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+ font-family:sans-serif, serif; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + color: #A9A9A9; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; +} /* page numbers */ + +/* spacing */ +.p1b {padding-bottom: 1em;} +.p2b {padding-bottom: 2em;} +.p1t {padding-top: 1em;} +.p2t {padding-top: 2em;} +.p4t {padding-top: 4em;} +.p2t {padding-top: 2em;} +.p4b {padding-bottom: 4em;} +.p1l {padding-left: 1em;} +.phalfl {padding-left: .5em;} +.p5l {padding-left: 5em;} +.p1r {padding-right: 1em;} +.p10r {padding-right: 10em;} +.p10l {padding-left: 10em;} +.phalfl {padding-left: .5em;} +.p18pr {padding-right: 18%} +.p18pl {padding-left: 18%} +.letter-sp1 {letter-spacing: .1em;} +.letter-sphalf {letter-spacing: .05em;} +.word-sp {word-spacing: .4em;} +.hidden {display: none;} + +/* font size */ +.fs350 {font-size: 350%;} +.fs150 {font-size: 150%;} +.fs125 {font-size: 125%;} +.fs110 {font-size: 110%;} +.fs100 {font-size: 100%;} +.fs90 {font-size: 90%;} +.fs85 {font-size: 85%;} +.fs150a {font-size: 150%;} +.fs125a {font-size: 125%;} + +/* font style */ +.fnormal {font-weight: normal;} +.fsans {font-family: sans-serif;} +.flightbold {font-weight: 500;} + +/* width */ +.wd100 {width: 100%;} + +/* Illustration classes */ +.illowp25 {width: 25%;} +.illowp30 {width: 30%;} +.illowp40 {width: 40%;} +.illowp50 {width: 50%;} +.illowp60 {width: 60%;} + + +/* hovers */ +.corr { + text-decoration: none; + border-bottom: thin dashed blue + } + +/* paragraphs */ + +.left {text-align: left;} +.noindent {text-indent:0em;} +.bigindent {text-indent:3em;} + +.illowe3 {width: 3em;} +.illowp45 {width: 45%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp45 {width: 60%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp60 {width: 100%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp40 {width: 55%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp30 {width: 43%;} +.x-ebookmaker .p10r {padding-right: 2em;} +.x-ebookmaker .p10l {padding-left: 7%;} +.x-ebookmaker .p18pr {padding-right: 0%;} +.x-ebookmaker .p18pl {padding-left: 0%;} +.x-ebookmaker .fs125a {font-size: 110%;} +.x-ebookmaker .fs150a {font-size: 125%;} + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78431 ***</div> + + +<p class="p4t p4b fs110 center letter-sp1 word-sp"> +ALWAYS ANOTHER DAWN ► +</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h1 class="center noindent fs350 fsans fnormal letter-sphalf"> +Always Another Dawn</h1> +<p class="center noindent fs150a fsans p2b letter-sp1 flightbold"> +THE STORY OF A ROCKET TEST PILOT</p> +<p class="right p10r fs150a"> +<i>by A. Scott Crossfield</i></p> +<p class="right p10r fs150a p4b"> +<i>with Clay Blair, Jr.</i></p> + + + +<p class="center fs125a p1t letter-sp1"> +<span class="p1r">CLEVELAND AND NEW YORK</span> <img alt="colophon" src="images/colophon.jpg"></p> + + +<p class="center fs150a p1t letter-sp1"> +THE WORLD PUBLISHING COMPANY +</p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="right fs85 p1b p10r"> + <i>Published by</i> The World Publishing Company<br> + 2231 West 110th Street, Cleveland 2, Ohio</p> +<p class="right fs85 p2b p10r"> + <i>Published simultaneously in Canada by</i><br> + Nelson, Foster & Scott Ltd.</p> + +<p class="right fs85 p1b p10r"> + Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 60-14641</p> +<p class="right fs85 p4b p10r"> + FIRST EDITION</p> +<p class="right fs85 p10r">WP1060 +</p> +</div> + +<p class="fs85 bigindent p10r p2b">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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center p2b p2t"> +To Joseph, who knows why +</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <p class="noindent fsans fs150 p1b fsans phalfl" id="Contents"> + <i>Contents</i> + </p> + +<p class="p2b p1l"> + (<i>Illustrations will be found following pages <a href="#i_134fp_01a">134</a> and <a href="#i_294fp_01a">294</a>.</i>) + </p> +</div> + + +<table class="autotable wd100"> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr" style="width:2em"></td> +<td class="tdl fs90"><span class="p1l"><a href="#Foreword">FOREWORD</a></span></td> +<td class="tdr">15</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"></td> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdr"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"></td> +<td class="tdl fs90"><span class="p1l"><a href="#A_Note_on_Speed">A NOTE ON SPEED</a></span></td> +<td class="tdr">16</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"></td> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdr"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="phalfl"><a href="#CHAPTER_1">1</a>.</span></td> +<td class="tdl"> “A Modern-Day Lindbergh”</td> +<td class="tdr">19</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="phalfl"><a href="#CHAPTER_2">2</a>.</span></td> +<td class="tdl"> The Gypsy Caravan</td> +<td class="tdr">25</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="phalfl"><a href="#CHAPTER_3">3</a>.</span></td> +<td class="tdl"> A Sense of Urgency</td> +<td class="tdr">38</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="phalfl"><a href="#CHAPTER_4">4</a>.</span></td> +<td class="tdl"> Excitement and Frustration</td> +<td class="tdr">45</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="phalfl"><a href="#CHAPTER_5">5</a>.</span></td> +<td class="tdl"> An Unusual Heritage</td> +<td class="tdr">53</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="phalfl"><a href="#CHAPTER_6">6</a>.</span></td> +<td class="tdl"> An Isolated Environment</td> +<td class="tdr">62</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="phalfl"><a href="#CHAPTER_7">7</a>.</span></td> +<td class="tdl"> “Take Her Up and Try a Spin”</td> +<td class="tdr">72</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="phalfl"><a href="#CHAPTER_8">8</a>.</span></td> +<td class="tdl"> Change and Challenge</td> +<td class="tdr">82</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="phalfl"><a href="#CHAPTER_9">9</a>.</span></td> +<td class="tdl"> Manhood and Maturity</td> +<td class="tdr">89</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_10">10</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl"> No Penalty for Being Late</td> +<td class="tdr">99</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_11">11</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl"> How Dark the Clouds</td> +<td class="tdr">109</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_12">12</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl"> A Short Man with Santa Claus Eyebrows</td> +<td class="tdr">119</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_13">13</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl">“Barefoot Boy with Cheek”</td> +<td class="tdr">125</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_14">14</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl"> The Need for Speed</td> +<td class="tdr">135</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_15">15</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl"> Disaster on the Race Track</td> +<td class="tdr">145</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_16">16</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl"> Bright Light Under a Bush</td> +<td class="tdr">154</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_17">17</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl"> Light in the Open</td> +<td class="tdr">162</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_18">18</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl"> “Fastest Man on Earth”</td> +<td class="tdr">171</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_19">19</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl"> “Leaf in a Tempest”</td> +<td class="tdr">180</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_20">20</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl">“Please Come to a Complete Stop”</td> +<td class="tdr">190</td> +</tr> + +<tr> + +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_21">21</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl">End of the Line</td> +<td class="tdr">200</td> +</tr> + + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_22">22</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl">End of an Era</td> +<td class="tdr">209</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_23">23</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl">Secrets in the Cafeteria</td> +<td class="tdr">217</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_24">24</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl">Ullage and Capsules</td> +<td class="tdr">226</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_25">25</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl">Girdles, Brassieres, and Shattered Sinuses</td> +<td class="tdr">234</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_26">26</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl">The Agricultural Approach</td> +<td class="tdr">244</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_27">27</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl">A Tornado Named Stormy</td> +<td class="tdr">246</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_28">28</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl">Wilting Straws in Plaster of Paris</td> +<td class="tdr">253</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_29">29</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl">Eyes Toward Space</td> +<td class="tdr">262</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_30">30</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl">Muting the Cassandras</td> +<td class="tdr">271</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_31">31</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl">Working in a Fish Bowl</td> +<td class="tdr">280</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_32">32</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl">Time for Extraordinary Action</td> +<td class="tdr">289</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_33">33</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl">Circus Day</td> +<td class="tdr">297</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_34">34</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl">A Carnival at Dawn</td> +<td class="tdr">307</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_35">35</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl">Smoke in the Cockpit</td> +<td class="tdr">317</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_36">36</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl">The Reluctant Dragon</td> +<td class="tdr">327</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_37">37</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl">Engulfed in Disappointment</td> +<td class="tdr">338</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_38">38</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl">“She Blew Sky High”</td> +<td class="tdr">346</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_39">39</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl">The Old Pro</td> +<td class="tdr">359</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_40">40</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl">Bad News with the Good</td> +<td class="tdr">367</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_41">41</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl">“You Have a Fire!”</td> +<td class="tdr">376</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_42">42</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl">Minor Miracles</td> +<td class="tdr">388</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_43">43</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl">“The Real Significance”</td> +<td class="tdr">399</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_44">44</a>.</td> +<td class="tdl">“Prophecies of the Next Age”</td> +<td class="tdr">407</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"></td> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdr"></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"></td> +<td class="tdl fs90"><a href="#Chronology">CHRONOLOGY</a></td> +<td class="tdr">411</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"></td> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdr"></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"></td> +<td class="tdl fs90"><a href="#Index">INDEX</a></td> +<td class="tdr">415</td> +</tr> +</table> + + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak left fsans p2b" id="Foreword"> + <i>Foreword</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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 <i>can’t</i> be a test pilot. He +hasn’t written a book.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p class="right"> + <span class="smcap">A. Scott Crossfield</span> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"><i>Los Angeles, Calif.<br> +August 1960</i></p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak left fsans p2b" id="A_Note_on_Speed"> + <i>A Note on Speed</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span></p> + + <p class="center p2t p2b letter-sp1 word-sp"> + ALWAYS ANOTHER DAWN ► +</p> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span></p> + + + +<p class="right p2t"> + “There is no liberty except the liberty of someone<br> +making his way towards something.”</p> +<p class="right p2b p1t allsmcap"> +—ANTOINE DE SAINT EXUPÉRY +</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span></p> + + + +<p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_1">CHAPTER 1 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 1</span> “<i>A Modern-Day Lindbergh</i>” + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span>marked “Secret” since Boeing and the Air Force considered the +data classified.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“He’s reluctant to fly it?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“Yeah,” Tym said. “They say he wants a lot more money.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Oh, nothing,” I said.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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: +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span>with ease—and overnight became the new Lindbergh of the +aviation world.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span></p> + + +<p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_2"> + CHAPTER 2 ► + </p> +<h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 2</span> <i>The Gypsy Caravan</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>flown</i> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span>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.</p> + +<p>During the course of modern aviation history, NACA has +been alternately praised and damned. In 1935 the British <i>Journal +of the Royal Aeronautical Society</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>I remember everything about that day. It was remarkable +not only because it was a turning point in my life, but also +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Is somebody ill?” I asked Clousing.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>I wasn’t too keen on Edwards. Clousing’s brief comments +brought to mind a picture of a gypsy caravan from NACA camping +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>After Chuck Yeager flew the plane through the sound barrier, +other Air Force pilots moved in to take the controls and set +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span>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.</p> + +<p>There were actually <i>three</i> X⁠-1s, I discovered. The first, +Yeager’s plane, which he nicknamed <i>Glamorous Glennis</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“How is it you have so much single-engine time?” Griffith +asked.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“What about this stunt team?” Williams asked.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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 ...”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span>running into all kinds of phenomena. Some of them have been +predicted in theory and tunnel test; some are brand-new.”</p> + +<p>“What planes are you working with now?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“This is the Douglas Skystreak, the D⁠-558⁠-I,” Williams said. +“It’s a Navy project.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“That’s right,” Williams said. “We have two of these left. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span>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.”</p> + +<p><i>All-rocket, air-launch, swept-wing.</i> I turned these phrases over +briefly in my mind, little realizing then the impact this airplane +would have on my future.</p> + +<p>“What do you expect from that?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Who is the pilot going to be?” I asked. “Gene May?”</p> + +<p>“No.” Williams said. “Douglas has a new pilot, an ex-Navy +type named Bill Bridgeman.”</p> + +<p>“The Air Force doesn’t get this one?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I would have a shot at those airplanes?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“If everything works out,” Williams said.</p> + +<p>“The X⁠-2 as well?”</p> + +<p>“If everything works out,” Williams repeated.</p> + +<p>“When do I start?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>I checked with the station master. There was a north-bound +train scheduled to pass through Mojave at midnight. The daycoach +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span>fare to Seattle, via San Francisco, was about $20, and +this was about $10 more than I had.</p> + +<p>“What’s the next stop beyond Mojave?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“Martinez,” the station master said. He eyed me curiously.</p> + +<p>“Okay,” I said, “give me a ticket to Martinez.” It was about +$7.00.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Are you Mr. Crossfield?”</p> + +<p>Startled, I broke out of my supersonic reverie and spun around. +It was the theater usher.</p> + +<p>“Yeah. I’m Crossfield.”</p> + +<p>“There’s a gentleman out front to see you.”</p> + +<p>I followed the usher up the aisle wondering who it could be. +No one on earth knows where I am, I thought.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span>talked my brother-in-law into making the three-hour drive to +Mojave to surprise me.</p> + +<p>“But how did you know I was in there?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>We laughed and made our way to a nearby restaurant. At midnight, +$25 richer, I boarded a daycoach on the train.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Three weeks later many of my Naval Reserve comrades were +mobilized and shipped off to Korea.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span></p> + + +<p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_3"> + CHAPTER 3 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 3</span> <i>A Sense of Urgency</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>My first six months at Edwards had been a tumultuous time +of hurry and change. Walt Williams, as a matter of routine, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span>abruptly and allow her to withdraw from any zone of trouble.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Some of the reason for the keen rivalry lay in the Air Force’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Lost both engines.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span></p> + +<p>“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....”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Well,” Vensel said, “what happened?”</p> + +<p>“I looped it and lost both engines,” I said. “Got an air start on +one and stop-cocked the other.”</p> + +<p>“Damn,” Vensel muttered. He stalked back to his office.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span></p> + + + +<p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_4">CHAPTER 4 ►</p> + +<h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 4</span> <i>Excitement and Frustration</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">“You might as well try a rocket flight,” Joe Vensel said.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Okay,” I said. “I’ll tell them to get 945 ready.”</p> + +<p>The number 945 was our mundane designation for the Douglas +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span>D⁠-558⁠-II Skyrocket, a research airplane with an impressive +background and a sensational future.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>I made my way into the hangar to pass on the word to Eddy +Layne, our crew chief on 945.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“No, just a check-flight,” I said.</p> + +<p>“I think Bridgeman and the Douglas people will be flying 943 +in the morning. You might want to touch base with them.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>I remained in the hangar for some time, looking over the ship +and recalling the plane’s history.</p> + +<p>In late 1944, when the Air Force and NACA launched the X⁠-1, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span>jet engine <i>and</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span>Douglas intended to keep the mother plane until Bridgeman +had checked out the all-rocket version of the Skyrocket.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“You going along, Bill?”</p> + +<p>“Yeah. Might be able to help out a little,” he said with that +wonderful friendliness that was his hallmark.</p> + +<p>“Fine. Fine.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Prime looks good.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>I heard a rattle as the two bomb shackles holding the Skyrocket +in its metallic perch were disengaged. Suddenly, then, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span>brilliant sunlight poured into the Skyrocket cockpit, blinding me. +I was falling like an elevator and flying!</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“All four going.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Scotty,” Walt Williams said later, “if we can just get you +through these first check-out flights, I think we’ve got it made.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span></p> + + + +<p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_5">CHAPTER 5 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 5</span> <i>An Unusual Heritage</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">“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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>banditos</i> 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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span>very unusual person. I have a lasting and profound respect for +him.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>knew</i> that.” This, of course, made us feel like idiots and +soon after dinner we were all flying to the encyclopedia.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_6">CHAPTER 6 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 6</span> <i>An Isolated Environment</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>This interest was stimulated originally, I am certain, by a close +friend and neighbor of my father’s named Charles (“Carl”) +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span>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!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Mystery Ship</i>. +She swaggered around in boots and flying jacket and won nearly +every race she entered.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Ike</i>, <i>Mike</i>, and <i>Pete</i>, and <i>Mr. Mulligan</i>, the +plane that nearly killed him. I built models of all these planes, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>About that time I took over a newspaper route for the Long +Beach <i>Press-Telegram</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span>near Chehalis, Washington, about midway between Seattle and +Portland, Oregon. He got it for $50 an acre.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>He followed the same system with the cattle. His objective +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span>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.</p> + +<p>As I think back on it, my father had soon organized everything +on that farm to perfection.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<i>avant garde</i>. 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span></p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_7">CHAPTER 7 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 7</span> “<i>Take Her Up and Try a Spin</i>” + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>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,” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span>he would say, “don’t wait for the school bus today. Just walk +on home right now.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>I was an ace now, zipping low over the battlefield returning +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span>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 +<i>Mr. Mulligan</i>, 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“How’d it go?” someone asked.</p> + +<p>“Good,” I said. I knew they had watched the three spins. +There was no need to brag about it.</p> + +<p>“No trouble?” Then with a start I realized I was the subject +of a practical joke. The crowd <i>knew</i> 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.</p> + +<p>“None at all,” I replied. I read disappointment on all their +faces.</p> + +<p>I returned to the farm and my chores. At the dinner table +that night I felt very proud. But I dared not say why.