone. After all, there +was a huge reception gathering at the Denver airport and we couldn’t +be late. No, sir. + +We were falling behind schedule now and our leader elected to +bypass the ordinary roundabout air routes and steer a direct +course for Denver, about four hundred miles away. This course +led us directly over the Continental Divide and some of the most +desolate, mountainous country in the world, which from 15,000 feet +had a remarkable sameness about it. I laid out a course on a chart +but, as was customary in fighters, let the flight commander do +the navigating. He miscalculated a compass heading and we drove +on, aiming considerably south of Denver, all of us thinking he had +reasons of his own for this course. + +After some time I was convinced that we were steering too far to the +south. The same feeling overcame the other thirteen pilots in our +formation. Suddenly the radio was alive with chatter and debate. The +skipper broke in and said: “If I’m right, then in four and a half +minutes we’ll pass over Waldron, Colorado.” Precisely four and a half +minutes later we passed over a town on the fork of a river which +resembled the plan of Waldron on the chart. There was an airfield on +the opposite bank which seemed to confirm positively the skipper’s +navigation. However, to make doubly sure, I peeled off and dived into +the valley to check the name on any available sign. I missed signs +but spotted a large “W” painted on the mountainside. It was Waldron, +all right, I thought. The skipper was correct. + +Actually we were over Gunnison, Colorado, considerably to the south +of Waldron. Gunnison, too, is located on the fork of a river with +an airfield on the opposite bank. The “W” on the mountainside had +nothing to do with Waldron. It was put there by the students of +Western State College in Gunnison. + +Led astray by this strange set of coincidences, we flew on following +the skipper, who predicted a second town lying ahead, Fort Collins. +Twenty seconds later a town passed beneath our wings. + +“We are now forty miles north of Denver,” the skipper said. “Close +into parade formation.” We pulled our planes together in neat +formation, following the highway straight into Denver, or so we +thought, then about ten minutes away. We flew and flew and flew. +Fifteen minutes passed, but no sign of Denver, no familiar big-city +haze, no gradual build-up of traffic on the highway, no increase in +housing. On the contrary, the countryside looked, if anything, more +desolate. Helsell, who usually had little to say, piped up sourly: +“I’m logging a strong Las Vegas, New Mexico, beam.” Now we were very +concerned. Time was ticking away. + +Again there was a confused debate on the radio. In the midst of it +we passed over still another small town. I peeled off and buzzed +it. The Rotary Club sign on the highway at the city limits read: +“Alamosa.” Alamosa? No one knew where this could be. It was off our +charts. Nine of our planes, low on fuel, pulled out of formation and +landed at Alamosa. + +I radioed my wingman, Bill Helsell: + +“Nuts. I’m going to find Denver. You want to come with me?” He did, +of course, so we cleared with the skipper and took off on our own, +fiddling with our radios, trying to pick up a station, any station. +Thunderstorms all around us gave little but static. + +Regretting now that I had not carefully tracked the skipper’s +navigating, I retraced our course from memory on my plotting board. +We had indeed come too far south and Denver lay to the northeast of +us. We flew in that direction. Soon we picked up Trinidad radio, +which I knew was south of Denver, but still off our charts. We +homed eastward on Trinidad and then turned due north, on course to +Denver at last. We picked up Pueblo radio beacon as expected. Homing +on Pueblo, we flew into a very black thunderhead full of rain and +lightning. In that weather we lost the Pueblo radio signal. Minutes +later we relocated ourselves by radio. We had passed Pueblo, which +was under the storm. We couldn’t see the ground. + +Long overdue in Denver, the authorities there became concerned about +us and sounded a disaster alert. They figured we had exhausted our +fuel. The Navy, the Civil Air Patrol, the Air National Guard, and the +Lord knows who else, took to the air in search of fifteen Navy planes +downed somewhere on the Continental Divide. The nine fighter planes +blocked on the runway in Ogden had finally made it, sans fish, to +Denver. There was great confusion at the airport over whether to wait +for the lost planes or begin the ceremonies with the nine pilots. + +Helsell and I were doing our damnedest--almost. Used to conserving +fuel, another of our private competitions, we were still in the air +looking for Denver. Every time we saw a house we zoomed down to see +if it held a clue. Convinced that Denver lay to the northeast, I made +one more attempt to find it. We flew northeast and came up over a +ridge right into the face of another black line of thunderheads. I +began to lose heart. It was almost dark, we had only a half-hour’s +fuel, the radios yielded only static. To plunge into that +thunderstorm flying blind, in the Rocky Mountains, with the distance +to Denver unknown, could be idiotic. + +“What do you think?” I radioed Helsell. + +“Do _you_ think we should turn back?” he answered. + +“Yes,” I said. + +“So do I.” + +And turn back we did, searching for the nearest airfield. At the +point of turning we were exactly twenty-three miles southwest of +Denver, or about six minutes by Corsair. The thunderstorm line was +thin and lying on the last ridge before the midwestern plains. +Denver was clear as a bell. If we had pressed on for six more +minutes, we would have landed, salvaging part of the day, heroes, +pride of the Navy. Instead we were bums. We landed on a mountainside +field--elevation 9700 feet--in a small town called Fairplay, +Colorado, and joined the skipper and three other pilots who had +followed the same course. + +When I found how close we had come, I was mortified. The next day +when we got to Denver, after the Navy sent a gasoline truck to refuel +us, I was even more mortified. Captain Greber flew down from Seattle +to chew us out. + +“I can understand the torpedo planes grounded in Helena, out of +commission,” Greber said. “I can understand one plane, or maybe two +planes, getting lost. By really stretching my imagination I can +conceive of maybe six planes getting lost together. But fifteen +airplanes, in largely clear weather on a four-hundred-mile flight! An +hour-and-a-half hop. It’s beyond belief.” + +He was right. It was the most incompetent, unprofessional, ridiculous +performance I had ever seen in the air, one that I could have +tempered if I had held to my convictions and not quit. Worse was the +fact that my decision also made Helsell look like a chump. + +This brilliant maneuver did little to boost recruiting in Denver, +but it brought VF-74 fame of a different sort in Navy circles. For me +it was a great personal lesson. Not once since then, either on land +or in the air, have I ever turned back from any course that I set +upon, no matter how dark the clouds that lay ahead. + + + + +CHAPTER 12 ► + + _A Short Man with Santa Claus Eyebrows_ + + +During my four years at the University of Washington, from 1946 to +1950, the free-thinking, curious, intellectual atmosphere was a +pleasure and a delight to me. I ate it up. Most of this time I held +firmly on my course, but there were brief interludes when I was +buffeted by contrary winds. Once, as I related at the beginning of +this account, I was ready to chuck it all to fly the Bell X-1 rocket +plane. On the opposite tack briefly, I seriously entertained the +idea of remaining at the University as a teacher. For a time, at the +University, my mind became overly absorbed in detail of theoretical +analysis. A man named Seeger reversed this trend and sent me on my +way. + +From the outset, my father warned me against becoming an academic +bum, an all-too-familiar figure on our college campuses. “Let’s be a +little careful here,” he said. “You don’t have the patience to be a +pure theoretician. Your inclinations are to see things grow out of +ideas and theory; you’re interested in things, pieces of hardware, +that you can feel with your hands, proofs of theory.” + +This may have been a calculated taunt; I’m not certain. In any case, +the remark stuck in my craw. It was a clear challenge, and it spurred +me into a pile-driving effort at the University. Over the gentle +protests of my academic adviser, I registered for an extraordinarily +heavy load of classes, with the full knowledge that I had mapped out +a grueling course of work and study. Since boyhood, long hours and +hard work were routine for me. Every course of my free choice was +“engineering,” applications of theory to adapt the things of nature +to man-made shape. + +Alice and I readjusted to an austere budget. My income dropped +drastically from Navy days, and we drew heavily on our savings to +bolster the GI Bill income of about $90 a month. We moved into a +microscopic apartment in a temporary wartime housing area. Here in +this space, decorated with a few sticks of furniture, I studied until +one or two every morning while Alice read or listened to the radio +through some earphones I had rigged. + +The earphones didn’t last long. Whenever anything funny was said on +the radio, Alice would naturally burst out in laughter. This was a +weird experience--to sit in a small room with somebody who laughs +periodically for reasons unknown. In time, rather than put up with +that, we chucked the earphones and I resorted to natural powers of +concentration. + +Our wants were quite modest and we purposely avoided the heavy social +life of the University campus, but the rising cost of living forced +me to seek part-time work. Alice, who found that the tiny apartment +left her with time to kill, returned to the telephone company and +took a job operating a small switchboard in the evenings while I +studied. My first part-time financial venture, a car-repair business, +was a flop. I enjoy working with my hands and tinkering with engines. +But I made an ill-timed bid to repair a fleet of company cars and +lost my shirt. After that I took the job in the University’s wind +tunnel at fifty cents an hour. + +From the outset I was completely fascinated by that job. A wind +tunnel is basic and fundamental. Here airplanes are born and grow to +perfection. Here the imperfections are discarded--at least, that is +the final objective. Here a man’s idea in miniature is tested against +the great forces and laws of nature. Here the airplane grows to life, +amid a thousand calculations and tests. + +The wind tunnel was for me a happy combination of study, theory, +model airplanes, wonderful machinery, and work. Not surprisingly, we +found that a pilot has a natural aptitude for wind-tunnel operations. +Several other pilots were on the staff. + +Our tunnel team, mostly World War II veterans such as Joe Tymczyszyn, +was a conscientious, energetic group. We devised new techniques to +increase the efficiency of the tunnel and, as a result, set new +records for operational speed and data output. The work was no +schoolboy drill. It cost a company about $1,500 a day to use the +tunnel. Company engineers were usually on hand when we ran the tests, +and for us students this contact with the men in the industry was +invaluable. In time I was promoted to Chief Operator of the tunnel +and my salary was raised accordingly. + +Older and wiser now, I retraced a path through two years of basic +college engineering. Then I advanced to my major, aeronautical +engineering. In spite of my heavy academic load and the part-time +work in the tunnel, I was so much in earnest that I was able to make +all A’s and B-pluses in my courses, graduating in June, 1949, with a +bachelor of science degree. I was elected to Tau Beta Pi and to Sigma +Xi, the honorary scholastic societies for science and engineering. My +father, a Sigma Xi, was surprised. + +Now ready to go on for my master’s degree, I was determined not to +hang around and be an “academic bum,” as my father so tersely put +it. I’d allow one school year, three quarters, not recommended, but +I felt it necessary to set a limit rather than mark time waiting +for an end point to appear. This may have been a mistake; my +responsibilities were growing. Our oldest daughter, Becky, was a year +old. Alice had left her job before Becky was born. After a few months +the hard pace began to tell. I was wearing down--but too stubborn +to admit it. My father got wind of this and stepped in. After +elaborate subterfuge to avoid “helping” me, he lent me money that +made it possible for me to give up all part-time work and concentrate +exclusively on my studies. I was very grateful and studied all the +harder. The loan meant that I could complete my course in three +quarters, as planned. + +The University of Washington graduate course in aeronautical +engineering is considered one of the best in the country. I found it +lacking in one important respect. I felt that too much emphasis was +placed on theory and philosophy and not enough emphasis strictly on +engineering. + +My father was absolutely right in this respect: I am no theoretician. +I deal best with application of ideas, not theories. Since, under my +concept of it, I was working for a master’s degree in engineering, +not theory or scientific philosophy, I became impatient with the long +hours of theoretical work, the hypothetical cases which required +abstract analysis and had no example in nature. I longed to deal +with specific problems against which I could apply natural physics +and come up with a physical solution. My approach brought me into +frequent and sometimes stiff conflict with the graduate-school +professors, most of whom were theorists at heart, like my father. + +The time came to submit my thesis. Nowadays, regrettably, theses +are not required for master’s degrees at most schools. According +to the concept, I was supposed to make a “new contribution to the +art or science of aviation.” Most of my fellow students presented +theses which contained some elaborate mathematical analysis. I tried +something different. My thesis was “A Semi-Empirical Method of +Obtaining Static and Dynamic Aerodynamic Parameters of Swept-Back +Wings Analyzed on a Basis of Plan Form.” It was, if you please, a +new and simplified method of predicting aerodynamic characteristics. +It could be done with a slide-rule in a matter of minutes in place +of hundreds of hours of computing-machine time. It was a tool to be +used to attain adequate accuracy but replace the laborious rigid +mathematical methods which were guesses anyway. It was influenced by +my work in the wind tunnel and was, I think, a profitable blending of +theory and practical application, the essence of engineering. + +This thesis stirred up tremendous consternation among some of the +professors. One problem was that it wasn’t long enough, or didn’t +weigh enough, for a master’s thesis. My wish was that I could have +cut it to one page. Their position was certainly understandable. I +hoped that mine was. The paper was accepted, probably by default. The +faculty, who were all respected friends, agreed to let me disagree +and certainly were not of a nature to flunk me for disagreeing. + + * * * * * + +I think Alice has a slight touch of claustrophobia. She soon tired +of the four walls of our small apartment and set out house-hunting +around Seattle. One day she came home bubbling with news of a +two-bedroom house in Clyde Hill, a section of Bellevue which almost +fit our budget. The house was really charming, set in the middle of a +small cherry orchard on a hillside. We splurged and moved in. + +The house was owned by an amazing character named Oscar Seeger, who +lived on an adjoining tract of land. Seeger, a short man with Santa +Claus eyebrows, was one of the most direct and dynamic men I have +ever met. One night when he visited us, Alice suggested our house +might be improved by installing a counter between the dining ell and +the kitchen. Without a moment’s delay Seeger found a saw and ripped +out an eight-foot section of the wall. The finished job was not +thorough, but neither was it unsightly. I was somewhat stunned by his +speed and skill. + +Seeger was the president of a small electrical contracting company. +During World War II he tentatively branched into the manufacture +of small aircraft accessories for Boeing--wash basins, seat arms, +tables, and the like. When he discovered that Alice and I were +scraping bottom financially, he arrived at the house one day with his +company’s billing lists and asked if I would type and mail them out. +(I had learned to hunt and peck on my father’s 1910 Corona portable.) +For a time this billing was a regular monthly job. It helped +Alice and me considerably. Later when Seeger had to submit formal +blueprints on some job, I drew them for him on my drafting board set +up in the bedroom. And after that we became very close friends. + +One day Seeger made me a business proposition. The airlines, he +said, were asking for bids on 20,000 aircraft tables. Seeger located +some surplus aluminum material which he thought he could get for +a low price. If I designed the table, he said, and drew up the +specifications, he would take care of the manufacturing. We would +split the profits on a percentage basis which, the way Seeger +presented it, was very generous--too appealing to ignore, in fact. + +Designing a table is no great feat, but I wanted to do it right for +Seeger. I made a federal case of it. I set out to design the perfect +aircraft table. I worked for hours, days, weeks. That damned table +absorbed me as deeply as my studies at school and the Navy stunt +team. Seeger became impatient. + +“Look, Scotty,” he said. “You’ve got the wrong idea about life. +You can’t waste your time trying to design the perfect table. The +important thing to do is design a table that will do the job, win the +contract, and bring in the money.” + +“When I do something, I like to do it right,” I replied. I thought: +Seeger is not an opportunist, but how different he is from my father, +the absolute perfectionist. + +“We all try to do the best we can, Scotty. But do you realize that +you could spend the rest of your life trying to design the perfect +table? Did you ever see a table with four legs precisely the same +length? The thing to do is give it all you’ve got for a reasonable +time and then move on to something else. Absolute perfection is +highly desirable but unattainable.” + +Reluctantly I hurried the design of that table. At the last +minute--just under the wire--we got our bid in to the airlines. +To my complete astonishment, we won. Seeger’s generous percentage +brought in a nice piece of change. But more important, perhaps, was +the total, amazing impact of Seeger. He gave me a new perspective on +life. I gave up trying to build a table with four legs precisely the +same length. From then on, I made the decision that the important +thing was to do a job well, to the best of my ability, and move on. +Had I not, it is possible that I might still be at the University, +seeking perfection in my studies, or in the wind tunnel, or else +energetically at work in some shop, striving to build the perfect +valve or cotter key. Instead I moved on to Edwards. + + + + +CHAPTER 13 ► + + “_Barefoot Boy with Cheek_” + + +It was a sparkly clear spring day in the desert, about eight months +after I joined NACA at Edwards. When the Air Force B-29 mother +plane reached 8,000 feet, its pilot, Captain Pete Sellers, passed +that fact over the intercom. It was a signal to me: aft in the +bomb-bay compartment, converted to nest the X-1 in the bomber’s +belly, I climbed on the small elevator--a plank with aluminum-tubing +guard-rails--hitched up my chute, and waved to the launch operator, +Eddie Edwards. The elevator descended slowly through the bomb-bay, +and presently I found myself precariously suspended over the +wide-open spaces, battered by the slipstream. The vast, desolate +desert lay in unobscured view in all directions. + +The X-1 “door” was on the side of the airplane. Thus it could not +be entered, like the Skyrocket, from the mother plane’s bomb-bay +compartment. The pilot had to go outside, below the mother plane. +The elevator, seemingly a crude way to get to the X-1, was actually +considered plush. In the early stages, back in 1947, Chuck Yeager had +to climb down a ladder into the whipping slipstream. + +I eased into the cramped X-1 cockpit and waved my hand. The elevator +ascended and presently came down again, bearing the X-1 door, which +had been placed inside the bomb-bay compartment before take-off. +I set it in place and dogged the handles shut from the inside. In +preparation for my first flight in the X-1, I had practiced this +maneuver several times on the ground. + +Actually, that day, the fitting of the door in place was much more +difficult than I have made it out to be. The reason was that I had +three broken ribs. This minor calamity had occurred several days +earlier in the hangar while I was skylarking with the mechanics. I +had playfully grabbed one by the seat of the pants and thrust him +through the stockroom window. As his head disappeared over the sill, +his feet came up and accidentally smacked me in the chest, cracking +three ribs at once. I had sworn him and the others to secrecy. I knew +that if Williams or Vensel found out, I would be grounded for a long +period. + +There were two additional NACA pilots at Edwards then, Walt Jones +and Joe Walker. Walt Jones, about 25, had been hired about the time +John Griffith left NACA. A graduate of Purdue, he had served in the +Air Force with Griffith. A handsome man, the son of a minister, he +was short on flying hours but showed great potential. He later left +NACA and was killed test-flying for Northrop. Joe Walker, my age, was +an Air Force veteran of World War II, who had worked at NACA’s Lewis +Lab. A superb foul-weather pilot, Walker specialized in de-icing +experiments at Lewis. Walker was a Pennsylvanian, but he talked like +a West Virginian, and had a slow easy-going manner and a toothy +smile. But Jones and Walker were new to Edwards, and the demands on +NACA were increasing. So I had my chest taped and flew anyway. + +My flight that day in the X-1, as planned, was nothing sensational; +simply a check-out flight. By then, not surprisingly, I had acquired +a reputation for encountering an emergency on first flight. I was +determined that the X-1 check-flight would go off without a hitch. + +After I had dogged the X-1 door in place, there was still a long +and monotonous climb to our drop altitude of 30,000 feet. I snapped +my lap belt and shoulder harness and settled back, sweeping my +eyes across the instrument panel, checking the pressures in the +rocket-fuel tanks and other systems. Everything was normal, or as +near-normal as it is possible to come in a research airplane. + +The X-1 was old then--going on six years--but she was still the +fastest and best research airplane at Edwards. The main reason for +this was the fact that the plane was a model of simplicity. When Bell +had been assigned the job of designing her in 1944, they had ably +and swiftly tamed a wide frontier of aerodynamic unknowns. They knew +that a .50 caliber bullet had been fired supersonically, so they +shaped the X-1 like a bullet. They stuck on a pair of thin, straight, +stubby wings and a Navy-sponsored rocket engine, built by Reaction +Motors, Inc., a small outfit working out of a garage in New Jersey. +From beginning to end, Bell’s Chief Engineer Robert Stanley insisted +on simplicity. The control system, instrument panel, landing gear, +everything about the plane, were deliberately and forcefully held to +a minimum of complexity. + +Stanley’s approach to research airplanes had paid rich dividends a +hundred times over. After Yeager had cracked the sonic wall, and +Pete Everest had climbed to 73,000 feet in the X-1, a dozen other +test pilots had flown the ship during 1948, ’49, and ’50. _Glamorous +Glennis_ was in the Smithsonian, but our X-1 had already logged a +total of maybe forty-five flights. They had provided tons of data +without a single flight casualty. It would continue to fly off and on +over the next few years, providing data in the trans-sonic area and +a never-ending challenge for its pilots. In its day, the X-1 was the +king of the hot-rods. + +Approaching launch altitude, I got set for my first X-1 drop, priming +the rocket engine, building up pressures in the fuel system. My +chase pilots that day were Air Force Majors Jack Ridley, an old X-1 +hand, and Pete Everest. Tucked in close under the tail of the B-29, +they watched the puffs of vaporized fuel snaking out prime lines and +reported: + +“Prime looks good.” + +B-29 pilot Pete Sellers began the countdown. Suddenly I recalled a +humorous incident which had happened one time when Bob Champine, the +pilot I replaced at NACA, had reached this stage of an X-1 flight. +It had been no fault of the plane, just a simple language snafu. +An ex-Navy pilot, Bob always spoke in Navy terminology in the air. +Seconds before launch, the pressure gauges fell off, and he decided +to cancel the flight. From the cockpit of the X-1 he snapped on the +radio: “Secure the drop.” + +Dick Payne, in the bomb-bay compartment, was then working loose the +pins in the shackles which held the X-1 in its belly nest. Accustomed +to working with Air Force pilots, Payne thought “secure the drop” +meant “go ahead and complete the drop.” Champine had loosened his +lap belt and was on the point of crawling out of the X-1 side door +to return to the bomb-bay when his plane suddenly fell away from +the bomber. Luckily he had time to snap himself down. From then on, +“secure the drop” was used to rib all of us ex-Navy types. + +To achieve a good launch from the mother plane it is vital that +the research plane be in proper trim. This means that the plane’s +controls should be set for full fuel tanks. A pilot _could_ correct +the control trim after launch, but an overly nose-up or nose-down +setting at the moment of launch _could_ cause the plane to take off +on a wild gyration. + +The X-1 stabilizer was always set on “trim” on the ground before +take-off. That morning I had watched the engineer working with a +template and inclinometer, attempting to align the stabilizer chord +with the wing chord. I had done this many times on models in wind +tunnels and knew it was quite easy to make a mistake. I had asked +a few questions but the engineer replied, in effect, that he knew +what he was doing. I was still feeling my way then with the ground +personnel. I let it go. + +As it turned out, the engineer _had_ made a mistake. The X-1 was +launched with a full degree in excess of normal stabilizer trim. The +result was spectacular. When I dropped away from the mother plane, +the X-1 pitched, stalled, and flipped on its back. + +Chase pilots Pete Everest and Jack Ridley, who had been flying +beside me, quickly searched the skies, wondering where I disappeared +to. When Pete spotted the X-1 below them, upside down, he was +dumbstruck. At last, he found his voice and, with the aplomb he could +always muster, spoke on the radio: + +“Well, _that’s_ certainly a new way to launch!” + +There was no use in blowing my stack, I thought. The launch was +hopelessly botched. It was now clear to me that on first flight of +any plane I was jinxed, and there was no reason to fight it. The +thing to do now, I thought, was to make a respectable recovery from +an impossible start. Get the plane right-side up, light off the +rockets, and go for broke. + +I rolled out, cranking the stabilizer back to normal trim, and then +I fired all four rocket barrels. When they caught, the X-1 lurched +ahead, picking up speed. I held the nose steady and climbed. But +there was no chance for high speed on that flight. During the +unorthodox launch and recovery, the X-1 had fallen too far into the +thick atmosphere. Drinking fuel at better than a ton a minute, her +engine, I knew, would sputter and die in another eighty seconds. I +focused all my attention on maintaining a positive gravity (positive +G) pull on the airplane. If I porpoised and lost it, including +weightlessness (zero G)--that unusual sensation one sometimes +experiences in a fast-falling elevator--the fuel flow to the engine +would stop, closing it down prematurely. At least I would try to +avoid that. + +I did. I was hitting about Mach .9 and going through 41,000 feet +when the last of the fuel whipped through the engines. The four +barrels of the rocket engine blew out almost simultaneously, each one +making a noise like a pop-gun. Following that, the X-1 was a tomb +of silence. Except for the crackle of static in my earphone, and a +gentle scrubbing of air on the fuselage skin, there was no earthly +sound. I was now flying a glider--one of the world’s heaviest and +fastest--which I would have to sail back to Rogers Dry Lake alongside +Edwards Base. + +If misfortune had dogged my flight thus far, it was nothing compared +to what happened next. Quick as a wink, on base leg for landing, +the whole windshield was blanketed by a thick coating of ice. I was +sealed in--blind as a bat. This time the cause was not attributable +to the failure of machinery. The X-1 defogging system was simply too +weak. On humid days it was not unusual for considerable moisture to +collect inside the X-1 cockpit on the climb to pilot boarding-point +while the door was off. At high altitude this moisture turned to ice. +It was my first-flight luck to go aloft on a very humid day. + +When I reported an iced windshield on the radio, I received little +sympathy from my fellow pilots. Jack Ridley laughed over the radio +and, in his strange, falsetto voice, cracked: “Funny, isn’t it? Same +thing happened to me the other day.” Both pilots joined me quickly, +however, and pulled their fighters close in to my wingtips, standing +by to guide me back to the lake-bed landing, if necessary. An old +hand with iced windshields by now, I banked around and, with help +from Ridley, lined up on the lake. + +By Hollywood standards, by now I should have been overwhelmed by +fear. Beads of perspiration should have been popping out on my +forehead, and my hand should have been trembling on the stick. Alas, +such was not the case, nor have I ever known it to be amongst my +fellow test pilots. + +So many people have asked me so many times whether I have ever +experienced “fear” in the air that I have been compelled to think +about this word and analyze it. My conclusions may be far from +complete and slightly inarticulate, since I believe this word falls +into the realm of philosophy, which is not my strong point. Fear, I +think, is something that a man feels when faced with an unknown--when +in spite of his background and experience he runs out of things +to do. In a mechanical device such as a fast-moving airplane, an +unexpected or unpredicted emergency often happens suddenly, and it +is startling. Perhaps it is comparable to walking up behind a child +and shouting “Boo!” The child is startled, and this is a better +word than “fear” to describe the initial moment, I believe. If the +circumstances are fairly routine, the child follows a pattern of +action. He turns to see what has startled him. Observing the cause, +he laughs away his concern. There are exceptions, of course--a +startled child in a strange or hostile environment, for example, +which may make a lasting impression. + +Pilots are occasionally startled like everyone else. The normal +reaction to being startled, like the child’s, is to look for the +cause. The pilot learns from long experience to determine this cause +swiftly and positively. Then, in place of the child’s immature +laughter, he turns to action. There are set procedures to put matters +straight again. If, for example, a fire-warning light suddenly +flashes on the instrument panel of a propeller-driven airplane, there +are prescribed routines. The pilot shuts down the engine, cuts off +the fuel lines, dumps a fire-extinguisher foam into the cowling, and +feathers the propeller so that it does not cause unnecessary drag on +the surviving engines. Then, if necessary, he must look for a field +and land. If a pilot is certain of a bad fire in a jet, there is one +prescribed procedure: get out fast in the ejection seat. + +When startled by an emergency, pilots whose minds dissolve into a +frenzy which delays, interferes with, or prohibits corrective steps +ought, I believe, to get into some other business. Beads of sweat on +the forehead should come only from hard work or too much clothing; a +trembling hand on the stick only from a hangover. + +Men who climb mountains don’t experience fear when faced by +some crisis. They take the necessary steps to avoid the crisis. +Experienced divers don’t melt into a panic when they face an +aggressive shark underwater. They take the necessary counteraction. +Ship captains don’t give up in despair when their craft founder. They +launch the lifeboats. + +These are cases where the emergency comes swiftly and in an +environment that seems to attract the purple-prose experts. But men +and women in other walks of life face grave, unheralded emergencies +every day of the week. Consider the ponderous emergencies big +financiers must slide into as they deal on the stock exchange day +by day. Or surgeons who probe the human body, or mothers who must +deal promptly with gagging children. We never think of these people +as dissolving into fits of fear, yet their responsibility may +outweigh the lone pilot in his craft by a factor of a thousand or ten +thousand. If something goes wrong, they take the necessary steps to +settle it favorably. The incident is rarely noted publicly, as are +the pilot’s emergencies. + +I suppose there are many people who go through all of life beset by +a variety of fears. It could be fear of disease, of professional +failure; fear of love or of not being loved; fear of the neighbors; +fear of government, or their leaders, or fear of fear itself. All +these people, in my book, would fare better in this life if they +probed the cause of this fear, if they don’t know it already. Once +the cause were known, they could, or should, take the proper action +to right the situation, and rid themselves of it. This could even +apply to those people who live in slave nations, under a constant +so-called reign of fear of a different order. Witness the birth of +this nation. + +I have been startled in an airplane many times. This, I may say, is +almost routine for the experimental test pilot. But I can honestly +say I have never experienced real fear in the air. The reason is that +I have never run out of things to do. + +Some day I might. Conceivably, I might be locked helplessly in the +cockpit of a burning airplane in a death spiral, unable to take any +further action to save my life. Facing certain death which I was +powerless to forestall, I might very well be overcome by fear. But +for me this would be a very special kind of fear--a fear of coming +face-to-face with a strict God who might look askance on the ways of +a test pilot--and not be talked out of it. But so far I have been +spared that ultimate confrontation. + + * * * * * + +What concerned me that afternoon on my first flight in the X-1 was +the landing--the possibility I might wind up in the ever-growing +“Nose Wheel Club.” The X-1 had a most peculiar behavior pattern just +at the moment of touchdown. In the final flare-out, when the three +wheels were reaching for the ground, the plane sometimes bounced +skyward without warning. Ordinarily a pilot in a plane that behaved +thus would push forward on the stick and bring the nose down. If he +did this in the X-1, the nose slammed hard and caved in the nose +wheel. That master pilot, Yeager, had discovered by his native skill +that if the pilot were to violate all his instincts and pull _back_ +on the stick, the plane would recover and grease on with no damage. +Only Yeager and a few other pilots had avoided the Nose Wheel Club. +It was no disgrace to prang a nose wheel, and to avoid it was a fine +point of flying indeed, but I intended, as a matter of pride, to stay +out of this club. The iced windshield, however, vastly complicated my +first X-1 landing and made my nomination almost certain. + +As my altimeter unwound rapidly, I searched the X-1 cockpit for a +rag, a tool, anything I could use to rub off the coat of ice. There +was nothing. I had no handkerchief in my flying coveralls. But +wait.... + +I loosened my shoulder straps and bent over, pulling at the +shoestrings of the low-cut oxford shoe on my right foot, thanking my +lucky stars I hadn’t worn flying boots. In two seconds I had the shoe +off. Then I took off my right sock and replaced my bare foot on the +right rudder bar. The metal was frightfully cold. My foot clung to +the bar stickily, like one’s hand on the bottom of an ice tray just +out of the freezer. Using my cotton sock as a scraper, I rubbed hard +in one spot on the front windshield, just over the instrument panel. + +By the time we had descended to 5000 feet--gliding like a brick--I +had worn a small hole in the ice, enough to permit me to see the +X-1’s nose and the long desert lake bed stretching ahead. I squinted +one eye and fixed the other on the small hole like a peep-sight, +lining up the parallel black lines painted on the dry-lake floor. +Ridley was droning off my decreasing altitude, but I didn’t need him. +I flared out at 135 miles an hour. + +I brought the stick back slowly; the air speed got low and the right +wing dropped sharply, scraping the desert floor as I touched down. I +threw the stick to the left at just about the moment the nose wheel +touched. The X-1 rolled out straight and level, rumbling firmly +across the hard-packed silt. The nose wheel held. + +The usual caravan of vehicles, trailing a huge rooster-tail of dust, +tore out across the lake and clustered around the small white bird. +When I undogged the X-1 door, a mechanic lowered it to the ground. I +climbed out--with my right foot bare as a baby’s behind. + +Someone shouted: “Where is your right shoe?” + +When I held it aloft for all to see, another voice cried: “Barefoot +boy with cheek.” Then they all broke into laughter. I knew that at +Edwards, at least, I had it made. + +[Illustration: My maternal grandfather, Thomas A. Dwyer, my +grandmother, Paula, and their children. My mother, Lucia, is third +from right.] + +[Illustration: My paternal grandfather, Judge Amasa Scott Crossfield.] + +[Illustration: My mother, Lucia, just after her marriage.] + +[Illustration: My father, Albert Scott Crossfield.] + +[Illustration: Elena Ruth, Mary Ann, and I, 1928.] + +[Illustration: Our home in Wilmington, the eucalyptus tree at right.] + +[Illustration: Carl Lienesch.] + +[Illustration: McNulty’s Inland Sportster and budding aviator, 1935.] + +[Illustration: Farmer’s son, 1937.] + +[Illustration: Showing prize Guernsey bull.] + +[Illustration: With seaplane models, 1932.] + +[Illustration: This gas-powered model logged over 1,000 flights.] + +[Illustration: The radio-controlled model with geodetic construction.] + +[Illustration: A corner of my shop on the second floor of the +farmhouse.] + +[Illustration: High school graduate, 1939.] + +[Illustration: The ill-fated Taylorcraft.] + +[Illustration: Aspiring cadet, 1942.] + +[Illustration: My home for almost two years, an SNJ over Corpus +Christi.] + +[Illustration: Dive bombers in Jacksonville, 1944. Rear-seat men +kneeling, SBD airplane in background. I’m standing second from left.] + +[Illustration: F6F fighter pilot, Pasco, Washington, 1945.] + +[Illustration: Corsair pilot, 1946.] + +[Illustration: A few of the veterans of the Denver fiasco returning +to Seattle, 1947, much subdued. I’m on extreme left.] + +[Illustration: Alice and I visiting the farm in 1947. Our Dalmatian, +“Cadet,” in the center.] + +[Illustration: Beginning a new circle. Tommy tries on the helmet. NAA +photo.] + +[Illustration: My mother in 1947.] + +[Illustration: My father in 1947.] + +[Illustration: The family, 1960. Photo by John Bryson.] + +[Illustration: The X-1, rocket engines ablaze, is tested on the +ground. Bell photo.] + +[Illustration: Preparing to mate the X-1 to the mother plane. Bell +photo.] + +[Illustration: The X-1 snugged into position. Bell photo.] + +[Illustration: The X-1; straining for altitude. USAF photo.] + +[Illustration: “Slick” Goodlin going down the elevator to enter the +X-1 cockpit. Bell photo.] + +[Illustration: Three ... Two ... One. Drop! Bell photo.] + +[Illustration: The X-1, rocket engines ablaze, is tested in the air. +Bell photo.] + +[Illustration: The X-1 landing. USAF photo.] + +[Illustration: Chuck Yeager climbing out of the X-1 cockpit. Bell +photo.] + +[Illustration: John Griffith of NACA, my boss, after an X-1 flight in +1950. NASA photo.] + +[Illustration: Bell’s Joe Cannon and the X-1 (No. 3) “Queenie,” at +Edwards, 1951. Bell photo.] + +[Illustration: Sad demise of the “Queenie.” Cannon survived. Bell +photo.] + +[Illustration: The mother plane was also damaged. Bell photo.] + +[Illustration: Yeager, his linemen, and the support equipment for an +X-1-A flight. Bell photo.] + +[Illustration: The second generation X-1s in parade formation. Bell +photo.] + +[Illustration: Straining for altitude. Bell photo.] + +[Illustration: The X-1-A; Three ... Two ... One. Drop! Bell photo.] + +[Illustration: The X-1-B gliding home. USAF photo.] + +[Illustration: Chuck Yeager surrounded by Edwards personnel +immediately following his record-breaking Mach 2.4 flight and violent +tumble. Note crewman at left inspecting cracked canopy. Bell photo.] + +[Illustration: Mutual admiration society. Chuck Yeager and Kit Murray +wearing partial-pressure suits, and the history-making X-1-A in +background. USAF photo.] + +[Illustration: X-1-B starts a new Nose Wheel Club. NASA photo.] + +[Illustration: NASA’s modernized X-1-E joins the club. NASA photo.] + +[Illustration: The price of progress. Remains of the X-1-D. Quick +action saved Everest. Bell photo.] + +[Illustration: A similar demise for the X-1-A. NASA photo.] + +[Illustration: The X-3; straining for altitude. Douglas photo.] + +[Illustration: The X-4 in flight. USAF photo.] + +[Illustration: The X-5 about to touch down on lake bed. USAF photo.] + +[Illustration: The XF-92-A on Crossfield Pike. NASA photo.] + +[Illustration: The nose wheel got tired. NASA photo.] + +[Illustration: My stable of thoroughbreds, posed before the old NACA +hangar. From left: Skyrocket, Skystreak, X-5, X-1, XF-92-A, X-4. NASA +photo.] + +[Illustration: Joe Vensel and NACA pilots. From left: Joe Walker, +Stan Butchart, Jack McKay, and a cigar-smoker. NASA photo.] + +[Illustration: The sonic wall was Yeager’s, the hangar wall was mine. +NASA photo.] + +[Illustration: The Skystreak in flight. NASA photo.] + +[Illustration: The D-558-II Skyrocket, my loyal steed for four years. +Douglas photo.] + +[Illustration: The faithful grooms: the Skyrocket ground crew. NASA +photo.] + +[Illustration: Mating the Skyrocket. NASA photo.] + +[Illustration: Straining for altitude. Douglas photo.] + +[Illustration: Three ... Two ... One. Drop! NASA photo.] + +[Illustration: Skyrocket in flight. Douglas photo.] + +[Illustration: Gliding home again. Douglas photo.] + +[Illustration: Touching down on the lake bed. Douglas photo.] + +[Illustration: Walt Williams hears it first: Mach 2, Nov. 20, 1953. +NASA photo.] + +[Illustration: The Skyrocket and her three record-holders. From left: +Bill Bridgeman, Colonel Marion Carl, and the farmer’s son. Douglas +photo.] + +[Illustration: The X-2 and her Air Force team of jockeys. Clockwise +from center: Pete Everest, Iven Kincheloe, and Mel Apt. Bell photo.] + +[Illustration: Ground-testing the X-2. Bell photo.] + +[Illustration: The X-2 nested in the mother plane’s belly. Bell +photo.] + +[Illustration: Straining for altitude. Bell photo.] + +[Illustration: Three ... Two ... One. Drop! The X-2. Bell photo.] + +[Illustration: The X-2 lands on the lake bed. NASA photo.] + +[Illustration: Skip Ziegler joins the Nose Wheel Club. Bell photo.] + +[Illustration: The X-2 and her record holders: Mel Apt in cockpit, +Iven Kincheloe on the ladder. Note scorched paint on the nose. Bell +photo.] + +[Illustration: Mel Apt and the second X-2 died on the desert. Bell +photo.] + + + + +CHAPTER 14 ► + + _The Need for Speed_ + + +THE DESERT SPRING had fused almost imperceptibly with early summer. +The temperature climbed to a routine 105 degrees in the shade. +Edwards became a hell of wind and sand. The wind moaned through the +cracks in the temporary buildings; the sand and dust heaped in piles +on the sills and in the corners. I considered it a minor miracle that +the mechanics could keep the jewel-like machinery of the research +airplanes operating in such conditions. We pilots retreated, between +flights, to the comfort and cleanliness of air-conditioning. One +day in late May, 1951, I was killing time in Walt Williams’ office, +sipping coffee and discussing the future of the research airplane +program which had by now become inextricably entwined with my own +future. + +“Walt, I’m telling you we have got to move in and do something about +Bell’s X-2. The whole deal is going sour.” + +My feet were propped up on the edge of Williams’ desk. An NACA +research airplane pilot at Edwards got to be an old hand fast in +those days. I had been there almost a year: I was an old hand. I +had accumulated more than half a hundred flights in the X-4, X-1, +Skyrocket, and D-558-I. I had flown supersonic. I was becoming wiser +in the ways of government and industry politics. One had to at NACA, +because the agency was caught in the middle of all the political +currents. The X-2 situation was one of those touchy ones. + +NACA existed to serve the industry. It received its planes from the +military services which, in turn, were customers of the industry. +Thus it was dependent on everyone for survival and, as I learned, +it was important not to bite the many hands that fed it. The +competition among the aircraft companies striving to sell their +products to the military was intense, as was the competition among +the various military services. Thus there were always a hundred minor +controversies going on. We at NACA, to survive, tried to remain aloof +from these internecine battles, taking protection behind the cloak +of science. The information we garnered was passed out impartially +to all of industry and the military services. If the military asked +our advice about a certain competitive airplane, we responded in +double-talk and purposely contrived, abstruse mathematical formulae. +We had to do this. The governing body of NACA itself was a committee +composed of the leaders in aviation. Any conclusion NACA reached was +instantly known everywhere in the aviation world. It was like working +in a fish bowl. + +All of this naturally generated conservatism within NACA. Before we +passed judgment or recommended a course of action, we had first to +weigh the impact on half a hundred points of contact. Thus, while we +flew fast in the air, we moved at a snail’s pace on the ground. + +The data from my flights were accumulating by the bushel-basketfuls. +But all of these were concerned with the subsonic, sonic, and +trans-sonic zones, about which we were beginning to know a great +deal. In our thoroughness, I felt, we were losing sight of the forest +for the trees. The new supersonic Century Series fighters, which +could outfly our research airplanes, were almost on the point of +factory roll-out. There were a thousand different things we didn’t +know at Mach 1.5 and above. Two especially grave unknowns loomed +before us: high-speed instability and aerodynamic heating. What +we needed was much more speed to stay out in front of the combat +airplanes. In short, our research airplanes were too slow, and NACA +was not, in my opinion, doing enough about it. + +After the fabulous success of the X-1, the Air Force had invited +Bell to build a second generation of straight-wing, rocket-powered +X-1 airplanes. These were to be larger, faster, with longer-burning +rocket engines. The planes were to have a “combat cockpit,” an +uninspired idea of someone who thought the craft _might_ be used for +brief high-speed reconnaissance bursts over enemy territory. These +airplanes were designated the X-1-A, X-1-B, X-1-C, and X-1-D. Some +said these planes might fly at Mach 3--three times the speed of +sound. At the very least we knew they would nearly double the speed +of the original X-1s. + +These planes were conceived shortly after Yeager’s historic flight +in the X-1. By then the ingenious team sparked by Bob Stanley, which +had pioneered the X-1, had left Bell. Advanced airplanes are not +the product of a company, but the product of men with boldness and +imagination. The Air Force blew hot and cold on these advanced X-1s +and supplied money, virtually a month-by-month dole. As time passed, +inevitably the airplanes grew in complexity and they fell far behind +schedule. Even the third model of the original X-1, which was being +converted to a low-pressure fuel system, had not yet been delivered +to NACA. + +The same fate had overtaken the much-heralded X-2, which I was +supposed to fly for NACA in due course. The X-2 had been designed +years earlier, only a few months after the original X-1s. Two ships +were under construction. In concept the X-2 represented a tremendous +jump over the X-1. On paper it had over eight times the power--a +15,000-pound-thrust Curtiss-Wright engine--sharply swept wings, and +an escape system--a nose that could be separated from the main body +of the airplane in emergency. The X-2 was to be built of stainless +steel in order to withstand the tremendous frictional heat it was +expected to encounter at its maximum speed of nearly Mach 3. Its +windshield was to be tinted to resist solar radiation, which might be +a menace at the X-2’s maximum altitude of 150,000 feet. However, the +X-2 was already three years behind schedule. + +Altogether, then, Bell had seven rocket airplanes in the plant in +various stages of construction. All of them were capable of flying at +over twice the speed of sound. All of them were behind schedule, and +falling farther behind every day. Meanwhile, at Edwards, no one had +yet exceeded Yeager’s speed of Mach 1.4, set in the original X-1. The +new military fighters were designed to exceed that speed. Even faster +military fighters were then in the advance design stage. + +“If we don’t watch out, Walt,” I said, “we’re going to be coming up +with these data a day late and a dollar short. The gap is closing.” + +Walt Williams, of course, knew this as well as I. But there was +little that NACA could do about it. The situation was an “Air Force +problem.” The Air Force supplied the planes. The Air Force’s main +attention was focused on producing enough airplanes, right that +minute, to fight the Korean War. + +“Walt,” I said. “We have the technical say-so with these aircraft. +We can make recommendations through headquarters in Washington. Why +don’t we propose that I be assigned to the Bell plant and bird-dog +this thing in our behalf?” + +“Nobody would buy that, Scotty,” Williams said. “We can make +technical judgments when invited to do so, but we can’t stick a man +in the plant full-time.” + +“Why not?” I asked. “We need these planes in a hurry, don’t we?” + +“Well,” Williams said, “I really don’t think you know what you are +proposing. Geez. Can you imagine an NACA man in the Bell plant? And +you of all people?” + +I had developed something of a reputation as a driver and an +iconoclast. It was not strictly my doing. Part of it was the fact +that I had arrived coincidentally with the outbreak of the Korean +War, and the new sense of urgency had come at the same time. It was a +fact, however, that I frequently challenged the accepted method. Like +many other pilots, I particularly deplored the growing gap between +desk designer and pilot. Machinery was being put in illogical places +with little thought for pilot efficiency or maintenance ease; the +mounting overemphasis on safety had reached the point where engineers +were putting cotter keys in cotter keys. All of this was slowing us +down at a time when we urgently needed to be picking up speed. + +As for my proposal to go to Bell to bird-dog the lagging rocket-plane +program, on reflection I am certain now that it was the goal of my +life trying to peck through its shell prematurely. I realize now the +time was far from propitious. The X-1, X-2 thing was a mess, and in +time it would become worse. Had I gone there, I might have helped +some. But I might also have fallen far short of my dream. + +I let the matter drop. Williams had been around NACA far longer than +Scott Crossfield. I knew and admired him as a man of action. I was +certain that if he could perceive even the faintest glimmer of hope +of NACA’s bailing out the rocket planes, he would be in favor of +positive action, and in spite of the prevailing conservatism within +the agency, would press for it. Obviously, the safest course as far +as Bell was concerned was hands off. + +“Besides, Scott,” Williams said, dangling a diverting sweet, “you +have the Skyrocket program.” + +I couldn’t argue that point. + + * * * * * + +The Skyrocket then was the one bright ray of hope on an otherwise +darkly blotched horizon. Douglas Aircraft was a big, bustling +corporation with enormous military and commercial business. The +company had withstood the postwar aviation famine quite well. In +fact, it had thrived on production orders for DC-6 transports, +and Navy carrier-launched fighters. At Douglas there had been +money and engineering talent enough to sustain a healthy research +and development program, which included, of course, the D-558-II +Skyrocket. During the fall of 1950 the emphasis had been placed on +the conversion of the original jet-only (JATO boosted) Skyrocket to +an air-launch, all-rocket vehicle, which conceivably might reach Mach +2 and 100,000 feet. On paper it was easily capable of shattering +Yeager’s X-1 speed record of Mach 1.4 and Everest’s altitude record +of 73,000 feet. The Navy and Douglas were anxious. + +Bridgeman and the Douglas crew had arrived with the all-rocket +Skyrocket in January of 1951. The plane had been parked in the +Douglas hangar next door, alongside the older jet-rocket version of +the Skyrocket. When the word got around, it caused a sensation. I +hurried over to take a look at the ship, which I would fly soon after +Bridgeman had established its “envelope,” and had, incidentally, +scratched up some new speed and altitude records for the Navy. +The ship was dazzlingly white. Its lines were similar to the old +Skyrocket, except that it was cleaner. The jet engine scoops were +gone. + +When Bridgeman first climbed into the Skyrocket, snugged in the belly +of the mother plane, Yeager and Everest flew chase for the Air Force +with more than casual interest. However, the first blush paled. The +Skyrocket was new and untried. Like all new research airplanes, it +was dogged by trouble during the de-bugging stage. During January, +February, and March, 1951, Bridgeman had gone aloft six times in the +mother plane. Six times the launch had been canceled at the last +minute. + +On the seventh attempt, in April, a hair-raising event occurred that +will never be forgotten at Edwards. When the mother plane bore down +over the launch point, all gauges were in the green. Bridgeman, who +through no fault of his own was gaining a reputation for being a +Reluctant Dragon, was pressing hard for a launch. At the last second +a tank pressure fell off. Grudgingly Bridgeman reported: + +“No drop. This is an abort.” + +He prepared to go through abort procedures to return to the base. +Then to his horror he heard the mother-plane pilot, George Jansen, +ticking off the launch countdown on the radio: “Ten, nine, eight, +seven....” + +“No drop! No drop!” Bridgeman shouted over the radio. Everyone heard +him but Jansen, who had keyed his radio mike for the countdown. +Nobody, not even the star Bridgeman, could get through to George. +Frantically, Bridgeman brought the plane’s ailing machinery to life +and squared away for an undesired launch. + +Falling away from the mother plane, Bridgeman lighted the rocket +engines. The Skyrocket roared heavenward, just short of Yeager’s +record speed of Mach 1.4. Bridgeman growled over the radio: + +“Goddammit, George, I _told_ you not to drop me.” + +“You got keen friends, Bridgeman,” said Everest, who was flying chase +that day. + +After that incident, countdowns were shortened; research airplanes +were equipped with a switch on the instrument panel, connected to a +light on the mother-plane instrument panel. A green light meant the +rocket pilot was ready to launch, and only if it was on would he +be launched. And so far as I know, no pilot after that was dropped +against his will. + +The Douglas test program dragged on through May and June. At NACA +we became very anxious to take over the airplane. In fact, in an +unprecedented move NACA headquarters wrote Douglas telling them, +in effect, to hurry up. We urgently needed the Douglas plane for +high-speed flight data. Another reason was that the word had +gotten around that Bridgeman was afraid of the airplane. This was +unfortunate because Bridgeman, I thought, was one very superlative +pilot. He later admitted that flying the Skyrocket unnerved him. But +the delay in the Douglas flight program was not his fault. It was +the usual work of the gremlins which flock to research planes like +seven-year locusts. + +Not long after my chat with Walt Williams the slow-starting Douglas +Skyrocket program blazed into a stem-winding finish. In the next +four powered flights, the last of which took place on August 15, +1951, Bridgeman flew the Skyrocket to a speed of Mach 1.87 and an +altitude of 79,000 feet. Both figures were records by a wide margin. +Bridgeman assured his place in the Hall of Fame, and demonstrated +that the Skyrocket was all that they had hoped. Bill went on to the +X-3 and some brilliant airmanship. The Navy, now holding the official +records, beamed, and Douglas released a flood of press handouts. With +little ceremony NACA took over the plane and mother ship, assigned me +as Skyrocket pilot, and I got set to probe the high-speed mysteries +the Skyrocket had already brought to light. + +These mysteries somehow leaked to the press, which sensationally +proclaimed that Bridgeman had discovered a phenomenon known as +“Supersonic Yaw.” Actually we had expected it. Bridgeman had expected +it. It was one of those unknowns about which we urgently needed data. +Reduced to simplest terms, “Supersonic Yaw” meant that airplanes +nearly became directionally unstable at high speed in thin air. The +nose turned sideways and the plane skidded obliquely through the +air. What we had to do then was to find some means of improving the +controls or the design of airplanes to avoid it, or else develop +a technique for living with it. This was one reason alone for the +need for speed. The same thing could happen to our military planes, +causing needless death in peace and war. + +Following Bridgeman’s footsteps, I made four quick flights in the +all-rocket Skyrocket. The first flight was, in a way, a milestone +for me. I broke my first-flight jinx, launching and flying with no +unusual difficulty. I achieved a speed of Mach 1.6 and an altitude of +60,000 feet. These were not records, but we at NACA were not out to +set records. We wanted to find out in actual flight about Supersonic +Yaw, among many other things. + +On all flights the Skyrocket was loaded with hundreds of pounds of +delicate instruments which recorded every significant fact about the +flight: speed, altitude, G forces, pressures, air flows. Bridgeman +had intuitively conceived a method of taking the plane to its near +limits without meeting disaster. Under his skillful coaching, I +successfully carried out his idea, and the information we recorded +kept the engineers busy for months. After these four flights the +plane was laid up for some badly needed repairs which had been +deferred during our quick investigation. + +One day not long after I had completed the last of these flights, I +stopped at the coffee machine to pass the time of day with Hubert +Drake and Bob Carmen, NACA’s long-range design “dreamers.” In a +friendly way they probed for first-hand information about the +Skyrocket. + +“How’d it go?” Drake asked. + +“It was all right,” I said. “You people and Douglas had already +sensed what to do and I just did it. No special trick. We got the +data, but the problem is that the airplane is already old for its +time. The plane is obsolete for those speeds.” + +“Yes, I know,” said Drake. + +“Some day I hope we can get ahead of this game,” I said. “I would +like to see a research airplane built from scratch that can fly like +it is supposed to--stable, that is--and far enough ahead of the +game to provide some useful data to industry. In another few months +they’ll be catching up with us.” + +“You ought to come down and see our stuff,” Carmen said. + +“What have you got?” + +“We think we have an airplane that can perform at Mach 6 and fifty +miles,” Drake said. + +“How do you get that kind of performance?” + +“It’s simple. First off, the mother plane is a rocket plane. She has +five Viking engines. The research airplane, a modified X-2 with a +one-rocket engine, rides piggy-back. You take off and launch at Mach +3 and about 70,000 feet. The research airplane goes on up to maybe +Mach 6 and maybe 250,000 feet. It’s all done with existing hardware.” + +I had a vision then of trying to make ready and light off the five +temperamental rocket engines on the mother plane. The effort would +be something like the invasion of Europe. The odds that everything +would work, and that the research airplane would launch--and light +off--were, conservatively, about a hundred to one. Still, it was an +idea. Dreamers should never be discouraged. An engineering analysis +of the Columbus voyage had shown it couldn’t be done. + +“Well, why don’t you write it up and send in a report?” I asked. “God +knows someone ought to try to get ahead of the game. That would be a +big jump forward.” + +“We _did_ write it up,” Drake said, crumpling his paper coffee cup. +He aimed carefully but missed the big G.I. can. + +“What happened?” + +“We turned it in to Walt Williams,” Drake said. “That was back in +November, 1950. He read it and said it was ‘premature.’ Told us to +pigeon-hole it for a while.” + +The Drake-Carmen report was still in a pigeon-hole, gathering dust. +In later years Walt Williams still felt it was wise to delay that +report. Maybe he was right. Had it been brought forward in late 1950, +NACA might have been laughed out of school. No one else was ready. + + + + +CHAPTER 15 ► + + _Disaster on the Race Track_ + + +The success of the Navy-sponsored Skyrocket caused great +consternation in the Air Force camp at Edwards. Suddenly two of +Bell’s rocket planes were made ready--or _almost_ ready, as it turned +out--for flight. One was the long-awaited X-1, model 3 (called +“Queenie”), with a low-pressure fuel system, thus putting its debut +years behind those of its sister-ships, _Glamorous Glennis_ and +the NACA’s X-1. The second Bell plane was the X-1-D, one of the +second-generation X-1s with the larger fuel tank and the military +cockpit. In the strange way of schedules, the X-1-D was completed +before the X-1-A and X-1-B. The planned X-1-C was never built. Its +parts and funds were cannibalized to complete the A, B and D models. + +The X-1-D was a new animal, a strikingly fast, dangerous research +airplane. On paper it could reach Mach 2.5 or maybe Mach 3. Like most +of the planes arriving at Edwards in those tumultuous, fast-moving +days, its design was already outmoded. We knew that the X-1-D would +be unstable at very high Mach numbers. Its new fuel system, nearly +identical to that in Queenie, was untried, and full of bugs. Under +such circumstances, caution was the better part of valor. But no. At +Edwards occasionally the temptation to throw caution to the winds +was overwhelming. As Pete Everest has written in his book, _The +Fastest Man Alive_, mincing no words: “... we had a chance to set +another record that would be much harder to beat.” + +Everest goes on: “Bell flew half a dozen tests to prove the new +rocket ship’s flying characteristics and tested the rocket engine +in run-ups on the ground.” The historical accounts show that in +actual fact _two_ test flights were made, neither of them thorough or +conclusive because of pressure of schedule and poverty. On the first, +the X-1-D was carried aloft, empty of fuels, cut loose, and steered +back to earth, as a glider, by Skip Ziegler. On the second, the X-1-D +was fueled for a powered flight with Everest but aborted when the +fuel system malfunctioned. The tests had been, to say the least, +inconclusive. + +Then, as Everest writes, “I was selected to take it up and see what +it could do wide open.” In short, Everest elected to take over the +X-1-D, which had never been flown under power, and never flown at all +by Everest, on a maximum-speed run on first powered flight. That he +agreed to this at all, I think, demonstrates remarkable courage. That +the Air Force would sanction such a first flight has always been a +mystery to me. They were smarting badly from Bridgeman’s licking. + +That day in August, 1951, was a dark one in Edwards’ history and a +very lucky one for Pete Everest. Al Boyd, then a brigadier general, +and still commander of Edwards, elected to fly chase. Jack Ridley was +co-pilot of the mother ship, a B-50, a more powerful version of the +B-29. At 10,000 feet Everest put on his helmet and crawled from the +mother ship’s bomb-bay into the X-1-D cockpit. He noticed right off +that the rocket plane’s gauges were in the red. There was a leak; the +tank pressures were sagging. + +Everest climbed back into the B-50 bomb-bay compartment for a +conference with Jack Ridley. They agreed “reluctantly,” Everest +reports, that the flight should be canceled. Everest returned to the +X-1-D cockpit to jettison fuel. Standing in the seat of the plane, +he reached down to pressurize the tanks. As he did, a bone-jarring +explosion shook the X-1-D and nearly threw Everest to the floor of +the cockpit. A tongue of fire licked into the mother ships bomb-bay +compartment. + +Everest leaped from the X-1-D cockpit into the B-50 bomber. Seconds +later Jack Ridley pulled an emergency lever and the burning X-1-D +fell away from the bomber, trailed by bits and pieces of the B-50 +which were shattered loose by the force of the rocket-ship explosion. +The $5 million X-1-D crumpled onto the desert floor, a costly +disaster on the race track. + +It was lucky for Everest that the X-1-D blew up when it did. In the +haste to launch the flight, the plane had only half a load of liquid +oxygen. Had Everest launched, the X-1-D would have been so much out +of balance that it would have spun in, instantly and uncontrollably. +The ship had no ejection seat. + + * * * * * + +Joe Cannon, a test pilot for Bell, had been chosen to make the +initial demonstration flights in the Queenie. With the new +low-pressure fuel system and larger fuel tanks, some thought that +Queenie might crack Mach 2. This would put her a shade beyond the +record Bridgeman made in the Skyrocket. Queenie had “U. S. Air +Force” painted in large letters on the fuselage. Whether Cannon or +some Air Force pilot, such as Yeager or Everest, flew it, the Air +Force technically would regain the record. After that, NACA would +take charge of the plane for high-speed instability and aerodynamic +heating investigations. I was to fly the Queenie for NACA. + +The new low-pressure fuel system in Queenie gave much trouble. Bell +ground engineer Q. C. Harvey, a fox-terrier type with limitless +nervous energy, was nearly frantic from the thinly-veiled pressure. +The Bell ground crews cut corners. In early November on the second +“heavyweight captive” flight--a trip to launch altitude with fuel +tanks loaded for test purposes--Joe Cannon could not jettison the +plane’s fuel. The B-29 mother plane returned to earth, bearing Queenie +fully loaded with volatile fuel. + +It was something of a trick to purge the little planes of fuel on the +ground. The B-29 moved into the dump area, still mated. Cannon began +the ground-jettison routine. Suddenly a tremendous explosion rocked +Edwards. Queenie and the mother plane were enveloped by swirling, +vaporizing liquid oxygen. + +Cannon had removed the side door of the X-1. Through the fog the men +saw him come through the opening, feet first. Then they saw his head +and heard him yelling: + +“Get the hell out of here! She’s going to go!” + +Joe Cannon scrambled down to the ground and ran away from Queenie as +fast as his legs could take him. The concrete ramp was flooded with +the slippery, dangerous Lox. He fell headlong into a puddle of fuel. +The Lox “burned” through his clothing and froze his skin, putting him +out of action for nearly a year. Queenie and the mother ship went up +in a burst of smoke and flames. Fortunately, no one was killed. The +loss of the $4 million Queenie was severely felt at NACA. + +The Navy retained the speed and altitude records. The official +investigations into the X-1-D and Queenie explosions went on for +months and ultimately delayed the delivery of the X-1-A and X-1-B +nearly two years. After the official report came out, all rocket +airplanes of this series were extensively modified. At NACA our +own X-1, in which I had completed about a dozen flights since last +overhaul, was considered “fatigued” and was withdrawn from active +flying. We launched a project to redesign and rebuild our X-1. The +plane was redesignated the X-1-E, and years later it got into the +air. But it never really produced again. For all practical purposes +it was retired that fall. + +Along about the same time--that grim fall of 1951--we gave up hope +on still another promising airplane. This was the celebrated Douglas +X-3, a weird-looking, needle-nose craft with two jet engines and +brief straight wings. The X-3 was designed to cruise for long periods +at very high speed, hopefully near Mach 2. But she had fallen victim +to the cotter-key crowd. No more complicated, botched-up, dangerous +airplane was ever produced, unless it was the XF-92-A, which I shall +deal with in time. + +Bridgeman was waiting patiently at Douglas to make the first +flights on the long-delayed X-3. I talked to him about the plane +occasionally, since like the Skyrocket it was ultimately slated for +NACA. It was possible that I might be named X-3 pilot along with my +other duties. In time, Bridgeman made twenty flights in the plane. +Happy to be rid of it then, he turned it over to Chuck Yeager and +Pete Everest, and never again flew an experimental airplane. Yeager +and Everest flew the plane three times each. “It was one of the most +difficult airplanes I have ever seen,” Everest said. + +Apart from its sheer mechanical complexity, the basic trouble with +the X-3 was that it was underpowered. The high-thrust engines, which +had been planned for it, fell behind schedule and then were canceled +because of lack of funds; the interim engines used yielded only about +fifty per cent of the desired thrust. Thus it required every trick in +the book to get the heavy X-3 into the air and keep it there without +falling out. When Yeager and Everest, with few regrets, turned the +plane over to NACA, we tried unsuccessfully to fix it. Walker made +about twenty flights. The X-3 became a glamorous Hangar Queen, useful +mainly for publicity photographs. I never got to fly it. + +Thus the Douglas Skyrocket became by default the lone high-speed +workhorse at Edwards. I was the lone jockey for a while. As the weeks +sped by, the NACA Skyrocket team began to mesh with carrier-deck +efficiency. We often flew the Skyrocket every other day--such +“turn-around” time was then considered a near-miracle--probing the +dark mysteries high in the sky. No Skyrocket flight was ever routine. +But I got to know the ship so well that I could land it dead-stick on +the dry lake and coast right up on the NACA parking ramp in front of +the hangar door--without brakes! This saved my hard-working ground +crew the trouble of going out to the lake with a tow-tractor. + + * * * * * + +The floor of the Bell plant in Buffalo was immaculately clean. +In one corner behind a curtain the shell of the X-2 lay awaiting +inspection. In another corner engineers had rigged a simulated +cockpit and control system. I was there with Walt Williams and other +NACA and Air Force engineers to pass an interim judgment on this +much-delayed airplane. I was especially interested because if the X-2 +were ever finished I would fly her after Skip Ziegler had made the +demonstrations. + +I walked up to a mechanic, working near a row of dry-cell batteries. +I knew these batteries were to be installed in the X-2 to supply +power for the control system. I picked up a battery. + +“What’s this for?” I said to the mechanic. + +“My God!” he yelled. His face was white. “Don’t pick that up. It’s +delicate. It’s for the X-2 control system. If you jar it, it might +break.” It was a new and sophisticated kind of battery. + +“You don’t mean it?” I said. Then I smashed the battery down on the +bench. Sure enough, five plates broke and the battery short-circuited. + +Later I learned from a Bell engineer that the delicate batteries had +been shipped to Bell from the manufacturer in a nitroglycerine truck. +I said to the engineer: “You really expect to put that kind of stuff +in an airplane that will be subject to God knows what kind of loads +and shocks in the air?” + +“Don’t ask me, Scotty,” he said. “I just work here and we have a +thousand bosses in every corner of the government.” + +While the X-2 control system was a studied attempt to make a +tremendous step, there was much we did not like about it. I noticed +that when I operated the stick in the simulator cockpit, it whipped. +The simulator, for demonstration purposes, was set to operate only +at full design loads, which was far from a realistic measure. At my +insistence the simulator was rigged to carry low-load conditions. +Guessing what force the whipping stick might display, I asked Pete +Everest, a member of the Air Force inspection party, to get in the +cockpit and try it. + +The demonstration was far more dramatic than I could have hoped. When +Everest pulled on the stick, the electrical units took hold, the +stick whipped violently, and Everest, a small man, was thrown clear +out of the cockpit. + +This highly sophisticated control system, which had already cost $4 +million, was symptomatic of the disease that had drained the X-2 +program (many programs, in fact) of its vitality. It obviously could +not be made suitable for the X-2 in time, and although it meant some +further delay on delivery of the airplane, Bell was asked to come up +with a reliable and simple control system. Under the revised plan X-2 +number 1 was to be hastily equipped with cables, which would not +overly delay the glide tests scheduled to take place at Edwards. X-2 +number 2 would have a hydraulic-control system. Similar units would +be installed in X-2 number 1 after the glide tests. + +The X-2 with cable controls arrived at Edwards in June of 1952, hung +in the belly of the B-50 mother plane. I should say the shell of +the X-2 arrived. The lagging engine (itself overly sophisticated) +was still on the test bench at Curtiss-Wright. In its place was +concrete ballast. Everybody at Edwards must have turned out to see +the X-2. Few of them realized then that the ship was jinxed. They saw +only a sleek, swept-wing airplane, looking as though it were moving +supersonically while sitting still on the ground. + +The X-2 had the conventional nose wheel; and the main landing gear +had been made a broad ski which protruded from the fuselage just +below the wing center-section. The main purpose of the glide test was +to check on the nose-wheel ski concept. Bets were laid when Ziegler +went aloft in the X-2 on his first flight. It was important that the +gear work perfectly. A powerless rocket plane landing dead-stick +cannot go around for another try. + +I watched from the sidelines. The X-2 was heavy, and the B-50 mother +plane labored to reach launch altitude of 30,000 feet. Then I saw the +X-2, looking like a tiny white toy in the deep blue sky, fall away +cleanly. Powerless, silent, Skip guided the plane toward Rogers Dry +Lake. His flare-out, at 200 miles an hour, looked good. The skid and +nose wheel popped out. The X-2 touched and the nose wheel failed. +When it collapsed, the plane churned around on a wingtip, gouging a +hole in the desert runway. + +The plane was repaired and the landing-gear unit improved. They +also added “whisker skids”--smaller skis midway under each side +of the wing. Skip Ziegler tested the new gear without incident. +Then Pete Everest made one hair-raising test--the left whisker ski +extended only after the right ski had jarred the earth--and the +X-2 was shipped back to the factory for installation of the new +hydraulic-control system and the rocket engine. + +Months later the plane was ready for “captive” fuel tests. These +were conducted not at Edwards but over Lake Ontario, near the Bell +factory, because of Ziegler’s dedicated zeal to get the program +rolling. On the second captive fuel test in May, 1953, an explosion +ripped through the X-2. The blast and flames reached into the mother +ship’s bomb-bay, killing Skip Ziegler and a Bell crewman, Frank +Walko. The X-2 was cut loose and plunged flaming and exploding into +Lake Ontario. The B-50, blown skyward and gutted by the explosion, +somehow stayed together long enough for Bell pilot Bill Lewshon, with +brilliant flying, to get it back on the ground. Then it was junked. + + * * * * * + +Dr. Hugh Dryden, one of the world’s leading aeronautical scientists, +was Director of NACA. Technically, Jimmy Doolittle was chairman +of the main National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics, which +reported directly and only occasionally to the President. But +Dryden was Doolittle’s chief general. Dryden, an older man who wore +thick glasses, ran NACA day by day. He had a slow, deliberate way +of talking. If ever a government agency was the perfect image of +its director, it was NACA. In Dryden’s face you could see it all: +conservatism, scholarship, wisdom, caution. His office in an old +building on H Street in Washington was Spartan. It might have been +the office of a college professor. + +I was there on an urgent mission--back on a familiar theme. + +“Dr. Dryden,” I said. “This X-2 program is in serious trouble. What’s +lacking is a Bob Stanley or a Skip Ziegler, if you will. The drive +has gone out of the X-2 project. If we’re not careful, sir, it’s +going to wind up like the X-3, a great big expensive Hangar Queen. + +“I know this is an Air Force project, that they’re funding it. But +I think it is time we stepped in and took a firm hold. That plane’s +supposed to come to us for serious aerodynamic investigation. There’s +another investigation going on about the explosion. It may take +months. The control system hasn’t been checked out. The engine is so +far behind schedule you can’t say anything good about it.” + +“Well, you certainly seem quite interested in this program,” Dryden +said. He weighed each word. + +“Yes, sir,” I said. “I am supposed to fly the airplane and I would +like to do so before I retire.” + +“What do you propose?” + +“I propose that I be assigned to the Bell plant on temporary duty. +There I’ll help every way I can to spark the program to completion. +Then I’ll make the demonstration flights for Bell. Then I’ll return +with the plane to NACA at Edwards and complete the flight-test +program. I have talked with Bell people about it and they think the +idea has some merit.” + +Dr. Dryden’s answer surprised me, frankly. “Very well,” he said. “If +Williams approves, you may try it.” + +I returned to Edwards on Cloud Nine. The X-2 plan, as I had +envisioned it, would be immensely valuable experience and background +for my future. It would give me time in a rocket-plane factory, +flight-test experience in the most advanced airplane man had +conceived, and inevitably a little public notice which, I was +learning, was a necessary part of moving ahead in my field. The X-2 +was not the ideal because it amounted, in effect, to bailing out a +sinking boat. But it was a start. + +“Damn it, Scotty,” Williams said, “we really need you around here. +The X-2 can wait. That plane may kill more people yet.” + +“But Walt,” I said. “When you hired me you said I’d get a crack at +the X-2. That was three years ago and we haven’t got the plane yet.” + +“Well, maybe it’s okay with me if it’s okay with Vensel. He’s your +boss. He has the final say-so. Tell him it’s up to him.” + +Vensel said no. He implied I was urgently needed at Edwards. + + + + +CHAPTER 16 ► + + _Bright Light Under a Bush_ + + +I eyed the new ship skeptically. White as a lily, it was the X-5, +another product from Bell. The ship was powered by a single jet +engine, and from a distance it appeared fairly conventional. What +was vastly different about the X-5 was that its wings could be swept +to several different angles in flight. Two X-5s had been built. One +was turned over to the Air Force; NACA got the other. Joe Walker was +project pilot and had gotten our program off the ground. I was to +make my first check-out flight. + +“What do you want on this flight?” I asked Thomas Finch, an NACA +engineer. + +“The flight plan calls for aggravated stalls,” he said. These would +help define the safe low-speed limits of the airplane. + +“What do you mean, aggravated stalls?” I said. “How far?” + +“Use your own judgment,” Finch said. “But if you can take her well +into the stall region, that’ll be fine.” + +The wings were to be swept to sixty degrees that flight. I cooled +down the runway, followed by an Air Force chase, and climbed rapidly +to altitude. I had read the manual on the airplane and all of the +early flight reports, which had been prepared by Skip Ziegler before +he died over Lake Ontario; I had also been briefed by Joe Walker. +The X-5 handled in the air like a three-wheeled automobile. It was +loose and danced crazily. Even so, we thought it would make a fine +research tool. With its high sustained speed just under Mach 1, and +its variable sweep, NACA could explore a wide variety of unknowns. It +was like having a whole stable of swept-wing airplanes in one. + +I climbed to 25,000 feet and reported to chase that I would make +several aggravated stalls. I pulled back on the throttle and eased +back the stick. As the X-5 slowed, she began to buffet; slower and +slower, more and more buffet. Suddenly her nose veered sharply to the +left. In a split second, the X-5 turned 180 degrees. Then she dropped +precipitously into a spin. My first-flight jinx was back. + +A kaleidoscope of brown desert, blue sky, and white clouds passed +dizzily in review in my windshield as the X-5 wound up steadily +toward the desert floor. I pushed the stick hard to forward left +and bent on full right rudder--the prescribed spin-recovery-control +maneuver--but the X-5 stubbornly refused to conform. Then I tried +every trick in the book, pretty thick by now, after those years of +flying unstable airplanes at Edwards. After a drop of over 10,000 +feet, the X-5 pulled out. + +Walker had run into the same thing. This slow-spin-recovery was a +dangerous weakness of that airplane. Since the Edwards area was 2500 +or more feet above sea level, we made a careful note on the plane’s +flight handbook _never_ to perform maneuvers which could result in a +spin below 20,000 feet. + + * * * * * + +“Did you get the word on Popson?” Joe Walker asked. Popson was an Air +Force pilot assigned to fly the Air Force’s X-5. + +“No,” I said. “What happened?” I had just come in from a trip to the +East Coast. + +“He was assigned to do aggravated stalls at 12,000 feet. He spun in.” + +I was sick. We had somehow failed in a basic NACA mission--getting +information to the right place in time. + +Popson was a well-qualified pilot. If there had been better +coordination between Air Force and NACA, he might be alive today; his +flight plan was his death warrant, as so often happened. He was dead +before he took off, the thirteenth pilot to die at Edwards. Following +custom, a street was named in his honor. + + * * * * * + +Bell’s Bob Woods was a tremendous man. He’s dead now, so there is no +way to check, but I think he weighed at least three hundred pounds. +He was the last of the Great Guns of an era at Bell. In spite of the +X-1 and X-2 difficulties, Wood carried on in the grand old style. You +had to admire his vision and political guts. + +Woods had a talent for hypnotizing a crowd--or anyway _me_, at least. +And so it was in the spring of 1952, during a semiannual meeting +of the full NACA Aerodynamics Subcommittee at the Ames Laboratory, +Woods stood before a blackboard. From my inconspicuous seat in +the background, I stared at his girth and the vast outpouring of +enthusiasm as he made a case which, to me, was as fascinating as his +size. + +“As I see it,” Woods went on before the large meeting of industry +designers, “this would essentially be a research aircraft and come +under NACA jurisdiction. The information it returned would be made +available to all. The craft would be mounted on top of a vertical +booster, in effect a ballistic missile. Launch speed would be 4,000 +or 5,000 feet a second. The booster would fall away. The vehicle +would continue a climb to about eighty miles. On descent, recovery +would be effected by a deployed parachute. The booster vehicle could +essentially be a V-2 type missile. + +“This vehicle would enable us to probe a number of unexplored areas. +Aerodynamic heating at hypersonic speed. Weightlessness for the pilot +and research airplane machinery.” As he talked, a lieutenant stood by +to flip through a set of expertly drafted drawings demonstrating each +point. + +“Gentlemen,” Woods concluded, “I don’t think I have to stress the +need for an advanced research vehicle. The best thing we have in +the hopper now is the X-2 and we all know the limitations of this +aircraft, which has not even flown yet. We must face up to the fact +that we are going to do something about this or sit back and let the +Russians take the lead.” + +I listened eagerly while the brass kicked around Woods’ proposal. +There were many pros and cons from a technical standpoint. + +As I say, Bob Woods had something of a magnetic personality. After +the meeting at Ames, he paid us a visit at Edwards. Then, I suppose, +he went on to NACA headquarters in Washington and probably on down to +talk to John Stack at NACA’s Langley Lab in Virginia. In any case, +all at once, all the somnolent parts of NACA were suddenly awake and +chirping simultaneously about a new advanced research airplane. One +reason was that the timing was good. The other rocket planes were in +trouble or dropping far behind schedule. The missile engineers were +then beginning to squeeze enormous thrust out of a single rocket +barrel, more than twice the power of the V-2 rocket engine developed +by the Nazis. The Army’s Redstone missile generated 75,000 pounds +thrust, about ten times the thrust of the engine in the Douglas +Skyrocket. It was clearly time to take advantage of this rapid +technological advance. + +Walt Williams came alive with enthusiasm. He called in Drake and +Carmen and asked them to pull out their advanced report which had +been pigeon-holed the year before. + +“Damn it,” said Williams, “if Woods can get up before a meeting of +the Aerodynamics Subcommittee and propose shooting a man eighty miles +into space in a missile, I guess we can propose the five-engine +monster.” The Drake-Carmen report, with Williams’ endorsement, was +sent on to the Langley Laboratory for serious study. + +None of this produced any immediate results in terms of hardware. The +Drake-Carmen proposal was rejected out of hand. The Woods proposal, +because it came from industry, got the full NACA treatment--that +is to say, a rejection, complete with technical data attached. +Basically, no one at that time was in favor of the “ballistic” +approach, although the U. S., and NACA, specifically, would return +to exactly that same approach for Project Mercury some five or six +years later. However, all this activity set NACA planning toward +a more or less “conventional” advanced research airplane in the +range of Mach 6 and 100-mile altitude. As everyone knows, once the +ponderous machinery of a government agency is set in motion toward an +objective, it can hardly be stopped. + +During the weeks that followed, I paid this paper-study airplane +more than casual attention. From exactly this kind of start, I knew, +eight years earlier Kotcher, Stack, and Woods had given birth to the +X-1 and ushered in a new dimension in aviation. With rocket engines +now ten times more powerful, were we on the threshold, were we in +the very act of conceiving a new generation that would make the X-1 +pale by comparison? Man had yet to fly at Mach 2 and we were talking +of Mach 6 and altitudes of 100 and 200 miles. This was Buck Rogers +stuff, space flight. This was it! + +I knew instinctively that my future lay in that paper airplane. +It was then no more than a column of figures together with NACA’s +resolution to investigate its possibilities. But in my mind it was a +thing of steel, or titanium, or whatever material it would be built +of--a sleek, perfectly engineered object, a thing of marvelous beauty +and near-perfection, a boyhood dream in real life. + +The X-15 had been born. The name of the game was to get aboard it +somehow, and at the right time. + + * * * * * + +The months rolled by at NACA. I flew sometimes two or three flights +a day in the X-4, X-5, and other craft. But my biggest effort was +reserved for the Douglas Skyrocket. Lacking other high-speed rocket +airplanes for data purposes, I gradually pushed the Skyrocket to +Bridgeman’s record of Mach 1.8 and beyond. In fact, during the +spring of 1953 after I had logged some thirty flights in the bird, +I regularly flew to Mach 1.8 and frequently to Mach 1.9 or a little +more. Since we had no real technical reasons to exceed it, I kept +below Bridgeman’s altitude record of 79,000 feet. My speed in the +Skyrocket was, of course, a world’s record. Typical of NACA we +hid this bright light under a bush, and Dr. Dryden ordered me to +stay below Mach 2. It mattered only a little to me. I had grown +up professionally within NACA and had come to accept urgency in +record-making as childish. + +The military thought otherwise. That year, 1953, the world was +celebrating the fiftieth anniversary of flight, and the publicists +were casting around for a sensational drum-beat in memory of the +Wright brothers. In short, a new speed or altitude record. That +summer the long-awaited Bell X-1-A, a sister-ship of the ill-fated +X-1-D, arrived at Edwards. With it came the Air Force’s star, Chuck +Yeager, temporarily released from another assignment. We knew what +he would be shooting for: Mach 2. If he made it, he would go down +in history as the first man to fly Mach 1 and then Mach 2. It was +a publicity agent’s dream, a perfect unveiling for the fiftieth +anniversary of flight. + +The Navy had not the slightest intention of letting the Air Force +pluck this plum without a stiff fight. One day in the summer of 1953 +Marine Colonel Marion Carl arrived at NACA. Carl is one of the most +fabulous aviators in history. A leading ace in World War II, Carl had +set a speed record in the original D-558-I back in 1947. Since that +time he had been engaged in other assignments in Washington and was +top pilot for the Naval Air Test Center, Patuxent River, Maryland, +the Navy’s counterpart of Edwards. Carl had never flown a rocket +airplane. But Walt Williams called all of us into the office to +announce that the Navy was “borrowing” the Skyrocket for a few days. +Colonel Carl would try to beat Bridgeman’s altitude record of 79,000 +feet and set a speed record of Mach 2. + +“That will really make Yeager’s job tougher,” Williams said. + +I threw myself into the venture as enthusiastically as if the flight +had been planned for me. One reason was that Carl, a big lanky guy, +was immensely likable and a superb aviator, in my book. I had to +admire his guts. There weren’t many pilots in the world who would +deliberately jump in the Skyrocket and go for broke. We stayed up +late at night. I told him every detail of the Skyrocket, all her +quirks and strong points, what to beware of, just how to balance on +that knife-edge high in the thin air, how to avoid the dangerous +Supersonic Yaw that had bothered Bridgeman and myself. In many ways +this was superfluous: he had done considerable cramming before he +came. + +Carl had one advantage over most beginning rocket-plane pilots. The +NACA Skyrocket team was unbeatable. The plane was by now almost +completely debugged. He could count on efficiency and competence up +to the moment of launch, and a mechanically near-perfect bird in +flight. The rest was up to him. + +The first two flights were failures--he never launched. On the +first I flew chase. Carl experienced some difficulty in the strange +Skyrocket cockpit and I was too far away to help. Thus on the second +flight I rode in the mother-ship bomb-bay compartment. I helped +Carl suit up and strapped him in the Skyrocket cockpit. Then, up +until the moment of launch, I helped Jack Russell operate the mother +plane’s manual Lox top-off system, pumping Lox into the tanks of the +Skyrocket to replace boil-off. Since liquid oxygen (Lox) “boils away” +at altitude, we had equipped the mother plane with a Lox “top-off +system,” which keeps pumping Lox into the research airplane until a +few moments before launch. Full Lox tanks also mean a longer rocket +flight, always a prime objective. Carl would need every ounce we +could squeeze in to break an altitude record. The second flight +ended much like the first. Frankly, I was amazed at the limitless +competence of the man in a brand-new and, to him, hostile environment. + +On the third flight and first launch Carl made it. After a perfect +light-off he stood the Skyrocket on its tail and blazed to 85,000 +feet, beating Bridgeman’s record by a healthy 6,000 feet. His +recovery in that thin air was adroit, and he landed the ship +dead-stick on the lake, beaming with pride. Now he was ready to +tackle the speed record, to rack up Mach 2 for the Navy. + +This would be tough, I knew. My top speed in the Skyrocket, and +Carl had to exceed this first, was Mach 1.96. I had achieved that +speed only after months of flying in the ship, of learning to tread +the knife-edge with extreme care and skill. In that airplane even +the slightest over-pressure on the stick would cut the speed back +drastically and botch a flight. It would be tougher in summer, when +the air was warmer. The Skyrocket performed best when it was cold. + +Colonel Carl made two unsuccessful tries for Mach 2. Then, under +pressure from some conservative elements in Navy headquarters, he +gave up the attempt, after failing to come close. Ever since, I have +held Carl in highest regard. In five brief Skyrocket flights he had +shattered the world altitude record. His record is usually omitted +from most aviation-record summaries. I think that is because he was a +Marine. But Carl, in no sense a small man, had never raised the point +himself. + +Carl’s performance made a lasting impact on me. After he left +Edwards I began to think hard about records. The names of the +famous rocket pilots hummed through my mind: Yeager, Boyd, Ridley, +Everest, Bridgeman, Carl. I had seen enough of these men to know +that when they spoke they commanded the attention of four-star +generals and admirals, even Dr. Dryden. Although only one (Ridley) +was an engineer, when they made a suggestion about an airplane it +was considered a command, and millions were spent on their intuitive +say-so. Their authority had been built not only on a foundation of +tens of thousands of data points wrung from research airplanes, but +mainly from singular, spectacular bursts--records. + +With the right man at the controls I knew the Skyrocket could reach +Mach 2, though not easily. Scott Crossfield might be the man, the +first man to fly at Mach 2. If so, who knew what the future held? + + + + +CHAPTER 17 ► + + _Light in the Open_ + + +“What’s the situation on the X-1-A?” Williams asked. I had just come +from an inspection of the ship, which was being readied for flight in +the Edwards Air Force hangar. + +“There are some technical difficulties in the airplane, some of them +critical, I think. I’ll give it to you in a report,” I said. + +“Is Yeager going to go?” Williams asked. + +“All out, that’s for sure. He was trying to feel me out a little, +find out what we were doing with the Skyrocket. I didn’t tell him, +although I let drop it was a pretty high Mach number. They’re going +to get this flight in before the Wright Brothers Memorial dinner if +it kills them.” + +“Don’t say that.” + +“I didn’t mean it that way, Walt.” I said. “But everything indicates +that this airplane is going to go directionally unstable at Mach 1.8 +and above. I’m sorry to see they have pulled Yeager back especially +for this. Something might happen. He is going to Mach 2 or faster if +he can.” + +“How about giving me a written report on the inspection? At least +we can show we were trying to make this thing as nearly safe as +possible. I’ve already put in one objection and gotten my ears +pinned. Don’t get into the flight operations aspects, just confine +the report to the systems inspection.” + +“Okay, Walt.” I turned to leave. + +“By the way,” Williams said, “we’re supposed to get some stuff +together for this proposed advanced research airplane. I’ve got +a report here prepared by O’Sullivan, Brown, and Zimmerman from +Langley.” + +My heart skipped a beat or two. + +“What do they recommend?” I asked. + +“It’s not a recommendation for a specific airplane configuration. +They think some more study should be given. They want to run a +lot more wind-tunnel studies on shapes. They especially want to +investigate aerodynamic heating. They’ve sent the report to all +NACA facilities for general comment, and in some cases for specific +engineering studies. Most of the technical work will be done down +at Langley--the aerodynamic heating phase. They’ve rigged up a +shotgun-type wind tunnel that will give them a micro-second blast as +high as Mach 16. Miniature stuff, but a start.” + +“What can we do to keep this thing rolling, Walt?” I asked. + +“_Keep_ it rolling? You mean _get_ it rolling good and fast, don’t +you? This thing could die on the vine right quick if the right people +don’t push it.” + +“All right, _get_ it rolling.” + +“What I’d like _you_ to do, Scotty, is prepare a report--take your +time, a couple of weeks, if need be--outlining the operational phase +of the proposed advanced research airplane. Make this a real positive +report. Write it as though the airplane were a definite thing and +don’t overstress the problems. Show them that for us the flight +program of this airplane would be strictly no sweat.” + +“I can do that because I believe it will be no sweat,” I said. “What +kind of guide-lines have they given us on speed and altitude?” + +“The numbers they’re kicking around now are Mach 6 and 75 miles +altitude, close to 400,000 feet.” + +I got up and walked to a map which covered one part of the wall in +Williams’ office. I made some mental calculations and spaced off some +distances with my thumb and little finger stretched to maximum. + +“I think you’ll probably have to launch some place over Salt Lake to +make a powered flight and land at Edwards,” I said. + +Williams got up and joined me before the map. + +“How about this area around Las Vegas?” he said. + +We stared at the patches on the map which outlined the many dry +lakes. There was a long string of them between Edwards and Salt Lake, +forming almost a straight line. Any of the lakes along the route +could serve as an emergency strip if something went wrong. + +“How far is it from here to Salt Lake?” Williams asked. + +“About four hundred miles,” I said. + +He sat down and doodled on a scratch pad. He slammed open his desk +drawer and pulled out a slide-rule. He figured swiftly for several +minutes, scratched his closely cropped, stiff hair. I noticed that it +was beginning to gray. + +“I think that’s it,” he said. “If the mother plane is fast enough, +you can take off from here, fly to Salt Lake in an hour or so and +launch. The research plane would be back here on the ground in half +an hour more.” + +“Our first aircraft in space,” I said. In NACA’s vernacular we called +it “extra-atmospheric flight.” + +That afternoon I began my report: “Operational techniques for a +research airplane of the type proposed in reference (a) will _not_ +present difficult problems if operational people have a strong voice +in the philosophy of the design and function of the airplane and its +parts....” + +I went on to discuss some of the technical details of the mother +plane, the launch speed and altitude and recovery phases, +recommending the Salt Lake area as a launch point. Then I digressed +into a discussion of the pilot safety and escape mechanisms, +emphasizing that all could be performed adequately by following known +procedures and making use of existing techniques. I expressed doubt +that cosmic radiation or zero G weightlessness would prove a problem, +although at that time, typically, there were experts in these fields +who had made a federal case of each. + +I concluded my report: “Directly proportional to operational +problems, and hence of vital importance, is the complication of +the airplane devices and over-engineering of the systems. From the +inflight point of view, the pilot-protection items lose their value +if reliability and airplane performance are sacrificed.” + +In short, let’s not botch up the airplane like the X-2 and X-3. Keep +it simple, always realizing that performance means pilot safety and +performance comes in this sense from reliability. + +I completed the report on the following day and forwarded it to Walt +Williams. Thus, little by little, and much too slowly for our money, +the X-15 was taking shape in people’s minds. + + * * * * * + +They had towed the XF-92-A far down on the lake bed. It was sensitive +to crosswind and the more the take-off run was directly into the +wind, the better. Pete Everest was ready to make the last Air Force +test flight before turning the plane over to NACA. After the plane +was in place, the wind changed slightly. But that was enough to +cancel the flight. I was in Williams’ office with Everest. + +“Well, Scotty,” he said, “you’re going to fly the plane next week. +Why don’t you go down to the lake and get it? You can taxi it back +and lift it off the lake, just to get the feel of it.” + +I grabbed my flight gear and drove down to the airplane. + +The XF-92-A was the worst-flying airplane built in modern times that +I know of. It was a delta-wing plane, the first modern delta job +manufactured in the country. Originally the plane was designed for a +ram-jet engine. When that engine fell by the wayside, the XF-92-A was +fitted with first one jet engine and then another. It was a hopeless +mess, a patchwork quilt of fixes upon fixes. It was underpowered, +under-geared, under-braked, and overweight. It was a nightmare. When +it first arrived at Edwards in the early days, Chuck Yeager washed +out the gear on take-off. After company demonstration, and Al Boyd’s +flight, by Air Force order only three Edwards pilots were permitted +to fly the plane: Yeager, Everest, and Crossfield. The Air Force was +not sorry to turn it over to me. + +I climbed into the cockpit, pulled the canopy shut, and got set for a +fast taxi, and shallow lift-off, back toward the base area. I gunned +the engine, and the plane, heavy with fuel, wobbled into the air. I +had read the manual and talked at length with Pete Everest. I knew +the plane was weak on brakes. One way to stop the roll was to hold +the plane nose-high--very high. With the lake bed running out on me, +I horsed back on the stick and brought the nose up. My speed fell off +only slightly. I pulled back hard on the stick and nearly stood the +beast on her tail. She plopped down on the lake but continued to roll +like a Ferrari. + +I was in trouble. The lake was all but gone. I was barreling toward +a cluster of sand dunes, unable to stop the plane. Well, Crossfield, +I thought, the old first-flight jinx is working hard, and this time +you’re going to wrap this plane up in a ball. It would be a mess, +too. The plane was fully fueled, all the tanks around the engine and +wheel-wells were brimming. Even under the best of circumstances, she +was a fire-trap. + +I figured a way to save my own hide. I could see that a small bluff +lay ahead directly across my path. I would let the plane roll on +until an instant before it smashed into the bluff. At that second I +would retract the gear, turn on all the fire-extinguishers, blow off +the canopy, and, as the belly skidded onto the bluff, jump out and +run. I stop-cocked the engine and shut down all the circuit breakers +and pumped what little brake I had, first left then right, to dodge a +couple of sand islands in my path. + +As the plane raced on toward the bluff, I suddenly noticed a narrow +dirt road going off to my left. Could I make that? I jammed on the +left brake with all my might. The small brake seized for a split +second, then fell off on the lake floor, a molten mass of metal. +But the plane had turned slightly toward the rutted dirt road and I +turned it still more by sheer will power. When I hit the road, the +tires blew and burned. But the plane stayed straight and level. A +hundred yards up the road, it finally ground to a halt. I pulled the +fire-extinguishers and jumped out. + +After that the dirt road was facetiously renamed the Crossfield Pike +in my honor. Everest cracked: “You know, Scotty, you’re the only +pilot still alive at Edwards who has a road named after him.” + +One of the weakest points of the XF-92-A was the engine installation. +During the early phase of the program before I flew it, we burned +out an engine on almost every other flight, laying the ship up for +repairs for weeks on end. In fact, it took eighteen months to log +eighteen flights. We made many changes in the installation and +operational procedures, so that by the time I flew it we fortunately +never lost another engine. But every time I took off in that plane +I held my breath until I reached sufficient altitude to use the +ejection seat, if necessary. The pilot never really flew that +airplane, he corralled it. + +I made twenty-five flights in her during the summer and fall of 1953. +On the last one, in October, she collapsed on the lake bed while +taxiing after landing. The nose wheel simply got tired and buckled. +The plane ground-looped and came to rest, teetering on the nose and +one wingtip. After I was sure that it would not fall over on me, I +crawled out. + +The plane never flew again after that. It was finished and no one +shed any tears. Some mechanics patched it up, and for a while it was +used for publicity purposes as a static exhibit at air shows, Rose +Bowl parades, and so on. + +From an engineering standpoint I should not be overly harsh on +the XF-92-A. Actually, the combined Air Force-NACA flight program +produced a great deal of information which ultimately made the +Convair F-102 delta-wing fighter and its newer sister-ship, the +F-106, feasible airplanes. The data we accumulated from the XF-92-A +enabled the F-102 and F-106 to achieve an acceptable stability in +flight, and thus the darned thing had accomplished its purpose. + + * * * * * + +Not long after the final demise of the XF-92-A, I visited the office +of “Perk” Perkins, the Navy liaison civilian stationed at Edwards. +He was the very valuable contact for NACA when we needed something +from the Navy. He had been in the thick of the Marion Carl altitude +and speed attempts in the Skyrocket. He was a good friend. + +“Perk,” I said, “I can’t be here officially. Dr. Dryden has ordered +me not to take the Skyrocket to Mach 2. But this is a Navy-sponsored +plane and I thought I would kick around some possibilities with you. +Something that the Navy would think beneficial.” + +Perkins caught on fast. My case made sense. Yeager was going to +take the X-1-A to Mach 2, come hell or high water. The X-1-A was +a new bird. We knew it would be unstable above Mach 1.8. Yeager +had already encountered instability above that speed on a practice +run. Knowing Yeager, though, the chances were he would make it. The +Wright Brothers dinner was coming up. We could achieve Mach 2 in the +Skyrocket because after scores of flights we had learned to live +with its instability. I knew the plane well. I could fly it. “U. S. +Navy” was stamped all over the project. The Navy would get the credit +without risking a failure. If I failed, no one would be the wiser. + +“The only thing is,” I said, “the pressure for this flight must come +from the Navy direct to Dr. Dryden on the highest levels. It’s going +to be tough because Dryden does not want to challenge the Air Force. +He’ll be caught in the middle but it ought to be interesting.” + +I left Perkins’ office wondering if I had not slipped a cog. Imagine +Crossfield proposing a record attempt. Imagine Dr. Dryden approving +it! + +In the best Navy tradition, Perkins was a resourceful and decisive +man. Right off, he found out that the Navy’s Chief of the Bureau of +Aeronautics, Rear Admiral Apollo Soucek, was visiting on the West +Coast. Perkins tracked him down. Soucek had no objections, provided +the matter had been cleared through the Chief of Naval Operations in +the Pentagon. Perkins got on the wire to the Pentagon and talked with +our old friend Marion Carl. Carl knew just how to do it, apparently, +because a week later Dryden sent word to Walt Williams to say that +the Mach 2 restriction on the Skyrocket had been lifted. Williams was +dumbfounded and for some reason suspicious of my role in this caper. + +“It’s up to you now, Scotty,” said Perkins. “The Pentagon says we +can have one try at it. If we miss, we have to step aside for Chuck +Yeager.” + +“I won’t miss,” I said. + + * * * * * + +The timing was splendid. I was not aware of it then, but a change was +taking place within NACA. The cost of operating its laboratories was +mounting in direct proportion to the increasing complexity of modern +airplanes. NACA urgently required advanced tools to probe new areas +of flight. These had to be in place in a hurry if they were to do any +good. But money was hard to come by. The administration, in general, +had taken a dim view of “research,” and NACA’s contributions were not +easy to explain in lay language. NACA was about to bring its light +into the open. The Mach 2 proposal must have fitted very neatly with +NACA’s new plans. + +In fact, a few days later, to my astonishment Dr. Dryden’s able +assistant, Walter Bonney, arrived at Edwards. Bonney, a good-natured +man then a few years my senior, had worked for Bell Aircraft for +years as a public relations man. In 1949 Bonney had joined NACA in +Washington, where he soon discovered that his talents as a flack were +not so appealing as his talent for writing history. In the prevailing +atmosphere Bonney went underground and began preparing the most +thorough and objective history of aviation yet conceived. For years +my hobby had been aviation history. During the years Bonney and I had +spent many hours together on this subject. I had turned over to him +my collection of research. + +“Walt!” I said. “What brings you to Edwards? We’re not doing anything +out here an aviation historian would be interested in.” + +“Son,” Bonney said, tossing me a quizzical smile, “I’m not a +historian on this mission.” Bonney called everyone younger than he +“son.” + +I knew then that Bonney had come out to handle “press relations” in +the event I was successful in reaching Mach 2. What was happening to +staid old NACA, anyway? + + + + +CHAPTER 18 ► + + “_Fastest Man on Earth_” + + +November 20, 1953, was a cold, blustery day on the desert. I arrived +at the ramp before daybreak, shivering from the frigid wind and weak +from a bad dose of influenza. I had slept only a few hours. But it +mattered little how _I_ felt. My mind and body would be called upon +to perform full-bore for only four critical minutes. I had no doubt +that both could be summoned to peak at the proper time. The important +thing was how the Skyrocket shaped up. + +She was snugged under the belly of the B-29 mother plane, almost lost +in a swirl of liquid oxygen fog, which boiled out of a vent. Pipes, +wires, and hoses leading from the ground-equipment carts and fuel +trucks were plugged into her top and sides. A swarm of mechanics, +heavily bundled against the cold, fretted about. In the background +was a steady, eerie, high-pitched whistle caused by pressure dumping +overboard through a relief valve, signifying to all that the +Skyrocket was ready for action. It was a falsetto call to arms. + +In truth, the Skyrocket was being called upon to perform a minor +miracle. She was not designed for supersonic flight in the first +place. In concept she was old, years old, and even at Mach 1.8 we +were pressing her far beyond rational limits. One simple fact made +her go fast: the 200-second blast of her enormously powerful rocket +engine lighted off in mid-air at 35,000 feet, where we could take +advantage of the thin air. If the Skyrocket took off from the ground, +which she was not designed to do, even with her rocket engine going +she would not exceed the speed of sound. Too much time would be lost, +too much fuel consumed, leaving the ground and climbing through the +thick air that lies between the earth and 35,000 feet. The secret lay +in the air-launch. And even with an air-launch, the best any ordinary +team could hope for, with luck, was a speed of Mach 1.9. Bridgeman +and I had already crowded her limits. This speed was achieved in the +thin air above 50,000 feet, where at any instant the Skyrocket, not +designed for flight in those regions, could skid slightly and then +tumble wildly out of control. + +After months of working together, the NACA Skyrocket team had learned +many little tricks to save time and gain an edge on the unknown. Take +the prime, for example, when we squirted a preliminary shot of Lox +through the engine, to chill it down for the big start. The prime +exhausted through a tube in the rear of the bird. As soon as the +prime flowed smoothly, we launched. If we delayed, we wasted valuable +Lox-energy. Jim Newman, an observer in the B-29, had learned to +anticipate the prime. He could tell on the first puff if it was going +to be good. As another example, I had perfected a rhythmatic method +of lighting off the four rocket barrels so that each tube gave us +every ounce of impulse it was capable of exerting. + +All else being equal, in the final analysis the speed we achieved +depended directly on how much fuel we could carry. Here, too, we had +tried a trick. If we pumped the frigid, unstable, boiling liquid +oxygen into the Skyrocket about four or five hours before flight +time, giving it time to “settle down,” we knew we could squeeze +in a few more pounds. Storing the freezing liquid in the airplane +for so long a period caused the ship to transform into a gigantic +deep-freeze. Because of this, we called the procedure “cold-soaking” +the airplane. We also chilled the alcohol fuel for higher density. + +The way our orders read, we had only one chance to crack Mach 2. +There could be no mistakes and thus we did everything possible to +grease the ship, hoping to gain a knot of speed or save an ounce of +weight. Everyone scoffed, but I had the crew wax the glistening white +wings and fuselage. We placed masking tape over every aperture and +crack. We replaced the stainless-steel prime and jettison tubes, used +only in an emergency fuel-dump, with lightweight aluminum tubing. +We carefully bent these tubes so they curved into the blast of the +rocket engine. Once I had lighted off and no longer required them, +they would burn away and fall off, shedding another few pounds of +drag from the Skyrocket. + + * * * * * + +“How’s everything, Jack?” Jack Moise, one of the B-29 launch-panel +operators, had, along with the whole crew, been awake most of the +night nursing the Skyrocket. He was an able mechanic and a cool +head in the air at launch time. He often operated the liquid oxygen +top-off system in the mother plane, pumping in the last bit of fuel +before launch. + +“She looks real good, Scotty,” Jack said. “We’re ready to load +hydrogen peroxide.” We used peroxide as a fuel for the Skyrocket’s +fuel and Lox pumps that supplied the rocket engines with the +high-pressure propellants at tremendous rates. The peroxide +solution--ninety per cent--was so strong that a rag doused in the +liquid would spontaneously burst into flames. + +“Go ahead,” I said. I tightened my jacket against the cold desert +wind. + +Moise gave the signal and the peroxide flowed from a truck into the +Skyrocket. But a calamity was in the making--one of those unfortunate +“accidents” that always seem to haunt the record-breakers at +Edwards. The long “cold-soak” had frozen shut a hydrogen-peroxide +vent fitting. The dangerous liquid, pumped in under pressure, sought +an escape route. It overflowed into a manifold, rushed through a +pipe, and suddenly burst out of an untaped port near the rear of the +Skyrocket, showering Jack Moise. He yelled and covered his face with +his hands. + +A quick-thinking mechanic, Kinkaid, grabbed a fire hose and brutally +splashed Moise full in the face with water. Without a second’s +delay we hurried Moise to the flight-line emergency dispensary. +There they carefully rinsed his face and eyes and stripped off his +peroxide-soaked clothing. His face was blotched white in a few spots, +but fortunately these disappeared within a few days. + +Coming out of the doctor’s office, I saw Kinkaid sitting on a bench, +waiting for a check-up. He was soaking wet. + +“You better get out of those wet clothes,” I said. + +“No, Scotty, it’s okay. I’m warm,” he said. + +I was about to leave when a question flashed into my mind. Why would +Kinkaid, wet as he was, be “warm” on so cold a day? The answer came +quickly: he, too, was soaked with peroxide, a thermite bomb, ready to +burst into flames. + +I’m sure Kinkaid thought I had lost my mind. I ran to him and began +peeling off his many layers of clothing--two pairs of trousers, long +underwear, a jacket, sweater, and shirt. When at last he stood before +us completely nude and looking sheepish, I saw that his arms and +legs were bleached white. We had saved him from serious injury and +possibly a consuming peroxide fire. + +This near-disaster delayed our preparations, but not much. Back at +the ship another mechanic thawed the peroxide fitting with a hot-air +gun, and soon the Skyrocket was loaded, ready to go. + +Herman Ankenbruk, the project engineer, had spent many hours +working out a flight plan that would give the Skyrocket maximum +performance--and then some. Usually after drop I flew the plane on a +giant parabolic course, going uphill and then pushing over, achieving +maximum speed in a mild dive. Everything was timed to the split +second. Too much climb would rob me of rocket-engine burning time on +the descent. A sloppy pushover would leave the Skyrocket at too low +or too high an altitude at burn-out. The high-speed dive lasted only +a few seconds. Plunging earthward, the Skyrocket soon encountered +thick air, building up a dragging shock-wave on the nose. When +the drag equaled the thrust of the rockets, they shut off and the +Skyrocket slowed like a truck hitting a brick wall. + +After a brain-numbing analysis of all previous flight data and +endless conferences with me, Herman advised me to climb to 72,000 +feet. The winds aloft that day blew from the east. A launch in the +western end of the valley, heading east, might add a few miles per +hour, we thought. The cold temperature that day suited the Skyrocket +fine. + + * * * * * + +The success of the flight to a large extent depended on the +performance of the mother-ship crew. On this day especially, the +Lox top-off had to be perfect. Each drop of Lox pumped in at the +last moment added precious micro-seconds to the burning time. I +was completely confident. Jim Newman, I knew, would anticipate the +prime and call it right. The mother-plane pilot, Stan Butchart, an +old friend from the war and the University whom I had recruited for +NACA, would drop at precisely the right point at the best speed and +altitude. He had done so many times in the past. These men were pros. + +At 10,000 feet I crawled into the familiar cockpit of the Skyrocket +and the canopy was slammed shut. All the gauges were in the green. +Only one thing worried me. When we reached altitude, it was my job to +pressurize the cockpit of the Skyrocket by releasing compressed air +through a valve. There was no gradual compression. The gas exploded +into the cockpit in one burst. The effect on the pilot was similar +to that a diver might experience with a split-second change in +depth. The sinus tubes sometimes clogged and built up pressure that +telegraphed a racking pain through every cavity in the pilot’s head. +Long before, from years of flying and pressure-chamber work, I had +developed that dreadful occupational affliction of pilots: tortured, +mangled sinus channels. On two occasions in the past the pain had +been so severe at pressurizing that I had had to cancel. I worried +now about how my influenza might have complicated my sinuses. It was +possible they might be unbearably painful. + +Against this possibility I had brought along a piece of insurance, a +small cork. Preparing to pressurize, I reached back and plugged the +cork in the compressed-air tube outlet. I turned the valve and eased +the cork out of the pipe slowly. The pressure in the cockpit built up +gradually and caused me no pain whatsoever. When the cabin-pressure +gauge reached the green, I reported by radio to Butchart: + +“Pressurized.” + +We droned on toward launch point, our path marked by four snowy-white +contrails. The air was slightly turbulent and we bounced more than +usual. The Skyrocket creaked in its mechanical nest. Too busy to +care, I set my stop-watch and began the pre-launch routine. I +pressurized the fuel tanks. The gauges, thank God, held steady in the +green. Then I turned the switch on the Skyrocket panel which blazed a +green “ready” light on Butchart’s panel in the B-29. + +“Going to prime,” I intoned on the radio. There was no dramatic +nonsense on our radio circuits. Almost before I had completed my +sentence, Jim Newman called back: + +“Prime looks good.” + +“Five, four, three, two, one. DROP!” Butchart called the countdown +with almost exaggerated calm. + +The Skyrocket fell away on its elevator course, and a blinding flash +of sunlight hit my eyes. When the ship rolled gently to the right, +as usual, I trimmed quickly and hit the rocket-barrel switches, +pausing a split second until each caught. The Skyrocket surged ahead. +I pulled back on the stick and the horizon disappeared from my +windshield. I called Butchart by radio for a steer. + +“You’re to my right and going uphill, Scotty,” Butchart said, placing +the Skyrocket in relative position to the mother plane. This was +important because in the steep climb I couldn’t tell direction. + +“All four going good,” chase Captain Givens reported. I soon left +them far below and behind. + +With luck the rocket barrels would burn a total of 200 seconds. +These three minutes would spell success or failure. While the +Skyrocket bored steadily toward the heavens, I prayed silently to +God. “Don’t let me goof this one.” Meanwhile I kept my eye glued to +the needle-ball, air-speed and altitude instruments, an archaic but +very effective method. If they charged ahead too much or dropped off +suddenly, I would burn fuel needlessly. The way Herman had calculated +it, I had to ride an imaginary parabola in the sky, veering no more +than a few feet off course. This was the delicate knife-edge. + +Coming up on 72,000 feet, I began the push-over. The Skyrocket, +engines blazing furiously, arched nicely and began the big downhill +run. This was the supreme moment: the Olympic bobsled run, the +80-meter ski-jump, the first and last downhill lunge on my wild +roller-coaster. I prayed that the barrels would burn a few more +seconds. My eye now alternated from the Mach meter, which was slowly +edging toward the magic 2.0 reading, to the needle and ball; if +either deviated, precious energy and speed were lost. + +I could hear the usual chatter on the radio from chase: “Do you have +him in sight?” + +“No. I see the exhaust. But I can’t see him. He’s lost in the sun +some place.” + +“Well, I’ll ease over the base and try to pick him up when he gets +back down here.” + +“Rog.” + +The Skyrocket was performing like an Olympic champion. She held true +on her spectacular dive. The rocket engine burned several seconds +longer than usual--207. The “cold-soak” had paid off. The Mach meter +needle edged past 2.0 and hung at 2.04. WE HAD MADE IT! I had become +the first man to fly at twice the speed of sound, and this historic +milestone had been automatically recorded by the data instruments in +the Skyrocket. + +The rocket engine cut off with a pop-pop-pop-pop, just about the +instant the Skyrocket entered the “thick” air. The ship slowed +abruptly, throwing me forward against the shoulder straps. I drew +back on the stick and began the pull-out, still coasting at better +than Mach 1.8, taking care to see that the ship did not fall off the +knife-edge. Dropping silently back through Mach 1.0, the Skyrocket +for a brief instant shook harshly, like a wet dog drying his fur. + +Now it was time for the dead-stick lake-bed landing. Coming over the +edge of the lake at 15,000 feet, I whipped the ship into a victory +roll. As I slowed, the chase planes found me and closed on my +wingtips. I lined up for the let-down. + +The Skyrocket’s wheels touched down between the two long black lines +painted on the dry-lake bed at precisely the point I had picked to +land. She rolled to a stop twelve minutes from launch. Walt Williams, +followed by Walter Bonney, ran up to the side of the ship, awaiting +my report. I pushed back the canopy and looked at Bonney. + +“I don’t think you’ve wasted your time coming out here.” He beamed. + + * * * * * + +“Scotty, how did it feel?” It was a mob scene in a room of the +Statler-Hilton Hotel in Los Angeles. In the glare of spotlights, +newsreel cameras ground and flash cameras exploded in my face. The +reporter who asked the question, one of about fifty jammed in the +room, held his notebook in hand, pencil poised. Other reporters +were shouting from all corners of the room. The phone was ringing. +Everybody wanted an interview. National magazines were on the scent. +Walter Bonney was in his element. At last NACA had hit the big time +in his business, too. + +How did it feel? I turned the question over in my mind slowly, gazing +blankly at the reporter. How did you explain how it felt in a word or +two, which was all he wanted? Tell them you didn’t believe in making +records? Tell them it was part of a careful lifetime plan? Reveal the +secrets of the proposed advanced research airplane? Tell them you +just wanted to show Yeager a thing or two? + +“Well, if you want to know the truth,” I said, “I didn’t feel good +yesterday. I had the flu. A real bellyache.” + +The newsmen scrambled out, leaving Bonney and me to sort through a +hundred or more invitations to make speeches, appear at football +games in the half-time, and other scientifically significant events, +and to fend off still more reporters who wanted to write “human +interest” stories about me and, worse, my family. It was a new +and zany world to me. That night when I picked up a Los Angeles +newspaper, I stared dazedly at the black headline two inches high and +eight columns long: + + PILOT FLIES MACH 2 AND GETS BELLYACHE + +A few nights later I was guest of honor at a ceremony in San Diego. +Sitting next to me at the head table was movie star and swimming +champion, Esther Williams. We all waited patiently while some Air +Force general droned through a long, prepared speech about the +marvels of science and airplanes in particular. Finally my beautiful +dinner companion, dressed in a tight-fitting gold lamé dress, was +called upon to speak. + +Esther Williams approached the mike. Leaning over the lectern until +her best features were prominently spot-lighted, she spoke slowly: +“You know, I’ve been getting a lot of static all night long about +sitting next to the fastest man on earth. But I don’t believe it. He +hasn’t laid a hand on me yet!” + +I only wished that the exceedingly eminent Dr. Dryden had been there +to see the crowd double up on the floor with glee. NACA had indeed +arrived at a turning point. Scott Crossfield, too. + + + + +CHAPTER 19 ► + + “_Leaf in a Tempest_” + + +I was king of the race track for three weeks. Then the old master, +Chuck Yeager, did it again. He shattered my record, but he nearly +died doing it. + +I had been expecting the coup de grâce at any moment. Chuck had been +scheduled to fly the X-1-A on the day after my Mach 2 flight in the +Skyrocket. But when I logged Mach 2, the Air Force team pulled back +and regrouped, as the military say. Yeager now had his hands full. +Pete Everest describes this Air Force record-breaking in his book: +“By this time the old X-1 record had long since been broken by both +Bridgeman and Crossfield, so there was no question of keeping ahead +of them. Our problem now was trying to catch up.” + +In early December Chuck flew the X-1-A Mach 2 and caught up. To quote +Everest again: “We had matched Bridgeman and Crossfield even money +and now we raised the bid.” Yeager would gun the X-1-A all out. + +I watched these warm-ups--between my own press conferences--with more +than casual interest. The Wright Brothers Memorial dinner was just a +few days away. If Chuck failed, the Navy and Douglas could publicly +boast a clean sweep: Carl’s 85,000-foot altitude record and my Mach +2 speed record, both set in the Skyrocket. Yeager flew on December 12. + +I took up a post that day on the Edwards radio circuit, to listen in +on the flight from the ground. Jack Ridley and Major Arthur “Kit” +Murray flew chase. I heard them routinely chatting on the air as the +mother plane bore down on the launch point at 32,000 feet. Then like +the crack of a starting pistol we heard the mother-plane pilot snap +to the co-pilot: + +“Drop her, Danny.” + +In my mind’s eye I could see the X-1-A falling rapidly away from the +mother plane and Yeager adroitly moving the controls. Now I knew he +would be hitting the four rocket-switches at intervals, blasting +skyward. In a matter of three minutes he would reach the finish line. +The seconds ticked by slowly. + +“Got him in sight, Kit?” It was chase Ridley speaking to chase Murray. + +“No,” Murray replied. “He’s going out of sight. Too small.” That was +a good sign--for Yeager. + +The radio circuit was silent. There was no word from Yeager. I +dragged on a cigarette thinking: It’s just like him to keep everybody +on the hook. + +Then suddenly all hell broke loose. Something was wrong. I became +aware of it when I heard Murray and Ridley shouting over the radio to +Yeager. + +“Chuck! Chuck! Yeager! Where are you....” + +Then Yeager came on the air, his voice hoarse and rasping, and barely +audible: + +“I’m ... I’m down ... I’m down to 25,000 feet ... over Tehachapi. +Don’t know ... whether I can ... get back base or not....” + +“At 25,000 feet?” Ridley asked incredulously. + +“I’m ... I’m ... Christ!” + +“What say, Chuck?” Ridley called. “Chuck!” + +“I say ... don’t know ... if I tore ... anything or not ... but, +Christ!” + +Yeager was obviously in serious trouble. The word flashed across the +base. Emergency trucks screamed toward the flight line. Helicopters +lifted off, heading for Tehachapi. We leaned over the radio speaker, +hanging on each word. Race-track competition was one thing, but now +a pilot’s life--a _great_ pilot’s life--was in jeopardy. I felt +helpless--almost sick. + +“Chuck from Murray,” the radio crackled. “If you can give me altitude +and heading, I’ll try to check from outside.” The chase pilots were +trying desperately to find Yeager’s tiny craft, to guide him back to +base, to tell him if his wings were still in place. + +“Be down at 18,000 feet. I’m about ... be over the base at 15,000 +feet in a minute,” Yeager reported. + +On the ground we cheered the master on. His last radio report +indicated he would make it. His voice had new confidence. + +“Yes, _sir_,” Murray snapped on the radio. + +We heard the routine as Chuck jettisoned and vented fuel tanks. He +sounded much better. The chase closed in. + +“Does everything look okay on the airplane?” Yeager called, lining up +for the lake-bed landing. + +There was still time to bail out if the ship was busted. But he +got little help. In his eagerness Murray had lined up on the wrong +airplane, a T-33 jet trainer. Quickly Murray shifted targets and +gunned his engine to close on Yeager’s craft, but it was too late. +Yeager was already letting down, committed. + +“I don’t have you, Chuck,” Murray called. + +“I’m on base leg,” Chuck reported. His voice sounded firm and strong. +“I’ll be landing ... in a minute.” + +We heard some additional chatter and then Yeager said: + +“Going to land long. I would appreciate it if you’d get out there and +get ... this thing ... this pressure suit. I’m hurting ... I think I +busted the canopy with my head.” He landed like the pro he is. + + * * * * * + +Yeager’s had been the fastest and wildest airplane ride in history. +The grim details of it spread through Edwards, hurriedly passed along +by tongues stammering in disbelief and admiration. + +After drop, Yeager had lighted off the four X-1-A rocket barrels +one by one to achieve maximum speed. He pointed the X-1-A’s nose +toward the deep blue and at 75,000 feet he pushed over. The X-1-A, +in level flight, roared to Mach 2.42, or about 1600 miles an hour, +faster by a wide margin than man had ever flown before. Then in that +rarefied air, at a speed the X-1-A was not designed to fly, the plane +“uncorked.” The X-1-A tumbled wildly like a “leaf in a tempest, a +cork in a flooding stream,” as Everest puts it. + +The X-1-A spun uncontrollably, dropping 51,000 feet in fifty-one +seconds, smashing Yeager about in the cockpit. As Yeager later +recalled the experience: “The voices have no reality in this lost +moment of your life. You’re taking a beating now and you’re badly +mauled. You can see stars. Your mind is half blank, your body +suddenly useless as the X-1-A begins to tumble through the sky. There +is something terrible about the helplessness with which you fall. +There’s nothing to hold to and you have no strength. There is only +your weight knocked one way and the other as the plane drops tumbling +through the air. The whole inner lining of its pressurized cockpit is +shattered as you’re knocked around, and its skin where you touch it +is still scorching hot. Then as the airplane rolls, yaws, and pitches +through a ten-mile fall, you suddenly lose consciousness. You don’t +know what hit you or where.” + +Probably no other pilot could have come through that experience +alive. Much later I asked Yeager, as a matter of professional +interest, exactly how he regained control of the ship. He was vague +in his reply, but he said he thought that after he reached the thick +atmosphere, he had deliberately put the ship into a spin. + +“A spin is something I know how to get out of,” he said. “That other +business--the tumble--there is no way to figure that out.” + +The Air Force squeezed in by the skin of its teeth. Yeager’s new +record was triumphantly announced at the Wright Brothers Memorial +dinner in Washington. Yeager received many accolades. I didn’t +begrudge him one of them. If ever a pilot deserved praise for a job +well done, it was Yeager. After that X-1-A episode, he never flew a +rocket airplane again. + + * * * * * + +While it still retained control of the X-1-A, the Air Force itched to +make a try for an altitude record. As Everest says: “While we waited +for the engineers to tell us why Chuck got into trouble, we began an +alternate program to set a new altitude record....” + +By then Everest must have come to believe his own Air Force press +releases. He says: “Bill Bridgeman’s record of 79,000 feet in the +Douglas Skyrocket was the mark ... to beat.” In reality the “mark +to beat” was Marion Carl’s 85,000-foot record established in the +Skyrocket. But, as I said, Carl’s record was seldom included in the +aviation-record summaries. + +Major Kit Murray, who had flown chase for Chuck Yeager on the +ill-fated X-1-A flight, was picked as pilot for the Air Force +altitude attempt. His boss, Pete Everest, was reserving his strength +and skill for the X-2 flight program, if and when the airplane became +ready. Murray had flown chase on the X-1-A many times, but he had +never flown a rocket plane. Even so, as Everest puts it, Murray was +“well qualified” for this all-out attempt in the unstable X-1-A. +After long months of study, and conferences with Yeager, he was +thoroughly familiar with the airplane. However, as Everest reports: +“... we approached his flights with extreme caution.” + +Inevitably there were delays. Murray’s “gravy flight,” as the Air +Force termed the record tries, did not arrive until June of 1954. +After drop and light-off Murray duplicated Yeager’s flight plan up to +65,000 feet. Then in place of Yeager’s high-speed run, Murray raised +the nose of the ship sharply and zoomed toward the sky. At 90,000 +feet Murray pushed over in a gentle parabola, his speed just under +Mach 2. Says Everest: “Had he kept the nose up he could have gone +higher.... We wanted to play this one safe and use proper techniques +and not take chances.” + +Then, Everest goes on, in spite of these “precautions,” the X-1-A +flipped out of control, virtually duplicating the final phase of +Yeager’s last X-1-A flight. As Everest explains it: “In thin air +of the upper atmosphere the plummeting rocket ship uncorked and +fell forty thousand feet before Kit was able to get control again. +Because he was going considerably slower than Yeager when he tumbled, +fortunately he did not take as bad a beating. After regaining control +he returned safely to base and landed, having flown higher than any +other human being.” + +Murray had topped Carl’s record by 5,000 feet. + +Following these demonstrations the X-1-A and its sister-ship, the +X-1-B, which had undergone several check flights by Everest and +Murray, were turned over to NACA for aeronautical research and +investigation. In his pilot report Pete Everest recommended that both +planes, “by using a cautious approach,” could probably be flown to a +maximum theoretical speed of Mach 2.5, or just a shade faster than +Yeager flew the X-1-A on his record-breaking flight. Neither airplane +was ever flown again to such speeds and altitudes. + +By then the need for an advanced research airplane of stable design +was urgently felt throughout the entire aviation industry. At NACA, +Edwards, we then had four rocket planes in our hangar. These included +the X-1-A and the X-1-B, our rebuilt X-1, renamed the X-1-E, and +the trusty Skyrocket. All these airplanes were obviously unstable +above Mach 2; the Skyrocket could just barely squeak through to that +speed. The swept-wing X-2, by then almost ten years old from a design +standpoint, was at Edwards, in Everest’s able hands, but the engine +was still not ready for flight test. On a powerless glide test, with +ballast, the X-2 nose wheel had again skewered, causing the plane +to ground-loop at high speed, badly shaking Everest. This convinced +us--if we needed convincing--that the X-2 was really jinxed. + +It was vital for the research airplanes to reach far ahead of the +military combat airplanes. Already the first of the Century Series +supersonic fighters had arrived at Edwards, and Air Force pilots +were flying at impressive speeds, encountering dangerous instability +and high-altitude engine malfunctions. One of these military planes, +a Lockheed F-104 straight-wing, lightweight day-fighter, with the +pilot’s pilot, Tony Le Vier, at the helm, cracked Mach 2 only a few +months after my Mach 2 flight in the Skyrocket. However, it was plain +that if we had learned more from the research airplanes in time, the +F-104 and the military planes that came with it--the F-100, F-101, +and F-105--good as they were, would have been immeasurably better +craft. At that time, moreover, the advance designers were laying +plans for a new generation of Mach 3 military airplanes. We had +yet to achieve Mach 2.5 in research airplanes. So the requirement +for data was even more pressing. It is possible to tell a great +deal from wind-tunnel data, of course, but wind-tunnel data are +always corrected with assumptions, which inevitably contain errors. +Airplanes must be flown full-scale to find out the true story. In +reaching to Mach 6, the NACA’s paper-study advanced research airplane +would provide a long-overdue and much-desired quantum leap. + + * * * * * + +The plane was slowly making its way into the world. In April of 1954 +NACA completed its engineering studies, proposing a design that +looks very much like the X-15 of today. After the usual headquarters +shake-down, NACA forwarded this report to all of the senior members +of the main NACA committee and to the chairman, Jimmy Doolittle. A +few weeks later, in July of 1954, NACA brass met with the Pentagon +brass to hammer out the final details of the airplane. During this +meeting the Navy revealed that Douglas had prepared a paper study +of an “advanced Skyrocket,” with essentially the same performance +of the NACA-conceived craft. This report was received with great +interest, and some of its suggestions were later absorbed into the +X-15 program. But it was clear from the outset that the X-15 would be +primarily an Air Force show, with the Navy playing a supporting role. +There was not enough money in the kitty to build both Navy and Air +Force versions of a Mach 6 research airplane. + + * * * * * + +“About all this airplane will do is prove the bravery of the pilot.” +The speaker was the chief designer of a large aircraft manufacturer, +addressing a very influential body, NACA’s Aerodynamics Subcommittee. +The Subcommittee was composed of the chief design engineers of the +major aircraft companies of the United States. They were meeting +at NACA’s Edwards facility for a final rehash of the X-15. At +that pronouncement my heart skipped a beat. I was sitting on the +sidelines, a very interested bystander. + +From conception the X-15 had proved controversial, just like most +matters in the highly competitive, uncertain aviation industry. Some +engineers believed NACA should reach for higher speed in measured +increments, that is to say, Mach 3, Mach 4, Mach 5, with separate +vehicles. Experts in the new and growing field of aero-space medicine +believed that zero G weightlessness and cosmic radiation would render +flight in the fringe of space, or in space itself, impossible. +Structural experts worried about the “re-entry” heating of the X-15. +It was known that the plane would glow red, like a blacksmith’s +forge, when it plunged back into the thick atmosphere. What known +metal could withstand so hot a blast and retain its integrity? Still +others were concerned about the very low L over D of the X-15. +Designed for stable, high-speed flight in rarefied air--or no air at +all--on landing, the ship would come in fast, dropping like a brick. + +These were technical details. Even more significant was an ominous +philosophy underlying this historic meeting. By then--October, +1954--the U. S. had embarked on a massive, semi-crash program to +build a family of long- and medium-range ballistic missiles, to +include the Thor, Jupiter, Atlas, and Titan. In anticipation of these +weapons, missile-test vehicles had already achieved speeds--Mach 10 +and up--that made our manned-aircraft efforts seem puny, indeed, in +some people’s eyes. These test vehicles were accumulating a vast +storehouse of limited-flight data within and beyond the atmosphere +on high-speed control, structure and aerodynamic heating. It was not +precisely airplane-type information, but it was very closely related. +Thus some of the engineers questioned the very need for a high-speed +manned research aircraft. Detractors suggested that an automatic +missile-type guidance system replace the pilot in the X-15. + +Without quite realizing it, these engineers, who must always look +five to eight years down the road in their business, were, in a way, +debating the future of the manned airplane, as we think of it. Not +one of them would then have come right out and said that the manned +aircraft was diminishing in importance. On the contrary, they would +have protested it to the heavens. But the impact of the guided +missile was beginning to be felt, even though none of the proposed +missile weapons had been test-fired. In a subtle way, the missile was +creeping into all considerations of future projects. The fact that +the need for the X-15 and a pilot to fly it was questioned at all was +clear proof. + +Despite strong objections the NACA Aerodynamics Subcommittee at this +meeting put the final stamp of recommendation on the X-15, in effect +ratifying Dr. Dryden’s course of action in Washington. Like other +research airplanes in the past, the X-15 would be an “open secret,” +that is, everything learned in its construction and flight operations +would be made available, through NACA and contractor reports, to all +of industry. The airplane would be thrown open to all industry for +bids. The Air Force would supply ninety per cent of the funds, the +Navy about ten per cent. When completed, it would be flown at Edwards +in accordance with the scheme I had developed earlier and presented +to Walt Williams. Just _who_ would fly the plane was left open for +further consideration. The whole project was to be carried out with +high priority as a “matter of national urgency.” A few weeks later +the Air Force called for bids. + +Subsequently NACA displayed unusual boldness in dealing with the +Department of Defense over the proposed technical flight program of +the X-15. NACA demanded and received