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span>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 <i>was</i> an +airplane designer.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>I was profoundly impressed.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span>my older sister, Elena Ruth, to the University of California in +Berkeley.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span>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 <i>him</i>.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span>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.)</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_8">CHAPTER 8 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 8</span> <i>Change and Challenge</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>As part of the general defense preparedness the government +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“You’ve just lost your engine,” he said.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span></p> + +<p>I stared at Buchanan and said: “Keep your hands off the controls +of this airplane.”</p> + +<p>He stared back.</p> + +<p>“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>I</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.</p> + +<p>As it turned out, Buchanan found the episode amusing and +yielded.</p> + +<p>“All right,” he said. “You win. You lost an engine.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span>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!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>wanted</i> 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.</p> + +<p>I was back at Boeing a week later working at the same job.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span>home and wait until there was an opening in a cadet class. While +waiting, I returned to my old job.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>I believe those nine furious months at Boeing were among the +most valuable in my life.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_9">CHAPTER 9 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 9</span> <i>Manhood and Maturity</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span>seriously challenge me in aerial gunnery, but I could never touch +Hoffmann’s shooting.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Jones. Land immediately. Your tail is chopped off.”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Jones. Remain at your present altitude until we check your +airplane.”</p> + +<p>Jones started to argue back.</p> + +<p>“Shut up,” I said calmly.</p> + +<p>I moved in and took a look at his plane. Quite a bit of the +tail was missing.</p> + +<p>“Head for base,” I ordered.</p> + +<p>I flew alongside, coaching him through gentle maneuvers to +feel out the plane. One of these showed that if he slowed to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span>ordinary landing speed, the plane would not fly. If he had followed +the first advice on the radio, he would have been killed.</p> + +<p>“Okay,” I said. “You land that plane about ten or fifteen knots +above normal speed.”</p> + +<p>Just then someone else broke in and radioed the base tower:</p> + +<p>“We’ve got a crash coming in! Emergency! Emergency!”</p> + +<p>This yelling only served to rattle the pilot of the stricken +plane. Holding back my rage, I spoke on the radio:</p> + +<p>“Defer the emergency. We don’t need any special equipment. +Jones, remember to land fast.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>But one day in April, 1943, I called Alice on the telephone and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span></p> + +<p>“Mr. Crossfield,” he said. “What can I do? I don’t want to +give up.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Can your feet reach the rudder pedals?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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—<i>two</i> pads—behind +your back. This will bring you forward and closer to the +rudder bars.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>I think that this single tour of duty, more than anything else, +honed my flying to a point of near-perfection.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_10">CHAPTER 10 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 10</span> <i>No Penalty for Being Late</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>To a fighter pilot, being a fighter pilot is very important. +Fighters are the <i>avant garde</i>, the lancers, the agile fencing foils +of the fleet, the spearhead of offense and defense in any pitched +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span>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!</p> + +<p>“Can’t I get fighter orders?” I asked the officer at the desk.</p> + +<p>“We don’t have any fighter-plane orders,” he said.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>climbed</i>. I gave up.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>It was an unforgettable take-off. By regulation we kept the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span>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.</p> + +<p>When I was certain Alice was in good hands, I raced on to +San Diego, reporting in twenty minutes before the deadline.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span>airlines were out of the question. All military airplanes were +jammed. Trains were packing people in like sardines and running +days behind schedule.</p> + +<p>“That’s your problem,” the officer said. He handed me my +orders.</p> + +<p>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. <i>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> I packed a few clean clothes in a suitcase, sealed +and shipped my foot-lockers (which arrived months later), and +set off.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>behind</i> the +train schedule. I had to make it by air, or else....</p> + +<p>In Fort Worth I waited. Without a priority it seemed hopeless. +But luck is where you find it. I discovered very late that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span>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 <i>was</i> 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.</p> + +<p>I got bumped in Phoenix. I then had less than twenty-four +hours to make it to Seattle.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>any</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span></p> + + + +<p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_11">CHAPTER 11 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 11</span> <i>How Dark the Clouds</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span>into this?” But I wasn’t about to pull out, to admit that I couldn’t +hack it.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>the</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span>outwardly a cynic and cold as ice. But that was a mask; he displayed +many a kindness but feigned annoyance at the necessity.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“<i>That</i> ought to scare you,” I radioed.</p> + +<p>“You’ll have to do better than that, Dad,” Helsell replied.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Hell,” I said, “at 1,000 feet it’s no fun.”</p> + +<p>“I know,” the Old Man said, “but that’s an order.” He abruptly +ended the conversation. And with that the stunt team folded.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span>while we were on two weeks’ active duty, flying out of Sand +Point.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>Again there was a confused debate on the radio. In the midst +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span>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.</p> + +<p>I radioed my wingman, Bill Helsell:</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“What do you think?” I radioed Helsell.</p> + +<p>“Do <i>you</i> think we should turn back?” he answered.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” I said.</p> + +<p>“So do I.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>This brilliant maneuver did little to boost recruiting in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_12">CHAPTER 12 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 12</span> <i>A Short Man with + Santa Claus Eyebrows</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>This may have been a calculated taunt; I’m not certain. In any +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The University of Washington graduate course in aeronautical +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span>agreed to let me disagree and certainly were not of a nature to +flunk me for disagreeing.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span>Seeger presented it, was very generous—too appealing to ignore, +in fact.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_13">CHAPTER 13 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 13</span> “<i>Barefoot Boy with Cheek</i>” + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>I eased into the cramped X⁠-1 cockpit and waved my hand. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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. <i>Glamorous Glennis</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Prime looks good.”</p> + +<p>B⁠-29 pilot Pete Sellers began the countdown. Suddenly I +recalled a humorous incident which had happened one time +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>could</i> +correct the control trim after launch, but an overly nose-up +or nose-down setting at the moment of launch <i>could</i> cause the +plane to take off on a wild gyration.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>As it turned out, the engineer <i>had</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span>down, he was dumbstruck. At last, he found his voice and, with +the aplomb he could always muster, spoke on the radio:</p> + +<p>“Well, <i>that’s</i> certainly a new way to launch!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span>goes wrong, they take the necessary steps to settle it favorably. +The incident is rarely noted publicly, as are the pilot’s emergencies.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span>were to violate all his instincts and pull <i>back</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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....</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span>it to the ground. I climbed out—with my right foot bare as a +baby’s behind.</p> + +<p>Someone shouted: “Where is your right shoe?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> + +<h2 class="hidden">Illustrations I + </h2> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_01a" style="max-width: 50.0em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_01a.jpg" alt="Formal picture of a family"> + <figcaption> + <p>My maternal grandfather, Thomas A. Dwyer, my grandmother, Paula, and their + children. My mother, Lucia, is third from right.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp30" id="i_134fp_01c" style="max-width: 25.0em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_01c.jpg" alt="Formal portrait of a man"> + <figcaption> + <p>My paternal grandfather, + Judge Amasa Scott + Crossfield.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figleft illowp30 p18pl" id="i_134fp_01b" style="max-width: 25.0em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_01b.jpg" alt="Portrait of a woman"> + <figcaption> + <p>My mother, Lucia, + just after her marriage.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figright illowp30 p18pr" id="i_134fp_01d" style="max-width: 25.0em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_01d.jpg" alt="Photo of a man, side view"> + <figcaption> + <p>My father, + Albert Scott Crossfield.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp30" id="i_134fp_02a" style="max-width: 25.0em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_02a.jpg" alt=" picture of a man reading papers spread out in front of him"> + <figcaption> + <p>Elena Ruth, Mary Ann, + and I, 1928.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_02b" style="max-width: 50.0em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_02b.jpg" alt="Picture of a house with a tree in front of it"> + <figcaption> + <p>Our home in Wilmington, the eucalyptus tree at right.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_02c" style="max-width: 25.0em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_02c.jpg" alt="Picture of a man reading"> + <figcaption> + <p>Carl Lienesch.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_03a" style="max-width: 50.0em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_03a.jpg" alt="Picture of a man in front of an airplane"> + <figcaption> + <p>McNulty’s Inland Sportster and budding aviator, 1935.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figleft illowp30 p18pl" id="i_134fp_03b" style="max-width: 25.0em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_03b.jpg" alt="Picture of a young man"> + <figcaption> + <p>Farmer’s son, 1937.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figright illowp30 p18pr" id="i_134fp_03c" style="max-width: 25.0em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_03c.jpg" alt="Picture of a young man with livestock"> + <figcaption> + <p>Showing prize Guernsey bull.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figleft illowp30 p18pl" id="i_134fp_04a" style="max-width: 25.0em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_04a.jpg" alt="Picture of a boy with model seaplanes"> + <figcaption> + <p>With seaplane models, 1932.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figright illowp30 p18pr" id="i_134fp_04b" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_04b.jpg" alt="Picture of a boy with a large model plane"> + <figcaption> + <p>This gas-powered model logged + over 1,000 flights.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figleft illowp30 p18pl" id="i_134fp_04c" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_04c.jpg" alt="A model airplane with arching wings on the lawn"> + <figcaption> + <p>The radio-controlled model + with geodetic construction.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figright illowp30 p18pr" id="i_134fp_04d" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_04d.jpg" alt="A model airplane in a shop with many tools"> + <figcaption> + <p>A corner of my shop on the + second floor of the farmhouse.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figleft illowp30 p18pl" id="i_134fp_05a" style="max-width: 25.0em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_05a.jpg" alt="Formal portrait photo of a young man"> + <figcaption> + <p>High school graduate, 1939.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figright illowp30 p18pr" id="i_134fp_05b" style="max-width: 25.0em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_05b.jpg" alt="Picture of an aircraft"> + <figcaption> + <p>The ill-fated Taylorcraft.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp30" id="i_134fp_05c" style="max-width: 25.0em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_05c.jpg" alt="Formal picture of a young man in a uniform"> + <figcaption> + <p>Aspiring cadet, 1942.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_05d" style="max-width: 50.0em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_05d.jpg" alt="Picture of an airplane in the sky"> + <figcaption> + <p>My home for almost two years, an SNJ over Corpus Christi.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_06a" style="max-width: 50.0em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_06a.jpg" alt="A group of men in flying gear posing in front of an airplane"> + <figcaption> + <p>Dive bombers in Jacksonville, 1944. Rear-seat men kneeling, SBD airplane in + background. I’m standing second from left.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figleft illowp30 p18pl" id="i_134fp_06b" style="max-width: 43.9375em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_06b.jpg" alt="A young pilot in an an open air airplane"> + <figcaption> + <p>F6F fighter pilot, + Pasco, Washington, 1945.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figright illowp30 p18pr" id="i_134fp_06c" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_06c.jpg" alt="A young man standing with his hand on an airplane wing"> + <figcaption> + <p>Corsair pilot, 1946.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_07a" style="max-width: 50.0em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_07a.jpg" alt="Six men in uniform "> + <figcaption> + <p>A few of the veterans of the Denver fiasco returning to Seattle, 1947, much + subdued. I’m on extreme left.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figleft illowp30 p18pl" id="i_134fp_07b" style="max-width: 25.0em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_07b.jpg" alt="A young couple with a dog sitting on the grass"> + <figcaption> + <p>Alice and I visiting the farm in + 1947. Our Dalmatian, “Cadet,” in + the center.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figright illowp30 p18pr" id="i_134fp_07c" style="max-width: 25.0em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_07c.jpg" alt="A boy trying on a helmet with aid froma man in a flight suit"> + <figcaption> + <p>Beginning a new circle. Tommy + tries on the helmet. NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figleft illowp30 p18pl" id="i_134fp_08a" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_08a.jpg" alt="Picture of a woman holding out her arm"> + <figcaption> + <p>My mother in 1947.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figright illowp30 p18pr" id="i_134fp_08b" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_08b.jpg" alt="Picture of a man reading"> + <figcaption> + <p>My father in 1947.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_08c" style="max-width: 50.0em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_08c.jpg" alt="Picture of a family"> + <figcaption> + <p>The family, 1960. Photo by John Bryson.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_09a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_09a.jpg" alt="Picture of an airplane on the ground with a plume coming ouf of its back end"> + <figcaption> + <p>The X⁠-1, rocket engines ablaze, is tested on the ground. Bell photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_09b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_09b.jpg" alt="Crew working with two airplanes"> + <figcaption> + <p>Preparing to mate the X⁠-1 to the mother plane. Bell photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_10a" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_10a.jpg" alt="An airplane attached to the bottom of a larger airplane"> + <figcaption> + <p>The X⁠-1 snugged into position. Bell photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_10b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_10b.jpg" alt="An airplane in the air"> + <figcaption> + <p>The X⁠-1; straining for altitude. USAF photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp30" id="i_134fp_11a" style="max-width: 48.125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_11a.jpg" alt="A man in uniform in a narrow apparatus"> + <figcaption> + <p>“Slick” Goodlin going down the + elevator to enter the X⁠-1 cockpit. + Bell photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_11b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_11b.jpg" alt="A small airplane being released from a larger mother-plane"> + <figcaption> + <p>Three ... Two ... One. Drop! Bell photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_12a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_12a.jpg" alt="The X⁠-1 flying"> + <figcaption> + <p>The X⁠-1, rocket engines ablaze, is tested in the air. Bell photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_12b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_12b.jpg" alt="X⁠-1 coming in for a landing"> + <figcaption> + <p>The X⁠-1 landing. USAF photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_13a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_13a.jpg" alt="A man crawling out of a plane with two men standing beside it"> + <figcaption> + <p>Chuck Yeager climbing out of the X⁠-1 cockpit. Bell photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_13b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_13b.jpg" alt="A man half out of a plane talking with three men standing next to it"> + <figcaption> + <p>John Griffith of NACA, my boss, after an X⁠-1 flight in 1950. NASA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="i_134fp_14a" style="max-width: 43.75em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_14a.jpg" alt="A man standing in front of an airplane"> + <figcaption> + <p>Bell’s Joe Cannon and the + X⁠-1 (No. 3) “Queenie,” at + Edwards, 1951. Bell photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="i_134fp_14b" style="max-width: 43.75em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_14b.jpg" alt="A wrecked plane"> + <figcaption> + <p>Sad demise of the “Queenie.” + Cannon survived. Bell photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_14c" style="max-width: 43.75em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_14c.jpg" alt="A damaged plane"> + <figcaption> + <p>The mother plane was also + damaged. Bell photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_15" style="max-width: 50.0em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_15.jpg" alt="A large crew with various vehicles and an airplane in the background"> + <figcaption> + <p>Yeager, his linemen, and the support equipment for an X⁠-1⁠-A flight. Bell photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_16a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_16a.jpg" alt="Two airplanes next to each other"> + <figcaption> + <p>The second generation X⁠-1s in parade formation. Bell photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_16b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_16b.jpg" alt="An airplane flying"> + <figcaption> + <p>Straining for altitude. Bell photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_17a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_17a.jpg" alt="A small airplane flying directly under a larger plane"> + <figcaption> + <p>The X⁠-1⁠-A; Three ... Two ... One. Drop! Bell photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_17b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_17b.jpg" alt="An aiplane flying on a downward slant"> + <figcaption> + <p>The X⁠-1⁠-B gliding home. USAF photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_18a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_18a.jpg" alt="a ground of men gathered around a plane"> + <figcaption> + <p>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.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_18b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_18b.jpg" alt="Two men in tightly fitted suits shaking hands in front of an airplane"> + <figcaption> + <p>Mutual admiration society. Chuck Yeager and Kit Murray wearing partial-pressure + suits, and the history-making X⁠-1⁠-A in background. USAF photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="i_134fp_19a" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_19a.jpg" alt="An airplane on the ground with its nose down"> + <figcaption> + <p>X⁠-1⁠-B starts a new Nose + Wheel Club. NASA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="i_134fp_19b" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_19b.jpg" alt="An airplane on the ground that appears to have no landing gear"> + <figcaption> + <p>NASA’s modernized X⁠-1⁠-E + joins the club. NASA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="i_134fp_19c" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_19c.jpg" alt="An airplane wreck with men standing nearby"> + <figcaption> + <p>The price of progress. Remains + of the X⁠-1⁠-D. Quick + action saved Everest. Bell + photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="i_134fp_19d" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_19d.jpg" alt="An airplane wreck"> + <figcaption> + <p>A similar demise for the + X⁠-1⁠-A. NASA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_20a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_20a.jpg" alt="The X⁠-3 flying"> + <figcaption> + <p>The X⁠-3; straining for altitude. Douglas photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_20b" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_20b.jpg" alt="The X⁠-4 flying"> + <figcaption> + <p>The X⁠-4 in flight. USAF photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_20c" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_20c.jpg" alt="The X⁠-5 landing"> + <figcaption> + <p>The X⁠-5 about to touch down on lake bed. USAF photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_21a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_21a.jpg" alt="An airplane on a road with a car next to it, along with several people"> + <figcaption> + <p>The XF⁠-92⁠-A on Crossfield Pike. NASA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_21b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_21b.jpg" alt="An airplane wreck"> + <figcaption> + <p>The nose wheel got tired. NASA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_22a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_22a.jpg" alt="A hangar with several airplanes in front of it"> + <figcaption> + <p>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.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_22b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_22b.jpg" alt="One man sitting and five men standing, all looking happy and relaxed"> + <figcaption> + <p>Joe Vensel and NACA pilots. From left: Joe Walker, Stan Butchart, Jack McKay, + and a cigar-smoker. NASA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_23a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_23a.jpg" alt="An airplane in a hangar"> + <figcaption> + <p>The sonic wall was Yeager’s, the hangar wall was mine. NASA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_23b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_23b.jpg" alt="An airplane in flight"> + <figcaption> + <p>The Skystreak in flight. NASA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_24a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_24a.jpg" alt="An airplane on the ground"> + <figcaption> + <p>The D⁠-558⁠-II Skyrocket, my loyal steed for four years. Douglas photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_24b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_24b.jpg" alt="Five men standing next to a man in a flight suit"> + <figcaption> + <p>The faithful grooms: the Skyrocket ground crew. NASA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_25a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_25a.jpg" alt="A crew attaching a small plane to the underside of a larger plane"> + <figcaption> + <p>Mating the Skyrocket. NASA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_25b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_25b.jpg" alt="An airplane flying"> + <figcaption> + <p>Straining for altitude. Douglas photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_26a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_26a.jpg" alt="A smaller airplane directly underneath a larger airplane"> + <figcaption> + <p>Three ... Two ... One. Drop! NASA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_26b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_26b.jpg" alt="An airplane flying"> + <figcaption> + <p>Skyrocket in flight. Douglas photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_27a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_27a.jpg" alt="Two airplanes flying, a larger round-nosed plane somewhat lower than a plane with a pointed nose"> + <figcaption> + <p>Gliding home again. Douglas photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_27b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_27b.jpg" alt="A plane landing"> + <figcaption> + <p>Touching down on the lake bed. Douglas photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figleft illowp30 p18pl" id="i_134fp_28a" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_28a.jpg" alt="A pilot in an aircraft listening to a man leaning on the plane"> + <figcaption> + <p>Walt Williams hears it first: Mach 2, + Nov. 20, 1953. NASA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figright illowp30 p18pr" id="i_134fp_28b" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_28b.jpg" alt="Three men standing in front of a plan"> + <figcaption> + <p>The Skyrocket and her three record-holders. + From left: Bill Bridgeman, + Colonel Marion Carl, and the farmer’s + son. Douglas photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_28c" style="max-width: 50.0em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_28c.jpg" alt="Several men sitting in a circle on the tarmac next to a plane"> + <figcaption> + <p>The X⁠-2 and her Air Force team of jockeys. Clockwise from center: Pete Everest, + Iven Kincheloe, and Mel Apt. Bell photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_29a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_29a.jpg" alt="A plane on the ground with its engine running and steam billowing out around it"> + <figcaption> + <p>Ground-testing the X⁠-2. Bell photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_29b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_29b.jpg" alt="Several men looking up at a plane mounted underneath a larger plane"> + <figcaption> + <p>The X⁠-2 nested in the mother plane’s belly. Bell photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_30a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_30a.jpg" alt="A plane in flight with four contrails"> + <figcaption> + <p>Straining for altitude. Bell photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_30b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_30b.jpg" alt="Three planes in the air, one small one with a large contrail directly below a larger plane"> + <figcaption> + <p>Three ... Two ... One. Drop! The X⁠-2. Bell photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_31a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_31a.jpg" alt="A plane landing with mountains in the background"> + <figcaption> + <p>The X⁠-2 lands on the lake bed. NASA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_31b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_31b.jpg" alt="A man standing next to a sleek plane on the ground"> + <figcaption> + <p>Skip Ziegler joins the Nose Wheel Club. Bell photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_32a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_32a.jpg" alt="A man in a plane talking with a man on a ladder next to it"> + <figcaption> + <p>The X⁠-2 and her record holders: Mel Apt in cockpit, Iven Kincheloe on the + ladder. Note scorched paint on the nose. Bell photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_134fp_32b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_134fp_32b.jpg" alt="An airplane wreck"> + <figcaption> + <p>Mel Apt and the second X⁠-2 died on the desert. Bell photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_14">CHAPTER 14 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 14</span> <i>The Need for Speed</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span>short, our research airplanes were too slow, and NACA was +not, in my opinion, doing enough about it.</p> + +<p>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 <i>might</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Altogether, then, Bell had seven rocket airplanes in the plant +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Why not?” I asked. “We need these planes in a hurry, don’t +we?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span>cotter keys in cotter keys. All of this was slowing us down +at a time when we urgently needed to be picking up speed.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Besides, Scott,” Williams said, dangling a diverting sweet, +“you have the Skyrocket program.”</p> + +<p>I couldn’t argue that point.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Bridgeman and the Douglas crew had arrived with the all-rocket +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“No drop. This is an abort.”</p> + +<p>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....”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>Falling away from the mother plane, Bridgeman lighted the +rocket engines. The Skyrocket roared heavenward, just short of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span>Yeager’s record speed of Mach 1.4. Bridgeman growled over the +radio:</p> + +<p>“Goddammit, George, I <i>told</i> you not to drop me.”</p> + +<p>“You got keen friends, Bridgeman,” said Everest, who was +flying chase that day.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>These mysteries somehow leaked to the press, which sensationally +proclaimed that Bridgeman had discovered a phenomenon +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“How’d it go?” Drake asked.</p> + +<p>“It was all right,” I said. “You people and Douglas had already +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I know,” said Drake.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You ought to come down and see our stuff,” Carmen said.</p> + +<p>“What have you got?”</p> + +<p>“We think we have an airplane that can perform at Mach 6 +and fifty miles,” Drake said.</p> + +<p>“How do you get that kind of performance?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“We <i>did</i> write it up,” Drake said, crumpling his paper coffee +cup. He aimed carefully but missed the big G.I. can.</p> + +<p>“What happened?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_15">CHAPTER 15 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 15</span> <i>Disaster on the Race Track</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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 <i>almost</i> 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, <i>Glamorous Glennis</i> +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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span>the temptation to throw caution to the winds was overwhelming. +As Pete Everest has written in his book, <i>The Fastest Man Alive</i>, +mincing no words: “... we had a chance to set another record +that would be much harder to beat.”</p> + +<p>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 <i>two</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span>Everest to the floor of the cockpit. A tongue of fire licked into +the mother ships bomb-bay compartment.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span>explosion rocked Edwards. Queenie and the mother plane +were enveloped by swirling, vaporizing liquid oxygen.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Get the hell out of here! She’s going to go!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“What’s this for?” I said to the mechanic.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t ask me, Scotty,” he said. “I just work here and we +have a thousand bosses in every corner of the government.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>I was there on an urgent mission—back on a familiar theme.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span></p> + +<p>“Well, you certainly seem quite interested in this program,” +Dryden said. He weighed each word.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” I said. “I am supposed to fly the airplane and I +would like to do so before I retire.”</p> + +<p>“What do you propose?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Dryden’s answer surprised me, frankly. “Very well,” he +said. “If Williams approves, you may try it.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Damn it, Scotty,” Williams said, “we really need you around +here. The X⁠-2 can wait. That plane may kill more people yet.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Vensel said no. He implied I was urgently needed at Edwards.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_16">CHAPTER 16 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 16</span> <i>Bright Light Under a Bush</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>“What do you want on this flight?” I asked Thomas Finch, an +NACA engineer.</p> + +<p>“The flight plan calls for aggravated stalls,” he said. These +would help define the safe low-speed limits of the airplane.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean, aggravated stalls?” I said. “How far?”</p> + +<p>“Use your own judgment,” Finch said. “But if you can take +her well into the stall region, that’ll be fine.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>never</i> to perform maneuvers +which could result in a spin below 20,000 feet.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“No,” I said. “What happened?” I had just come in from a +trip to the East Coast.</p> + +<p>“He was assigned to do aggravated stalls at 12,000 feet. He +spun in.”</p> + +<p>I was sick. We had somehow failed in a basic NACA mission—getting +information to the right place in time.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Woods had a talent for hypnotizing a crowd—or anyway <i>me</i>, +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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Gentlemen,” Woods concluded, “I don’t think I have to stress +the need for an advanced research vehicle. The best thing we +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>I listened eagerly while the brass kicked around Woods’ proposal. +There were many pros and cons from a technical standpoint.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The X⁠-15 had been born. The name of the game was to get +aboard it somehow, and at the right time.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“That will really make Yeager’s job tougher,” Williams said.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_17">CHAPTER 17 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 17</span> <i>Light in the Open</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Is Yeager going to go?” Williams asked.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t say that.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span>gotten my ears pinned. Don’t get into the flight operations +aspects, just confine the report to the systems inspection.”</p> + +<p>“Okay, Walt.” I turned to leave.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>My heart skipped a beat or two.</p> + +<p>“What do they recommend?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“What can we do to keep this thing rolling, Walt?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“<i>Keep</i> it rolling? You mean <i>get</i> 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.”</p> + +<p>“All right, <i>get</i> it rolling.”</p> + +<p>“What I’d like <i>you</i> 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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“The numbers they’re kicking around now are Mach 6 and +75 miles altitude, close to 400,000 feet.”</p> + +<p>I got up and walked to a map which covered one part of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span>the wall in Williams’ office. I made some mental calculations +and spaced off some distances with my thumb and little finger +stretched to maximum.</p> + +<p>“I think you’ll probably have to launch some place over Salt +Lake to make a powered flight and land at Edwards,” I said.</p> + +<p>Williams got up and joined me before the map.</p> + +<p>“How about this area around Las Vegas?” he said.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“How far is it from here to Salt Lake?” Williams asked.</p> + +<p>“About four hundred miles,” I said.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Our first aircraft in space,” I said. In NACA’s vernacular +we called it “extra-atmospheric flight.”</p> + +<p>That afternoon I began my report: “Operational techniques +for a research airplane of the type proposed in reference (a) +will <i>not</i> present difficult problems if operational people have a +strong voice in the philosophy of the design and function of +the airplane and its parts....”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span>time, typically, there were experts in these fields who had made +a federal case of each.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>I grabbed my flight gear and drove down to the airplane.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span>the plane: Yeager, Everest, and Crossfield. The Air Force was not +sorry to turn it over to me.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span>ground to a halt. I pulled the fire-extinguishers and jumped out.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Not long after the final demise of the XF⁠-92⁠-A, I visited the +office of “Perk” Perkins, the Navy liaison civilian stationed at +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>I left Perkins’ office wondering if I had not slipped a cog. +Imagine Crossfield proposing a record attempt. Imagine Dr. +Dryden approving it!</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I won’t miss,” I said.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Walt!” I said. “What brings you to Edwards? We’re not +doing anything out here an aviation historian would be interested +in.”</p> + +<p>“Son,” Bonney said, tossing me a quizzical smile, “I’m not a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span>historian on this mission.” Bonney called everyone younger than +he “son.”</p> + +<p>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?</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_18">CHAPTER 18 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 18</span> “<i>Fastest Man on Earth</i>” + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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>I</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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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 <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'high-pressure propellents'" id="tn-173">high-pressure propellants</ins> at tremendous rates. The +peroxide solution—ninety per cent—was so strong that a rag +doused in the liquid would spontaneously burst into flames.</p> + +<p>“Go ahead,” I said. I tightened my jacket against the cold +desert wind.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Coming out of the doctor’s office, I saw Kinkaid sitting on a +bench, waiting for a check-up. He was soaking wet.</p> + +<p>“You better get out of those wet clothes,” I said.</p> + +<p>“No, Scotty, it’s okay. I’m warm,” he said.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span>When the drag equaled the thrust of the rockets, they shut off +and the Skyrocket slowed like a truck hitting a brick wall.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Against this possibility I had brought along a piece of insurance, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span>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:</p> + +<p>“Pressurized.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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:</p> + +<p>“Prime looks good.”</p> + +<p>“Five, four, three, two, one. DROP!” Butchart called the +countdown with almost exaggerated calm.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“All four going good,” chase Captain Givens reported. I +soon left them far below and behind.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>I could hear the usual chatter on the radio from chase: “Do +you have him in sight?”</p> + +<p>“No. I see the exhaust. But I can’t see him. He’s lost in the +sun some place.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ll ease over the base and try to pick him up when +he gets back down here.”</p> + +<p>“Rog.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span>1.0, the Skyrocket for a brief instant shook harshly, like a wet +dog drying his fur.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I don’t think you’ve wasted your time coming out here.” +He beamed.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>“Well, if you want to know the truth,” I said, “I didn’t feel +good yesterday. I had the flu. A real bellyache.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span>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:</p> + +<p class="center p1t p1b"> +PILOT FLIES MACH 2 AND GETS BELLYACHE +</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_19">CHAPTER 19 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 19</span> “<i>Leaf in a Tempest</i>” + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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: +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span>Carl’s 85,000-foot altitude record and my Mach 2 speed record, +both set in the Skyrocket. Yeager flew on December 12.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Drop her, Danny.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Got him in sight, Kit?” It was chase Ridley speaking to +chase Murray.</p> + +<p>“No,” Murray replied. “He’s going out of sight. Too small.” +That was a good sign—for Yeager.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Chuck! Chuck! Yeager! Where are you....”</p> + +<p>Then Yeager came on the air, his voice hoarse and rasping, +and barely audible:</p> + +<p>“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....”</p> + +<p>“At 25,000 feet?” Ridley asked incredulously.</p> + +<p>“I’m ... I’m ... Christ!”</p> + +<p>“What say, Chuck?” Ridley called. “Chuck!”</p> + +<p>“I say ... don’t know ... if I tore ... anything or not ... +but, Christ!”</p> + +<p>Yeager was obviously in serious trouble. The word flashed +across the base. Emergency trucks screamed toward the flight +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span>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 <i>great</i> pilot’s life—was +in jeopardy. I felt helpless—almost sick.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Be down at 18,000 feet. I’m about ... be over the base at +15,000 feet in a minute,” Yeager reported.</p> + +<p>On the ground we cheered the master on. His last radio +report indicated he would make it. His voice had new confidence.</p> + +<p>“Yes, <i>sir</i>,” Murray snapped on the radio.</p> + +<p>We heard the routine as Chuck jettisoned and vented fuel +tanks. He sounded much better. The chase closed in.</p> + +<p>“Does everything look okay on the airplane?” Yeager called, +lining up for the lake-bed landing.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I don’t have you, Chuck,” Murray called.</p> + +<p>“I’m on base leg,” Chuck reported. His voice sounded firm +and strong. “I’ll be landing ... in a minute.”</p> + +<p>We heard some additional chatter and then Yeager said:</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span>praise for a job well done, it was Yeager. After that +X⁠-1⁠-A episode, he never flew a rocket airplane again.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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....”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>Then, Everest goes on, in spite of these “precautions,” the +X⁠-1⁠-A flipped out of control, virtually duplicating the final phase +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>Murray had topped Carl’s record by 5,000 feet.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>“About all this airplane will do is prove the bravery of the +pilot.” The speaker was the chief designer of a large aircraft +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>who</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>There was much that worried me after the aeronautical design +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Say, Scotty,” one of the pilots said, “you feel pretty strong +about that airplane, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>“You’re damned right I do.”</p> + +<p>And that was a fact. I did.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_20">CHAPTER 20 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 20</span> “<i>Please Come to a Complete Stop</i>” + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>“But the most important area,” I said to Walt Williams, protesting, +“is down around 25,000 feet. That’s where the military +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“That’s up to Vensel,” Williams said. “He’s your boss.”</p> + +<p>“Vensel says no.”</p> + +<p>“Then the answer,” Williams said, “is no.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.)</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span></p> + +<p>A small notice riveted to the panel next to the compressor +fire-warning light informed me:</p> + +<p class="center p1t p1b"> +COMPRESSOR SECTION FIRE WARNING LIGHT ON:<br> +STOP-COCK ENGINE. IF LIGHT REMAINS ON BAIL OUT. +</p> + +<p>A hell of a sign to put in a cockpit, I thought. It inhibits one’s +thinking.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.)</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span>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!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Every night after landing, I taxied the F⁠-100 slowly to the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span>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:</p> + +<p class="center p1t"> +PLEASE COME TO A COMPLETE STOP<br> +BEFORE TAXIING UP RAMP +</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_21">CHAPTER 21 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 21</span> <i>End of the Line</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“We have a fire.” The words crackled from the loudspeaker. +I snapped to attention.</p> + +<p>“Fire?” Butchart repeated.</p> + +<p>“Yes. There’s been an explosion.”</p> + +<p>I raced upstairs to the NACA control tower. Soon it was +jammed with NACA engineers and mechanics, crowding the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span>loudspeaker, shouting conflicting accounts of the accident, and +helpful and unhelpful suggestions.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>after</i> 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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“What’s the situation up there?” Vensel yelled into the control-tower +mike.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Now let’s not take any chances,” Vensel said. “Don’t try to +save the airplane if there’s any danger.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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....”</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>I ran to the nearest telephone and put through a call to +Air Force Fighter Ops. Pete Everest answered.</p> + +<p>“Pete,” I said, “Murray’s up there. His plane’s been hit. How +soon can you get a relief chase plane up?”</p> + +<p>“We’ll be up there in five minutes,” Everest said, ringing off +hurriedly. I think he jumped into an airplane and flew up to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span>relieve Murray. In any case, Murray soon landed without further +difficulty.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Throw that damned thing away as fast as you can.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>I ran downstairs and found a radio mike in a secluded room.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Go ahead, Scotty,” Butchart replied.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<i>looped</i> before dipping and spinning crazily into the desert floor.