sole authority to determine who +should fly the airplane, and to what speed and altitude it should +be flown on each flight. Deference would be shown the Air Force, +of course, since that agency was footing most of the bills for the +plane, but NACA made it clear that aeronautical research would take +precedence over record-breaking. The X-15 would shatter existing +records, all in the line of business. + +There was much that worried me after the aeronautical design titans +had departed Edwards. As I saw it, there was danger that the X-15 +would wind up with too many cooks. Almost any member of the many +interested agencies had the authority to impose his ideas on the +airplane. Each was a specialist in one field or another; each an +advocate of this or that controversial, and often unproven, concept. +The overall shape and power requirements of the plane had been fixed +by physical law, but everything else was subject to change: the +instruments, the control surfaces, the control mechanism, the landing +gear, the escape system, and a lot of things yet to be invented. +The X-15, subjected to many individual influences, might wind up +not the ultimate, but a “bucket of worms” (all too familiar) as the +inevitable result, and far too late. + +One thing worried me more. This was the growing influence of the +unmanned missile that had been so evident at the meetings. This same +influence had permeated the staff at our Edwards outpost. One day +during a bull session with the pilots, one of them said to me: + +“You know, this X-15 might very well be the ship that closes a grand +era in aviation. The last of the great manned airplanes.” + +“The hell you say!” Anger flushed my face. “The X-15 won’t close +anything. On the contrary, the X-15 will open a whole new era in +aviation: the second phase, the second fifty years. Centuries from +now historians dealing with space flight will look back to the X-15 +as a starting point. They will compare its flights to the great +voyages of discovery, to the exploratory probes of Prince Henry the +Navigator’s captains down the coast of Africa, preceding the voyage +of Columbus. This is the beginning, not the end.” + +“Say, Scotty,” one of the pilots said, “you feel pretty strong about +that airplane, don’t you?” + +“You’re damned right I do.” + +And that was a fact. I did. + + + + +CHAPTER 20 ► + + “_Please Come to a Complete Stop_” + + +Over the swiftly passing years the face of the Edwards base had +dramatically changed. The Air Force, NACA, and civilian contractors +had erected modern, air-conditioned offices, engineering spaces, and +massive hangars. A new concrete runway, miles long and as much as +two feet thick, crossed the flatlands. Installations for fueling and +testing experimental airplanes and rocket engines were now formal, +restricted areas. Pancho’s Happy Bottom Riding Club was gone, gobbled +up by the Air Force, which pushed the boundaries of the base in all +directions, including up. The sleek, modern Edwards tower occupied +the space that once held the complete, historic town of Muroc. The +old tarpaper “Kerosene Flats” living area had been replaced by +comfortable housing. Edwards was big and busy, encumbered with red +tape and a new formality. + +The people had changed, too. General Al Boyd’s one-man show, the +jet-age flying circus, had passed into history. The new Edwards +commander was a no-nonsense general, Stanley Holtoner. Holtoner +endeared himself to no one by deliberately snubbing Pancho Barnes, +but he reorganized the expanding base on a businesslike basis. The +Air Force pilots who had reigned in my early days at Edwards--Ridley, +Wolfe, Sellers, Bryce, Hoover, Lathrop, Gregorious, Popson--were +gone, almost all to their graves. Yeager had moved on to other +assignments. Only Pete Everest hung on, playing a tight-fisted +waiting game with the lagging X-2. + +The shift to the elaborate new NACA “laboratory” had considerably +changed the atmosphere in our outfit. More distant now from the +mechanics, and the smell of grease and fuel, we discarded our sport +shirts for business suits and ties, and played the scientist role +to the hilt. This was inevitable. NACA’s record at Edwards had far +exceeded all expectations. Our prolonged tour on the frontier of +flight had not only developed millions of data points, but new theory +as well. We had challenged many old and accepted wind-tunnel methods. +We had raised warning flags on trouble to come and desperately tried +to head it off. In truth, the High Speed Flight Station was no longer +a gypsy caravan camped on the fringes of Edwards, but a solid, +permanent NACA installation, an important new source of aeronautical +think-how and know-how. Occasionally I longed for the old racing-pit +days, the time of sweating all night long side-by-side with a bunch +of mechanics over a balky valve, but I knew this deprivation was the +price of progress. + +The emphasis in the air had changed as well. The rocket airplanes +were still far and away the most spectacular craft on the base. +But the big push was now placed on the new production airplanes, +which were afflicted with the aches and pains of faster and faster +speed. These airplanes had to be made safe--or as safe as humanly +possible--for the green Air Force second lieutenant just out of +flight school. + +The aches and pains had been anticipated years earlier. Flying +near the speed of sound, an airplane creates a resisting field +in its path. The air immediately ahead of the plane, in effect, +is transformed into a rugged area of angry sound waves which +criss-cross, backwash, tumble, speed up, and slow down, behaving +somewhat like the foaming water in an ocean wave when it tumbles +against a rock-bound coast. In the beginning at Edwards the job +was to design and fly a plane to the edge of this coast. The +bullet-shaped X-1, deliberately built to withstand tremendous +stress, had blazed right through to the smooth beach beyond. But +military airplanes, which could not be so heavy and brutal, had a +tough time of it. As they felt their way along, they were battered +and smashed about in the surf. And when they finally reached the +beach, they still had trouble. + +The most common afflictions the airplane experienced in piercing the +turbulent trans-sonic air were two abrupt, divergent motions which +we called pitch and yaw. These were terms adopted, appropriately +enough, from the seamen. Pitch describes the movement of the airplane +if the nose suddenly and unexpectedly jerks up or down, like the +bow of a ship in a heavy sea. Yaw describes the movement of the +airplane if the nose cocks sharply to left or right, somewhat like +the clumsy wallow of a vessel in a following sea. When or if both +abrupt movements occur simultaneously--a dreadful and often fatal +sequence--it is called “coupling.” + +The impact of pitch and yaw on the airplane varies with altitude +and speed. In the thick air of low altitudes a fast-moving airplane +pitching or yawing severely is subjected to intense strain, so much +that it is not uncommon for the ship to disintegrate in mid-air. +At higher altitudes where the air is much thinner, a fast-flying +airplane can “take” a greater divergent motion. If it yaws, pitches, +or couples, the airplane simply skids through the air in whatever +awkward or ungainly position it assumes. However, an airplane in +such altitudes must be slowed before it reaches the thicker air; +otherwise, it will enter this blanket beyond stress-design and +disintegrate. At any altitude, if a plane flips out of control, the +pilot must respond with care and skill. Over-controlling, or pumping +on the wrong controls, compounds the problem. + +There was no known way to avoid completely such divergent motions in +supersonic airplanes built especially for combat and near-routine +take-off and landing on ordinary airfields. Thus, from the beginning +we had focused attention on “damping” the motions, striving for +minimum instability by various wing and tail designs, angles of +sweep, and mechanical devices on the wing called fences and slats. +Control systems were devised with a built-in “damping” system which, +in theory, automatically sensed a divergence and automatically moved +the controls just enough to compensate. These were called SAS, short +for Stability Augmentation System. + +After production airplanes were delivered to Edwards, the +experimentation continued unabated. New vertical tails and fancy +devices were tacked on the airplanes. The horizontal stabilizers were +moved to new positions on the fuselage. + +During 1954, like other pilots at Edwards, I was swept up in the new +race to bring the fast new jets within safe flying limits. I made +twenty-five additional flights in the Skyrocket in support of these +experiments. In between, I went aloft many times in early-model +production aircraft such as the F-84-F, an advanced version of the +Republic Thunderjet; the F-102, a direct outgrowth of the horrible +delta-wing XF-92-A; and the “hard-wing” F-86--so-called because its +automatic slats were removed--which had been hastily engineered +especially to destroy MIGs in Korea. The F-86 Sabrejet particularly +held my interest from an aeronautical-engineering point of view. +The plane had already earned its niche in history, and hundreds +were flying from Air Force bases, but its complete range of dangers +had yet to be defined in any report. The thought that some second +lieutenant might be killed because we at Edwards had fallen down on +the job haunted me. I resolved to do something about that particular +airplane. + +Customarily we began investigations which would push an airplane to +the limit at high altitudes, where the air was thin and the ship +would stay in one piece if it uncorked. Joe Walker, Stan Butchart, +Jack McKay, a promising new pilot at NACA, and I divided the +hard-wing F-86 work, starting at 40,000 feet and working down slowly. +As we edged down into the thick air at lower altitudes, the F-86 +pitch-up became more violent and dangerous. Our boss, Joe Vensel, +drew the line. He ruled that we could not deliberately uncork the +airplane below 30,000 feet. + + * * * * * + +“But the most important area,” I said to Walt Williams, protesting, +“is down around 25,000 feet. That’s where the military pilot can get +in serious trouble, chasing a target sleeve or something. If this +plane has a serious divergence at that altitude they ought to know +about it.” + +“Look, Scotty,” Walt said, “we’re in the middle. We can’t come up with +a negative opinion of some company’s airplane like that. All we can +do is fly the thing and collect data and present the data objectively +in an NACA report.” + +“Okay, fine,” I said. “Then let’s keep on going. Let’s do the +30,000-foot data and then drop down to 25,000 feet.” + +“That’s up to Vensel,” Williams said. “He’s your boss.” + +“Vensel says no.” + +“Then the answer,” Williams said, “is no.” + +For the first time in my life I deliberately violated my boss’s +orders. Without rechecking with Vensel, I recorded the hard-wing +F-86 maneuvers at 25,000 feet. As we all expected, the pitch-up was +severe. The airplane held together--North American traditionally +built rugged planes--but the stress, or G force, caused me to black +out. A pilot bent on a mission other than paying strict attention to +the unique maneuver could get in serious trouble. When I turned over +the data, Vensel was understandably incensed. After the data were +released--to save the lives, I hope, of some pilots--Vensel pouted +and claimed I had conducted the test at 25,000 feet to prove that the +other pilots were “chicken.” Walt Williams called me to his plush new +office, decorated with new space-charts, and gave me unshirted hell. +I guess I tossed it back as fast as he dished it out. + + * * * * * + +Another of these advanced planes with supersonic aches was the North +American F-100. It had been flying experimentally, off and on, about +one year, when we received the twenty-third production model at NACA +in September, 1954. She was a powerful, wonderful beast, capable of +reaching Mach 1.3 in level flight. At that stage in her test-flight +program, mechanics spent fifteen hours working on her for every one +hour she spent in the air. She had a reputation for being mean, +if mishandled. She had uncorked and disintegrated, killing North +American’s top test pilot, George Welch. There was a big debate +raging among the pilots at Edwards about whether or not the F-100 +could be landed dead-stick. North American had not yet demonstrated +it. It fell to me to find out on my first F-100 flight. + +We were down for an 0800 take-off, but the unbeatable NACA mechanics +were ready ten minutes before, so I went aloft ahead of schedule, +before the radars and tracking stations were warmed up to zero in +on me. There had already been built at North American new, bigger +vertical tails for the F-100. We needed some specific data points. +Our F-100 was packed full of NACA instruments. The ship was not a +research airplane. I had declined a chase plane. + +Poised on the end of the new three-mile concrete runway, I +fire-walled the throttle. The F-100 rolled, picked up speed, and then +stood on her tail, afterburner blazing, climbing almost vertically +into the desert sky. I was quite impressed. The F-100 was no toy but +it handled well. By then, North American had built thousands of F-86 +jets in all models and it was obvious they knew what they were doing. + +When I reached 35,000 feet, I leveled the ship. At that very instant +a blaze of red flashed on my instrument panel. Fire in the compressor +section! My old first-flight luck was stalking me again. (It had +never left me, really. Some time before this, during a first flight +in a new F-84-F, I had run into serious trouble and made an emergency +landing on the lake.) + +There were two fire-warning lights in the F-100. One covered the aft +end of the engine, the other covered the forward end, or compressor +section. A fire, or heating up, in the aft end was not uncommon in a +jet with afterburner. If the pilot throttled back or otherwise varied +the running conditions of the engine, it usually disappeared and the +light went off. But a fire warning in the compressor section, crowded +with fuel lines, gear boxes, and other vital parts, was serious +indeed. Usually a compressor section fire did not last long; it raced +through the intake into the compressor and the plane disappeared in a +puff of smoke and flame. There was an old and tired axiom about it at +Edwards: “If you see a compressor fire-warning light and you haven’t +blown up, well, you’re going to in just a second.” + +A small notice riveted to the panel next to the compressor +fire-warning light informed me: + + COMPRESSOR SECTION FIRE WARNING LIGHT ON: + STOP-COCK ENGINE. IF LIGHT REMAINS ON BAIL OUT. + +A hell of a sign to put in a cockpit, I thought. It inhibits one’s +thinking. + +I got busy fast. I throttled back on the engine. As I did, the +fire-warning light flickered and dimmed. Then it flashed back on +again full-strength. Following the instructions on the panel, I +stop-cocked the engine completely, turning off all fuel valves. +The engine unwound and settled down to a slow wind-milling. The +fire-warning light flickered but remained on. + +When the powerless F-100 slowed to glide speed, the leading edge +slats, which provide lift and stability in slow flight, cracked and +extended automatically. This produced a steady rumbling noise which +I assumed to be the fire blazing in the engine air-intake directly +beneath my feet. (At that time few pilots had remained in an F-100 +with a wind-milling engine long enough to hear that slat noise.) + +I called NACA radar and asked them to take a look through their +field-glasses and see if I was trailing smoke. Since I hadn’t blown +up yet there was a possibility that the fire might blow itself out. +As a matter of professional pride, I was reluctant to abandon a new +airplane that was still in one piece. Somehow, NACA radar failed to +find me. After several garbled radio exchanges with them, I snapped +impatiently: “Never mind.” + +The fire-warning light blazed steadily. However, I saw no other signs +of real fire, so I concluded that it was a false warning. I would +bring the ship down dead-stick. To my knowledge at that time, only +one man, North American test pilot Bob Hoover, had ever dead-sticked +an F-100. On that one occasion the struts had been pushed up through +the wing, demolishing the plane. As a matter of fact, North American +test pilots were then flipping coins to see who would deliberately +bring an F-100 in dead-stick to fulfill a requirement of the Air +Force acceptance tests. I was not concerned. Dead-stick landings in +low L over D airplanes were my specialty. Every test pilot develops a +strong point. I was certain that my talent lay in dead-stick landings. + +With the engine then idling and generating no energy to the plane’s +systems, I was running out of hydraulic pressure to operate the +controls. Following the handbook instructions, I pulled a lever which +extended a miniature “windmill” into the slipstream. This “windmill” +churned, building up pressure in the hydraulic lines. Unknown to me, +there was a major leak in the line. The windmill was not helping, but +hurting me. It was pumping hydraulic fluid overboard as fast as it +could turn. + +I called Edwards tower and declared an emergency. All airborne +planes in the vicinity of the base were warned away from the lake +area. I held the ailing F-100 on course, dropping swiftly, lining up +for a dead-stick lake landing, following the same glide-path that +I used for the dead-stick Skyrocket. I flared out and touched down +smoothly. It was one of the best landings I have ever made, in fact. +Seconds later, while the F-100 was rolling out, the remaining bit of +hydraulic pressure in the control lines drained out and the controls +froze. + +I then proceeded to violate a cardinal rule of aviation: never try +tricks with a compromised airplane. The F-100 was still rolling at +a fast clip, coming up fast on the NACA ramp, when I made my poor +decision. I had already achieved the exceptional, now I would end it +with a flourish, a spectacular wind-up. I would snake the stricken +F-100 right up the ramp and bring it to a stop immediately in front +of the NACA hangar. This trick, which I had performed so often in the +Skyrocket, was a fine touch. After the first successful dead-stick +landing in an F-100, it would be fitting. + +According to the F-100 handbook, the hydraulic brake system--a +separate hydraulic system from the controls--was good for three +“cycles,” engine out. This means three pumps on the brake, and that +proved exactly right. The F-100 was moving at about fifteen miles an +hour when I turned up the ramp. I hit the brakes once, twice, three +times. The plane slowed, but not quite enough. It was still inching +ahead ponderously, like a diesel locomotive. I hit the brakes a +fourth time--and my foot went clear to the floorboards. The hydraulic +fluid was exhausted. The F-100 rolled on, straight between the +yawning hangar doors! + +The good Lord was watching over me--partially anyhow. The NACA hangar +was then crowded with expensive research tools--the Skyrocket, +all the X-1 series, the X-3, X-4, and X-5. Yet somehow, my plane, +refusing to halt, squeezed by them all and bored steadily on toward +the side wall of the hangar. + +The nose of the F-100 crunched through the corrugated aluminum, +punching out an eight-inch steel I-beam. I was lucky. Had the nose +bopped three feet to the left or right, the results could have been +catastrophic. Hitting to the right, I would have set off the hangar +fire-deluge system, flooding the hangar with 50,000 barrels of water +and ruining all the expensive airplanes. Hitting to the left, I would +have dislodged a 25-ton hangar-door counterweight, bringing it down +on the F-100 cockpit, and doubtless ruining Crossfield. + +Chuck Yeager never let me forget that incident. He drew many laughs +at congregations of pilots by opening his talk: “Well, the sonic wall +was mine. The hangar wall was Crossfield’s.” That’s the way it was +at Edwards. Hero one minute, bum the next. The fact that I was the +first pilot to land an F-100 dead-stick successfully, and memorized +elaborate and complete instrument data on the engine failure besides, +was soon forgotten. + +The F-100 is a tough bird. Within a month NACA’s plane was flying +again, with Crossfield back at the helm. In the next few weeks I +flew forty-five grueling flights in the airplane, pushing it to the +limits, precisely defining the roll coupling. (On one flight the +coupling was so severe that it cracked a vertebra in my neck.) These +data confirmed, in actual flight, the need for a new F-100 tail, +which North American was planning to install on later models of the +airplane. + +Every night after landing, I taxied the F-100 slowly to the NACA +ramp. At the bottom, placed there on orders of Walt Williams, there +was a large new sign, symbolic of the new atmosphere at Edwards. It +said: + + PLEASE COME TO A COMPLETE STOP + BEFORE TAXIING UP RAMP + + + + +CHAPTER 21 ► + + _End of the Line_ + + +During my first five years at Edwards NACA achieved a remarkable +safety record. No NACA pilot had bought the farm; no airplane had +been lost through accident. This was due partly to luck, partly to +excellent maintenance and a thoughtful approach to flight test. But +our luck was bound to run out. It did, finally, in August, 1955. + +I was sitting at my desk in the pilots’ room, roughing out a report +on a Skyrocket flight--the old ship was still going strong--when the +emergency broke. Somewhere high over the base, Stan Butchart, the +B-29 mother-plane pilot, was about to air-launch Joe Walker in the +X-1-A. I was absently following the progress of the flight over the +radio loudspeaker as mother-plane pilot, chase pilot, and Joe Walker, +strapped in the cockpit of the rocket plane, talked back and forth, +getting set for the drop. + +“We have a fire.” The words crackled from the loudspeaker. I snapped +to attention. + +“Fire?” Butchart repeated. + +“Yes. There’s been an explosion.” + +I raced upstairs to the NACA control tower. Soon it was jammed with +NACA engineers and mechanics, crowding the loudspeaker, shouting +conflicting accounts of the accident, and helpful and unhelpful +suggestions. + +By that time NACA had had possession of the flashy X-1-A, in which +Yeager and Murray set their speed and altitude records, and her +sister-ship, the X-1-B, for a little over one year. We had not logged +much flight time on the ships. NACA had shipped them back to the Bell +factory for ejection-seat installation, and then filled both planes +with data instruments. All this took time and delayed the flight +program. The installation of the ejection seats caused considerable +controversy. I was in favor of proceeding without them because of +the urgency of the program and because Yeager, Murray, and Everest +had demonstrated that the airplanes could be recovered from unstable +flight. As senior pilot my views were carefully weighed, but the +majority at NACA favored the escape device. + +The fire that broke out in the X-1-A was later traced to a similar +source as that which destroyed the X-1-D, Queenie, and the first X-2 +over Lake Ontario. After those accidents the airplanes were modified +to reduce the possibility of a single catastrophic explosion. In +theory, a fire from that source might be “controlled,” or held down +to a smouldering effect. This was all theory, however. In my view, a +fire in any airplane was dangerous. A fire in a rocket plane, loaded +with tons of Lox and alcohol, brought to mind the picture of a bomb +with a lighted fuse. In my opinion, there was only one thing to do: +get rid of it, and fast. + +Each rocket-plane pilot had worked out, in conjunction with the pilot +of the mother ship, a procedure to follow if an emergency developed +in either plane. Jack McKay, who had developed into a very able test +pilot, and I had agreed with Butchart that if something went wrong +_after_ either of us had entered the cockpit of the Skyrocket and had +closed the canopy, he would immediately jettison the rocket plane, +leaving the rocket-plane pilot to look after his own hide. As a +matter of fact, McKay and Butchart later ran into such an emergency. +One day something went haywire in a propeller on the B-29 mother +plane. As agreed, Butchart instantly cut loose the Skyrocket. A +split second later the B-29 prop tore loose and cartwheeled through +the space the Skyrocket had just vacated. McKay landed without +difficulty; but had Butchart not cut the parasite plane loose, the +prop would have ripped into its fuel tanks, causing an explosion that +would have killed everyone, including McKay. + +“What’s the situation up there?” Vensel yelled into the control-tower +mike. + +“Well, we’ve got a fire in the X-1-A,” Butchart replied coolly. “We +got Joe Walker out of the cockpit. He’s standing by in the bomb-bay +compartment now. The fire’s pretty bad. I figure we ought to drop +this thing pretty quick.” + +“Now let’s not take any chances,” Vensel said. “Don’t try to save the +airplane if there’s any danger.” + +I fought down an urge to grab the mike and tell Butchart to pull +the jettison lever then without another second’s delay. But he was +already getting enough advice from the ground, and I couldn’t get +near the mike, anyway. + +The Air Force chase plane was piloted by Major Kit Murray. He had +been tucked up close to the X-1-A when the explosion occurred. The +X-1-A wheel doors had blown off and smashed into Murray’s plane. + +Above the chatter in the control room I heard Murray report: “I might +have a little damage here. I’ll try to stick around ... Butch, you’re +getting a lot of smoke out of the back end. The Lox and hydrogen +peroxide are dumping overboard....” + +Murray, with a plane damaged to an extent no one thought to +investigate, was still hanging on, relaying an account of the scene +from the outside. But how long could he remain on station with a +damaged plane? Was he needlessly risking his own life? + +I ran to the nearest telephone and put through a call to Air Force +Fighter Ops. Pete Everest answered. + +“Pete,” I said, “Murray’s up there. His plane’s been hit. How soon +can you get a relief chase plane up?” + +“We’ll be up there in five minutes,” Everest said, ringing off +hurriedly. I think he jumped into an airplane and flew up to relieve +Murray. In any case, Murray soon landed without further difficulty. + +Now a big debate was raging in the NACA control room about what to +do: keep the rocket plane attached to the mother plane and try to +save it, or throw it away? No one asked me my opinion, but I gave it +anyway: + +“Throw that damned thing away as fast as you can.” + +The experts thronging the control room soon swung to this conclusion. +Then a second debate arose over where to drop the airplane. There was +concern that the X-1-A might fall on a house or an automobile. Vensel +called the Air Force and requested they assign a remote bombing area +into which the stricken rocket plane might be jettisoned. While this +discussion took place, the fire in the X-1-A raged about the plane. + +A new thought flashed to my mind. If the Lox had drained out of the +rocket plane and the alcohol remained in its tank, the plane would be +dangerously tail-heavy. When it fell away from the mother plane, it +might pitch up sharply, perhaps fatally ramming the mother plane. Had +the fact that the Lox drained away reached Butchart amidst all the +bureaucratic chatter about where to drop the X-1-A? + +I ran downstairs and found a radio mike in a secluded room. + +“Butch,” I called, breaking in on the radio circuit. “This is +Scotty.” I kept my voice low, trying to restore some semblance of +order in the chaos on the radio circuit. + +“Go ahead, Scotty,” Butchart replied. + +“The Lox is drained, Butch. Be sure to pull some G’s when you drop +her. Otherwise, she’ll pitch up and might climb right into the +bomb-bay.” + +“Okay, Scotty, already thought of it, thanks anyway. I’m going to cut +her now. I’m pulling G’s. I’m in a hard left bank. I think it will go +okay.” + +Butchart pulled the lever and the smoking X-1-A disengaged from the +mother plane. As we feared, the tail-heavy plane pitched up. In fact, +it climbed right by the B-29 and almost _looped_ before dipping and +spinning crazily into the desert floor. + +Butchart received further instructions from the ground. Among other +things, he was advised to land the mother plane as quickly as +possible. I knew Butchart’s good judgment would prevail. He would +check his ship thoroughly, with landing gear down and locked, before +descending. Butchart had brought many damaged airplanes back to base +in the Pacific during World War II. + +This accident reduced our stable of rocket airplanes to three: the +X-1-B, the X-1-E (still being slowly rebuilt by hand), and the +Skyrocket--and set off another prolonged investigation which grounded +the Bell airplanes. It also influenced the future of the Bell X-2. +That jinxed ship had finally arrived back at Edwards and was then +being feverishly prepared for its first powered flight by Pete +Everest and the Bell crew. Following the loss of the X-1-A, the Air +Force passed the word that if the X-2 had not flown by December 31 of +that year, the project would be completely abandoned. The plane would +be consigned to the Smithsonian. + +Facing this harsh deadline, Everest finally got off a shaky powered +flight. It took place on November 18, 1955, less than six weeks +before the expiration date set for the X-2 program. It was almost +ten years to the day since the X-2 had been conceived, and about +three years and five months after Skip Ziegler had made the first +X-2 powerless glide flight at Edwards. Everest held the X-2’s speed +subsonic and landed hastily after a fire broke out in the tail of +the plane. This flight gained the program a reprieve--an extension. +In spite of this Pyrrhic victory, it seemed dead certain at the time +that the X-2 would never provide the U. S. with useful aeronautical +research data in time. The other rocket planes in our stable were +almost obsolete. + + * * * * * + +By comparison, NACA’s advanced research airplane, then officially +dubbed the X-15 (the experimental vehicles from the X-6 to X-14 +were mostly unmanned missiles), was showing strong promise. Six +months after the Air Force asked for bids, or by June, 1955, all +returns were in. Four companies--North American, Bell, Douglas, and +Republic--submitted proposals. The lack of interest among the other +aircraft companies is explainable. Research airplanes, as their +stormy history clearly indicates, are unprofitable projects from a +management standpoint. In the beginning they require superlative and +expensive design and engineering talent. They do not result in big +production orders, which are the bread and butter of the industry. +Since the X-15 was an NACA project, all information and new theory +and ideas developed with the plane would be made available without +charge to all of industry. Many companies reasoned: why assign our +most talented people to develop ideas which our competition can +exploit? + +The bids were meticulously analyzed. The Republic proposal was +extraordinarily good, but it showed clearly that the company lacked +experience in the research airplane field. The Douglas airplane was +essentially a redesigned version of the “advanced Skyrocket,” which +its engineers hoped to sell to the Navy. The Bell airplane looked +very good and demonstrated the company’s long experience in rocket +airplanes. But because of many political factors, Bell’s wonderful +flair for exotic inventions, and the recent performance of the +X-1-A and X-2 planes, the Bell bid was not approved. In retrospect, +it seems to me that from the beginning the contract was almost +pre-ordained for the fourth company, North American. + +Ironically, many at North American, for many of the reasons just +cited, were not seriously interested in building the X-15. Its +designers, like those of other companies, had huddled with NACA +engineers to find out what was wanted. Afterward the North American +advanced design group came up with a scheme superior in detail to, +but in general outline quite like, the other proposals. Actually, +the North American proposal was carried through only as a “design +exercise” for the company engineers, a not uncommon practice in +the industry. One man, however, Harrison (“Stormy”) Storms, Chief +Engineer of the Los Angeles Division, with a long-range look ahead, +had sparked a growing interest in the endeavor within the high levels +of the company. + +There were several reasons why the Air Force found North American +the ideal company to build the X-15. For one thing, North American +was an old friend of the Air Force and primarily an Air Force +contractor, with an outstanding history going back to World War II, +when it produced P-51s and B-25s by the thousands. At that time North +American had built more jet airplanes--F-86s and F-100s--than any +other company, and its relationships with the Air Force were close +and very simpatico. North American’s engineers were conversant with +high speeds and the problems of aerodynamic heating and instability. +The company had great depth, in terms of engineering talent and +money, on which it could draw in case of trouble. Its Rocketdyne +division was producing the most powerful and reliable rocket engines +in the U. S.--the power-plants for the missiles Thor, Jupiter, and +Atlas. North American engineers were then in the advance design +stages of a Mach 3 fighter, the F-108, which would benefit directly +from the X-15 experience. Finally, North American, a Los Angeles +corporation, was convenient to the Edwards test base. + + * * * * * + +“Walt, I want to make a proposal to you.” + +“What is it, Scotty?” Williams said. He bounced out of his chair and +paced about his office. I followed him with my eyes, but I didn’t +move from my chair. + +“Do you remember my proposal in 1953 to Dr. Dryden to go to Bell and +ride herd on the X-2?” + +“Sure. Certainly.” + +“You see where the X-2 is now,” I said. “That would have been a +pretty good idea if we had followed it through. Right?” + +“Maybe,” Williams said. “Then again, maybe not. It may be that no one +could have salvaged the X-2. Why?” + +“I’ve been thinking about this X-15,” I said. + +“Well, now, that’s a surprise. You wouldn’t kid me, would you? Have +you been thinking about anything else?” + +“It’s a little difficult to spend time thinking about it, what with +having to do most of your thinking besides.” At that, Williams +chuckled and tossed his pencil at me, missing by yards. + +“Okay, Scotty. I can see you’re being real serious,” he said. “What +do you have in mind?” + +“I want to do with the X-15 what I proposed for the X-2. I want to be +assigned to the North American plant full-time on the X-15 project, +carry out the company demonstration flights, and then return with the +airplane to NACA, Edwards, and make the maximum-performance flights. +I want to get in on the project from the beginning and stay with it +right on through to completion.” + +Williams sat down heavily in the chair behind his desk. He doodled on +his scratch pad, rubbed his head, turned and peered out the window, +staring fixedly into the desolate wastes of tumbleweed, and said +nothing for fully three minutes. I could imagine in detail every +single political thought running through his mind. (The stars had +long since gone from my eyes.) I could see him mentally arranging +the complicated chessboard, putting NACA men, North American men, +Air Force men, and other industry men in their proper starting +order and mentally playing the game through. I had done it many +times myself. Apart from the strictly personal relationships, there +were larger questions to resolve in this game: how would it affect +NACA’s relationship with the Air Force, with North American? How +would it affect the operation at Edwards? What about the Air Force +pilots--Pete Everest, Chuck Yeager, Kit Murray, and the other +experienced hands? There were a thousand moves that might leave the +King--in this case, Williams--or the X-15 program--vulnerable. + +“Why does this thing mean so much to you?” Williams asked me. + +“I’ve told you before, Walt. We must do something to get one of these +research airplanes built in time to do some good,” I said. + +“But what will North American say?” Williams said. “That’s a huge +company. A good company. They’ve got about five thousand engineers on +the payroll down there. You know how they’ll react if we come butting +in.” + +The answer from Williams was already coming through loud and clear. +It was “no.” His reasons for arriving at that conclusion were +perfectly sound, but the answer ill-suited my ambition. The time +had come, I knew, to part company with NACA. It would not be easy +to walk away dry-eyed. I had cut my teeth there, and formed many +deep and lasting friendships, including that with Walt Williams. My +future, however, lay not with NACA but with the product of its total +genius, the X-15. + +“Walt, this is the end of the line,” I said. + +“Scotty. You want to think this one over carefully. You’re not a +young pilot any more--you’re thirty-four. If past history is any +example, that plane won’t be flying for a long, long time. You might +be forty years old by then, and they might be looking for a younger +pilot. A hundred things could go wrong.” + +“But you don’t understand. It’s _not_ just the flying. I _do_ want +to fly the plane. But I want to help _build_ it, too. I want to be a +part of that airplane,” I said. + +“We’ve still got a lot of airplanes around here you can be part of,” +Williams said. “You practically built the X-1-E yourself. And if they +ever finish the X-15 you can fly that, too--if you live that long.” + +“I’m sorry, Walt. I may never be able to explain this properly to +anyone. But I am going with that airplane.” + + + + +CHAPTER 22 ► + + _End of an Era_ + + +I drove slowly, gaping at the pale green hangar-sized North American +production buildings strung along the south edge of Los Angeles +International Airport like some titanic freight train. Hundreds +upon hundreds of automobiles were parked bumper to bumper in lots +adjoining the buildings. Inside those buildings, I knew, tens of +thousands of skilled workmen were riveting away on the last few +hundred of the six thousand Sabrejets the Air Force had ordered, +and tooling up for mass production of the supersonic F-100. Having +taken the measure of its size from close quarters, I then understood +how North American had ground out 43,000 airplanes in World War II. +It was a tremendous operation--five hundred times the size of NACA, +Edwards--a company that had built more airplanes than any other firm +in the world. Its bid for the X-15 alone--about $50 million--almost +equaled the yearly budget for all of NACA. + + * * * * * + +“How do you do, Mr. Crossfield.” North American’s president, Lee +Atwood, a thin, soft-spoken man with deep-set green eyes, held out +his hand. In stark contrast to the California environment, he was +meticulously dressed, conservative style. An aeronautical engineer, +in 1948 he had taken over day-by-day operation of North American +from the dynamic Dutch Kindelberger, the famous airplane-builder who +gave North American its great fame and reputation. Dutch had moved +up to be chairman of the board of directors. Atwood offered me a +seat and then returned to sit behind his broad desk. The office was +mahogany-paneled and decorated with deep green potted plants. + +As I wound up for my pitch, it occurred to me that I was then about +to address one of the most important men in the aviation industry. +That I was in his office at all, I believe, was due solely to the +fact that I was the first man to fly at twice the speed of sound. In +the two years since I had made the record, this flight, technically +insignificant though it was, had opened many doors. Like Yeager, +Everest, and Bridgeman, I came to know four-star generals and other +big shots in aviation on a first-name basis. For example, I had +met Atwood the previous year in New York when at a gathering of +aeronautical engineers he presented me the Lawrence Sperry award for +my high-speed flight work. It was a farce, in a way, but for a man on +a mission it made the job a lot easier. + +I was not really up to the interview that day. I was suffering from +influenza, the same malady that weakened me on the day of the flight +which paved my way to Atwood’s door. My nose was draining and every +few minutes I had to take out my handkerchief and blow. It was +annoying. I probably impressed Atwood as the least likely physical +specimen to fly the X-15 he ever saw. + +“Mr. Atwood, I want to come to work for North American on the X-15 +project.” I paused to let this sink in, and to see if it might bring +an immediate “no.” Mine was something of a bold and unorthodox move, +to put it mildly. North American already employed a team of perhaps +thirty test pilots, bossed by Bob Baker and Jack Bryan, both of +whom had been with North American for many years. No doubt many of +these pilots had their eyes on the X-15 and were fully capable of +test-flying it. I had long since learned that big corporations like +North American did not usually draw from the outside. They used +their own talent of special jobs. + +“Rocket planes are my business,” I said, blowing again. “I’ve been +flying them for five years at Edwards, as senior pilot for NACA. I +not only flew them, I laid out flight-test programs, recorded the +data, drew up the reports, and presented NACA conclusions. I also +oversaw maintenance and participated in the rebuilding of the X-1-E +to the extent of laying out the new propulsion system--a combination +of the best features of the Skyrocket and the X-1--and other +hardware.” + +Atwood interrupted me briefly to receive an important telephone call. +I blew my nose and cursed my flu. When he hung up, I rolled on. + +“I know you have a very experienced organization down here with +plenty of able talent. But if you have never tackled a rocket +plane, there are some special problem areas. There’ll be a lot of +problems on this particular ship. It’s revolutionary. We’ve had a +bad history in research airplanes, as you know. Delays. Explosions. +Investigations. Instability. I think I can contribute. And I’d like +to have the privilege of working on this airplane. I want to help +make it as nearly perfect as possible and get it to Edwards in time +to do some good.” + +“What do you want to do specifically?” Atwood asked. It was clear +from the telephone call I had overheard that he was a man of a few +well-chosen words. + +“I’d like to start from the beginning. Work on the plane as an +engineer, helping with the systems, in a sort of advisory capacity. +In that way, when it came time to fly the airplane, I’d be thoroughly +familiar with all of it, down to the smallest bolt. During the +construction I could interject my experience with other rocket +airplanes. At the same time, as an ex-NACA hand, I’d be useful as a +liaison with that agency during all phases of construction and flight +test.” + +I talked on, stressing my strong points--my master’s degree in +aeronautical engineering, my background in the wind tunnel at the +University of Washington, my brief experience at the Boeing plant +in Seattle during the early days of World War II, my Navy tour +as a flight instructor, my experience in manufacturing aircraft +accessories, my flight and engineering record at Edwards. Whether +it was all this combined, or the simple magic of Mach 2, I don’t +know, but in spite of my influenza and runny nose, Atwood, as is his +nature, gave me the benefit of the doubt. + +As president of North American, Atwood bossed six separate divisions +of the company. Only one of these, the Los Angeles division, would +build the X-15. A president of a company of that size delegates total +authority to chiefs. He doesn’t hire men off the streets and thrust +them upon his lieutenants. He operates by suggestion. + +“Would you like to go down and talk to Ray Rice about this? The +proposal is a kind of unusual arrangement for us. His division will +build the airplane and he knows what kind of people he needs.” + +“Certainly,” I said. + +“When can you get by to see him?” + +“Right now, if it’s convenient.” + +Ray Rice, Chief Engineer of the Los Angeles Division, bought my +proposal, I have often thought since, with some reservations. + +At that time the X-15 project was still so new in the company and +I was so new to the company that there was no specific job slot +available to me. Thus I was hired, more or less, as a consultant, and +didn’t really learn who my boss was for a long time. + + * * * * * + +Coincidental with my move to North American, in December of 1955, +the great and glorious era at Edwards was in the twilight of its +life. The Skyrocket, after a total of about 130 flights, was slated +for moth-balls. The X-1-E, so long in the rebuilding, flew shortly +after my departure but never lived up to our expectations. Soon it +was grounded for good, when NACA learned that the pilot’s boot-tips +might strike the instrument panel in the event of an emergency +ejection. The X-1-B made a few more flights, some to collect advanced +information for the control system of the X-15, but this airplane was +old before its time and it, too, was ultimately grounded. The X-2, +the plane I was supposed to fly in the spring of 1951 for NACA, was +still slowly winding her tragic course into history, six years or +more behind schedule. + +A few weeks after I departed Edwards, Pete Everest took the X-2 +on her second powered flight, firing only one of the two rocket +barrels. In the weeks following, in a startling burst of activity, +he clicked off six additional powered runs, achieving on his eighth +and final flight a speed of about Mach 2.9, or 1900 miles an hour. +When Everest landed, as he wrote in his book, he telephoned his wife +and said, “Honey, you are talking to the fastest man in the world.” +She was--and his 1900-mile-an-hour flight in that unstable airplane +was, in my opinion, remarkable. As Everest himself said, “Control was +marginal and if the pilot overcontrolled or maneuvered the airplane +too violently, anything could happen.” + +Walt Williams was anxious to take over the X-2 for NACA in order to +press ahead with a series of aerodynamic heating studies at extreme +speeds. But after its years of frustrating toil and heartbreak, the +Air Force understandably was not about to turn the plane over until +some additional records had been chalked up. On the verge of his +departure for other duties, Pete Everest assigned two new, young Air +Force pilots to make these flights. Iven Kincheloe, a handsome blond +captain, a graduate of the Empire Test Pilot School, and a Korean +ace, would make the altitude attempt. Captain Milburn (“Mel”) Apt, +a balding veteran of Edwards, would make the speed attempt. NACA +dutifully protested these flights, pointing to the dangers involved. +The Air Force compromised, setting a deadline of November 1, 1956, +for turning the plane over to NACA, whether or not Kincheloe and Apt +were successful. + +Kincheloe came up to bat first. He made one check-flight in the X-2, +under Everest’s direction. Then after Everest left, Kincheloe reared +back to hit a home-run. He opened the engine wide when the X-2 was +dropped, and pointed the tapered nose skyward, the stick hauled full +back in his lap. On the first two flights the X-2 reached high, +but not high enough. On the third try, Kincheloe’s fourth flight +in the X-2, he succeeded. The X-2 hurtled to 126,000 feet. In that +rarefied air, when it ran out of momentum, the X-2 fell back toward +earth. When the plane reached the thicker atmosphere, Kincheloe, in a +remarkable piece of piloting, recovered, slowed, circled, and landed. +He never again flew a rocket airplane. On the strength of these four +flights and his inexhaustible enthusiasm for the business, the Sunday +newspaper supplements labeled him “Mr. Space.” + +With the NACA deadline coming up fast, Captain Mel Apt, who had not +yet had a check-flight in the X-2, made hurried preparations for +a final effort to break Everest’s speed record. Four days before +his time expired, he launched in the X-2 for the ship’s thirteenth +powered flight. There was evidently no time for a preliminary flight +at low speed. In any case, the Air Force did not specifically limit +Apt on his first flight. He dropped, flicked on the rocket barrels, +and flew a near-perfect parabolic flight plan. The X-2’s rocket +burned six seconds longer than it ever had before. Mel Apt drove the +X-2 to the amazing speed of about Mach 3.1, or 2,094 miles an hour, +beating Everest by a wide margin. + +The thirteenth flight proved to be the unlucky one. At the end of the +speed run the X-2 behaved as many had predicted. It cartwheeled out +of control, subjecting the X-2 and Apt to tremendous G forces. He +could not recover. As the plane whipped into a deadly inverted spin, +he tried to abandon ship. He blew the nose capsule and it separated +from the main fuselage, but before he could dive out and open his +parachute, the capsule struck the desert floor with terrible impact. +Apt was killed, the X-2 destroyed. Around Edwards, Pete Everest’s +title was changed from “Fastest Man in the World” to “Fastest Man +Alive.” A new street at the base was named in Apt’s honor. + +That was the final, dreadful end of the X-2. In eleven years from +start to finish, the program had cost the U. S. millions of dollars. +It robbed two excellent pilots and one crewman of their lives and +destroyed, altogether, three airplanes. In its total of thirteen +flights the X-2 had provided the U. S. a speed and altitude record, +but precious little else. The X-2 yielded hardly a scrap of +aerodynamic heating data, the purpose for which it was intended. The +premature loss of the ship left the U. S. without a research airplane +to probe the Mach 3 zone and created, in a sense, a larger and more +urgent mission for the X-15. + +The way I see it, that last flight of the X-2 drew the curtain on the +grand era at Edwards. It closed out what might be called the first +phase of the history of the experimental research airplane in the +United States. The big NACA installation went on, of course, piling +up data points by the tens of thousands, which proved useful. But all +the old race-track excitement was gone completely. There was no plane +to probe exciting new areas. + +Edwards became a place of hard work and routine. NACA pilots wrung +the last drop from the group of tired planes. The Air Force pilots +concentrated on the newest production-model jets--Republic’s F-105 +fighter-bomber; North American’s experimental F-107; Convair’s F-106, +a faster, larger version of the delta-wing F-102; and Convair’s +delta-wing, medium-range bomber, the B-58. The Navy pilots were busy +de-bugging a stable of comparable carrier-deck fighters and bombers, +and a pilotless missile, the Regulus. + +I don’t mean to imply that the test work was not dangerous. On the +contrary, it was hair-raising at times and many pilots lost their +lives. Missing from the busy, formal scene, however, was the echoing +boom of a rocket engine exploding to life at 35,000 feet, the long +snaky trail of white rocket exhaust across the sky, the satisfaction +of the free drink at Pancho’s, another milestone on man’s inexorable +journey toward the stars reached or passed. In the period following +the loss of the last X-2, almost everybody who cared to flew Mach 2 +regularly in production-line airplanes. But no faster. + +It is only human to be nostalgic, and to view one’s own life from a +special point of view. So I draw some satisfaction from the thought +that my work on the frontier of flight contributed considerably to +the story of the grand era at Edwards. True, I came on the scene +late, three years behind Yeager’s epic Mach 1 flight; and I left +early, about nine months before Mel Apt’s epic Mach 3 flight. But I +had come when the experimental plane program was picking up, as the +new ships came from the factories, and I left just before the whole +show ran out of steam. + +In those five years I logged only six hundred hours in the air, but +what hours they were! When I flip back through my own flight book, I +am astonished. Where did I find the time? Eighty-nine flights in the +Skyrocket; eleven flights in the X-1; a grand total of one hundred +rocket flights. For what it’s worth, that total is about equal to +all the rocket flights of Yeager, Everest, Marion Carl, Bridgeman, +Murray, Kincheloe, and Apt put together. No less interesting were +the twenty-five flights in the XF-92-A, thirty-two flights in the +X-4, twelve flights in the X-5, sixty-five flights in the F-100, +seventeen flights in the D-558-I, three flights each in the F-102 +and F-84-F, one flight in a B-47 which I had studied years earlier +in the University of Washington wind tunnel, thirteen flights in an +F-86, one flight in a Navy F9F, sixty-four flights in the YF-84, +and scores upon scores of routine flights in the wide variety of +propeller-driven airplanes in NACA’s stable. I had even flown, +briefly, a Hiller helicopter. + +In sum, I believe it is fair to say that I was good for NACA and NACA +was good for me. My six hundred hours of flight time, plus countless +hours of preparation and analysis on the ground, helped lay bare +many secrets in the trans-sonic area. It was a small contribution, +admittedly, but when taken together with all the aeronautical +research and experimentation in the United States, I believe it +helped to advance the state of the art. At the same time, the +education provided me by NACA in engineering, flying, industry and +government politics, and a thousand other things, was invaluable. At +NACA, Edwards, I graduated in my field. Most important, I found the +means of bringing my life full circle, to the X-15, the airplane that +would begin a new era at Edwards, the second phase in the turbulent +history of the research airplane, the second fifty years of aviation +history. + + + + +CHAPTER 23 ► + + _Secrets in the Cafeteria_ + + +Building number 20, a relic of World War II, stood across the street +from the main North American engineering offices, almost lost in a +towering cluster of manufacturing buildings adjoining the Los Angeles +International Airport. Building 20 housed the cafeteria for North +American employees. During the first half of 1956 a cramped space +alongside the cafeteria, which we called the “garret,” served as +home for the X-15. The space was restricted. A North American guard +stood watch at the doorway, which bore the sign: SECRET. UNAUTHORIZED +PERSONNEL PROHIBITED. Visitors cleared to enter our workroom had +first to sign a log book and be vouched for by an escort known to the +guard on duty. It was all very hush-hush. + +Under ordinary circumstances, North American builds airplanes like +Detroit builds automobiles--on a razzle-dazzle production-line basis. +The plant people are divided into teams which specialize--excel, I +should say--in various fields of aeronautical engineering, design, +and manufacturing. One group, the Advanced Design Section, conceives +the new airplanes, inventing and laying out drawings of concepts. +This group then takes these plans and, working closely with the +Washington office of North American, submits proposals to the +government or, in the rare instance of a commercial airplane, to +airline executives. If the government buys a North American design, +or awards a production contract, the remaining teams of the plant, +amounting to some 16,000 people, move in to transform the layout +drawings and specifications of the Advanced Design Section to working +hardware. + +This is an immensely complicated task, much too involved to describe +in detail here. In brief, North American project engineers, working +hand-in-glove with demanding “customer” project engineers, rough +out a working concept of the airplane after first settling on the +engine, or engines, usually furnished separately by the customer. In +the initial stages the toughest problems are the weight and balance +analyses, crucial to the final performance of the airplane. This +delicate work goes on for months, turning hair gray and keeping many +engineers preoccupied with wind-tunnel models of varying shapes and +designs. The goal is to squeeze maximum performance out of the total +package, taking into account infinite variables such as engine power +and fuel consumption. Few people realize it, but in these days the +fuel of an airplane, which, of course, constantly diminishes during +flight and can change the center of gravity of the ship, sometimes +accounts for sixty per cent of the total weight of the airplane at +take-off. + +When the general scheme is finally agreed upon, and the equipment +to go into the airplane, such as armament, navigational and safety +devices, has been fixed, North American project engineers then call +upon all sections of the plant for help. Hundreds of engineers in +the structures, aerodynamic, thermodynamic, manufacturing, and +sub-systems design departments, go to work, designing specific pieces +for the airplane--instrument panels, for example, and landing-gear +shock absorbers, dive brakes, windshields, and fuel tankage. At the +same time, still another team builds a full-scale “mock-up” or dummy +model of the airplane, complete with instrument panel and moveable +controls, which the design engineers use to insure that all of the +tens of thousands of pieces of the puzzle fit properly before they +order production. + +The entire process from that point on is an endless, nerve-shattering +battle to design parts that will perform the required task for the +least weight. Every pound of payload (that is, armament, fuel, +passengers) in an airplane can add more than seven pounds of weight +to the total structure which the engine, with a fixed thrust, must +force through the air. The drive to save weight is restrained only by +safety considerations. Even these are pared to the bone. The safety +factor of a big, lumbering merchant ship is about ten to one; that +of a modern jet airplane, about one and a half to one, at best. The +reason is simple. On a ship an engineer can design a motor to run, +say, an electric fan, with little concern for total weight. Thus he +builds it big and tough. It works fine, but it weighs twenty pounds. +On an airplane engineers design a fan to perform the same job, but +stay within a weight limit of, say, one pound. The result is a thin, +sophisticated product--usually new and untried--with a minimum margin +of safety. + +The North American Project Engineer rides herd on the entire plant +force assigned to his airplane, watching schedules and doling out +weight restrictions to engineers like so many gold doubloons. +Each piece that goes into the airplane is tested for strength and +reliability a hundred times over, under the amazing variety of +temperature ranges which the modern airplane encounters in flight. A +sample is fitted in the mock-up. When all the parts are in place, the +customer conducts a formal inspection of the dummy plane, probing for +weaknesses, suggesting improvements, and usually adding items, again +driving the engineers into weight-trimming frenzies. Many additional +customer checks follow the mock-up inspection as the work progresses. + +When, at last, the customer is satisfied, or as nearly satisfied +as possible, he gives a green light and the North American Project +Chief “freezes” the design. At that point detailed engineering +drawings are released to the Manufacturing Division or to various +subcontractors--“vendors,” as we call them in the trade. +Manufacturing brings all of the tens of thousands of parts together +at the right time and place on the assembly line, and soon thereafter +the near-miracle is done. Finished airplanes roll out the door for +a final painting or polishing in the California sunshine. Following +several shake-down flight tests by North American pilots, the new +planes are then delivered either to Edwards for customer tests, or, +if the airplane is a proven concept, to operational units specified +by the customer. + +The experimental X-15 did not fit this general production scheme. +It began like other North American projects in the Advanced Design +Section. But because it was something special and only three models +would be built, North American conceived an unusual method to see +the X-15 to completion. Management formed a special team under +direction of Advanced Design, but divorced from the other departments +of the plant, each man a specialist in one phase of aircraft design +or manufacturing. To boss this group, management selected Charles +Feltz, a 39-year-old mechanical engineer, who was pulled off the +F-86 project. Lacking other quarters for this new team, management +temporarily assigned it to the cafeteria building. + +Charlie Feltz was truly astonished by the assignment. Until he was +named to head it, he had never heard of the X-15 project. It may +seem surprising, but in a huge, decentralized company such as North +American, project engineers are busy with their own problems and +rarely have time to rub elbows with advanced design engineers, and +vice versa. Moreover, from its inception the X-15 was a closely +guarded secret. Thus Feltz was stunned by it all when I joined the +X-15 group--consisting of eleven North American engineers besides +Feltz--in the garret adjoining the cafeteria. + + * * * * * + +“Morning, Charlie,” I said, sticking out my hand. + +Feltz was sitting at a cluttered desk pushed into one corner of +the X-15 home. He was a short man with rumpled, graying hair and +deep green eyes. He was a native of Texas, a graduate of Texas Tech +and, as I soon learned, he affected a country-boy air. He dressed +informally and butchered the King’s English. Behind Charlie’s +relaxed exterior, however, lay a steel-trap mind and an unyielding +ambition to build good airplanes. He had joined North American in +1940, on the eve of the industry’s gigantic expansion. He had not +only survived the production ordeal of World War II but had also +risen to the top of the best company in one of the most competitive +professions in the world. In many ways Charlie Feltz reminded me of +Chuck Yeager. In appearance and ability he was to the design of an +airplane what Yeager was to the flight of an airplane. + +“’lo, Scotty,” Feltz said, eying me casually. “Welcome aboard. Maybe +you can give us some idea what this darned thing is all about.” He +raised up a sheaf of about twenty drawings which had been passed on +to him from the Advanced Design Section. Appropriately enough, I +noted, these drawings had been prepared by two engineers named Owl +and Canary. Having won the competition, these engineers had moved on +to other projects and were no longer concerned directly with the X-15. + +It is true that in the beginning North American management, +completely absorbed with profit-making production-line airplanes such +as the F-86, F-100, and other series, paid the X-15 scant attention. +At first the X-15 was an annoyance to be tolerated. To be perfectly +frank, only a few of us on the small X-15 team really grasped the +fierceness of the tiger we had by the tail. Feltz, however, happened +to be one who knew. It was characteristic of him to play ignorant +about it. As I learned, that was his way of finding out even more, or +of sizing up new men assigned to him. + +If the X-15 ill-fitted North American’s usual method of producing +an airplane, I certainly ill-fitted the X-15 team concept. I was +something of a mystery at first, a kind of fifth wheel. I did +not work directly for Feltz. I was hired by someone else and my +paycheck came from another source. For all Feltz knew, I might have +been some vice president’s son-in-law. The arrangement for both +of us, accustomed to a more or less rigid bureaucratic structure, +was awkward and uncomfortable. In contrast, say, to those of a +structural engineer or an aerodynamic heating engineer, my duties +were undefined. Lacking a specific slot on the team, Feltz entered +me on the rolls as a “Design Specialist,” which seemed broad enough +to cover my general role as a high-level adviser or consultant to the +project. + +On that first day, after Feltz had introduced me to the small X-15 +team, we returned to his desk and talked a long time about the ship. +Although the precise limits or mission of the airplane had not yet +been established, the general outlines were known and the design had +more or less been set by NACA engineers together with Hugh Elkin’s +Advanced Design group. There was enough on paper to indicate that +Feltz faced the most challenging assignment of all aeronautical +engineers in the fifty years of aviation history. After our talk I +went back to my desk, lost in wondrous thought. + + * * * * * + +What was this big tiger we had by the tail? I studied the sheaf of +drawings Charlie Feltz had turned over to me. I was familiar, of +course, with the various bits and pieces, but this was my first +opportunity to think of the project in terms of hardware. It was +enough to excite any pilot or engineer. + +In her three-dimensional profile, as conceived then, the X-15 shape +appeared fairly conventional. In the side view she looked something +like a high-performance jet fighter, poised in a level position, +resting on nose wheel and center skids. (The X-2 skid concept had +been carried on to the X-15 primarily as a weight-saving measure.) +She had a tall, sweeping, vertical tail, elongated nose, and a +smoothly fared-in, V-shaped cockpit canopy. Her wings were stubby +and straight, like those on the X-3; they were mounted far aft on +the exceptionally long, trim fuselage, almost butting against the +horizontal stabilizer. + +According to the drawings and concept in those early days, the X-15 +would be carried aloft in the belly of a B-36 mother plane. The B-36 +was an enormous ten-engine bomber, built by the Air Force in quantity +to deliver the nation’s largest nuclear bombs. In time, on this +peaceful mission, the B-36 would depart Edwards with its fifteen-ton +load and head to the launch point near Salt Lake, Utah, four hundred +miles to the north. The mother plane would drop the X-15 at a launch +speed of Mach .7 and at an altitude of about 35,000 feet, fast +enough to insure stability at launch and high enough to avoid the +fuel-wasting contact with the “thick” atmosphere. On its own then, +the X-15 would fly south toward Edwards over the route we at NACA +had conceived several years before. The rocket engine would burn for +88 furious seconds, consuming eight tons of fuel. After burn-out the +X-15 would coast silently on course for Edwards and land dead-stick +but hot on Rogers Dry Lake in the desert. + +The one fact that made the X-15 far from conventional was the +power-plant. It was not shown in detail on the drawings, but the +entry on the specification sheet told all: “ENGINE. REACTION MOTORS, +INC. XLR-99. THRUST 57,000 POUNDS AT 40,000 FEET ALTITUDE.” Like +the engine in the X-2, this engine was to be throttleable; it had +nine times the power of the Reaction Motors engine in the X-1 or +Skyrocket. It would generate nearly one million horsepower, or as +much power as seven Navy cruisers. On a shallow, ballistic-flight +profile, it would hurtle the X-15 to a maximum speed of 7200 feet +per second, which is over a mile and a quarter a second, 75 miles +a minute, and better than 4500 miles an hour, or about Mach 7.0, +twice as _fast_ as man had ever flown. On a “zoom,” or steep +ballistic-flight profile, the powerful engine could boost the X-15 +to an altitude above 250,000 feet, twice as _high_ as man had ever +flown. In between those extremes, the X-15 could explore more unknown +areas than all of the research airplanes in history, and then some. + +To meet these dramatic dimensions of flight and to perform her role +as a research tool, the X-15 had some new and startling wrinkles +which were detailed in the specifications. For example, in addition +to the conventional control system for flight in the relatively +thick air girdling the earth, the X-15 was to be equipped with a +set of “ballistic” controls to steer the ship in the virtually +airless space above 200,000 feet. These were small rocket motors on +the nose and wingtip through which the pilot could squirt a jet of +hydrogen-peroxide steam to tilt the wing or raise or lower the nose. +This system had never been tried. But NACA was already busy with an +experimental set of ballistic controls it had installed in the Bell +X-1-B rocket plane. Jack McKay later tested the system at an altitude +of 70,000 feet. + +When the X-15 plunged from its extreme altitude back into the thick +coating of earth-atmosphere, it would be subjected to intense +frictional heat like a meteorite, or the nose cone of a ballistic +missile. To withstand this tremendous heat, estimated to be dozens +of times greater than any airplane had ever before experienced, +the fuselage nose and wing leading edges were to be built of an +ablating material which would absorb the brunt of the heat and then +erode and melt away, leaving the major portion of the fuselage and +wing-structure intact. The remaining skin of the airplane was to be +made of a new metal known as Inconel X, a nickel alloy capable of +withstanding heat up to 1200 degrees Fahrenheit without losing its +structural integrity. This metal would also serve as a conductor to +soak up heat throughout the plane. One of the principal purposes of +the X-15 was to see what effect extreme temperatures would have on +the airplane structure and equipment, not to say the pilot. + +Such, then, in briefest outline, was the grand and simple concept. +It was truly revolutionary to me. For fifty years we had struggled +to learn to fly within the earth’s atmosphere. It had been fifty +years of sheer technical agony. Now we had designed an airplane +that would not only fly double the speed man had ever flown in this +coating, but also zoom beyond it--to the fringes of space. The ship +would soar a few moments in this dark weightless void. Then it would +make a _controlled_ descent into the atmosphere and finally land +on an airfield like an ordinary airplane. It occurred to me that +the X-15 was more than simply an airplane or research tool. It was +the prototype of man’s first space ship. In time, it was clear, all +useful, piloted space craft would follow in the trail blazed by the +X-15. + +How could I best help Feltz in this fabulous project? Sitting +silently at my desk I thought about it for many hours. I could see +the mock-up inspections that lay ahead, the inevitable delays, +breakdowns, and requests from the customer for added equipment. The +X-15, if permitted, could become the perfect pigeon for every new +invention, half-baked or otherwise, of every engineer in the country. +Each new device would add more and more weight to the total and, +since the engine thrust was fixed, cut the performance. It would +also add to the complexity and inevitably delay the day I first flew +her. This past pattern of research airplane growth simply could not +be allowed to happen with the X-15 and cause her demise like a few +of her predecessors. Someone had to resist it, if possible, before +it began. Most of these additions, I knew, were likely to occur in +the cockpit, or “pilot’s office,” my special province, the command +post of the X-15. With my background in rocket planes and as the +X-15’s designated pilot, I concluded, I was probably least vulnerable +politically and thus best equipped to say “no.” + +Thus, that day, my specific role in the X-15 project was defined to +my satisfaction. I would be the X-15’s chief son-of-a-bitch. Anyone +who wanted Charlie Feltz or North American to capriciously change +anything or add anything in the cockpit, or in the whole X-15, for +that matter, would first have to fight Crossfield and hence, I hoped, +would at least think twice before proposing grand inventions. This +negative approach was not a role I particularly treasured. It was +quite foreign to my nature, which is basically positive, I think. But +I was willing to play any role that would best serve our ends and +contribute to the prestige of the nation by seeing the X-15 completed +and flying on schedule. + + + + +CHAPTER 24 ► + + _Ullage and Capsules_ + + +We gathered close around Charlie Feltz’s desk in the garret. In +two months our team had grown, seriously crowding our temporary +quarters. Feltz now had two assistant project engineers, Bud Benner, +a 33-year-old Pennsylvanian, capable, ambitious and relatively new +to the company, and Raun Robinson, an old hand who had been around +North American since the beginning of World War II. L. Robert Carmen +had finally broken his “dreamer” partnership with NACA’s Hubert +Drake. Now Carmen, who had helped Drake conceive the five-engine +rocket-mother plane idea in 1950, was a member of the X-15 team. He +was way out most of the time, too far into space for us, but destined +to make one crucial suggestion that would pull us out of a deep hole. + +We were all still new to the project and new to each other, feeling +our way carefully, sizing up the talents and weaknesses of the +individual players. It is not easy to start from scratch and