</p> + +<p>Butchart received further instructions from the ground. Among +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span>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?</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>There were several reasons why the Air Force found North +American the ideal company to build the X⁠-15. For one thing, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>“Walt, I want to make a proposal to you.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Do you remember my proposal in 1953 to Dr. Dryden to +go to Bell and ride herd on the X⁠-2?”</p> + +<p>“Sure. Certainly.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Maybe,” Williams said. “Then again, maybe not. It may be +that no one could have salvaged the X⁠-2. Why?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve been thinking about this X⁠-15,” I said.</p> + +<p>“Well, now, that’s a surprise. You wouldn’t kid me, would +you? Have you been thinking about anything else?”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Okay, Scotty. I can see you’re being real serious,” he said. +“What do you have in mind?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span></p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Why does this thing mean so much to you?” Williams asked +me.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“Walt, this is the end of the line,” I said.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But you don’t understand. It’s <i>not</i> just the flying. I <i>do</i> want to +fly the plane. But I want to help <i>build</i> it, too. I want to be a +part of that airplane,” I said.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry, Walt. I may never be able to explain this properly +to anyone. But I am going with that airplane.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_22">CHAPTER 22 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 22</span> <i>End of an Era</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span>American did not usually draw from the outside. They used +their own talent of special jobs.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” I said.</p> + +<p>“When can you get by to see him?”</p> + +<p>“Right now, if it’s convenient.”</p> + +<p>Ray Rice, Chief Engineer of the Los Angeles Division, bought +my proposal, I have often thought since, with some reservations.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_23">CHAPTER 23 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 23</span> <i>Secrets in the Cafeteria</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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: <span class="allsmcap">SECRET. UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL +PROHIBITED.</span> 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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span>all of the tens of thousands of pieces of the puzzle fit properly +before they order production.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>“Morning, Charlie,” I said, sticking out my hand.</p> + +<p>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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“’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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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: “<span class="allsmcap">ENGINE. REACTION +MOTORS, INC. XLR⁠-99. THRUST 57,000 POUNDS AT 40,000 FEET +ALTITUDE.</span>” 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 <i>fast</i> 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 <i>high</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>controlled</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_24">CHAPTER 24 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 24</span> <i>Ullage and Capsules</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span>X⁠-15 team had any experience whatsoever with rocket airplanes.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“What does that mean in velocity altogether, Charlie?”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I think we can get some of this back,” Feltz said, referring +to the lost velocity.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span>run through the sealed tanks; it must go around. Thus the tunnel +concept was born years before.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>The new X⁠-15 tunnel concept, the idea of George Owl, was +absolutely ingenious. There is no other way to describe it.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Ullage? What the hell is that?” one of the younger engineers +asked.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>We were all mentally calculating the performance penalty.</p> + +<p>“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 <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'add considerable'" id="tn-229">add considerably</ins> +to the airframe. In addition, there’s some more instruments +to go in, and more dampers for the control system.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“How big is that space?” Feltz asked.</p> + +<p>“About ten cubic inches, I’d say.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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 <i>all</i> 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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span>from an F⁠-100 at supersonic speed. The blast tore the skin from +his face. It was a miracle that he lived, really.</p> + +<p>“Does this mean us, too?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“It says <i>all</i> new Air Force planes. The Air Force is paying +for this one.”</p> + +<p>“How much will this cost us?” We referred to weight like +money.</p> + +<p>“Twelve hundred pounds at least, to start,” Feltz said.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span>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?”</p> + +<p>“I agree,” I said. “What can we do about it?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</span>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.</p> + +<p>After the customers departed, Feltz said to me:</p> + +<p>“Scotty, you really earned your pay on that one.”</p> + +<p>“Somebody’s got to be stubborn and hold the line,” I said. “It +might as well be me.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_25">CHAPTER 25 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 25</span> <i>Girdles, Brassieres, and + Shattered Sinuses</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>In high-flying passenger airliners designed specifically for +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>The history of the pressure suit in this country is long and +tortuous, paralleling the history of the modern airplane. For +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</span>uncomfortable but unhurt. When Bill Bridgeman later flew the +Skyrocket to 79,000 feet, he wore a similar suit with an improved +helmet.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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?’”</p> + +<p>“We might be walking around on the moon before you know +it,” I said.</p> + +<p>“That’s what we believe. Here, have you seen this suit? This +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</span>is a David Clark suit, model number 7. It’s the most advanced +thing we have. It was designed for me.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Mind if I try this thing in the chamber?” I asked.</p> + +<p>Weldon hesitated. Then after glancing at his co-workers he +said, “Why not?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</span>of employees, who were as loyal and hard-working a group as +I have ever seen.</p> + +<p>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 <i>those</i> +structural loads, was even more awesome.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>It also led indirectly to one of the most agonizing physical +experiences of my life. We had no chamber at Edwards for +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.)</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</span>the intense pressure completed the destruction of my sinus +cavities. When I left Edwards they were shattered.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_26">CHAPTER 26 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 26</span> <i>The Agricultural Approach</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">“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.</p> + +<p>“Are there any questions?” I concluded.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</span>it’s asking quite a lot for the pilot to sit on cold, hard steel +for all that time.”</p> + +<p>“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....”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” the captain said. “I have read reports on these projects....”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Is that a fact?” the captain asked in wonderment.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_27">CHAPTER 27 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 27</span> <i>A Tornado Named Stormy</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</span>the government and aviation industry—bringing to a climax +a problem that had bothered us for some months.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The top members of the X⁠-15 team gathered in his office. +Stormy was emphatic and wasted no words.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</span>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.</p> + +<p>We were in the midst of discussing a truncated lower tail, one +that would not scrape the ground on landing, when Stormy +suddenly exploded:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Drop it? Drop the ventral?” someone asked, startled. “It’s +never been done. How would you drop it?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>We thought that over for a while. It was indeed a startling +idea. But, as we finally concluded, why not?</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</span>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</span></p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_28">CHAPTER 28 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 28</span> <i>Wilting Straws in Plaster of Paris</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Yeah, sure,” I said. “I used to play with those when I was +a kid.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“What?” I was astonished. At best, present equipment for the +job added up to as much as 110 pounds, give or take a few.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</span>for bellows-joints at the knees and elbows and for bearings at the +shoulders and wrists.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“What is this?” I asked Clark.</p> + +<p>“That’s a piece of nylon with a vacuum-blasted aluminum +coating. Just something one of the boys was trying out.”</p> + +<p>“Pretty glamorous looking.”</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“Whatever for?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“A marvelous idea, Scotty. I’ll make the boots and gloves out +of black material for contrast.”</p> + +<p>“Great touch,” I said. Ever since then all pressure suits have +been silver.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“<i>All</i> the hair off my body?” I asked incredulously.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” the artist replied. “<i>All</i> of it. Otherwise, it will stick in +the plaster of Paris.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t have a razor,” I said feebly, eyeing the nearest exit.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know how in hell I’ll ever explain this on my expense +account,” he said, “but here it is.”</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Mouth,” I said. “No, I don’t have claustrophobia.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>John Flagg was doubled up on the floor with laughter.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Now a great debate arose between the two artists about when +to pull the string. Actually, this <i>is</i> 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.</p> + +<p>In the midst of the debate, the head artist remembered he +had to make an urgent telephone call. He disappeared from +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</span>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.</p> + +<p>A few moments later the chief artist returned and smilingly +said: “Well, now, it is time to pull the string.” Then with a +<ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'look of horrow'" id="tn-258">look of horror</ins> 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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</span>my performance against the data accumulated on human guinea +pigs over several years, my record defied their statistics.</p> + +<p>“You’re a physical freak,” someone remarked. “No one can +take that kind of punishment. How do you do it?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>We gathered behind a concrete shield listening as the countdown +was intoned on the loudspeaker: “5 ... 4 ... 3 ... 2 ... +1 ... Zero!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>At the peak of acceleration of the sled—1000 miles an hour—the +X⁠-15 seat fired automatically. The V-shaped canopy blew +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</span></p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Dad-gummed,” Feltz said. “This sounds too good to be true. +Where’s the hooker?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You won’t be able to flight-test the suit before then?”</p> + +<p>“No,” I said. “We’ll have a lot of chamber time, but no realistic +in-flight operations.”</p> + +<p>“Well, that’s the breaks,” Feltz said. “Just make darned sure +the thing works.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_29">CHAPTER 29 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 29</span> <i>Eyes Toward Space</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</span></p> + +<p>“What do they want?” someone asked.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t they say so before now?” one of the engineers said.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Ah, to hell with them,” an engineer said. “Let’s don’t do it.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I guess we have to remember this isn’t <i>our</i> 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 <i>his</i> +decision, not ours. We have to do what they want.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Now, you won’t believe this,” he started out, “but the customer +wants to change the mother plane.”</p> + +<p>A chorus of groans echoed through the office.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</span>raised grave new problems, which we batted about in the +meeting.</p> + +<p>“You can’t put the X⁠-15 in the B⁠-52 belly,” an engineer said. +“The landing gear is in the way.”</p> + +<p>“I know,” Feltz said. “We’ll have to hang the X⁠-15 externally, +out on the wing.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>I had to agree. Although the shift caused great technical pain, +it paid off.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Following these probes, man himself would go there, no matter +what the cost in terms of money and scientific effort.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I think the military phase of it will be important,” Stormy +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>Talking in these heady realms naturally led into a discussion +of the hardware that would take man into space.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Yeah,” I said. “But you’re liable to land in the ocean, or any +place. Pretty undignified way to come down, I’d say.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“How long?” Stormy pressed.</p> + +<p>“Two years,” Feltz said. “Two years from right now.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“A change-order?” Feltz laughed. “A $90 million change-order?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_30">CHAPTER 30 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 30</span> <i>Muting the Cassandras</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</span>a gradual straightforward descent, such as a commercial +airplane might make on approaching an airport for a landing.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</span>just short of the point of total destruction, was not +emphasized.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</span>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Charlie,” I reported, “this radiation is a lot of bunk. To +hell with trying to tint the windshield.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</span></p> + +<p>“If you say so, Scotty,” Feltz replied.</p> + +<p>“Just make damned sure those windshields don’t ice up,” I +joked. “This airplane is not designed to be flown blind.”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</span>so that they could listen in on his heart, respiratory system, and +so on. The line must be drawn somewhere.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>“Here we go again,” Charlie Feltz moaned one day.</p> + +<p>“What is it now?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“The low L over D on landing again,” Feltz said. “They’re +worried about it.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</span>landing was a vital plank in our case for the <i>advanced</i> 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 <i>orbit</i>. 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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_31">CHAPTER 31 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 31</span> <i>Working in a Fish Bowl</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>right now</i>. 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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Well, that’s certainly no problem,” Feltz said.</p> + +<p>“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 <i>is</i> 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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>We were astonished and baffled by this activity, and especially +concerned when the government removed the secrecy from all but +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>did</i> 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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</span></p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</span>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p class="center p1t p1b"> +HOME OF THE X⁠-15 +</p> + +<p>From the very beginning of the X⁠-15 project we worked with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</span>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_32">CHAPTER 32 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 32</span> <i>Time for Extraordinary Action</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</span>was time for extraordinary action. But complex rocket engines +don’t grow on trees. What to do?</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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, <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'turned to on the'" id="tn-293">turned to +the</ins> 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?</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>I flew out of my chair.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</span></p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Damn it, Charlie,” I snapped. “I think we’d be making a big +mistake.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Can we use the same fuel-tank system?” an engineer asked.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“What’s the fuel for the X⁠-1 engine?”</p> + +<p>“Lox and alcohol. We just put the alcohol in the ammonia +tanks. No sweat.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> + +<h2 class="hidden">Illustrations II + </h2> + + + +<figure class="figcenter illowp50" id="i_294fp_01a" style="max-width: 50.0em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_01a.jpg" alt="X⁠-15 three view specifications. Length, 50 ft; wing span 22 ft, height, 13 feet, wing area 200 sq ft; weight at launching, 31,275 lbs."> + <figcaption> + <p>X⁠-15 profile. + NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_01b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_01b.jpg" alt="A diagram showing different parts of the X⁠-15"> + <figcaption> + <p>The X⁠-15 inboard profile. NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_02a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_02a.jpg" alt="Five men standing, one holding a model aircraft"> + <figcaption> + <p>Owners, builders, and customers. From left: Harrison Storms, Maj. Gen. + Haugen, Ray Rice, Brig. Gen. Cooper, Walt Williams. NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_02b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_02b.jpg" alt="A large room full of workers studying diagrams at their desks"> + <figcaption> + <p>Blood, sweat, and tears: Feltz, Robinson, and Benner. NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_03a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_03a.jpg" alt="A diagram showing flight trajectory of the X⁠-15 mission and its placement compared with a curved portion of the earh"> + <figcaption> + <p>The X⁠-15 flight mission. NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="i_294fp_03b" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_03b.jpg" alt="A man standing next to three large piles of reports, the tallest of which is above his waist"> + <figcaption> + <p>The paper weighed more than the + airplane. NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_04a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_04a.jpg" alt="A pilot mounted in a simulation chair with two men assisting"> + <figcaption> + <p>Ground-testing the X⁠-15 escape system. NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figleft illowp30 p18pl" id="i_294fp_04b" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_04b.jpg" alt="A plane on the ground with a canopy trailing behind it"> + <figcaption> + <p>A rocket test sled of the X⁠-15 escape + system begins a run at Edwards. The + canopy ejects ... NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figright illowp30 p18pr" id="i_294fp_04c" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_04c.jpg" alt="A plane on the ground with a canopy blowing away"> + <figcaption> + <p>... and blows away while the seat + with dummy emerges. NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figleft illowp30 p18pl" id="i_294fp_05a" style="max-width: 43.75em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_05a.jpg" alt="A plane with a plume of smoke behind it and a white object emerging"> + <figcaption> + <p>Powered ejection ends ... + NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figright illowp30 p18pr" id="i_294fp_05b" style="max-width: 43.75em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_05b.jpg" alt="A portion of a plane with an unopened parachute behind it"> + <figcaption> + <p>... and the chute begins to deploy + automatically. NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figleft illowp30 p18pl" id="i_294fp_05c" style="max-width: 43.75em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_05c.jpg" alt="The seat falling away from an object attached to a parachute"> + <figcaption> + <p>The dummy separates from the seat ... + NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figright illowp30 p18pr" id="i_294fp_05d" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_05d.jpg" alt="An object landing on the ground with an open parachute over it"> + <figcaption> + <p>... for a soft landing on the desert. + NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figleft illowp30 p18pl" id="i_294fp_06a" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_06a.jpg" alt="A man in a suit and helmet sitting as two standing men adjust the suit"> + <figcaption> + <p>Farmer’s son tries out early-model experimental + Clark pressure suit. + NASA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figright illowp30 p18pr" id="i_294fp_06b" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_06b.jpg" alt="A man in a suit with his foot on a ladder, standing next to a plane"> + <figcaption> + <p>Bill Bridgeman wearing an early-model + Air Force partial-pressure suit. + Douglas photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figleft illowp30 p18pl" id="i_294fp_06c" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_06c.jpg" alt="Statue of a seated man with straps on his shoulders"> + <figcaption> + <p>A rubber tire preserved for posterity. + David Clark’s statue of me. Photo by + Marvin Richmond.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figright illowp30 p18pr" id="i_294fp_06d" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_06d.jpg" alt="A man putting on a pressure suit with two men assisting"> + <figcaption> + <p>The pressure-suit break-through: + link-net material. + NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="i_294fp_07a" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_07a.jpg" alt="A with a helmet on his head and his hands on the helmet base as another man watches"> + <figcaption> + <p>Fitting the helmet. + NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="i_294fp_07b" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_07b.jpg" alt="A man standing in a pressure suit surrounded by floodlights"> + <figcaption> + <p>Posing for publicity. + NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="i_294fp_08a" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_08a.jpg" alt="Image of a curbed metal object saying 'A.M.A.L. Johnsville, Pa.'"> + <figcaption> + <p>The centrifuge gondola + at Johnsville. + NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp25 p10l" id="i_294fp_08b" style="max-width: 30em; display: inline-block;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_08b.jpg" alt="Pictures of a man's swollen and bloody face"> + + <figcaption> + <p>Clip from the horror film. + NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp25" id="i_294fp_08c" style="max-width: 30em; display: inline-block;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_08c.jpg" alt="Pictures of a man's swollen and bloody face"> + <figcaption> + <p>Clip from the horror film. + NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp25" id="i_294fp_08d" style="max-width: 30em; display: inline-block;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_08d.jpg" alt="Pictures of a man's swollen and bloody face"> + <figcaption> + <p>Clip from the horror film. + NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="i_294fp_09a" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_09a.jpg" alt="A man working on a large model"> + <figcaption> + <p>Building the mock-up. + NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="i_294fp_09b" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_09b.jpg" alt="A goupf of men watching another manage controls"> + <figcaption> + <p>A demonstration in the simulator. + Kincheloe presses in for a + close look; behind him is Joe + Walker. NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="i_294fp_09c" style="max-width: 48.1875em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_09c.jpg" alt="A worker standing in front of a wing lined up vertically near a wall"> + <figcaption> + <p>The Inconel X wing skin was + ground to watchmaker’s tolerance. + NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_10a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_10a.jpg" alt="Picture of five men and women in business attire walking"> + <figcaption> + <p>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.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_10b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_10b.jpg" alt="Picutre of three men laughing behind a sign saying 'beware of blast'"> + <figcaption> + <p>Crossfield to Nixon: “My job is not nearly so risky as yours, sir.” NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_11a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_11a.jpg" alt="Truck driving at night with a sign saying 'Home of X⁠-15 North American' in the background"> + <figcaption> + <p>First trip: heading for Edwards by truck. NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="i_294fp_11b" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_11b.jpg" alt="An aircraft hanging in mid-air from a crane with several people surrounding it"> + <figcaption> + <p>The dawn of a new era: + arriving at Edwards. NAA + photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="i_294fp_12a" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_12a.jpg" alt="A man standing at the head of a table with people sitting listening to him and papers in front of them "> + <figcaption> + <p>Sam Richter briefs the flight-test + team. NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="i_294fp_12b" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_12b.jpg" alt="Two men stading at a blackboard, one with his back to the camera"> + <figcaption> + <p>Q. C. Harvey and I put in our + nickel’s worth. NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="i_294fp_12c" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_12c.jpg" alt="Men sititng togther smoking and talking"> + <figcaption> + <p>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.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_13a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_13a.jpg" alt="A group of men with a plane in the background"> + <figcaption> + <p>Later with the crew. Photo by John Bryson.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_13b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_13b.jpg" alt="People next to an airplane at night"> + <figcaption> + <p>Still later: the countdown begins at midnight. Photo by John Bryson.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="i_294fp_14a" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_14a.jpg" alt="Picture of a man from the side with his hand upon his chin"> + <figcaption> + <p>Later yet: flying tomorrow’s + flight. Photo by + John Bryson.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_14b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_14b.jpg" alt="A crowd of people with an airplane in the background"> + <figcaption> + <p>A few hours later, the carnival at dawn. Photo by John Bryson.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_15a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_15a.jpg" alt="A crew working on a small plane standin on the ground next to a larger plane"> + <figcaption> + <p>Moving the black bird into place ... NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_15b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_15b.jpg" alt="A small plane attached to the underside of a larger one with ladders around it"> + <figcaption> + <p>... and finally in place. NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="i_294fp_16a" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_16a.jpg" alt="A groups of people surrounding a small plane attached to a larger plane, one on a ladder"> + <figcaption> + <p>Fueling up ... NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="i_294fp_16b" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_16b.jpg" alt="People in large protective suits around an airplane, with tubes hanging from it"> + <figcaption> + <p>... and loading peroxide ... + NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="i_294fp_16c" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_16c.jpg" alt="A man standing on a ladder inspecting a small plane attached to a larger plane"> + <figcaption> + <p>... and battening down + the frozen hatches. + NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_17a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_17a.jpg" alt="Men standing and sitting around a seated man"> + <figcaption> + <p>Inside the van with Capt. Richardson, squatting. NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp45" id="i_294fp_17b" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_17b.jpg" alt="A man sitting in a protective suit while another man inspects the suit"> + <figcaption> + <p>Twenty minutes later, zipping + up the outer layer. Photo + by John Bryson.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_18a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_18a.jpg" alt="Men standing near an airplane"> + <figcaption> + <p>Occasionally we wait a little. Photo by John Bryson.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp50" id="i_294fp_18b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_18b.jpg" alt="Men gathered around an airplane, some on a ladder"> + <figcaption> + <p>Bon voyage. Photo by John Bryson.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_19a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_19a.jpg" alt="Men gathered around a plane, one of them climbing into the cockpit"> + <figcaption> + <p>Getting in the office. Photo by John Bryson.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="i_294fp_19b" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_19b.jpg" alt="picture of a man in a cockpit and another man alongside holding a helmet"> + <figcaption> + <p>Pete Barker (right) with the + pilot’s helmet. Photo by John + Bryson.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="i_294fp_20a" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_20a.jpg" alt="a man with a hand and towel at his eyes"> + <figcaption> + <p>Sometimes we wait again ... + Photo by John Bryson.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="i_294fp_20b" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_20b.jpg" alt="Close-up of a man with a serious expression on his face, eyes looking down"> + <figcaption> + <p>... and recheck ... + Photo by John Bryson.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="i_294fp_20c" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_20c.jpg" alt="Picture of a man similing"> + <figcaption> + <p>... and things begin to work. + Photo by John Bryson.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_21a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_21a.jpg" alt="A plane with some people looking underneath the wing"> + <figcaption> + <p>The carnival moves out. Photo by John Bryson.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp45" id="i_294fp_21b" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_21b.jpg" alt="A person's head in an astronaut's helmet with only the eyes visible"> + <figcaption> + <p>Eyes on the stars. + Photo by John Bryson.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_22a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_22a.jpg" alt="A plane taking off with a man standing looking up at it"> + <figcaption> + <p>On the way to the stars. Photo by John Bryson.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_22b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_22b.jpg" alt="A plane in the air"> + <figcaption> + <p>Straining for altitude again. NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_23a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_23a.jpg" alt="A U. S. Air Force plane in the air with a small plane attached under its wing"> + <figcaption> + <p>The final countdown. NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figleft illowp30 p18pl" id="i_294fp_23b" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_23b.jpg" alt="Men sitting at a long table with papers in front of them; a couple of men are standing"> + <figcaption> + <p>Test directors on the ground look + over my shoulder. NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figright illowp30 p18pr" id="i_294fp_23c" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_23c.jpg" alt="A man sitting in the back of a vehicle with aother couple of passengers near him"> + <figcaption> + <p>Stormy sweats it out in Sam’s van. + NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_24a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_24a.jpg" alt="An X⁠-15 plane in the air"> + <figcaption> + <p>Not far from the stars. Courtesy <i>National Geographic Magazine</i>.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_24b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_24b.jpg" alt="A plane in the air with a small plane directly underneath it"> + <figcaption> + <p>Three ... Two ... One. Drop! NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_25a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_25a.jpg" alt="A plane in the air with a smaller plane directly beneath it; the smaller plane is clear of the larger plane and has a large contrail"> + <figcaption> + <p>Firing up. NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_25b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_25b.jpg" alt="A small plane with a large contrail flying somewhat dower than a larger plane"> + <figcaption> + <p>All eight going. NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_26a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_26a.jpg" alt="A plane in the air with a pronounced contrail"> + <figcaption> + <p>“Burn-out ... jettison.” NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_26b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_26b.jpg" alt="A plane in the air over what seems to be a coastline with a number of small islands"> + <figcaption> + <p>Gliding home. NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_27a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_27a.jpg" alt="Two planes in the air, one following the other closely"> + <figcaption> + <p>Picking up the chase. Photo by John Bryson.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_27b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_27b.jpg" alt="Three planes in the air with their landing gear visible"> + <figcaption> + <p>Gear down. NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_28a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_28a.jpg" alt="A crowd of people watching two planes from a lakeshore; some are standing on cars"> + <figcaption> + <p>Feeling for the lake. Photo by John Bryson.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_28b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_28b.jpg" alt="A plane landing"> + <figcaption> + <p>Touchdown. NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_29a" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_29a.jpg" alt="A plane in the air with a bright contrail"> + <figcaption> + <p>Roll-out. NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_29b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_29b.jpg" alt="A crowd of people watching a plane in the distance from a lakeshore"> + <figcaption> + <p>Stopping. Photo by John Bryson.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_30a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_30a.jpg" alt="A person walking up to a plane on the ground with its cockpit open"> + <figcaption> + <p>Shutting down. NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_30b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_30b.jpg" alt="A man walking away from a plane that a couple of men are working on"> + <figcaption> + <p>Back to the drawing board. UPI photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_31a" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_31a.jpg" alt="A picture of the X⁠-15 with the cockpit open and a hose coming from it"> + <figcaption> + <p>The price of progress: X⁠-15 No. 3. NAA photo.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_31b" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_31b.jpg" alt="A man standing in front of several people who are holding out microphones to him"> + <figcaption> + <p>Inevitably, a public accounting. Photo by John Bryson.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_294fp_32" style="max-width: 56.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_294fp_32.jpg" alt="A man standing next to a plane with the dawn sky in the backgroun"> + <figcaption> + <p>Always another dawn. Photo by John Bryson.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_33">CHAPTER 33 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 33</span> <i>Circus Day</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</span>both airplanes, and on the third X⁠-15 which was still in the +factory awaiting the XLR⁠-99 engine.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</span>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.</p> + +<p>During the ceremonies, Vice President Nixon said to me: “You +certainly have a dangerous job.”</p> + +<p>I couldn’t repress the reply that popped to mind: “My job is +not nearly so risky as yours, sir.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>While I was posing for photographers alongside the X⁠-15 that +day, a reporter asked:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” I said, “this is a kind of complicated thing. It’s true +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</span>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?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>never</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>first</i> 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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</span>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_34">CHAPTER 34 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 34</span> <i>A Carnival at Dawn</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</span></p> + +<p>“Come on, Charlie,” I said, “let’s go find out if we built an +airplane.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“You’d think that with all this activity,” I said, “they’d have a +place open around here for a cup of coffee.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Will we be ready for an on-time take-off?” I asked.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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. <i>United +States</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“How’s it going?” I said, addressing “Robby” Robinson, a +General Electric technical representative. Several G.E. engineers +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</span>had come to Edwards over two months ago, when Stormy rang +the bell after the trouble developed.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“Hi, Scotty,” Richardson said as I closed and dogged the +rear door. “Have a cup of coffee?”</p> + +<p>Sergeant Crow handed me a steaming cup which, after my +tour in the frigid mating area, was welcome.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Well, we try to make our customers comfortable,” Richardson +said. “But you have to fly first.”</p> + +<p>“Are you joking?”</p> + +<p>“No, we have all the ingredients right here,” Richardson said, +sweeping his long arm toward the front of the well-lighted van.</p> + +<p>“A great idea,” I said. “Like the old days in England after +a raid. A shot of whiskey for the de-briefing.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll buy it.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</span>being groomed for take-off. One precautionary delay or another +had already pushed our take-off time back an hour and +a half.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</span>my helmet. My vision was now restricted by the narrow, V-shaped, +left-and-right X⁠-15 windshields.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_35">CHAPTER 35 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 35</span> <i>Smoke in the Cockpit</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</span>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 <i>was</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Five ... four ... three ... two ... one. BRAKE RELEASE.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Charlie Bock spoke on the radio:</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>By the time we reached 15,000 feet both windshields of the +X⁠-15 were solidly iced over, recalling those early days at Edwards +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</span>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 <i>never</i> 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.)</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>When the APU turbines turned up, I could hear a faint +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</span>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.</p> + +<p>I cursed to myself, and then on the radio called: “Q.C., I +can’t get the generators on the line.”</p> + +<p>“Okay, Scotty. Lets move on to the next item,” Q.C. replied.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Q.C.,” I reported. “I’ve got a little smoke in the cockpit. +Nothing serious. Must be a hot wire some place.”</p> + +<p>“Okay, Scotty,” Q.C. responded quietly.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>When the smoke in the cockpit became so dense that I could +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</span>no longer see the instrument panel nor observe any test intelligently, +I spoke quietly to Charlie Bock:</p> + +<p>“Let’s go home.”</p> + +<p>Q.C. broke in:</p> + +<p>“On the descent make a test of the X⁠-15 gear.”</p> + +<p>“Okay, Q.C.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</span>It revealed that under certain circumstances the protection of +the cockpit was compromised. This was quickly corrected.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_36">CHAPTER 36 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 36</span> <i>The Reluctant Dragon</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</span>that time I had spent at least three hundred hours in that cockpit +and I could sense a fault or impending crisis almost subconsciously.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>I keyed the mike one click.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“You want to land, Scott. Correct?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Nitrogen gas is an insidious suffocant. Man cannot long survive +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</span>took to “turn around” the X⁠-15 or prepare it for a new trip +into the air.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</span>performance, the launch altitude was raised from 38,000 to 45,000 +feet. It took almost an hour to reach peak altitude.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>every</i> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“It’s watered down,” Richardson said.</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“That’s right. If you can’t pull off a full-blown flight, you don’t +get a full-blown martini.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</span>get into the air. It was an uncomfortably long wait, yet +a necessary one, I believed.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Scotty. Q.C. We suggest you shut down number one APU if +the bearing temperature reaches 395 degrees.”</p> + +<p>“Okay, Q.C.,” I replied. “That’s what I was going to do. Number +one bearing temperature is now 376 degrees.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</span></p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Number one APU 395 degrees. Shut down.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>I snapped into my mike:</p> + +<p>“Q.C., this damned number one is up to 450.”</p> + +<p>“You can expect it to peak a little bit and then fall off, Scotty,” +Q.C. replied.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Holy smoke,” I muttered on the radio circuit.</p> + +<p>My spontaneous comment touched off a tremendous flurry +of excitement on the ground. Sam Richter came on the radio +instantly.</p> + +<p>“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.)</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_37">CHAPTER 37 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 37</span> <i>Engulfed in Disappointment</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">“Three minutes to drop,” Charlie Bock intoned on the radio +circuit.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Ready when you are, buddy.”</p> + +<p>“One minute to launch,” Bock replied calmly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>Bock called a brief countdown, unkeying his mike between +each number in case I wanted to break in and say “no drop.”</p> + +<p>“Three” ... “Two” ... “One” ...</p> + +<p>“DROP.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>There was much to do in the first hundred seconds of flight. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Now at about 30,000 feet and three minutes from touchdown, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The nose came down sharply. But instead of leveling out, it +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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. +<i>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.</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</span>ship. A long caravan of emergency trucks roared out from the +sidelines. I sat in the cockpit, canopy still closed, engulfed in +disappointment.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“That airplane <i>can’t</i> be unstable,” Stormy said.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>demanded</i> +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.</p> + +<p>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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</span>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 <i>had</i> to have absolute and +positive control of the airplane.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_38">CHAPTER 38 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 38</span> “<i>She Blew Sky High</i>” + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.)</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</span>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.</p> + +<p>Now on the ground as I went through these procedures, the +outside observers reported: “Prime looks good.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</span>it failed again and again. Each time it failed, the ground +crews had to tear into the airplane to get inside and replace it.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>But men are fallible. They can’t think of everything. Somewhere +an obscure mistake was made, and the consequences were nearly +disastrous.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Is it a total loss?”</p> + +<p>“Is what a total loss?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“The X⁠-15. Didn’t you hear? She blew sky high.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>It took weeks to repair the airplane.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The B⁠-52 Lox top-off system is a highly sophisticated piece of +machinery, far advanced over anything installed previously in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</span>suffering—I was filled with admiration. Our team was becoming +truly professional.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I have no indications here of a top-off,” I reported.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</span>by wearing a raincoat.) We never really got used to this +tarnish on our most hopeful engineering.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>this</i> 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.</p> + +<p>In spite of these setbacks, inevitable in a craft so advanced +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</span>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t have a glide-path indicator in here,” I said.