organize +a major-league team. In the field of rocket airplanes there were +no minor leagues to draw upon. The major teams at Bell and Douglas +which had preceded us in history had long ago drifted apart. Except +for Carmen and myself, no one on the X-15 team had any experience +whatsoever with rocket airplanes. + +What we lacked in experience we made up in spirit. Although we still +had not yet been completely “recognized” by North American--the dark +secrecy surrounding our project hurt us from this standpoint--each +of us knew, or was beginning to wake up to the fact, that we were +working on something very special and important. In no sense was the +approach routine. Feltz set the pace. He worked twelve to fifteen +hours a day seven days a week; the rest of us fell into step without +complaint. Although overtime was normally paid for extra working +hours, no man on the X-15 team got it. + +“All right,” Feltz said to the group around his desk. “Here is the +bad news. In two months we have jumped from a 28,000-pound airplane +to a 31,000-pound airplane. That’s three thousand pounds added +weight.” + +Someone let loose a long, low whistle. All of us knew the plane had +been getting heavier, but this was the first time Feltz had totaled +it up. + +“To make matters worse,” Feltz added, “the specific impulse of the +XLR-99 engine has dropped, according to Reaction Motors. It’s down +from 278 to 269.” Specific impulse was our technical way of stating +the efficiency of the engine, hence airplane performance. + +“What does that mean in velocity altogether, Charlie?” + +“Maximum velocity has slipped from 7200 feet per second to 5700. +That’s about twenty per cent loss in speed, a little over a complete +Mach number,” Feltz replied. When Feltz was glum, he could be glummer +than any man I ever met. He reached his nadir that morning. + +The engine under discussion, the XLR-99, was a customer-furnished +item over which we had no control. If it failed to live up, it was +not the fault of North American or our team. At that point North +American’s Rocketdyne Division had built more rocket engines than any +other firm in the free world. In one of its original X-15 proposals, +North American had suggested an NAA-built Army Redstone rocket engine +as a power-plant for the X-15. In that year, 1955, NAA tested the +Redstone engine perhaps 5,000 times with singular success. But +the Air Force picked Reaction Motors to supply our engine. There +were good reasons for this decision. RMI had long experience in +building rocket-airplane motors, reaching back to the early days of +the X-1. Furthermore, North American’s Rocketdyne Division was very +busy designing and building new engines for the Air Force ballistic +missiles Atlas and Thor. The Air Force was reluctant to dilute the +division with still another complex engineering project. + +It was no easy task the Air Force assigned RMI. In many ways the RMI +engine project for the X-15 was as revolutionary as the X-15 itself. +The customer hoped to wipe out all past weaknesses of rocket-airplane +engines. The goal was to come up with a “dream” engine many times as +powerful as any in the past, and throttleable as well. The demands +placed on RMI from the standpoint of reliability and precision +were unprecedented. In our eagerness and search for perfection, we +frequently became impatient with RMI. The fact that RMI was a small +company facing a tremendously complex job on a fairly modest budget, +with a thin line of engineering talent, rarely entered into our sharp +discussions. Lying a full continent’s distance away and completely +beyond our jurisdiction, RMI naturally became a favorite whipping boy +in our camp. We blamed them unfairly in some instances. Later they +were absorbed by Thiokol, a large company specializing in design and +production of solid-propellant rocket engines for ballistic missiles. + +“I think we can get some of this back,” Feltz said, referring to the +lost velocity. + +We leaned over a drawing which Feltz had spread across his desk. For +background Feltz began to explain the external shape of the X-15, +changed from NACA’s original views. + +“On the X-1 and X-2 they mounted the maintenance tunnels on top and +bottom,” Feltz said. Maintenance tunnels were housings or large pipes +through which wiring, control cables, and plumbing were routed. Like +missiles, the main body of a rocket airplane consists of a series of +fuel and oxidizer tanks, as large in diameter as the fuselage. The +wiring and plumbing cannot run through the sealed tanks; it must go +around. Thus the tunnel concept was born years before. + +“We found out in the wind tunnel that if we shift these tunnels +from the top and the bottom to the side,” Feltz continued, “we can +fair them out like a wing stub, running the length of the fuselage. +This surface will add to the lift and give us more efficiency. +Besides that, the tunnels being at eye-level will make for easier +maintenance. We tried running them all the way out to the nose, but +we got a severe pitch-up in the wind-tunnel tests. So we just cut +them off here, right behind the cockpit.” + +The new X-15 tunnel concept, the idea of George Owl, was absolutely +ingenious. There is no other way to describe it. + +“Now, back to the weight,” Feltz went on. “We have still another +problem. NACA is demanding a three per cent fuel ullage. Three per +cent of eight tons of fuel is a lot of weight. It’s damned near five +hundred pounds.” + +“Ullage? What the hell is that?” one of the younger engineers asked. + +“Ullage is the allowance to be made for the fact that no tank can be +completely filled,” Feltz explained. “In other words, we get five +hundred pounds shaved off the total fuel supply. That means two or +more seconds less burning time on the engine.” + +We were all mentally calculating the performance penalty. + +“Now, the big weight increase on the airplane itself comes from the +customer. The ablating leading edges and nose are out. They believe +these might make the plane unstable. At least, the wind-tunnel tests +seem to indicate that. So from here on, the leading edges will be +solid Inconel X. That will add considerably to the airframe. In +addition, there’s some more instruments to go in, and more dampers +for the control system. + +“To get the performance back, we’re going to add six inches to the +diameter of the fuselage and lengthen the tanks within the airplane. +That will give us 2500 pounds more fuel capacity. But that’s as far +as we can go with it. If we get any bigger, the weight of the tankage +and fuel already begins to offset the gain of the added fuel. It’s a +point of diminishing return. With the bigger fuselage and some ideas +I have to save weight in the landing gear, I figure we can get the +velocity back up to 6600 feet a second. That’s a net loss of only +half a Mach number at maximum speed--down to Mach 6.5. + +“But I want to tell you right now,” Feltz went on seriously, “I don’t +intend to add another ounce to this airplane. It weighs 31,000 pounds +now. It will weigh that when we roll her out. That means all you +people have to trim every doggone thing out we can.” + +“Say, Charlie,” an engineer said. “You know we got a space between +frame 210 and 220 that you can see through. If you don’t watch out, +someone’s going to stick something in there.” + +“How big is that space?” Feltz asked. + +“About ten cubic inches, I’d say.” + +“Well, now,” Feltz said, “I just might cut a few inches off the +length of this danged airplane. That’ll get rid of the space. No one +can put something there if the space is gone.” + +The meeting broke up in gales of laughter. But the engineers were +soon glum again, busy at their desks figuring new ways to save +weight. I hung behind. Feltz had indicated he wanted to talk to me. + +“Scotty,” he said, propping his feet on a corner of his desk, “we got +more problems. This one could really bust us for good. Take a look at +this.” + +He handed me a letter addressed to North American from a high-ranking +Air Force general. I scanned through it hurriedly, stunned by the +contents. The letter said that under new Air Force policy _all_ Air +Force aircraft would be equipped with “escape capsules” rather than +ordinary ejection seats. An escape capsule could assume many forms. +Basically it was a “can,” as we called it, in which the pilot could +enclose himself before ejecting from a disabled airplane. In theory +the capsule would protect the pilot from wind-blast, heat, and high +G forces associated with modern high-speed escape. The Air Force +policy change had been prompted by experiences such as that of North +American test pilot George Smith who had bailed out from an F-100 +at supersonic speed. The blast tore the skin from his face. It was a +miracle that he lived, really. + +“Does this mean us, too?” I asked. + +“It says _all_ new Air Force planes. The Air Force is paying for this +one.” + +“How much will this cost us?” We referred to weight like money. + +“Twelve hundred pounds at least, to start,” Feltz said. + +“That’ll ruin us.” I mentally estimated the total added weight to the +plane--over eight thousand pounds. It would cost us at least a Mach +number in performance, maybe more, and I knew it would take years to +develop the capsule. + +I could see in my mind the new problems the capsule would generate. +Set within the cockpit, all the wires, controls, and plumbing would +have to pass through it. It would have to be big or heavy enough to +withstand the impact with the earth to avoid breaking the spine of +an escaping pilot. It would require automatic ejection and automatic +separation devices, and a parachute that would deploy automatically. +In short, the capsule meant not only added weight, but greatly +increased complexity, a dozen more things that might go wrong. + +“This capsule thing,” I said. “It looks good on the surface, I know. +But has anybody ever really engineered this thing out? We had a +capsule nose on the Skyrocket but knew from the wind-tunnel data that +if you separated the nose from the fuselage, the G force would be +so great it could kill you. I made up my mind I would never use the +Skyrocket capsule. I would ride the ship down and bail out. The X-2 +has a capsule nose. It will probably kill the pilot, too.” + +“You don’t have to convince me, Scotty. The way I look at it, if +something goes wrong, the cockpit of the X-15 is the safest place +to be, at least for a while. It’s going to be pressurized with +non-inflammable nitrogen gas. You can’t have a fire. You can’t have +a fire in space, anyway, because there’s no oxygen to feed it. The +cockpit is stressed for plenty of G forces. If you are moving at +maximum speed, that in itself means nothing is wrong. If something +goes wrong, it means inevitably that the plane will slow down fast. +So what’s wrong with just staying in the cockpit until you get down +low enough and slow enough to eject?” + +“I agree,” I said. “What can we do about it?” + +“Well, we’re not going to get exception to an Air Force policy ruling +with a phone call. The way I see it, we’ve got to engineer this thing +out with a fine-tooth comb. Since this falls into the pilot’s realm, +I think it would be a good one for you to take on. Call on anyone in +the plant that you need for help. We’ve got to shoot this down or +we’re dead.” + +I turned to with a vengeance. I asked a half-dozen engineers to set +to making studies on the big electronic brain in the main plant. +Meanwhile I searched all the technical literature, pulling any and +all engineering studies of escape systems. In the end, our team put +in a total of 7000 engineering man-hours on this study. When it was +completed, I was more convinced than ever that a capsule escape +system was no good for the X-15. It might be suitable for combat-type +airplanes. But for the X-15 it was superfluous. + +In Santa Barbara, California, a few weeks later I presented the +complete study to a gathering of Air Force and industry big shots. +The presentation, probably the most thorough ever assembled on +this subject, critically analyzed all escape capsule concepts as +applied to the X-15. In every case, as I showed in chart upon chart, +they were found wanting. Capsule development would increase the +weight of the X-15 from 31,000 to about 40,000 pounds and delay the +completion date perhaps years. The cost in terms of money would be +enormous and unless a more powerful engine were used--at a cost of +more millions--the X-15 would never be more than a Hangar Queen. And +finally, I concluded after two hours at the lectern, the pilot would +be no better off than he would be in the X-15’s special ejection +seat. The audience, I hoped, was impressed. + +A few weeks after that, in July, 1956, our customers came to North +American for the first formal cockpit inspection. By then we had +finished the cockpit mock-up, complete with instruments and a control +system. The X-15 cockpit had no capsule escape system. It was rigged +with the original X-15 ejection seat, a specially-designed affair +with a new type of pilot-restraint harness and small stabilizers to +“weather-vane” it into the wind blast and prevent fatal tumbling +or oscillation. A small solid rocket, developing the thrust of the +engine in the F-86, would blast the seat up and behind the X-15. +The seat, without a formal reversal of Air Force policy, passed the +inspection with flying colors. There was no alternative, really. Tied +to the XLR-99 engine as we were, if the customer had insisted on a +capsule for the X-15, would have killed the ship right then. + +After the customers departed, Feltz said to me: + +“Scotty, you really earned your pay on that one.” + +“Somebody’s got to be stubborn and hold the line,” I said. “It might +as well be me.” + + + + +CHAPTER 25 ► + + _Girdles, Brassieres, and Shattered Sinuses_ + + +At sea level, where most of us live, man breathes a mixture of twenty +per cent oxygen and eighty per cent nitrogen. As man moves up higher +into the thinning air, the percentage of oxygen and nitrogen remains +the same, but the amount in each breath diminishes and breathing +becomes more difficult. Most of us have experienced this sensation at +high-altitude mountain resorts or retreats, where the breath becomes +“short” and campfires or cigarettes which thrive on oxygen are +difficult to keep going. Nowadays man carries his own oxygen to high +places. Mountain climbers, seeking new and more dangerous heights, +pack lightweight oxygen flasks so that they can continue climbing at +near-normal rates. Pilots flying above about 15,000 feet must, by +regulation, wear rubber “oxygen masks” to keep themselves constantly +supplied with pure oxygen from a tank in the airplane. These masks +are fitted to the jet pilot’s crash helmet, or “hard-hat,” which he +wears to protect his skull against a rough landing. + +In high-flying passenger airliners designed specifically for +transporting large numbers of people it is impractical to supply +each person with an oxygen mask. Instead, the whole cabin is +“pressurized,” meaning that the thin air through which the plane +flies is scooped up, compressed, and fed into the cabin under +pressure. In this way the airplane cabin moves through its hostile +environment like a submarine hull through the ocean, and like +submariners airline passengers may walk about the cabin freely and +unrestrained, just as at low levels. At higher altitudes where +the jets fly economically, cabin pressurization for commercial +airliners is complicated by the fact that the cabin must be tougher +and the compressed air demands are high. This introduces new weight +and structure problems which must be balanced against payload and +safety factors. The “mysterious” crashes of the first British Comet +jet-airliner series were caused when the cabin structure failed under +pressure. The Comets, of course, have been beefed up since then. In +light of the Comet experience, our own jet airliners were subjected +to exhaustive structural analysis and test before they were put +into service. Today they are a much safer means of travel than the +automobile. + +In the unlikely event of cabin-pressure failure on a commercial jet +airliner there is little cause for concern. Individual oxygen masks, +stowed in the service compartment over each passenger seat, would +pop down virtually into the laps of the passengers. The passengers +would breathe through these devices until the pilot brought the plane +down to an altitude of, say, 7000 feet, where no artificial breathing +devices are required. + +At altitudes above 45,000 feet the human body requires more than a +supplementary supply of oxygen. In an unprotected environment the +water and blood of the human body, held back only by human skin and +accustomed to sea-level pressure, seek to “boil” or “explode” into +the thinner air outside the body. The skin is not strong enough to +contain this force. At present there is no reason for a commercial +airliner to exceed an altitude of about 40,000 feet, so for ordinary +passengers this factor is no problem. But for the military pilot +or test pilot who flies above 45,000 feet some additional means of +protection must be provided in case the cabin pressurization of the +airplane fails. And, incidentally, the chances of a cabin-pressure +failure in a single-engine combat or test airplane are much greater +than those in a multi-engine airliner or bomber. + +For want of a better name the emergency devices supplied to pilots +who fly at extreme altitudes are called “pressure suits,” simply +because they exert a restraining pressure on the skin and chest, +which helps keep the blood and breathing in a normal state. Even +under the best of circumstances the best of pressure suits is +uncomfortable and restricting--clumsy, like a deep-sea diver’s +outfit. The pilot must go aloft with his suit completely rigged, +ready to operate the instant it automatically senses a cabin-pressure +failure. This is somewhat comparable to a diver who must sit inside a +submarine hull in full deep-sea rig. + +Pressure suits are infinitely complex. Not only must they be made +sensitive to pressure, they must also be cooled at all times; +otherwise, the pilot would faint from the heat generated by his +sealed-in body. The windshield on the sealed pressure-suit crash +helmet must be designed so that it does not fog or frost over when +the pilot exhales against it. The suit must contain an independent +oxygen supply, a parachute, and floatation capability, in case +the pilot has to bail out at high altitude, possibly over water. +Since the pilot wears the suit during the complete flight, it must +support his radio earphones and mike. And it must have rubber +bladders--anti-G devices--which automatically inflate when G’s are +pulled on the airplane, to keep the pilot’s blood from draining from +his head and causing a blackout. To complete the pilot’s protection, +the suit must be worn with special gloves, boots, and insulating +layers against heat and cold. + +Indeed, as I think about it, the pressure suit is far more complex +than the deep-sea diving rig. And for the high-flying pilot it is as +important and necessary as the diver’s suit. Without it he cannot go +aloft. + + * * * * * + +The history of the pressure suit in this country is long and +tortuous, paralleling the history of the modern airplane. For the +benefit of posterity it should be the subject of an exhaustive study. +All spacemen will wear some type of pressure suit, and they might +want to know its origin. Meanwhile, my knowledge of early work on +the suits is hazy. The first pressure suit I know of was built for +aviator Wiley Post before World War II by Goodrich Tire and Rubber +Company. It was a monstrous thing of rubber, closely resembling the +analogous deep-sea diving rig. I don’t think it was ever used more +than once or twice in flight. During World War II the armed services, +absorbed with more vital matters, advanced the pressure suit not a +whit. But after the war, when it was obvious that airplanes would +some day fly routinely above man’s tolerable limits, the Air Force +and Navy both embarked on low-key, back-burner types of pressure-suit +research and development programs, funded on shoestring budgets. + +The Air Force and Navy experts differed sharply then on the +approach to the pressure suit. Eager for quick results, the Air +Force contingent at Wright Field, sparked by Dr. James P. Henry, +believed the best solution was a partial-pressure suit, that is, a +cloth-rubber suit which would cover not the full body but critical +portions of it--originally only enough to enable the pilot to get +back down in a hurry if the plane’s cabin pressure failed. The Navy, +eying future space travel and capability to stay on target for hours, +chose to go to a full-pressure suit, one that would support a human +being on the face of the moon. In 1947 a young lieutenant named Paul +Durrup, at the Naval Aircraft Factory in Philadelphia, drew up the +Navy specifications which served as the basic full-pressure suit +guide-lines for a decade. + +In spite of the shortage of money, the Air Force’s +partial-pressure-suit program inched ahead significantly. By 1949, +when Pete Everest was ready to try for an altitude record in the X-1, +Wright Field had produced a partial-pressure suit which, amazingly +enough, worked. This suit, in fact, saved Pete Everest’s life. On +one flight above 60,000 feet the X-1 cockpit canopy cracked and +the cabin-pressure gas escaped. The laced partial-pressure suit +automatically came into play, squeezing Everest along the torso, +arms, and legs, supporting his skin. He landed, uncomfortable but +unhurt. When Bill Bridgeman later flew the Skyrocket to 79,000 feet, +he wore a similar suit with an improved helmet. + +Just prior to my NACA assignment to the all-rocket Skyrocket in late +1951, I naturally developed more than a casual interest in pressure +suits. The Air Force issued me a partial-pressure suit, which I +used in the NACA airplanes. Eventually I wore out two Air Force +partial-pressure suits during my many Skyrocket and X-1 flights. The +Air Force had done the best job possible, considering its budget, +but as a pilot who anticipated close association with pressure suits +during prolonged high-altitude flight in the X-1-A and X-2 series, I +was looking for something a little better. + +This search took me to the Navy’s pressure-suit lab in Philadelphia +in 1951 and shortly thereafter into the strange and wonderful world +of a brassiere and girdle manufacturer. + + * * * * * + +“I’m Scott Crossfield,” I said, extending a hand to the Navy group at +Philadelphia. The laboratory was a small loft crowded with manikins, +sewing machines, plaster of Paris molds, regulators, airbanks, and +all the novel tools of this arcane trade. Lieutenant Commander +Harry Weldon, who had inherited the project from Lieutenant Durrup, +introduced me around. + +“I’m going to be doing some high-altitude work at Edwards and I want +to check around and see what you fellows have for me to wear,” I +said. “I have an Air Force partial-pressure suit. But there are some +things I don’t like about it. I understand you fellows are working on +full-pressure suits which would better suit our plans.” + +“That’s right. But our approach is a long-range one here, looking +toward the future. We still have a long way to go with this program. +We don’t get much money from the Bureau. They say: ‘Who the hell +wants to walk around on the face of the moon?’” + +“We might be walking around on the moon before you know it,” I said. + +“That’s what we believe. Here, have you seen this suit? This is a +David Clark suit, model number 7. It’s the most advanced thing we +have. It was designed for me.” + +Commander Weldon proudly displayed Clark’s latest creation. I noticed +in the rear of the building an altitude chamber, a heavy tank from +which air could be drawn to simulate the vacuum of high altitude. + +“Mind if I try this thing in the chamber?” I asked. + +Weldon hesitated. Then after glancing at his co-workers he said, “Why +not?” + +I put on the suit. It was made of rubberized nylon over which was +stretched a layer of flexible white cloth. When the suit expanded, +the cloth would hold the rubber in place close about the body, +something like the principle of the inner tube and tire on an +automobile. The helmet was attached to the suit the same way. + +I climbed into the chamber and closed the heavy steel door. The +mechanics drew air out of the tank until I had reached an “altitude” +of 90,000 feet. The suit worked well. I thought it far superior +to the uncomfortable partial-pressure suit, and with improvements +I thought it could be better. After the chamber was “lowered” to +earth-atmospheric level, I climbed out and removed the suit, rattling +off comments. + +I learned much later that my stint in the altitude chamber was the +first time the suit had ever been tested under extreme conditions. I +was surprised. I had simply assumed that the suit had been wrung out, +perhaps hundreds of times. In later years Weldon and I often laughed +about my being his “guinea pig.” + +I went directly from the Navy laboratory to the factory of the suit +manufacturer, the David Clark Company in Worcester, Mass. David +Clark, the owner and president of the company, turned out to be +one of the most interesting men I have ever met in the aviation +world. He was a stocky man of about fifty-five, with bushy eyebrows +and delicate hands which, like his mind, seemed to be always in +high-speed motion. He was a chain-smoker, shifting from cigarettes to +cigars without missing a beat. He was proud and stubborn, but gentle +by nature, the patron and father confessor of the David Clark Company +family of employees, who were as loyal and hard-working a group as I +have ever seen. + +Clark had begun his career in New England as a young man in the +garment trade. Right off, he invented a knitting machine that would +automatically make a seamless, one-piece, two-way-stretch girdle +which, for its time, was considered fantastic. (The structural loads +imposed on a girdle, as we all know, can be tremendous, and a machine +that can build a good one automatically is an amazing engineering +accomplishment, believe me.) With his ingenious machine Clark had +all but cornered the important, expanding girdle market. Braving +new frontiers, Clark moved into manufacture of brassieres, which, +considering _those_ structural loads, was even more awesome. + +During the war Clark became interested in the military field, +inventing and making boots, shoes, helmets, goggles, anti-G suits, +ear-muffs to protect crewmen from engine noise, and other specialty +items. Since 1941 almost every piece of pilot “soft goods” has +been pioneered by Dave Clark. The brassieres and girdles were his +bread-and-butter business, but he was a compulsive gadgeteer and thus +found himself in the pressure-suit line, not because there was money +in it but because it was a new challenge to his inventive mind. + +I returned to Edwards immensely impressed with the David Clark +operation. In late 1951 I wrote a letter to NACA headquarters, +recommending that we encourage the Navy-Clark pressure-suit effort. +This letter was forwarded routinely to the Navy. The Navy lab in +Philadelphia was encouraged by this show of interest and immediately +set to work on a “crash basis.” Clark, investing his own money +in the project (there was little official contract money behind +the work), built several suits by hand. He sent some men to NACA, +Edwards; I worked with them, welding and gluing various pieces of +the complicated suit into place. This work went on for months and it +gave me solid groundwork in pressure suits that later paid handsome +dividends. + +It also led indirectly to one of the most agonizing physical +experiences of my life. We had no chamber at Edwards for tests, +and I decided to use an airplane if I could get high enough. So, +wearing the tried and true partial-pressure suit, I took off one day +in a war-weary P-51, one of NACA’s miscellaneous test planes, and +climbed as high as it would go. When I reached 43,000 feet, the suit +automatically pressurized. Then for the next twenty minutes or so I +tried to go higher, nursing the complaining airplane to 44,000 and +then 44,500 feet, finally to 45,000 feet, reporting by radio to the +ground. + +The flight seemed to go perfectly, but the next day I had an awful +headache. The pain was indescribable. It forced me to bed, where +I remained for twenty-two days, my first illness since childhood. +No amount of drugs, not even morphine, would ease the pain. Then, +thank God, it went away. The doctors were baffled. No one could ever +explain it. Some said it was the suit; some said I had contracted the +“bends”; they later said “sinus.” The mystery remains unsolved to +this day. + +Little by little, we brought the Clark full-pressure suit to a state +of near-perfection. We switched regulators, experimented with new +cooling systems, and a dozen different helmet-defogging devices. When +Marion Carl came out briefly to borrow the Skyrocket for his altitude +record, he wore the new Clark full-pressure suit. We stayed up half +the night before his flight working out last-minute adjustments to +the suit and making parts on a lathe. In my view, the fact that he +wore this untried, jerry-rigged suit to 85,000 feet on his third +flight made his record all the more remarkable. (When Kit Murray +broke Carl’s altitude record about a year later, he wore an Air Force +partial-pressure suit.) + +A ludicrous piece of journalism temporarily derailed our efforts +to bring the Clark suit to operational perfection. The new money +allotted the Navy lab at Philadelphia had naturally generated public +interest in the pressure suit. A national magazine, now defunct, +sent a writer to Philadelphia who composed a story describing the +Clark suit in glowing terms. This pleased Commander Weldon, the Navy, +and the Clark Company. But when the magazine photographer arrived +in Philadelphia to take pictures, he was not impressed by the dirty +khaki-colored Clark suit. It didn’t seem glamorous enough to be a +“space suit.” To satisfy the photographer’s demands the Navy people +pulled out a big, bulbous, experimental pressure suit that was years, +if not decades, old, and dead from a development standpoint. But it +was photogenic. The photographer was satisfied; his editor selected +the picture of the hopelessly obsolete concept for the cover of the +issue containing the article. + +This misguided publicity unintentionally touched off a minor but +bitter pressure-suit battle between the Navy and the Air Force or, +rather, brought the long-standing feud over the approach to the suit +into the open. The ins and outs of this flap are much too complicated +to relate here. The upshot of it all was that the pressure-suit +people--both partial and full--got new and unprecedented +appropriations. The Navy’s Philadelphia lab, for example, received +what in that poverty-ridden field was considered a small fortune, +$250,000. As the battle rolled on, alas, not the David Clark Company, +but the firm whose suit had been on the magazine cover, received the +contract to build the Navy’s full-pressure suit. All the money David +Clark had spent out of his own pocket availed naught. The knowledge +we had gained in years of pressure-suit work was turned over to a +competitor. Such are the breaks of the aviation trade. Typically, +Clark never complained. He is a true patriot and sporting competitor. + +The Clark suit was too good to die. When the Navy lost interest, +the Air Force at Wright Field began to eye it with considerable +excitement. A foresighted Wright Field technician, Ernie Martin, +awarded Clark a small but encouraging contract to continue work +on the suit, even though it was competitive with other Air Force +projects. Clark kept on, spending large sums of his own money. +Feeling somewhat responsible for his deep and profitless plunge into +the pressure-suit field, and convinced that his suit was the ultimate +answer for the Air Force and specifically the X-15, which I would +fly, I urged Clark on and helped him with experimental work as best I +could. I believe that during my five years at Edwards I logged more +time in pressure suits than most of the pilots put together. This +time the intense pressure completed the destruction of my sinus +cavities. When I left Edwards they were shattered. + +In 1953 and 1954 during the preliminary studies on the X-15 at +NACA, I had urged the incorporation of a full-pressure suit in +the ejection-seat concept. The helmet and full suit would provide +additional blast-protection for the pilot in the event of bail +out, an argument I effectively used against the capsule. The +suit I proposed had all the best features of the Clark suit. The +North American X-15 bid included the Clark-type suit, listed as +a contractor-furnished item. Because of my long background in +pressure-suit work in general, and past association with the David +Clark Company in particular, the X-15 pressure suit naturally became +one of my special projects at North American. In time, the Air +Force’s Wright Field lab took over the development work on the suit +and supervised the altitude-chamber tests. But the final product was +a direct outgrowth of the old NACA-Navy-Clark suit which I first saw +at Philadelphia. + +Knowing much of the discouraging history of pressure suits, I tackled +my new responsibility with grim determination. But I was unaware then +that during those early days of the X-15 Dave Clark had a whopping +surprise up his sleeve. It was a new “break-through” (and here I mean +that overworked word in its literal sense) that would revolutionize +the full-pressure suit business. In time the Clark-X-15-Air Force +suit would become the standard full-pressure suit for the Air +Force. A copy would be worn by the Mercury Astronauts, the seven +men scheduled to orbit the earth in a capsule. It would serve as a +prototype for suits to be worn by the first U. S. spacemen to land on +the moon. + + + + +CHAPTER 26 ► + + _The Agricultural Approach_ + + +“And that, gentlemen, is the story of the X-15 to date.” My +assistant switched on the lights in the briefing room. The group +I was addressing--the fifth that month--was part of an Air Force +headquarters inspection team. In aviation circles word of the X-15 +was beginning to spread. We were besieged by official delegations +from NACA, the Pentagon, and Congress, who wanted to know what it +was all about. Charlie Feltz abhorred briefings--they seriously +interfered with his work, for one thing--and had dumped this “public +relations” chore on me. Through growing experience I developed an +hour-long “road show,” complete with slides of charts and artists’ +conceptions of the ship, and I thought it was pretty good. I could +spout the speech in my sleep and, I think, frequently did. + +“Are there any questions?” I concluded. + +“I have a question about the seat,” a captain spoke up. “As I +understand it, the pilot may spend long hours in the cockpit on the +ground before take-off and during flight to launch point. Have you +given any thought to a seat cushion, an air-inflatable or foam-rubber +base, to add to the pilot’s comfort? Seems to me it’s asking quite a +lot for the pilot to sit on cold, hard steel for all that time.” + +“Captain, as I believe I pointed out earlier, our overriding +consideration in this airplane is saving weight. There are, of +course, foam-rubber seat pads and inflatable air cushions under +development. There is even an undulating air cushion which gently +massages the behind during prolonged flight....” + +“Yes,” the captain said. “I have read reports on these projects....” + +“Well, any one of these seat pads could weigh as much as a pound, +maybe two pounds. In the final analysis this is pure luxury payload. +To take it into the air, we must add seven or maybe fourteen pounds +to the overall weight of the airplane. Besides, these pads might slip +around during ... ah ... shall we say ... the rough portions of the +flight profile. + +“Now, I’ll tell you what we did about this. We sat down and said +to ourselves: ‘Who in this country has had the most experience in +keeping someone in a seat under rough conditions over prolonged +periods?’ The answer, we found soon enough, was the International +Harvester Company, manufacturers of tractors and farm equipment. We +learned they had investigated the natural frequency of a man’s spine +and how long a spring you should sit him on, and what’s the best +shape of the seat, so that he gets the best opportunity to stay on a +piece of farm equipment bouncing over rough ground, bearing in mind +that a farmer might ride that seat twelve to sixteen hours a day.” + +“Is that a fact?” the captain asked in wonderment. + +“That’s a fact,” I said. “So you will see that the seat in the +X-15 is an exact duplicate of a tractor seat, with apologies to +International Harvester. It’s of minimum weight and maximum comfort +and will keep the pilot solidly in place in event of rough flight. + +“Around here, we call this type of engineering the agricultural +approach, getting right down to fundamentals, as basic as land and +seed, and figuring the thing out. It’s typical of our thinking on +this airplane.” + + + + +CHAPTER 27 ► + + _A Tornado Named Stormy_ + + +Harrison (“Stormy”) Storms, Chief Engineer of the Los Angeles +Division, who had sparked the initial management-level interest in +the X-15 project, remained aloof from the day-to-day work on the +airplane. But as Chief Engineer (he had replaced Ray Rice, who moved +up to a Vice President’s slot), the technical responsibility for the +ship was his. When we ran into trouble, he was first to answer the +alarm and bring his high-level prestige and authority to bear. At no +time was he ever more than a few minutes away. + +As time passed and all of us began to see the full dimensions of our +tiger, Stormy came around more often. By then, the fall of 1956, +we had moved to larger quarters on the second floor of the main +engineering building. Our team had grown to about sixty-five men, and +every day we leaned more heavily on the various departments of the +plant for aerodynamic, heating, structural data, and other help. + +Stormy was short and wiry, 41 years old, a native of Chicago. As +a young boy he had developed an obsession for aircraft through +contact with model planes. He took a master’s degree in Mechanical +Engineering at Northwestern University and later made advanced +studies in aeronautical engineering at Cal Tech. When the Japanese +attacked Pearl Harbor, Stormy joined North American. A tough, +uncompromising, technical man, and an articulate one as well, Stormy +had fought his way to the top of North American. Although for years +he had lived in the nation’s outdoor playground, Southern California, +Stormy ignored the comforts and luxuries of life. Every waking moment +he devoted exclusively to thinking of new and better ways to make +airplanes. + +Stormy naturally became one of the ideal men to lay new proposals +before the military. Thus when the Preliminary Design Section came +up with a new concept, Stormy took it to Washington and pounded the +halls of the Pentagon. He became a master at handling a presentation +because, for one thing, he hated to lose a competition. He was +scrappy, cocky, and confident. Under his direction the Los Angeles +Division all but cornered the market of the future flying Air Force. +Stormy had won the competition for the Air Force’s advanced fighter, +the Mach 3 F-108, and the advanced bomber, the Mach 3 B-70, both of +which would benefit from the X-15’s flight experience. There were no +other advanced combat aircraft in the Air Force inventory. + +In the fall of 1956 the X-15 ran into serious trouble, both from +political and technical standpoints. Air Force Captain Mel Apt had +just died in the crash of the final X-2 airplane. The basic cause +was high-speed instability, a weakness in the airplane that was +predicted years before. The loss of the X-2 denied the X-15 program +badly needed flight experience and data in the Mach 3 zone and raised +many new questions about acceptance of high-speed instability. The +loss, in effect, vastly broadened the area which the X-15 would +have to explore. From a political standpoint, it put North American +and the government on the spot. If the X-15 also turned out to be +unstable and crashed as a result of this instability, it might +jeopardize not only all future research airplanes but also the entire +future of manned aircraft. Thus in a twinkling the X-15 became an +enormously important project at North American--indeed throughout +the government and aviation industry--bringing to a climax a problem +that had bothered us for some months. + +According to the preliminary design studies and wind-tunnel tests, +the X-15, with its high-swept vertical tail, would be unstable during +certain brief periods of the flight profile. It is impossible to +build an airplane that can fly at six times the speed of sound and +land like a conventional airplane without a compromise somewhere +along the line. We had compromised in the tail. Its shape was not +ideal. After the X-2 crash Stormy moved in like a tornado. + +The top members of the X-15 team gathered in his office. Stormy was +emphatic and wasted no words. + +“This airplane is going to be directionally stable. One week from now +I want all of you back here with every tail-study you have made on +this configuration. I want the weight analysis, flutter studies, drag +studies, the dive-brake studies, the whole works from A to Z. Bill +Johnston says we have got to add some more tail below the fuselage, +so be thinking about that.” + +We were back one week later with the paperwork in hand. Our engineers +had collected data from wind tunnels and other sources on every +conceivable tail shape. Ideally for our purposes, the best was +one that looked like the tail of a ballistic missile, with fins +protruding full length above and below the fuselage. But a fin below +the fuselage conflicted with the rear landing-gear arrangement, the +two skids which we had moved all the way aft to save weight. The +lower fin would stick down below the skids and dig into the ground +and become the world’s fastest plow, as we jokingly called it. + +The discussion in Stormy’s office was deeply technical and no joke, +though. We pored over the paper studies, matching weight and drag +against performance, proposing, rejecting, theorizing. The problem +was complicated by a variety of factors. For example, the dive +brakes were attached to the upper tail. According to our design +scheme, to gain the biggest bite in the air the upper tail would +move as a complete unit. Then there was the nagging question of the +shape, or airfoil, of the upper and lower tail sections. Seen from +above in cross-section, a diamond-shaped tail was best because +the air “clung” to it better at low speeds. But at high speeds a +diamond-shaped tail, thick at the middle of the diamond, would add +little but weight to the X-15. Our goal was to conceive a new tail +shape without adding an excess pound. + +We were in the midst of discussing a truncated lower tail, one that +would not scrape the ground on landing, when Stormy suddenly exploded: + +“Why the hell can’t we simply drop the lower tail in flight, just +before landing? We don’t need it then. It’s during the high-speed, +high-altitude phase that we need it.” + +“Drop it? Drop the ventral?” someone asked, startled. “It’s never +been done. How would you drop it?” + +“Blow it off with a ballistic charge,” Stormy shot back. “Who cares +if it’s never been done? No one ever built an X-15, did they? This +ventral could have a small parachute to lower it to the ground after +it’s jettisoned. It would cost us only a few pounds.” + +We thought that over for a while. It was indeed a startling idea. +But, as we finally concluded, why not? + +Next we tackled the airfoil of the tail, batting around the diamond +shape versus other, more conventional shapes. As related, the diamond +was the best approach for the X-15’s low-speed flight, and it would +still have some high-speed advantage. The one problem was that it was +marginally adequate and much too heavy. + +“What would happen,” Stormy asked, “if we cut that diamond shape off +in the middle? Slice it right in two. Once the air passes the hump of +the diamond, it has finished its work. It separates from the surface. +The air won’t know it if the rear of the diamond isn’t there. That +might cut the weight of the tail in half.” + +He was right. Wind-tunnel studies showed that the air behaved +properly with only half a diamond, as seen in cross-section. We +chopped the diamond in half, with the result that the X-15 in +final form has a tremendous, wedge-shaped upper and lower vertical +stabilizer, about which much ill-informed speculation has been +spread around. It was no more and no less than a new attempt to get +the most tail for the least weight. With this innovation, plus the +droppable lower ventral (also wedge-shaped), the X-15 was supplied a +tail that would make it completely stable in all speed ranges. Thanks +to Stormy’s ingenious mind and courage, it was done despite the +strong objections. + + * * * * * + +In November of 1956 the design of the X-15 was frozen, and a special +team started work on the mock-up of the airplane. The dummy mock-up +was completed in a frenzy the night before our formal customer +inspection in December, 1956. As I recall it, the painters were up +half the night putting finishing touches on the wood and soft-metal +fuselage. When we saw the “complete airplane” the following day, +squatting behind a walled-off area marked “SECRET,” we were amazed +and proud. All the parts fitted, and to the untrained eye the +airplane in its final shape appeared ready to take off. We had +reached this point, from conceptional design to mock-up inspection, +in twelve months flat. Considering the product we were building, I +believe this must be a record of some kind. + +About a hundred customers, including both NACA and Air Force +personnel, came to the North American plant to gawk at and criticize +our tiger. Among these was my old friend and boss, Walt Williams, who +was still running NACA’s High Speed Flight Station. Now that the X-2 +had gone by the boards, I could see the eagerness in his face. He +was literally panting to get his hands on the X-15. I might add that +we at North American were equally eager to deliver it to his test +facility. + +I escorted Williams about the dummy airplane. His mind was churning +with questions. He, of course, knew about the new tail concept--we +reported all changes or modifications on the X-15 to our customers +immediately, and NACA passed them on to the industry--but when he +saw the rear of the full-scale model for the first time he eyed it +skeptically. I put his mind at rest with a technical dissertation, +flavored with a smattering of North American sales pitch. Williams +poked his head inside the cockpit, shotgunning questions. + +No detail, however small, was overlooked in this inspection. +For example, one Air Force officer, after a careful survey +of the instrument panel, said to me: “Scotty, I don’t see a +landing-gear-position-indicator light on the panel. How will you know +for sure if your gear is down?” + +“The wiring and gauges for gear-indicator lights, we figured, would +weigh about five pounds. Now when you get right down to it, they +really aren’t necessary. Figure this. You’re coming in dead-stick at +200 miles an hour ready for touchdown. To maintain your air speed +and prevent a high rate of sink near the ground, it’s best not to +put the gear down until the last few seconds. Otherwise, the drag +would be too great. So you pull the gear handle. If the gear doesn’t +come down, you’ve had it. You have no engine power. You can’t take +off and go around again for a second landing. So what good does a +gear-position-indicator light do you?” + +All in all, our customers gave us a hearty pat on the back. The +X-15 passed its inspection with flying colors and Charlie Feltz +released the engineering drawings. To be sure, there were many minor +requests for changes. I believe they totaled about ninety-five, +half of which we had anticipated. At the time of the inspection, +in fact, our engineers were busy modifying these items. The only +really big proposal that emerged from the inspection was an idea of +Walt Williams’ that the X-15 engine be designed so that it could +“idle” while the plane was still mated to the mother ship. Williams +wanted this to avoid the prospect of an engine failure after drop. +But that was a problem for RMI, not North American. The engine was a +customer-furnished item. + + * * * * * + +The one cloud gathering on the X-15 horizon at that point in history +was the rocket engine. Facing unprecedented problems, the thin line +of technicians at RMI had wavered and fallen back. By mock-up time +the XLR-99 engine was six to eight months behind the overall X-15 +schedule and, we guessed, destined to drop even further behind +schedule. For all of us on the X-15 team, this turn of events, +inevitable in an advanced technological jump of that order, caused +great concern and loud cries of anguish. We knew that in the end such +a delay would reflect on our own efforts at perfection. + +Once again Stormy took the reins. After several prolonged meetings +with our propulsion engineers, we wrote a letter to the Air Force +which loudly rang the alarm. North American again offered to supply +the engine from its Rocketdyne Division. But it was too late. By then +the Air Force was heavily committed to the RMI effort. Contracts had +been let; many millions had been invested in the small company. North +American’s Rocketdyne was still busy supplying engines for Atlas and +Thor, and designing even more powerful rocket engines, and the Air +Force was still opposed to calling upon the division for technical +assistance for the X-15. We would have to sweat it out. + +I was considerably put out about the engine delays. The engine was +obviously crucial to the entire project. If it failed, we all failed, +and I in particular failed in the goal of my life. The situation +reached the point where I was no longer invited to attend the +rocket-propulsion meetings. On that one subject I had turned into an +outspoken zealot, and the others soon tired of my needling. + + + + +CHAPTER 28 ► + + _Wilting Straws in Plaster of Paris_ + + +The impasse in the perfection of the full-pressure suit was primarily +in the restraining material or “tire” which holds the inflatable +rubber “inner tube” against the pilot’s skin. Many materials were +tested to keep the ballooning inner tube in place against the skin, +but each was so heavy and rigid that when the suit was in operation, +the pilot was trapped in a bulbous vise, unable to move his arms, +legs, or head. The suit engineers tried to offset this by hinging +the elbow, neck, wrist, and knee joints with bellows and bearings. +But the end result was a complicated, mechanical monster, obviously +unsatisfactory for a pilot working within the tight confines of an +airplane cockpit, and quite marginal if escape from the aircraft +became necessary. + +David Clark’s suit number seven, which I had first tested in the +altitude chamber in Philadelphia in 1951, was an attempt to get away +from the “stiff” suit concept. It was a step in the right direction +but a long way from an operationally sound item. But if enough time +and effort are devoted to any technical problem, the solution will +come eventually. Obsessed with this new challenge, David Clark kept +plugging away, with Air Force support, and in time came up with the +answer. + +He revealed it to me one day in his factory, not long after +we completed the X-15 mock-up inspection. After a tour of his +fascinating plant we went to his private office. I could tell that he +was bursting with pride. + +“Scotty,” he said, “did you ever see one of those ‘Chinese fingers’ +made of straw? You know, those things you put your index finger in? +You try to pull your finger out and the straw grips it even tighter?” + +“Yeah, sure,” I said. “I used to play with those when I was a kid.” + +“Well, take a look at this. I made this on an airplane when I was +going up to Alaska last month to see my daughter.” He passed me a +sample of hand-woven material which looked not like a Chinese finger +but something like an Anchor Fence, except that it was made of nylon +thread. I gave it a good pull and right off I saw what he was driving +at. + +“We call this ‘link-net’ material in the trade,” Clark said. “I think +it’s the answer to the pressure-suit restraining cloth. It will work +just like the Chinese finger. If you bend your arm, the material on +top will contract and the material on the bottom will stretch. It +also twists easily from side to side under stress. At all times you +will have an even pressure on the rubber bladders. It’s as flexible +as cotton cloth, strong as steel, and weighs little or nothing. +I think that with this material and the new regulators and other +improvements we can give you a complete full-pressure suit with a +total weight of thirty-five pounds.” + +“What?” I was astonished. At best, present equipment for the job +added up to as much as 110 pounds, give or take a few. + +“Yes, thirty-five. Now it’s going to take a little time because we +have to make this stuff by hand. But maybe we can come up with a +machine to weave it.” + +Our long-standing faith in David Clark had paid off. The link-net +material proved to be the great “break-through” in the full-pressure +suit game. It relegated all the stiff suits to the junk-heap. The +restraining material was as flexible as a suit of long-johns and +almost as comfortable. It eliminated the need for bellows-joints at +the knees and elbows and for bearings at the shoulders and wrists. + +As I was leaving the factory we passed through the Research +Department. Amid the great humming looms and rattling sewing +machines, I spotted a piece of shiny cloth lying on a long table. The +material looked somewhat like silver lamé. I went over and picked it +up. + +“What is this?” I asked Clark. + +“That’s a piece of nylon with a vacuum-blasted aluminum coating. Just +something one of the boys was trying out.” + +“Pretty glamorous looking.” + +Then a light went on in the back of my mind. “Say, Dave, why don’t +you make the outer cover of the pressure suit out of this material, +in place of that awful-looking khaki coverall?” + +“Whatever for?” + +“You remember that time down at Philadelphia when they took that +picture for the magazine cover? We don’t want to make that mistake +again. A coverall of this material would look real good, like a +space suit should--photogenic. To justify it technically we can tell +them this silver material is specially designed to radiate heat or +something.” + +“A marvelous idea, Scotty. I’ll make the boots and gloves out of +black material for contrast.” + +“Great touch,” I said. Ever since then all pressure suits have been +silver. + + * * * * * + +I made my way to New York City. To save his fitters expensive, +time-consuming cross-country trips each time they modified or +improved the new suit, Clark suggested that we mold a “statue” of me +just as I would sit in the cockpit of the X-15. I bought the idea +without a second thought. How I lived to regret it! Believe me, no +one can claim to have lived the full life until he has been cast in +plaster of Paris. + +The appointment Dave Clark arranged in New York took me to a +ratty building on 42nd Street just off Broadway. John Flagg, now +a vice president of the Clark Company, met me, and together we +took a squeaky elevator to the studio of a theatrical sculptor. +He specialized in devices for stage sets, armor suits, horribly +distorted masks, and the like. The proprietor, a tall, balding man +with a walrus mustache, was a “mad artist,” a Romanian whose name I +have forgotten. He had an assistant, just off the boat and unable +to speak English. The studio turned out to be a cluttered, unheated +attic. It was mid-winter. + +“Very well,” the artist said, rubbing his hands from the cold, or the +unexpected windfall, or the artistic challenge standing before him, +I’m not sure which. “We’ll make a plaster of Paris mold in two parts, +the body and the head. Later we will cast the statue in this mold. +Now first you must strip down completely and shave all the hair off +your body except your head.” + +“_All_ the hair off my body?” I asked incredulously. + +“Yes,” the artist replied. “_All_ of it. Otherwise, it will stick in +the plaster of Paris.” + +“I don’t have a razor,” I said feebly, eyeing the nearest exit. + +“Never mind, Scotty, I’ll go get one,” John Flagg said, chuckling. +He ran down the stairway and in a few minutes was back with a small +electric razor, the size used by ladies. + +“I don’t know how in hell I’ll ever explain this on my expense +account,” he said, “but here it is.” + +I stripped, put on an athletic supporter, and shaved the exposed +portions of my body. After applying a thick coating of vaseline to my +skin, I sat down on a rickety chair, feeling like a half-frozen Greek +god. The mad artist prepared the plaster of Paris mixture, screaming +in Romanian and gesticulating wildly at his assistant, pausing at his +work only to stand back to size up his victim. I noted with dismay +the ripples on my stomach in a sitting position. I would be cast +forever with a row of rubber tires on my waist! + +The artists erected a mold about my body and then, without warning, +began slapping on the frigid plaster of Paris. At the beginning +it felt like being immersed in ice water, but as time passed my +sealed-off body heat began to build up, and for the first time since +I entered the attic I was warm. But soon I was too hot, sweating and +breathing heavily under the increasing load of plaster. + +The artists erected a cage of steel within the plaster to hold it +together. Then they turned me upside down in the chair and did the +other side. I waited in stolid agony for the plaster to harden, +afraid to move a muscle lest the mold be ruined and the process +repeated. + +“Now we must do the head,” the artist said. “This is the most +difficult part. You’re not subject to claustrophobia, are you? Do you +prefer to breathe through your nose or mouth?” + +“Mouth,” I said. “No, I don’t have claustrophobia.” + +The creation of the head mold was slightly different but no less +taxing. First they covered me with a kind of rubbery moulage, and +after putting two paper straws in my mouth so I could breathe, they +then applied the plaster. After a few minutes the straws wilted +and I could barely suck in enough air for survival. I couldn’t +swallow because the movement of my Adam’s apple would destroy their +work. With my head rigidly set in the heavy mold, I listened as +the artists babbled. Their voices seemed to come from far away, +from some deep cave. They watched me closely. With their heads so +encased, some people become overwhelmed by claustrophobia and come up +fighting--ripping at the mask. + +John Flagg was doubled up on the floor with laughter. + +Before applying the plaster over the rubbery moulage, the two artists +had laid a string across my head from shoulder to shoulder. The idea +was that when the mold hardened it could be cut in two and thus +removed by pulling the string, something like opening a package of +chewing gum or cigarettes. + +Now a great debate arose between the two artists about when to pull +the string. Actually, this _is_ a matter for careful consideration +because the string must be pulled at exactly the right time. If it is +pulled too soon, before the plaster has hardened enough, the whole +thing crumbles, or the seam rejoins. If it is pulled too late, after +the plaster becomes hard and brittle, the mask must be chiseled off +and the process begun all over again. + +In the midst of the debate, the head artist remembered he had to make +an urgent telephone call. He disappeared from the room, leaving +his assistant to watch over the victim. It was clear from muffled +conversation that the assistant was very concerned. He touched the +plaster repeatedly, testing its hardness, shook his head glumly and +paced the floor, obviously as torn by indecision as Hamlet. Finally, +he could stand it no longer. He rushed over and pulled the string. + +A few moments later the chief artist returned and smilingly said: +“Well, now, it is time to pull the string.” Then with a look of +horror he saw that he had been beaten to the punch. He exploded and +turned on the assistant in fury, babbling in Romanian, English, and, +I think, six other languages. + +“I’ll fire you--you don’t know anything about this work--I’ll have +your visa revoked--you’ll go home on the next boat--” And so on. + +The mold held together, after all. It was finally removed and I could +breathe again. I tried to wash the vaseline coating from my body with +cold water, and then I got out of there as fast as I could. + +As it turned out, the crazy artist made a fairly creditable statue +from the mold and my rubber tires were immortally preserved. Clark +used the statue to make number one and number two X-15 pressure +suits. As far as the fit was concerned, they were perfect as long as +I didn’t gain a pound. + + * * * * * + +After that I spent the equivalent of years of flying in the Air +Force’s altitude and test chambers at Wright Field testing the Clark +pressure suits. The Air Force people--notably the Command Flight +Surgeon of the Air Research and Development Command, Brigadier +General Don Flickinger--displayed keen interest in the work and +their support was unlimited. We wrung out the suits, not only in +repeated “trips” to 150,000 feet altitude, but also in ovens and +refrigerators, to make sure they, to say nothing of the pilot, could +stand up under extremes of temperature. + +These prolonged tests became somewhat of a minor physical challenge +for me. The aero-medical officers at Wright Field submitted, half +jokingly, that considering my age (I was then 36) my body would never +take the beating. When they matched my performance against the data +accumulated on human guinea pigs over several years, my record defied +their statistics. + +“You’re a physical freak,” someone remarked. “No one can take that +kind of punishment. How do you do it?” + +It seemed superfluous to point out that for centuries man has been +outperforming and outliving the statistics of the physicians, and +that, as I have said before, if the spirit is willing the flesh can +exceed all probable limits. History is full of such accounts. Teddy +Roosevelt is a good example. + + * * * * * + +The sled track at Edwards was the brain-child of Air Force Colonel +John Paul Stapp, an aero-medical officer who specialized in the +physiological effects of high-speed and high-altitude bail out and +severe G forces. The track was a mile long. The sled was powered by +a cluster of solid-propellant rockets. When touched off, the sled +accelerated with great speed. It roared down the track for a few +seconds and then splashed into a pool of water. The water stopped +the sled, subjecting it to tremendous G. On the front of the sled +we mounted a dummy nose of the X-15, complete with cockpit canopy, +ejection seat, and a plastic anthropomorphic form in the seat dressed +in a Clark pressure suit. + +We gathered behind a concrete shield listening as the countdown was +intoned on the loudspeaker: “5 ... 4 ... 3 ... 2 ... 