</p> + +<p>“You might create something of a new noise problem with +that engine. Everybody would move away from the airport,” +Bock said.</p> + +<p>We climbed to launch point.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Q. C. Harvey wanted to make certain the Lox top-off was complete. +He broke in from the ground: “Hold at seven minutes.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Five minutes,” Bock announced.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</span></p> + +<p>“Oops,” I said on the radio. “What was that?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Affirmative,” chase reported. “Safety vent operating.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I’m dead,” I reported on the radio. “Regulator is running +away. Relief vent cycling. Letting out the over-pressure.”</p> + +<p>“Abort,” Q.C. responded. I could imagine his disappointment. +I know because I felt it too. We would have to try again.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<i>two</i> 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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</span>this left only the B⁠-70, and from what we could ascertain it too +was in jeopardy.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_39">CHAPTER 39 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 39</span> <i>The Old Pro</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>And we did.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</span>not endanger the X⁠-15 (after all, the final decision is the pilot’s). +Today we were going to <i>fly</i>.</p> + +<p>At 0756 Bill Berkowitz switched on the Lox top-off. This time +it did not fail. We moved into a launch rehearsal.</p> + +<p>Q. C. Harvey spoke from the ground: “Okay—let’s go ahead.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Okay,” I said. Bock resumed the countdown.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Ready to go,” I said.</p> + +<p>Bock called the brief countdown: “Three ... Two ... One ... DROP!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</span></p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>was</i> good—even +the helium pressure, which was still within my absolute limit.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</span>nose turned sharply, causing me to comment on the radio: “Very +powerful rudders on this little baby.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Sam Richter, parked on the lake in his van, consulted the readings +from his anemometer and reported the winds as “four +knots.”</p> + +<p>At the same moment Edwards tower reported the winds as +“eighteen knots.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>Sam came back: “Four, repeat four, knots.”</p> + +<p>Edwards tower broke in: “Eighteen, repeat eighteen, knots.”</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</span></p> + +<p>“I’m committed. Let the chase have the radio.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>As it turned out, I was only fifty feet off the marks and fortunately +stopped a hundred yards short of the ditch.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_40">CHAPTER 40 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 40</span> <i>Bad News with the Good</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">“Coming up on 40,000 feet.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>Murphy’s Law? Not again, I thought, not on Moise’s and +Fulton’s first flight.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Abort,” Q.C. announced with stark finality.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Q.C. consulted his team of experts and relayed some technical +suggestions. I recycled the pressurization and asked Allavie to +make another turn.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Abort,” I radioed.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</span></p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>“One minute to drop,” Jack Allavie intoned.</p> + +<p>“X⁠-15 oxygen ON,” I said. Then: “Data burst.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“40 seconds.”</p> + +<p>“Engine master switch ON.”</p> + +<p>“Both primes coming on NOW.”</p> + +<p>“Five. Four. Three. Two. One.”</p> + +<p>“DROP.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Roll damper out,” I said.</p> + +<p>The ship felt a little sluggish. I missed the powerful punch +of the Skyrocket.</p> + +<p>“Going uphill.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Buffet at Mach .8,” I said.</p> + +<p>“Going uphill. Supersonic.”</p> + +<p>The X⁠-15 Mach meter approached Mach 1.6 and locked there. +One minute had gone by.</p> + +<p>The recovery maneuver caused my check-list, mounted in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“I’ve lost my place,” I said. I flipped back through the pages. +“Never mind. Found it again.”</p> + +<p>“Going through 40,000 feet.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“It’s very sensitive to roll,” I radioed.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Pushing over at 55,000.” I leveled the nose. The pages of my +spiral notebook flipped again.</p> + +<p>“Lost my place again.”</p> + +<p>“What’s that?” It was Q.C. I could almost hear Charlie Feltz +muttering: “Wha’d he say? Wha’d he say?”</p> + +<p>“Never mind,” I said.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Burnout,” I said.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“There goes my chase—right across my bow!” I called on the +radio.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“260 knots. 30,000.”</p> + +<p>“I’m going to land a little long this time,” I said.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>Luckily it didn’t. As I pulled the X⁠-15 nose high, feeling for +the ground, chase White reported: “You’re looking good, buddy.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</span></p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Everything all right?”</p> + +<p>For once everything <i>was</i> all right. No fire, no porpoising near +the ground, no other major malfunctions. It was judged a near-perfect +flight from a mechanical standpoint.</p> + +<p>“No sweat,” I replied.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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....</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>Much later I asked Stormy: “What do you think?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Well, maybe I’ll write a book and try to get all this across,” +I said.</p> + +<p>“Go ahead,” Stormy said. “But I’ll tell you <i>that’s</i> a big job in +itself.”</p> + +<p>And, as usual, Stormy was right.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_41">CHAPTER 41 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 41</span> “<i>You Have a Fire!</i>” + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>“One minute to launch,” Jack Allavie called.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Involuntarily I made some unintelligible comment on the radio.</p> + +<p>Q. C. Harvey came back instantly: “What’s the matter, Scott?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t switch over the oxygen. I’ve got to hold. Hold the +countdown.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“This one’s got me stumped, Q.C.,” I said, trying to think of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“Q.C.,” I grumbled, “I’m afraid we’re dead.”</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</span></p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“No launch, of course, Scotty.”</p> + +<p>After the rehearsal I radioed again in a voice heavy with +irony: “Beautiful launch.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Take out the X⁠-15 handbook, Q.C. See what the instrument-panel +gauges should read. That’s what I’ve got.”</p> + +<p>We bore down on the Bouquet Canyon Reservoir launch point +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“DROP.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Chase White, his voice rising with concern, said: “You have a +<i>fire</i>!” From his position in the F⁠-104 he could see the flames +streaming from the rear of the X⁠-15.</p> + +<p>I had completed the shut-down and was thinking ahead to the +emergency jettison when Bob White, now very worried for me, +radioed:</p> + +<p>“You have a fire! <i>Please</i> shut down.”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Going to jettison NOW.”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Jettison looks good,” White reported. “I don’t see any sign of +the fire now.”</p> + +<p>“Where’d it come from? Could you see?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“I think it was the lower engine.”</p> + +<p>“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?</p> + +<p>The jettison was completed in 114 seconds. There was still a +little fuel left in the tanks. The powerful suction of the rocket +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</span>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.</p> + +<p>Chase White radioed: “We’re almost to the east edge of the +lake now.”</p> + +<p>I was surprised. We should have been approaching the lake from +the south. In another fifty seconds I would be touching down.</p> + +<p>“Almost <i>where</i>?”</p> + +<p>“Pardon me. Almost to the <i>edge</i> of the lake.”</p> + +<p>“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:</p> + +<p>“Sorry. I’m going to miss getting the data coming in here.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</span>thought. She wasn’t on fire. I opened the canopy and removed my +helmet.</p> + +<p>Toby was the first to speak. “The plane’s busted in two,” he said.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</span>down.” But really, I think, his request was to save wear and tear +on his own frazzled nerves while watching the landings.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Q.C. said: “If all okay, Scott, give me one click.”</p> + +<p>I keyed the mike one click.</p> + +<p>Double-checking, Q.C. radioed: “Scott, if you wish to go ahead +and launch without communications, please give me one click.”</p> + +<p>I keyed the mike one click.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</span></p> + +<p>Again rechecking, Q.C. said: “Do you desire to cancel the +launch?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Two minutes before launch the fuel-tank pressure began to +climb slowly. Hope!</p> + +<p>Q.C. said: “Scott, we understand you still want to launch. If +this is correct, give me one click.”</p> + +<p>I keyed the mike once, firmly.</p> + +<p>“One minute to launch.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Q.C. came on the radio for a final check: “Scott. Reaffirm that +it is okay to launch. If so, give me one click.”</p> + +<p>With the greatest reluctance I keyed the mike twice.</p> + +<p>“You do <i>not</i> want to launch, is that correct?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_42">CHAPTER 42 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 42</span> <i>Minor Miracles</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>sang</i>: “Back in the saddle +again!” Letting down on final, I radioed Q. C. Harvey and asked +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</span>points and regained what we had lost. The ship flew beautifully, +so well that I exclaimed on the radio: “The <i>best</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Walker made additional flights. On his third, May 12, he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<i>that</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</span>a subtle proof that their faith lies in the man, not the equipment. +A fine point can be made here.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</span>change the airplane attitude. We had corrected the cause of the +liquid bath, and the windshield did not ice over.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</span>was, of course, no <i>direct</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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. <i>must</i> produce manned aircraft to match the Soviet Union. +Missiles alone are not enough.</p> + +<p>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 +<ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'Project Mecury capsule'" id="tn-397">Project Mercury capsule</ins> 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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</span>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_399">[Pg 399]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_43">CHAPTER 43 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 43</span> “<i>The Real Significance</i>” + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_400">[Pg 400]</span>(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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>On this ground test—my second in this airplane—we intended +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_401">[Pg 401]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>I called each step of the engine-start procedure on the radio, +pausing briefly after each item on the check-list.</p> + +<p>“Master switch coming on NOW.”</p> + +<p>“Prime.”</p> + +<p>“Pre-cool.”</p> + +<p>“Pump idle.”</p> + +<p>“Igniter idle.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_402">[Pg 402]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_403">[Pg 403]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_404">[Pg 404]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Are you sure it was the firemen?” the reporter asked.</p> + +<p>“Yeah, I’m sure,” I said. I pictured the headline:</p> + +<p class="center p1t p1b"> +SPACE SHIP EXPLODES; PILOT WETS PANTS +</p> + +<p>“Mr. Crossfield,” the reporter went on. “What is the real +significance of all this?”</p> + +<p>“The <i>real</i> significance?” I asked. “Have you got about ten or +fifteen hours, maybe?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_405">[Pg 405]</span></p> + +<p>“Does this affect your role in the program? Will you still go +ahead and make a demonstration flight with the big engine?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Well, thanks. Some day I’d like to talk to you about the real +significance. But not now.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Okay,” I said. “I’ll be seeing you.”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_406">[Pg 406]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_407">[Pg 407]</span></p> + + + + <p class="left fs125 p4b noindent letter-sp1 word-sp" id="CHAPTER_44">CHAPTER 44 ►</p> + <h2 class="nobreak p2b fsans"> + <span class="hidden">CHAPTER 44</span> “<i>Prophecies of the Next Age</i>” + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_408">[Pg 408]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“What were you supposed to be doing today?” he asked. “Why +haven’t you gone to work?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, nothing,” I said. “Just a routine flight. I can cancel it +with no problem.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Okay. But will you wait for me?” We both knew what I +meant.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Returning home that night after the X⁠-15 explosion, the real +significance of my own life, which I had pondered for so many +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_409">[Pg 409]</span>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 <i>His</i> grand +design.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>It was quite late when I pulled into our driveway in Westchester. +I strode briskly to the front door and entered quietly. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_410">[Pg 410]</span>The children were asleep. I mixed a drink and Alice and I +relaxed in the living room.</p> + +<p>“Well, you look all right to me,” she said.</p> + +<p>“There’s nothing wrong with me.”</p> + +<p>“So what’s next?” It was many years since she had put that +question to me.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Well,” Alice said, “they say life begins at forty. You’ve +got a full year and a half to make up your mind.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>The tower is not yet begun. But that is a new story, another +dawn.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_411">[Pg 411]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak left fsans p1b" id="Chronology"> + <i>Chronology</i> + </h2> +</div> + + + +<table class="autotable wd100"> +<tr> +<th class="tdl"><span class="phalfl">DATE</span></th> +<th class="tdl"><span class="p1l">PLANE</span></th> +<th class="tdl"><span class="p1l">PILOT</span></th> +<th class="tdl"><span class="p5l">COMMENT</span></th> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><i>1946</i></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Sept.</td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl">NACA contingent arrives at Edwards</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Oct.</td> +<td class="tdl">X⁠-1</td> +<td class="tdl">Goodlin</td> +<td class="tdl">First powered flight</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><i>1947</i></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Mar.</td> +<td class="tdl">D⁠-558⁠-I</td> +<td class="tdl">May</td> +<td class="tdl">First flight</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Aug.</td> +<td class="tdl">D⁠-558⁠-I</td> +<td class="tdl">Caldwell</td> +<td class="tdl">640.7 mph</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Aug.</td> +<td class="tdl">D⁠-558⁠-I</td> +<td class="tdl">Carl</td> +<td class="tdl">651 mph</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Oct.</td> +<td class="tdl">X⁠-1</td> +<td class="tdl">Yeager</td> +<td class="tdl">Mach 1.0</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><i>1948</i></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Feb.</td> +<td class="tdl">D⁠-558⁠-II</td> +<td class="tdl">Martin</td> +<td class="tdl">First flight; Ground take-off</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Mar.</td> +<td class="tdl">X⁠-1</td> +<td class="tdl">Hoover</td> +<td class="tdl">First civilian; Mach 1.0</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Sept.</td> +<td class="tdl">XF⁠-92A</td> +<td class="tdl">Yeager</td> +<td class="tdl">First flight</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Dec.</td> +<td class="tdl">X⁠-4</td> +<td class="tdl">Tucker</td> +<td class="tdl">First flight</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><i>1949</i><br></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Aug.</td> +<td class="tdl">X⁠-1</td> +<td class="tdl">Everest</td> +<td class="tdl">73,000 ft.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><i>1950</i></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">June</td> +<td class="tdl">D⁠-558⁠-II</td> +<td class="tdl">Bridgeman</td> +<td class="tdl">First air-launch</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><i>1951</i></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">June</td> +<td class="tdl">X⁠-5</td> +<td class="tdl">Ziegler</td> +<td class="tdl">First flight</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Aug.</td> +<td class="tdl">D⁠-558⁠-II</td> +<td class="tdl">Bridgeman</td> +<td class="tdl">79,000 ft.; Mach 1.89</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Nov.</td> +<td class="tdl">X⁠-1 (#3)</td> +<td class="tdl">Cannon</td> +<td class="tdl">Blew up—destroyed</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Fall</td> +<td class="tdl">X⁠-1⁠-D</td> +<td class="tdl">Everest</td> +<td class="tdl">Blew up—mother plane</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><i>1952</i><br></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">June</td> +<td class="tdl">X⁠-2 (#1)</td> +<td class="tdl">Ziegler</td> +<td class="tdl">Ballast—at Edwards; Glide</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Oct.</td> +<td class="tdl">X⁠-3</td> +<td class="tdl">Bridgeman</td> +<td class="tdl">First flight</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><i>1953</i><span class="pagenum" id="Page_412">[Pg 412]</span></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Feb.</td> +<td class="tdl">X⁠-1⁠-A</td> +<td class="tdl">Ziegler</td> +<td class="tdl">First powered flight</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">May</td> +<td class="tdl">X⁠-2 (#2)</td> +<td class="tdl">Ziegler</td> +<td class="tdl">Captive—Buffalo; Blew up—Ziegler killed</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Aug.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="p1r">D⁠-558⁠-II</span></td> +<td class="tdl">Carl</td> +<td class="tdl">83,235 ft.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Oct.</td> +<td class="tdl">XF⁠-92A</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="p1r">Crossfield</span></td> +<td class="tdl">Wheel collapsed; Plane retired</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Nov.</td> +<td class="tdl">D⁠-558⁠-II</td> +<td class="tdl">Crossfield</td> +<td class="tdl">Mach 2.0</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Dec.</td> +<td class="tdl">X⁠-1⁠-A</td> +<td class="tdl">Yeager</td> +<td class="tdl">Mach 2.5; Tumble</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><i>1954</i></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Apr.</td> +<td class="tdl">(X⁠-15)</td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl">NACA Summary Report; Plane born</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">June</td> +<td class="tdl">X⁠-1⁠-A</td> +<td class="tdl">Murray</td> +<td class="tdl">90,000 ft.; Tumble</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Aug.</td> +<td class="tdl">X⁠-2 (#1)</td> +<td class="tdl">Everest</td> +<td class="tdl">First glide flight; Ballast; Damaged</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Oct.</td> +<td class="tdl">(X⁠-15)</td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl">Recommended by NACA</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Oct.</td> +<td class="tdl">X⁠-1⁠-B</td> +<td class="tdl">Murray</td> +<td class="tdl">First flight</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Dec.</td> +<td class="tdl">(X⁠-15)</td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl">Competition announced</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><i>1955</i></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Aug.</td> +<td class="tdl">X⁠-1⁠-A</td> +<td class="tdl">Walker</td> +<td class="tdl">Fire—jettison plane</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Nov.</td> +<td class="tdl">X⁠-2</td> +<td class="tdl">Everest</td> +<td class="tdl">First powered flight</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Dec.</td> +<td class="tdl">X⁠-1⁠-E</td> +<td class="tdl">Walker</td> +<td class="tdl">First powered flight</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Dec.</td> +<td class="tdl">(X⁠-15)</td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl">Contract awarded to North American</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><i>1956</i></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">May</td> +<td class="tdl">X⁠-2 (#2)</td> +<td class="tdl">Kincheloe</td> +<td class="tdl">First flight</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">July</td> +<td class="tdl">X⁠-2</td> +<td class="tdl">Everest</td> +<td class="tdl">Mach 2.93</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Sept.</td> +<td class="tdl">X⁠-2</td> +<td class="tdl">Kincheloe</td> +<td class="tdl">126,200 ft.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Sept.</td> +<td class="tdl">X⁠-2</td> +<td class="tdl">Apt</td> +<td class="tdl">First flight 2,094 mph; Crashed—killed</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Dec.</td> +<td class="tdl">(X⁠-15)</td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl">Mock-up complete</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><i>1958</i></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">July</td> +<td class="tdl">F⁠-104</td> +<td class="tdl">Kincheloe</td> +<td class="tdl">Killed</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Oct.</td> +<td class="tdl">(X⁠-15 #1)</td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl">Completed, shipped to Edwards</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><i>1959</i><span class="pagenum" id="Page_413">[Pg 413]</span></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Mar.</td> +<td class="tdl">X⁠-15 #1</td> +<td class="tdl">Crossfield</td> +<td class="tdl">First captive flight</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">June</td> +<td class="tdl">X⁠-15 #1</td> +<td class="tdl">Crossfield</td> +<td class="tdl">First glide flight</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Sept.</td> +<td class="tdl">X⁠-15 #2</td> +<td class="tdl">Crossfield</td> +<td class="tdl">First powered flight</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><i>1960</i></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Feb.</td> +<td class="tdl">(X⁠-15 #1)</td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdl">Delivered to Air Force and NASA</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">June</td> +<td class="tdl">X⁠-15 #3</td> +<td class="tdl">Crossfield</td> +<td class="tdl">Explosion during XLR⁠-99 engine ground test</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Aug.</td> +<td class="tdl">X⁠-15 #1</td> +<td class="tdl">Walker</td> +<td class="tdl">2,196 mph</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Aug.</td> +<td class="tdl">X⁠-15 #1</td> +<td class="tdl">White</td> +<td class="tdl">136,500 ft.</td> +</tr> +</table> + + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_414"></a><a id="Page_415"></a>[Pg 415]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak fsans center p2b" id="Index"> + <i>Index</i> + </h2> +</div> + + +<ul class="index"> + <li class="ifrst">Aase, Carl, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a></li> + + <li class="indx">aero-space medicine, <a href="#Page_187">187</a></li> + + <li class="indx">aircraft:</li> + <li class="isub1">B⁠-17, <a href="#Page_107">107</a></li> + <li class="isub1">B⁠-25, <a href="#Page_206">206</a></li> + <li class="isub1">B⁠-29, <a href="#Page_48">48-50</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, + <a href="#Page_201">201</a>, <a href="#Page_203">203</a></li> + <li class="isub1">B⁠-36, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a></li> + <li class="isub1">B⁠-45, <a href="#Page_30">30</a></li> + <li class="isub1">B⁠-47, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a></li> + <li class="isub1">B⁠-50, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a></li> + <li class="isub1">B⁠-52, <a href="#Page_264">264-265</a>, <a href="#Page_299">299</a>, <a href="#Page_301">301</a>, <a href="#Page_310">310</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>, <a href="#Page_322">322</a>, + <a href="#Page_331">331</a>, <a href="#Page_335">335</a>, <a href="#Page_352">352</a>, <a href="#Page_358">358</a>, <a href="#Page_377">377</a>, <a href="#Page_392">392</a></li> + <li class="isub1">B⁠-58, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_367">367</a></li> + <li class="isub1">B⁠-70, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>, <a href="#Page_357">357</a>, <a href="#Page_373">373</a>, <a href="#Page_397">397</a></li> + <li class="isub1">“Banshee” (McDonnell’s F2H), <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_299">299</a></li> + <li class="isub1">Boeing’s Clipper, <a href="#Page_76">76</a></li> + <li class="isub1">Boeing’s 707, <a href="#Page_20">20</a></li> + <li class="isub1">British Comet Jet airliner, <a href="#Page_235">235</a></li> + <li class="isub1">C⁠-3 Cub, <a href="#Page_66">66</a></li> + <li class="isub1">Convair’s 880, <a href="#Page_297">297</a></li> + <li class="isub1">Curtiss Robin, <a href="#Page_74">74</a></li> + <li class="isub1">DC⁠-6, <a href="#Page_139">139</a></li> + <li class="isub1">DC⁠-8, <a href="#Page_297">297</a></li> + <li class="isub1">DeHavilland Swallows, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li> + <li class="isub1">Douglas D⁠-558⁠-II “Skyrocket,” <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, + <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>, + <a href="#Page_212">212</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>, <a href="#Page_285">285</a></li> + <li class="isub1">Douglas D⁠-558, “Skystreak,” <a href="#Page_47">47</a></li> + <li class="isub1">Douglas D⁠-558⁠-I “Skystreak,” <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, + <a href="#Page_216">216</a></li> + <li class="isub1">Eagle Rock, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a></li> + <li class="isub1">F4H, <a href="#Page_287">287</a></li> + <li class="isub1">F4U, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>, <a href="#Page_111">111</a></li> + <li class="isub1">F6F, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a></li> + <li class="isub1">F8U, <a href="#Page_287">287</a></li> + <li class="isub1">F9F, <a href="#Page_216">216</a></li> + <li class="isub1">F11F, <a href="#Page_287">287</a></li> + <li class="isub1">F⁠-80, <a href="#Page_25">25</a></li> + <li class="isub1">F⁠-84, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a></li> + <li class="isub1">F⁠-84⁠-F, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a></li> + <li class="isub1">F⁠-86, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193-194</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>, <a href="#Page_233">233</a>, + <a href="#Page_299">299</a></li> + <li class="isub1">F⁠-100, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194-198</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>, + <a href="#Page_289">289</a>, <a href="#Page_299">299</a>, <a href="#Page_341">341</a></li> + <li class="isub1">F⁠-101, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a></li> + <li class="isub1">F⁠-102, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a></li> + <li class="isub1">F⁠-104, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>, <a href="#Page_341">341</a>, + <a href="#Page_372">372</a>, <a href="#Page_381">381</a></li> + <li class="isub1">F⁠-105, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a></li> + <li class="isub1">F⁠-106, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a></li> + <li class="isub1">F⁠-107, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>, <a href="#Page_299">299</a></li> + <li class="isub1">F⁠-108, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>, <a href="#Page_357">357</a></li> + <li class="isub1">“Glamorous Glennis,” <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a></li> + <li class="isub1">Hiller Helicopter, <a href="#Page_216">216</a></li> + <li class="isub1">Howard “Ike,” “Mike,” and “Pete,” <a href="#Page_65">65</a></li> + <li class="isub1">Howard “Mr. Mulligan,” <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a></li> + <li class="isub1">Lancaster (British), <a href="#Page_70">70</a></li> + <li class="isub1">N3N (“Yellow Peril”), <a href="#Page_90">90</a></li> + <li class="isub1">P⁠-51, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a></li> + <li class="isub1">R⁠-4⁠-D, <a href="#Page_107">107</a></li> + <li class="isub1">T⁠-39, <a href="#Page_299">299</a>, <a href="#Page_374">374</a></li> + <li class="isub1">Travelair “Mystery Ship,” <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a></li> + <li class="isub1">U⁠-2, <a href="#Page_275">275</a></li> + <li class="isub1"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_416">[Pg 416]</span>Weddell-Williams “Special,” <a href="#Page_65">65</a></li> + <li class="isub1">X⁠-1, <a href="#Page_21">21-23</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47-58</a>, + <a href="#Page_119">119</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, + <a href="#Page_139">139</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>, + <a href="#Page_293">293</a>, <a href="#Page_311">311</a></li> + <li class="isub1">X⁠-1⁠-A, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, + <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_200">200-205</a>, <a href="#Page_238">238</a>, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>, <a href="#Page_299">299</a>, + <a href="#Page_368">368</a>, <a href="#Page_381">381</a>, <a href="#Page_391">391</a></li> + <li class="isub1">X⁠-1⁠-B, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, + <a href="#Page_212">212</a>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>, <a href="#Page_286">286</a></li> + <li class="isub1">X⁠-1⁠-C, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a></li> + <li class="isub1">X⁠-1⁠-D, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>, + <a href="#Page_381">381</a></li> + <li class="isub1">X⁠-1⁠-E, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>, <a href="#Page_286">286</a></li> + <li class="isub1">X⁠-1-3 (“Queenie”), <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>, <a href="#Page_350">350</a>, + <a href="#Page_381">381</a></li> + <li class="isub1">X⁠-2, <a href="#Page_34">34-35</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_150">150-153</a>, + <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_201">201-207</a>, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>, + <a href="#Page_238">238</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>, <a href="#Page_343">343</a>, + <a href="#Page_371">371</a>, <a href="#Page_381">381</a>, <a href="#Page_396">396</a></li> + <li class="isub1">X⁠-3, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_148">148-149</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>, + <a href="#Page_286">286</a>, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>, <a href="#Page_396">396</a></li> + <li class="isub1">X⁠-4, <a href="#Page_32">32-33</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38-44</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>, + <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, <a href="#Page_286">286</a></li> + <li class="isub1">X⁠-5, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154-155</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>, + <a href="#Page_286">286</a></li> + <li class="isub1">X⁠-15, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187-189</a>, + <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_207">207-208</a>, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>, + <a href="#Page_227">227</a>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>, + <a href="#Page_268">268</a>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>, <a href="#Page_290">290</a>, + <a href="#Page_295">295</a>, <a href="#Page_299">299</a>, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>, <a href="#Page_310">310</a>, <a href="#Page_322">322</a>, + <a href="#Page_325">325</a>, <a href="#Page_338">338</a>, <a href="#Page_343">343</a>, <a href="#Page_358">358</a>, <a href="#Page_377">377</a>, <a href="#Page_389">389</a>, + <a href="#Page_392">392</a>, <a href="#Page_401">401</a>, <a href="#Page_405">405</a>, <a href="#Page_409">409</a></li> + <li class="isub1">X⁠-15 Number 2, <a href="#Page_346">346</a>, <a href="#Page_350">350</a></li> + <li class="isub1">X⁠-15 Number 3, <a href="#Page_407">407</a></li> + <li class="isub1">X⁠-15B, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280-283</a>, <a href="#Page_287">287</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>, <a href="#Page_318">318</a></li> + <li class="isub1">XF⁠-85, <a href="#Page_299">299</a></li> + <li class="isub1">XF⁠-92A, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>, + <a href="#Page_278">278</a></li> + <li class="isub1">YF⁠-84, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Allavie, Capt John E. (“Jack”), <a href="#Page_266">266</a>, <a href="#Page_314">314</a>, <a href="#Page_325">325</a>, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>, <a href="#Page_335">335</a>, + <a href="#Page_367">367</a> ff., <a href="#Page_371">371</a>, <a href="#Page_376">376</a>, <a href="#Page_394">394</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Allen, Edward (“Eddie”), <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_373">373</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Ames, NACA laboratory, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Ankenbruk, Herman O., <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Apt, Capt. Milburn (“Mel”), <a href="#Page_213">213-214</a>, <a href="#Page_215">215-216</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>, <a href="#Page_367">367</a>, + <a href="#Page_389">389</a>, <a href="#Page_396">396</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Army’s Ballistic Missile Agency, Huntsville, Ala., <a href="#Page_374">374</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Atwood, J. Lee, <a href="#Page_209">209-212</a></li> + + <li class="indx">auxiliary power unit (APU), <a href="#Page_310">310-312</a></li> + + + <li class="ifrst">Babb, Harold, <a href="#Page_60">60</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Baker, Joel R. (“Bob”), Jr., <a href="#Page_210">210</a></li> + + <li class="indx">ballistic-missile nose, <a href="#Page_224">224</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Barker, Peter R. (“Pete”), <a href="#Page_314">314</a>, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>, <a href="#Page_328">328</a> ff.</li> + + <li class="indx">Barnes, Francis Lowe (“Pancho”), <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Beach, Melvin L. (“Mel”), <a href="#Page_309">309</a>, <a href="#Page_326">326</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Beal, Arthur, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Bell (aircraft company), <a href="#Page_21">21-23</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, + <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Benner, Roland R. (“Bud”), <a href="#Page_226">226</a>, <a href="#Page_349">349</a>, <a href="#Page_356">356</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Berkowitz, Harry W. (“Bill”), <a href="#Page_300">300</a>, <a href="#Page_314">314</a>, <a href="#Page_352">352</a>, <a href="#Page_359">359</a>, <a href="#Page_360">360</a>, + <a href="#Page_367">367</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Bikle, Paul, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>, <a href="#Page_390">390</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Blossom, Mrs. (author’s sixth grade teacher), <a href="#Page_72">72</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Bock, Capt. Charles, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>, <a href="#Page_314">314</a>, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>, <a href="#Page_320">320</a> + ff., <a href="#Page_328">328</a>, <a href="#Page_329">329</a>, <a href="#Page_331">331</a> ff., <a href="#Page_338">338</a>, <a href="#Page_339">339</a>, <a href="#Page_340">340</a>, + <a href="#Page_352">352</a>, <a href="#Page_355">355</a>, <a href="#Page_360">360</a>, <a href="#Page_361">361</a>, <a href="#Page_367">367</a>, <a href="#Page_394">394</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Boeing (aircraft company), <a href="#Page_20">20-21</a>, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_287">287</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Bonney, Walter, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Boyd, Col. Albert, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, + <a href="#Page_190">190</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Braun, Wernher von, <a href="#Page_374">374</a>, <a href="#Page_377">377</a></li> + + <li class="indx"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_417">[Pg 417]</span>Bridgeman, William B. (“Bill”), <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48-49</a>, + <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>, + <a href="#Page_238">238</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Brown, Claude (brother-in-law), <a href="#Page_36">36</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Brown, Clinton, <a href="#Page_163">163</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Brown, Elena Ruth (“Babe”)—sister, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Brown, Louise, <a href="#Page_56">56</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Bryan, John C. (“Jack”), <a href="#Page_210">210</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Buchanan, G. A., <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Butchart, Stanley P. (“Stan”), <a href="#Page_175">175</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_200">200</a> ff.</li> + + <li class="indx">Butler, Capt. Francis M., <a href="#Page_190">190</a></li> + + + <li class="ifrst">Caldwell, Comdr. Turner F., Jr., <a href="#Page_47">47</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Canary, John O. (“Jack”), <a href="#Page_221">221</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Cannon, Joseph A. (“Joe”), <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_299">299</a></li> + + <li class="indx">“captive” fuel tests, <a href="#Page_152">152</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Carl, Maj. Marion, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>, <a href="#Page_287">287</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Carmen, L. Robert, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>, <a href="#Page_293">293-294</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Carpenter, Brig. Gen. John W., <a href="#Page_297">297</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Century Series supersonic fighters, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Champine, Robert S. (“Bob”), <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Civilian Pilot Training (CPT), <a href="#Page_84">84</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Clark, Dr. David M., <a href="#Page_239">239-240</a>, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>, <a href="#Page_243">243</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a> ff.</li> + + <li class="indx">Clark, Mrs. (author’s first grade teacher), <a href="#Page_72">72</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Clousing, Laurence, <a href="#Page_27">27</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Cokely, E. R. (“Ed”), <a href="#Page_298">298-299</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Colvin, Lou, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, <a href="#Page_112">112</a></li> + + <li class="indx">commercial jet airliner (U. S.), <i>see</i> Boeing 707</li> + + <li class="indx">Cooper, Brig. Gen. Marcus, <a href="#Page_297">297</a></li> + + <li class="indx">cosmic radiation, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Crossfield’s family:</li> + <li class="isub1">Albert Scott (father), <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_407">407</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">Alice (wife), <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28-29</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>, + <a href="#Page_285">285</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">Amasa Scott (grandfather), <a href="#Page_56">56</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">Becky (daughter), <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">Lucia (mother), <a href="#Page_55">55</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">Mary Ann (sister), <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">Tommy (son), <a href="#Page_37">37</a></li> + <li class="isub1"><i>See also</i> Elena Ruth Brown</li> + + <li class="indx">Crow, Sgt. Herbert G., <a href="#Page_314">314</a></li> + + + <li class="ifrst">Doolittle, James H. (“Jimmy”), <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Douglas (aircraft company), <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Drake, Hubert M., <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Drakeford, Sir Arthur, <a href="#Page_57">57</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Drakeford, Peter A., <a href="#Page_57">57</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Drakeford, Ruth, <a href="#Page_57">57</a></li> + + <li class="indx">“Dry lakes,” <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">Cuddeback Dry Lake, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_380">380</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">Harper Dry Lake, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">Rogers Dry Lake, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>, + <a href="#Page_301">301</a>, <a href="#Page_321">321</a>, <a href="#Page_340">340</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">Rosamond Dry Lake, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_338">338</a>, <a href="#Page_355">355</a>, <a href="#Page_380">380</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">Three Sisters Dry Lakes, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_380">380</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Dryden, Dr. Hugh, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>, + <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Durrup, Lt. Paul, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>, <a href="#Page_238">238</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Dwyer, Bessie, <a href="#Page_57">57</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Dwyer, Thomas Aloysius, <a href="#Page_54">54</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Dwyer, Thomas Aloysius, Jr., <a href="#Page_55">55</a></li> + + + <li class="ifrst">Earhart, Amelia, <a href="#Page_65">65</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Edwards (desert test center), Calif., <a href="#Page_28">28</a></li> + + <li class="indx">ejection seat, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>, <a href="#Page_233">233</a>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Elkin, Hugh, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>, <a href="#Page_396">396</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Emerson, Ralph Waldo, <a href="#Page_319">319</a>, <a href="#Page_409">409</a></li> + + <li class="indx">“escape capsule,” <a href="#Page_230">230-232</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Everest, Maj. Frank K. (“Pete”), <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42-43</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, + <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>, + <a href="#Page_201">201</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_207">207</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>, + <a href="#Page_216">216</a>, <a href="#Page_237">237-238</a>, <a href="#Page_367">367</a>, <a href="#Page_371">371</a>, <a href="#Page_389">389</a>, <a href="#Page_396">396</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Everest, Frank K., <i>The Fastest Man Alive</i>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a></li> + + <li class="indx">“extra-atmospheric” flight, <a href="#Page_164">164</a></li> + + + <li class="ifrst"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_418">[Pg 418]</span>Feltz, Charles, <a href="#Page_220">220-222</a>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a> + ff., <a href="#Page_244">244</a>, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a> ff., <a href="#Page_267">267-270</a>, + <a href="#Page_275">275</a> ff., <a href="#Page_284">284</a>, <a href="#Page_289">289</a>, <a href="#Page_290">290</a>, <a href="#Page_292">292</a> ff., <a href="#Page_303">303</a>, + <a href="#Page_307">307</a> ff., <a href="#Page_316">316</a>, <a href="#Page_326">326</a>, <a href="#Page_333">333</a>, <a href="#Page_336">336</a>, <a href="#Page_342">342</a>, + <a href="#Page_349">349</a>, <a href="#Page_356">356</a>, <a href="#Page_359">359</a>, <a href="#Page_364">364</a>, <a href="#Page_365">365</a>, <a href="#Page_371">371</a>, + <a href="#Page_385">385</a>, <a href="#Page_391">391</a>, <a href="#Page_395">395</a>, <a href="#Page_406">406</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Ferren, Roy, <a href="#Page_380">380</a>, <a href="#Page_382">382</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Finch, Thomas, <a href="#Page_154">154</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Flagg, John, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Flateboe, Comdr. William, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, <a href="#Page_112">112</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Flickinger, Brig. Gen. Don, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, + <a href="#Page_283">283</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Fohl, Simon S. (“Si”), <a href="#Page_309">309-310</a></li> + + <li class="indx">“forced eating” methods, <a href="#Page_277">277</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Freedman, Toby, <a href="#Page_301">301</a>, <a href="#Page_383">383-384</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Freeman, Oscar, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>, <a href="#Page_328">328</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Fulton, Fitzhugh, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_51">51-52</a>, <a href="#Page_367">367</a>, <a href="#Page_368">368</a>, <a href="#Page_394">394</a></li> + + + <li class="ifrst">Gahl, Capt. Edward C., <a href="#Page_266">266</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Gallanes, Harry, <a href="#Page_400">400-401</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Gates, Thomas S., Secretary of Defense, <a href="#Page_396">396</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Gibb, John, <a href="#Page_349">349</a>, <a href="#Page_353">353</a>, <a href="#Page_356">356</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Givens, Capt. Vergil C., <a href="#Page_176">176</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Glennan, Dr. T. Keith, <a href="#Page_283">283</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Goodlin, Chalmers (“Slick”), <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Goodrich Tire and Rubber Company, <a href="#Page_237">237</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Gravity, positive (positive G), <a href="#Page_129">129</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Gregorious, Capt. John, <a href="#Page_190">190</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Griffith, John, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Grumman (aircraft company), <a href="#Page_76">76</a></li> + + + <li class="ifrst">Harper, John, <a href="#Page_30">30</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Harvey, Quinton C. (“Q.C.”), <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_299">299</a> ff., <a href="#Page_308">308</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>, <a href="#Page_322">322</a>, + <a href="#Page_324">324</a>, <a href="#Page_328">328-329</a>, <a href="#Page_335">335-336</a>, <a href="#Page_339">339</a>, <a href="#Page_342">342</a>, <a href="#Page_346">346</a>, + <a href="#Page_349">349</a>, <a href="#Page_355">355</a>, <a href="#Page_356">356</a>, <a href="#Page_359">359</a>, <a href="#Page_360">360</a>, <a href="#Page_365">365</a>, + <a href="#Page_368">368</a>, <a href="#Page_371">371</a>, <a href="#Page_373">373</a>, <a href="#Page_376">376</a> ff., <a href="#Page_386">386</a>, <a href="#Page_389">389</a>, + <a href="#Page_401">401</a>, <a href="#Page_403">403</a>, <a href="#Page_407">407</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Helsell, William A. (“Bill”), <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>, + <a href="#Page_117">117</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Henry, Dr. James P., <a href="#Page_237">237</a></li> + + <li