1 ... Zero!” + +The powerful rockets on the rear of the sled exploded to life. Within +a few seconds the big sled was hurtling down the track at 1000 miles +an hour, almost faster than the eye could follow. Cameras, mounted in +a half-dozen positions, recorded the motion of the sled and the X-15 +nose. Sensitive instruments on the seat and inside the plastic dummy +telemetered back a constant stream of data. These data would tell us +the total effect of wind-blast and heat on the dummy and pressure +suit. It would settle once and for all the controversy of the X-15 +ejection-seat principle. + +At the peak of acceleration of the sled--1000 miles an hour--the +X-15 seat fired automatically. The V-shaped canopy blew off. The +seat, with the dummy firmly restrained, rose from the sled and +zoomed skyward. Over one hundred feet in the air the dummy separated +from the seat and a parachute automatically deployed, lowering the +pressure-suit-clad dummy to the desert floor. The parachute was a +lightweight model with a twenty-four-foot canopy, built and tested +especially for the X-15. + +The test was successful. To make certain we were right, we ran the +sled several more times. All the data indicated the X-15 pilot, +protected by a Clark full-pressure suit, could eject under the most +severe conditions we could anticipate without bodily injury beyond +the usual bruises associated with an escape from a disabled airplane. + + * * * * * + +“Charlie,” I said, pulling a chair alongside Feltz’s desk. “Here is +the final word on the suit as we see it.” I laid out a series of +reports and schematic drawings. + +“The basic deal is this: the first layer is winter underwear, the +second a ventilation garment to cool the pilot. The third layer is +the rubberized airtight pressure garment with the anti-G bladders. +The fourth layer is this new link-net material for strength. The +outer layer is this silver lamé material, mainly for photo appeal. + +“We have run the suit through heat and cold tests. It will withstand +anything we can expect to meet. The suit itself, during X-15 +flight, will be cooled by nitrogen gas from the same tank we use to +pressurize the X-15 cockpit; you’ll hardly be able to measure the +quantity. Here’s the way we have the oxygen regulators and supply set +up. During ride to launch point the pilot in the suit breathes oxygen +from a supply from the mother plane. When he’s ready to launch, he +can turn a valve and get oxygen from a supply in the X-15. This will +save us some oxygen weight. The suit itself contains a bottle of +oxygen, enough to get him down on the ground, which automatically +pressurizes the suit and helmet in case of ejection. Incidentally, +we’ve got a rubber seal in the helmet just above the pilot’s mouth +and nose to prevent fogging the helmet lens. No electrical heating +required. + +“We worked it so that the parachute harness also serves as the +seat-restraint straps. No need for extra shoulder straps and a lap +belt. This will save us a few pounds. The sled tests show that the +manacles will hold the pilot’s feet in place, and that the blast on +ejection is far from fatal. The seat weather-vanes, as expected. The +pilot will pull some G’s going out, but not enough to black him out. +Now, to top it all off, I’m giving you the whole pressure suit for +thirty-nine pounds. You could walk around in it on the moon.” + +“Dad-gummed,” Feltz said. “This sounds too good to be true. Where’s +the hooker?” + +“The only problem is this. We’re still ironing out some improvements. +We can’t go much faster than we’re going. I’m afraid that’s the way +it’s going to wind up. We will be flight-testing the new pressure +suit and the X-15 all at the same time.” + +“You won’t be able to flight-test the suit before then?” + +“No,” I said. “We’ll have a lot of chamber time, but no realistic +in-flight operations.” + +“Well, that’s the breaks,” Feltz said. “Just make darned sure the +thing works.” + + + + +CHAPTER 29 ► + + _Eyes Toward Space_ + + +In mid-1957 two severe hurricanes struck the X-15 project within +a matter of weeks. As they roared through our working space, we +launched a series of crisis meetings beneath battened hatches. Again +Stormy leaped in, bringing his authority to bear. The airplane +was well along by then. Manufacturing had begun the difficult +experimental welding of the Inconel X skin metal; other engineers, +after prolonged agonizing, brain-numbing conferences, had finally +set the design for the complex fuel tanks for the rocket engine. At +that stage in X-15 history the slightest change in one part of the +airplane ricocheted throughout the entire structure. + +The first storm was a request from the customer to add additional +instrumentation devices to record the effects of wind, temperature, +and G load on the airplane. Charlie Feltz announced this new request +one morning at a meeting. + +“What they want among other things will double the instrumentation +load, from 800 to more than 1500 pounds,” he said. We sat silently, +each mentally calculating the loss in X-15 performance. The news fell +over us like a death sentence. Charlie Feltz later told me he was +ready to quit. + +“What do they want?” someone asked. + +“Well,” Feltz said heavily, “they want some more stuff in the +instrument bay, and they want us to put in hundreds of pressure +pick-ups, strain gauges, and thermocouples, and six manometers of +archaic vintage. They want this stuff not only in the wing but also +in the horizontal and vertical tail.” + +“Why didn’t they say so before now?” one of the engineers said. + +I closed my eyes and visualized the new request as it would finally +show on the airplane. The thin wing would be pitted with tiny holes. +Clusters of steel tubing, pencil size, would run from these holes +and crowd through the wing root to the data-collecting manometers in +the instrument and engine bays. As the X-15 whipped through the air, +each of these tiny holes would have a story to tell, to relay through +the tubing to the recording manometers. To install these pick-ups, +and to route the tubing to the proper place through the thin wing +was a terribly tough and delicate engineering job, comparable to +engraving the Lord’s Prayer on the head of a pin. In the aft end of +the ship the pick-up tubes would have to be arranged in some kind of +infinitely complex universal joint because the horizontal elevator +rotated. + +“Ah, to hell with them,” an engineer said. “Let’s don’t do it.” + +Although Feltz was deep in the dumps, this comment, which to him +bordered on treason, brought him to his feet. As always, he spoke +slowly and calmly. + +“I guess we have to remember this isn’t _our_ airplane. We’re +building it for the customer. He knows all the facts. He isn’t dumb. +If he wants these pick-ups, then there must be a good reason. I’ll +try to talk them out of putting them in the horizontal tail, but +we’ll probably have to settle for the others. He knows what the extra +weight will cost him. But let’s remember it is _his_ decision, not +ours. We have to do what they want.” + +Charlie was correct in making that point and his timing was good, as +well. All of us had become so intensely wrapped up in the project +that we frequently tended to think of the airplane as our own +personal property. We resented any new suggestions and intrusions, +the same way a parent becomes irate when somebody else corrects +his child. We sometimes lost sight of the fact that the X-15 was a +nation-wide project, conceived for the good of the entire industry, +and that the customer had certain prerogatives which were denied us. + +“God only knows,” Feltz went on, “where we can cut out some weight, +but we have to do it. The engine weight is up again, and this hurts +us even more.” + +He began to detail some weight-saving ideas he and the structural +engineers had recently conceived. One was a new arrangement for the +fuel tank-plumbing that would save a hundred pounds without seriously +affecting the overall center of gravity of the airplane. The second +was a plan to install the nose wheel telescoped on the plane, saving +considerable space and weight. + +The nose-wheel concept--Feltz’s own baby--was new and appealing. It +greatly reduced the nose-wheel storage space and saved us half a +hundred pounds or more. Few people realize it but the landing-gear +apparatus alone on some airplanes can account for as much as eight +per cent of the total weight. With our lightweight rear skids and new +nose wheel, the gear on the X-15 made up only about one per cent of +the entire weight of the airplane, or a total of 300 pounds. + +The second storm struck a few days later. It was more severe +in force, but as I think back on it now it helped the project +tremendously. But when it first came we thought it might delay us +fatally. Again the news was passed out at a meeting in Feltz’s office. + +“Now, you won’t believe this,” he started out, “but the customer +wants to change the mother plane.” + +A chorus of groans echoed through the office. + +“The customer says the B-36 is being phased out of the Air Force +inventory. Spare parts will be hard to come by, maintenance on the +B-36 is staggering, and so on. They want us to use a B-52.” + +The B-52, a monstrous eight-jet bomber, then being manufactured +in quantity by Boeing, was designed to replace the B-36. The +substitution of this new mother plane immediately raised grave new +problems, which we batted about in the meeting. + +“You can’t put the X-15 in the B-52 belly,” an engineer said. “The +landing gear is in the way.” + +“I know,” Feltz said. “We’ll have to hang the X-15 externally, out on +the wing.” + +This concept in itself was extremely controversial. For some +years the Air Force had been conducting experiments with external +stores--the Rascal missile, for example--on high-performance +jet airplanes. The appendage completely modified the overall +configuration of the aerodynamic shape, and added drastic new +problems to the already tough job of piloting a jet in the +trans-sonic zone. The planes vibrated and the stores shook loose, or +else produced so much drag that the original anticipated performance +of the airplane was never reached. We were now asked to hang the +largest external store ever conceived on a B-52--with a man in it. + +The wing-mounted X-15 and the use of the B-52 as a mother plane +presented great new operational troubles. The pilot would have to +board the X-15 before the mother plane took off, for example. The Lox +top-off system would have to be not only remote but automatic, as +well, because no mechanic could crawl out on the B-52 wing to adjust +it. The B-52 flaps, which provide extra lift, could not be used on +take-off because the X-15 tail would be in the way. Some means would +have to be devised for a visual check on the X-15 in flight. There +were no side windows in the B-52. We would have to put a switch in +the X-15 so the pilot could launch himself if anything went wrong. + +This was not all. As conceived, the X-15 would be suspended from a +pylon on the right wing, between the B-52 fuselage and the first, or +inboard, engine pod. The “flutter and noise engineers,” especially +a lady engineer at North American named Rose Lunn, who had a habit +of being right, challenged this method, pointing out that the noise +from the B-52 engine pod might seriously damage the X-15. Feltz +set in motion detailed studies to determine the full extent of the +vibration effect. The engineers strapped a dummy model of the X-15 on +a B-52 wing and ran the B-52 engines for ten hours. Concrete ballast +representing the weight of the X-15 was hung on the B-52 wing and +dropped to see what effect it would have on the bomber. There was +much juggling back and forth. In the end we beefed up the X-15 tail. +The X-15 nose was mounted ahead of the B-52 wing leading edge, so the +X-15 pilot could eject if necessary. + +It was not easy to locate a couple of spare B-52 bombers for this +mission. Air Force General Curtis LeMay, then boss of the Strategic +Air Command, needed every airplane he had either for training or +for the active deterrent force. But at last the Air Force located a +couple of ancient B-52s, the third and eighth planes built, which +were not rigged for combat. North American converted them, installing +the X-15 mating pylon, automatic Lox top-off system, and remote TV +sets, mounted to give the launch-panel operators in the B-52 a full +picture of what was going on out on the wing. + +Air Force Captains Gahl and Charles Bock were designated mother-plane +pilots. They perfected a system of horsing the giant airplane into +the air carrying the X-15 load without flaps. When Gahl was killed +in another airplane, Captain Jack Allavie, a test pilot at Edwards, +moved in to take his place. Both Allavie and Bock were superb +aviators. + +After this work was well along, Charlie Feltz said: “You know, +Scotty, I think we might come out ahead on this mother-plane switch. +Luckily we can save a loss in the schedule. With the B-52 we can +launch a little higher and a little faster, and in the long run, this +will give back some X-15 performance. I think we will also get back +some of what we lost on the added instrumentation.” + +I had to agree. Although the shift caused great technical pain, it +paid off. + + * * * * * + +The new mother-plane launching scheme came at an interesting and +provocative time in U. S. aviation history and set us to thinking +in terms of even more exotic X-15 launching vehicles. Far-seeing +engineers in the industry were beginning to turn their eyes toward +space. The power of rocket engines had increased enormously. The +Atlas missile, plus boosters, had a thrust of 450,000 pounds. The U. +S. had already announced a plan to put a basketball-size satellite +into orbit to gather data for the International Geophysical Year. +Russian scientific publications hinted that the USSR might orbit an +object even sooner. Engineers were beginning to talk seriously among +themselves about putting a combat vehicle into orbit. Primarily as +an aero-medical experiment, Air Force General Don Flickinger asked +industry to look into an orbiting capsule which could support a +chimpanzee and, perhaps later, a man. This project was labeled MIS, +for Man In Space. The North American Advanced Design Section was busy +drawing up plans. + +Good-natured but intense debates on the proper course to follow in +space exploration broke out among the engineers. Some engineers and +scientists claimed space travel was nonsense. Others, especially +the Army’s Redstone group in Huntsville, Alabama, urged that it was +necessary to retain our freedom. The majority of us knew that man +would go into space simply because space was there. At that time few +could anticipate the psychological impact of space triumphs on the +world. + +Charlie Feltz, Stormy, and I spent many hours after work at the +plant discussing the coming space age. I think we agreed on all +aspects of space exploration (Stormy eager, Charlie thoughtful, and +me ready). The first step, we surmised, would be the launching of +unmanned, highly-instrumented space devices to gather information on +gravitational forces, radiation patterns, meteorites, communications, +and unusual environmental conditions expected in space. + +Following these probes, man himself would go there, no matter what +the cost in terms of money and scientific effort. + +“If the Russians get to the moon first,” Feltz said, “it will be a +heck of a note. And who knows what’s up there? The moon might be +solid gold. Think what that could do to the economy. Think what +you might find out if you set up an astronomy lab in that clear +atmosphere. We might change our entire concept of the origin and +nature of the universe.” + +“I think the military phase of it will be important,” Stormy said. +“You don’t know what you will run into until you go there. We might +turn up some whole new concept which will make our present defenses +inadequate.” + +Talking in these heady realms naturally led into a discussion of the +hardware that would take man into space. + +“The moon thing is a long way off,” Stormy said. “You’d have to build +a space station to orbit the earth first, and take off from there. +Within the state of the art of power-plants, the thrust to offset +gravity of the earth alone would make a non-stop earth-moon trip +unfeasible.” + +“You’ll need some kind of space ship to commute back and forth +between the orbiting space station and the earth,” I said. “Something +you can control in space, shift orbits with, so you can pull +alongside the space station and all that. And you’ll have to be +able to re-enter the earth’s atmosphere and land, like an airplane. +Personally, I can’t see this coming out of orbit with a parachute on +a capsule. I’d want to fly in and out. Makes a lot more sense to me.” + +“I feel pretty certain the first experimental steps will be something +like Flickinger’s MIS project. A brief orbit flight in a capsule, +then a slowing down, and re-entry automatic, with a parachute.” + +“Yeah,” I said. “But you’re liable to land in the ocean, or any +place. Pretty undignified way to come down, I’d say.” + +“True, Scotty,” Stormy said. “But, as I said, that is the logical +starting point to see how man reacts to the new environment. Later +on, we would get into your commuter space ships. Something like an +X-15, perhaps. As a matter of fact, why not the X-15? We’ve got +the capability to go into space, the systems, rocket engine, and +full-pressure suit. What would happen if you put the X-15 on top of a +big rocket booster like the Atlas? Or, say, the Navaho?” + +The Navaho was an intercontinental-range, air-breathing missile, +which had been conceived by the Missile Division of North American. +The Navaho was mounted piggy-back on an enormous three-engine +rocket booster which developed about 415,000 pounds of thrust. The +building of this booster had pioneered North American’s way into +the rocket-engine field and ultimately provided the U. S. with +a reliable rocket engine for Redstone, Jupiter, Thor, and Atlas. +It had also led to the development of a very reliable automatic +inertial-guidance system, which was later used by the Nautilus on +the submarine’s first submerged voyage under the North Pole. But +the Navaho vehicle itself had been overtaken by technology--by the +superior ballistic missiles. + +“You’d have some terrific aerodynamic heating problems,” Feltz +replied. “The X-15 as it now stands doesn’t have the capability of +anything much above Mach 7. You’re talking now about Mach 20 and +above.” + +“But the basic vehicle is there,” Stormy insisted. “The power-plant, +the shape, the internal systems, the communications, the instruments, +the landing gear, pressure suit, escape system, and all the rest. +What you’re talking about is simply a beefing-up of the skin to +resist heat, aren’t you?” + +“Yeah, heck, I guess I am,” Feltz said. But I could tell what he was +thinking. The skin would add weight, the higher heating loads would +call for greater air conditioning for the instruments, and back we +would be again in the maddening battle of weight versus thrust. + +“It would take a new airplane,” Feltz said. “The shape would be the +same, but a new airplane, I think. Of course, we’re organized to +handle it. We have the only rocket-airplane team in the country in +being. We know this thing backwards and forwards. And like you say, +it’s just a question of beefing it up. Yes. We could do it. I don’t +think it would take long.” + +“How long?” Stormy pressed. + +“Two years,” Feltz said. “Two years from right now.” + +Stormy added figures in his head, then he scribbled on a piece of +paper. Soon we were all scribbling on pieces of paper--envelopes, I +think they were. + +Stormy said: “With a Navaho booster system and X-15 second stage, we +could reach Mach 12 two years from now, or 1959, say early 1960 at +latest, right?” + +“Right.” We confirmed his figures. My mind was spinning, trying to +visualize an X-15 perched atop a Navaho booster on a launching pad, +then blazing skyward at twelve times the speed of sound. At that +speed it could zoom deep into space and cover a distance over the +earth of perhaps nine thousand miles. Such a vehicle would have the +capability of flying from a U. S. base to Russia and beyond. It could +be a combat weapon, I thought. + +“It’d take a lot more to get into orbit,” Feltz said. “A new +booster concept and a new X-15 altogether. Same shape but different +materials. You’ve got a Mach 25 re-entry problem to contend with.” + +“We can get to that later,” Stormy said. “But if we’ve got to have a +commuting space ship, why not get started on the initial step-by-step +program now? We’ve got the team to do it. We’ve got half a dozen +Navaho boosters lying around gathering dust in the attic.” + +“Stormy, you can’t go proposing that to Washington. Hell, we haven’t +even flown this airplane yet. Mel Apt flew Mach 3 and died doing it. +Now you’re talking about leaping to Mach 12. They’d just laugh at us.” + +“I won’t make a formal proposal, Charlie,” Stormy said. “I’ll just +feel them out about it. If we can get the speed, we ought to be after +it. The concept has military potential, a weapons system, something +like the German boost-glide bomber idea of World War II. It’s a +logical course to my mind. I’ll maybe put the thing through as a +change-order.” + +“A change-order?” Feltz laughed. “A $90 million change-order?” + +Stormy talked it up in Washington informally, but the customers, +while intrigued by the idea, were reluctant to move into an advanced +X-15 project before the ship had proven itself in flight. Stormy +argued that the flight experience itself was a logical stepping-stone +toward an advanced X-15. While the X-15 was being debugged in flight +test, the more advanced model could be coming along. By the time the +latter was ready to fly, the original X-15 and its machinery would be +a proven, reliable concept, as safe as an ordinary jet fighter plane. +But in those days before Sputnik, money was scarce and most space, or +semi-space, projects, taboo by order of Secretary of Defense Charles +E. Wilson. + + + + +CHAPTER 30 ► + + _Muting the Cassandras_ + + +A CENTRIFUGE is a large word to describe what is essentially a simple +piece of machinery. A centrifuge is a seat, cockpit, capsule, or +gondola mounted on an arm which whirls around at high speed. I have +often seen a low-grade centrifuge in an amusement park, mounted in a +vertical position. The people whip around in circles right-side up +and upside down, amid screams of delight and fear. + +The armed forces have used horizontally mounted centrifuges for many +years to impose G loads on pilots for experimental purposes. When +the gondola whirls in its circle like a bucket of water on the end +of a rope, the pilot in the gondola goes through a series of tests +under severe G. Lights flick on which he is supposed to turn off, +and so on. In this way, the theory goes, the aero-medical officers +can determine man’s reactions and limitations under severe flight +conditions. + +The largest and newest centrifuge in the United States, built by +the Navy, is located in Johnsville, Pennsylvania. The gondola is +mounted on a fifty-foot arm. The powerful engine which rotates the +arm from the centrifuge hub can accelerate from zero speed to 250 +feet a second in a few seconds. The gondola can be tilted to almost +any angle (for additional tests), and by using cams in the position +control of the gondola, the gondola can be rocked gently or severely, +slowly or rapidly, simulating the motions of an aircraft in distress, +while pulling very high G. + +From the beginning, we had been anxious to test the X-15 sidearm +control system under strong G loads. The sidearm control had much +merit (there is no real point in locating the airplane control stick +in the center of the cockpit; it was simply put there in the early +days of aviation and nobody bothered to change it), but I was eager +to see what happened, if anything, when it was operated by wrist +motion under the severe conditions for which it was designed. Thus I +proposed that we put a wrist control in the Johnsville centrifuge and +run some tests. It was a decision I lived to regret. + +The Navy’s Aero-Medical Acceleration Laboratory at Johnsville, having +received little attention since inception, was overwhelmed by our +show of interest in their machine. They seized on the X-15 tests +like eager young starlets, and the first thing we knew we had a real +and, at times, disconcerting, show on our hands. After the engineers +rigged a complete X-15 cockpit in the gondola, I spent many hours +whirling around in that crazy machine. Later, the Navy engineers +ingeniously hooked the centrifuge to an electronic computer, which +fed back instrument readings to the panel in the gondola, somewhat +like our North American cockpit simulator. It then became possible to +“fly” the ship on various missions, not only with actual instrument +presentation, but also with theoretical G loads imposed on the pilot, +a fantastically sophisticated tool. + +Most of these tests centered on that critical phase of the X-15 +flight profile when the ship re-entered the “thick” earth atmosphere +to which we added several emergencies. This was the point, in theory, +when the G loads would be most severe and the temperature the highest +and flying the most difficult. There were many ways to approach +this atmospheric layer in the X-15. The pilot could enter lightly +and slowly, decelerating in the process, or he could dive straight +into it like a swimmer plunging directly into a pool. We favored a +“shallow” penetration, a gradual straightforward descent, such as +a commercial airplane might make on approaching an airport for a +landing. + +It was important that the X-15 pilot be “lined up” almost perfectly +for this approach on the atmosphere. If he came in skidding +sideways--yawing--or nose-high--pitching--the re-entry could be +sloppy and subject the X-15 to unnecessary strain and motion; it +would cause high temperatures on areas of the ship not specifically +designed to withstand them. The X-15 nose contains a special “ball” +senser to relay yaw and pitch attitude to the instrument panel. If +the pilot is not lined up properly, he can re-align the ship with the +peroxide-rocket-ballistic controls on the wing and nose. + +At Johnsville we conducted hundreds of re-entry tests, in most of +which the X-15 was made to approach the atmosphere under the worst +possible conditions--an extreme emergency. We brought her in cocked +sideways, with severe yaw and pitch angles--almost every way except +upside down and backward, and with failed damping devices. Obviously +under such circumstances, when the G loads approached the maximum the +airplane could stand, we had some interesting results in the gondola +cockpit. Pulling as high as nine or ten G’s, I was squashed into one +corner of the seat. I blacked out and my head fell to one side. My +eyes rolled up and the skin on my face was grotesquely distorted, +but the sidearm control worked beyond our best hopes, even in these +extreme conditions. All of these test runs were recorded by a remote +movie camera mounted in the gondola. + +In their eagerness to call attention to their role in the development +of the X-15, the authorities at Johnsville took this movie film, +selected the worst possible frames, and patched them together as a +full-length documentary of their operation. They claimed to have +greatly influenced the X-15; yet we had changed nothing as a result +of the tests. The next thing we knew, the Johnsville people were +showing this film at various aero-medical symposiums and conventions. +Then the word began to spread that the X-15 pilot couldn’t stand the +re-entry loads. The fact that almost all the movie scenes represented +the X-15 in emergency, just short of the point of total destruction, +was not emphasized. + +This kind of thing is inevitable, I guess. Specialists in their own +fields, not looking at the overall picture have cropped up all during +history. These people claimed that the steamship, the airplane, the +automobile, the atomic submarine, and who knows what else--perhaps +even the wheel--would fail. They are proved wrong time after time, +yet they reappear to frustrate dedicated people who are trying to +get things done. You may think the engine in your automobile is a +fine piece of machinery capable of operating for months without +repair. Yet I’ll bet I can find a specialist who has run extreme +tests on pistons who can convince you that your engine, under certain +circumstances, would disintegrate. So what? + +Inevitably, as the X-15 neared completion, the effects of this +movie and other dire predictions, as well, began to take hold. The +specialists came after us in full fury. To offset this nonsense +I hit the road with charts, movies, and slides which laid out an +honest picture of the X-15 and its flight mission. In the months that +followed I attended no less than a hundred meetings, conventions, +symposiums, and other gatherings of so-called “experts” in various +fields. This “public relations” activity, an attempt at muting the +Cassandras, became a vital factor in the life of the X-15, not to +mention my own. Without it, it is possible that the ship might have +been talked out of existence. + + * * * * * + +One such problem that developed in the very early days was the +matter of radiation. It is well known that the layer of atmosphere +surrounding the earth provides a kind of umbrella for earthbound folk +against various energy emissions from the sun and space. Long ago a +group of experts began to predict that when man went higher, beyond +the protection of this umbrella, and came into direct contact with +these strong emissions, disastrous things would happen. The tiny, +invisible particles would bombard his body, causing his hair to fall +out, and ultimately bringing premature death from radiation disease. +The predicted altitudes at which these dire consequences would limit +flying moved higher as we flew airplanes and balloons higher and +higher. The meteorite scare followed the same pattern. Ultraviolet +and X rays caused some concern. + + * * * * * + +“Scotty,” Charlie Feltz said to me one day, “somebody here wants us +to tint the windshield of the X-15. You know anything about this?” + +“Well, they tinted the X-2 windshield,” I said. “Tinting might keep +some of the glare out and maybe protect the eyeballs a little against +sunburn, but I don’t think it will make much difference as far as any +other radiation is concerned. I’ll look into it.” + +We conducted experiments to tint the X-15 windshield. But they were +complicated by the fact that the X-15 windshield consists of two +layers of glass with a space between for defogging nitrogen gas. The +best we could get out of it was a piece of smeared glass full of +reflection and distortion. To be honest, we really didn’t put much +effort into the scheme. + +By then, considerable high-altitude flight experience had been +accumulated by various people. Air Force Major David Simons had +soared to 100,000 feet in a balloon, and several Navy and civilian +types nearly as high, after first sending aloft a dozen-odd mice. +Dave didn’t seem to be suffering unduly, and his reports and data +did much to debunk the radiation myth. By that time, too, the U. +S. had logged considerable experience with the U-2 “high-altitude +research airplane,” designed to overfly the Soviet Union on +photo-reconnaissance intelligence missions. None of the U-2 pilots +were losing their hair--at least not from radiation. Much later, of +course, one of our satellites discovered the Van Allen radiation belt +deep in space. But this layer of cosmic particles is too far out for +the X-15 or earth-orbiting capsules. Deep-space travelers en route +to the moon may have to thread through the belt, like a submarine +through a minefield, but it is a long-range problem, and definitely +not an insoluble one. + +“Charlie,” I reported, “this radiation is a lot of bunk. To hell with +trying to tint the windshield.” + +“If you say so, Scotty,” Feltz replied. + +“Just make damned sure those windshields don’t ice up,” I joked. +“This airplane is not designed to be flown blind.” + + * * * * * + +Zero G, or weightlessness, which a pilot will experience in flights +beyond the appreciable pull of the earth’s gravity, first came up +with force in early 1950 during a meeting of “space” experts. Some +serious scientific questions were raised. For example, would the +fluid in the inner ears “float” and cause critical disorientation? +How could a man drink water? With no pull of gravity to take it to +his stomach, might he not drown? And so on. + +Weightlessness is the one condition we cannot simulate on a machine, +such as the centrifuge, located on the face of the earth. The nearest +we can get at present is to fly an airplane on a parabolic curve, +during which time the airplane, for a variety of complicated reasons, +very briefly becomes apparently disengaged from the pull of gravity. +Chuck Yeager was one of the first pilots in the country to try this +experiment. As early as 1950 he flew weightless trajectories in a +jet airplane for periods of about thirty seconds. He reported slight +disorientation and slight nausea. + +I was curious about this because I was then preparing for the +Skyrocket flights which would take me on a parabolic flight-path +at, or close to, weightlessness for a brief period. I took an NACA +F-84 jet and flew about fifty weightless trajectories. I suspended +a pencil on a string in the cockpit to check that I was really +weightless. When the pencil floated and the string slackened, I knew +I had achieved the desired result. + +Not once during these fifty flights did I experience any undesirable +effects or dangerous disorientation. As a matter of fact, I rather +enjoyed the sensation. It was fun, like riding a roller-coaster. +Occasionally during the weightless portion of the flight, my +weightless arm would overreach. But soon I adjusted to this and +piloted the airplane without mishap or discomfort. Sometimes I flew +the trajectory upside down. On three occasions during the recovery +from this maneuver, when the airplane was rotating about three axes, +and building from zero to a high G level, I felt weird, as though I +were going into a loop, quite similar to the common experience of an +accelerating or decelerating centrifuge. But this was due, I knew, +solely to the recovery maneuver, not the zero G condition. I wrote a +report down-playing the effect of zero G. + +Unfortunately, my notes from these flights actually served for +years as a rallying point for the zero G doom-criers. Some experts +seized on the three inverted-recovery disorientations and trumpeted +them throughout aero-medical circles. I tried my best to curb these +charges, but the truth never caught up. It still hadn’t caught up +when I joined the X-15 project. It was well known that the X-15 pilot +would experience about three to five minutes of weightlessness on the +altitude trajectories. These experts predicted alarming consequences. + +To me this was nonsense, if not downright scientific dishonesty. +And it really irritated me to realize my own flight notes were +being used to foster this untruth. I believe people are affected +by weightlessness somewhat as they are by motion sickness. Some +people become air-sick and disoriented; others don’t. Any pilot, +especially a test pilot, will be able to adjust to short durations of +weightlessness in the X-15 or any other sub-orbital space craft. + +A prolonged period of weightless flight may be another story +altogether. I don’t know what will happen to spacemen orbiting the +earth for a matter of days. New ways of “forced” eating will have +to be developed. In fact, the Air Force has already come up with a +toothpaste-tube method of injecting water into a weightless body, and +other innovations. Just what effect prolonged weightlessness will +have on the heart, urinal tract, and other vital organs of the body +where moving fluids are located, is a mystery. Thus I quite agreed +with Air Force General Don Flickinger’s MIS aero-medical proposal +to orbit man for progressively greater durations. But I strenuously +fought off any suggestion that the X-15 might be compromised because +of short periods of weightlessness. And I stubbornly resisted the +flight surgeons who proposed “instrumentating” the X-15 pilot’s body, +so that they could listen in on his heart, respiratory system, and +so on. The line must be drawn somewhere. + + * * * * * + +“Here we go again,” Charlie Feltz moaned one day. + +“What is it now?” I asked. + +“The low L over D on landing again,” Feltz said. “They’re worried +about it.” + +The L over D, or sink rate, of the X-15, I have related, was a +controversial matter from the outset. We all knew the ship would come +in for its landing hot, and falling like a brick. The landing would +be tricky, with little margin for error. But we had concluded long +before that it was well within the capability of a qualified pilot. +It was astonishing to have this matter come up again so late in the +game. + +The L over D ratio of the X-15 was about two or three to one. In +other words, for every two or three feet it moved ahead in the glide, +it would drop one foot. During my days at NACA, Edwards, I had made +many low L over D landings. For example, we had made tests in the +X-4 with speed brakes open, calculating the L over D to be less than +three to one. The L over D of the horrible XF-92-A on a dead-stick +landing was about three to one. The L over D of the Skyrocket, which +I flew almost routinely, was about five or six to one. + +To lay this matter at rest once and for all, I organized a special +flight-test program to simulate the X-15 sink rate. I found that if +I landed an F-100 with engine idling, dive brakes and gear extended, +and a drogue chute deployed, I could come close to approximating the +X-15 landing glide-path. At Edwards I made hundreds of such landings. +Later I came closer to the real thing by shifting to an F-104. With +the engine idling, the dive brakes extended, and the gear out with +landing flaps down, the F-104 and an L over D of less than three to +one. I demonstrated this simulated X-15 landing scores of times at +Edwards. Even so, some Cassandras remained, bleating in the wings. + +These demonstrations to prove that any experienced pilot could land +the X-15 were important for a number of reasons, the biggest of which +we were not then free to discuss. The safe landing was a vital +plank in our case for the _advanced_ X-15. By the fall of 1957 we +had progressed far with this dream--to the point of making drawings +and adding up figures. As a matter of fact, our preliminary design +section had conceived an advanced X-15 which, with powerful boosters, +such as a cluster of Navahos, could be put into _orbit_. We called +this dream craft the X-15B, but we were under orders not to discuss +it beyond the confines of our secret workshop. Stormy was afraid that +if we did the men in white coats would come after us. + + + + +CHAPTER 31 ► + + _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. + + + + +CHAPTER 32 ► + + _Time for Extraordinary Action_ + + +By January of 1958 the X-15 team had moved into high gear. North +American’s F-100 contract was running out. The production space was +absorbed by the jigs and dies for our three “space craft.” We had +subcontracted about two hundred items on the airplane to vendors, but +most of the ship was manufactured right on the premises. + +By then all the engineering drawings--some six thousand altogether, +and one of them fifty feet long--had been released. The never-ending +battle to get the most from a part for the least weight was +reaching a climax. Charlie Feltz had detailed every man on our team +to keep track of the weight, to make certain the total did not +climb above our final estimate of 31,000 pounds. Since there were +more than 10,000 parts on the X-15 weighing a pound or more, our +weight-watchers were firm and exacting. + +Everything about the fabrication of the X-15 was new and challenging +and therefore, from a technological standpoint, exciting. Every day +at his command post on the second floor of the engineering building, +Charlie Feltz faced a hundred new problems, each one of them a minor +crisis. As I look back on those long days and nights, I wonder how +he kept his sanity. We hear much about pressure on Madison Avenue +and in the city rooms of newspapers at press time, but no one can +persuade me that it is any greater than that we experienced on the +X-15 project. Night after night I returned to my home late--punchy, +almost shell-shocked. Month by month I watched Feltz aging, long +before his time. But no matter how intense the work, or how baffling +and seemingly insoluble the crisis, he seldom lost his country-boy +composure. I believe this fact, more than any other, held the team +together amicably under the great strain and enabled us to achieve +our goal. + +Most of the technical details of the fabrication of the X-15 are, +sad to say, too involved to relate here. Thus I fear this marvelous +technological story will never be told in full. But there is one +understandable detail which I would like to describe. This is our +pioneering metallurgy with the skin of the X-15, Inconel X. In the +sense that it was new and untried, it was fairly typical of most of +the fabulous shopwork on the X-15. + +Inconel X, as I have said, is a tough nickel alloy, capable of +withstanding high temperatures without losing its structural +integrity. When we launched the X-15 project, Inconel X had been +proven in a laboratory. But no one had ever built a machine of it. +There were no handbooks to tell us how to work it. For example, only +a few people in the nation had ever tried to weld Inconel X. The skin +of the X-15 had to be welded because traditional rivets were not +strong and resilient enough to stand the temperature beating without +leaking. Besides, we figured we could save a thousand pounds of +weight by eliminating rivets. + +Consider half of the X-15 wing as typical of the metallurgy problem +we licked. From fuselage to wingtip, the wing is only six feet long. +At its peak cross-section the wing is only eight inches thick. There +are seventeen spars in the wing. At the root near the fuselage joint +the spar caps are 3/16 of an inch thick. At the tip they are a mere +30/1000 thick. + +When the X-15 re-entered the heavy atmosphere of the earth, we had +calculated, the leading edges would be subjected to 1200 degrees +Fahrenheit. They would glow red from the heat. A few inches aft +on the wing, however, the temperature would be much lower. Where +the temperature is higher, the metal must be thicker and heavier to +carry the load. But at the same time it is foolish to waste weight by +overloading at points where the temperature is low. Thus we viewed +the wing skin in hundreds of sections, each capable of withstanding +a certain maximum temperature, plus a safety margin, and each of +different thickness to save weight and still carry its share of load. + +Inconel X came to us from the manufacturer, International Nickel, +in sheets 36 inches wide and 140 inches long, rolled and milled to +normal aircraft specifications. We figured that if the total skin of +the X-15 were as much as 1/1000 of an inch too thick, it would cost +us a critical 100 pounds in weight. Thus when we received the sheets, +we re-milled them in grinders down to incredibly low tolerances. +Since each different piece of the wing skin varied in design +thickness from the others, each had to be ground separately to those +tolerances. (The same was true of the fuselage and tail-skin.) It was +like making a Stradivarius, if not even more delicate. + +Once these pieces were completed and the spars set in massive jigs, +the technicians then set about welding the many parts into one solid +piece. Ordinary welding is difficult enough: extreme care must be +taken to see that no “bubbles” form to weaken the joints. Welding +Inconel X almost drove our men to distraction. They worked like +artists, experimenting with new strokes and mixtures until they were +able to produce a true masterpiece of craftsmanship. Each of the +thousands of joints was X-rayed to make certain no bubbles had formed. + +The pieces, after welding, were heat-treated like fine steel +knife-blades. Let me explain that further. When you weld two pieces +of metal together, each is subject to varying temperatures from the +welding torch. As the torch moves along, the new area heats up while +the one just passed cools. Thus there are stresses and strains in +the molecular structure of the metal undetectable to the naked eye. +By placing the entire structure in an oven after welding and raising +the temperature to 1900 degrees we were able to cool it uniformly, +ironing out the strains. After this stress-relieving process each +piece remained in the oven for twenty-four hours at high temperature +to heat-treat or “age” the metal. Then the joint and the parent metal +were stronger than originally. After a fine polishing, the hundreds +of welds were impossible to locate with the human eye. The wing +looked like one solid piece of smooth metal. + +Our metallurgists didn’t learn this new craft overnight; it took +years. They started out experimentally by building three mock +fuselages of the X-15 to serve as ground-test beds for the rocket +engines. One of these was installed at Edwards, the other two at +the RMI engine factory in New Jersey. This experience brought our +welders to the artist level, but when it came to building the three +airplanes, Feltz was even more demanding. In fact, as I recall, +about seven different wing-skins were built for the first airplane +before he gave his approval. In the end, I think, the experience and +knowledge we gained on this new frontier alone were worth the entire +cost of the X-15 program. It was one big reason we believed our case +for the advanced X-15 was sound. All future space projects will +benefit directly or indirectly from our work with Inconel X. + + * * * * * + +The RMI XLR-99 rocket engine was steadily falling behind schedule. +This fact was no secret. It was well known in the Air Force, NASA, +and throughout the entire aircraft industry. There were many +technical locusts plaguing the RMI engineers. One of the biggest was +the fact that during tests, while burning the X-15’s exotic fuel +mixture of Lox and ammonia, the rocket-engine chamber had a habit of +exploding. By February, 1958, the XLR-99 engine was exactly one year +behind schedule and considerably heavier than originally planned. + +I believe that under ordinary circumstances our customer would simply +have ordered us to wait for, or “sweat out” the engine. But the X-15 +was not being put together under ordinary circumstances. She loomed +on the horizon as a national symbol of our ability, or lack of it, +to make good in space. Because of this and other factors, insofar as +the engine was concerned, it was time for extraordinary action. But +complex rocket engines don’t grow on trees. What to do? + +Charlie Feltz called for help. Stormy, who was then also busy laying +out plans for the Air Force F-108 fighter and the B-70 bomber among +other things, took over the X-15 engine crisis at full throttle, +bringing his authority to bear. He got on the telephone to North +American’s Rocketdyne Division. Could they run some Lox-ammonia +tests on a Redstone chamber and see what happened? Rocketdyne +converted a Redstone chamber and successfully conducted the tests. +(Rocketdyne engineers even made the Redstone chamber throttleable.) +We were impressed, because these tests were run off in a matter of +weeks without interfering with Rocketdyne’s major ballistic-missile +projects, and at no cost to the government. + +After the tests Stormy again asked the Air Force to allow us to +equip the X-15 with a working engine. Again the proposal was turned +down, for most of the aforementioned reasons. But the Rocketdyne +demonstrations had a dramatic impact at RMI. RMI engineers, beaten +at their own complex game by the great depth of North American +engineering talent, turned to the XLR-99 engine with new and vigorous +enthusiasm. But we knew that no matter how hard they worked they +couldn’t make up much of the lost time. What was the answer? + +We debated that question during countless meetings with Stormy and +Charlie Feltz in the following weeks. Then one day our “dreamer,” Bob +Carmen, spoke up. + +“I’ve been doing a little figuring here. Suppose that instead of +waiting for the XLR-99 engine we substitute, pending its arrival, two +X-1-type engines. They could be built in a few months, at most.” + +I flew out of my chair. + +“Boy,” I said, “if you really want to kill off a project, this is one +way to do it. Start yielding. Start making inferior substitutions. +Make the airplane more complex. Sure. That’s what happened to the +X-3, the X-1-A series and the X-2. If we allow that to happen to the +X-15, we’re going to wind up with nothing again.” + +“Now, hold on a minute, Scotty,” Feltz said. “We’re really up a tree +here. We can’t use a Rocketdyne engine. We have to wait for the +XLR-99. Maybe Carmen has got a point here. Pending the arrival of +the big engine, we could be checking out the other systems in the +airplane.” + +“Damn it, Charlie,” I snapped. “I think we’d be making a big mistake.” + +“Let’s take a look at the performance we might get out of the two X-1 +engines,” Feltz said, obviously warming to the idea. + +“Can we use the same fuel-tank system?” an engineer asked. + +“Yes,” Carmen said. “Nothing about the fuel tanks would have to be +changed. You just change the engine, substituting the eight small +chambers for the one large one. I think we could fix it so that when +it arrives the big engine could be installed with hardly any delay.” + +“What’s the fuel for the X-1 engine?” + +“Lox and alcohol. We just put the alcohol in the ammonia tanks. No +sweat.” + +“There’s another advantage, too,” someone else put in. “Those +engines have a lot of time on them. They ought to be reliable. The +X-1 engines are not throttleable. But each engine has four barrels. +That’s a total of eight barrels, all of which can be lighted off +separately. Thus you can attain just about any speed range you want +within the limits of the airplane. I mean, it would be almost the +same as being throttleable.” + +“I figure the extreme performance with these two engines at about +Mach 3.5 and 150,000 feet,” one engineer said. Each X-1 engine would +have a thrust of about 8,000 pounds or a total in both chambers of +about 16,000 pounds--compared to 57,000 pounds for the XLR-99. The +two X-1 engines together weighed more than the single XLR-99 engine. + +“Mach 3.5 and 150,000 feet,” Feltz repeated. “That would give +us enough performance to make a good many demonstrations on the +airplane. In fact, we could make all the structural demonstrations, +as well as re-entry, ballistic controls, Lox top-off, and so forth. +Let’s see what the customer says.” + +[Illustration: X-15 profile. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: The X-15 inboard profile. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: Owners, builders, and customers. From left: Harrison +Storms, Maj. Gen. Haugen, Ray Rice, Brig. Gen. Cooper, Walt Williams. +NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: Blood, sweat, and tears: Feltz, Robinson, and Benner. +NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: The X-15 flight mission. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: The paper weighed more than the airplane. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: Ground-testing the X-15 escape system. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: A rocket test sled of the X-15 escape system begins a +run at Edwards. The canopy ejects ... NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: ... and blows away while the seat with dummy emerges. +NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: Powered ejection ends ... NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: ... and the chute begins to deploy automatically. NAA +photo.] + +[Illustration: The dummy separates from the seat ... NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: ... for a soft landing on the desert. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: Farmer’s son tries out early-model experimental Clark +pressure suit. NASA photo.] + +[Illustration: Bill Bridgeman wearing an early-model Air Force +partial-pressure suit. Douglas photo.] + +[Illustration: A rubber tire preserved for posterity. David Clark’s +statue of me. Photo by Marvin Richmond.] + +[Illustration: The pressure-suit break-through: link-net material. +NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: Fitting the helmet. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: Posing for publicity. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: The centrifuge gondola at Johnsville. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: Clip from the horror film. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: Clip from the horror film. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: Clip from the horror film. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: Building the mock-up. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: A demonstration in the simulator. Kincheloe presses in +for a close look; behind him is Joe Walker. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: The Inconel X wing skin was ground to watchmaker’s +tolerance. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: The hosts and guests for the roll-out party, October +15, 1958. From left: Mr. and Mrs. Dutch Kindelberger, Mrs. Nixon and +the Vice President, and Lee Atwood. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: Crossfield to Nixon: “My job is not nearly so risky as +yours, sir.” NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: First trip: heading for Edwards by truck. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: The dawn of a new era: arriving at Edwards. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: Sam Richter briefs the flight-test team. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: Q. C. Harvey and I put in our nickel’s worth. NAA +photo.] + +[Illustration: Rehash late the night before the flight. Clockwise: +the pilot; the B-52 launch-panel operator, Bill Berkowitz; Sam the +van man, and test director Q. C. Harvey. Cornell Capa-Magnum photo.] + +[Illustration: Later with the crew. Photo by John Bryson.] + +[Illustration: Still later: the countdown begins at midnight. Photo +by John Bryson.] + +[Illustration: Later yet: flying tomorrow’s flight. Photo by John +Bryson.] + +[Illustration: A few hours later, the carnival at dawn. Photo by John +Bryson.] + +[Illustration: Moving the black bird into place ... NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: ... and finally in place. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: Fueling up ... NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: ... and loading peroxide ... NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: ... and battening down the frozen hatches. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: Inside the van with Capt. Richardson, squatting. NAA +photo.] + +[Illustration: Twenty minutes later, zipping up the outer layer. +Photo by John Bryson.] + +[Illustration: Occasionally we wait a little. Photo by John Bryson.] + +[Illustration: Bon voyage. Photo by John Bryson.] + +[Illustration: Getting in the office. Photo by John Bryson.] + +[Illustration: Pete Barker (right) with the pilot’s helmet. Photo by +John Bryson.] + +[Illustration: Sometimes we wait again ... Photo by John Bryson.] + +[Illustration: ... and recheck ... Photo by John Bryson.] + +[Illustration: ... and things begin to work. Photo by John Bryson.] + +[Illustration: The carnival moves out. Photo by John Bryson.] + +[Illustration: Eyes on the stars. Photo by John Bryson.] + +[Illustration: On the way to the stars. Photo by John Bryson.] + +[Illustration: Straining for altitude again. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: The final countdown. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: Test directors on the ground look over my shoulder. +NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: Stormy sweats it out in Sam’s van. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: Not far from the stars. Courtesy _National Geographic +Magazine_.] + +[Illustration: Three ... Two ... One. Drop! NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: Firing up. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: All eight going. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: “Burn-out ... jettison.” NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: Gliding home. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: Picking up the chase. Photo by John Bryson.] + +[Illustration: Gear down. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: Feeling for the lake. Photo by John Bryson.] + +[Illustration: Touchdown. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: Roll-out. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: Stopping. Photo by John Bryson.] + +[Illustration: Shutting down. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: Back to the drawing board. UPI photo.] + +[Illustration: The price of progress: X-15 No. 3. NAA photo.] + +[Illustration: Inevitably, a public accounting. Photo by John Bryson.] + +[Illustration: Always another dawn. Photo by John Bryson.] + +The substitution of the two smaller X-1-type engines was the obvious +solution to our dilemma. Actually, the customers had already +considered exactly the same idea. They approved it at once, and +Edwards got busy building up a dozen “proven” X-1 engines from old +parts. We planned to put two each in the first two X-15s, holding +the third X-15 in the factory for the first XLR-99 engine and other +improvements which flight test would generate. The remaining X-1 +engines would be used for ground tests in the X-15 engine test beds +at Edwards and RMI. + +A few nights after this decision was firmed up, Stormy, Feltz, and I +met after work in Charlie’s office at the North American plant. I was +still grumbling about “interim measures.” I let off steam. + +“As far as I’m concerned, we’ve botched the whole deal,” I growled. +“You watch. We’re never going to get that big engine. The X-15 is +going to die on the vine. I’ve seen it happen before.” + +“You’re wrong there, Scotty,” Feltz said. “We’ll get the big engine +sometime. Meanwhile, we’ll get a lot of Mach 3 data which will really +help the F-108 and the B-70. We’ll prove out the X-15 systems and by +the time the big engine comes the ship itself will be as reliable as +an F-100.” + +We debated this point for a long while. Stormy was also in favor of +substituting the smaller engines. “I want to get this thing in the +air as fast as possible,” he said. “I think that as soon as we start +flying the X-15 and prove our systems and landing and the rest, +Washington will be impressed and may look with more favor on an +advanced X-15 or the X-15B.” + +That remark was typical of Stormy. He was always looking far down the +pike. He had cornered the Air Force combat aircraft market with the +F-108 and the B-70, but he was stung when we lost out on the X-15B. +He had not given up--and never would. + +“Frankly, Scotty,” Charlie Feltz broke in, “this engine thing may be +a blessing in disguise. I’ll tell you honestly that all along I’ve +been a little concerned about busting into space all at once with a +brand-new airplane and a brand-new, untried engine. They did it with +the X-1, it’s true, and it was a real good show. But this is a new +dimension we’re getting into. They were just trying to crack Mach 1. +We’re trying to crack space, with a new pressure suit, re-entry, new +metal, landing--everything at once. I’ve got a real good buddy who’s +going to be flying that airplane for the first time, and I’d just as +soon have him around for a while.” + +Put that way, on a personal basis, there was nothing I could say +in reply. From that point on, I resigned myself to the engine +substitution, even though, in a sense, it marred my dream to help +build and then fly the perfect airplane. In fact, after some weeks, +I came to believe that even from a pilot’s point of view the engine +substitution was wise. We could learn to crawl before we entered the +Olympic hundred-yard dash. I was confident that in time and with +God’s help we would eventually succeed with the big engine. There was +too much at stake to allow it to fall by the wayside. + + + + +CHAPTER 33 ► + + _Circus Day_ + + +By the fall of 1958 Edwards Air Force Base had matured to the world’s +foremost flight-test laboratory. It was busy and businesslike. +Skilled, schooled Air Force test pilots, flying under rigid +regulations, took off or landed every ten or fifteen minutes or +so, creating the impression of a modern, tightly-run commercial +airport. Brigadier General Stanley Holtoner had been replaced by +another spit-and-polish Air Force commander, Brigadier General Marcus +Cooper, and he, in turn, by Brigadier General John Carpenter. A new +crop of Air Force planes came along to replace the original Century +series. Now the Air Force men were in the advance stages of wringing +out Republic’s F-105, Convair’s F-106, North American’s F-107, and +Convair’s B-58 bomber. Private industry, operating from modern, +well-furnished office buildings and hangars, was testing the new +family of commercial jet airplanes, Boeing’s 707, Douglas’s DC-8, and +Convair’s 880. + +NASA’s big 400-man plant was idling, preparing for the arrival +of the X-15. Here, more than any place else, one could feel the +tremendous impact of the X-15. It was no longer just another research +airplane. It was a revolutionary jump, a craft that would make +all other airplanes at Edwards, or all that had ever seen Edwards, +seem insignificant by comparison. Paul Bikle, who would replace +Walt Williams as NASA’s director at Edwards, regarded the coming +flights of the X-15 as one might look upon the voyages of Columbus or +Magellan. Throughout the station there was a feeling that history was +in the making. + +Every micro-second of that coming voyage would be recorded in almost +incredible detail. From the maximum launch point near Salt Lake to +Edwards, the Air Force and NASA at a cost of over $3 million laid out +a series of radar and telemetering stations along the X-15’s proposed +flight-path. These stations would “track” the X-15 and electronically +quiz the craft’s instrumentation. The X-15 would respond at the +rate of several thousand data points every second. A battery of +electronic machines and magnetic tape recorders was installed in a +room adjoining the NASA tower at Edwards to absorb and correlate +these data as they were collected. By these new methods one flight of +the X-15 would provide more data than thirty flights of the old X-1 +or Skyrocket. If something went wrong and the plane failed to return, +the recorders would follow the plane to the last second of its life. +The pilot who followed in the next X-15 would then have a broader +base of flight knowledge. With the X-15 nothing was being left to +chance. Seat-of-the-pants flight test was buried deep in Edwards’ +past. + +But before these spectacular long-range flights North American would +first demonstrate the airplane. Until this was accomplished, the +responsibility for the airplane and the flight-test program lay on +our shoulders. Our own preparations for these first critical flights +in the strange bird were not inconsiderable. + +Like the other aircraft companies North American manned a large and +well-organized flight-test establishment at Edwards. Our office and +hangar space by this time was about twice the size of the original +NACA High Speed Flight Station which Williams had created on the +desert. The North American installation at Edwards was bossed by +Ed Cokely, who had been supervising the initial flights of North +American airplanes at Edwards since before the days of the jets. +There were about one hundred flight-test engineers and maintenance +men working under Cokely. During 1958 they were de-bugging and flying +North American’s F-107 fighter and North American’s prototype T-39, +a small two-engine commercial type jet transport-trainer, which +we hoped to sell to the Air Force or the Navy as a trainer, or to +private enterprise as an efficient company airplane. + +Ed Cokely picked 35-year-old Q. C. Harvey to organize and boss our +X-15 flight-test group at Edwards. Q.C., a short, energetic man with +graying crew-cut hair, was an experienced hand. He had come to the +desert ten years earlier with the McDonnell XF-85. Later he worked in +flight tests on McDonnell’s F2H Banshee and a more advanced version, +the F3H. Skip Ziegler had recruited Q.C. for the Bell rocket-test +flight team in 1951. Q.C. had cut his teeth on the Queenie, which +blew up and nearly killed Joe Cannon, and the X-1-A, in which Yeager +and Murray made their speed and altitude records. He joined North +American in 1953 to work in the flight-test group on the last model +of the F-86, and later the F-100 and the F-107. + +Q.C. was a live-wire type who knew better than most the importance of +the X-15 to North American and to the nation. Early in the fall of +1958 he began a series of planning meetings with the Air Force and +NASA to lay out the North American phase of the X-15 flight program. +From that point on I divided my time between the North American +plant in Los Angeles and the North American flight-test facility at +Edwards. I commuted between two desks in my private red, white, and +blue single-engine Bonanza which the Air Force very kindly permitted +me to land on the Edwards base. I did not actually consider the +Bonanza a luxury. Without it I could never have met my ever-growing +responsibilities in the X-15 project. + + * * * * * + +The table in the conference room at the Edwards North American +flight-test facility was twelve feet long. At each place there was a +pad and pencil for jotting down notes. Q.C. sat at the head of the +table. The rest of us, Air Force and NASA flight-test supervisors, +the designated X-15 pilots, the B-52 mother-plane pilots, the +“chase” plane pilots, North American’s Sam Richter, who would man a +communications van out on the lake bed, and Bill Berkowitz, who would +operate the X-15 launch panel in the B-52, took places around the +table. Another dozen-odd men, including the pilot of the emergency +helicopter, a representative of the security division of Edwards, a +medical officer, and the leading X-15 mechanics, sat in chairs along +the wall. There was a blackboard against the far wall behind Q.C.’s +chair, on which someone had chalked a crude map of the Edwards area. + +Each of the men in the room was the leader in his particular +field. Each represented a separate organization with special +responsibilities during an X-15 flight. Thus for every man in the +room there were another fifty or one hundred men behind the scenes, +not counting the radar and optical trackers, the cameramen, telemeter +operators, and the Lord knows who else. The Edwards flight-test +operation had become a vast pyramid of people supporting one man at +the apex, the pilot. Everything was planned down to a gnat’s eyelash. + +The general outline of North American’s initial X-15 flights had long +been established. Every detail of it was designed to save time, to +cut our schedule to the bare bone. We would begin with X-15 number +one. We would mate her to the B-52, take her aloft and check out all +ship’s machinery under actual “captive” conditions. We would make +certain the cabin pressurization, pressure suit, instrumentation, +radios, shackles, communications, oxygen and Lox top-off connections +with the B-52, and the X-15’s multifarious electrical systems, +worked. When we were satisfied, then we would take X-15 number one +aloft, devoid of fuel, and drop it on a powerless glide flight, +simulating the beginning and conclusion of an actual rocket-test +flight. Meanwhile, we would keep X-15 number two on the ground to +check out the fuel tanks and rocket-propulsion system. The theory +was that any weaknesses which showed up either in the air on these +captive flights, or on the ground during the engine checks, could be +quickly remedied simultaneously on both airplanes, and on the third +X-15 which was still in the factory awaiting the XLR-99 engine. + +“All the North American flights will be conducted locally,” Q.C. +said, addressing the room. We were reviewing the whole plan for the +benefit of some new people and some others who had no reason to be +concerned until then. “Following the captive flights and initial +glide flight, each launch will be made over a predesignated dry lake. +The object is to land each time on Rogers Dry Lake, alongside the +base here.” Q.C. used a pointer on the blackboard. + +“We will have to have emergency vehicles--an ambulance and fire +trucks--in readiness at B-52 take-off time. These will line up on the +Edwards runway during B-52 take-off. Afterwards they will shift and +take up position on the lake bed along the anticipated glide-path and +touchdown point of the X-15. Sam--” Q.C. looked at Richter--“your +van will go to the lake at B-52 take-off time. Now, the helicopter +will hover at the edge of the lake bed on the X-15 approach end. +In event of landing emergency, it should be able to reach the X-15 +within sixty seconds or less.” North Americans flight surgeon, Toby +Freedman, and Air Force flight surgeons would be in the helicopter. + +“The personnel in the helicopter should become familiar now with +emergency procedures for removing the X-15 cockpit canopy in case +the pilot is unable to open it from the inside. The helicopter pilot +should, of course, radio immediately a visual report on the landing. +Sam, you’ll be able to see the landing from the van. You report, too. + +“The chase-plane missions will be fairly routine. We’ll use F-104s. +Two airplanes will be assigned to close chase by the X-15 at drop +and rocket light-off. The third chase, an F-100F, will serve as +photographic chase and get what pictures he can without interfering +with the close chase. The only problem I see here is that the F-104s +will have some trouble hanging in the air at launch altitude, slowed +to B-52 speed at launch.” + +He went on, describing action to be taken in a score of various +emergencies, including everything from a B-52 engine failure on +take-off to an outright mid-air explosion of the X-15 at light-off. +Then he distributed a mimeographed “check-off” list thirty pages +long, which all of us would carry during the flight. On each flight +we would work our way through that long list, moving on to an +item only after the previous item had been completed. This list +represented the combined thinking and checking of a hundred people. +If we followed it, the danger would be reduced to a minimum, or as +near minimum as it is possible to come with a rocket airplane, and we +would learn the most for every minute in the air. + +“I will take up station in the North American tower,” Q.C. went on. +“I will have, sitting at a table near my mike, a specialist on each +system of the X-15. If anything goes wrong on the ship prior to +launch, I will designate the appropriate engineer to get on the mike +and talk to Scotty. That way we might be able to fix it and avoid an +abort. Incidentally, if we do have to abort a flight, we will always +go right through launch countdown, right down to the point of drop, +without dropping. This will give us more detailed experience and an +opportunity to check out systems. We will not follow this procedure +if the abort is the result of an emergency. In that case, we will +follow emergency procedures for getting the B-52 and the X-15 back on +the ground. + +“At Scotty’s request we are deliberately restricting the number of +men authorized to talk on the radio circuit to hold down confusion. +I will be on the circuit continuously. Sam Richter is authorized to +come on the air, if necessary. The only others are Scotty in the +X-15, the B-52 pilot, and of course the chase pilots. As far as the +ground is concerned, I want everything to be funneled through me. In +the air Scotty will have the final say-so. Any questions?” + +There were many questions and this meeting, and a hundred others like +it, churned on for long hours. As a result never in the history of +Edwards was there finer co-operation between government agency and +contractor. + + * * * * * + +October 15, 1958--one year and eleven days after Sputnik--was circus +day at the Los Angeles Division of North American. X-15 number one +was officially “rolled out” of the plant ready, or almost ready, to +fly. All activity in the plant slowed for this festive occasion. The +chips were swept from the floor. All the grandees of North American +were on hand. A plane-load of aviation reporters flew in from the +East to herald the event in headlines the nation over. Senators and +Congressmen and other VIP’s crowded a special grandstand facing the +X-15 to hear Vice President Richard Nixon, who came to California +especially for the event, proclaim that the X-15 “recaptured the U. +S. lead in space.” There were special exhibits of the pressure suit +and other parts of the X-15. VIP’s tried their hands in the X-15 +cockpit simulator in the assembly building. Then all attended a gala +luncheon during which all praised one another and the subcontractors. +For the X-15 team it was a moving occasion. + +During the ceremonies, Vice President Nixon said to me: “You +certainly have a dangerous job.” + +I couldn’t repress the reply that popped to mind: “My job is not +nearly so risky as yours, sir.” + +Six years from inception, four years from final approval by the old +NACA Aerodynamics Subcommittee, three years almost to the day the +contract was let, and thus right on schedule, the X-15 was at last +a reality. What’s more, her airframe, thanks to Charlie Feltz, was +325 pounds under our design specification. Even with the two heavier +X-1 rocket chambers and the additional load of instrumentation, +the airplane was only a hundred pounds overweight, a fantastic, +unprecedented achievement in the aircraft industry. But the cost was +great. The X-15 represented over 10,000,000 engineering man-hours. +In time each of the three airplanes cost the government $40 million. +In terms of weight, each would be worth three times as much as solid +gold. + +While I was posing for photographers alongside the X-15 that day, a +reporter asked: + +“Mr. Crossfield, why is the ship painted black? Most of the research +airplanes were painted white like ice-boxes, weren’t they? I thought +white reflected heat and that was what you were trying to do--get +away from the heat.” + +“Well,” I said, “this is a kind of complicated thing. It’s true that +white does reflect heat, solar heat, for instance. But up where this +ship will be, the sun will be only a tiny, intense beam of heat +in a vast zero-cold universe. Our main problem is not solar heat, +but frictional heat, the heat we will run into flying through the +air--from bumping into molecules of air. The way it works out, this +black paint will throw away that heat faster than white paint. In +other words, it radiates the heat from friction at a faster rate. Is +that clear?” + +I’m afraid it wasn’t clear. Our beast, from paint job to final +mission, was simply too complicated to explain in a word. This was +frustrating, in a way, because we were proud of what she was. But +in the press she had been labeled a “space ship,” and a space ship +she would remain in the public eye, although in actuality she was a +research tool, deliberately designed to search out trouble. In time, +I was confident, the X-15’s real mission would be grasped. + +No matter what she was called, she was a beautiful thing, a +masterpiece, if you will, and I remained long after the photographers +departed to drink her in and contemplate the trying days I knew lay +ahead at Edwards. + +Not long after the VIP’s moved on, the circus folded and the men +towed the X-15 to a flat-bed truck. Then they wrapped her in a +tarpaulin and drove her to Edwards. Two weeks later X-15 number two +followed. + + * * * * * + +On the eve of our flight-test operations, sad to say, we lost one +member of the X-15 pilot team. Iven Kincheloe was killed while flying +an F-104. Just after take-off his engine flamed out. The F-104 has a +downward ejection seat. Too close to the ground for escape in that +direction, Kinch rolled the F-104 on its back, so that he could eject +upwards, away from the ground. He got out and his chute opened, but +it was too late. His loss was mourned not only throughout the Air +Force, but also at North American. Although I, as first pilot, had +received from the press most of the X-15 “spaceman” build-up, we +believed that Kinch would be the one to make the maximum-performance +X-15 missions. + +When Kinch died, his “back-up,” Air Force Major Bob White, moved up +to take his place. White is a handsome pilot, swarthy, with deep, +piercing blue eyes. He has a fine wife and children. If he lacked +rocket-airplane experience, he soon made it up. He studied the X-15 +intently and checked out in a Clark pressure suit. + +Following Kinch’s death many people asked me if I were not +disappointed that I had not been “selected” to make the maximum +flights of the X-15. Some reporters indignantly complained to NASA +that it was completely “unjust” to restrict me, considering my long +experience in rocket airplanes, as against, say, Bob White, who had +never flown a rocket plane. I would like to say here once and for +all, and with a fervent hope that this will end the matter, yes, I +was disappointed. No man with my background could have felt anything +but disappointment. For many reasons I believed I was best qualified +to make these maximum flights. I would have accepted the assignment +eagerly. + +But in fairness to NASA, let me say that I went into the X-15 program +with my eyes wide open. From the outset I knew the government pilots +would be top dog. Walt Williams had predicted before I left NACA +that I might _never_ fly the X-15. When the contract was let, it +specifically stated that North American demonstrations would be +limited in speed and altitude. Only a few weeks after I joined the +program, as I have said, these restrictions were set at Mach 2 and +100,000 feet. That I would be “the first man in outer space,” that is +to say, that I would make the maximum demonstration flights of the +X-15, was an invention of the press. I repeatedly stressed that this +was not the case, but the press refused, or couldn’t bring itself, +to believe me. The Air Force and NASA pilots were ticketed for that +role, and I simply accepted that fact of life. + +To repeat: I knew from the beginning that in all probability I would +never make the maximum flights of the X-15. But I was promised, +unequivocally, the _first_ flights of the craft. As I suspected, and +as it turned out, these flights would provide danger and challenge +enough. When Kinch died, I hoped these restrictions might be lifted. +When they were not, I didn’t pout like Achilles in his tent, as some +reporters have implied. A maximum flight, a new speed or altitude was +not my point. The point which concerned me, and one I have never been +able to get across, is that I would participate in both the building +and test-flying of the airplane. That was the goal I sought--the +closing of the circle of my life. + + + + +CHAPTER 34 ► + + _A Carnival at Dawn_ + + +My mental alarm clock, a handy, precise instrument which seldom +failed, woke me at exactly 0500 on the morning of March 10, 1959. +Charlie Feltz was snoring loudly, deep in sleep on the other twin +bed in our room at the Edwards Bachelor Officers Quarters. I prodded +Charlie gently and then went into the bathroom and drank a glass of +water. I drank sparingly: soon I would be tightly laced in the X-15 +full-pressure suit, which has no provisions for answering the call of +nature. + +At long last the day had come to take the X-15 into the air, snugged +beneath the right wing of the B-52 mother plane, for her first +realistic test. The purpose of this preliminary “captive” flight was +to check out the X-15’s many systems under near-flight conditions +and to make sure the B-52 could support her external store at launch +speed of Mach .8 or 530 miles an hour. We would go through all the +motions of an actual flight--I would operate her control systems and +flaps, and lower the landing gear--but we would not drop the X-15. +Our plan was to spend a couple of hours circling the Edwards base at +40,000 feet and, if all went well, land again with the X-15 still +hung on the B-52 wing. + +“Come on, Charlie,” I said, “let’s go find out if we built an +airplane.” + +We dressed in business suits and ties, like anybody preparing for +a day’s work at the office, and drove to the flight line in one of +North American’s green station wagons. Take-off was scheduled for +0700. Based on my previous experience at Edwards with experimental +airplanes, I calculated we would be lucky to make it by noon or 1400. + + * * * * * + +We could see the tail of the B-52, five stories tall, from half a +mile away. The sun, just beginning to rise in the east, cast heavy +shadows into the Edwards basin. The runway lights were still on. +Two jet fighters, returning from a pre-dawn flight, taxied in the +distance, their dazzling landing lights ablaze. Maintenance and fuel +trucks, painted a garish yellow, sped by. It was freezing cold and +we kept the windows in the station wagon shut, the heater turned up +full. We drove past row on row of jet airplanes parked and silent. + +“You’d think that with all this activity,” I said, “they’d have a +place open around here for a cup of coffee.” + +Feltz didn’t reply. His mind was fixed on the scene which paraded +across the windshield as I turned into a parking place in the “mating +area.” There were half a hundred cars parked two-deep in a neat row. +A team of North American guards directed traffic and checked badges. + +Most of us, I suppose, have visited fair grounds at dawn to watch +the carnival pack up and leave town, to stare in awe as the tents +are torn down and the stakes pulled up, as the trucks back and churn +in low gear and the carnival hands scurry here and there, sleepy but +determined. This is what the scene in the mating area reminded me of +that morning. It was a kind of organized pandemonium moving with a +sense of urgency. + +The big bomber dominated the concrete mating area. It towered over +everything like some colossal creation on a Cecil B. De Mille set, +a monster with drooping wings 185 feet long and a bulky body over +one-half the length of a football field. Mechanics swarmed over the +B-52, preparing it for flight. I saw a man on the wing silhouetted +against the dull early morning sun, a tiny speck on a massive expanse +of aluminum. Far up in the cockpit the lights shone through the small +windows and I could see the bobbing heads of the ground crewmen, +working through the long pre-flight check-list. The story of how a +B-52 is made ready for flight is a book in itself. + +Beneath and around the bomber there were not less than twenty-five +trucks and carts, and probably a hundred men. A few were working on +the huge ship. But most were clustered around the strange, shark-like +store mounted beneath an inverted, streamlined pylon on the right +wing--the X-15. Just forward of the B-52 wing leading edge, the +X-15 cockpit canopy was cocked up and open. Had it been closed, the +X-15 might have been some over-sized missile, to the untrained eye. +Despite the cold and their heavy clothing, the men worked feverishly, +like mechanics in the pits a half hour before the Memorial Day race +in Indianapolis. They had been working at that pace in the North +American hangar three shifts around the clock for four months. I +wondered how any mechanical device could generate so much enthusiasm +and dedication. + +One truck stood apart from all the rest. This was Sam Richter’s +communications van, which resembled a beat-up, miniature school +bus, though it was painted the company green. The rear of this van +was fitted with radio transmitters and receivers, a tape recorder, +and devices to transcribe data from the battery of weird-looking +weather instruments and antennae which protruded, like a forest of +prehistoric trees, from the top of the van. During the pre-flight +operations in the mating area, Sam’s well-heated van served as a kind +of headquarters for the engineers and crew foremen. Crowded in among +the radio gear were a swivel chair and seats which had long ago been +salvaged from some office. + +Feltz and I opened the door on the rear of the van and pushed our way +inside. Mel Beach, overall ground boss of the X-15 crew, was there, +as well as Q. C. Harvey, flight-test director, and Si Fohl, the chief +foreman. They were urgently leafing through a clipboard thick with +forms. + +“Will we be ready for an on-time take-off?” I asked. + +Si answered by rattling off a list of items yet to be fixed which +spelled at least an hour’s delay. No modern airplane ever takes +to the air with all its machinery in perfect working order. On a +B-52, for example, an average of ten per cent of the equipment +is usually out of commission. On the X-15, more complex than ten +B-52s put together, the ground crewmen were doing their best to +shrink the first-flight “carry-over” list to acceptable limits. +The out-of-commission, or carry-over, items were compiled on the +clipboard, on pages of special forms. It would be up to me in the end +to review the list and either “buy” the carry-over items or cancel +the flight. + +I leafed through the forms, noting the many anticipated, minor +items not working: a valve, a leak, a piece of complicated NASA +instrumentation not essential for the X-15 flight performance. I +signed my name at the bottom of the sheets, indicating a “buy” on +the part of the pilot. After all, the captain of the S.S. _United +States_ would not refuse to get his vessel under way on a scheduled +trans-Atlantic voyage because the coffee pot was out of order or a +water faucet wasn’t working. + +I climbed out of the van, slammed the door, and made my way into the +confusion of crewmen and supervisors crawling about the X-15. The +ground service carts, linked to the little craft by a snarl of heavy +cables and hoses, were pushed up close. The vast array of dials and +gauges on these carts told a complete story of what was going on +inside: helium-source pressures okay, both hydraulic systems okay, +number one electrical system okay, liquid nitrogen tank-pressure okay. + +Squeezed up against the cockpit was a steel-tubing work platform. I +went up the steps to talk to the three men standing there probing +into a section just behind the cockpit area. Here in this bay lay +the most sensitive, and up to then the most frustrating, piece of +the X-15’s machinery, the Auxiliary Power Unit (APU). A series of +failures of this equipment had kept the X-15 grounded for three +months in a row. If it was not working properly today, I would have +to cancel. + +“How’s it going?” I said, addressing “Robby” Robinson, a General +Electric technical representative. Several G.E. engineers had come +to Edwards over two months ago, when Stormy rang the bell after the +trouble developed. + +“I think we’ve really got it made this time, Scotty,” Robby said. “I +think we have it licked.” We were a long way from completely licking +the problem, we knew, but Robby had caught the X-15 team spirit. Like +the rest of us now, he was a determined, indefatigable optimist. + +The two APUs in the X-15 separate turbine engines that run on +concentrated hydrogen peroxide to drive generators and pumps which +give electrical and hydraulic power for the instrumentation and +flight controls. There are two separate systems, in case one fails. +Jets and prop airplanes get their auxiliary power from their engines, +but since in the X-15 the rocket engine runs only a short time, +separate powerful sources of energy are necessary for the unpowered +glide. + +This was not a problem unique to the X-15. All the rocket airplanes +preceding it had some form of auxiliary ship’s power. The first +craft, the X-1, was equipped with batteries which supplied enough +juice to operate the simple instruments and other electrical devices +for about twenty minutes of flight. The “muscle” for the controls +came from the pilot. But as rocket planes became more complex, and +the instrumentation load for obtaining aeronautical data in flight +became heavier, the batteries, which are basically heavy and bulky, +could not keep pace. Thus the engineers shifted to small, immensely +powerful turbines which, independent of the main rocket-propulsion +system, whirled electrical generators that in turn supplied the +electrical power. The same turbine also powered hydraulic pumps to +supply control “muscles.” The turbines burn hydrogen peroxide, a +chemical that yields a vast amount of energy and doesn’t need air to +burn, as does gasoline, for instance. Many ballistic missiles have +APUs. + +The demands for the X-15 APU were far and away the most severe +ever placed on any manufacturer. What we asked was that each unit +supply 8,000 watts of continuous electrical power--more than enough +to supply a modern house with many electrical appliances--at all +times during the flight and more than 30 horsepower each for +hydraulic controls. To save precious fuel, we asked that the +hydrogen-peroxide-powered turbine run very efficiently and yet be +able to assume large changes in load without slowing down as demands +were put on it. The unit had to operate at any altitude under extreme +temperature conditions; in effect, it had to be capable of operating +on the surface of the moon. We imposed a weight limit of less than +two hundred pounds, including turbine, pumps, generator, and full +fuel load for thirty minutes of flight. + +The subcontract for the APU had been let to General Electric in 1956 +before the first cockpit mock-up. The giant company, with decades of +experience in building all kinds of engines and odd-ball electrical +devices, put its top talent on the project. All told, hundreds of +thousands of engineering man-hours were devoted to this one piece +of machinery for the X-15. I am certain that before the contract +was concluded, G.E. must have spent millions to make good its +promises. The APU design was ingenious and delicate, and it met our +requirements. This unit, or one like it, will pioneer the way for +APUs on true space craft. North American and its vendors furnished +all the maze of plumbing, valves, regulators, and tanks for the +system. Like the APUs, everything worked well in the laboratory tests +but, as is ever the case, when in the airplane both G.E.’s system and +ours gave us untold trouble. + +Ground “APU runs” during December, 1958, and January and February, +1959, followed a grim pattern. After the specialists were certain +they were ready, I would climb into the X-15 cockpit at the test +stand and run through an “APU start,” testing number one APU and +number two APU in turn. The two small units would come to life, +gulping down the potent peroxide. As the turbine wheel spun at 50,000 +rpm (five feet from my head), the generator and pump would begin to +pump the vital electricity and hydraulics into the X-15’s system. +Then something would happen. Bearings would overheat and the turbine +would seize, or even more, valves and regulators would fail, leak, or +not regulate. Then the mechanics would remove the offending part and +rebuild it, preparing for another test. It was absolutely mandatory +that these units be made reliable. A total APU failure in the air +would leave the pilot without instruments and hydraulic control +power. He would have to bail out. + +These were sleepless weeks of sheer agony. The APUs and their fuel +systems were, in effect, pieces of jewelry. Each of their hundreds of +parts was as carefully and delicately balanced as a watch. A piece of +lint or some dust would clog microscopic apertures and cause the unit +to turn sour. Even low-key vibration came into play. We noted after +much experience that when one APU failed with vibration the other +unit almost invariably broke down a minute or so later, seemingly +without cause. Then we learned the reason. Both APUs were mounted on +the same bulkhead. The slight vibration in a failing or seizing APU +was enough to send a fatal tremor through the bulkhead to the other +APU. We fixed this by mounting the units on separate bulkheads. + +When we were deep in APU trouble with no solution in sight, Stormy +moved in and brought his prestige to bear. One conference with +General Electric’s top engineers followed another. The APU systems +were analyzed and re-analyzed, down to every single nut and bolt. It +was then that the special G.E. team joined us in the North American +hangar at Edwards and worked day and night to bring this pioneering +device up to snuff. Finally this sensitive, temperamental race horse +was broken to the bit. Prior to our first scheduled captive flight, +both APU units had been run without failure almost every day for +two weeks. But a question remained unanswered: were they ready for +the sweepstakes? Blake Staub, our systems engineer, had practically +ruined his health to assure it. + +I stared down at the APU in the X-15 bay and listened as Staub and +Robinson assured me again that the units were ready. Well, I thought, +who can really tell, but we’re not going to launch, so what the hell? +I’ll buy it. + +I climbed down from the work stand and walked over to one of the +trucks parked near the B-52. This one was as large as a moving van, +with colorful Air Force insignia painted on its side and above them +the words “16th Physiological Training Flight.” This was the “home” +for the X-15 full-pressure suit. As I opened the rear door, I could +see that it was crowded inside. There along the wall were oxygen +manifolds and pegs on which the various layers of my pressure suit +were hung out, like a diver’s rig. Several X-15 suit-helmets were +fitted into other racks. Air Force Captain Ralph Richardson was in +charge of the van. His assistant was Sergeant Crow. The van was a +restricted area; supposedly, I was the only one allowed in besides +Richardson and his men and Pete Barker, North American personal +equipment specialist. + +“Hi, Scotty,” Richardson said as I closed and dogged the rear door. +“Have a cup of coffee?” + +Sergeant Crow handed me a steaming cup which, after my tour in the +frigid mating area, was welcome. + +“You boys really know how to live,” I said, sipping the coffee. “This +van is like a home. You could drive it anywhere, park and live like a +king. How about a martini?” + +“Well, we try to make our customers comfortable,” Richardson said. +“But you have to fly first.” + +“Are you joking?” + +“No, we have all the ingredients right here,” Richardson said, +sweeping his long arm toward the front of the well-lighted van. + +“A great idea,” I said. “Like the old days in England after a raid. A +shot of whiskey for the de-briefing.” + +“Exactly.” + +“I’ll buy it.” + +Time was ticking away rapidly. Charlie Bock and Jack Allavie, the +B-52 pilots, had arrived on the scene and reported the mother plane +ready for flight. Bill Berkowitz, the North American launch-panel +operator in the B-52, had been up the entire night preparing his +“office”--from the moment the rocket craft was rolled to the mating +area and lifted on hydraulic jacks into its nest on the B-52 pylon. +On the Edwards base a hundred other people were moving to stations, +in accordance with the plans laid during the final flight-briefing +the day before. At Air Force Fighter Ops the three chase airplanes +were being groomed for take-off. One precautionary delay or another +had already pushed our take-off time back an hour and a half. + +With Pete Barker’s help I began to put on the full-pressure suit, +starting with the first layer, the set of long johns. Twenty-five +minutes later Pete zipped up the silvery, photogenic outside layer. +We “plugged” the suit into a special manifold and ran several tests +to make certain the delicate valves were operating properly. The +suit pressurized as designed, although like the X-15 it was new and +untried, and months would elapse before it could be considered a +standard issue item. By the time I left the van, helmet in hand, I +was uncomfortably hot and remained that way until I got inside the +X-15 cockpit and plugged in the nitrogen gas source which ventilated +the suit. + +The area around the B-52 was not so cluttered now. The carnival was +pulling out. The ground service carts were pushed to one side, the +cables and hoses were pulled from the X-15. All the access panels on +the side of the rocket ship were back in place and she looked sleek +and clean. Now finished with their work, the ground crewmen clustered +in knots here and there beneath the B-52 wing, rubbing their hands +to keep warm. The X-15 instrument panel was alive and humming with +electrical power from the B-52. All the gauges were in the green. + +Oscar Freeman, North American X-15 Crew Chief, and Pete Barker +remained on the steel working platform, heads poked inside the X-15 +cockpit, cinching up my restraint harness and offering words of +advice. It seemed impossible that we were almost ready. But we were. +The time had come. + +Barker picked up my helmet and lowered it gently over my head, +clamping it in place. On the left side of the X-15 cockpit there was +a valve marked: OXYGEN. B-52 SUPPLY. X-15 SUPPLY. I turned the valve +to “B-52 SUPPLY” and breathed in deeply. A special seal prevented the +nitrogen ventilation gas from the body of the suit from seeping into +the helmet. I waved my black-gloved hand sharply, and Barker slammed +the canopy shut. The inside of the canopy roof pressed against the +top of my helmet. My vision was now restricted by the narrow, +V-shaped, left-and-right X-15 windshields. + +Fully settled in my tiny flight office, I could speak by radio to the +B-52 pilot, Charlie Bock, who was about thirty feet away in the nose +of the mother plane, out of sight. + +“Okay, Charlie,” I said. “I’m ready when you are.” I had a small +portable tape recorder rigged in the X-15 cockpit, to take notes in +flight. + +I watched from my perch forward of the wing, as the B-52 ground +chief, wearing a radio headset, waved his arm in a circle. Bock wound +up the eight jet engines one by one. When he started numbers five and +six, the two engines on the pod nearest the X-15, I felt a gentle +shaking inside the cockpit and was conscious of the muffled noise. +Then Bock rammed on power, and the massive bomber began the long +five-mile taxi to the main Edwards runway. + +As we rumbled down the taxiway, the B-52 wings flexed up and down. +The X-15 flexed with the wings but the sensation was not unpleasant. +In fact, as I noted on the tape, it was much more comfortable than +being inside the bomber itself. A long line of emergency trucks sped +to pre-plotted positions along the runway. Sam Richter’s comic van, +trailed by a snake of North American ground-maintenance vehicles, +struggled to keep up. From his command post in the North American +tower, Q. C. Harvey, surrounded by his team of X-15 experts, came +on the air. Charlie Feltz and Stormy were riding in Sam’s van. The +Edwards and NASA towers reported in. Then chase planes briefly +checked radios. The emergency helicopter took to the air. Police on +the base at Edwards closed off certain roads. + +At the end of the main runway Bock turned the ship and lined up +for take-off. Sitting ten feet from the concrete surface, I noted +the many black skid-marks left behind by the tires of countless +experimental planes which had preceded us, blazing the long and +turbulent history of aviation. Now, God willing, we would begin a new +and fabulous chapter in that history. + + + + +CHAPTER 35 ► + + _Smoke in the Cockpit_ + + +Until now, I like to think, the story of the X-15 was in essence +an array of engineering problems without equal or magnitude in the +history of aviation. I have deliberately tried to tell the highlights +of that story in coldly objective terms, the way every engineering +problem should be approached. I have introduced only those elements +pertinent to a full understanding of the flight accounts which +follow, and for the purpose of setting the X-15 in true historical +perspective. Except where it bore directly on the history of the +project, and therefore in some manner influenced our technical +judgment significantly, I have restrained a natural--I should say at +times nearly overwhelming--tendency to inject personal attitudes and +opinions. Some have seeped in, I know, but like the visible portion +of an iceberg, they only hint at what hangs beneath. + +Perhaps it would be well if this account of the X-15 could be +continued in an unimpassioned vein. But this would be dishonest. An +objective, well-engineered airplane such as the X-15 is one thing. +But now it is being joined for the ultimate tests with a human being. +The final outcome, then, is the sum product of both, each in one +way or in several ways heavily dependent on the other. To be sure, +mechanical failure could spell spectacular failure; but equally +important is human failure. And thus, I am sure, all that came before +in my life, and everything that _was_ a part of my life during those +months at Edwards--my thoughts, reactions, goals--becomes important +and, for the first time, a vital part of the X-15 story. + +From the human standpoint alone there were many incalculable forces +at work, and I have had some difficulty sorting them out in my mind +and attaching the proper weight to each. To begin with, from the +pilot’s view the first flights of the X-15 turned out to be a fierce +challenge. The plane is no toy. After it is launched from the B-52, +every second of flight involves a severe physical and mental exercise +wherein one is completely oblivious of all earthly influence except +the job at hand. Added to this flying challenge is another challenge +accruing through the flow of circumstances. The X-15 has become +an important symbol of our national scientific ability--or lack +of it. A simple mistake could severely tarnish the national image +and grant the Soviets a tangible gain in the cold war. Because the +X-15 had attained this prominence, North American’s prestige as an +aircraft company was laid squarely on the block. Having developed +a deep respect and admiration for the people of that company, I +assumed a special responsibility. Moreover, the success or failure +of the X-15 would directly influence the decision for or against our +much-hoped-for advanced X-15B, the vehicle to which we believed man +should turn next on his path to the stars. Finally, to a great extent +the flights of the X-15, we knew, would have a decisive impact on the +future of all manned combat airplanes, which were then beginning to +be viewed in high councils as less practical as a deterrent than the +ballistic missile, much to our disagreement. + +From a strictly personal side, there is still another factor +involved, one which may be more important than all the rest. +Unfortunately, though we try to make it do so, the human mind does +not move from point to point on well-traveled, fairly straight tracks +like a commuter train on schedule. So I cannot, in all honesty, round +out this story as an orderly progression of personal reaction to our +many successes and several near-disasters--to form a neat closing of +the circle. It wasn’t that way at all. As it turned out, a fresh and +vital personal analysis was born in the cockpit of the X-15. Maybe +it was the closing circle focused here which brought it to the fore. +Maybe, as some people are moved to deep thoughts when near the sea, +so I was moved as I stared into space. + +As is often the case in life, where nothing is black and white and +thus relatively simple like a mechanical problem, I discovered, like +many before me in dramatic circumstances, that to close one circle is +only to invite another, even larger and more challenging. Or as Ralph +Waldo Emerson put it: “Our life is an apprenticeship to the truth, +that around every circle another can be drawn; that there is no end +in nature, but every end is a beginning; that there is always another +dawn risen on mid-noon, and under every deep a lower deep opens.” + +Ironically, the demanding flying of the X-15, which I had so +desperately sought and worked so hard for nine years to achieve, came +as an anticlimax, in a sense. The curve of a new circle was beginning +to form. After thirty-eight years, most of them dedicated to a single +purpose, one I had thought ambitious enough, my thoughts dissolved +into a tumultuous whirlpool of probings and questions. The X-15 was +not enough. But what was the new circle? The search for the answer to +that question paralleled my flights in the X-15 and seemed, at times, +even more demanding. + +My daily life was necessarily crowded to the limit with preparations +for flight, or post-flight de-briefings, endless conferences at +North American, or NASA, press interviews, symposiums and technical +gatherings, urgent telephone calls, and what else I cannot remember +now. It seems strange, indeed, but the only place I could find time +for reflection and appraisal--time to probe the meaning of the new +circle--was the X-15 cockpit, during the long, lonely hours I sat +there, strapped in that tiny plane slung beneath the wing of the +B-52. Until then, I had neither time nor inclination to dwell on my +past life. But now I knew it was important to understand it in order +that I could intelligently chart my future. + +There was not much time for reflection on the first flight. +Everything was too new and strange. We moved from one semi-crisis to +the next, it seemed. + +As we sat, waiting at the end of the long runway while the chase +planes took off and circled, the clock on the instrument panel of the +X-15 showed 0955. I made a note on the tape recorder: the clock’s +second hand was not working. On signal, B-52 pilot Charlie Bock +cobbed the eight jet engines, standing hard on the brake pedal. As +the engines wound up to full military power, the X-15 trembled and +the noise was tremendous. Through my radio earphones I heard Bock +call a countdown for the benefit of the official movie cameramen who +would record every inch of the take-off: + +“Five ... four ... three ... two ... one. BRAKE RELEASE.” + +One hundred and thirty tons of aluminum, fuel, Inconel X, five men, +and the hope of a nation began rolling down the long runway. Success +or failure of this first take-off was now entirely up to Charlie +Bock. I was simply a first-class passenger, occupying a private +compartment out on the wing. Without flaps to give added lift to +the B-52, the take-off roll would be unusually long, the lift-off a +ticklish maneuver requiring a delicate pivotal movement on the rear +landing-gear truck of the B-52, a sudden and severe raising of the +nose. + +The greatest point of concern was the predicted, possibly destructive +vibration the X-15 external store might impose on the B-52. A hundred +times in the past, Bock and I had reviewed corrective procedures to +follow if this should happen. We knew it would take 190 knots to +get the B-52 and its load into the air. We agreed that if severe +vibration developed during the take-off roll before he reached 170 +knots, he would chop the B-52 throttles and abort the take-off. +But if no vibration set in up to 170 knots, he would continue +the take-off, climbing out. If during the climb at 260 knots the +vibration rose to a degree that seriously endangered the bomber, we +agreed that the X-15 must be jettisoned without delay. I would have +a few seconds warning--time enough to start the APUs and shift from +B-52 electrical power to X-15 power. Then I would attempt to glide +the X-15 in dead-stick. We plotted the take-off so that I would have +a fairly good shot at the lake bed in this event, but we both knew +that our scheme was pretty marginal--impossible, in fact--below +15,000 feet. In other words, if cut loose below that altitude, it +was most unlikely that I could reach the lake bed. I would try. If +I failed, I could always bail out at the last second. The important +thing was to separate the X-15 from the mother ship. There were four +men aboard that airplane. There was one in the X-15. + +As we rolled, the huge runway distance markers flashed by, clocking +our path: 14,000 ... 13,000 ... 12,000 ... 8,000. When the X-15 +air-speed indicator reached 170 knots, I noted only a minor +vibration. We would continue the take-off. 6,000 ... 5,000 ... 4,000, +and we broke ground. It was smooth and gentle, like the take-off of +an airliner. The air-speed indicator needle crept up to 260 knots. +The parched brown desert fell away rapidly. The vibration did not +increase. + +My eyes were fixed now on a small but ominous trickle of water slowly +filming between the two layers of windshield glass in the X-15. It +was water which had accumulated in the insulation out in the open +during the long weeks of ground tests on the APUs. Who could have +guessed this would happen on the dry desert? The nitrogen defogging +gas flowing between the layers was designed to keep it clear under +ordinary flight conditions. But I knew it would not be sufficient to +check the vapor accumulation of three months of exposure to the rain +and night dampness. Already a faint haze, the first sign of ice, was +forming on the right panel. + +Charlie Bock spoke on the radio: + +“We’re at three thousand feet now. I’m going to throttle back on +number five and six engines.” Slowing these two engines on the pod +nearest me would reduce the noise and some of the vibration on the +X-15. Even with two engines idling, the giant jet bomber gained +altitude rapidly, circling Rogers Dry Lake. + +By the time we reached 15,000 feet both windshields of the X-15 were +solidly iced over, recalling those early days at Edwards when I +faced an iced windshield in the X-1 and the Skyrocket. An emergency +launch was feasible. But an emergency dead-stick landing with iced +windshields would be tough, to say the least. I might make it, I +thought, if I blew the canopy. I made a mental note _never_ to go +aloft again in the X-15 without a plastic windshield scraper. (Later +this item was installed on the X-15’s instrument panel.) + +The three chase planes tucked in close, and our $60 million space +task force bore skyward. There was not much noise beyond a steady +hum and some static on the radio circuit. We were all--the men in +the B-52, I in the X-15, Q. C. Harvey and the others on the ground, +and the chase pilots nearby--leafing our way simultaneously through +the thirty-page flight check-list. Occasionally Q.C. spoke: “Going +to item 39-A.” Or I would say: “Item 43 completed, going to item +44.” Charlie Bock put the B-52 through several stiff banks and turns +to check vibration and X-15 mating. I followed these maneuvers on +my instrument panel. Everything was going better than any of us had +dared expect. + +Then, as on every subsequent flight of the X-15, we prepared for a +dress rehearsal of an actual air-launch. Since there were no rocket +propellants aboard on this first trip, we would eliminate an engine +prime. Except for this one step, it would be a realistic “dry run,” +which would give us much-needed practice for the real thing and an +opportunity to test the systems as well. Especially the temperamental +APUs. + +Like the X-15, the Clark full-pressure suit, designed to protect +the pilot in the event the cockpit pressurization failed, was also +undergoing its first realistic test. Thus we planned each flight to +give the suit a chance to show what it could do. The cockpit of the +X-15 was designed to be pressurized “down” to 35,000 feet. The suit +was designed to go into operation if it sensed that the pressure +in the cockpit rose “above” 35,000 feet. Thus if we left open a +connection between the outside air and the cockpit and flew above +35,000 feet, the cockpit would fail to pressurize and the suit would +automatically go into action at slightly above 35,000 feet. This +connection between the cockpit and the outside air was called the +“ram-air door.” We simply left it open on the climb to altitude and +during the full-pressure suit experiment. + +When we passed 30,000 feet both windshields were thick with ice. +However, I could still see the instrument panel: it was brilliantly +lighted by two strong thunderstorm flood lamps beamed over my +shoulders. Every five minutes I turned a switch which automatically +recorded all the gauge readings within the cockpit and at certain +key positions throughout the airplane, and I reported on the radio +circuit: “Data burst.” In addition, I kept a running log of gauge +readings on my portable tape recorder, along with some private, +personal observations. + +At 35,000 feet, with the ram-air door open, I felt the Clark suit +pressurize. The link-net material seized me on all parts of my +body. From that point on my movements were slightly constrained +and slightly awkward, although not nearly so awkward as a deep-sea +diver’s. + +Satisfied with the test, I strained forward at 38,000 feet to grab +a lever between my legs, the hardest piece of equipment in the +cockpit to reach. The lever operated the ram-air door. Grunting and +puffing, trying to get a good grip on the lever with my glove, I +finally pulled it shut. As soon as the outside air was closed off, +the nitrogen gas began to build up inside the cockpit, pressurizing +it back “down” to 35,000 feet. When the cockpit altitude stabilized +at 35,000 feet, the pressure suit relaxed its grip and once again I +could move my arms and legs with ease. + +Now still at 38,000 feet we began final preparations for the mock +launch. Assuming everything else is going well, that is to say +that the fuel-tank gauges (which we were not concerned with on +that flight) are in the green, the big step is to make the X-15 +independent of the B-52 with its own electrical and control power. It +was a crucial moment: the first airborne test of the X-15’s heart, +the electrical and hydraulic power source, the APUs. I flicked a +switch to start these units, keeping a close eye on various gauges +that would tell me if all was well in this department. + +When the APU turbines turned up, I could hear a faint whirring +noise inside the X-15 cockpit. So far, so good. The turbine bearing +temperatures, a critical factor and frequent cause of breakdown, were +within normal range. Then I turned a switch which should have put +number one generator on the line. It failed. I tried to bring number +two generator to life. Again no luck. I recycled both, trying to +shift from B-52 to X-15 power source. Hopeless. The APU turbines were +turning up, but the generators for each were out of commission. With +iced windshields, if Bock had to cut me loose, I would have to bail +out. The X-15 would have hydraulic control power essential to flight, +but no electrical power for instruments essential to “blind” flight. + +I cursed to myself, and then on the radio called: “Q.C., I can’t get +the generators on the line.” + +“Okay, Scotty. Lets move on to the next item,” Q.C. replied. + +This was a visual check of the X-15 controls--rudder, aileron, +elevators--and flaps. I horsed on the stick and kicked the rudder +pedals, following detailed instructions on the check-list. The +chase-plane pilots reported control response. Good. + +Just about then I noticed a thin wisp of smoke curling up between my +legs. Impossible! I thought. We couldn’t have a fire in the cockpit; +it was completely sealed off, pressurized with inert nitrogen. No +fire could possibly burn in that space. The only answer was that +some wire must have overheated, smoldering the insulation. The smoke +thickened. + +“Q.C.,” I reported. “I’ve got a little smoke in the cockpit. Nothing +serious. Must be a hot wire some place.” + +“Okay, Scotty,” Q.C. responded quietly. + +These, I learned later, were anxious moments at Edwards. But I was +not overly concerned. Except for the APU hydrogen peroxide, the X-15 +was empty of its usual load of volatile fuels, and the chances of a +serious fire or catastrophic explosion were negligible. Besides, what +could I do about it? If it came, it came. I had no generators, no +vision. If a bad fire developed, we’d have to cut loose and I’d bail +out. In any case, the plane would be lost. + +When the smoke in the cockpit became so dense that I could no longer +see the instrument panel nor observe any test intelligently, I spoke +quietly to Charlie Bock: + +“Let’s go home.” + +Q.C. broke in: + +“On the descent make a test of the X-15 gear.” + +“Okay, Q.C.” + +At 15,000 feet the chase planes moved in close. I pulled the gear +handle. The telescoped nose wheel, extended by a ballistic charge, +snapped into position with a jolt that felt like a swift kick in the +behind. When the two rear skids popped down satisfactorily, chase +reported gear okay. Since the gear cannot be retracted again, we left +it in place as the B-52 lined up on final. Automatic movie cameras +mounted on the side of the B-52 and hand-held cameras in the chase +planes recorded all these drills. The smoke in the cockpit was pretty +thick, and I noticed a new and heavy vibration somewhere in the rear +of the X-15. What was that? It was too late to find out; we were +committed. + +Landing the B-52 with its external store and no flaps was no cinch. +But I could see that Bock and Allavie were already practiced artists. +They brought the giant plane in very nose-high and greased in on the +rear gear-truck, one hour and ten minutes after take-off. Then the +nose fell forward heavily and we began the roll-out, long, easy, with +the X-15 rear skids almost touching the runway. If something happened +on landing--such as a crash and fire--I was in the safest possible +place. Sealed inside a cockpit designed to withstand 1200 degrees +Fahrenheit, I would just wait until the men put out the fire and then +open my canopy. If the heat became unbearable, I could always eject +right on the ground. + +When the B-52 stopped rolling, I opened the X-15 canopy. Dense smoke +billowed forth, greatly and unnecessarily exciting the firemen. They +rushed in with trucks and sprayed the rear of the X-15 with water. +But there was no fire, as such, to put out. The smoke was caused +when one of the APU generators seized in flight and burned up. As we +discovered later, the generator was a mass of ashes. The fact that +the smoke had seeped into the cockpit turned out to be a blessing +in disguise. It revealed that under certain circumstances the +protection of the cockpit was compromised. This was quickly corrected. + +Bock taxied the B-52 back to the mating area. The groundmen +skillfully directed the parking so that the X-15 hung directly over +her hydraulic lifting jacks used to lower the ship from the pylon. +They shoved the steel work platform against the nose and Mel Beach +climbed up and removed my helmet. I wriggled out of the cockpit and +chatted with Stormy and Charlie Feltz for a few moments, trying to +puzzle out the smoke in the cockpit, and then I walked somewhat +wearily over to the 16th Physiological Training Flight van. + +Inside, to cool off, I quickly removed the top layer of my pressure +suit, and then washed the perspiration from my face and hands. When I +turned for a towel, Captain Richardson was standing there. He handed +me a martini--a real martini, with an olive. It was the perfect +touch. I wished that our first flight in the X-15 had been as perfect. + + + + +CHAPTER 36 ► + + _The Reluctant Dragon_ + + +At 0730 on April 1, I climbed into the X-15 cockpit, ready for a +second “captive” flight. Although we had learned a great deal on the +first, none of us felt the ship was quite ready for a free glide +to earth. First, we would make another dry run, to be sure. In the +intervening two weeks we had made many improvements on the X-15. +The temperamental APUs had been pulled out, rebuilt, and tested in +repeated “runs” on the ground. We had removed the canopy and baked +it in a hot oven for hours to purge it of the water trapped in the +insulation, and then waterproofed it. As a further precaution against +windshield icing, the nitrogen defogging gas was routinely turned on +three hours prior to take-off. By Stormy’s edict, we had installed +a radio intercom between the X-15 and B-52, which would, in theory, +keep a line of communication open to me, if the single X-15 radio +transmitter conked out at a crucial moment. + +As usual, there were some pre-take-off delays. The men swarmed about +the fuselage of the X-15, pulling wires and making last-minute +repairs which were checked and rechecked by the ground service cart +operators. The X-15 panel was alive. I sat staring at the lights and +gauges looking for signs of trouble. By that time I had spent at +least three hundred hours in that cockpit and I could sense a fault +or impending crisis almost subconsciously. + +At 0812 Oscar Freeman and Pete Barker slammed the X-15 canopy shut. +Charlie Bock and Jack Allavie wheeled the giant mother plane to the +take-off runway and cobbed the engines. At 0844 the wheels left the +ground and we were airborne for the second time. I tested the new +intercom (unsatisfactory) and droned off the gauge readings, making +a “data burst” every five minutes. At 25,000 feet altitude the X-15 +radio transmitter and receiver, perhaps because of the intercom +modification, faded drastically. But the windshield remained clear. +The chase moved in close and we droned skyward for a launch rehearsal. + +At 25,000 feet altitude, I could faintly hear Q. C. Harvey come on +the radio circuit: “I guess we’ll have to abort. I can’t hear Scotty. +His radio is out.” + +I already had the transmitter on, but the amplifiers were not putting +out. Breaking a long-standing personal rule, I shouted as loud as I +could over the radio mike: “No, Q.C. No. No. Don’t abort. No abort.” + +“Okay, Scotty,” Q.C. replied. “I can just barely hear you, very faint +and intermittent.” Determined that a simple radio malfunction would +not stop the test, I shouted myself hoarse. Then Q.C. came up with an +ingenious, spur-of-the-moment solution to our radio difficulty. + +“I can hear your mike loud and clear when you key it, Scotty. But I +can’t hear your voice. We’ll follow a system here. You key your mike +in response to my questions. One dick means yes. Two clicks mean no. +Okay?” + +I keyed the mike one click. + +Following this system, we worked through the thirty-page flight +check-list with Q.C. in command on the ground. “Okay, Scott,” he +would say. “We have completed item 10. Are you ready to go to item +11? Repeat, are you ready to go to item 11?” If I was satisfied, I +responded with one click of the mike. If I did not think the ship +was ready for the next item, I transmitted two clicks. Slowly we +accumulated the necessary data, which included various severe +maneuvers of the B-52, a carefully monitored speed run to check the +X-15’s air-speed indicator, and finally the big item, the launch +rehearsal. The APUs came on the line and held steady, purring like +kittens. + +Taking advantage of our good luck, we circled Edwards for well over +an hour and a half. When I noted the coolant for the APU bearings was +getting dangerously low, I waved my hand at the B-52, suggesting we +return to base and land. Bill Berkowitz, the launch-panel operator, +watching the X-15 through a closed-circuit television installation, +caught the signal and relayed my request by radio to the ground. Q.C. +came on the line: + +“You want to land, Scott. Correct?” + +I keyed the mike one dick, and Charlie Bock banked toward the Edwards +runway. We dropped the X-15 gear for a routine test, and shortly +thereafter Bock greased on, one hour and forty-four minutes after +take-off. + + * * * * * + +Except for the simple radio failure, the X-15 had performed well +on this flight. But the full-pressure suit had not. The seals were +leaking, and the valves failing. In fact, in the post-flight report, +I noted thirteen discrepancies in the suit and asked that the Clark +company send a team to Edwards without delay to make the necessary +modifications and adjustments. With all our tests on the ground and +in the air, we were wearing the suit out. On one of the hundreds of +ground tests I nearly killed myself. + +It happened right in the X-15 cockpit while the canopy was open. +Decked out in the suit and helmet, I was running a test which +involved innumerable selections of oxygen supply, on, off, on B-52, +on X-15, etc. I made an error and got out of sequence. I proceeded +with the test, breathing not X-15 oxygen as I supposed, but the +nitrogen gas suit coolant which was leaking into the helmet through +a crack in a rubber seal. There were several ground crewmen working +about the X-15, and Pete Barker was bending down in the cockpit +helping me with the test. Nobody was aware of the developing crisis. + +Nitrogen gas is an insidious suffocant. Man cannot long survive +breathing only nitrogen. Quite soon I began to feel its effect. +The instrument panel facing me seemed to be floating away. I gazed +in wonder at this phenomenon for several seconds, too stupefied to +realize my predicament, then I drifted off into unconsciousness. +Barker, working with me on the test, still had no inkling of the +danger. + +By the grace of God I suddenly snapped back into momentary +consciousness. Bewildered, I sought to escape from my slow +suffocation. Not knowing what caused the blackout and dizziness, and +unable to think clearly, I was desperate. I clawed helplessly at the +fittings of my helmet, and then cast up my arms in one final protest +and, as I recall it dimly, probably yelled. + +Luckily for me, Barker saw me raise my hands and sensed trouble. He +jerked off the helmet in the nick of time. I feel I owe my life to +his quick response. + + * * * * * + +On the evening before an X-15 flight was scheduled, Stormy always +came up to the desert for a last-minute look-see. He checked in at +the North American hangar, talked to the X-15 mechanics, and toured +the mating area, where the men were working to attach the X-15 to the +mother plane and to check out the systems. When Stormy was satisfied, +the two of us slipped away and drove far down the desert to a remote +roadside restaurant, where we could lay plans during dinner without +interruption. On April 13, the eve of the third flight, Stormy was +restless and quietly angry. He was involved in a tight poker game +with high stakes. Like all the rest of us, he wanted to see the +X-15 fly--and the sooner the better. But we knew that if we pushed +too hard and fast and something catastrophic happened, the country +would suffer a black eye and we and the company would be severely +criticized. At the same time, if we didn’t show more promise, we +would be chided for dragging our feet. Thus Stormy--all of us in +fact--was seeking to strike a balance between fast action and sound +technical advance. Ridiculously petty items were sabotaging us: APU +regulators, radio intercom wiring, two-dollar valves--horseshoe nails +that could conceivably lose us a kingdom. Each time we aborted a +flight we lost two weeks, the time it took to “turn around” the X-15 +or prepare it for a new trip into the air. + +Stormy is one of the few men I have met in my life whom I sincerely +admire. I like his approach to building airplanes. He is not only +enthusiastic and eloquent in presenting his case for this or that +airplane, but also he is more technically honest than any engineer +I have ever known. If something doesn’t work, it doesn’t work, +and it is discarded. He doesn’t prolong it, building an empire of +paper-pushers. He knows how to take on a job and do it right. And +once he begins, he is completely objective and ruthless about it. + +“We’ll play it like this,” Stormy said. “Tomorrow we’ll go through +rehearsal. If the APUs look okay, go through another rehearsal. If +everything seems to be going well, then we’ll drop. But wait for the +word from me. The final decision to drop, of course, is yours.” + + * * * * * + +Just after dawn the following morning I climbed in the X-15 cockpit +and droned the gauge readings into my portable tape recorder: “Liquid +nitrogen source 3700. Number one hydraulic temperature 18 degrees. +Number two hydraulic temperature 5 degrees. Number one APU source +pressure 3500. Number two APU source pressure 3500....” As far as the +X-15 was concerned, everything was near-normal. Except for a radio +line in the helmet, which was snagging on the neck seal, the Clark +suit was working well. It had been completely overhauled in the past +ten days by Clark’s experts. + +After reading the gauges I stared at the instrument panel, waiting +for the ground crews to seal up. Stormy, wearing a gabardine +topcoat, was huddled with Q. C. Harvey and Sam Richter next to the +communications van. + +At 0823 Charlie Bock released the B-52 brakes and we rolled down the +runway to begin the third X-15 flight. When the B-52’s wheels lifted +off, the three circling chase planes squeezed in close and climbed +out toward what I hoped would be, by Stormy’s decision, our first +launch. I was anxious and eager. By then we had been grooming the +airplane for five months. To gain added X-15 performance, the launch +altitude was raised from 38,000 to 45,000 feet. It took almost an +hour to reach peak altitude. + +After the usual checks of the pressure suit, the X-15 cabin +pressurization, and some special B-52 speed-tests and maneuvers to +feel out the “mating” at that extreme height, we proceeded to the +first launch rehearsal. Everything worked perfectly--almost. Radio +communications were good, and the APUs came on the line with no +trouble, although we expected trouble at higher altitude where the +temperature is colder. I deliberately opened the ram-air door to try +to fog the windshield. It remained clear. We simulated a drop and +closed down. Then Bock wheeled the B-52 through a gigantic ten-mile +turn high in the sky to repeat the rehearsal. The chase planes, +hanging in the thin air at reduced speed, struggled to keep position. +Our path through the sky was marked by seven white contrails. + +For the second time on that flight we moved in to a launch rehearsal. +I started the APUs again, anxiously awaiting the key words from +Stormy on the ground. But Stormy, who was watching and listening at +Sam Richter’s truck out on the lake bed, didn’t say a word on the +radio. His intuition told him the time was not ripe. With no positive +word from him we continued the launch rehearsal and at one minute +before drop time aborted the flight. I was quite disappointed. + +As a matter of routine, after launch rehearsal on the descent to +Edwards, I kept the APUs on, so that the X-15 would have power in the +unlikely event that an emergency arose and Charlie Bock had to cut me +loose in a hurry. The APUs were still running as we descended through +42,000 feet. At 41,000 feet both APU generators suddenly dropped off +the line. I recycled number one and got it back on, but number two +refused to connect. I reported this by radio. + +A few seconds later I became aware of an ominous, heavy vibration +somewhere in the after end of the X-15. Something was quite wrong. +My eyes automatically swept across the gauges; my ears tuned to the +growing rumbling. Number two APU had failed. I was not aware of the +full extent of the malfunction then, but I knew it was serious. Later +we discovered that the unit had seized and shaken completely off +the mounts. This severe wrench also disturbed the second APU. I shut +both units off, thankful then that Stormy’s intuition was working. A +minute later I noted a wisp of smoke in the cockpit. + +This time there was no connection between the APU failure and the +smoke. A wire in one of the cabin blowers simply overheated and +caused the insulation to smolder. I was tempted to ignore the smoke +because nothing strikes fear in the hearts of the ground people quite +so rapidly and decisively as smoke or fire in a rocket airplane. +But one of my duties as test pilot was to report _every_ routine +and non-routine event in the X-15 cockpit. Reluctantly I passed the +word on the radio circuit and, as expected, there was quite a bit of +excitement on the ground. But the smoke diminished and by the time we +reached the ground, an hour and nineteen minutes after take-off, it +had disappeared altogether. + +When we parked in the mating area, the ground mechanics opened the +doors on the APU access compartment almost immediately. Charlie +Feltz, Stormy, and I peered in at the shambles of metal that had once +been two highly refined, critical pieces of X-15 machinery. The APUs +at that point had been under laboratory and field test for a whole +year, yet they were still obviously a long way from being reliable. +Sick with disappointment, Stormy hurried off to Los Angeles to set +in motion words and action that soon solved the X-15 APU problem. I +don’t know how much money and time were spent in the extensive APU +rebuilding and testing that followed in the next few weeks, but I do +know that with one exception in the year that followed we had no more +APU trouble. + +These APU problems, which I probably have dwelt upon at too great +length, were not confined exclusively to the X-15 rocket airplane. +Other companies were having much the same kind of trouble in +ballistic missiles. At Cape Canaveral scores of multi-million-dollar +birds blew up on the pads or in flight because of APU failure. This +is one part of the price of progress, of probing into the unknown. +The big advantage in the X-15 was that we did not lose our bird. +With a pilot at the controls we were able to detect and avert fatal +trouble, and save the ship for another flight. We could bring +the broken APUs back to earth in one piece--or sometimes in one +piece--for engineering analysis. The fixes we made, I hope, were +passed on to the missiles at Cape Canaveral. Thus in one sense the +X-15 was already beginning to pay its way as a research tool. + +After the flight Captain Richardson was waiting in the 16th +Physiological Training Unit van with the usual martini. It tasted +weak. I commented on this while squirming out of the pressure suit. + +“It’s watered down,” Richardson said. + +“What?” + +“That’s right. If you can’t pull off a full-blown flight, you don’t +get a full-blown martini.” + +Ribbing of this kind was directed toward us from many official +sources. Our tiger was gaining a reputation for being a Reluctant +Dragon. This hurt in more ways than I can remember. + + * * * * * + +21 May, 1959. Thirty-one weeks had flown by since we trucked X-15 +number one to the Edwards test base. Seventy-two days since our +first shaky captive flight in the airplane. Forty-one days since +captive flight number three. NASA and the Air Force were becoming +increasingly anxious and no longer hiding it. Our saga of troubles +had stung the X-15 flight-test team badly. Every man felt a personal +responsibility. Each worked with an intensity and devotion that no +amount of money could buy, and at last we were ready to go into the +air once again. This time there was no talk of a drop. Our sole +objective was to stage a completely successful captive test, to prove +that all the machinery of the X-15 would perform as designed under +flight conditions. + +On this climactic day, when they placed their mechanical stethoscopes +to “listen” for signs of trouble in the X-15, the ground crews +were more meticulous than ever before. They checked every system +three times over, and then once again. Although I knew we couldn’t +possibly take off before 0900, I climbed into the X-15 cockpit, +fully rigged in the pressure suit, about 0700. I did this mainly for +morale-building purposes. I wanted the ground crews to know that I +had confidence in the airplane and that I was ready--eager--to get +into the air. It was an uncomfortably long wait, yet a necessary one, +I believed. + +It was 0922 by the time Bock and Allavie lifted the B-52 off the +runway. We were late but the X-15 was tuned to a fine pitch. A few +minor items cropped up, as usual--a screeching in my radio receiver, +an insufficient flow of nitrogen coolant in the lower half of the +pressure suit--but during the familiar launch rehearsal the X-15 ran +a jeweled watch. We circled Edwards for an hour and fifteen minutes, +starting and stopping the APUs with no difficulty. The APU bearings, +cooled by nitrogen gas, held to a normal temperature range: about 115 +degrees Fahrenheit. + +It was clear now that we were over the big hurdle. We would have +stayed aloft longer that day, but the supply of APU nitrogen gas +coolant, designed to last only for a normal X-15 flight of about +half an hour, was dwindling rapidly, and as I have said before we +preferred to land with APUs operating in case Bock had to cut me +loose in emergency. + +During the gradual descent the APU bearing temperatures began to +climb. Number one reached 245 degrees; number two moved up to +200 degrees. I was not unduly concerned. The bearings, G.E. had +calculated, could reach 400 degrees without seizing. Certainly we +could keep below that figure. To decrease the drain on the single +nitrogen gas supply, I turned off the windshield defogging and +pressure-suit ventilation. But the diminishing supply of nitrogen gas +to the APUs was not sufficient. Number one crept up to 295 degrees. I +watched the gauge closely. If it got much hotter, I intended to shut +it down and make the descent on one APU. + +At 15,000 feet number one APU had inched ahead to 350 degrees. Since +it was approaching a danger point, I reported the fact by radio to Q. +C. Harvey. After consulting his panel of X-15 experts, gathered near +his mike in the NASA tower, Q.C. responded: + +“Scotty. Q.C. We suggest you shut down number one APU if the bearing +temperature reaches 395 degrees.” + +“Okay, Q.C.,” I replied. “That’s what I was going to do. Number one +bearing temperature is now 376 degrees.” + +My eyes were glued on the number one APU bearing gauge. It moved +steadily ahead: 376 ... 380 ... 390 ... 395. I reached for a switch +on the instrument panel and turned it, reporting by radio: + +“Number one APU 395 degrees. Shut down.” + +My eyes remained on the gauge. I expected it to “coast” still higher +for a moment or so and then drop off rapidly. The gauge swung to +400 ... 416 ... 430. Number two APU, which was then getting all the +nitrogen gas coolant, leveled out at about 200 degrees, as expected. + +I snapped into my mike: + +“Q.C., this damned number one is up to 450.” + +“You can expect it to peak a little bit and then fall off, Scotty,” +Q.C. replied. + +“Yeah,” I said. “I know. But it isn’t falling off. It’s now up to 460 +and climbing. Number two is okay, steady at 200 degrees.” + +When the temperature of number one APU reached 475 degrees, I heard +a familiar rumbling in the rear of the X-15. The unit had seized and +vibrated to a stop. But why? Then in a flash I realized I had made a +dreadful error. I had not shut down number one APU at all. Instead, I +had shut down number two. + +“Holy smoke,” I muttered on the radio circuit. + +My spontaneous comment touched off a tremendous flurry of excitement +on the ground. Sam Richter came on the radio instantly. + +“Scotty. Did you say smoke? Repeat. Do you have smoke in the +cockpit?” (I later learned that Charlie Feltz, who was in Sam’s van, +and whose ear was not then attuned to airplane radio circuits, leaped +from his chair and said: “Wha’d he say? Wha’d he say?” And thereafter +“Wha’d he say?” became a very big joke on the X-15 team.) + +“No. No. Sorry,” I replied. “No smoke in the cockpit. I just goofed. +I shut down number two APU by mistake. Number one was running all the +time. It blew.” + +It took only the thinnest imagination to conjure up the disbelieving +expressions which spread over the faces of the people on the ground. +After six agonizing months of APU difficulties, we had finally +made a successful airborne demonstration. Then at its climax I had +stupidly blown an APU because I turned the wrong switch. Short of +losing the airplane altogether, no mistake I might have made in the +air that day could have stung our team deeper. They could not have +been more depressed. I felt like a fool, and of course I assumed full +responsibility for the blooper. + +The APU failure was properly judged pilot error. Since everything, +including APUs, was considered satisfactory, all hands agreed the +ship was fit for her next great test, the first glide flight to earth. + + + + +CHAPTER 37 ► + + _Engulfed in Disappointment_ + + +“Three minutes to drop,” Charlie Bock intoned on the radio circuit. + +We were turning over Rosamond Dry Lake at 38,000 feet for a final run +to the launch point, within sight of the Edwards base and Rogers Dry +Lake, where if all went well we would launch and I would dead-stick +the X-15. It was June 8, eighteen days since our last successful +captive flight. We had been airborne thirty-five minutes. + +I reached up and set the sweep second-hand on the X-15 dashboard +clock. Then I checked all the gauges. With one exception they +couldn’t have looked better. The APUs, which had been running eight +minutes, were holding. APU bearing temperatures were a mere 116 +degrees, well within safe limits. The nitrogen gas coolant supply +was ample for both APUs, defogging, suit ventilation, and cockpit +pressure. I rechecked the altimeter setting and listened when Edwards +tower called the winds on the lake bed: 10 to 12 knots from 240 +degrees. + +A yellow light near my knee beaconed the single malfunction in +the X-15’s machinery. It was an indicator on the X-15 Stability +Augmentation System (SAS), the automatic control damping device, +which in flight would sense an impending violent maneuver and take +action to forestall it. Most of the new supersonic fighters we +had tested at Edwards, such as the F-100, were equipped with SAS +to minimize the possibility of unwanted yaw, pitch, or coupling +divergence. The X-15 was the first experimental airplane to have such +a system, and, like most of the gear, it was more sophisticated than +ordinary versions. + +The “pitch mode” of the SAS, which would sense an abrupt rising or +falling of the nose and automatically move the controls to correct +for it, was out of commission. On the climb to launch altitude, I had +quietly reported this fact to Q. C. Harvey. He in turn had consulted +with the SAS expert, Blake Staub. We tried a dozen different tricks, +switching electrical circuits, to correct it. But the yellow +malfunction light remained on steadily. + +The decision to “go” or “no go” was entirely up to me. I had elected +to “go.” For our first low-speed glide test the pitch damper was not +vital. I had had much experience in dead-sticking airplanes without +the help of such a device. We simply could not cancel another flight. +More than a thousand eyes on the Edwards base were trained skyward +for this milestone in aviation history. There were one hundred +reporters, photographers, and TV cameramen camped along the edge of +the lake bed. If we failed again, the press would not be so patient +and generous this time. In brief, we were on the spot. But this was +just another time when the skill and training of a test pilot could +overcome the deficiency of a piece of machinery. + +I was busy turning switches. I shut off the B-52 power source. The +X-15 was now operating on its own power generated by the APUs. I +shifted the oxygen supply to my helmet from B-52 to X-15. I armed the +ballistic charge in the lower ventral fin, which I would jettison +close to the ground just before touchdown. I started the data +instrumentation and cameras, which would operate throughout the glide +to earth. Finally I flashed a green light in Charlie Bock’s cockpit, +indicating I was ready to launch. I confirmed this fact orally: + +“Ready when you are, buddy.” + +“One minute to launch,” Bock replied calmly. + +My right hand moved to the sidearm control handle, which I had +elected to use on this flight in place of the center stick, to show +there was no question in my mind that it was an improvement. I +cranked in one degree of nose-up-trim to make certain that when Bock +cut me loose, the X-15 would not dive too steeply. If I launched at +higher trim, it was possible the X-15 might hang momentarily beneath +the wing, bumping against the mating pylon or the B-52 engine pods. +Chase pilot Bob White, flying just off my wingtip, confirmed the trim +change by radio. + +I waited, my eyes alternating between the gauges and the handle of +the clock. In the last few seconds, I prayed. My extremely sensitive +tape recorder picked up the movement of my vocal chords, but not the +words. I said: “God. Please help me make this a good one. Please +don’t let me let these people down.” + +Bock called a brief countdown, unkeying his mike between each number +in case I wanted to break in and say “no drop.” + +“Three” ... “Two” ... “One” ... + +“DROP.” + +Inside the streamlined pylon, a hydraulic ram disengaged the three +heavy shackles from the upper fuselage of the X-15. They were so +arranged that all released simultaneously, and if one failed they all +failed. The impact of the release was clearly audible in the X-15 +cockpit. I heard a loud “kerchunk.” + +The X-15 hung in its familiar place beneath the pylon for a split +second. Then the nose dipped sharply down and to the right more +rapidly than I anticipated. The B-52, so long my constant companion, +was gone. The X-15 and I were alone in the air and flying at 500 +miles an hour. In less than five minutes I would be on the ground. + +My flight plan called for me to make a huge “S” turn in the sky, +spiraling down toward Rogers Dry Lake. It was designed to provide me +with a wide margin for error. Should the glide calculations be wrong, +I could vary the S turn to correct the error and land where I wanted +to on the lake. The glide-path was laid out over an uninhabited area, +so the airplane was no hazard to the lives of people on the ground. + +There was much to do in the first hundred seconds of flight. First +I had to get the “feel” of the airplane, to make certain it was +trimmed out for the landing just as any pilot trims an airplane after +take-off or in flight as passengers move about or when dwindling +fuel shifts the center of gravity. Then I had to pull the nose up, +with and without flaps, to feel out the stall characteristics, so +that I would know how she might behave at touchdown speeds. Her +characteristics had been calculated on machines, and of course I +had “flown” the simulator a thousand times or more, both at North +American and in the Navy’s Johnsville centrifuge. I had also made +many low L over D landings in the F-100 and F-104, with engine +idling, wheels down, and dive brakes extended. But these amounted, +all in all, only to an approximation of the real thing. + +The real thing, as it developed immediately, wasn’t such a challenge. +Our engineering was sound. The X-15 is not the easiest airplane in +the world to fly, but she responded as we expected. Sensitive in +roll because of her shape, sensitive in pitch because of the damper +failure, but even as a heavy glider spirited to the touch of control, +responsive, and high-strung. Not designed to mush around at low +speeds, she still handled like a champion. + +Falling down and to the right, I moved the sidearm control gently +to bring the X-15 to level flight. The response was remarkable. The +plane porpoised through a huge oscillation, hanging on its side. I +again moved the control arm gently. At 36,000 feet, after a drop of +1,400 feet, the tiger leveled out and the nose held steady. + +I put the plane in a shallow dive. Having lost the momentum of the +launch, it slowed from 500 to 400 to 300 miles an hour. When I +pulled the nose up, the speed dropped even lower. I performed these +maneuvers with extreme care, tentatively, so as not to offend her +lest she bite back as so many others have and become unmanageable. +The three chase planes were having no difficulty in keeping up at +my ever-decreasing speed and altitude, and they hung in close. The +radio circuit was dead silent. Except for the roar of the ventilation +blowers, there was a tomb-like silence in the cockpit. + +Now at about 30,000 feet and three minutes from touchdown, I +simulated a landing. I pushed the nose down sharply until my speed +had picked up to 300 miles an hour. I lowered the flaps. The nose +rose slightly, but the ship did not buffet as it did when we lowered +the flaps while mated to the B-52. Satisfied, I raised the flaps and +put the ship into a steep descending turn, aiming for the broad lake +bed. My altimeter unwound dizzily: from 24,000 to 13,000 feet in less +than forty seconds. + +I knew that the men on the ground--Stormy, Feltz, Q.C., Sam, and the +others--were holding their breath, waiting in nearly indescribable +anguish for some word. My mind was too busy trying to learn about +this ship, planning for the touchdown, now less than a hundred +seconds away, to think of some way to put them at ease, tell them we +had a winner, and still not stick my now proud and cocky neck out. +What came out was this: “I’d like to try a roll,” the words Yeager +had uttered on his first X-1 flight. + +Passing over the Edwards skeet range at about 6,000 feet, I touched +off the ballistic charge which blew off the ventral fin. It fell away +as predicted, and a small parachute deployed, lowering it gently to +the ground. Chase pilot White reported: “Ventral away.” The desert +was coming up fast. At 600 feet altitude I flared out. + +I lined up for my approach, sighting along the three black strips +painted on the desert dry lake. Then, for the first time, I noticed +a peculiar distortion caused by the fact that I was looking through +three panes of glass: the helmet visor and the double-layer X-15 +windshield. I knew the black lines on the lake bed were parallel. +From my position in the cockpit they now seemed to spread out in a +large V. It was not a serious matter, but one I had to adjust to +quickly. The distortion might affect my depth perception and cause a +rough touchdown. + +In the next second without warning the nose of the X-15 pitched +up sharply. It was a maneuver that had not been predicted by the +computers, an uncharted area which the X-15 was designed to explore. +I was frankly caught off guard. Quickly I applied corrective elevator +control. + +The nose came down sharply. But instead of leveling out, it tucked +down. I applied reverse control. The nose came up but much too far. +Now the nose was rising and falling like the bow of a skiff in a +heavy sea. Although I was putting in maximum control I could not +subdue the motions. The X-15 was porpoising wildly, sinking toward +the desert at 200 miles an hour. I would have to land at the bottom +of an oscillation, timed perfectly; otherwise, I knew, I would break +the bird. I lowered the flaps and gear. + +My mind was almost completely absorbed in the tremendous task of +saving the X-15, of getting it on the ground in one piece. But I +could not push back a terrible thought that was forming. _Something +was dreadfully wrong. We had pulled a tremendous goof. The X-15 in +spite of all our sweat and study, our attempt at perfection, had +become completely unstable._ Somewhere along the line we or one of +our machines had made an unbelievable miscalculation. Four years of +work, ten million engineering man-hours, 120 million dollars, and our +machine from a stability standpoint was less satisfactory than the +man-killing X-2. + +My speed dropped below 200 miles an hour. In the middle of a wild +oscillation I tried to grind the two rear skids into the lake bed. +But apparently the windshield confused me. I missed the ground by a +good four feet, pumping in more control as the nose started to rise +again. For minimum strain on the tail skids and nose wheel we had +calculated ideal X-15 landing speed to be 210 miles an hour. I was +already down to 170 miles an hour. The X-15 would soon not fly at all +and would fall toward the ground like a brick. In my mind’s eye I +could see the final picture: a big ball of Inconel X. + +Now I was half a mile beyond my intended touchdown point and drifting +off to the right toward a rough spot on the lake. Instinctively I +pumped in a little left rudder control to get back on the marked +landing strip. With the next dip I had one last chance and flared +again to ease the descent. At that moment the rear skids caught on +the desert floor and the nose slammed over, cushioned by the nose +wheel. The X-15 skidded 5,000 feet across the lake, throwing up an +enormous rooster-tail of dust. The emergency helicopter swooshed down +and landed alongside the ship. A long caravan of emergency trucks +roared out from the sidelines. I sat in the cockpit, canopy still +closed, engulfed in disappointment. + + * * * * * + +“Stormy,” I said, “something is radically wrong.” Stormy had driven +out to the airplane and snatched me away before the press arrived. We +were tearing across the lake at seventy miles an hour in a company +car headed for Captain Richardson’s van. I had given Stormy a quick +run-down on the landing. + +“That airplane _can’t_ be unstable,” Stormy said. + +He was right, of course. I had jumped to the wrong conclusion. Others +did too, blaming the instability on the sidearm control. But these +critics were wrong. In the days following we carefully analyzed the +recorded data and found out what really happened. + +The control system in the X-15 is quite similar to the power steering +in a car. The pilot makes a control motion, but hydraulic pressure +supplies the “muscle,” does the work, and moves the control surface, +just as the power boost in the car turns the wheels. This hydraulic +pressure operates the flight controls and the flaps. + +Given limitless space and weight, it is no problem to design a +hydraulic system which can perform almost any job on the airplane, +and if necessary, all jobs simultaneously. However, the hydraulic +pump in the X-15, like all the other equipment, was a carefully +calculated compromise from the weight standpoint. It was not +limitless in power. It could not do everything at once; nor did it do +one assigned task fast enough. + +One result was that when the pilot pumped in a motion on the stick, +the control surfaces were slow in responding. Years earlier I had +run up a warning flag in this area; in fact, I had _demanded_ a +faster control response. However, since it is pretty hard before +flight test for a pilot to support his opinions against simulators +and calculations, and because my demands meant more weight, we had +settled on low-control response, thinking we could live with it. This +had almost done us in. + +When the X-15 nose pitched on landing, I had instantly applied +corrective control. The hydraulic “muscle,” then also working to +lower the flaps, fell behind and then overshot trying to catch up. +As a result, the controls were doing one thing and I another. In +an effort to regain control of the porpoising airplane, I pumped in +full up-and-down control, in effect chasing back and forth from one +extreme to the other, and by great luck or possibly intuition, struck +some kind of crude balance, bringing the ship safely to earth. Had +our bird been an unmanned missile, I’m certain it would have been +destroyed. But for future operations we knew the pilot couldn’t live +with that slow control response: the X-15 landing was difficult +enough. The pilot _had_ to have absolute and positive control of the +airplane. + +By the simple expedient of adjusting a valve, to borrow power, in +effect, from other places in the ship, we increased the control rate +upward to more like my original request. Thereafter, we never again +experienced the porpoising motion, either in the air or at touchdown, +with center and sidearm control. + +X-15 number one, which had been used on these five pioneering +flights, was pulled out of action so that the engineers could make +many minor fixes that were long overdue. We then turned to X-15 +number two, the airplane designated for the first rocket-powered +flights. + + + + +CHAPTER 38 ► + + “_She Blew Sky High_” + + +X-15 number two, identical in appearance with X-15 number one, was +anchored to the concrete ramp in the engine-test area. Her fuel +tanks were brimming. In the big forward tank there were four tons of +liquid oxygen, so cold that a thick coating of ice had formed on the +outside fuselage and all the machinery in the vicinity of the tank +had chilled. In the after tank there were five tons of a mixture +of water and alcohol or, as we called it, “Walc,” a very volatile +liquid. Altogether, then, nine tons of liquid energy, the fantastic +stuff that would propel the X-15 through the air faster than man had +ever flown. + +Wearing street clothes, I climbed into the cockpit to begin the +practice engine test, a simulated launch and engine run just as it +would take place in the air. The men who had fueled the X-15 moved +back their big tank trucks. The specialists on the propulsion system +grouped at a distance and talked to me by radio from Sam’s van. Q. C. +Harvey manned his post in the North American tower two miles away. + +I quickly ran through the familiar pre-launch routine: APU start, +shift to X-15 power, and so on. Now for the first time I added to +this routine the involved rocket-engine start procedure. + +First I turned a switch which touched off a flow of nitrogen gas +through all the fuel lines. This was a safety measure to purge fuel +which might ignite prematurely in the lines and cause an explosion. +Next I pressurized the big Lox and Walc tanks with helium gas to +force the fuel through the lines aft to the rocket-engine pumps. + +The helium is stored in a cylindrical tank surrounded by the Lox +tank. We purposely put it there to keep it as cold as possible. By +cooling the helium we can store almost three times as much in the +same size cylinder, or cut down on the size of the cylinder and save +weight. The regulator valve which adjusts the gas flow from helium +tank to the fuel and Lox tanks is a fantastically sensitive device +which operates at a temperature of minus 300 degrees Fahrenheit. The +pressure inside the helium tank is 3,600 pounds per square inch; the +regulator reduces this to a mere fifty pounds per square inch, which +is all we need to get the fuel moving aft. The regulator had already +caused a lot of trouble. It would cause much more in the future. + +The X-15 is designed to land empty of fuel. If something goes +wrong--if the engine should fail to start--it is absolutely necessary +to get rid of the nine tons of fuel weight. Like other rocket +airplanes, the X-15 is equipped with a fuel jettison system. This +is carefully arranged so that both tanks exhaust fuel at about the +same rate. If one tank emptied too far ahead of the other, it would +throw the X-15 out of balance and possibly into a flight attitude +from which the pilot could not recover. There is a control mounted +in the cockpit to adjust the flow-rate for each tank. Before the +launch, before lighting off the engine, we always check the jettison +system to make sure it is not clogged or frozen shut. (Every time +I jettisoned the Walc, I could not help feeling a twinge. I was +throwing away 6,000 fifths of pure vodka that some unimaginative +temperate had contaminated to prevent useful consumption other than +in rocket engines.) + +At launch altitude of 38,000 feet, where the air temperature is +about minus 60 degrees Fahrenheit, the rocket engine and pumps are +very cold just prior to launch. If we ignite the engine cold there +is danger of erratic and rough starts or malfunction. Thus just +prior to launch, the pilot must turn a switch which allows a trickle +of hydrogen peroxide to flow through the engine pump gas generator, +warming it up or, as we say, “pre-heating.” Thirty seconds or so +before launch the pilot “primes” the engine with a burst of Lox and +fuel. The prime is dumped overboard so it can be checked visually by +the chase pilots. The purpose of the prime is to make certain the +fuel and Lox lines are full--right up to the rocket-engine fuel pump +which sucks the fuel from the tanks and forces it into the burning +chamber at a tremendous rate. + +Now on the ground as I went through these procedures, the outside +observers reported: “Prime looks good.” + +Simulating a drop from the mother plane, I then ran my hand across +eight toggle switches on the left side of the X-15 cockpit, igniting +each of the eight barrels of the rocket engine. They roared to life +with a noise that could be heard for twenty miles across the desert. + +A long blast of rocket exhaust--flame, fire, and smoke--spewed from +the rear of the X-15. The little ship strained against its ground +moorings. One barrel of the engine ignited improperly and, as +designed, automatically shut down. The other seven blazed on, gulping +the fuel at the rate of two and a half tons a minute. Then after 250 +seconds, fuel exhausted, the seven barrels “blew out” or stopped, +making a “pop-pop-pop-pop-pop” sound. The ground crew moved in to +check the results. + + * * * * * + +The ground tests on the X-15 rocket engines, supposedly reliable X-1 +types with a great backlog of experience, revealed many surprising +weaknesses and faults. It might have been a case of familiarity +breeding contempt. Or perhaps the experts who had originally designed +and wrung out these engines had moved on to other fields, leaving +behind personnel lacking their genius. There were many difficulties +too in the X-15’s infinitely complicated tankage and fuel plumbing +system. + +The regulator valve on the Lox tank is one good example. That +extremely sensitive piece of equipment was tested in the laboratory +at least ten thousand times. Yet when we put it in the airplane, it +failed again and again. Each time it failed, the ground crews had to +tear into the airplane to get inside and replace it. + +The tale of woe with this single valve would make a book in itself. +Charlie Feltz, Bud Benner, and John Gibb, his assistant, stayed up +around the clock many nights, almost hand-building and testing new +regulators. Then, like some priceless set of jewels, these were +carried to Edwards by hand and installed in the airplane--only to +fail again at the crucial moment. Before long, Stormy entered the +picture. He and the engineers redesigned the valve a dozen times. I +don’t think any valve in the history of the world received so much +high-level probing, so much laboratory testing, so much money and +engineering man-hours. This single item had to be perfect. A failure +could cause a catastrophe in the air and wash out the whole X-15 +program. + +Slowly--all too slowly for my money--our complex bird was gaining +in reliability, inching ahead toward the pay-off point. Her story +was accumulating in tens of thousands of pieces of paper--reports, +work change-orders, engineering analyses, written by hundreds of +people. Our ground crews, feeling their way with this strange tiger +and her dangerous fluids, grew in maturity and experience. Where +once they resembled a platoon of raw recruits, they now worked with +carrier-deck efficiency and enthusiasm. + +But men are fallible. They can’t think of everything. Somewhere an +obscure mistake was made, and the consequences were nearly disastrous. + +After a ground engine run one day, I hurried to my Bonanza and flew +back to the plant in Los Angeles. When I landed, one of the company +guards came up to me and said: + +“Is it a total loss?” + +“Is what a total loss?” I asked. + +“The X-15. Didn’t you hear? She blew sky high.” + +I raced for a telephone and put through a call to Q. C. Harvey, my +mind spinning with anxiety and apprehension. Q.C. got on the phone +and rattled off the awful story. + +After I had left, the ground crew began grooming the X-15 for +her next test. Part of this routine called for purging the +hydrogen-peroxide lines of all residual liquid. This was usually +accomplished by connecting a nitrogen gas hose to a fitting on the +outside of the X-15 and blowing gas through the plumbing. Despite +careful procedures and great caution the hose used for this had +a residue of oil, doubtless left there a long time back when it +was tested in some remote factory. When the mechanic applied gas +pressure to the hose, the film of oil was forced into the X-15 +hydrogen-peroxide lines. When these two hostile chemicals met, a +violent explosion was set off. Fire raced through the engine bay of +the airplane. + +The firemen at Edwards rushed to the X-15. By then the ship was +an inferno of flame and white smoke, reminiscent of the Queenie +explosion. They put out the fire, but not before it inflicted severe +damage in the engine bay. The fire gutted the rear end of the +airplane. When the peroxide blew, one of the X-15 crewmen was badly +burned. If he had been standing two feet closer, he would probably +have been killed. + +It took weeks to repair the airplane. + + * * * * * + +24 July, 1959. Forty-six days since my first glide flight in the +X-15. The fire damage in X-15 number two had been repaired. The +rocket engine had been tested on the ground several more times. The +Lox tank helium regulator had been redesigned and replaced almost +daily. Now we were nearing the second big milestone: a powered flight. + +But before this could take place there were many more pieces to fit +into our technological puzzle. X-15 number two had not yet been +aloft. No X-15 had yet been aloft with fuel on board. + +Uppermost on the list of items to check was the B-52 Lox top-off +system. As previously related, unstable Lox “boils” away at a fast +rate at high altitude. As much as 600 pounds an hour of the X-15’s +four tons of Lox evaporates through the tank vents. This loss could +throw the ship seriously out of balance at launch time. A Lox loss +also reduces the rocket-engine running time. + +The B-52 Lox top-off system is a highly sophisticated piece of +machinery, far advanced over anything installed previously in +mother planes at Edwards. A complicated pressure system moves the +Lox from two huge storage tanks in the B-52 belly, through pipes in +the B-52 wing, down into the X-15 mating pylon, and then into the +X-15 Lox tank itself. A probe in the X-15 Lox tank “senses” when the +Lox supply drops and automatically relays this “word” to the B-52 +storage tank pumping system. Then the B-52 Lox valves go into action, +refilling the X-15 Lox tank. In theory, this system is supposed to +keep the X-15 brimming with Lox all during the climb and the flight +to launch point. The system had been checked on the ground and in +flight many times, although never with an X-15 mounted on the B-52 +pylon in flight. + +I boarded the X-15 at 0830. The ship with its load of Lox was +like some massive deep-freeze. I noticed, for example, that the +temperature of the hydraulic oil in the control system was minus +80 degrees Fahrenheit. We had anticipated that. We would have to +watch this carefully. If it completely froze in flight, it would be +impossible to operate the X-15 control system. I droned off the gauge +readings into my tape recorder. Then I received news from the ground +crew that there would be a two-hour “hold” in take-off. Some seal, +sensitive to the intense cold, had failed at the last minute. + +The take-off delay seemed interminable. When at last the ground crews +finished repairing the faulty piece of X-15 equipment, a baffling +new problem arose. In the repair process the mechanics had removed +an access door on the ship, a piece of the fuselage skin. The X-15, +influenced by its freezing load of Lox, had shrunk considerably in +size. The access door, lying in the hot desert sun, had expanded to +its normal size. Now it wouldn’t fit back in its original place. We +couldn’t go up without it. What to do? Five hundred people wondered. + +It was one of the X-15 crewmen, Joe Jingle, who provided an ingenious +solution. He hurriedly soaked the access door in a bucket of liquid +nitrogen until it shrank enough to fit back in place. As I watched +this operation from the cockpit--Joe’s gloves were too thin for +the intense cold and I knew he was suffering--I was filled with +admiration. Our team was becoming truly professional. + +Charlie Bock poised the B-52 and its precious load at the end of the +runway. We were now much heavier. The Lox in the B-52 storage tanks +and the fuel and Lox in the X-15 had upped the B-52 gross take-off +weight by almost twenty tons, including the extra B-52 jet fuel +required to operate the heavier airplane. The X-15 alone weighed +32,215 pounds, or about the same as a heavily loaded DC-3. Bock +cobbed the engines. It was a long run. We broke ground at 11,500 feet. + +The X-15 and its jewel-like machinery underwent an amazing +kaleidoscope of temperature ranges. On the ground the little ship was +intensely cold. Now as we flew through the hot desert air, it began +to warm up. The hydraulic temperature zoomed from minus 80 degrees +to plus two degrees Fahrenheit. Then as we climbed in the thinner, +colder air, the temperatures fell again to well below zero. I kept an +almost continuous log of these temperatures. It was important to know +just how the X-15 responded. If we overlooked the possibility of a +frozen valve, it could result in serious trouble and more delay. + +Bill Berkowitz in the B-52 reported by radio: “The Lox top-off system +is erratic.” Bill was watching a panel of gauges and lights in the +B-52 which continuously kept tab on the stream of Lox flowing from +the B-52 to the X-15 tank. The lights had signaled a malfunction. +Bill shifted from one B-52 Lox storage tank to the other. But it was +no use. + +“I have no indications here of a top-off,” I reported. + +Something had gone haywire in that sophisticated, vital piece of +machinery. I would have to stay on guard. The X-15 Lox was boiling +away rapidly, imbalancing the airplane. If we had an emergency +launch--always a possibility--I would have my hands full. The system +was intensely cold, it was mechanical, it was electrical, it was new, +Murphy’s Law prevailed: “If it can fail, it will.” (Murphy’s Law, the +enigma of designers, is in engineering lore akin to the natural laws +referred to by Robert Louis Stevenson when he speaks of a piece of +dropped toast which always falls buttered side down, and of assuring +sunshine by wearing a raincoat.) We never really got used to this +tarnish on our most hopeful engineering. + +There followed a half hour of diligent test and search for the +trouble. The top-off system was clearly on the blink. Berkowitz tried +to prove top-off by looking through the closed-circuit television set +beamed on the X-15. But we were not in a TV studio. The expensive set +was not discriminating enough to tell him what was happening at the +overboard spill on top of the X-15 fuselage. We later got around the +inadequacy of the TV circuit by installing a hemispherical window in +the side of the B-52 so Bill could look with his own eyes. + +Following this, we turned to other drills in the sky. As usual, +we proceeded to a launch rehearsal, this time including the +rocket-engine pre-start routine. I pressurized the X-15 fuel and Lox +tanks and for once--or so it seemed--the helium regulator performed +as designed, or as redesigned. At one minute before “Launch” I shut +down the propulsion system. Then to see how long it would take to +get rid of the X-15 propellants at altitude, I jettisoned the six +hundred pounds of hydrogen peroxide, four tons of Lox, and five tons +of Walc. The peroxide streamed away in 140 seconds. The Lox and Walc +tanks, jettisoned simultaneously, ran dry in 110 seconds, leaving a +long white contrail across the deep blue sky. The jettison times were +exactly right. If the X-15 pilot encountered trouble after launch he +would be mighty busy, but we knew he could dispose of nine tons of +fuel before the ship touched down dead-stick on the lake. + +With the exception of the B-52 Lox top-off failure, we considered the +flight a whopping success. The X-15 had weathered its temperature +extremes without difficulty. The pressure suit, the APUs, operated +for the first time in _this_ airplane at altitude, the engine-start +rehearsal and other checks were entirely satisfactory. The fact that +the helium tank regulator worked was a reward for Gibb’s sleepless +nights. In short, once the Lox top-off system had been debugged, the +bird was ready for powered flight. + +In spite of these setbacks, inevitable in a craft so advanced as +the X-15, we were on schedule. Four years before this--in the early +fall of 1955--North American promised delivery of a debugged X-15 +airplane to NASA by August of 1959. Even including a thousand or more +changes from the original concept, including a major shift of mother +ship, and a switch to the interim engine, we believed then that we +would meet this schedule. We would get off one powered flight to make +some of our demonstrations and then turn an X-15 over to NASA. The +agency was eager, although it seemed to me that the line of volunteer +X-15 pilots was beginning to thin out considerably. Bob White and +Joe Walker and their “back-ups” were still in there pitching, flying +chase on most of our flights. However, we noted there was no great +rush of new applicants. + + * * * * * + +We failed to meet our four-year-old X-15 schedule. August, 1959, came +and went without a successful powered-flight demonstration and we +were not able to deliver an airplane to NASA. It took much time to +repair the balky B-52 Lox top-off system and to install an emergency +by-pass in case it failed again. The little ship itself suddenly +developed a hundred minor leaks and pains, each requiring thousands +of agonizing man-hours to rectify. The weeks ticked by at an alarming +rate. Finally on September 4 the X-15 was mated, fueled, and ready. +If all went well on the flight I would drop and fire off the rocket +engine. + +Because our tight schedule had “slipped” by a week, we prepared +for this climactic flight with a growing sense of urgency. All +hands worked and talked as though they were Marines on the verge of +invading a beach-head. On the night before the flight I stayed up +late in the BOQ memorizing the flight plan. We wanted to collect data +readings at about forty different combinations of speed, altitude, +and angle of attack during the flight. After I fell away from the +B-52, there wouldn’t be time to consult the flight plan. + +I arrived at Captain Richardson’s van at 0540, put on the pressure +suit, and checked its systems. By 0625 I was strapped in the X-15 +cockpit. At 0717 the B-52 took off, climbing slowly to launch +altitude. I kept a sharp eye on the gauges, although I was blinded +somewhat by the early morning sun, and droned the numbers into +my portable tape recorder. The B-52 Lox top-off system performed +adequately. As we approached this dramatic moment in X-15 history, we +joshed on the radio. + +“Say,” Charlie Bock called out, “looks like they have a heavy +overcast down in Los Angeles. Scotty, you want to make an instrument +approach in the bird into Los Angeles International Airport?” + +“I don’t have a glide-path indicator in here,” I said. + +“You might create something of a new noise problem with that engine. +Everybody would move away from the airport,” Bock said. + +We climbed to launch point. + +“Seven minutes to drop,” Charlie Bock said. We had reached 38,000 +feet, heading southwest, to make a final turn over Randsburg. Then +we would aim for Mojave, swing over Lancaster, and if all went well +launch over Rosamond Dry Lake. I was busy flicking switches in the +X-15 cockpit. I made a note on the tape recorder: “The black gloves +may look fine with the silver suit, but they have to go. They soak up +the bright high-altitude sunlight and they’re uncomfortably warm.” + +Q. C. Harvey wanted to make certain the Lox top-off was complete. He +broke in from the ground: “Hold at seven minutes.” + +We waited, boring holes in the sky, while Bill Berkowitz checked to +see if the top-off was successful. When he reported it was, Q.C. +“released” us and we proceeded toward the final countdown. + +“Five minutes,” Bock announced. + +“I’m going to pressurize the Walc and Lox tanks NOW,” I said. I +emphasized “now” so that we could get the precise time of the +operation. When I spoke the word I moved the lever that set in motion +the worrisome Lox tank regulator. Helium gas rushed into the large +X-15 tanks. I watched the gauges as they swept from zero to 50 pounds +per square inch in ten seconds. The Lox tank pressure continued up. +Then I heard a strange, loud clank in the rear of the X-15. + +“Oops,” I said on the radio. “What was that?” + +The clank came from a safety relief valve on the Lox tank. Too much +helium gas had rushed into the tank, the pressure was too high, and +it tripped. The helium regulator had failed again. I swept my eyes +back to the gauges. The Lox tank read 65 pounds per square inch. + +I double-checked with the chase pilots: “Is the Lox venting +overboard?” There was clearly no possibility of a powered flight +that day, but I wanted to make certain the safety vent was operating +properly. If not, the mounting helium pressure could cause the thin +X-15 tanks to burst. At 38,000 feet, that could be a real mess. + +“Affirmative,” chase reported. “Safety vent operating.” + +By then I was sure it was operating properly. The vent, in fact, was +flapping rhythmically, in time with the gauges, which fluctuated as +the gas pressure built up in the tanks to limits, tripped the safety +vent, and then fell off again. + +“I’m dead,” I reported on the radio. “Regulator is running away. +Relief vent cycling. Letting out the over-pressure.” + +“Abort,” Q.C. responded. I could imagine his disappointment. I know +because I felt it too. We would have to try again. + +We jettisoned the unused fuel--its cost, about $1,000, was a mere +drop in the bucket--and returned to base. That night, as I recall it, +we spent several very uncomfortable hours in Stormy’s office. For the +next three nights Charlie Feltz, Bud Benner, and John Gibb slept not +at all. They spread their time between the Manufacturing Division and +the Testing Laboratory, hand-carrying the handbuilt helium regulators. + + * * * * * + +There was a new and urgent reason for reaching X-15 flight perfection +at the earliest possible date. Almost casually the U. S. had drifted +to a major turning point in its history of aviation and national +defense. Guided missiles were pushing the manned combat aircraft to +the side. The missile zealots in their eagerness to obtain funds had +convinced the powers that be in Washington that the manned aircraft +was an obsolete concept. Anti-aircraft missiles, such as the Nike +and Bomarc, could do the job of the manned fighter in defending the +nation against air attack, they claimed. Surface-to-surface ballistic +missiles, such as Atlas, Titan, and Polaris, could replace the manned +combat aircraft for the retaliatory mission. + +All of us, of course, believed in missiles. Few could deny that they +would ultimately become a dominant weapon in the deterrent force. +But we believed this day was still a long way off and, moreover, +that there would always be a place for the manned combat aircraft. +Manned airplanes are flexible. They can be moved about or dispersed +quite simply, or shifted in flight from one target to the next, +or assigned to several targets. If there is an alert, they can be +launched and, more important, recalled, if it should all turn out +to be a mistake. Airplanes can approach the enemy’s borders from a +wide range of points on the compass at a variety of altitudes, vastly +confusing the enemy radar warning and interception system. The simple +fact of having manned combat airplanes in our inventory forces the +enemy to take tremendously expensive countermeasures to prepare a +defense against them. Manned aircraft are fundamentally more reliable +mechanically than missiles, and they can be repaired without total +loss if something goes wrong. (This we had demonstrated again and +again in the X-15.) By building military airplanes we keep the art +of aviation alive in this country and enable the nation to compete +and prepare for the fantastic future already being revealed on the +technical horizon. + +In the industry we had noticed the drift a long time ago. I first +picked it up in 1954 during the meeting of the old NACA Aerodynamics +Subcommittee when the X-15 was under discussion. Since then, the +number of Air Force planes on order and types under development +shrank rapidly. As I have related, by the time we began the X-15 +flight-test program there were only _two_ advanced combat Air Force +airplanes on the drawing boards: the F-108 fighter and the B-70 +bomber, both North American designs. In the summer of 1959 as we +approached the climax of the X-15 flight program, we received the +stunning news that one of these planes, the F-108, had been canceled +outright. In the field of Air Force manned combat airplanes for the +future this left only the B-70, and from what we could ascertain it +too was in jeopardy. + +These fateful decisions were made--over the protests of the Air +Force and NASA--by men temporarily on loan to the government from +fields other than aviation. The decisions were made in comfortable +Washington offices far removed from the reality of Cape Canaveral and +Edwards and failing helium-regulator valves. That fall we hoped that +a successful flight of the X-15 might dramatize the validity of the +manned-aircraft concept and bring about a reconsideration of these +decisions. All my life I had staked my all to foster and further the +concept of manned airplanes. Now, with the X-15, we had our last +chance to make intelligence prevail and I intended to help, even if +it killed me. + + + + +CHAPTER 39 ► + + _The Old Pro_ + + +On the morning of September 17 the weather at Edwards was as blustery +as it usually is in the rainy season in December. There was a heavy +cloud layer hovering near the edge of the base. The winds on the lake +bed were gusting to twenty and twenty-five miles an hour. But as I +have said, landings are my strong point. Crosswinds have never kept +me on the ground. On that day I don’t think anything could have kept +me on the ground. “Let’s go,” I said to Stormy and Charlie Feltz. + +And we did. + +Bock lifted the B-52 off the runway at precisely 0730. Major Bob +White, Joe Walker, and Al White, the North American X-15 back-up +pilot, flew chase. Of the forty critical gauges on the X-15 panel, +only one was out of line. The nitrogen gas supply for the equipment +that cooled the electronics gear was sagging. When I called the gauge +readings to Q.C., I deliberately skipped this one. After four years I +knew intimately the requirements of each system. I had three limiting +figures in mind: the specification figure, which was conservative; +our agreed-upon “no go” realistic figure, less conservative, and one +which Harvey must cancel on; and then I had my own absolute minimum +that I knew would not endanger the X-15 (after all, the final +decision is the pilot’s). Today we were going to _fly_. + +At 0756 Bill Berkowitz switched on the Lox top-off. This time it did +not fail. We moved into a launch rehearsal. + +Q. C. Harvey spoke from the ground: “Okay--let’s go ahead.” + +“We’re in good shape,” I said. We were--all but the coolant nitrogen. +Charlie Bock called the ten-minute warning. Q.C. reported the cloud +front holding stationary. The lake bed was clear. + + * * * * * + +Watching the creeping rate on the nitrogen pressure, I made up +my mind we could be committed without hazard. I made last-minute +preparations to fly, zipping through the lengthy check-list fixed to +my knee-pad. At six minutes to launch I started the APUs. At five +minutes to launch I released the pressure to the main tanks. The +helium regulator worked beautifully. At four minutes to launch I +checked the jettison system. I started the fuel-line purge and opened +the main fuel shut-off valves. The pre-heat lights came on green. + +Suddenly I heard a familiar--and ominous--clanking. The Lox tank +safety vent had popped. I thought, here we go again. I sang out +on the radio: “Hold the phone.” Too much pressure had built up +in the Lox tank. I held my breath momentarily, watching the Lox +tank-pressure gauge. It dropped off slowly and the vent reset +properly. The Lox tank regulator had a slow leak. I timed the +pressure cycles and decided it was acceptable. + +“Okay,” I said. Bock resumed the countdown. + +At the one-minute warning we shut off power and oxygen from the +B-52 and the X-15 was in effect “on its own.” I turned on the +rocket-engine master switch and started the prime of fuel and Lox +through the engines. Then I rolled the automatic photorecorders, +which would keep a concise record of all events in the X-15. Finally +I flashed the green launch-light for the second time on Bock’s panel. + +“Ready to go,” I said. + +Bock called the brief countdown: “Three ... Two ... One ... DROP!” + +For the second time in eight flights I fell away from the B-52 pylon +into open sky. My left hand felt the toggle switches which would +light two barrels of the lower motor. I flicked them as soon as I +heard the “kerchunk” of the shackles releasing the X-15. In less than +five seconds my hand moved to the other six toggles, and before I had +dropped 2,000 feet I was able to report: “Got eight of ’em going.” + +On the earlier rocket planes we felt a push, like a gentle kick in +the rump when we lit the rockets. We would feel a much greater push +when the 57,000-pound thrust XLR-99 engine was installed. With the +smaller X-1-type engines, the heavy X-15 responded rather slowly. The +effect is somewhat like opening the throttle on a jet airplane. + +I fell to about 33,000 feet before the rocket took hold and began +pushing the X-15. I reported: “Going uphill at 33,000.” I added: +“Looks good across the board.” It _was_ good--even the helium +pressure, which was still within my absolute limit. + +Since the X-15 has no compass and I cannot see the horizon during the +steep climb, I had to rely on Bock during the first few seconds for +a steer. He reported I was to his right. The F-104 chase planes were +now flying wide open. I soon left them in a cloud of vaporish white +rocket exhaust. + +Pushed by the eight flaming barrels the X-15 suddenly became a +tiny thing of immense power and speed darting across the deep blue +desert sky. Had it not been for my exhaust trail the observers on +the ground could not have followed my course except by radar. More +at ease now after a successful light-off, I directed my attention to +these questions: Did we have a stable airplane? Was it dangerous or +difficult to fly? Were the controls now adequate? + +It was apparent almost instantly that we had built a beautiful +airplane. Her nose held straight and firm without the yaw and pitch +common to most high-performance planes. As I blasted toward the +heavens I alternated between sidearm control and the center stick, +pumping in tentative control motions to feel her out. She remained +sound and stable. Because she is long and slim and has stubby +wings, she was extremely sensitive when I rolled her. But this we +had anticipated and it was no surprise. The plane eased through +the speed of sound imperceptibly with little or none of the usual +buffet-and-control disturbance. + +As I was nearing 50,000 feet I was startled to hear a loud buzzing. +What could it be? My first thought was that an APU unit was +vibrating. But a glance at the gauges indicated they were running +perfectly. It was not until later that I discovered the source of the +noise. The cockpit of the X-15 is so small that when I lean forward +to reach some of the controls my helmet wedges in the V-shaped canopy +glass. The noise I heard was caused by the normal, healthy vibration +of the X-15 machinery. My helmet, which is a kind of sound chamber, +magnified this vibration manifold. I called this noise on the radio +to my subsequent regret. All the vibration experts in the country +have had a field day trying to solve this one. It would never have +been noticed had not my helmet touched. + +Two minutes after launch I reached 50,000 feet and pushed over in +level flight. Then I dropped the nose slightly for a speed run, +meanwhile maneuvering the ship through a series of turns and rolls, +conscious of the deep rumbling noise of the rocket and a great rush +of wind on the fuselage. It was obvious the black bird was in her +element at supersonic speeds. She responded beautifully. I stared in +fascination at the Mach meter which climbed quickly from 1.5 Mach +to 1.8 Mach and then effortlessly to my top speed for this flight +of 2.3 Mach or about 1,500 miles an hour. Then, because I was under +orders not to take the X-15 wide open, I shut off three of the rocket +barrels. As I slowed down, I recalled the agony at Edwards many years +before when we had worked for months pushing, calculating, polishing, +and who knows what else to achieve Mach 2 in the Skyrocket. Now with +the X-15 we had reached that speed in three minutes on our first +powered flight and I had to throttle back. + +About four minutes (230 seconds, to be precise) after launch, the +fuel tanks ran dry and the engines shut down. I got set for the +fast dead-stick landing. As I swung into a turn to line up with the +lake, the X-15’s wedge-shaped tail bit the air and the nose turned +sharply, causing me to comment on the radio: “Very powerful rudders +on this little baby.” + +My altitude was dropping off rapidly. But now, with a total of nine +or ten minutes flight time in the ship, including the first glide +flight, I had complete confidence in her. I had probed her weaknesses +and strengths and knew what would please her or make her angry. +Routinely I called for a re-check of the winds on the lake bed. A +comical exchange, no doubt arising from the tension on the ground, +followed. + +Sam Richter, parked on the lake in his van, consulted the readings +from his anemometer and reported the winds as “four knots.” + +At the same moment Edwards tower reported the winds as “eighteen +knots.” + +“Repeat, please,” I said. The lake was growing larger by the second. +I could see Sam’s van, parked in the row of emergency vehicles. A +crosswind of four knots was no problem. But a crosswind of eighteen +knots required sharp attention at touchdown. + +Sam came back: “Four, repeat four, knots.” + +Edwards tower broke in: “Eighteen, repeat eighteen, knots.” + +Then on the radio circuit Sam and the Edwards tower lapsed into a +debate about the winds. To relieve the mounting tension, I broke in: +“Sambo, why don’t you stick your head out of the van and see how bad +the winds are?” + +Sam stuck by his four-knot figure. Since he was stationed nearest +the landing strip, though still several miles away, I accepted +his estimate and lined up on the north-south runway, disregarding +crosswinds. By now my chase pilots, Bob White and Joe Walker, had +found me and were glued to my wingtips. + +The winds at Edwards are often very variable and Edwards tower, it +turned out, had correctly estimated them for my landing area. They +were very strong from the west. When this fact was established, I +was advised to shift to the east-west runway. But it was too late. +The X-15, “gliding like a brick,” was already too close to the +ground. The men, concerned mainly for my personal safety, were still +cluttering up the air with their debate. I cut them off sharply: + +“I’m committed. Let the chase have the radio.” + +During the turn on base leg I droned the readings on the panel +gauges. I read off the APU bearing temperature as a disastrous 1700 +degrees instead of 170, which is normal. Hearing this on the ground, +Charlie Feltz nearly fell dead. He shouted at Sam: “Wha’d he say? +Wha’d he say?” I quickly reassured him. + +My speed fell off to 250 miles an hour when I crossed the edge of +the lake bed and I blew off the ventral fin. Just at that moment I +thought I heard chase Bob White report his plane had run into the +fin. This would have been catastrophic. + +I was concerned. With only a few seconds remaining before the X-15 +would touch down on the lake, I spoke into the radio: “You fouled the +tail?” + +“No,” White replied. “The chute fouled. It failed to open.” It was a +minor matter. Anyway, the chute did open a split second later. White +dutifully reported this fact with the additional comment, “Isn’t that +nice?” + +I was now beginning to feel the strong crosswind. To compensate, I +aimed the X-15 cross the marked lake-bed runway. My hope was that I +would drift over between the black lines by touchdown. I commented on +the radio: “That’s a pretty good crosswind.” + +Chase White, who was “talking” me down, said: “Very nice.” As a +matter of fact, the ship was flying smoothly. There was no sign of +the violent porpoising I had experienced on the first glide flight. +I held the nose high and seconds before touchdown, at 200 miles an +hour, dropped the rear steel skids and nose wheel and flipped the +flap switch. + +Exactly ten minutes from launch by the X-15 clock the skids dug into +the hard-packed surface and almost instantly the nose fell heavily, +cushioned by the nose wheel. White repeated: “Very nice.” As we +skidded along throwing up dust, I joked: “What do you expect from the +old pro, Daddy-O?” + +This comment was typical of the radio repartee of fighter pilots, who +by nature will admit to no limitations whatever. With God’s help I +had accomplished my mission as I was sure I would; the X-15 and I had +not failed our friends, associates or, if you will, the nation. It +was a great pleasure to confirm this triumph to myself. Involuntarily +I voiced my feelings on the radio. + +At that moment I became aware of a new danger looming in my path. +The crosswind was stronger than I thought and the ship did not drift +over onto the marked runway as I expected. I touched down outside +the right boundary line and skidded at 150 miles an hour directly +toward a deep drainage ditch about a mile ahead. If I coasted into +that ditch, I knew that I could very well wipe out the X-15’s landing +gear or possibly damage the plane more seriously. The old pro, now +feeling sheepish, pushed hard on the rudder pedal, hit the speed +brakes, and dropped the elevators full down, desperately trying to +steer the plane to the left and stop it all at once, to avoid another +F-100 through the hangar wall. I snapped into the radio: “Hollered +too soon, didn’t I? I’m going to coast into that ditch.” I thought: +that’s the way it will always be at Edwards--hero one minute, bum the +next. + +As it turned out, I was only fifty feet off the marks and fortunately +stopped a hundred yards short of the ditch. + +After reporting with relief to Q. C. Harvey, who could no longer +see the X-15, that everything was okay, I tried to open the canopy, +but the release was stuck fast. While waiting for the ground crews +to arrive and let me out, I proceeded with the post-flight chores, +shutting down various systems and taking final readings. The decision +on the coolant gas had been right and all systems looked good. + +Unknown to me, a new and far more serious crisis was developing +in the X-15. A pump casing had ruptured. Alcohol was flowing into +the after engine bay and a furious though not yet visible fire had +broken out. We later calculated that it started just after I blew the +ventral, when I was still fifty feet in the air. + +Sam Richter and Charlie Feltz arrived with the fire trucks, official +observers, and ground-support equipment. The crewmen opened the +canopy from the outside and removed my helmet. I climbed out into the +stiff desert breeze to meet half a dozen outstretched hands. + +Our mutual admiration society was in full flower when Sam spotted +the fire. Dismayed, we all ran to look. Sam waved the fire trucks +toward the tail section. The firemen unreeled the hoses and showered +the tail section with fog. There was still a considerable quantity +of alcohol on board. The X-15 at that moment was like a bomb with +a lighted fuse. We chased the official observers back while the +firemen, with no display of concern for their personal safety, put +out the fire. + +When I got a close look at the rear of the plane I realized again for +the millionth time over the past twenty years that airplanes are not +for the impatient. We would have to retrench and try again and again. +The fire had burned through a large area, melting aluminum tubing, +fuel lines, valves, and other machinery. Before the X-15 could fly +again I knew we would have to rebuild the damaged section completely, +and it would take time. + +The fire was one more delay. The plane was built for the specific +purpose of ferreting out such weaknesses. Our job was to correct +these weaknesses one by one until an irreducible minimum remained, so +that we could then move ahead. The X-15 was earning her way showing +us how to advance. There was a little matter, however, for which we +could all be thankful; if the alcohol fire had broken out one minute +earlier, it is quite likely that the X-15 and the pro at the controls +would have been blown to oblivion. + + + + +CHAPTER 40 ► + + _Bad News with the Good_ + + +“Coming up on 40,000 feet.” + +Jack Allavie in the B-52 called our altitude. It was about fifteen +minutes before launch, October 10, twenty-three days after the first +powered flight and the fire, my ninth trip up in the X-15. The rear +of the ship had been rebuilt in record time; some additional fixes +had been made on the airplane while it was torn down. A new hydrogen +peroxide tank had been installed. + +There were two new faces in the B-52 crew. Charlie Bock was off to +Fort Worth, Texas, to help conduct experimental flight tests on +Convair’s B-58 Hustler bomber, then undergoing its final shake-down. +The B-52 co-pilot, Jack Allavie, moved over to the left-hand seat. +Fitz Fulton, a long-time Edwards mother-plane and chase pilot, got +the right-hand seat. This was Fulton’s third tour at Edwards. He had +launched Yeager, Everest, Murray, Crossfield, Kincheloe, and Mel Apt, +among others. + +The North American launch-panel operator in the B-52, Bill Berkowitz, +bowed out of the flight-test program. One reason was that he was not +able to get adequate life insurance to protect his wife and growing +family. My old friend and cohort from NACA Skyrocket days, Jack +Moise, the lad who was sprayed by hydrogen peroxide on the day of my +record Mach 2 flight in 1953, took Bill’s place. + +I admired Moise. He was a go-getter, a short man with a swarthy +complexion and a cool, even disposition in the air. As an NACA hand, +Moise pulled Joe Walker out of the burning X-1-A at 30,000 feet just +before they threw it away. For this he was given a citation praising +his courage, and a near-absolute guarantee that he would never be +fired from the government, no matter what turn his life might take. +But he decided to forego this big chunk of security to join the X-15 +team. We were glad to have him. With Moise and Fulton in the B-52 it +was like Old Home Week. + +Moise was then struggling with the B-52 Lox top-off panel. “I can’t +pressurize the B-52 Lox tank,” he reported. “Something is wrong.” + +Murphy’s Law? Not again, I thought, not on Moise’s and Fulton’s first +flight. + +“I’ve tried the emergency by-pass,” Moise reported. “Tank pressure +will not rise.” The critical Lox had stopped flowing to the X-15 +tank, unbalancing the airplane. There was nothing Moise could do. We +were finished. + +“Abort,” Q.C. announced with stark finality. + + * * * * * + +It was October 14, my tenth flight in the X-15, my fifteenth hour +airborne in my nest beneath the B-52 wing. After the Lox top-off +failure the ground crews had prepared the ship for flight in the +amazingly brief time of four days. We were ready. + +When we passed 35,000 feet, the X-15 ram-air door open, the +full-pressure suit came into play, holding the flesh of my body in +a glove-like grip. At 41,000 feet I strained forward to close the +ram-air door so that the cabin pressure would build to its normal +level of 35,000 feet and relieve the pressure in the suit. + +When I closed the ram-air door the nitrogen gas, as designed, built +up in the cockpit at a rapid rate. The cockpit “altitude” dropped to +35,000 feet and the pressure suit relaxed. Allavie and Fulton steered +the mother plane toward launch point. My eyes swept back and forth +across the instrument panel, routinely checking gauges. I noted then +that the cockpit altitude was falling rapidly. It was down to 30,000 +feet. Something was wrong. There was a regulator in the cockpit which +was supposed to allow the flowing nitrogen gas to escape, maintaining +a constant 35,000-foot altitude in the cockpit. + +I kept my eye fixed on the cockpit pressure gauge. As the nitrogen +built up inside the cockpit, the altitude dropped to 29,000, then to +25,000 and below. We were courting possible disaster. As the cabin +altitude dropped toward an earth-like level, it became far more dense +than the thin air outside the plane at 41,000 feet. If the difference +became too great, I knew that the dense gas inside, seeking to +equalize the pressure to the thin air outside, would cause the +cockpit to explode for the same reason that an over-inflated rubber +balloon pops. I opened the ram-air door to relieve the pressure. + +“Delay the countdown,” I radioed, asking Jack Allavie to circle the +B-52. Then I added: “Hey, Q.C., I’ve got something bothering me. +The cabin goes from 41,000 down through 20,000 and I don’t dare let +it go any further because it’ll bust it. There’s too big a pressure +difference here.” + +Q.C. consulted his team of experts and relayed some technical +suggestions. I recycled the pressurization and asked Allavie to make +another turn. + +“Oh, boy!” I radioed. “That thing pressurizes like mad. I don’t +dare let it go below 20,000 feet, do I? Let’s think about this a +minute.” I was very much concerned. A cockpit explosion of the X-15 +could inflict irreparable damage on the X-15 and her pilot and very +probably drastically damage the mother plane. I recycled the system, +again to no avail. I knew then, once again, we were finished. I had +planned to fly the ship to 60,000 or 70,000 feet. With the cabin +pressure on the blink this was out of the question. + +“Abort,” I radioed. + +Later on the ground we discovered that somehow moisture had +accumulated in the cabin regulator and frozen it shut. One more +pre-flight item to check was added to the growing list. + + * * * * * + +“One minute to drop,” Jack Allavie intoned. + +“X-15 oxygen ON,” I said. Then: “Data burst.” + +It was October 17. The X-15 ground crew had shattered its own +record: it had made the ship ready for flight in three days. It was +a beautiful fall day in the desert. The sky was deep blue and clear. +Far to the north of us a few feathers of wispy cirrus reached toward +the heavens. In the X-15 cockpit all gauges were in the green. + +“40 seconds.” + +“Engine master switch ON.” + +“Both primes coming on NOW.” + +“Five. Four. Three. Two. One.” + +“DROP.” + +“Kerchunk.” And for the third time the X-15 fell away from the B-52. +My left hand was resting on two of the rocket-barrel switches. As +soon as I heard the shackles rattle, I flicked the switches. Then my +hand moved rapidly to the other six. Within five seconds all eight +barrels were running wide open. + +An amber light flashed on near my knee. It was the roll damper, the +automatic device which would help stabilize in roll, help to prevent +severe, unexpected, or violent roll. It was out. No matter. I would +simply be careful in roll control. + +“Roll damper out,” I said. + +The ship felt a little sluggish. I missed the powerful punch of the +Skyrocket. + +“Going uphill.” + +I moved the sidearm control ever so slightly with my right hand. The +nose came up gently. The altimeter and Mach meter climbed. Following +an item on the flight plan, I then pulled the nose up steeply until +the plane shuddered in protest. It was a check of the “buffet” point. +I repeated this maneuver twice. + +“Buffet at Mach .8,” I said. + +“Going uphill. Supersonic.” + +The X-15 Mach meter approached Mach 1.6 and locked there. One minute +had gone by. + +The recovery maneuver caused my check-list, mounted in spiral rings +on a pad on my knee, to flip ahead several pages. I knew the list by +heart. But I always tried to follow each page, just to be doubly sure. + +“I’ve lost my place,” I said. I flipped back through the pages. +“Never mind. Found it again.” + +“Going through 40,000 feet.” + +The roll damper was still out. Now I would see how much I needed that +roll damper. I moved the sidearm control. The right wing flipped up +sharply. I reversed the control. The right wing dropped and the left +came up swiftly. With a little more control I could whip the ship +horizontally through the air like a spinning bullet. In level flight +I balanced on a knife-edge. + +“It’s very sensitive to roll,” I radioed. + +“Pulling to a 1.8 G turn. Yaw.” I kicked the nose to one side in an +attempt to define the ship’s sideslip characteristics. + +“Pushing over at 55,000.” I leveled the nose. The pages of my spiral +notebook flipped again. + +“Lost my place again.” + +“What’s that?” It was Q.C. I could almost hear Charlie Feltz +muttering: “Wha’d he say? Wha’d he say?” + +“Never mind,” I said. + +I banked and dived. The G meter registered two. Then I deliberately +sideslipped. I leveled out. The Mach meter climbed steadily: 1.6, +2.0, 2.4, or about 1,600 miles an hour. I had edged over my 2.0 +restriction for a few seconds. + +Only three other men had flown that fast. Yeager had, and he almost +died in the try. Pete Everest had. Mel Apt had gone to Mach 3. But +he died in the X-2. The temptation to forge ahead and smash Apt’s +record, which I could easily do in the X-15, was very great. The +plane was running like a dream. All I had to do was let the rocket +engines burn a little longer, build up a little more speed and +then.... Crossfield, the first man to fly at twice the speed of sound +and the first man to fly at three times the speed of sound ... and +live. But no, that was reserved for someone else, for Joe Walker and +Bob White or, if they died, their back-ups. I was an engineering +test pilot. It was necessary that I adhere to plan in the air. If I +deviated from plan, violated the discipline, then my value as an +engineering test pilot was zero. Dependability, perfection, these are +the prerequisites of the test pilot. Too many airplanes and pilots +have paid for violating the intelligence of planning. The X-15 would +not. + +I shut down several of the rocket barrels. I pulled the nose up and +climbed quickly to 67,000 feet, my maximum planned altitude for the +flight. Then as the remaining rocket barrels burned out, I nosed +the X-15 into a steep, supersonic dive to check her stability going +downhill at Mach 1.5 without rocket power. + +“Burnout,” I said. + +At 50,000 feet I leveled out and my speed abruptly fell off to +subsonic. It was time to begin thinking about the landing. At that +moment my eye caught a blur flashing across my nose, dead ahead. +It was NASA chase pilot Joe Walker in an F-104, joining up fast to +escort me back to the lake bed. He was close. + +“There goes my chase--right across my bow!” I called on the radio. + +“About eight per cent fuel remaining. Going to jettison.” I pushed +the lever and a long trail of white vapor flowed into the sky in my +wake. + +“260 knots. 30,000.” + +“I’m going to land a little long this time,” I said. + +I laid out my approach for the dry-lake landing strip, reporting my +choice of direction by radio to the chase. At 8,000 feet, I turned on +my final leg and for the third time got set to put the X-15 on the +ground. + +Just then I thought I saw an airplane on the lake near the spot I had +picked to land. I snapped in the radio: “There’s an airplane down on +the lake.” I was committed. There could be no further maneuvers. At +the X-15’s glide speed on final, 280 miles an hour, I would touch +down in twenty seconds. + +The “airplane” turned out to be the emergency helicopter which hovers +near the landing area. It was almost directly below me when I dropped +the ventral fin. I radioed: “Hope that helicopter doesn’t get hit.” + +Luckily it didn’t. As I pulled the X-15 nose high, feeling for the +ground, chase White reported: “You’re looking good, buddy.” + +The flaps were slow in extending. I landed with 28 degrees of flaps +instead of 40, which made the touchdown a little faster than usual. +Even so, I judged it the best X-15 landing I had made. As was his +custom, Q.C. radioed: + +“Everything all right?” + +For once everything _was_ all right. No fire, no porpoising near the +ground, no other major malfunctions. It was judged a near-perfect +flight from a mechanical standpoint. + +“No sweat,” I replied. + +I called the gauges and opened the ram-air door to relieve the +cockpit of nitrogen gas pressure so that I could open the canopy +without undue strain. The ground crews arrived. The men lifted +the X-15 onto its special trailer and towed it back to the North +American hangar. Captain Richardson met me in his support van with a +full-blown martini. + + * * * * * + +Not many days after that flight I received a startling piece of +news. I had been promoted, or more precisely I had been granted a +clearly defined slot in North American. No longer just a consultant +for the X-15 and its demonstration pilot out on a limb, I was made +Chief Engineering Test Pilot of the division, working directly for +George Mellinger, long-time manager of North America’s Engineering +Flight Test. Here was one more handhold to insure the building of +airplanes so that a pilot can fly them. Slowly but surely the trend +that started in 1942 with the deaths of Eddie Allen and Jimmy Taylor, +of airplane design growing foreign to pilots’ needs, was reversing. +It now takes legions of engineers to build an airplane, and then in +hindsight there is a pitifully slow and expensive stewing by the test +pilot to make the fruit of this endeavor palatable. + +In my life, it seems, bad news usually comes with the good. Shortly +after my promotion, or assignment, we received the stunning word that +the B-70, the last of the Air Force future combat airplanes, had been +severely cut back. According to the Air Force, North American would +build only one prototype, a gutless shell with no armament or weapons +system. All the major subcontracts were canceled. North American +would make the complete airplane on much the same pattern by which +we had built the experimental X-15. In the aircraft trade this +“cutback” was interpreted as stage-setting for complete cancellation +of the project in the following Air Force budget. The cut left North +American without any airplanes in production except a few twin-jet +executive-type T-39s. The last of the advanced manned airplanes was +all but gone. + +The news left me bewildered. Now at last I was on the point of +achieving my dream of being an engineering test pilot in a position +to do some substantial good. But there would be no airplanes to fly. +We were all dismayed at this incredible break in history. We were +almost finished de-bugging the X-15. But there would be no airplanes +to benefit from the data we collected in the flights. The dire +prediction of one of my fellow pilots at NACA years before--that the +X-15 would be the last of the manned aircraft--seemed to be coming +true. We were not opening a new era in aviation at all. We were +closing one. Unless.... + + * * * * * + +The briefing room was crowded with Air Force and NASA brass. Stormy +was holding forth with his limitless energy, in his persuasive, +articulate, prophetic way. On the blackboard behind him was a drawing +of Saturn, the giant booster rocket under development by Wernher +von Braun and his team of ex-German rocket experts at the Army’s +Ballistic Missile Agency in Huntsville, Alabama. Perched atop Saturn, +a cluster of eight Jupiter rocket engines generating a staggering 1.5 +million pounds of thrust, was an ICBM-type second stage, and on top +of that a familiar shape, the X-15. + +“We figure the X-15, carrying two pilots on a maximum shot, could +be put into orbit hundreds of miles above the earth. Or with a +scientific or military payload of thousands of pounds, not including +the weight of two X-15 pilots, the ship could be put into a lower +orbit. The target date is, say, three or four years. By then our +current X-15 will have accumulated more than one hundred powered +flights. The ICBMs should be fully operational. Saturn itself +will have been fired many times. We believe this is the logical, +thoughtful, and economic approach to manned space travel. Many +improvements to the X-15 will be required, of course, but we will +begin from a firm foundation of experience. Many of the present X-15 +systems are adaptable for true space flight. We will have amassed +considerable flight-test experience, which is not acquired overnight, +as you know quite well. We have an active flight-test team in being +today.” + +Much later I asked Stormy: “What do you think?” + +“I don’t know, Scotty. NASA is pretty much absorbed with the Project +Mercury capsule approach. The Air Force is reluctant to move because +of the ill-defined lines of authority and maybe because the X-15 +is NASA-inspired and NASA-controlled, and you know the President’s +directives in this area. The Air Force, I think, will probably +award study contracts for specific kinds of orbiting vehicles yet +to be invented. We’ll keep trying. But I think politically our idea +is neither fish nor fowl and because of that--certainly not for +technical reasons--we may be left out in the cold.” + +“We can’t let this thing just wither and die right on the verge of +success,” I said. “Too much has gone into it, too much can come out +of it.” + +“But it’s hard to get a point like that across, Scotty. People +are too busy. Too many committees. Too many phone calls. Too many +investigations. Too many specialists in details are growing up, +building empires around special theories, turning their backs on the +hard facts of operations.” + +“Well, maybe I’ll write a book and try to get all this across,” I +said. + +“Go ahead,” Stormy said. “But I’ll tell you _that’s_ a big job in +itself.” + +And, as usual, Stormy was right. + + + + +CHAPTER 41 ► + + “_You Have a Fire!_” + + +Five days after the second successful powered flight we were airborne +again. On this flight we deliberately loitered at altitude over +Edwards to simulate the long trip to the X-15’s ultimate launch point +over Utah. We spent the time on several launch rehearsals. Then we +moved into the real thing, ticking off the items on the check-list +with the precision of long practice. + +“One minute to launch,” Jack Allavie called. + +The X-15 was humming to perfection. The APUs were churning out +electricity and hydraulic power. My left hand reached for the valve +to shift my oxygen supply from B-52 to X-15. I flicked my wrist, but +nothing happened. The valve was jammed. + +Involuntarily I made some unintelligible comment on the radio. + +Q. C. Harvey came back instantly: “What’s the matter, Scott?” + +“I can’t switch over the oxygen. I’ve got to hold. Hold the +countdown.” + +Seldom in my flying career had I been so thoroughly disgusted. That +an elaborate, expensive flight might be canceled by the seizing of a +fifty-cent valve seemed just too much. I worked it back and forth to +try to loosen it. + +“This one’s got me stumped, Q.C.,” I said, trying to think of some +way to free it. With both hands I tried to turn it by main strength +and ripped a seam in my left glove from the pressure. Using my +knee-pad as a lever, I tried to crack it free by hitting the pad with +the heel of my hand. My tape recorder picked up the thud of this +futile pounding. The gloves I was wearing on that flight were made +of an experimental material, since discarded. When I tore them, I +had to give up. We could not fly the X-15 without full-pressure suit +protection. + +“Q.C.,” I grumbled, “I’m afraid we’re dead.” + +A few minutes later the windshield frosted over, a trouble we had +not experienced since the first captive flight. It was solid ice. No +amount of scrubbing with my ripped gloves, no amount of defogging +heat would remove it. If the oxygen valve had worked and we had +launched, I would have found myself in serious trouble indeed, +strapped in the X-15 flying blind. I wondered: Is Someone looking +after us? + + * * * * * + +In late October the capricious desert weather led us a merry chase. +The rainy season, unpredictable but usually falling in December, +came early. Black clouds towered out of the Edwards basin. Scattered +showers pelted the parched dry lakes, dampening and slicking the +surface. We waited, hoping until the last moment, before canceling +each flight. Much of the time the X-15 was kept mated to the B-52. +With December’s heavy showers, which could close the lake for several +months, drawing ever closer, many of us were anxious, on the eve of +continued success, to keep the team in training. + +While chasing the weather during the last week in October, a +situation arose that was obviously ridiculous, yet one that could not +be completely ignored. Security informed us they had received a tip +that Wernher von Braun and I would be assassinated on October 29. +Some people wanted to cancel the flight scheduled for the next day. I +objected. To protect our bird, however, we doubled the guard on the +B-52 and the X-15. The North American Security Force offered me a +bodyguard which I declined. I was worried only that some maniac might +harm Alice and the children. On the afternoon of October 28 I flew +down to Los Angeles and spent that evening and the next at my home in +the community of Westchester, bordering the Los Angeles International +Airport. + +October 29 passed with no assassination attempt and we heard nothing +more about the “plot.” Weather again forced a cancellation of the +flight that day and on October 30. + +On Saturday, October 31--Hallowe’en--the weather was marginal but +we scheduled a flight. The meteorologists doubted that it would +clear for at least twenty-four hours. But we have all long since +learned that meteorology, like psychology, in aviation is a loosely +organized superstition and that it is foolhardy to schedule flights +according to weather predictions, especially in the desert. Stormy +and I flew from Los Angeles to Edwards in my Bonanza and toured the +area, intently observing the cloud formations. A warm-weather front +was moving in from the east, a rare occurrence on the desert. It +was indeed a marginal situation. I felt it was worth a gamble and +after our survey Stormy agreed. If nothing else, even a captive +flight would be useful and would not waste the efforts and spirits of +our ground crew; they had worked almost continuously for two weeks +keeping the X-15 primed. + +We took off late--0940--and by the time we reached launch altitude +the freak easterly front had closed Cuddeback Lake emergency landing +strip. This was our intended launch point. We pressed on. Nearby +Rosamond Lake was still clear. I radioed Q. C. Harvey. + +“I recommend we go as quickly as possible into a launch and that I +make a subsonic local flight.” My thought was that as long as we had +come this far, a slow flight of the X-15 was better than no flight at +all and we needed the data. + +There were murmurs of protest on the radio. But I voted to continue. +I was not being foolhardy. It’s just that I have an inherent fear +of “cancelitis,” an insidious disease which, as we have seen, has +afflicted many experimental airplane programs. When it sets in, the +program loses its sense of urgency, and apathy seeps clear through +the ranks from pilot to mechanic. We could not afford to let this +happen. + +When the ground command post agreed to my idea for a slow-speed +flight, I radioed Q.C. again: “Now I want you to do something for me. +Keep an eye on that front. If it gets one bit farther west, I’ve got +to cancel this flight.” + +We began the launch procedure with all hands keeping a sharp eye on +the front. A few moments before launch the ground station detected a +rapid cloud advance. I radioed chase Al White: + +“Al, do you think you could see the west edge of the lake from about +15,000 feet downwind?” In other words, I was asking if it would be +possible for me to see to land the X-15. + +“Scotty, I can just barely see the lake through the edge of the +clouds.” When I heard Al’s reply I knew we were finished. The front +had moved in. + +Sam Richter came on the radio: “We strongly recommend we cancel this +flight.” Sam knew I would read “we” as “Stormy,” who never used the +radio. It was clear that he was anxious. A strong recommendation +from Stormy was, of course, an order. “Okay,” I replied glumly, even +though I certainly agreed. + +We shifted to a launch-rehearsal procedure. Just before the simulated +drop I radioed for the wind speed and direction on the lake, an +ironic gesture. Some people on the ground thought I might still be +seriously considering an actual drop. Q.C. quickly came on and said: + +“No launch, of course, Scotty.” + +After the rehearsal I radioed again in a voice heavy with irony: +“Beautiful launch.” + +We jettisoned fuel and Lox and landed. Three hours later, as if +nature were deliberately mocking us, defying us to penetrate the +secrets of space, the lake bed was unpredictably clear. By then it +was too late for a second try. + + * * * * * + +So far we had conducted most of the X-15 flights--circular +patterns--within about twenty miles of the Edwards base. Now as we +advanced in our flight-test program, we planned to drop the ship +farther out, to enable me to fly in a straight line and subject +the X-15 to high-speed and high-altitude maneuvers to define her +safe-flying limits. We selected the new, more distant launch points +so that a flight would always begin over one of the dry lakes. If the +engine failed or some other malfunction occurred, I could land. If it +performed as expected, I could fly back to Edwards on my own steam +and land on Rogers. + +Two launching points that appealed to us were Cuddeback and Three +Sisters Dry Lakes, about seventy miles from Edwards as the crow, +or rather the X-15, flies. But our plan to launch over these lakes +was complicated by the rapidly changing and generally deteriorating +desert weather. Rain dampened Cuddeback and Three Sisters. Some +“experts” said that an emergency landing on these lakes would be like +landing in a marsh. + +Everyone who has ever flown at Edwards has his own unscientific and +usually inaccurate method for testing the “dampness” and strength of +the dry-lake beds. One system is to poke a rod in the sand. I flew up +to Cuddeback in a light plane to make my own test. It was damp but +adequate, and since I would land there only in an emergency and I +really did not anticipate an emergency, I proposed the longer-range +launch at Cuddeback, rather than continue to idle around Edwards and +delay the program. + +Roy Ferren, North American’s Chief Flight Test Engineer, was against +launching over Cuddeback. He argued for more experience with launches +closer in, over Bouquet Canyon Reservoir, say, which was within glide +distance of Lake Rosamond, then in better shape than Cuddeback. +Ferren made a good case and I conceded he had a point. In light of +the near-disaster that followed, it was probably fortunate for both +me and the X-15 program that he prevailed. + +There was nothing in the take-off and pre-launch routine that +day, November 5, to indicate a new and formidable crisis was in +the making. The X-15 and B-52 were tight as ticks: no valves or +regulators were leaking, the nitrogen pressure, APUs, Lox top-off +system, pressure suit--everything--all perfectly tuned, so much so +that I reported by radio: + +“Take out the X-15 handbook, Q.C. See what the instrument-panel +gauges should read. That’s what I’ve got.” + +We bore down on the Bouquet Canyon Reservoir launch point at Mach +0.82 and 45,000 feet. After thirteen flights in the X-15, including +the launches, I worked almost routinely in the cockpit. I turned on +the rocket-engine master switch, shifted to X-15 oxygen, and finally +flashed the green launch-light in Jack Allavie’s cockpit in the B-52. +I was hoping that day, if all went well, to inch the X-15’s speed to +Mach 2.6 or about 1700 miles an hour, and to fly to 80,000 feet. At +higher speed it was easier and safer to make our demonstration points +and because of this neither NASA nor the Air Force seemed intent on +enforcing the Mach 2.0 speed restriction on North American. + +“DROP.” + +For the fourth time I heard the familiar “kerchunk.” The X-15 fell +away in free flight. Striving for a fast light-off I leveled the ship +with my right hand and flicked the rocket switches with my left. I +lighted number two and number four barrels on the lower motor first. +Then I flicked number two and number four barrels on the upper +motor. Then number three and number one on the upper. When I threw +the toggle on number three and number one of the lower motor, the +last two barrels, I felt a tremendous jar. The whole airplane shook +violently, an explosion that seemed to be right behind me. My first +thought was that the APU had blown again. + +The ship was picking up speed. My eye swept to the APU gauges. They +were in the green. The APU had not failed. I was puzzled. Then I +noticed that the pump for the lower rocket motor was overspeeding +and shutting down, indicating a malfunction. An amber warning light +flashed on in the cockpit. The flight was done before it began. I +shut off the four switches for the lower motor. + +About five seconds had ticked by. At that instant chase pilot Bob +White, who was flying his F-104 close by the tail of the X-15, +snapped on the radio: “Looks like you had an explosion in the rocket +motor.” Almost simultaneously a fire-warning light flashed on my +instrument panel. + +For a rocket-plane pilot this is a pure and simple moment of truth. +In the past, four rocket planes had exploded and caught fire: the +X-1-A, X-1-D, X-2, and “Queenie.” Each was demolished. Two choices +lay open: to pull the ejection-seat handle and bail out, or to ride +the ship out and try to save her. The thought of a bail out never +occurred to me. I’m paid to bring airplanes back, not throw them +away. My course was set when I first stepped in the airplane. + +Working swiftly to minimize the chance that the fire might spread, +and to prevent the ship from flying beyond reach of Rosamond Dry +Lake, I shut down the rocket engines and closed the fuel lines. All +the while I held the ship in level flight. + +Chase White, his voice rising with concern, said: “You have a +_fire_!” From his position in the F-104 he could see the flames +streaming from the rear of the X-15. + +I had completed the shut-down and was thinking ahead to the emergency +jettison when Bob White, now very worried for me, radioed: + +“You have a fire! _Please_ shut down.” + +With no thrust to maintain her air speed, the X-15 was sinking +rapidly. I glanced at the altimeter: 32,000 feet. In two minutes I +would be on the ground. I spoke on the radio: + +“Going to jettison NOW.” + +The heavy stream of Lox and Walc and hydrogen peroxide trailed +through the sky behind me. The fire-warning light flickered out. I +radioed White: + +“Bob, I’m going to put down on Rosamond. Please let me know when we +have reached the center of the lake.” I was thankful then that Roy +Ferren had vetoed the Cuddeback launch. It might have been a mess. + +“Jettison looks good,” White reported. “I don’t see any sign of the +fire now.” + +“Where’d it come from? Could you see?” I asked. + +“I think it was the lower engine.” + +“Thank you,” I said. That fact tied in with the overspeed and +shutting down of the lower pump. In my mind I envisioned the complex +plumbing system, trying to guess what might have happened. How long +would it take to fix it? How much more delay would these supposedly +reliable engines, with so much time on them, cause us? + +The jettison was completed in 114 seconds. There was still a little +fuel left in the tanks. The powerful suction of the rocket engine +usually burns them bone dry. In the less efficient jettison it is not +possible to get all the fuel out. The X-15, I knew, would come in +more than a thousand pounds heavier than the previous three landings. +My thoughts turned to the landing gear. We had been planning to beef +it up following this flight, to give us an added margin of safety. +However, I was confident that the gear would hold. + +Chase White radioed: “We’re almost to the east edge of the lake now.” + +I was surprised. We should have been approaching the lake from the +south. In another fifty seconds I would be touching down. + +“Almost _where_?” + +“Pardon me. Almost to the _edge_ of the lake.” + +“Thank you.” I could tell from White’s radio transmissions and from +others, that the entire X-15 flight-test group was frozen in tension. +Every man was aware of the potential danger of fire in a rocket +plane. Many of them no doubt expected to see an explosion smear +across the sky at any second. To put them at ease, as I turned on +downwind I cracked on the radio: + +“Sorry. I’m going to miss getting the data coming in here.” + +Chase White chanted my decreasing altitude on the radio: “8,000 ... +7,000 ... 6,000 ... 5,000....” I blew the ventral fin and got set +for the approach, holding the X-15 nose high. I keyed my radio mike +so that I could no longer receive radio transmissions which might +be distracting. I lowered the tail skids and nose wheel, pulled the +flaps, and felt for the lake bed. + +The skids dug in gently. The nose slammed down hard and the ship +plowed across the desert floor, slowing down much faster than usual. +Then she came to a complete stop within 1500 feet instead of the +usual 5000 feet. Something was wrong; the skids failed, I was sure. +Not knowing the cause of the trouble and with the fire still very +much in my thoughts, I remained buttoned up in the fireproof cockpit. +My radio was dead. I sat alone, waiting in silence. + +The emergency helicopter reached the X-15 first. I saw North +American’s flight surgeon, Toby Freedman, and Brian Lauffer jump out +of the chopper and run toward the ship. A good sign, I thought. She +wasn’t on fire. I opened the canopy and removed my helmet. + +Toby was the first to speak. “The plane’s busted in two,” he said. + +“What?” I asked. I couldn’t believe it. Quickly I scrambled out of +the cockpit. What I saw almost broke my heart. The fuselage had +buckled immediately aft of the cockpit, two hundred and thirty inches +back from the nose. Her belly had dragged in the sand, causing the +abrupt deceleration on the lake. The rocket chambers which had +exploded at launch were a shambles. + +When Stormy and Sam Richter first heard the report of fire on the +radio, they jumped into a light plane at Edwards and flew immediately +to Rosamond Lake, landing alongside the broken bird. They ran up, +staring in disbelief. A minute later the fire trucks arrived. One of +the firemen, an old friend who had probably met me on the lake in +his truck a hundred and fifty times, cried quietly as he sprayed the +broken plane with water. I felt like crying myself. At first look it +seemed to all of us that that obstinate filly would never break to +bit and was mocking our efforts in the grand plan for space flight. + +I flew back to Edwards in the light plane. There was not much talk. I +changed out of the pressure suit into street clothes. Toby Freedman +examined me briefly for the record. Then we all flew back to the +airplane again. By then the wreckers were there and, sad to say, +some newspaper photographers. It was silly, but when they took their +pictures I smiled. It was a vain attempt to laugh away our anguish, +to tell anybody who might care that we were not defeated--not by a +long shot. And the truth of the matter was, we weren’t. Our course +was set on the stars. + + * * * * * + +In the investigation immediately following the accident, the +explosion was laid to an engine-ignition failure. This was a relief. +At least it was no fundamental weakness in our pioneering airplane, +no design fault. It was simply a piece of bad luck that could have +happened at any time to any rocket airplane, regardless of meticulous +grooming. In retrospect, there was nothing we could have done about +it. But now we would plug this weakness and hope there were no more +like it hidden away. + +That flight proved one thing: the X-15 is a tough bird. When we +trucked X-15 number two to the plant in Los Angeles for a close +factory look at her, she was not so badly damaged. The rocket engine +had to be completely replaced and the shattered engine bay rebuilt. +We put a patch--called a doubler plate--inside the fuselage where +she had cracked, and in thirty days, after a lot of additional work, +she was better than ever. This was an airplane repair record, in any +man’s league. Meanwhile, we rolled out X-15 number one, which I had +not flown since the first glide test. Since then we had been making +her ready for a powered trip into the sky before the rains closed +the lakes. We were ready for flight with X-15 number one in the week +following the near-disaster with ship number two. + +But there was an unanswered question gnawing at us. Why did the +fuselage buckle? My touchdown had not been hard. The plane, with +off-breed engines, NASA instrumentation, and excess fuel, weighed +an additional several thousand pounds. But none of these factors +added up to a broken fuselage, unless we had goofed terribly in the +structure of the ship, something no one could believe. We postponed +flight operations to conduct an agonizing reappraisal, checking and +rechecking the data, probing, thinking, talking. + +It was Charlie Feltz, with his wonderfully intuitive engineering +sense, who came up with an answer that turned out to be correct. +He believed there was something happening in the nose-wheel shock +absorber which denied the airplane the “cushion” it required. Thus, +he said, the strut was unduly rigid at touchdown and that was why it +broke. The laboratory engineers confirmed his theory in a hundred +tests of the nose wheel in the factory. The defect was caused by the +rapid extension of the telescoped nose gear. The gear came down so +fast that the oil in the shock absorber foamed or turned to vapor +which has no shock-absorbing value. Unknowingly, up to then we had +in effect been landing the ship with little or no nose-wheel shock +absorber at all. It was just pure luck that the ship hadn’t broken +before. + +We corrected the defect. To be doubly sure, Charlie asked me to lower +the gear a little bit sooner to give the oil time to “settle down.” +But really, I think, his request was to save wear and tear on his own +frazzled nerves while watching the landings. + + * * * * * + +X-15 number one had been ready for days. But now the rainy season +had set in at Edwards, delaying all flights indefinitely. The first +week of December passed and then the second. The rain thinned out; +the lake beds dried. On December 16, forty-one days after the fire +and explosion, we scheduled our fifteenth flight. My intent was to +make a simple, brief powered flight--the first in that airplane. Then +we would turn the craft over to NASA, approximately three and a half +months behind schedule. + +It was cold in the desert. The ground crews were bundled in heavy +jackets. Stormy, Sam Richter, and I huddled in Sam’s van, while I +read through the carry-over list. One piece of navigating equipment, +installed for the deep-space probes, was out. But this would in no +way affect our demonstration flight. + +After I put on my pressure suit I sprinted from the van to the X-15 +boarding ladder, a vain attempt to instill some life and enthusiasm +in our operation. The morale of the X-15 ground crew was sagging. A +rumor had gotten around that our participation in the flight program +was short-lived. A lot of Monday-morning experts could do it better. +Our highly professional team, they thought, would soon be disbanded. +Many of the men would be looking for other jobs. + +We were airborne by 0830, climbing for altitude, intending to launch +over Rosamond. On take-off my radio went out. The others could hear +me key the mike, but not my voice. Routinely Q. C. Harvey shifted +to the mike-clicking system to run through the countdown. One click +from me meant yes; two clicks meant no. While we had this tenuous but +effective communications link, there was no need to cancel. It was a +beautifully clear day. We pulled thick white contrails at altitude. +At 0931 we reached 40,000 feet. + +Q.C. said: “If all okay, Scott, give me one click.” + +I keyed the mike one click. + +Double-checking, Q.C. radioed: “Scott, if you wish to go ahead and +launch without communications, please give me one click.” + +I keyed the mike one click. + +Again rechecking, Q.C. said: “Do you desire to cancel the launch?” + +I keyed the mike two clicks. It’s not possible, of course, but I +tried to transmit a feeling of urgency with those electronic clicks. +They were hard, firm clicks, at least. Why did I need a transmitter? +Its main purpose was to keep people on the ground from getting +lonesome. + +Approaching the launch point I prepared the rocket engine for its +first flight. Four minutes from launch time I turned the valve to +pressurize the main fuel tanks, eyes glued to the gauge. The gauge +indicated a rapid rise and then a sudden fall of pressure in the +tanks. The helium regulator was erratic again. I pressed hard for a +launch: we had a job to do and would get it done, if permitted. + +Two minutes before launch the fuel-tank pressure began to climb +slowly. Hope! + +Q.C. said: “Scott, we understand you still want to launch. If this is +correct, give me one click.” + +I keyed the mike once, firmly. + +“One minute to launch.” + +I tested the flaps and controls. Chase reported they were operating +satisfactorily. I was ready to go. The tank pressure was hanging +within limits, though barely--it would need watching. But at the last +second the tank pressure again began to sag. If I launched, I would +endanger the ship. + +Q.C. came on the radio for a final check: “Scott. Reaffirm that it is +okay to launch. If so, give me one click.” + +With the greatest reluctance I keyed the mike twice. + +“You do _not_ want to launch, is that correct?” + +I keyed the mike once. Then I saw a face in the new hemispherical +window of the B-52. I drew my index finger under my throat indicating +we were finished. We jettisoned and returned to base. The Monday +morning quarterbacks sharply criticized us for attempting to launch +without a transmitter. The same quarterbacks had declared a year +earlier that only one transmitter was necessary, and even this one +was not essential to the X-15 pilot’s mission. + + + + +CHAPTER 42 ► + + _Minor Miracles_ + + +The year 1959 was a shake-down ride for the X-15. In her first +year at Edwards the ship was carried aloft fifteen times. Two of +these trips were planned captive flights with no intent to launch. +The other thirteen were serious attempts to fly. On nine of these +thirteen trips some part of the X-15 failed and the attempt was +called off. Of the remaining four trips one was the first glide +test. The other three were rocket-powered flights. Of the three +rocket-powered flights only one was completely successful. The other +two began or ended in serious emergencies, traceable to the “proven” +X-1-type rocket engine. Moreover, a fire on the ground during a +routine grooming gutted the engine of one airplane. One X-15 cracked +and split open on landing. + +These failures, heartbreaking as they are, are common to all new +high-performance airplanes. In the case of the X-15 we, as old hands, +had long since learned to live with them. They laid the foundation +for a razzle-dazzle success story which immediately followed in 1960. +The X-15 suddenly came out of the mire, flexed her wings, and took +off with a speed and reliability that startled even us. We more than +doubled her flight-test rate and at the same time almost eliminated +all aborts. From January to late May--less than six months--the X-15 +was carried aloft sixteen times. Of these sixteen tries only three +were canceled. The remaining thirteen flights were rocket-powered +runs, with only minor technical difficulties or none at all. On one +of these flights our bird flew faster than any other plane in history. + +For a little while, though, in early 1960 it looked as if we would +never get off the ground. Both number one and number two X-15s had +been repaired. New and stronger landing gear was installed. The birds +were tuned to perfection, as were the two B-52 mother planes. But +heavy rains flooded the Edwards dry lakes. For a time we believed +the lakes might be closed for several months. Impatient to roll, we +investigated the possibility of launching at a distant lake near +Tonopah, Nevada. For some reason this lake seemed immune to the +capricious desert weather. It was dry as a bone. We moved some of the +X-15 ground crew and communications team to Tonopah. When the rain at +Edwards fell off and the lakes began to dry, we canceled the Tonopah +emergency plan. + +On our first flight in 1960--January 23--we took off very late in the +afternoon, having been delayed several hours by an airplane which +crashed and tied up the main runway. I was riding X-15 number one, +which I had yet to fly under power. The launch--at 45,000 feet--was +rough. I rolled hard right and then left and was slow lighting the +engine. But once I got it going, the ship took off like a jack +rabbit, pushed along by a hundred-mile-an-hour tailwind. The airplane +felt cranky and ill at ease. I kept a tight grip on both control +sticks to hold her steady. Even so, she flew like the wind. Tracing +a huge circle of rocket exhaust over the Edwards base, I performed +some special maneuvers laid out in the flight plan. She pushed up +to Mach 2.6--1700 miles an hour--and the chase lost me completely. +Only Everest and Apt had flown faster and we were reigning even with +low-powered engines. + +I was exhilarated. Seventy-nine days had passed since my last +previous X-15 powered flight. The ground crews felt happy, too, I +knew, because the strict radio-circuit discipline was observed by +no one. I keyed my mike in flight and _sang_: “Back in the saddle +again!” Letting down on final, I radioed Q. C. Harvey and asked +him if he’d like me to drive the X-15 up on the NASA ramp. When he +replied, “Sure,” someone else cut in on the circuit and said: “You’d +better get someone to open the hangar door!” A friendly needler, +recalling my near-disaster with the F-100, cracked: “Yes, at both +ends.” The landing was the best I’d ever made. I came in at 220 miles +an hour with a 7½ degree nose-up angle. Because of the delays, I had +spent eight hours in the pressure suit. In more ways than one, it was +a relief to shuck it. + +Only the unusual, uneasy feel of the airplane marred the flight, and +not even this dampened our customer’s eagerness to take possession of +the airplane. On investigation we found that the problem was caused +by a minor maladjustment of the SAS system. This was quickly fixed, +and at NASA’s request after this single powered flight we formally +turned X-15 number one over to the customer--lagging five months on +a five-year-old schedule. Captain Richardson forgot my martini that +day, but NASA director Paul Bikle made up for it. At the post-flight +briefing he presented me with a fifth of Old Taylor. Everybody was +quite happy. The time had come to put the black bird to work. + +The North American flight-test team then turned its complete +attention to X-15 number two, the plane I had cracked on the November +5 landing. Under our contract terms we had to perform a series of +required demonstration points with the airplane. We would show that +the ship was capable of withstanding heavy G forces in a turn, +pull-up or roll. I would dive the ship from extreme altitude to prove +that it would recover satisfactorily. We would test the ballistic +control system, the jet nozzles on the nose and wing which would be +used later to steer the ship in airless space. + +Our first attempt with X-15 number two on February 4 was a dismal +failure, perhaps attributable to “hangar fever.” The plane had not +been in the air for ninety-one days. Everything seemed to go wrong. +The cabin would not pressurize. My radio went out. An APU failed for +the first time in almost a year. The Walc tank-pressure sagged. Even +the jettison was feeble. We landed--the X-15 in its nest under the +B-52 wing--with a great deal of the Lox, Walc, and hydrogen peroxide +still on board. + +After one week of intense fixing we got back into the air again on +February 11. We loitered at altitude, simulating the long ride to the +ultimate Utah launch point. The countdown revealed no malfunctions +and, as still another test, I launched myself from the B-52. The +eight barrels of the engine blazed and I zoomed easily to 90,000 +feet, almost eighteen miles into the sky. I leveled out, rockets +still blazing, to about 2.5 Mach. At burnout I pushed the ship into a +very steep powerless dive, simulating a re-entry from space to earth. +On Murray’s 1954 altitude flight, the X-1-A had tumbled wildly at +this crucial point, but the X-15 held stable. In the dive my speed +held at Mach 2.0, or 1320 miles an hour. At that speed the desert +floor comes up mighty fast. It took me only twenty seconds to dive +from 90,000 to 55,000 feet--almost seven miles. The ship was a little +slow in the dive recovery. Although I pumped in full “up” stabilizer, +she did not pull out until I reached about 50,000 feet. + +Following the dive recovery I made several highly technical +demonstration points. Then because I was curious I popped the dive +brakes at Mach .9. The effect was startling, like hitting a brick +wall. Inadvertently I said “Wow!” over the radio. This set off +Charlie Feltz: “Wha’d he say? Wha’d he say?” On the landing not many +seconds later I caused a little more excitement. I had forgotten to +arm the ballistic charge in the ventral fin. When I pushed the switch +to blow the ventral at 6,000 feet on final, nothing happened. We all +had visions of “the world’s fastest plow” digging a furrow in the +lake bed. I quickly noted my oversight, armed the charge, and blew +the fin before touchdown. On downwind leg before landing, the oxygen +regulator failed and it became extremely difficult to breathe. By the +time the ship stopped I was not able to suck any oxygen at all. But +this was no great emergency. I simply opened the ram-air door and the +visor on my helmet. This flight was considered a whopping success. + +We were rolling hard now, and it is difficult to recall the high +points of the individual flights. On February 17 the upper rocket +engine unaccountably shut down halfway through the run and I finished +the demonstration on one engine. We lost a little ground. But on +the March 17 flight I doubled the number of in-flight data points +and regained what we had lost. The ship flew beautifully, so well +that I exclaimed on the radio: “The _best_ airplane I ever flew.” On +the landing I felt so happy that I did a side-slip to lose a little +excess altitude. This well-known maneuver is not recommended in +modern high-performance airplanes, especially in one like the X-15, +but it indicated our complete confidence in the black bird. + +Our ground turn-around time was now amazingly brief. In fact on +the very next day, March 18, the crew had the airplane ready again +for flight. About ten seconds before I was to cut myself loose (by +then self-launching was adopted as standard procedure in the North +American operation), my chase pilot, Al White--bless him--noticed a +faint trickle of alcohol pouring out of a drain from the engine bay. +He called out, and I instantly canceled the drop. Alcohol spilling in +the engine bay spelled real potential trouble. If I had dropped and +lighted off the engine, it would probably have exploded. The alcohol +leak was traced to a cracked fitting in the maze of engine plumbing. + +On March 25, sixty-two days after we turned X-15 number one over to +NASA, test pilot Joe Walker made his first flight. This time the old +pro, feeling oddly misplaced, flew in a chase plane. Joe took his +time for his first launch. The B-52 made several circles while Joe +held the countdown. But then he cut away cleanly for a brief run. +During the long delay my chase plane ran low on fuel and I had to +return to base. So I missed seeing another man land the X-15 for the +first time. Walker danced a jig on the lake bed to show his elation. + +In the next fifty-five days Walker and Air Force pilot Bob White +made five additional powered flights in X-15 number one. This was an +average of about one flight every ten days, a sustained turn-around +time that beat most previous NASA records, except those we had +established with the Skyrocket in the old days. Bob White experienced +little difficulty in his first rocket-powered flight. He did a +beautiful job, in my opinion. On his third flight, May 19, he zoomed +to an altitude of 107,000 feet. Later, on August 12, he reached +136,500 feet. + +Walker made additional flights. On his third, May 12, he left all +the rocket barrels on for the entire flight and added half a Mach +number to the highest speed I had achieved in the plane. He reached +almost the limit with the small engines, Mach 3.2, or about 2,110 +miles an hour, a world’s speed record. Later, on August 4, he flew +the ship Mach 3.3, 2,196 miles an hour, breaking his own record. + +X-15 number one was performing like the champion she was bred to be. +Walker’s speed run was made on X-15 number one’s seventh consecutive +powered flight with no intervening aborts. No experimental airplane +in history--for that matter, very few conventional airplanes--have +operated so well so soon after delivery from the manufacturer. This +pleased us greatly and almost compensated for the year of frustration +we had been through. + +On March 29, four days after Joe Walker’s first flight, I took X-15 +number two into the air again for additional demonstrations. Most +of these are too complicated to describe in detail. In essence I +subjected the ship to severe strain in a variety of positions and +angles of attack to prove that she would hold together in flight even +under extraordinary circumstances. One of these maneuvers was an +abrupt pull-up which put about six G’s on the ship. The newspapers +made a lot of this flight--the fact that by pulling six G’s I weighed +six times my normal weight, or almost half a ton--but a six-G +maneuver is routine for a fighter pilot. Two days later, on March 31, +I repeated these maneuvers and performed others. + +During April we delayed our flight program temporarily to install and +ground-test the ballistic control system. In principle, the little +hydrogen-peroxide jets are quite simple. However, the installation +is complicated. Both the jets and the APUs use the same source of +hydrogen peroxide. Thus it was necessary to establish a careful +balance between the two--meaning more regulator valves and other +devices which leak. Ultimately this installation and test spun into +another around-the-clock routine, with Stormy prodding us to the +limit. By May 5 we were ready. + +All the difficulties we feared, plus a few more, took place--just +like the early days. At fifteen minutes to drop I operated the +ballistic-control-system lever with my left hand. When I pushed +the lever to the “up” and “down” positions, the hydrogen peroxide +squirted through the jets in the nose. The system was not designed +for operation at low altitude while the X-15 is cold. Thus when the +undecomposed peroxide from the nose jets sprayed back and struck +the windshield, a thick coating of ice was formed. I was sealed in +blind. No amount of defogging gas helped. During the launch rehearsal +an APU turned erratic and shut itself off. We had not yet achieved +the necessary delicate balance in combining all the systems. This +abortive flight touched off another night-and-day work regime that +went on for about three weeks. We were ready again on May 26. + +We took off on schedule. Jack Allavie was flying in the left seat +of the B-52. Fitz Fulton, who had made most of the drops in 1960 +as co-pilot, was replaced by Charlie Bock, back for his first +mother-plane flight in seven months. I was in a flippant, cocky mood. +It was my twenty-fifth flight in the X-15. I had never added the +figures but I suppose by then I had spent some forty hours in the air +under the B-52 wing. + +I had some additional equipment in the X-15 cockpit that day, a +so-called “physiological package,” the type that will be sent aloft +with the Project Mercury Astronauts when and if they orbit the earth. +I was wired like a chimpanzee, with devices to measure my skin +temperature, rate of breathing, heartbeat, blood pressure--everything +but a “rectal probe,” for reference temperature, and _that_ I +refused to buy. All these devices telemetered a constant flow of +physiological data to a group of aero-medical officers on the +ground. I consider this information rather personal, and it seemed +an indignity to have it broadcast so freely. Besides, I question +its usefulness. The roots of capability are in a man’s spirit--a +difficult measurement to get. + +So while we loitered at altitude waiting to launch, I cooked up a +plot to tease the aero-medical officers. For a period of about thirty +seconds I breathed at a heavy rate and wriggled violently in the +cockpit, driving their gauges almost to the limit, I’m sure. Then I +sat rigid--almost yogi-like--and held my breath for a full minute, +during which time the gauges should have sagged to zero. In theory, +I was dead. The aero-medical officers flashed no warning, a subtle +proof that their faith lies in the man, not the equipment. A fine +point can be made here. + +A second trick occurred to me. I knew from long experience in +altitude chambers with aero-medical devices that if I flexed my +muscles violently for a few moments it would drive my EKG (heartwave +trace) right through the ceiling. I planned to do this and then +to pull the plug on the “physiological package” telemetering. The +reading on their gauges would be a rapid heart acceleration and then +a total, mysterious blank. I changed my mind about this at the last +minute because I was afraid I might give Charlie Feltz real heart +failure. + +The launch--my eleventh in the X-15--was beautiful. For the tenth +time my left hand flicked across the rocket-barrel toggles. My right +hand gripped the sidearm control, which I intended to use throughout +the flight and on the landing. I had not used this control on landing +since the first glide flight. During the early stages I was concerned +that if anything dire happened on landing, it would probably be +blamed on that very fine, but new and controversial, piece of +equipment. + +The X-15 zoomed toward the heavens, all eight barrels going wide +open. At 42,000 feet I kicked the rudder and the ship yawed +severely--another demonstration maneuver. I recovered easily and +roared about the sky, turning, twisting, rolling, and spinning like +a bullet, subjecting the plane to unusually heavy strains. My speed +climbed up to Mach 2.7, considerably beyond my Mach 2.0 restriction. +I had let the rocket engines burn a little longer because I needed +the extra power to reach the lake bed. Also the demonstration points +were safer to make at higher speed. + +After engine burnout I coasted silently toward the desert lake, +testing the ballistic control system. I squirted the hydrogen +peroxide through the nose jets, calling “nose up” and “nose down” +on the radio. This was simply a test to see whether the system +functioned properly. In the thick atmosphere at 50,000 feet, where +I began the test, the weak nozzles have no effect whatsoever on the +X-15 flight attitude. The North American altitude restriction was +still in force. Thus I could not make the test above 100,000 feet +where a gentle squirt from the jets would considerably change the +airplane attitude. We had corrected the cause of the liquid bath, and +the windshield did not ice over. + +I chose a runway and for the eleventh time brought the ship in for +a landing. I used the sidearm control all the way. It is a little +more sensitive than the center-control stick, but with practice I +believe pilots will find it superior to the old-fashioned “ax-handle” +control. The X-15 touched down smoothly, concluding the last flight +with the two smaller engines. It was time to take her to the “barn” +for the big-engine conversion. + +With the conclusion of that flight, the box score on both +airplanes was a total of thirty-one flights. A little over half of +these--sixteen, to be precise--were made under rocket power, and one +was the first glide test. These were completed five years almost +to the day from the time Hugh Elkin and his Advanced Design group +at North American first submitted the X-15 conception. This time +was about one year less than it took to design, build, and fly the +Skyrocket, the most successful, after the X-1, of the early era +of rocket airplanes. It was about two years less than the time it +usually takes to design and build a modern jet fighter such as the +F-100. It was about three or four years less than the time it took +to build the hangar-loving X-3. It was five years less time than it +took to build and fly the jinxed X-2 in which Everest, Kincheloe, +and Apt set their world speed and altitude records. Considering that +the X-15 is not only the most advanced aircraft ever conceived by +man, but also a ship designed to fly into the fringes of space, I do +not believe it is immodest to claim that we had pulled off a minor +miracle. We did this in spite of the false starts, frustrations, and +malfunctions, those events that naturally cling to the memory and +upon which I have probably dwelt too long in this account. + + * * * * * + +About this time a second minor miracle took place in Washington, D. +C. The Congress and the new Secretary of Defense, Thomas S. Gates, +took another look at the gutted B-70 bomber program. Gates announced +publicly that he was ready to “reconsider” the craft as a weapons +system. Then the Congress voted $285 million to restore about half +the original program. There was, of course, no _direct_ connection +between this turnabout and the success of the X-15 flight-test +program. But perhaps in some indirect way the fact that the X-15 +had flown like a champion at Mach 3--the B-70 cruising speed--and +routinely to the B-70 cruising altitude of 70,000 feet, influenced +some people to think twice. The restoration of the B-70 now made each +flight of the X-15 more meaningful. The data we collected from the +X-15 would be used to advantage on the B-70. + +Actually, I believe, the decision to restore the B-70 was inevitable. +The United States simply could not abandon the manned aircraft +altogether and survive as the pillar of freedom in the West. Now +that wisdom prevailed, we hoped that the powers that be would take a +careful look at the total manned-aircraft spectrum. Our current fleet +of Air Force planes is approaching obsolescence. As yet there is +still no advanced fighter aircraft in the works. In fact, as we look +into the future, the B-70, which may be ready to fly a few years from +now, stands very much alone, a single piece of hardware. Between the +current, aging Air Force fleet and the B-70, amazingly enough, there +is only one craft in existence, the X-15, and only one Air Force +pilot, Bob White, who has ever flown it. Our United States Air Force +should have a thousand rocket pilots. By contrast, the Soviet Union +has never stopped building airplanes. Each year they turn up with +ever-faster fighters and bombers, as well as a force of missiles. +By default, the United States arrived at a point of imbalance that +would be ludicrous if it were not so potentially dangerous. The U. S. +_must_ produce manned aircraft to match the Soviet Union. Missiles +alone are not enough. + +As I have said before, bad news usually comes with the good. The B-70 +was restored but our efforts to persuade high circles in Washington +that we should capitalize on the X-15 concept and the vast experience +of our construction and flight-test teams for the exploration of +space fell on deaf ears. Within NASA the Project Mercury capsule +dominated. Within the Air Force there was still justifiably much +uncertainty about the use of a space craft for a military mission, +and the effort in that service was restricted largely to paper +studies. Firmly believing that in the conquest of space the nation +would ultimately swing to an X-15 concept--a craft that could go +into space and then return to earth to land with dignity--we pressed +on, proposing a two-seater version of the X-15, a trainer to check +out large numbers of Air Force pilots. We urged manned concepts in +the belief that to rely solely on automatic concepts presupposes a +mathematical certitude not found in war, peace, or the quests of men. +We made few converts. + + + + +CHAPTER 43 ► + + “_The Real Significance_” + + +The big single-barrel XLR-99 rocket engine designed to blast the X-15 +on its ultimate mission to the fringes of space arrived in California +in April, 1960, about a year and a half behind schedule. It was +shipped to Edwards and bolted to the ground-test stand. During May +the North American and Reaction Motors engineers ran the engine in a +series of exhaustive tests. It was a sight to see: that small barrel +spewing smoke and flame, thrust almost four times as great as the +combined thrusts of the two smaller X-1-type engines then powering +the X-15. The rocket-engine noise boomed across the desert for thirty +miles. + +In late May the first big engine was installed in X-15 number three, +the ship we had specifically reserved for this first engine. And in +early June X-15 number two, after my ninth and final powered flight +in that craft, was torn down and the two smaller engines removed in +preparation for the arrival of the second big engine. Meanwhile, we +got set to ground-test the big engine which was installed in number +three. + +The ground tests of this engine, which has as much power as an +Army Redstone missile and almost three times the power of the +Navy’s Vanguard missile, were elaborate for Edwards (though stark +compared to the blank-check missile operations). We had made some +improvements on the ground-test stand. The engineers had built +special steel clamps to hold the X-15 to the concrete apron. They +had installed underground concrete observation bunkers, which looked +like Maginot-Line pillboxes. The telemetry engineers rigged elaborate +equipment to transmit a record of everything happening in the X-15 +during the engine run to a master console in the NASA administration +building. For this big moment in the history of our craft, nothing +would be left to chance. + +Late in the afternoon of June 8 I arrived at the ground-test area +wearing street clothes. X-15 number three, with her powerful new +engine, was clamped in place on the stand. She was brimming with Lox +and new fuel for the big engine--ammonia, more powerful or “exotic” +than the Walc used in the two smaller engines. A thick coating of +ice had formed on the fuselage around the Lox tank. Wispy Lox vapor +trailed off into the afternoon sky. A snarl of electrical power +connections--the umbilical cords--ran from a hole in the concrete to +the ship’s side tunnels. + +Harry Gallanes, North American’s power-plant test boss, greeted +me: “Looks like we’re all set, Scotty.” He and his crews had been +working without let-up since dawn. They had pretty much kept to this +dawn-to-dusk (sometimes later) schedule since the day the big engine +arrived, another manifestation of that curious enthusiasm for things +mechanical which seemed to infect all members of the flight-test team. + +I climbed into the cockpit and donned a Scott Airpack breathing +device similar to the unit skin divers wear underwater. It would +supply my oxygen, pumped into the airplane from an external +connection. The simple airpack was more comfortable and far less +bother than the X-15 full-pressure suit, which I did not need on the +ground. I closed the canopy and turned on the nitrogen gas flow, +to cool the electronic equipment in the cockpit and to build up +a pressure which would block out possible ammonia fumes or other +toxicants, should something go wrong during the engine run. + +On this ground test--my second in this airplane--we intended to +simulate all the events of a real drop from the mother plane with +rocket-engine light-off. If all went well, we hoped to make an actual +flight a month later, perhaps sooner. Harry Gallanes and his men +retired to the bunkers. Gallanes manned the radio circuit as test +director. Q. C. Harvey took up his post in the forward bunker. Soon +we were well through the countdown. At six minutes to “drop” I turned +on the APUs. X-15 number three was completely on her own. It was time +for the big test. + +A siren whined a warning. The mechanics, protectively dressed in +hooded clothing, evacuated to the bunkers. They had been hanging +around checking for leaks or other possible malfunctions until the +last moment. A group of fire trucks, parked about two hundred yards +away, were ready to rush to the rescue, if needed. Otherwise there +was no sign of life. Alone in the cockpit I checked the gauges. As +we approached the time for engine light-off, three movie cameras, +mounted outside and aimed at the rear of the X-15, began to roll. +Inside the cockpit I turned on the data recorders. + +I called each step of the engine-start procedure on the radio, +pausing briefly after each item on the check-list. + +“Master switch coming on NOW.” + +“Prime.” + +“Pre-cool.” + +“Pump idle.” + +“Igniter idle.” + +I then moved the main engine throttle from its stowed position to +the engine-start position. The engine is designed to light-off at +half-thrust. When I moved the throttle, in effect opening the main +fuel and Lox lines, the engine cracked to life with a tremendous +roar. The ship vibrated powerfully in her steel mounts. The engine +ran smoothly as designed. Slowly I opened the throttle to full power. +The noise was terrific. + +The North American X-15 Mach 2.0 speed and 100,000-foot altitude +restrictions are still technically in force. If I allowed the big +barrel to run full-bore in flight, I would quickly exceed those +limits by a great margin and perhaps go hurtling off to the fringes +of space. Thus for my big-engine “demonstration” flights we had +worked out a system whereby in the air I would shut down the engine +periodically and restart it after the speed and altitude fell off. +Now simulating my actual flight plan, I pulled the throttle back and +shut down the engine. As prescribed, I waited fifteen seconds and +then restarted the engine at fifty per cent thrust. + +Rocket engines are equipped with special engine safety devices. +If these devices “sense” anything abnormal in burning or engine +operation, they automatically shut the engine off and “safety” all +the electrical circuits. Evidently after my restart one such device +“sensed” a vibration. Almost immediately after I moved the throttle +to half-thrust, the engine shut down automatically. There was no sign +of trouble in the cockpit, so I prepared to restart the engine once +again. + +To restart the engine after an automatic shut-down, the pilot must +push a special switch which “unsafeties” the engine, or in effect +resets all the circuits the automatic device has closed down. If +these can be reset, the engine is again ready for start. Beginning +the restart procedure, I put the throttle in the stowed position and +pressed the reset switch. + +It was like pushing the plunger on a dynamite detonator. X-15 +number three blew up with incredible force. The rear section of the +airplane, from the trailing edge of the wing aft, was instantaneously +demolished. The front section of the airplane, including the +cockpit and the pilot, hurtled twenty feet across the concrete ramp +at indescribable speed, the shortest and fastest rocket ride in +history, subjecting me to an acceleration force of maybe fifty G’s. +Fortunately, my head was reclining in the headrest on the seat; +otherwise my neck might have been broken. + +Nine hundred gallons of ammonia and sixty gallons of hydrogen +peroxide, a total of 16,000 pounds of powerful liquid, had ignited +simultaneously. I knew, of course, that there had been a tremendous +explosion, but I had no way of knowing precisely what happened. All I +could think of was the possibility of a second explosion that might +hurl my part of the airplane halfway across Edwards and through the +main hangar and workshop. In the cockpit I moved swiftly to do what +I could to prevent this. I turned off the APUs and all external power +supply and shifted from external oxygen to X-15 oxygen supply. Then +I braced my feet on the instrument panel and put my arms across my +face, waiting. There was no panic, no fear. I was concerned primarily +for the safety of the other people--those outside--and I thanked +God that He had given us the time to install the concrete pillbox +bunkers, which were being used tonight for only the second time. + +Half a minute later I watched a mass of red approaching the X-15. It +was the fire truck. Its hoses pumped a great spray of water over the +ship, smothering the fire still raging in the shattered rear section. +A few seconds later I saw Art Semone and another mechanic hunched +outside the cockpit. They were trying to pull the canopy handle to +let me out. At that point I would have preferred to remain inside +the cockpit, one of the safest places in the world in the event of +fire. But I could see that no amount of hand-signaling would dissuade +Semone, and rather than expose him to possible danger I helped open +the canopy and leaped out. + +Semone must have thought I was injured. When I jumped from the +cockpit, he caught me in mid-air and tried to carry me out of the +smoke and flames. I whopped him on the shoulder to let him know I was +all right and then we all ran quickly to a spot about a hundred feet +distant and I checked the bunkers. Everyone, it seemed, had survived, +and for this I was very grateful. As it turned out, no one, including +me, was even slightly injured. I had someone relay that fact to Alice +as soon as possible, knowing the news would be on the radio before +the fire was out. + + * * * * * + +The documentation of that explosion, like everything else about +the X-15, was first-rate. In fact it was probably one of the best +documented airplane accidents in history. Immediately afterwards, +Q.C. gathered all of us in a room, and there we recalled in detail +all that we could remember while it was still fresh in our minds. +These eye-witness accounts, added to the miles of telemetry data and +the film strips from the three movie cameras, would enable us to +establish the cause of the explosion very quickly. It was not the +fault of the engine. A sequence of coincidences, again hidden in +the mysteries of Murphy’s Law, had trapped us. We moved rapidly to +avert any possibility of a recurrence in X-15 number two, meanwhile +accelerating our efforts to install the big engine in that ship. +NASA prudently grounded X-15 number one until we could do everything +possible to make sure a similar disaster could not happen. + +The fate of number three was quickly decided. She would be rebuilt. +Some parts--nose, cockpit, wings--might be salvaged. This was +obviously a major task requiring more time and money. The destruction +of this airplane is simply part of the price man must pay for +progress. Measured against the loss of fifty or so Atlas, Titan, and +Polaris missiles at Cape Canaveral, each costing more than a single +X-15, it was a drop in the bucket, although a painful one because +it temporarily reduced our complete air fleet by thirty-three and +one-third per cent. + +Inevitably the newsmen got on my trail. When they called, I was ready +with the wisecrack I knew they wanted. “The only casualty,” I said, +“was the crease in my trousers. The firemen got them wet when they +sprayed the airplane with water.” Too late I realized how this might +be interpreted. + +“Are you sure it was the firemen?” the reporter asked. + +“Yeah, I’m sure,” I said. I pictured the headline: + + SPACE SHIP EXPLODES; PILOT WETS PANTS + +“Mr. Crossfield,” the reporter went on. “What is the real +significance of all this?” + +“The _real_ significance?” I asked. “Have you got about ten or +fifteen hours, maybe?” + +“No,” he said. “I’ve got about two minutes to meet a deadline. +Just tell me what’s going to happen now? Where does this leave the +program?” + +“We’re not sure yet. There will naturally be some investigations. +In all probability we’ll accelerate putting the big engine in X-15 +number two. A little later we’ll put the big engine in NASA’s X-15 +number one.” + +“Does this affect your role in the program? Will you still go ahead +and make a demonstration flight with the big engine?” + +“I don’t know,” I said. “I was only supposed to make one or two +low-speed demonstration flights with the big engine and then that was +the end of my participation in the project. Bob White and Joe Walker +would take it from there. They might change that now. I have no +reason to believe there will be any change. There could be. I might +not make the big-engine demonstration flights. I honestly don’t know. +It’s all very indefinite.” + +“Well, thanks. Some day I’d like to talk to you about the real +significance. But not now.” + +It was always the same: hurry, impatience, no time for thoughtful +reflection. Move on quickly to the next story, the next pilot, or +missile, or space vehicle, for a bigger and better headline. + +“Okay,” I said. “I’ll be seeing you.” + + * * * * * + +The real significance of the X-15, I hope, has come through in the +foregoing pages. It is not just another airplane, another headline. +It is another of man’s restless attempts at perfection, and in the +aviation world the greatest ever mounted. The X-15 sprang from a +deep pool of aeronautical knowledge, the end product of fifty years, +and more, of probing this frontier. It was created and built at +tremendous cost in terms of money and sweat by some of the most +skilled engineers in the free world. As always, we did not achieve +our dream of perfection. Only God, I believe, can create the perfect. +But in reaching out, we provided some water for man’s never-ending +thirst. We learned a great deal. We had set man on his path toward +the stars. + +Some day, I believe, he will get there. Not so quickly as one +might think from reading the newspapers. The speed of this massive +scientific effort is like that of the convoy, geared to the pace +of the slowest vessel. Thus this daring adventure is regulated not +so much by grandiose plans emanating from the increasing layers of +scientific administrators in Washington as by the simple function of +a valve, an APU unit, or a radio plug. Our tale of adversity with +the X-15 is not unique; rather, it is typical of our age. Similar +stories, many with fewer points of success, were taking place at +the same time in our nation with Atlas, Polaris, Titan, Mercury, +Minuteman, a dozen others I cannot recall. Some day, too, perhaps +these stories will be written. + +In time, our splendid engineers will de-bug the big X-15 engine. I +may or may not be allowed to make one or two low-speed flights. Then +in the months ahead, depending on the speed of the scientific convoy, +Bob White or Joe Walker or perhaps someone else will begin the first, +tentative “space” flights in the X-15. They will launch over the +designated point in Utah, light off the powerful rocket barrel, and +roar heavenward. With God’s help they may reach a speed of 4,000 +miles an hour and an altitude of perhaps 100 miles. I hope that +many, many pilots will have the opportunity to make these pioneering +voyages into space. + +Ultimately our work, and the work of the tens of thousands of +other engineers in this nation, will be merged to form a more +advanced space machine. The bottom of this machine might not look +like an Atlas or Saturn. The top might not look like an X-15. +But the complete vehicle will be the sum product of all the work +of all the engineers in this country. This machine will not rise +effortlessly and gracefully from the earth on the first day. +Dedicated people such as Charlie Feltz and Harrison Storms must +first expend limitless sweat and tears. The machine may crash and +explode. So might the second and third, perhaps the fourth and +fifth. Congressional committees will investigate, and new layers of +scientific administrators will grow atop the old in Washington. But +the engineers will prevail in spite of them. + +Some day this machine will rise from the face of the earth. It +will take man into an orbital path about the earth. It will enable +him to build a space station. From there he will shove off to the +moon. Then he will go to the nearest planets in our solar system. A +hundred years from now, if we have not destroyed our own planet in an +ideological war, man may enter the solar system of the nearby stars. +He will go there because he must. He is curious and intelligent. He +is seeking answers--about himself, his universe, and his God. Because +man is a creature of God and the instrument of God, he will not be +denied. There will always be another dawn. + + + + +CHAPTER 44 ► + + “_Prophecies of the Next Age_” + + +The explosion of X-15 number three had a curious impact on +me personally. For the first time in my flying career I was +foggy-minded. I could not recall immediately exactly what happened, +although in aerial emergencies in the past my mind always ticked on, +recording even the most obscure gauge readings. Locked in the room +with Q.C. and the others during the post-accident investigation, it +took me fully ten minutes of thoughtful reconstruction to lay out the +exact sequence of events that took place in the X-15 cockpit. + +Flying home from Edwards late that night, I found my thoughts taking +another unusual turn. Although I seldom think about death, my mind +recreated in vivid detail the one death that stands out in my mind +more than all others, that of my father. + +He died on October 21, 1954, during the time I was flying for NACA at +Edwards, six weeks or so after I drove the F-100 through the hangar +wall. He had sold the farm at last, for a handsome profit, and moved +to the California desert to be near his children and grandchildren. +He dreamed of touring the United States in a trailer in the evening +of his life. But it was too late. The more than nineteen years of +hard physical labor on the farm drained his body of strength. After +examining my father, one doctor told me: “He is the most worn-out man +of sixty-three that I have ever seen.” + +Soon he fell quite ill. My mother was just recovering from a stroke, +and we brought in a nurse to help out. Toward the end, I spent almost +every night in his house, sleeping on a cot next to his bed. I was +there primarily out of love, to do what I could for him. But there +was another reason. I was curious to see whether in his final hours +this unwavering, iron-willed man would reveal any weakness. If I saw +the slightest hint, I would find a way to head it off, or at least +obscure it from him. For sixteen years or more I had been searching +for a break in his strength. I never found it. I didn’t really expect +him to ask for quarter now. + +When I saw him on the morning of the 21st, I felt that he would not +last the day. I was scheduled for a Skyrocket flight that morning and +was on the verge of putting through a call to Walt Williams to cancel +it when my father called for me. + +“What were you supposed to be doing today?” he asked. “Why haven’t +you gone to work?” + +“Oh, nothing,” I said. “Just a routine flight. I can cancel it with +no problem.” + +“I want you to go ahead and do your job.” His voice was low but firm. +His request was a command. There was no hint of quarter. + +“Okay. But will you wait for me?” We both knew what I meant. + +“Yes.” + +I drove to the field and made the flight. My father waited, as he +promised. As I soon learned from a telephone call, he died at the +exact moment the Skyrocket’s wheels touched down on the lake at the +conclusion of my flight. He died quietly and bravely, without a +single compromise on his conscience. That he found what he sought +in the next life I have no doubt, for he was an honorable man and a +Christian. + +Returning home that night after the X-15 explosion, the real +significance of my own life, which I had pondered for so many months +at Edwards, came to me as though crystallized by the accident. My +own life, in a different setting in time and circumstance, was an +imitation of my father’s, a striving toward unattainable perfection. +As nature had sealed Bill Young’s eyes and then mysteriously opened +his ears to sounds beyond the experience of other men, so nature +wounded me in childhood and then mysteriously endowed me with a +special spirit that put fear beyond my experience and spurred me to +improve everything that crossed my path. Who can presume to know +why? Nature and God are one. If there is an imperfection, it is not +there by accident. Perhaps He intended that by my example the wounds +of others lacking in this special spirit might be healed. I honestly +cannot believe that my being present at the birth and growth of the +X-15 was an accident. This blending of man and machine in a common +cause must be a part of _His_ grand design. + +My father may have fallen short of his goal. I have fallen short +of my goal, probably I always shall. It may be that only ignorant +men reach goals. The important thing, I think, as with the X-15, is +the striving itself. Each of us who strives toward the unattainable +contributes to man’s ever-growing reservoir of knowledge and fact. +Each drop, however small, is vital for those who follow behind us. +Without it man must inevitably atrophy. Thus, as Emerson says, “Men +walk as prophecies of the next age.” + +I realized that night that my new circle, the meaning of which I +had so intensively probed during the long months at Edwards, was +boundless. It was, in a few words, more of the same on a grander +scale. The details were not important. The ultimate end was not a +fixed slot, which I imagined in my youth to be the satisfying end, +a life devoted not to the specific but to the infinite, to the +collection of a few drops for that vast and wonderful pool. A small +contribution which would ease my children’s way, or perhaps in time +open men’s eyes to a part of the grand mystery. + + * * * * * + +It was quite late when I pulled into our driveway in Westchester. I +strode briskly to the front door and entered quietly. The children +were asleep. I mixed a drink and Alice and I relaxed in the living +room. + +“Well, you look all right to me,” she said. + +“There’s nothing wrong with me.” + +“So what’s next?” It was many years since she had put that question +to me. + +“I don’t know.” A thousand thoughts flashed through my mind. A +thousand imperfections, a thousand horizons, a thousand Mount +Everests, the story of man since time began. I was in a strange mood. + +“Well,” Alice said, “they say life begins at forty. You’ve got a full +year and a half to make up your mind.” + +“You know what I’ve been thinking,” I said absently. “This house is +getting pretty crowded with five lads. Maybe we ought to add a new +wing. Then there’s another thing I’d like to do. Maybe we could build +a little summerhouse out in the back yard--you know, one of those +lattice-work things--with a tower, or cupola, on top. If we built one +tall enough, we could see over the shrubbery and the fence. We could +sit up there and watch the airplanes taking off and landing at the +airport. We could see the sky and the horizon unobscured.” + +The tower is not yet begun. But that is a new story, another dawn. + + + + +_Chronology_ + + + DATE PLANE PILOT COMMENT + + _1946_ + Sept. NACA contingent arrives + at Edwards + Oct. X-1 Goodlin First powered flight + + _1947_ + Mar. D-558-I May First flight + Aug. D-558-I Caldwell 640.7 mph + Aug. D-558-I Carl 651 mph + Oct. X-1 Yeager Mach 1.0 + + _1948_ + Feb. D-558-II Martin First flight; Ground take-off + Mar. X-1 Hoover First civilian; Mach 1.0 + Sept. XF-92A Yeager First flight + Dec. X-4 Tucker First flight + + _1949_ + Aug. X-1 Everest 73,000 ft. + + _1950_ + June D-558-II Bridgeman First air-launch + + _1951_ + June X-5 Ziegler First flight + Aug. D-558-II Bridgeman 79,000 ft.; Mach 1.89 + Nov. X-1 (#3) Cannon Blew up--destroyed + Fall X-1-D Everest Blew up--mother plane + + _1952_ + June X-2 (#1) Ziegler Ballast--at Edwards; + Glide + Oct. X-3 Bridgeman First flight + + _1953_ + Feb. X-1-A Ziegler First powered flight + May X-2 (#2) Ziegler Captive--Buffalo; Blew + up--Ziegler killed + Aug. D-558-II Carl 83,235 ft. + Oct. XF-92A Crossfield Wheel collapsed; Plane + retired + Nov. D-558-II Crossfield Mach 2.0 + Dec. X-1-A Yeager Mach 2.5; Tumble + + _1954_ + Apr. (X-15) NACA Summary Report; + Plane born + June X-1-A Murray 90,000 ft.; Tumble + Aug. X-2 (#1) Everest First glide flight; Ballast; + Damaged + Oct. (X-15) Recommended by NACA + Oct. X-1-B Murray First flight + Dec. (X-15) Competition announced + + _1955_ + Aug. X-1-A Walker Fire--jettison plane + Nov. X-2 Everest First powered flight + Dec. X-1-E Walker First powered flight + Dec. (X-15) Contract awarded to + North American + + _1956_ + May X-2 (#2) Kincheloe First flight + July X-2 Everest Mach 2.93 + Sept. X-2 Kincheloe 126,200 ft. + Sept. X-2 Apt First flight 2,094 mph; + Crashed--killed + Dec. (X-15) Mock-up complete + + _1958_ + July F-104 Kincheloe Killed + Oct. (X-15 #1) Completed, shipped to + Edwards + + _1959_ + Mar. X-15 #1 Crossfield First captive flight + June X-15 #1 Crossfield First glide flight + Sept. X-15 #2 Crossfield First powered flight + + _1960_ + Feb. (X-15 #1) Delivered to Air Force + and NASA + June X-15 #3 Crossfield Explosion during XLR-99 + engine ground test + Aug. X-15 #1 Walker 2,196 mph + Aug. X-15 #1 White 136,500 ft. + + + + + _Index_ + + + Aase, Carl, 72, 79 + + aero-space medicine, 187 + + aircraft: + B-17, 107 + B-25, 206 + B-29, 48-50, 125, 127, 147, 171, 176, 201, 203 + B-36, 222, 264 + B-45, 30 + B-47, 20, 25, 216 + B-50, 146, 147, 151, 152 + B-52, 264-265, 299, 301, 310, 316, 322, 331, 335, 352, 358, 377, + 392 + B-58, 215, 367 + B-70, 293, 295, 357, 373, 397 + “Banshee” (McDonnell’s F2H), 25, 299 + Boeing’s Clipper, 76 + Boeing’s 707, 20 + British Comet Jet airliner, 235 + C-3 Cub, 66 + Convair’s 880, 297 + Curtiss Robin, 74 + DC-6, 139 + DC-8, 297 + DeHavilland Swallows, 33 + Douglas D-558-II “Skyrocket,” 34, 46, 135, 139, 145, 149, 157, + 158, 171, 177, 198, 212, 216, 223, 231, 241, 285 + Douglas D-558, “Skystreak,” 47 + Douglas D-558-I “Skystreak,” 33, 39, 47, 135, 159, 216 + Eagle Rock, 64, 66 + F4H, 287 + F4U, 109, 110, 111 + F6F, 104, 109 + F8U, 287 + F9F, 216 + F11F, 287 + F-80, 25 + F-84, 25, 39 + F-84-F, 193, 195, 216 + F-86, 25, 193-194, 206, 216, 220, 233, 299 + F-100, 45, 186, 194-198, 206, 221, 231, 289, 299, 341 + F-101, 45, 186 + F-102, 45, 167, 193, 216 + F-104, 45, 185, 278, 300, 304, 341, 372, 381 + F-105, 186, 215, 297 + F-106, 167, 297 + F-107, 215, 297, 299 + F-108, 206, 293, 295, 357 + “Glamorous Glennis,” 31, 127, 145 + Hiller Helicopter, 216 + Howard “Ike,” “Mike,” and “Pete,” 65 + Howard “Mr. Mulligan,” 65, 75 + Lancaster (British), 70 + N3N (“Yellow Peril”), 90 + P-51, 206, 241 + R-4-D, 107 + T-39, 299, 374 + Travelair “Mystery Ship,” 65, 66 + U-2, 275 + Weddell-Williams “Special,” 65 + X-1, 21-23, 26, 28, 31, 33, 47-58, 119, 125, 126, 128, 135, 137, + 139, 158, 198, 223, 228, 237, 293, 311 + X-1-A, 137, 138, 145, 159, 162, 180, 184, 200-205, 238, 286, 293, + 299, 368, 381, 391 + X-1-B, 137, 145, 148, 185, 201, 204, 212, 224, 286 + X-1-C, 137, 145 + X-1-D, 137, 145, 146, 159, 201, 381 + X-1-E, 185, 204, 208, 211, 286 + X-1-3 (“Queenie”), 145, 147, 148, 201, 350, 381 + X-2, 34-35, 135, 137, 139, 149, 150-153, 157, 165, 185, 201-207, + 228, 231, 238, 247, 275, 286, 293, 343, 371, 381, 396 + X-3, 34, 141, 148-149, 152, 165, 198, 286, 293, 396 + X-4, 32-33, 38-44, 47, 135, 158, 198, 278, 286 + X-5, 34, 154-155, 158, 198, 216, 286 + X-15, 35, 49, 158, 165, 186, 187-189, 204, 207-208, 212, 216, + 220, 222, 227, 231, 245, 249, 251, 264, 268, 272, 277, 282, + 286, 290, 295, 299, 300, 304, 310, 322, 325, 338, 343, 358, + 377, 389, 392, 401, 405, 409 + X-15 Number 2, 346, 350 + X-15 Number 3, 407 + X-15B, 279, 280-283, 287, 295, 318 + XF-85, 299 + XF-92A, 148, 165, 167, 193, 216, 278 + YF-84, 216, 276 + + Allavie, Capt John E. (“Jack”), 266, 314, 325, 328, 335, 367 ff., + 371, 376, 394 + + Allen, Edward (“Eddie”), 23, 27, 76, 373 + + Ames, NACA laboratory, 26, 29, 35, 156 + + Ankenbruk, Herman O., 174, 175, 177 + + Apt, Capt. Milburn (“Mel”), 213-214, 215-216, 247, 270, 367, 389, + 396 + + Army’s Ballistic Missile Agency, Huntsville, Ala., 374 + + Atwood, J. Lee, 209-212 + + auxiliary power unit (APU), 310-312 + + + Babb, Harold, 60 + + Baker, Joel R. (“Bob”), Jr., 210 + + ballistic-missile nose, 224 + + Barker, Peter R. (“Pete”), 314, 315, 328 ff. + + Barnes, Francis Lowe (“Pancho”), 29, 40, 65, 215 + + Beach, Melvin L. (“Mel”), 309, 326 + + Beal, Arthur, 78, 81, 84 + + Bell (aircraft company), 21-23, 31, 34, 127, 137, 146, 149, 153, + 201, 204 + + Benner, Roland R. (“Bud”), 226, 349, 356 + + Berkowitz, Harry W. (“Bill”), 300, 314, 352, 359, 360, 367 + + Bikle, Paul, 298, 390 + + Blossom, Mrs. (author’s sixth grade teacher), 72 + + Bock, Capt. Charles, 266, 314, 315, 316, 320 ff., 328, 329, 331 + ff., 338, 339, 340, 352, 355, 360, 361, 367, 394 + + Boeing (aircraft company), 20-21, 82, 85, 88, 287 + + Bonney, Walter, 169, 170, 178 + + Boyd, Col. Albert, 31, 40, 41, 146, 165, 190 + + Braun, Wernher von, 374, 377 + + Bridgeman, William B. (“Bill”), 34, 46, 48-49, 52, 139, 148, 159, + 210, 216, 238 + + Brown, Claude (brother-in-law), 36 + + Brown, Clinton, 163 + + Brown, Elena Ruth (“Babe”)--sister, 36, 62, 78, 102 + + Brown, Louise, 56 + + Bryan, John C. (“Jack”), 210 + + Buchanan, G. A., 84, 85 + + Butchart, Stanley P. (“Stan”), 175, 176, 193, 200 ff. + + Butler, Capt. Francis M., 190 + + + Caldwell, Comdr. Turner F., Jr., 47 + + Canary, John O. (“Jack”), 221 + + Cannon, Joseph A. (“Joe”), 147, 148, 299 + + “captive” fuel tests, 152 + + Carl, Maj. Marion, 47, 159, 216, 241, 287 + + Carmen, L. Robert, 35, 142, 157, 226, 293-294 + + Carpenter, Brig. Gen. John W., 297 + + Century Series supersonic fighters, 45, 136, 185 + + Champine, Robert S. (“Bob”), 30, 128 + + Civilian Pilot Training (CPT), 84 + + Clark, Dr. David M., 239-240, 242, 243, 253 ff. + + Clark, Mrs. (author’s first grade teacher), 72 + + Clousing, Laurence, 27 + + Cokely, E. R. (“Ed”), 298-299 + + Colvin, Lou, 111, 112 + + commercial jet airliner (U. S.), _see_ Boeing 707 + + Cooper, Brig. Gen. Marcus, 297 + + cosmic radiation, 164, 187 + + Crossfield’s family: + Albert Scott (father), 56, 407; + Alice (wife), 22, 28-29, 37, 96, 102, 120, 285; + Amasa Scott (grandfather), 56; + Becky (daughter), 37, 121; + Lucia (mother), 55; + Mary Ann (sister), 62, 80; + Tommy (son), 37 + _See also_ Elena Ruth Brown + + Crow, Sgt. Herbert G., 314 + + + Doolittle, James H. (“Jimmy”), 23, 76, 152, 186 + + Douglas (aircraft company), 34, 186, 204 + + Drake, Hubert M., 35, 142, 157, 226 + + Drakeford, Sir Arthur, 57 + + Drakeford, Peter A., 57 + + Drakeford, Ruth, 57 + + “Dry lakes,” 42, 44, 282; + Cuddeback Dry Lake, 42, 380; + Harper Dry Lake, 43; + Rogers Dry Lake, 42, 52, 129, 151, 223, 301, 321, 340; + Rosamond Dry Lake, 43, 338, 355, 380; + Three Sisters Dry Lakes, 43, 380 + + Dryden, Dr. Hugh, 152, 153, 159, 161, 168, 179, 188, 206, 283 + + Durrup, Lt. Paul, 237, 238 + + Dwyer, Bessie, 57 + + Dwyer, Thomas Aloysius, 54 + + Dwyer, Thomas Aloysius, Jr., 55 + + + Earhart, Amelia, 65 + + Edwards (desert test center), Calif., 28 + + ejection seat, 230, 233, 259, 260 + + Elkin, Hugh, 222, 396 + + Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 319, 409 + + “escape capsule,” 230-232 + + Everest, Maj. Frank K. (“Pete”), 31, 32, 40, 42-43, 127, 146, + 147, 165, 180, 184, 190, 201, 204, 207, 210, 213, 214, 216, + 237-238, 367, 371, 389, 396 + + Everest, Frank K., _The Fastest Man Alive_, 146 + + “extra-atmospheric” flight, 164 + + + Feltz, Charles, 220-222, 225, 226 ff., 244, 251, 260, 261, 262 ff., + 267-270, 275 ff., 284, 289, 290, 292 ff., 303, 307 ff., 316, + 326, 333, 336, 342, 349, 356, 359, 364, 365, 371, 385, 391, + 395, 406 + + Ferren, Roy, 380, 382 + + Finch, Thomas, 154 + + Flagg, John, 255, 256, 257 + + Flateboe, Comdr. William, 111, 112 + + Flickinger, Brig. Gen. Don, 258, 267, 268, 277, 282, 283 + + Fohl, Simon S. (“Si”), 309-310 + + “forced eating” methods, 277 + + Freedman, Toby, 301, 383-384 + + Freeman, Oscar, 315, 328 + + Fulton, Fitzhugh, 49, 51-52, 367, 368, 394 + + + Gahl, Capt. Edward C., 266 + + Gallanes, Harry, 400-401 + + Gates, Thomas S., Secretary of Defense, 396 + + Gibb, John, 349, 353, 356 + + Givens, Capt. Vergil C., 176 + + Glennan, Dr. T. Keith, 283 + + Goodlin, Chalmers (“Slick”), 21, 23, 30 + + Goodrich Tire and Rubber Company, 237 + + Gravity, positive (positive G), 129 + + Gregorious, Capt. John, 190 + + Griffith, John, 28, 29, 31, 39, 126 + + Grumman (aircraft company), 76 + + + Harper, John, 30 + + Harvey, Quinton C. (“Q.C.”), 147, 299 ff., 308, 316, 322, 324, + 328-329, 335-336, 339, 342, 346, 349, 355, 356, 359, 360, + 365, 368, 371, 373, 376 ff., 386, 389, 401, 403, 407 + + Helsell, William A. (“Bill”), 111, 112, 113, 115, 116, 117 + + Henry, Dr. James P., 237 + + High Speed Flight Station, NACA, Edwards, 30, 191, 298 + + Hoffmann, “Bogie,” 94 + + Holguin, Paula, 55 + + Holtoner, Gen. Stanley, 190, 297 + + Hoover, Herbert R., 30, 31 + + Hoover, Robert A. (“Bob”), 196 + + Howard, Ben O. (“Benny”), 65, 75 + + Humphries, Mrs. (author’s fourth grade teacher), 72 + + + Inconel X, 224, 229, 262, 290, 320, 343 + + International Harvester Company, 245 + + International Geophysical Year, 267 + + International Livestock Show, Chicago, 78 + + + Jansen, George, 48, 50, 140 + + JATO, 47-48, 139 + + Jingle, Joe, 351 + + Johnson, Louis, Secretary of Defense, 45 + + Johnson, Col. Richard, 40 + + Johnston, E. W. (“Bill”), 248 + + Johnsville Centrifuge, 271-272 + + Jones, Harold, 81 + + Jones, Walter P., 126 + + + Kincheloe, Iven, 213-214, 216, 286, 304-305, 367, 396 + + Kindelberger, J. H. (“Dutch”), 210 + + Kingsville Naval Air Station, 93 + + Kirsten, Professor Frank K., 19 + + Kotcher, Ezra, 26, 158 + + Konrad, John, 49, 52 + + Korean War, 25, 45 + + + Laird, Norman, 66 + + Lamb, Comdr. William, 104, 105 + + Langley, NACA laboratory, 26, 30, 32, 157, 283 + + Lathrop, Neil T., 190 + + Lauffer, Brian, 383 + + Lawrence Sperry Award, 210 + + Layne, Eddie, 46 + + LeBlonde (French mfg. company), 79 + + Le May, Gen. Curtis, 266 + + Le Vier, Anthony W. (“Tony”), 186 + + Lewshon, William T., 152 + + Lienesch, Charles (“Carl”), 64, 66, 76, 80 + + Lilly, Howard C., 30, 33, 47 + + Lindbergh, Charles A., 21, 24, 75 + + Lox (liquid oxygen), 160, 172, 201 + + Lunn, Rose E., 265 + + + Mach number, 16, 33-34, 39, 48, 129, 137, 143, 158, 171-172, + 177-178, 183, 186, 247, 269, 362, 371, 391, 395 + + Marshall, Gen. George C., 45 + + Martin, Ernest (“Ernie”), 242 + + Martin, John, 48 + + May, Gene, 33, 34, 48 + + McDonnell (aircraft company), 20, 283 + + McKay, John B. (“Jack”), 193, 201-202, 224 + + McNulty, Vaughn, 66 + + Meade, Mrs. (author’s second grade teacher), 72 + + Mellinger, George, 373 + + Mercury Astronauts, 243, 283 + + MIS (Man in Space) program, 267, 268, 277, 282 + + missiles: + Bomarc, 356; + medium- and long-range (Thor, Jupiter, Atlas, Titan), 27, 156, + 187, 206, 228, 269; + Nike, 356; + Navaho, 268-269, 279, 281; + Redstone, 157, 399; + Regulus, 215; + surface-to-surface (Atlas, Titan, Polaris), 357, 404; + Vanguard, 399; + V-2, 156 + + Moise, John W. (“Jack”), 173, 368 + + Murphy’s Law, 352, 368, 404 + + Murray, Maj. Arthur (“Kit”), 181, 182, 184, 201, 202-203, 207, 216, + 241, 299, 367, 391 + + + NACA High Speed Flight Station, 30, 191, 298 + + NACA testing laboratories: + Ames, Calif. (Moffett Field, near San Francisco), 26; + Lewis, Cleveland, Ohio, 26; + Langley, Hampton, Va., 26, 30, 32, 157, 283 + + National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics (NACA), 26-28, 30-33, + 38, 40, 45, 65, 136, 141, 152 + + National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA), 283, 287 + + Nautilus submarine, 269 + + Naval Air Test Center, Patuxent River, Maryland, 105, 159 + + Naval Air Training Center, Corpus Christi, Texas, 91 + + Naval Air Training Center, Jacksonville, Florida, 99 + + Navy Aero-medical Acceleration Laboratory, Johnsville, Pa., 272 + + Newman, James (“Jim”), 172, 176 + + Nixon, Richard M., 303 + + North American Aviation, Inc., 204, 209, 247, 268, 312, 318, 334 + + Northrop, John K. (“Jack”), 40 + + “Nose Wheel Club,” 132 + + + O’Sullivan, William J., 163 + + Owl, George A., Jr., 221, 229 + + + Paymiller, Mrs. (author’s fifth-grade teacher), 63, 72 + + Payne, Richard E. (“Dick”), 128 + + Pearl Harbor, 86, 93, 247 + + Perkins, Oliver R. (“Perk”), 167, 168 + + Petersen, Lt. Comdr. Forrest S., (“Pete”), 287 + + “Phase Two” airplanes, 47 + + Popson, Maj. Raymond A., 155, 190 + + Post, Wiley, 237 + + _Press-Telegram_, newspaper of Long Beach, Calif., 66 + + pressure suit and equipment, 236-239, 240-242, 253, 258 + + “pressurized” cabin, 235 + + Project Mercury, 158, 283, 287 + + Puckett, Elvin V., 84 + + + radiation disease, 274 + + Reaction Motors, Inc., 223 + + Reed, Elden, 78, 81, 84 + + Republic (aircraft corporation), 204, 205 + + reserve squadron VF-74, 109, 113-114, 118 + + Rice, Ray, 212, 246 + + Richardson, Capt. Ralph N., 314, 326, 334, 344, 373, 390 + + Richter, Donald M. (“Sam”), 300, 301, 309, 316, 331, 342, 363, 364, + 365, 366, 379, 384, 386-387 + + Ridley, Capt. Jackie L. (“Jack”), 31, 127, 130, 146, 181, 190 + + Robinson, Raun, 226 + + Robinson, Russell E. (“Robby”), 310-311, 313 + + rocket engines, 46 + + rocket engine XLR-99, 223, 227, 233, 251, 281, 292-294, 301, 361, + 399 + + Roosevelt, Theodore, 259 + + Rowan, Dr. E. J., 63 + + Russell, Jack, 160 + + + Sand Point Naval Air Station, Seattle, Wash., 88 + + Satellites: + Dyna-Soar, 287; + Sputnik, 270, 280-283, 288, 302 + + Scott, Gen. Winfield, 56 + + Seeger, Oscar, 119, 123 + + Sellers, Capt. Wilbur (“Pete”), 125, 127, 190 + + “Semi-empirical Method of Obtaining Static and Dynamic Aerodynamic + Parameters of Swept-back Wings Analyzed on a Basis of Plan + Form,”--Crossfield’s master’s thesis, 122 + + Semone, Arthur (“Art”), 403 + + Sigma Xi, 121 + + Simons, Maj. David, 275 + + Smith, boot ensign, 104 + + Smith, George, 230-231 + + Smithsonian Institution, 31 + + sonic barrier, 23, 28, 30, 31, 47 + + Soucek, Rear Adm. Apollo, 168 + + Soule, Hartley, 26 + + “space suit,” 242 + + Sparks, Ralph (“Sparky”), 38, 40 + + speed of sound, 16, 21, 26 + + stability augmentation system (SAS), 193, 339 + + Stack, John, 26, 157 + + Stanley, Robert, 127, 137, 152 + + Stapp, Col. John Paul, 259 + + Staub, Blake, 313, 339 + + Storms, Harrison (“Stormy”), 205, 246-250, 252, 262, 267-270, 280 + ff., 293, 311, 316, 326, 327, 330 ff., 342, 344, 349, 356, + 359, 374, 375, 378, 384, 386, 393, 406 + + Strategic Air Command, 20, 21 + + “supersonic yaw,” 142, 160 + + + Taft, William Howard, 57 + + “tail chase,” 95 + + Tau Beta Pi, 121 + + Taylor, James, 76, 373 + + Thach, Capt. John (“Jimmy”), 94 + + Thomas, Mrs. (author’s third grade teacher), 72 + + Thompson, Capt. Allen W., 190 + + Tucker, Charles E., 40 + + Turner, Roscoe, 65 + + twenty-mule teams, 29 + + Tymczyszyn, Joseph J., 20, 21, 121 + + + Union Oil Refinery, Wilmington, Calif., 58, 76 + + University of Nebraska, 81 + + University of Washington, 19, 20, 80-81, 111, 119 + + + Van Allen radiation belt, 275 + + Vensel, Joseph R. (“Joe”), 30, 31, 39, 44, 126, 153, 193, 198, 202, + 203 + + + Walker, Joseph A. (“Joe”), 126, 149, 154, 193, 200, 202, 286, 354, + 359, 363, 368, 371, 372, 392-393, 405, 406 + + Walko, Frank, 152 + + Wallin, Mrs. (author’s kindergarten teacher), 72 + + Wedell, James (“Jimmy”), 65 + + weightlessness (zero G), 129, 164, 187, 276 + + Welch, George, 194 + + Weldon, Lt. Comdr. Harry, 238, 239, 241 + + White, Maj. Robert, 286, 305, 340, 354, 359, 364, 371, 381-383, + 392, 397, 405, 406 + + Williams, Esther, 179 + + Williams, Walter C. (“Walt”), 28, 30-31, 38-39, 44, 52, 126, 138, + 149, 153, 162, 169, 178, 199, 206-208, 213, 250, 251, 298, + 305, 408 + + Wilrich, Louise, 78, 81, 84 + + Wilson, Charles E., Secretary of Defense, 270 + + Wilson, Woodrow, 26 + + wind-tunnel tests and data, 20, 33, 120, 163, 186, 211, 231, 248 + + wings: + cantilever, 19, 20; + delta, 32; + straight, 32; + swept, 32 + + Wolfe, Maj. Joseph E., 190 + + Woods, Robert, 26, 156, 157, 158 + + + Yeager, Capt. Charles (“Chuck”), 23, 28, 32, 40-41, 47, 104, 125, + 138, 149, 159, 162, 165, 180, 181, 198, 201, 207, 210, 215, + 216, 221, 276, 299, 342, 367, 371 + + York, Sergeant, 104 + + Young, William (“Bill”), 78, 81, 84, 409 + + + Ziegler, Jean L. (“Skip”), 146, 149, 151-152, 204, 299 + + Zimmerman, Charles H., 163 + + +[Illustration: (Colophon)] + + _This book was set in + Futura and Caledonia types by + Harry Sweetman Typesetting Corp. + It was printed and bound at + the press of The World Publishing Company. + Typography and design are by Larry Kamp._ + + + + + Transcriber’s Notes + + +Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been +silently corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences +within the text and consultation of external sources. Some hyphens +in words have been silently removed and some silently added when +a predominant preference was found in the original book. Except +for those changes noted below, original spellings in the text and +inconsistent usage have been retained. + + Page 173: “high-pressure propellents” replaced by “high-pressure + propellants”. + + Page 229: “add considerable” replaced by “add considerably”. + + Page 258: “look of horrow” replaced by “look of horror”. + + Page 293: “turned to on the” replaced by “turned to the”. + + Page 397: “Project Mecury capsule” replaced by “Project Mercury + capsule”. + + Page 418: “Holtner, Gen. Stanley” replaced by “Holtoner, Gen. + Stanley”. + + Page 419: “Mach number, 15” replaced by “Mach number, 16”. + + Page 419: “near San” replaced by “near San Francisco), 26”. + + Page 420: “speed of sound, 15” replaced by “speed of sound, 16”. + +Three consecutive pictures in the second photo insert shared the +same caption (“Clips from the horror film. NAA photos.”) in the +original text. The caption “Clip from the horror film. NAA photo.” +has been added to all three pictures for clarity. Italicized text is +surrounded by underscores: _italics_. + +New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the +public domain. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78431 *** |