class="indx">High Speed Flight Station, NACA, Edwards, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>, <a href="#Page_298">298</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Hoffmann, “Bogie,” <a href="#Page_94">94</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Holguin, Paula, <a href="#Page_55">55</a></li> + + <li class="indx"><ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'Holtner, Gen. Stanley'" id="tn-418">Holtoner, Gen. Stanley</ins>, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Hoover, Herbert R., <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Hoover, Robert A. (“Bob”), <a href="#Page_196">196</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Howard, Ben O. (“Benny”), <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Humphries, Mrs. (author’s fourth grade teacher), <a href="#Page_72">72</a></li> + + + <li class="ifrst">Inconel X, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>, <a href="#Page_290">290</a>, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>, + <a href="#Page_343">343</a></li> + + <li class="indx">International Harvester Company, <a href="#Page_245">245</a></li> + + <li class="indx">International Geophysical Year, <a href="#Page_267">267</a></li> + + <li class="indx">International Livestock Show, Chicago, <a href="#Page_78">78</a></li> + + + <li class="ifrst">Jansen, George, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a></li> + + <li class="indx">JATO, <a href="#Page_47">47-48</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Jingle, Joe, <a href="#Page_351">351</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Johnson, Louis, Secretary of Defense, <a href="#Page_45">45</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Johnson, Col. Richard, <a href="#Page_40">40</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Johnston, E. W. (“Bill”), <a href="#Page_248">248</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Johnsville Centrifuge, <a href="#Page_271">271-272</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Jones, Harold, <a href="#Page_81">81</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Jones, Walter P., <a href="#Page_126">126</a></li> + + + <li class="ifrst">Kincheloe, Iven, <a href="#Page_213">213-214</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>, <a href="#Page_304">304-305</a>, <a href="#Page_367">367</a>, + <a href="#Page_396">396</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Kindelberger, J. H. (“Dutch”), <a href="#Page_210">210</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Kingsville Naval Air Station, <a href="#Page_93">93</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Kirsten, Professor Frank K., <a href="#Page_19">19</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Kotcher, Ezra, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Konrad, John, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Korean War, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a></li> + + + <li class="ifrst">Laird, Norman, <a href="#Page_66">66</a></li> + + <li class="indx"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_419">[Pg 419]</span>Lamb, Comdr. William, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Langley, NACA laboratory, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Lathrop, Neil T., <a href="#Page_190">190</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Lauffer, Brian, <a href="#Page_383">383</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Lawrence Sperry Award, <a href="#Page_210">210</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Layne, Eddie, <a href="#Page_46">46</a></li> + + <li class="indx">LeBlonde (French mfg. company), <a href="#Page_79">79</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Le May, Gen. Curtis, <a href="#Page_266">266</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Le Vier, Anthony W. (“Tony”), <a href="#Page_186">186</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Lewshon, William T., <a href="#Page_152">152</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Lienesch, Charles (“Carl”), <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Lilly, Howard C., <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Lindbergh, Charles A., <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Lox (liquid oxygen), <a href="#Page_160">160</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>, <a href="#Page_201">201</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Lunn, Rose E., <a href="#Page_265">265</a></li> + + + <li class="ifrst"><ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'Mach number, 15'" id="tn-419a">Mach number, <a href="#Page_16">16</a></ins>, <a href="#Page_33">33-34</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, + <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171-172</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177-178</a>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, + <a href="#Page_247">247</a>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>, <a href="#Page_362">362</a>, <a href="#Page_371">371</a>, <a href="#Page_391">391</a>, <a href="#Page_395">395</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Marshall, Gen. George C., <a href="#Page_45">45</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Martin, Ernest (“Ernie”), <a href="#Page_242">242</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Martin, John, <a href="#Page_48">48</a></li> + + <li class="indx">May, Gene, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a></li> + + <li class="indx">McDonnell (aircraft company), <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a></li> + + <li class="indx">McKay, John B. (“Jack”), <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_201">201-202</a>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a></li> + + <li class="indx">McNulty, Vaughn, <a href="#Page_66">66</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Meade, Mrs. (author’s second grade teacher), <a href="#Page_72">72</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Mellinger, George, <a href="#Page_373">373</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Mercury Astronauts, <a href="#Page_243">243</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a></li> + + <li class="indx">MIS (Man in Space) program, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li> + + <li class="indx">missiles:</li> + <li class="isub1">Bomarc, <a href="#Page_356">356</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">medium- and long-range (Thor, Jupiter, Atlas, Titan), <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>, + <a href="#Page_228">228</a>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">Nike, <a href="#Page_356">356</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">Navaho, <a href="#Page_268">268-269</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">Redstone, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_399">399</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">Regulus, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">surface-to-surface (Atlas, Titan, Polaris), <a href="#Page_357">357</a>, <a href="#Page_404">404</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">Vanguard, <a href="#Page_399">399</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">V⁠-2, <a href="#Page_156">156</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Moise, John W. (“Jack”), <a href="#Page_173">173</a>, <a href="#Page_368">368</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Murphy’s Law, <a href="#Page_352">352</a>, <a href="#Page_368">368</a>, <a href="#Page_404">404</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Murray, Maj. Arthur (“Kit”), <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202-203</a>, + <a href="#Page_207">207</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>, <a href="#Page_299">299</a>, <a href="#Page_367">367</a>, <a href="#Page_391">391</a></li> + + + <li class="ifrst">NACA High Speed Flight Station, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>, <a href="#Page_298">298</a></li> + + <li class="indx">NACA testing laboratories:</li> + <li class="isub1">Ames, Calif. (Moffett Field, <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'near San'" id="tn-419">near San Francisco), <a href="#Page_26">26</a></ins>;</li> + <li class="isub1">Lewis, Cleveland, Ohio, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">Langley, Hampton, Va., <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a></li> + + <li class="indx">National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics (NACA), <a href="#Page_26">26-28</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30-33</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, + <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a></li> + + <li class="indx">National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA), <a href="#Page_283">283</a>, <a href="#Page_287">287</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Nautilus submarine, <a href="#Page_269">269</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Naval Air Test Center, Patuxent River, Maryland, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Naval Air Training Center, Corpus Christi, Texas, <a href="#Page_91">91</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Naval Air Training Center, Jacksonville, Florida, <a href="#Page_99">99</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Navy Aero-medical Acceleration Laboratory, Johnsville, Pa., <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Newman, James (“Jim”), <a href="#Page_172">172</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Nixon, Richard M., <a href="#Page_303">303</a></li> + + <li class="indx">North American Aviation, Inc., <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>, + <a href="#Page_318">318</a>, <a href="#Page_334">334</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Northrop, John K. (“Jack”), <a href="#Page_40">40</a></li> + + <li class="indx">“Nose Wheel Club,” <a href="#Page_132">132</a></li> + + + <li class="ifrst">O’Sullivan, William J., <a href="#Page_163">163</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Owl, George A., Jr., <a href="#Page_221">221</a>, <a href="#Page_229">229</a></li> + + + <li class="ifrst">Paymiller, Mrs. (author’s fifth-grade teacher), <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Payne, Richard E. (“Dick”), <a href="#Page_128">128</a></li> + + <li class="indx"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_420">[Pg 420]</span>Pearl Harbor, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Perkins, Oliver R. (“Perk”), <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Petersen, Lt. Comdr. Forrest S., (“Pete”), <a href="#Page_287">287</a></li> + + <li class="indx">“Phase Two” airplanes, <a href="#Page_47">47</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Popson, Maj. Raymond A., <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_190">190</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Post, Wiley, <a href="#Page_237">237</a></li> + + <li class="indx"><i>Press-Telegram</i>, newspaper of Long Beach, Calif., <a href="#Page_66">66</a></li> + + <li class="indx">pressure suit and equipment, <a href="#Page_236">236-239</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240-242</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a></li> + + <li class="indx">“pressurized” cabin, <a href="#Page_235">235</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Project Mercury, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>, <a href="#Page_287">287</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Puckett, Elvin V., <a href="#Page_84">84</a></li> + + + <li class="ifrst">radiation disease, <a href="#Page_274">274</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Reaction Motors, Inc., <a href="#Page_223">223</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Reed, Elden, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Republic (aircraft corporation), <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_205">205</a></li> + + <li class="indx">reserve squadron VF⁠-74, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>, <a href="#Page_113">113-114</a>, <a href="#Page_118">118</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Rice, Ray, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Richardson, Capt. Ralph N., <a href="#Page_314">314</a>, <a href="#Page_326">326</a>, <a href="#Page_334">334</a>, <a href="#Page_344">344</a>, <a href="#Page_373">373</a>, + <a href="#Page_390">390</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Richter, Donald M. (“Sam”), <a href="#Page_300">300</a>, <a href="#Page_301">301</a>, <a href="#Page_309">309</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>, <a href="#Page_331">331</a>, + <a href="#Page_342">342</a>, <a href="#Page_363">363</a>, <a href="#Page_364">364</a>, <a href="#Page_365">365</a>, <a href="#Page_366">366</a>, <a href="#Page_379">379</a>, + <a href="#Page_384">384</a>, <a href="#Page_386">386-387</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Ridley, Capt. Jackie L. (“Jack”), <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, + <a href="#Page_190">190</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Robinson, Raun, <a href="#Page_226">226</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Robinson, Russell E. (“Robby”), <a href="#Page_310">310-311</a>, <a href="#Page_313">313</a></li> + + <li class="indx">rocket engines, <a href="#Page_46">46</a></li> + + <li class="indx">rocket engine XLR⁠-99, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>, <a href="#Page_233">233</a>, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>, + <a href="#Page_292">292-294</a>, <a href="#Page_301">301</a>, <a href="#Page_361">361</a>, <a href="#Page_399">399</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Roosevelt, Theodore, <a href="#Page_259">259</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Rowan, Dr. E. J., <a href="#Page_63">63</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Russell, Jack, <a href="#Page_160">160</a></li> + + + <li class="ifrst">Sand Point Naval Air Station, Seattle, Wash., <a href="#Page_88">88</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Satellites:</li> + <li class="isub1">Dyna-Soar, <a href="#Page_287">287</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">Sputnik, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280-283</a>, <a href="#Page_288">288</a>, <a href="#Page_302">302</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Scott, Gen. Winfield, <a href="#Page_56">56</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Seeger, Oscar, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Sellers, Capt. Wilbur (“Pete”), <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_190">190</a></li> + + <li class="indx">“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, <a href="#Page_122">122</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Semone, Arthur (“Art”), <a href="#Page_403">403</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Sigma Xi, <a href="#Page_121">121</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Simons, Maj. David, <a href="#Page_275">275</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Smith, boot ensign, <a href="#Page_104">104</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Smith, George, <a href="#Page_230">230-231</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Smithsonian Institution, <a href="#Page_31">31</a></li> + + <li class="indx">sonic barrier, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Soucek, Rear Adm. Apollo, <a href="#Page_168">168</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Soule, Hartley, <a href="#Page_26">26</a></li> + + <li class="indx">“space suit,” <a href="#Page_242">242</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Sparks, Ralph (“Sparky”), <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a></li> + + <li class="indx"><ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'speed of sound, 15'" id="tn-420">speed of sound, <a href="#Page_16">16</a></ins>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a></li> + + <li class="indx">stability augmentation system (SAS), <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_339">339</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Stack, John, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Stanley, Robert, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Stapp, Col. John Paul, <a href="#Page_259">259</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Staub, Blake, <a href="#Page_313">313</a>, <a href="#Page_339">339</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Storms, Harrison (“Stormy”), <a href="#Page_205">205</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246-250</a>, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>, <a href="#Page_267">267-270</a>, + <a href="#Page_280">280</a> ff., <a href="#Page_293">293</a>, <a href="#Page_311">311</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>, <a href="#Page_326">326</a>, <a href="#Page_327">327</a>, + <a href="#Page_330">330</a> ff., <a href="#Page_342">342</a>, <a href="#Page_344">344</a>, <a href="#Page_349">349</a>, <a href="#Page_356">356</a>, <a href="#Page_359">359</a>, + <a href="#Page_374">374</a>, <a href="#Page_375">375</a>, <a href="#Page_378">378</a>, <a href="#Page_384">384</a>, <a href="#Page_386">386</a>, <a href="#Page_393">393</a>, + <a href="#Page_406">406</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Strategic Air Command, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a></li> + + <li class="indx">“supersonic yaw,” <a href="#Page_142">142</a>, <a href="#Page_160">160</a></li> + + + <li class="ifrst">Taft, William Howard, <a href="#Page_57">57</a></li> + + <li class="indx">“tail chase,” <a href="#Page_95">95</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Tau Beta Pi, <a href="#Page_121">121</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Taylor, James, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_373">373</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Thach, Capt. John (“Jimmy”), <a href="#Page_94">94</a></li> + + <li class="indx"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_421">[Pg 421]</span>Thomas, Mrs. (author’s third grade teacher), <a href="#Page_72">72</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Thompson, Capt. Allen W., <a href="#Page_190">190</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Tucker, Charles E., <a href="#Page_40">40</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Turner, Roscoe, <a href="#Page_65">65</a></li> + + <li class="indx">twenty-mule teams, <a href="#Page_29">29</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Tymczyszyn, Joseph J., <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_121">121</a></li> + + + <li class="ifrst">Union Oil Refinery, Wilmington, Calif., <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a></li> + + <li class="indx">University of Nebraska, <a href="#Page_81">81</a></li> + + <li class="indx">University of Washington, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80-81</a>, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a></li> + + + <li class="ifrst">Van Allen radiation belt, <a href="#Page_275">275</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Vensel, Joseph R. (“Joe”), <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, + <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>, <a href="#Page_203">203</a></li> + + + <li class="ifrst">Walker, Joseph A. (“Joe”), <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>, + <a href="#Page_202">202</a>, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>, <a href="#Page_354">354</a>, <a href="#Page_359">359</a>, <a href="#Page_363">363</a>, <a href="#Page_368">368</a>, + <a href="#Page_371">371</a>, <a href="#Page_372">372</a>, <a href="#Page_392">392-393</a>, <a href="#Page_405">405</a>, <a href="#Page_406">406</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Walko, Frank, <a href="#Page_152">152</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Wallin, Mrs. (author’s kindergarten teacher), <a href="#Page_72">72</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Wedell, James (“Jimmy”), <a href="#Page_65">65</a></li> + + <li class="indx">weightlessness (zero G), <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Welch, George, <a href="#Page_194">194</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Weldon, Lt. Comdr. Harry, <a href="#Page_238">238</a>, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a></li> + + <li class="indx">White, Maj. Robert, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>, <a href="#Page_305">305</a>, <a href="#Page_340">340</a>, <a href="#Page_354">354</a>, <a href="#Page_359">359</a>, + <a href="#Page_364">364</a>, <a href="#Page_371">371</a>, <a href="#Page_381">381-383</a>, <a href="#Page_392">392</a>, <a href="#Page_397">397</a>, <a href="#Page_405">405</a>, + <a href="#Page_406">406</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Williams, Esther, <a href="#Page_179">179</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Williams, Walter C. (“Walt”), <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30-31</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38-39</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, + <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>, + <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206-208</a>, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>, + <a href="#Page_298">298</a>, <a href="#Page_305">305</a>, <a href="#Page_408">408</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Wilrich, Louise, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Wilson, Charles E., Secretary of Defense, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Wilson, Woodrow, <a href="#Page_26">26</a></li> + + <li class="indx">wind-tunnel tests and data, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, + <a href="#Page_211">211</a>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>, <a href="#Page_248">248</a></li> + + <li class="indx">wings:</li> + <li class="isub1">cantilever, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">delta, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">straight, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">swept, <a href="#Page_32">32</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Wolfe, Maj. Joseph E., <a href="#Page_190">190</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Woods, Robert, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a></li> + + + <li class="ifrst">Yeager, Capt. Charles (“Chuck”), <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_40">40-41</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, + <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>, + <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>, <a href="#Page_207">207</a>, + <a href="#Page_210">210</a>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>, <a href="#Page_299">299</a>, + <a href="#Page_342">342</a>, <a href="#Page_367">367</a>, <a href="#Page_371">371</a></li> + + <li class="indx">York, Sergeant, <a href="#Page_104">104</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Young, William (“Bill”), <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_409">409</a></li> + + + <li class="ifrst">Ziegler, Jean L. (“Skip”), <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151-152</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_299">299</a></li> + + <li class="indx">Zimmerman, Charles H., <a href="#Page_163">163</a></li> +</ul> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> </div> + +<figure class="figleft1 illowe3 p5l" id="colophonb" style="max-width: 10em;"> + <img class="w100 nofloat" src="images/colophonb.jpg" alt="Colophon"> +</figure> + +<p class="clear"> + <i>This book was set in</i></p> +<p><i>Futura and Caledonia types by</i></p> + <p> <i>Harry Sweetman Typesetting Corp.</i></p> + <p> <i>It was printed and bound at</i></p> + <p> <i>the press of The World Publishing Company.</i></p> +<p> <i>Typography and design are by Larry Kamp.</i> +</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> <div class="chapter"> </div> +<div class="transnote"> + <h2 class="nobreak center fnormal fs100" id="Transcribers_Notes"> + Transcriber’s Notes</h2> +<p> + 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.</p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"> + Page <a href="#tn-173">173</a>: “high-pressure propellents” replaced by “high-pressure propellants”.</p> + <p class="noindent"> + Page <a href="#tn-229">229</a>: “add considerable” replaced by “add considerably”.</p> + <p class="noindent"> + Page <a href="#tn-258">258</a>: “look of horrow” replaced by “look of horror”.</p> + <p class="noindent"> + Page <a href="#tn-293">293</a>: “turned to on the” replaced by “turned to the”.</p> + <p class="noindent"> + Page <a href="#tn-397">397</a>: “Project Mecury capsule” replaced by “Project Mercury capsule”.</p> + <p class="noindent"> + Page <a href="#tn-418">418</a>: “Holtner, Gen. Stanley” replaced by “Holtoner, Gen. Stanley”.</p> + <p class="noindent"> +Page <a href="#tn-419a">419</a>: “Mach number, 15” replaced by “Mach number, 16”.</p> + <p class="noindent"> +Page <a href="#tn-419">419</a>: “near San” replaced by “near San Francisco), 26”.</p> + <p class="noindent"> +Page <a href="#tn-420">420</a>: “speed of sound, 15” replaced by “speed of sound, 16”.</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Three consecutive <a href="#i_294fp_08b">pictures</a> 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.</p> + +<p>New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the +public domain.</p> +</div> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78431 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |