NASA SP-4221 

The 

Space Shuttle 

Decision 

NASAs Search for a Reusable Space Vehicle 

T.A. HEPPENHEIMER 

The NASA History Series 

National Aeronautics and Space Administration 

NASA History Office 

Office of Policy and Plans 

Washington, DC 1999 
Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data 

Heppenheimer, T A ,1947-

The Space Shuttle Decision NASA's Search for a Reusable Space Vehicle I by T A Heppenheirner 

p crn -(The NASA History Senes) 

Includes bihliographical references and index 

1 Space shuttles-United States-Design and construchon-History 

2 United States National Aeronautics and Space Administratlon I Trtle U Senes 

TL795 5 H47 1999 98-49885 

629 44'1'09734~21 CIP 
Para Beverley: mi vida, mi mor, la esposa de mi corazon. 
Contents 

Acknowledgments .......................................... v 

Introduction .............................................. ix 

Abbreviations and Acronyms ................................. xi 

Chapter 1.Space Stations and Winged Rockets .................. 1 

The Cullier’s Series ...................................... 1 

Background to the Space Station ............................ 6 

Winged Rockets: The Work of Eugen Siinger ..................12 

The Navaho and the Main Line of American Liquid Rocketry ..... 14 

The X- 15:An Airplane for Hypersonic Research ...............25 

Lifting Bodies: Wingless Winged Rockets .................... 35 

Solid-Propellant Rockets: Inexpensive Boosters ................ 42 

Dyna-Soar: A Failure in Evolution .......................... 49 

Chapter 2.NASA’s Uncertain Future ......................... 55 

Technology Bypasses the Space Station ...................... 55 

Apollo Applications: Prelude to a Space Station ...............60 

Space Station Concepts of the 1960s ........................ 66 

Early Studies of Low-Cost Reusable Space Flight ...............73 

Two Leaders Emerge: Max Hunter and George Mueller ..........84 

NASA and the Post-Apollo Future .......................... 94 

Chapter 3.Mars and Other Dream Worlds ...................105 

Nuclear Rocket Engines ................................. 105 

A New Administrator: Thomas Paine ....................... 110 

Space Shuttle Studies Continue ........................... 116 

Space Shuttle Policy: Opening Gambits ..................... 119 

Paine Seeks a Space Station .............................. 126 

Space Shuttles Receive New Attention ...................... 131 

Space Task Group Members Prepare Plans ................... 136 

Agnew Leads a Push Toward Mars ........................ 144 

i 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

~hapte~ 4.inter of ~is~on~ ent ............................ 151 

Thesixties ........................................... 152 

Mars: The Advance ....................................159 

Mars: The Retreat ..................................... 170 

The Turn of Congress ..................................177 

Paine Leaves NASA ................................... 186 

Chapter 5.shuttle to the Forefront .......................... 191 

The Air Force in Space ................................. 191 

The Air Force and NASA ................................ 198 

A New Shuttle Configuration ............................. 206 

Station Fades; Shuttle Advances ........................... 223 

The Space Shuttle Main Engine ........................... 235 

Chapter 6.Economics and the Shuttle ....................... 245 

Why People Believed in Low-Cost Space Flight .............. 246 

The Shuttle Faces Questions ............................. 254 

Change at NASA and the Bureau of the Budget ...............267 

The Fall of the Two-Stage Fully-Reusable Shuttle ............-274 

Chapter 7.Aerospace Recession ............................ 291 

TheBoeing747 ....................................... 293 

The Supersonic Transport (SST) .......................... 304 

The Lockheed L-1011 .................................. 318 

Aftermaths ........................................... 327 

udget ....................... 331 

The Orbiter: Convergence to a Good Solution ................331 

The Booster: Confusion and Doubt ........................ 346 

End Game in the Shuttle Debate .......................... 362 

TAOS: A New Alternative ............................... 372 

A Time to Decide ..................................... 380 

ii 
Contents 

Chapter 9.Nixon’s ecision ............................... 389 

NixonandTechnology .................................. 390 

Space Shuttle: The Last Moves ........................... 396 

The Hinge of Decision .................................. 408 

Loose Ends I: A Final Configuration ....................... 415 

Loose Ends II: NERVA and Cape Canaveral ................-423 

Awarding the Contracts ................................. 427 

Bibliography ............................................ 437 

Index ................................................... 447 

The NASA History Series .................................. 467 

iii 

Acknorwledgrnelats 

ome projects begin by happenstance, and in such a fashion, the present 

book grew out of my commercial work, Countdown: A History of 

Space Flight (John Wiley, 1997).In researching its source material, I 

made good use of the NASA SP series of books-and noticed that there was 

a significant gap in their coverage. The series included works on most of the 

principal piloted programs: Mercury, Gemini, Apollo, Skylab, Apollo-Soyuz. 

There was nothing, however, on the Space Shuttle. 

In June 1996, I visited the NASA History Office to conduct research on 

an article for the magazine Air & Space. I heard someone say the name, 

“Roger,” and quickly met the chief historian, Roger D. Launius. When I asked 

him about the lack of Space Shuttle coverage, he replied with a tale of woe. 

Launius had tried to interest aerospace historians in the project, but to no avail. 

Seeing an opportunity, I suggested that I might write NASA’s Space 

Shuttle book. Dr. Launius expressed interest and later, early in July, I submitted a formal proposal. Four months later, at the beginning of November, I was 

informed that I was to receive the assignment. The present book is the result 

of that effort. 

It is a pleasure to note the people who have helped me in this work. Dr. 

Launius has been in the forefront, taking an active interest and steering me to 

other archives while offering full use of his own NASA holdings. His archivist 

Lee D. Saegesser, now retired, gave valuable help in finding specific documents. 

Other members of his staff have helped as well: Nadine Andreassen, Colin Fries, 

Mark Kahn, Stephen Garber, and Louise Alstork, who copyedited the typescript. 

The correspondence, memos, and project documents that served as source 

material, exclusive of published books, filled three suitcases. Much of this 

material came from other NASA center archives, and I received valuable help 

from their own staff members. At Marshall Space Flight Center, key people 

include Mike Wright, Alan Grady, and Laura Ballentine. At Johnson Space 

Center, I received much help from Janine Bolton and Sharon Halprin. At 

Kennedy Space Center, I relied on Donna Atkins and Elaine Liston. 

The Air Force maintains an extensive archive at Maxwell AFB,and I 

received good help from the librarian Ann Webb. A security officer, Archie 

DiFante, worked with classified materials and performed the highly valuable 

service of releasing some of their unclassified sections to me, on the spot. At 

V 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

the University of Michigan’s Department of Aerospace Engineering, the librarian Kenna Gaynor helped as well. During my days as a graduate student in that 

department, early in the 1970s, I had compiled a collection of contractors’ 

space shuttle documents, and had donated them to the department library. A 

quarter-century later, with help from my former professor Harm Buning, Ms. 

Gaynor found some of this material and sent it on to me. 

I also learned much through interviews with key individuals: J. Leland 

Atwood, former chairman of North American Aviation (NAA); Robert Biggs, 

the corporate memory at Rocketdyne; Paul Castenholz, the man who made 

the Space Shuttle Main Engine; Maxime Faget, a principal Shuttle designer; 

and Dale Myers, NASA’s Associate Administrator for Space Flight. This list 

of interviewees is somewhat limited, for a good reason: I was able to use transcripts from NASA’s own program of oral history interviews. 

In providing help, Professor John M. Logsdon stands in a class by himself. He personally conducted many of these interviews, and provided me with 

transcripts. He wrote a book-length monograph on the rise of the Space 

Shuttle. He also gave me the free use of his own archive at George Washington 

University, which contains thousands of neatly filed and readily accessible letters and memos. My thanks also go to Tamrny Golbert of the Folsom Library 

at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute. She gave me access to the papers of 

George Low that are on deposit within that library’s special collections. 

This project has been something of a family affair, and I note the help of 

my son Alex Heppenheimer, who used the Internet to secure a valuable guide 

to published source material. My former wife, Phyllis LaVietes, served as my 

secretary and took care of my word processing. I note as well the contributions of the artists Don Davis and Dan Gauthier, who provided me with 

illustrations. In addition to this, much of this book’s line art and photography 

comes courtesy of the author Dennis Jenkins. His book Space Shuttle 

(Walsworth Publishing Company, 1996) contains much interior art, and he 

has generously made it available for use by NASA. 

The NASA Headquarters Printing and Design Office developed the 

layout and handled printing for this volume. Specifically, I wish to acknowledge the work of Geoff Hartman, Janie Penn, Chris Pysz, and Kelly Rindfusz 

for their expert editorial and design work. In addition, Stanley Artis, Michael 

Cmkovic, and Jeffrey Thompson saw the book through the publication 

process. Thanks are due to all of them. 

vi 
Acknowledgements 

With considerable joy, I dedicate this book to my wife, the former 

Beverley Brownlee. We were married in West Palm Beach, Florida, on June 

8, 1998, as I was completing the preparation of this work for the press. 

T.A. Heppenheimer 

Fountain Valley, California 

June 28, 1998 

uii 

Rntroduction 

he Space Shuttle took shape and won support, and criticism, as part 

of NASA's search for a post-Apollo future. As with the Amy and 

Navy in World War 11, NASA had grown rapidly during the 1960s. 

Similarly, just as those military services saw a sharp falloff in funding in the 

wake of victory, the success of the piloted Moon landings brought insistent 

demands that NASA should shrink considerably. In facing those demands, 

and in overcoming them to a degree, NASA established itself as a permanent 

player in Washington. 

In civics books, we learn that the three branches of government include 

the White House, Congress, and the Supreme Court. In making policy and in 

carrying it out, however, the judiciary rarely plays a significant role. One may 

speak of a tripartite government with a different set of participants: the White 

House, Congress, and the Office of Management and Budget (OMB). Though 

the OMB is part of the Executive Branch and responds to the wishes of the 

President, its officials have considerable leeway to shape policy in their own 

right, by cutting budgets. In seeking its post-Apollo future, NASA repeatedly 

had to accept such cuts, as its senior officials struggled to win support within 

the White House. 

During 1969, with Nixon newly elected and the first astronauts setting 

foot on the Moon, NASA Administrator Thomas Paine led a push for a Euture 

in space that promised to be expansive. He aimed at nothing less than a 

piloted expedition to Mars, propelled by nuclear rocket engines that were 

already in development. En route to Mars, he expected to build space stations 

and large space bases. Almost as an afterthought, he expected to build a space 

shuttle as well, to provide low-cost flight to these orbiting facilities. 

Soon after Neil Arrnstrong made his one small step in the lunar Sea of 

Tranquillity, Paine received a cold bath in the Sea of Reality. Nixon's budget 

Mayo, chopped a billion dollars from Paine's request. This 

brought an end to NASA's hopes for a space base and for flight to Mars. It 

appeared possible, however, to proceed with the space station and the shuttle, 

as a joint project. The shuttle drew particular interest within the Air Force, 

which saw it as a means to accomplish low-cost launches of reconnaissance 

satellites and other military spacecraft. 

ix 
WAY STATION TO SPACE 

Congress, however, was deeply skeptical toward the proposed shuttldstation, as both the House and Senate came close to killing it in 1970. NASA 

responded to this near-death experience by placing the station on the shelf and 

bringing the Shuttle to the forefront. Its officials needed political support that 

could win over doubters in Congress, and they found this support within the 

Department of Defense. 

The Air Force now found itself in a most unusual position. Its generals had 

worked through the 1960s to pursue programs that could put military astronauts in space. These programs had faltered, with the main ones, the 

Dyna-Soar and the Manned Orbiting Laboratory, being canceled in 1963 and 

1969 respectively. Yet here was NASA offering the Pentagon a piloted Space 

Shuttle, and promising to design it to meet Air Force needs. Indeed, the Air 

Force would receive the Shuttle on a silver platter, for NASA alone would fund 

its development and constmction. It is a measure of NASA’s desperation that 

it accepted the Shuttle project on those terms. The ploy, however, worked. The 

Air Force gave its political support to the Shuttle, and NASA went on to quell 

the opposition on Capitol Hill. 

The OMB was a tougher opponent. NASA tried to win it over by commissioning cost-benefit studies that sought to support the Shuttle on economic 

grounds. These studies, however, merely provided more ammunition for the 

OMB’s critics. In mid-197 1, these critics forced NASA to abandon plans for a 

shuttle with two fully reusable liquid-fueled stages, and to set out on a search 

for a shuttle design that would cost half as much to develop. Then, when the 

resulting design exercises promised success in meeting this goal, the OMB 

responded by arguing that this success showed that NASA could do still more 

to cut costs. Budget officials demanded a design that would be smaller and less 

costly, even though such a shuttle would have significantly less capability than 

the Air Force wanted. 

By shrinking the Shuttle, however, NASA won support where it counted. 

Caspar Weinberger, the OMB’s deputy director, gave his endorsement late in 

197 1. Nixon also decided that the nation should have the Shuttle. On the eve of 

decision, the key player proved to be OMB Director George Shultz. He decided 

that since the Shuttle was to serve the entire nation, it should have the full capability for which NASA hoped and the Air Force demanded. Shultz’s decision 

reinforced Nixon’s, putting an end to the OMB’s continuing demands to downsize the design. The consequence was the Space Shuttle as we know it today. 

A 
Abbreviations and ronyrns 

AACB 

AAF 

AAS 

AB, AD3 

ABES 

ACPS 

AEC 

AFB 

AFL-CIO 

AFSC 

AIAA 

APU 

ARDC 

ASSET 

ATM 

ATSC 

AT&T 

BOB 

BTU 

CAS1 

CD 

CIA 

deg

DoD 

ECLS 

ENG 

ESTP 

OF 

F- 1 

FAA 

FDL 

ft 

FWD 

FY 

GD 

GE 

GLOW 

He 

HO 

HQ

HS 

IBM 

ICBM 

IDA 

Aeronautics and Astronautics Coordinating Board (USAF-NASA) 

Army Air Forces 

American Astronautical Society 

airbreathing

Air Breathing Engine System (jet engine) 

attitude control propulsion system 

Atomic Energy Commission 

Air Force Base 

American Federation of Labor-Congress of Industrial Organizations 

Air Force Systems Command (USAF) 

American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics 

auxiliary propulsion unit 

Air Research and Development Command (USAF) 

AerothermodynamkielasticStructural Systems Environmental Tests 

Apollo Telescope Mount (Skylab) 

Air Technical Service Command (USAF) 

American Telephone and Telegraph Company 

Bureau of the Budget 

British thermal unit 

Center for Aerospace Information 

certificate of deposit 

Central Intelligence Agency 

degree 

Department of Defense 

environmental control/life support 

engine 

Economics, Science, and Technology Programs (OMB) 

Fahrenheit degrees 

rocket engine designation 

Federal Aviation Agency; after 1967,Federal Aviation Administration 

Flight Dynamics Laboratory (Wright-Patterson AFB) 

foot 

forward 

Fiscal Year 

General Dynamics Corporation 

General Electric Company 

gross liftoff weight 

helium 

h y drogen-ox ygen 

headquarters 

Haynes Stellite (a class of superalloys) 

International Business Machines Corporation 

intercontinental ballistic missile 

Institute for Defense Analyses 

xi 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

5-2 

JFK 

JP 

JPL 

K 

KISS 

LACE 

LBJ 

lb 

LC 

LID 

LH, LH, 

LM 

LN,

LO,, LOX 

MIT 

MOL 

MOM 

MORL 

M.P. 

MR 

MSC 

MSFC 

MW 

NAA. 

NACA 

NASA 

NASC 

NERVA 

NMI 

n.mi. 

NRO 

NSC 

NSF 

NTOP 

OEO 

OMB 

OMS 

OMSF 

OSSA 

OST 

ows 

PARD 

PCG 

PRIME 

PSAC 

PSG 

psi 

PTA 

RandD 

xii 

rocket engine designation 

John E Kennedy 

Jet Propellant (grade of jet fuel) 

Jet Propulsion Laboratory 

thousand 

Keep It Simple, Stupid 

liquid air cycle engine 

Lyndon Baines Johnson 

pound 

launch complex (Cape Canaveral) 

lift-to-drag ratio 

liquid hydrogen 

Lunar Module (Apollo) 

liquid nitrogen 

liquid oxygen 

Massachusetts Institute of Technology 

Manned Orbiting Laboratory 

Manned Orbiting Module 

Manned Orbiting Research Laboratory 

Member of Parliament 

mixture ratio (rocket propellants) 

Manned Spacecraft Center (NASA) 

Marshall Space Flight Center (NASA) 

megawatts 

North American Aviation 

National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics 

National Aeronautics and Space Administration 

National Aeronautics and Space Council 

Nuclear Engine for Rocket Vehicle Application 

NASA Management Instruction 

nautical miles 

National Reconnaissance Office 

National Security Council 

National Science Foundation 

New Technology Opportunities Program 

Office of Economic Opportunity 

Office of Management and Budget 

orbital maneuvering system 

Offce of Manned Space Flight (NASA) 

Office of Space Science and Applications (NASA) 

Office of Science and Technology (White House) 

orbital workshop (Skylab) 

Pilotless Aircraft Research Division (NACA-Langley) 

Planning Coordination Group (NASA HQ) 

Precision Recovery Including Maneuvering Entry 

President’s Science Advisory Committee 

Planning Steering Group (NASA HQ) 

pounds per square inch 

Parent-Teacher Association 

research and development 
RAT0 

RDT&E 

RFP 

RL-10 

ROMBUS 

Rp 

rpm 

SAB 

SCLC 

Sec 

SHHDC 

s-IC 

s-I1 

S-IVB 

SNECMA 

SP 

SRM 

SSD 

SSME 

SST 

STAC 

STG 

TAHO 

TAOS 

TEMPO 

TPS 

TRW 

TVC 

TWA 

U.S. 

USAF 

uss 

VAB 

v.p. 

wt 

XLR 

Abbreviations and Acronyms 

Rocket- Assisted Take-Off 

research, development, test and engineering 

Request for Proposal 

rocket engine designation 

Reusable Orbital Module, Booster, and Utility Shuttle 

Rocket Propellant (rocket-grade kerosene) 

revolutions per minute 

Scientific Advisory Board (USAF) 

Southern Christian Leadership Conference 

second 

Shuttle History Historical Documents Collection (NASA-MSFC) 

first stage of the Saturn V 

second stage of the Saturn V 

third stage of the Saturn V 

Societe National &Etude et de Construction de la Moteurs #Aviation 

(France) 

Special Publication (NASA) 

solid rocket motor ' 

Space Systems Division (USAF) 

Space ShuttIe Main Engine 

supersonic transport 

Science and Technology Advisory Committee (NASA HQ) 

Space Task Group 

Thrust Assisted Hydrogen-Oxygen 

Thrust Assisted Orbiter Shuttle 

Technical Military Planning Operation (GE) 

thermal protection system 

Thompson Ram0 Wooldridge, Incorporated 

thrust vector control 

Trans World Airlines 

United States 

United States Air Force 

United States Ship (Navy) 

Vehicle Assembly Building (Kennedy Space Center) 

vice president 

weight 

Experimental Liquid Rocket 

xiii 

CHA T R ONE 

Space Sitations and 

Winged Rockets 

efore anyone could speak seriously of a space shuttle, there had 

to be widespread awareness that such a craft would be useful 

and perhaps even worth building. A shuttle would necessarily 

find its role within an ambitious space program. While science 

fiction writers had been prophesying such wonders since the days of Jules 

Verne, it was another matter to present such predictions in ways that smacked 

of realism. After World War 11, however, the time became ripe. Everyone 

knew of the dramatic progress in aviation, which had advanced from biplanes 

to jet planes in less than a quarter-century. Everyone also recalled the sudden 

and stunning advent of the atomic bomb. Rocketry had brought further surprises as, late in the war, the Germans bombarded London with long-range 

V-2 missiles. Then, in 1952, a group of specialists brought space flight clearly 

into public view. 

The Collier's Series 

One of these specialists, the German expatriate Willy Ley, had worked with 

some of the builders of the V-2 personally and had described his experiences, 

and their hopes, in his book Rockets, Missiles,and Space Travel.' The first 

version, titled Rockets, appeared in May 1944, just months before the first 

1. Citation in bibliography. 

1 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

firings of the V-2 as a weapon. Hence, this book proved to be very timely. 

His publisher, Viking Press, issued new printings repeatedly, while Ley 

revised it every few years, expanding both the text and the title to keep up 

with fast-breaking developments.2 

One day in the spring of 1951, Ley had lunch with Robert Coles, chairman 

of the Hayden Planetarium in Manhattan. He remarked that interest in astronautics was burgeoning in Europe. An international conference, held in Paris 

the previous October, had attracted over a thousand people. None had come 

from the U.S.,however, and this suggested to Ley that Americans should organize a similar congress. Coles replied, “Go ahead, the planetarium is yours.” 

Ley proceeded to set up a symposium that took place on Columbus Day. 

Admission was by invitation only. Some invitations, however, went to members of the press. Among the attendees were a few staffers from Collier’s, a 

magazine with a readership of ten million. Two weeks later, the managing 

editor, Gordon Manning, read a brief news item about an upcoming Air Force 

conference, in San Antonio, on medical aspects of space flight. He sent an 

associate editor, Cornelius Ryan, to cover this meeting and to see if it could 

be turned into a story.3 

While no space enthusiast, Ryan was a meticulous reporter, as he would 

show in such books as The Longest Day and A Bridge Too Far. At the meeting, he fell in with Wernher von Braun, who had been the technical director 

of the V-2 project. Von Braun, a consummate salesman, had swayed even 

Hitler.4 Over cocktails, dinner, and still more cocktails, Von Braun proceeded 

to deliver his pitch. It focused on a space station with an onboard crew living 

and working in space. Von Braun declared that it could be up and operating 

in orbit by 1967.It would have the shape of a ring, 250 feet in diameter, and 

would rotate to provide centrifugal force that could substitute for gravity in 

weightless space. The onboard staff of 80 people would include astronomers 

operating a major telescope. Meteorologists, looking earthward, would study 

cloud patterns and predict the eath her.^ 

To serve the needs of the Cold War, von Braun emphasized the use a 

space station could have for military reconnaissance. He also declared that it 

2 Expanded versions appeared in 1945, 1948, and 1952 

3 Ley, Rockers, pp 330-331, AAS History Senes, vol 15, pp 235-242 

4 Domberger, V-2, pp 103- 1 1 1 

5 AAS History Senes, vol 15, pp 235-242. 

2 
Space Stations and Winged Rockets 

could operate as a high-flying bomber, dropping nuclear weapons with great 

accuracy. To build it, he called for a fleet of immense piloted cargo rockets 

(space shuttles, though the term had not yet entered use) each weighing 7,000 

tons, 500 times the weight of the V-2. Yet the whole program-rockets, station and all-would cost only $4 billion, twice the budget of the wartime 

Manhattan Project that had built the atomic bomb.6 

With its completion, the space station could serve as an assembly point 

for a far-reaching program of exploration. An initial mission would send a 

crew on a looping flight around the Moon, to photograph its unseen far side. 

Later, perhaps by 1977, a fleet of three rockets would carry as many as 50 

people to the Moon's Bay of Dew for a six-week period of wide-ranging 

exploration using mobile vehicle^.^ Eventually, perhaps a century in the 

future, an even bolder expedition would carry astronauts to Mars.' 

By the end of that evening, von Braun had converted Ryan, who now 

believed that piloted space flight was not only possible but imminent. 

Returning to New York, Ryan persuaded Manning that this topic merited an 

extensive series of articles that eventually would span eight issues of the magazine.g Manning then invited von Braun, together with several other 

specialists, to Manhattan for a series of interviews and discussions. These specialists included Willy Ley; the astronomer Fred Whipple of Harvard, a moon 

and Mars specialist; and Heinz Haber, an Air Force expert in the nascent field 

of space medicine.'O 

In preparing the articles, Collier's placed heavy emphasis on getting the 

best possible color illustrations. Artists included Chesley Bonestell, who had 

founded the genre of space art by presenting imagined views of planets such 

as Saturn, as seen closeup from such nearby satellites as its large moon Titan. 

Von Braun's engineering drawings and sketches of his rockets and spaceships 

were used by Bonestell and the other artists to create working drawings for 

Von Braun's review. They would execute the finished paintings only after 

receiving Von Braun's corrections and comments.'' 

6. Zbid.; 'time, December 8, 1952, pp. 67,71; Collier's, March 22, 1952, pp. 27-28. 

7. Collier's, October 18, 1952, pp. 51-59; October 25, 1952, pp. 38-48. 

8. Zbid.,April 30, 1954, pp. 22-29. 

9. Zbid., March 22, October 18 and October 25, 1952; February 28, March 7, March 14, and June 27, 1953; 

April 30, 1954. Reprinted in part in NASA SP-4407, vol. I, pp. 176-200. 

10. CollierS, March 22, 1952, p. 23. 

11. AAS History Series, vol. 15, p. 237; vol. 17, pp. 35-39. 

3 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Collier‘s, March 22, 1952, 

,. spumed a surge of anterest in 

space flight. 

(Courtesy of Ron MiUer) 

The first set of articles appeared in March 1952, with the cover illustration of a space shuttle at the moment of staging, high above the Pacific. “Man 

Will Conquer Space Soon,” blared the cover. “Top Scientists Tell How in 15 

Startling Pages.” Inside, an editorial noted “the inevitability of man’s conquest of space” and presented “an urgent warning that the U.S. must 

immediately embark on a long-range development program to secure for the 

West ‘space superiority.’ ”12 

The series appeared while Willy Ley was bringing out new and updated 

editions of his own book. It followed closely The Exploration of Space by 

Arthur C. Clarke, published in 1951 and offered by the Book-of-the-Month 

Club.13 The Collier’s articles, however, set the pace. Late in 1952, Time magazine ran its own cover story on von Braun’s ideas.14 In Hollywood, producer 

12. Collier’s,March 22, 1953, p. 23 

13. Citation In bibliography. 

14. Time, December 8, 1952. 

4 
Space Stations and Winged Rockets 

Cargo rocket of the Collier’s series, 

with winged upper stage. (Art by 

Rolf Klep; courtesy of Ron Miller) 

George Pal was working already with Bonestell, and had brought out such science fiction movies as Destination Moon (1950) and When Worlds Collide 

(1951). In 1953, they drew on von Braun’s work and filmed The Conquest of 

Space, in color. Presenting the space station and Mars expedition, the film proposed that the Martian climate and atmosphere would permit seeds to sprout 

in that planet’s red ~0il.l~ 

Walt Disney also got into the act, phoning Ley from his office in Burbank, 

California. He was building Disneyland, his theme park in nearby Anaheim, 

and expected to advertise it by showing a weekly TV program of that name 

over the ABC television network. With von Braun’s help, Disney went on to 

produce an hour-long feature, Man in Space. It ran in October 1954, with subsequent reruns, and emphasized the piloted lunar mission. Audience-rating 

organizations estimated that 42 million people had watched the program.I6 

15. Miller and Durant, Worlds Beyond, pp. 100-102. 

16. Ley, Rockets, p. 331. 

5 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

In its 1952 article, Time referred to von Braun’s cargo rockets as “shuttles” and “shuttle rockets,” and described the reusable third stage as “a winged 

vehicle rather like an airplane.” His payload weight of 72,000 pounds proved 

to be very close to the planned capacity of 65,000 pounds for NASA‘s space 

sh~tt1e.I~He expected to fuel his rockets with the propellants nitric acid and 

hydrazine, which have less energy than the liquid hydrogen in use during the 

1960s. Hence, his rockets would have to be very large. While his loaded 

weight of 7,000 tons would compare with the 2,900 tons of America’s biggest 

rocket, the Saturn V,Is his program cost of $4 billion was wildly optimistic. 

Still, the influence of the CoZZier’s series echoed powerfully throughout 

subsequent decades. It was this eight-part series that would define nothing 

less than NASA’s eventual agenda for piloted space flight. Cargo rockets such 

as the Saturn V and the space shuttle, astronaut Moon landings, a space station, the eventual flight of people to Mars-all these concepts would 

dominate NASA’s projects and plans. It was with good reason that, in the 

original Collier’sseries, the space station and cargo rocket stood at the forefront. By 1952, the concept of a space station had been in the literature for 

nearly 30 years, while large winged rockets were being developed as well. 

Background to the Space Station 

The concept of a space station took root during the 1920s, in an earlier era of 

technical change that focused on engines. As recently as 1885, the only 

important prime mover had been the reciprocating steam engine. The advent 

of the steam turbine yielded dramatic increases in the speed and power of both 

warships and ocean liners. Intemal-combustion engines, powered by gasoline, 

led to automobiles, trucks, airships, and airplanes. Submarines powered by 

diesel engines showed their effectiveness during World War I. l9 

After that war,two original thinkers envisioned that another new engine, 

the liquid-fuel rocket, would permit aviation to advance beyond the Earth’s 

atmosphere and allow the exploration and use of outer space. These inventors 

were Robert Goddard, a physicist at Clark University in Worcester, 

Massachusetts, and Hermann Oberth, a teacher of mathematics in a gymnasium 

17. Time,December 8, 1952, pp. 67,68. 

18. NASA SP-4012, vol. 111, p. 27. 

19. Scienf$cAmencan, May 1972, pp. 102-111;April 1985, pp. 132-139. 

6 
Space Stations and Winged Rockets 

in a German-speaking community in Romania?’ Goddard experimented much, 

wrote little, and was known primarily for his substantial number of patents.** 

Oberth contented himself with mathematical studies and writings. His 1923 

book, Die Rakete zu den Planetenraumen (The Rocket into Interplanetary 

Space), laid much of the foundation for the field of astronautics. 

Both Goddard and Oberth were well aware of the ordinary fireworks 

rocket (a pasteboard tube filled with blackpowder propellant). They realized 

that modern technology could improve on this centuries-old design in two 

critical respects. First, a steel combustion chamber and nozzle in a rocket 

engine could perform much better than pasteboard. Second, the use of propellants such as gasoline and liquid oxygen would produce far more energy 

than blackpowder. Oberth produced two conceptual designs: the Model B, an 

instrument-carrying rocket for upper-atmosphere research, and the Model E, 

a spaceship.22 

Having demonstrated to his satisfaction that space flight indeed was 

achievable, Oberth then considered its useful purposes. While he was not 

imaginative enough to foresee the advent of automated spacecraft (still well 

in the future), the recent war had shown that, using life support systems, submarines could support sizable crews underwater for hours at a time. 

Accordingly, he envisioned that similar crews, with oxygen provided through 

similar means, would live and carry out a variety of tasks in a space station as 

it orbited the Earth. 

Without describing the station in any detail, he wrote that it could develop 

out of a plans for a large orbiting rocket with a mass of “at least 400,000 kg”: 

But if we should let a rocket of this size travel around the earth, it would constitute a sort of miniature moon. It would then no longer need to be designed 

or equippedfor descent and landing. Trajic between this satellite and earth 

could be carried out with smaller vehicles and these large rockets (let us call 

them observation stations) could be built to further dimensions for their particular purpose. If ill effects result from experiencing weightlessness over 

long periods of time (which I doubt), two such rockets could be connected 

with a cable and caused to rotate about each othel: 

20. Ley, Rockets, pp. 107, 116. 

21. Lehman, High Man,pp. 360-363. 

22. Ley, Rockets, pp. 108-1 12; NASA TT-F-9227,p. 98. 

7 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

The station could serve as an astronomical observatory: 

In space, telescopes of any size could be used, for the stars would not 

flicker.... Suficient for an objective glass would be a large, lightly shaded, 

concave mirror made of sheet metal. lfthis were mounted by means of three 

metal rods at a distance of several kilometers from the rocket, we would have 

a telescope which, for most purposes, would be one hundred times superior 

to the best instruments on earth. 

The station could also carry out Earth observations, while serving as a 

communications relay: 

With their sharp instruments they could recognize every detail on the earth 

and could give Eight signals to earth through the use of appropriate mirrors. 

They would enable telegraphic connections with places to which neither 

cables nor electrical waves can reach .... Their value to militaqy operations 

would be obvious, be it that they are controlled by one of the belligerents or 

be it that high fees could be charged for the reports they could render: The 

station could observe every iceberg and could warn shipping, either directly 

or indirectly. The disaster of the Titanic of 1912,for example, could have 

been prevented in this way. 

Oberth also considered the building of immense orbiting mirrors, with 

diameters as large as 1,000kilometers: 

For example, routes to Spitzbergen or to rhe northern Siberian ports could be 

kept free of ice. If the mirror had a diameter of only 100 km, it could make 

broad areas in the northern regions of the earth inhabitable through difised 

light, and in our latitude it could prevent the fea$ul spring freezes and protect fruit crops from damage by night frosts in both spring and winter 

He recommended sodium as a lightweight construction material. While it 

reacts strongly with oxygen, sodium would remain inert in airless space. He 

also described how the observation station also could serve as a fuel station: 

... ifthe hydrogen and oxygen are shielded from fhe sun’s rays, they could be 

stored here for as long as desired in a solid state. A rocket which is filled here 

and launched from the observation station has no air resistance to overcome.... If we couple a large sphere of sodium sheet which is produced and 

8 
Space Stations and Winged Rockets 

filled with fie1 on location with a small, stoutly built rocket which pushes its 

bel supply ahead of it and is continually supplied by it, then we have a very 

powe@l and long-range vehicle which is easily capable of making the trip 

to other bodies of the universe.23 

Although Oberth was shy and retiring by nature, the impact of his ideas, 

during subsequent decades, would rival that of von Braun’s a generation later. 

Die Rukete spurred the founding of rocket-research groups in Germany, the 

U.S., and the Soviet Union. As early as 1898, Russia’s Konstantin 

Tsiolkovsky, a provincial math teacher like Oberth, had developed ideas similar to those of Oberth’s. Officials of the new Bolshevik government then 

dusted off Tsiolkovsky papers, showing that he had been ahead of the 

Germans. As his writings won new attention, the Soviet Union emerged as 

another center of interest in 

Fritz Lang, a leading German film producer, then became interested. More 

than a filmmaker, Lang was a leader in his country’s art and culture. Later, 

Willy Ley noted that at one of his premieres, “The audience comprised literally everyone of importance in the realm of arts and letters, with a heavy 

sprinkling of high government official^."^^ In 1926,Lang released the classic 

film Metropolis, with a robot in the leading role. Two years later, he set out to 

do the same for space flight with Frau im Mond (The Girl in the Moon). 

Drawing heavily on Oberth’s writings, Lang’s wife, actress Thea von 

Harbou, wrote the script for Frau im Mond. Fritz Lang hired Oberth as a technical consultant. Oberth then convinced Lang to underwrite the building of a 

real rocket. After all, it would be great publicity for the movie were such a 

rocket to fly on the day of the premiere. The project attracted a number of 

skilled workers who went on to build Germany’s first liquid-fuel rockets. 

Among them, a youthful Wernher von Braun went on to develop the V-2 with 

support from the German army?6 

Even during the 1920s’Oberth’s ideas drew enough attention to encourage other theorists and designers to pursue similar thoughts and to write their 

own books. Herman PotoCnik, an engineer and former captain in the Austrian 

23. NASA TT F-9227, pp. 92-97. 

24. Ley, Rockets, pp. 100-104. 

25. Ibid.,p. 124. 

26. lbrd,pp. 124-130; Neufeld, Rocket and Reich, pp. 11-23. 

9 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

-.--..-.----.- Institute of Technology) 

army, wrote under the pen name of Hermann Noordung. In 1929, he published The Problem of Space Travel, a book that addressed the issue of space 

station design. It was to be his last publication, however, for later that same 

year, he died of tuberculosis at the age of 36.27 

PotoEnik introduced the classic rotating wheel shape, proposing a diameter of 100 feet with an airlock at its hub. The sun would provide electric power, 

27. NASA SP-4026, pp. xv-xvi 

10 
Space Stations and Winged Rockets 

though not with solar cells; these, too, lay beyond the imagination of that generation. Instead, a large parabolic mirror would focus sunlight onto boiler pipes 

in a type of steam engine. For more power, a trough of mirrors would run 

around the station’s periphery concentrating solar energy on another system of 

pipes. Like a flower, the station would face the sun?’ 

Except for being two and a half times larger, von Braun’s Collier’s space 

station closely resembled that of PotoCnik, and it is tempting to view von 

Braun as the latter’s apt pupil. He certainly had the opportunity to read 

Potocnik’s book (though published initially in its author’s native language of 

Slovenian, it appeared quickly in German tran~lation).~’ Moreover, von 

Braun’s concept included a circumferential trough of solar mirrors for power. 

This, however, came not from PotoEnik but rather from a suggestion of Fred 

Whipple (who had not read PotoEnik’s book), and thus represented an independent in~ention.~’ The influence of Potocnik on von Braun may have been 

only indirect. 

The historian J.D. Hunley, who has prepared an English translation of 

PotoEnik’s book, describes its influence on von Braun as “probable but speculative.” Nevertheless, he states unequivocally that “PotoCnik’s book was 

widely known even to people who may have seen only photographs of sections from the book in tran~lation.”~~ Hisconcept of a large rotating wheel was 

sufficiently simple to permit von Braun and others to carry it in their heads 

for decades, developing this concept with fresh details when using it as the 

point of reference for an original design. 

In the popular mind, if not for aerospace professionals, the Collier’s 

series introduced the shape of a space station in definitive form. It carried over 

to Disney’s Man in Space, and to George Pal’s Conquest of Space. Fifteen 

years later, when producer Stanley Kubrick filmed Arthur C. Clarke’s 2001: 

A Space Odyssey, he too used the rotating-wheel shape, enlarging it anew to 

a diameter of a thousand feet.32 

28. Ibid.,pp. 101-113. 

29. Ibid.,pp. ix, xii. 

30. Ley, Rockets, pp. 312-313. 

31. NASA SP-4026, pp. xxii-xxiii. 

32. Clarke, 2001, photo facing p. 112. 

11 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

WingedRockets: The Work of Eugen Sanger 

While space stations came quickly to the forefront in public attention, it was 

another matter to build them, even in versions much smaller than von Braun’s 

250-foot wheel. Between 1960 and 1980 the concept flourished only briefly, 

in the short-lived Slsylab program. The second major element of the Collier’s 

scenario, the winged rocket, enjoyed considerably better prospects. At ftrst 

merely topics for calculation and speculation, the development of long-range 

winged rockets during World War 11 was the departure point for a number of 

serious postwar projects. 

In the 1930s, work on winged rockets foreshadowed the development of 

a high-speed airplane able to land on a runway for repeated flights. The first 

important treatment came from Eugen Siinger, a specialist in aeronautics and 

propulsion who received a doctorate at the TechnischeHo~hschule~~ in Vienna 

and stayed on to pursue research on rocket engines. In 1933, he published 

Raketenflugtechnik (Rocket Flight Engineering). The first text in this field, it 

included a discussion of rocket-powered aircraft performance and a set of 

drawings. Sanger proposed achieving velocities as high as Mach 10, along 

with altitudes of up to 70 ki10mete1-s.~~ 

While the turbojet engine was unknown at that time, it was this engine, 

rather than the rocket, that would offer the true path to routine high performance. Because a turbojet uses air from the atmosphere, a jet plane needs to 

carry fuel only, while its wings reduce the thrust and fuel consumption. 

Hence, it can maintain longer flight times. By contrast, a rocket must carry 

oxygen as well as fuel, and thus, while capable of high speeds, it lacks 

endurance. After World War 11, rocket airplanes as experimental aircraft went 

on to reach speeds and altitudes far exceeding those of jets. Jet planes, however, took over the military and later the commercial realms. 

During World War 11, Sanger made a further contribution, showing how 

the addition of wings could greatly extend a rocket’s range. Initially, 2winged 

rocket would fly to modest range, along an arcing trajectory like that of an 

artillery shell. Upon reentering the atmosphere, however, the lift generated by 

33 A technical institute that doe5 not qualify as a university but that offers advanced academic studies, pxticufarly in engrneenng 

34 AAS History Senes, vol 7, Part I, pp 195, 203-206, vol 10, pp 228-230, Ley, Rockets, pp 408410 

12 
Space Stations and Winged Rockets 

The A-4b, a winged V-2of 

2 945. (Smitksonian I;Wtil:don 

Photo NO.76-7772) 

the rocket’s wings would carry it upward, causing it to skip off the atmosphere 

like a flat stone skipping over water. Sanger calculated that with a launch 

speed considerably less than orbital velocity, such a craft could circle the 

globe and return to its launch site.35 After WorId War 11, this concept drew 

high-level attention in Moscow, where, for a time, Stalin sought to use it as a 

basis for a serious weapon project.36 

35. Ley, Rockets, pp. 428-434. 

36. Zaloga, Targef,pp. 121-124 

13 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

In haste and desperation, winged rockets entered the realm of hardware late 

in the war, as an offshoot of the V-2program. The standard V-2had a range 

of 270 kilometers. Following the Normandy invasion in 1944, as the Allies 

surged into France and the Nazi position collapsed, a group of rocket engineers led by Ludwig Roth sought to stretch this range to 500 kilometers by 

adding swept wings to allow the missile to execute a supersonic glide. 

The venture was ill-starred from the outset. When winds blew on the wings 

during liftoff, the marginal guidance system could not prevent the vehicle from 

rolling and going out of control. In this fashion, the first winged V-2 crashed 

within seconds of its December 1944 launch. A month later, a second attempt 

was launched successfully and had transitioned to gliding flight at Mach 4. 

Then a wing broke off, causing the missile to break up high in the air.37 

Nevertheless, this abortive effort provided an early point of departure for 

America’s first serious long-range missile effort. In the Army Air Forces 

(AAF), the Air Technical Service Command (ATSC; renamed Air Materiel 

Command in March 1946) began by defining four categories of missiles: airto-air, air-to-surface, surface-to-air, and surface-to-surface. The last of these 

included the V-2and its potential 

The program began with a set of military characteristics, outlined in 

August 1945, that defined requirements for missiles in these categories. AAF 

Headquarters published these requirements as a classified document. In 

November 1946, ATSC invited 17 contractors, most of them aircraft manufacturers, to submit proposals for design studies of specific weapons. One of 

these firms was North American Aviation (NAA) in Los Angele~.~~ 

NAA had been a mainstay in wartime aircraft production. At the end of 

World War 11, amid sweeping contract cancellations, the company dropped 

from 100,000to 6,500 employees in about two months.40 The few remaining contracts were largely in the area of jet-powered bombers and fighters. 

To NAA’s president, James “Dutch” Kindelberger, these bombers repre31 Neufeld, Rocket and Retch, pp. 248-251,281 

38 Neufeld, Bailistic Missiles, p 26 

39 Fahrney, History,p 1291,Neal, Navaho, pp 1-2 

40 AAS History Senes, vol 20, pp. 121-132 

14 
Space Stations and Winged Rockets 

Test of a small rocket engine in a parking lot at North American Aviation. (Rocketdyne) 

sented the way into the future. He decided to bring in the best scientist he 

could find and have him build a new research lab, staffed with experts in 

such fields as jet propulsion, rockets, gyros, electronics, and automatic control. The lab’s purview, which would go well beyond the AAF study, was to 

work toward bringing in new business by extending the reach of the firm’s 

technical qualification^.^^ 

An executive recruiter, working in Washington, D.C., recommended 

William Bollay to head this lab. Bollay, who held a Ph.D. in aeronautical 

engineering from Caltech, had been a branch chief in the Navy’s Bureau of 

Aeronautics, with responsibility for the development of turbojet engines. He 

came to NAA by November 1946, in time to deal with the AAF request for 

proposals. Working with the company’s chief engineer, Raymond Rice, 

Bollay decided to pursue the winged V-2,which the Germans had designated 

as the A-9. During World War 11, the Germans had regarded this missile as the 

next step beyond the standard V-2,hoping that its wings would offer a simple 

way to increase its range. The V-2’soverriding priority had prevented serious 

41. Author interview, J. Leland Atwood, bs Angeles, July 18, 1988 

15 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

work on its winged version. Late in 1945, however, the NAA proposal offered 

to “essentially add wings to the V-2 and design a missile fundamentally the 

same as the A-9.”42 

A letter contract, issued to the firm in April 1946, called for the study and 

design of a supersonic guided missile designated MX-770, with a range of 175 

to 500miles.43 Meanwhile, rocket research was under way in an NAA company 

parking lot, with parked cars only a few yards away. A boxlike steel frame held 

a rocket motor; a wooden shack housed instruments. The steel blade of a bulldozer’s scraper was used as a shield to protect test engineers in the event of an 

explosion.44A surplus liquid-fueled engine from Aerojet General, with a 1,000 

pounds of thrust, served as the first test motor. The rocket researchers also built 

and tested home-brewed engines, initially with 50 to 300 pounds of thr~st.4~ 

Some of these engines were so small that they seemed to whistle rather than 

roar. In the words of J. Leland Atwood, who became company president in 

1948, “We had rockets whistling day and night for a couple of years.”46 

In June 1946, the first step toward a coordinated plan came in the form of 

a new company proposal. In the realm of large rocket-engine development, 

Bollay and his associates proposed a two-part program: 

Phase I: Rejirbishment and testing of a complete V-2 propulsion system, to 

be provided as government-furnished equipment. 

Phase II: Redesign of this engine to American engineering standards and 

methods of manufacture, along with construction and testing. 

In the spring of 1947, the company added a further step: 

Phase Ill: Design, construction and testing of a new engine, drawing on V-2 

design but incorporating a number of improvement^.^' 

Bollay and his colleagues also launched an extensive program of consultation with Wernher von Braun and his wartime veterans. These included 

42 Ibrd ,author interview, Jeanne Boilay, Santa Barbara, California, January 24, 1989, Report AL-1347 (North 

Amencan), pp 1-4, Neufeld, Rocket and Reich, p 249 

43 Report AL-1347 (North Amencan), pp 5-6 

44 Threshold,Summer 1993, pp 40-47 

45 Report AL-1347 (North Amencan), p 37 

46 Author interview, J Leland Atwood, Los Angeles, July 18, 1988 

47 Report AL-1347 (North Amencan), pp 9-10,34 

16 
Space Stations and Winged Rockets 

Walther Riedel, Hans Huter, Rudi Beichel, and Konrad Dannenberg. In addition, Dieter Huzel, a close associate of von Braun, went on to join NAA as a 

full-time employee.48 

Bollay wanted to test-fire V-2engines. Because their thrust of 56,000 

pounds was far too great for the company’s parking lot test center, Bollay 

needed a major set of test facilities. Atwood was ready to help. “We scoured 

the country,” Atwood recalls. “It wasn’t so densely settled then-and we 

located this land.”49 It was in the Santa Susana Mountains, at the western end 

of the San Fernando Valley. The landscape-stark, sere, and full of rounded 

reddish boulders-offered spectacular views. In March 1947, NAA leased 

the land and built a rocket test center on it as part of a buildup of facilities 

costing upwards of $1 million in company money and $1.5 million from the 

Air Force.50 

In 1946, two government-furnished V-2 engines arrived at the site. 

Detailed designing of the Phase I1 engine began in June 1947; the end of 

September brought the first release of drawings and of the fxst fabricated 

parts. Early in 1949, the first such engine was completed. Two others followed 

shortly thereafter.51 

Still very much a V-2engine, it had plenty of room for improvement. 

Lieutenant Colonel Edward Hall, who was funding the work, declared that “it 

wasn’t really a very good engine. It didn’t have a proper injector, and that 

wasn’t all. When we took it apart, we decided that was no way to By 

fixing the deficiencies during Phase In, NAA expected to lay a solid foundation for future rocket engine development. 

A particular point of contention involved this engine’s arrangements for 

injecting propellants into its combustion chamber. Early in the German rocket 

program, Walter Riedel, von Braun’s chief engine designer, had built a rocket 

motor with 3,300 pounds of thrust with a cup-shaped injector at the top of the 

thrust chamber. For the V-2,a new chief of engine design, Walter Thiel, 

grouped 18 such cups to yield its 56,000 pounds. Unfortunately, this arrangement did not lend itself to a simple design wherein a single liquid-oxygen line 

48. Threshold, Summer 1991, pp. 52-63, Huzel, Peenemunde,pp. 226-228. 

49. Author interview, J. Leland Atwood, Los Angeles, July 18, 1988. 

50. Report AL- 1347 (North American),pp. 23-26; Neal, Navaho,p. 29. 

51. Report AL-1347 (North American), pp. 36-37, Fahmey, History, p. 1292; AAS History Series, vol. 20, pp. 

133- 144. 

52. Author interview, Edward Hall, Los Angeles, January 25, 1989. 

17 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

could supply all the cups. Instead, his “18-pot engine” required a separate 

oxygen line for each individual cup.53 

Thiel had pursued a simpler approach by constructing an injector plate, 

resembling a showerhead, pierced with numerous holes to permit the rapid 

inflow and mixing of the rocket propellants. By the end of World War 11, 

Thiel’s associates had tested a version of the V-2 engine successfully that 

incorporated this feature, though it never reached produ~tion.~~ Bollay’s 

rocket researchers, still working within the company parking lot, were upping 

their engines’ thrust to 3000 pounds, and were using them to test various types 

of injector plates.55 The best injector designs would be incorporated into the 

Phase 111 engine, bringing a welcome simplification and introducing an 

important feature that could carry over to larger engines with greater thrust. 

In September 1947, preliminary design of Phase 111 began, aiming at the 

thrust of the V-2 engine but with a weight reduction of 15 percent.56 

Bollay had initially expected to design the 500-mile missile as a V-2 with 

swept wings and large control surfaces near the tail, closely resembling the A9. Work in a supersonic wind tunnel built by Bollay’s staff showed that this 

design would encounter severe stability problems at high speed. Thus, by early 

1948, a new configuration emerged. With small forward-mounted wings 

(known as canards) that could readily controI such instability, the new design 

moved the large wings well aft, replacing the V-2’s horizontal fins. In January 

1948, four promising configurations were tested in the Ordnance Aerophysics 

Laboratory wind tunnel in Dainge&ield, Texas. By March, a workable preliminary design of the best of these four configurations was largely in hand.57 

When it won independence from the Army, the U.S. Air Force received 

authority over programs for missiles with a range of 1,000 miles or more. 

Shorter-range missiles remained the exclusive domain of the Army. 

Accordingly, at a conference in February 1948, Air Force officials instructed 

NAA to stretch the range of their missile to 1000miles? 

The 500-mile missile had featured a boost-glide trajectory. It used rocket 

power to arc high above the atmosphere and then its range was extended with 

53. Ley, Rockers, pp 204, 212, 215, Neufeld, Rocket and Rerch, pp 74-79, 84 

54. Neufeld, Rocket and Rerch, p 25 1 

55. Report AL-I347 (North Amencdn), p 37, Threshold, Summer 1993, pp 40-47 

56. Report AL- 1347 (North American), p 36 

57. Ibd , pp 30-33, 38-39 

58. Fahmey, Histon,pp 1293-1294, Neal, Navaho,pp 6-7 

18 
Space Stations and Winged Rockets 

Injector 

Oxidizer Tank 

Gas Generator for Starting 

Impingement

Point 

Oxidizer 

Manifolds 

Face of 

Fuel Injector 

Manifolds 

Doublet Impinging Triplet Impinging Stream Pattern Stream Pattern 

Fuel 

Manifolds 

-Typical

Impingement

Point 

Fuel Manifolds 

Typical Straight 

Propellant

Stream 

Oxidizer 

Manifolds Oxidizer 

Manifolds 

Self-Impinging Shower Head 

Stream Pattern Stream Pattern 

Top, liquid-fuel rocket engine showing location of injector. Bottom, representative types of 

injector. (Cornelisse et al., p. 209; Sutton, p. 208) 

a supersonic glide. This approach was not well suited when the range was 

doubled. At the Air Force developmental center of Wright Field, near 

Dayton, Ohio, Colonel M. S. Roth proposed to increase the missile range 

anew by adding ramjet^.'^ Unlike the turbojet engines of the day, the 

ramjet-which worked by ramming air into the engine at high speed-could 

59. Letter, Colonel M. S. Roth to Power Plant Lab, 11 February 1948 (cited in Fahrney,Hisrory,p. 1294). 

19 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Navaho concept of 1948. (U.S. Air Force) 

fly supersonically.A turbojet, however, could take off from a standing start 

whereas a ramjet needed a rocket boost to reach the speed at which this airramming effect would come into play. 

A Navy effort, Project Bumblebee, had been under way in this area since 

World War I1 and NAA had done several relevant aerodynamic studies. In 

addition, at Wright Field, the Power Plant Laboratory included a Nonrotating 

Engine Branch that was funding the development of ramjets as well as rocket 

motors. Its director, Weldon Worth, dealt specifically with ramjets; Lieut. Col. 

Hall, who dealt with rockets, served as his deputy.60 

Though designed for boost-glide flight, the new missile configuration 

readily accommodated ramjets and their fuel tanks for supersonic cruise. The 

original boost-glide missile thus evolved into a cruise missile when a modification of the design added two ramjet engines, mounting one at the tip of each 

of two vertical fins. These engines and their fuel added weight, which necessitated an increase in the planned thrust of the Phase III rocket motor. 

Originally it had been planned to match the 56,000 pound thrust of the V-2. 

In March 1948, however, the thrust of this design went up to 75,000 pounds. 

The missile was named the Navaho, reflecting a penchant at NAA for names 

beginning with ‘‘NA.’’61 

60. Report AL-1347 (North American), p. 6; .kt Propulsion, vol. 25 (1955), pp. 604-614; author interview, 

Edward Hall, Los Angeles, August 29, 1996. 

61. Report AL-1347(North American), pp. 39,42-43. 

20 
Space Stations and Winged Rockets 

By late November of 1949, the first version of this engine was ready for 

testing at the new Santa Susana facility. Because it lacked turbopumps, propellants were pressure-fed from heavy-walled tanks. Thus, this version of the 

engine was much simpler than its later operational type, which would rely on 

turbopumps to force propellants into the engine. Proceeding cautiously, the 

rocket crew began with an engine-start test at 10 percent of maximum propellant flow for 11 seconds. It was successful and led to somewhat longer 

starting tests in December. Then, as the engineers grew bolder, they hiked up 

the thrust. In March 1950, this simplified engine first topped its rated level of 

75,000 pounds-for four and a half seconds. During May and June, the fullthrust runs went well, exceeding a minute in duration. 

Meanwhile, a separate developmental effort was building the turbopumps. Late in March 1950, the first complete engine, turbopumps included, 

was assembled. In August, this engine fired successfully for a full minuteat 12.3 percent of rated thrust. Late in October, the first full-thrust firing 

reached 70,000pounds-for less than five seconds. In seven subsequent tests 

during 1950, however, only one, in mid-November, topped its rated thrust 

level. This was due to problems with rough combustion during the buildup 

to full thrust.62 

The pressure-fed tests exhibited surges in combustion-chamber pressure 

(known as “hard starts”) that were powerful enough to blow up an engine. 

Walther Riedel, one of the German veterans, played an important role in introducing design modifications that brought this problem under control. The 

problem of rough combustion was new, however, and went beyond the 

German experience. It stemmed from combustion instability in the engine’s 

single large thrust chamber. Ironically, the V-2’s 18-pot motor had avoided 

this difficulty. Acting as preliminary burners, its numerous injector cups were 

too small to permit such in~tabilities.~~ 

Following the successful full-thrust test of November 1950, it was not 

until March 195 1 that problems of unstable combustion came under control.64 

However, this marked another milestone. For the first time, the Americans had 

encountered and solved an important problem that the Germans had not experienced. While combustion instabilities would recur repeatedly during 

62. Ibid, pp. 75-81. 

63. Threshold,Summer 1991,pp. 52-63. 

64. hid., p. 53; Report AL-1347 (North American), p. 81 

21 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

subsequent engine programs, the work of 1950 and 195 1 introduced NAA to 

methods for solving this problem. 

By then, the design and mission of the Navaho had changed dramatically. 

The August 1949 detonation of a Soviet atomic bomb, the fall of China to 

communism, and the outbreak of the Korean War in mid-1950 combined to 

signal to the nation that the rivalry with the Soviet Union was serious and that 

Soviet technical capability was significant. The designers at North American, 

working with their Air Force counterparts, accordingly sought to increase the 

range of the Navaho to as much as 5,500 nautical miles, and thereby give it 

intercontinental capability. 

At the Pentagon in August 1950, conferences among Air Force officials 

brought a redefinition of the program that set this intercontinental range of 

5,500 miles as a long-term god. A letter from Major General Donald L. Putt, 

director of research and development within the Air Materiel Command, 

became the directive instructing NAA to pursue this ~bjective.~~ An interim 

version, Navaho 11, with range of 2,500 nautical miles, seemed technically 

feasible. The full-range version, Navaho 111, represented a long-term project 

that would go forward as a parallel effort.66 

‘The 1,000-mile Navaho of 1948, with its Phase I11engine, had amounted 

to a high-speed piIotless airplane fitted with both rocket and ramjet propulsion. This design, however, had taken approaches based on winged rockets to 

their limit. The new Navaho designs separated the rocket engines from the 

ramjets, assigned each to a separate vehicle, and turned Navaho into a twostage missile. The first stage or booster, powered by liquid-fuel rockets, 

acdelerated the missile to Mach 3 and 58,000 feet. The ramjet-powered 

second stage rode this booster during initial ascent-similar to the way in 

which the Space Shuttle rides its external tank today-and then cruised to its 

target at Mach 2.75 (about 1,800m~h.).~~ 

Lacking the thrust to boost the Navaho, the 75,000-pound rocket motor 

stood briefly on the brink of abandonment. Its life, however, was only beginning. This engine was handed over to von Braun, who was at Redstone Arsenal 

65. Letter, Maj Gen D L Putt to Commanding General, Air Matenel Command, 21 August 1950 (cited in 

Fahrney, Hlsrory, p 1297) 

66. Report AL-1347 (North Amencan), p 88, Fahmey,Hlsrory, pp 1296-1297; Neal, Navaho, pp 12-14 

67. “StandardMissile Charactenstics XSM-64 Navaho” U S Air Force,November 1,1956, Ax ForceMuseum, 

Wnght-Patterson Am,Ohio 

22 
Space Stations and Winged Rockets 

in Huntsville, Alabama, directing development of the Army's Redstone missile. With a range of 200 miles, this missile needed an engine. In March 1951, 

the Army awarded a contract to NAA for this rocket motor. Weighing less than 

V-2 engine, left, and its successor deoeloped for Navaho. (Rocketdyne) 

23 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECZSION 

half as much as the V-2’s 18-pot engine (1,475 pounds versus 2,484), this 

motor delivered 34 percent more thrust than that of the V-2.6’ 

For Navaho 11, this basic engine would be replaced by a new one with 

120,000 pounds of thrust. A twin-engine installation, totaling 240,000 

pounds, provided the initial boost. For Navaho 111, NAA upgraded the engine 

to 135,000 pounds of thrust and designed a three-engine cluster for that missile’s b0oster.6~ 

In 1954 and 1955, the Air Force and Army made a major push into longrange missiles-but these were not Navahos. Instead, they were the Air 

Force’s Atlas, Titan, and Thor, along with the Army’s Jupiter. When these 

new programs needed engines, however, it was again NAA that produced the 

rocket motors that would do the job. The Navaho’s 135,000 pounds of thrust 

was upgraded to 139,000 and then again to 150,000 pounds. In addition to 

this, a parallel effort at Aerojet General developed very similar engines for 

the Titan.70 

“We often talked about this basic rocket as a strong workhorse, a rugged 

engine,” says Paul Castenholz, a test engineer who worked at Santa Susana. 

“I think a lot of these programs evolved because we had these engines. We 

anticipated how people would use them; we weren’t surprised when it happened. We’d hear a name like Atlas with increasing frequency, but when it 

became real, the main result was that we had to build more engines and test 

them more ~tringently.”~~ 

The Navaho of 1948, designed as a winged rocket with ramjets, stood two 

steps removed from the missiles that later would go on to deployment and 

operational status. First, the versions of 1950 and after were designed and 

built as high-speed aircraft with a separate rocket booster. 

versions were replaced by the Atlas and other missiles o 

legacy lived on. Bollay’s research center, 

In 1955, this labor 

68 Threshold,Summer 1991, p. 63. 

69. Neal, Navaho,pp. 30-31; AAS History Series, vol. 20, pp. 133-144. 

70. AAS History Series, vol. 13. pp. 19-35; vol. 20, pp. 133-144. 

71. Author interview, Paul Castenholz, Colorado Springs, August 18, 1988. 

24 
Space Stations and Winged Rockets 

became the nation’s premier builder of rocket engines. Autonetics emerged as 

a major center for guidance and control. The Missile Division, later renamed 

Space and Information Systems, built the Apollo spacecraft as well as the 

second stage of the Saturn V Moon 

The Navaho also left a legacy in its people. Sam Hoffman, who brought 

the 75,000-pound engine to success, presided over Rocketdyne as it built the 

main engines for the Saturn V. Paul Castenholz headed development of the J2, the hydrogen-fueled engine that powered Saturn V’s upper stages. John R. 

Moore, an expert in guidance, became president of Autonetics. Dale Myers, 

who served as Navaho project manager, went to NASA as Associate 

Administrator for Manned Space Flight.73 

Navaho’s engines, including those built in the parallel effort at Aerojet 

General, represented a third legacy. Using such engines, Atlas, Thor, and 

Titan were all successful as launch vehicles. Upper stages were added to Thor 

which evolved into the widely-used Delta. Additional upgrades raised the 

thrust of its engine to 205,000 pounds. A cluster of eight such engines, producing up to 1.6 million pounds of thrust, powered the Saturn I and Saturn 

I-B boosters, which flew repeatedly in both the Apollo and Skylab program~.~~ Between 1946 and 1950, the winged rockets of the Navaho program 

played a pioneering role, planting seeds that would flourish for decades in 

aerospace technology. 

The X-15: An Airplane for Hypersonic Research 

During the 1940s and 50s, the nation’s main centers for aeronautical research 

operated within a small federal agency, the National Advisory Committee for 

Aeronautics (NACA; it became the National Aeronautics and Space 

Administration, NASA, in 1958). After World War 11, NACA and the Air 

Force became increasingly active in supersonic flight. Rocket-powered aircraft such as the Bell X-1 and the Douglas Skyrocket D-558 set the pace. The 

X-1 broke the sound barrier in 1947; the Skyrocket approached Mach 2 only 

72. Murray, LeeArwood, pp. 47.56.62-64, 71. 

73. Author interviews. Eugene Bollay, Santa Barbara, California, January 24, 1989; Sam Hoffman, Monterey, 

California, July 28, 1988, Paul Castenholz, Colorado Springs, August 18, 1988, John R. Moore, Pasadena, 

California, May 28, 1996; Dale Myers, Leucadia, California, May 24, 1996. 

74. Threshold,December 1987, pp. 16-23; AAS History Series, vol. 13, pp. 19-35. 

25 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

four years later. Also, between 1949 and 1951, NAA designed a new fighter, 

the F-100, planning it to be the first jet plane to go supersonic in level flight.75 

Supersonic aviation brought difficult problems in aerodynamics, propulsion, aircraft design, and stability and control in flight. Still, at least for flight 

speeds of Mach 2 and somewhat higher, it did not involve the important issue 

of aerodynamic overheating. Though fitted with rocket engines, the cited aircraft were built of aluminum, which cannot withstand high temperatures. At 

speeds beyond Mach 4 lay the realm of hypersonic flight, where problems of 

heating would dominate. 

Nevertheless, by the early 1950s, interest in such flight speeds was 

increasing. This was due in part to the growing attention given to prospects 

for an intercontinental ballistic missile (ICBM), a rocket able to carry a 

nuclear weapon to Moscow. In December 1950, the Rand Corp., an influential Air Force think tank, reported that such missiles now stood within reach 

of technology. The Air Force responded by giving a study contract to the firm 

of Convair in San Diego, where, a few years earlier, the designer Karel 

Bossart had nurtured thoughts of such missiles. Bossart’s new design, developed during 1951, called for the use of the Navaho’s 120,000-pound-thrust 

rocket engine. The design was thoroughly unwieldy; it would stand 160 feet 

tall and weigh 670,000 pounds. Nevertheless, it represented a milestone. For 

the first time, the Air Force had an ICBM design concept that it could pursue 

using rocket engines that were already being de~eloped.~~ 

Among the extraordinarily difficult technical issues faced by the ICBM, 

the problem of reentry was paramount. Because an ICBM’s warhead would 

reenter the atmosphere at Mach 20 or more, there was excellent reason to 

believe that it would burn up like a meteor. As early as 1951, however, the 

NACA aerodynamicist H. Julian Allen offered a solution. Conventional thinking held that hypersonic flight would require the ultimate in slender 

needle-nose shapes. Allen broke with this approach, showing mathematically 

that the best design would introduce a nose cone as blunt or flat-faced as possible. Such a shape would set up patterns of aifflow that would carry most of 

the heat of reentry away from the nose cone, rather than delivering this heat 

to its outer surface.77 

75 Ley, Rocketc., pp 423-425, Gunston, Fighter\. pp 170-171 

76 Neufeld, Bulhtrr Mimles, pp 68-70 

77 Allen and Eggers, NACA Report 1381, Hansen, Tuansmn,p 3 

26 
Space Stations and Winged Rockets 

There was further interest in hypersonics at Bell Aircraft Corp. in 

Buffalo. Here Walter Dornberger, who had directed Germany’s wartime 

rocket development, was proposing a concept similar to Eugen Sanger’s 

skip-gliding rocket plane. The design of the rocket (known as the BomiBomber Missile) required a two-stage vehicle with each stage winged, 

piloted, and rocket-powered. Dornberger argued that Bomi would have the 

advantage of being able to fly multiple missions like any piloted aircraft, 

and it could be recalled once in flight. By contrast, an ICBM could fly only 

once and would be committed irrevocably to its mission once in flight.78 

Bell Aircraft, very active in supersonic flight research, had built the 

X-1, which was the first through the sound barrier. Also, Bell Aircraft 

was building the X-1A that would approach Mach 2.5 and the X-2 that 

would top Mach 3.79 Robert Woods, co-founder of the company and a 

member of NACA’s influential Committee on Aerodynamics, had been a 

leader in the design of these aircraft. He also took a strong interest in 

Dornberger’s ideas. 

In October 1951, at a meeting of the Committee on Aerodynamics, 

Woods called for NACA to develop a new research airplane resembling the 

V-2, to “obtain data at extreme altitudes and speeds, and to explore the problems of reentry into the atmosphere.” In January 1952, Woods wrote a letter 

to the committee, urging NACA to pursue a piloted research airplane capable of reaching beyond Mach 5. He accompanied this letter with 

Dornberger’s description of Bomi. That June, at Woods’s urging, the committee passed a resolution proposing that NACA increase its program in 

research aircraft to examine “problems of unmanned and manned flight in 

the upper stratosphere at altitudes between 12 and 50 miles.”*’ 

NACA already had a few people who were active in hypersonics, notably 

the experimentalists Alfred Eggers and John Becker, who had already built 

hypersonic wind tunnels.*’ At NACA’s Langley Aeronautical Laboratory, 

Floyd Thompson, the lab’s associate director, responded to the resolution by 

setting up a three-man study group chaired by Clinton Brown, a colleague of 

Becker. In Becker’s words, “Very few others at LangIey in 1952 had any 

78 Spaceflight, vol 22 (1 980). pp 270-272 

79 Miller, X-Planes, pp 25-26, 37,4142 

80 AAS History Senes, vol 13,p 296, Hansen, Transrtron,pp 5-6 

81 Halhon, ed ,Hypersonic, pp XXXI-xxxv 

27 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

knowledge of hypersonics. Thus, the Brown group filled an important educational function badly needed at the time.”p2 

According to Thompson, he was looking for fresh unbiased ideas and the 

three study-group members had shown originality in their work. Their report, 

in June 1953, went so far as to propose commercial hypersonic flight, suggesting that airliners of the future might evolve from boost-glide concepts 

such as those of Dornberger. At the more practical level, however, the group 

warmly endorsed building a hypersonic research aircraft. NACA-Langley 

already had a Pilotless Aircraft Research Division (PARD), which was using 

small solid-fuel rockets to conduct supersonic experiments. Brown’s group 

now recommended that PARD reach for higher speeds, perhaps by launching 

rockets that could cross the Atlantic and be recovered in the Sahara Desert.83 

PARD, a NACA in-house effort, went forward rapidly. In November 

1953, it launched a research rocket that carried a test nose cone to Mach 5.0. 

The following October, a four-stage rocket reached Mach 10.4.84To proceed 

with a piloted research airplane, NACA’s limited budget needed support from 

the Air Force. Here too there was cross-fertilization. Robert Gilruth, head of 

PARD and an assistant director of NACA-Langley, was also a member of the 

Airci-aft Panel of the Air Force’s Scientific Advisory Board. At a meeting in 

October 1953, this panel stated that “the time was ripe” for such a research 

airplane, and recommended that its feasibility “should be looked into.”85 

The next step came at a two-day meeting in Washington of NACA’s 

Research Airplane Projects Panel. Its chairman, Hartley SoulC, had directed 

NACA’s participation in research aircraft programs since the earliest days of 

the X-1 project in 1946. The panel considered specifically a proposal from 

Langley, endorsed by Brown’s group, to modify the X-2 for flight to Mach 

4.5. They rejected this concept, asserting that the X-2 was too small for hypersonic work. The panel members concluded instead that “provision of an 

entirely new research airplane is desirable.”86 

NACA’s studies of such an airplane would have to start anew. In March 

1954, John Becker set up a new group that took on the task of defining a 

82. Ibid,p 381 

83. Ibid ,pp 381-382, Hansen, Transition,pp 6-9 

84. Halhon, ed ,Hypersomc,p ixiv 

85. Asrroiiautics & Aeronautics, February 1964, p 54 

86. Ibtd, Hansen, Transition,p 9 

28 
Space Stations and Winged Rockets 

design. Time was of the essence; everyone was aware that the X-2 project, 

underway since 1945, had yet to make its first powered flight.87 Becker stipulated that “a period of only about three years be allowed for design and 

construction.’’ Hence NACA would move into the unknown frontiers of 

hypersonics using technology that was already largely in hand.” 

Two technical problems stood out: overheating and instability. Because 

the plane would fly in the atmosphere at extreme speeds, it was essential that 

it be kept from tumbling out of control. As on any other airplace, tail surfaces 

were to provide this stability. Investigations had shown that these would have 

to be excessively large. A Langley aerodynamicist, Charles McLellan, came 

to the rescue. While conventional practice called for thin tail surfaces that 

resembled miniature wings, McLellan now argued that they should take the 

form of a wedge. His calculations,showed that at hypersonic speeds, wedgeshaped vertical fins and horizontal stabilizers should be much more effective 

than conventional thin shapes. Tests in Becker’s hypersonic wind tunnel verified this approach.89 

The problem of overheating was more difficult. At the outset, Becker’s 

designers considered that, during reentry, the airplane should point its nose in 

the direction of flight. This proved unacceptable because the plane’s streamlined shape would cause it to enter the dense lower atmosphere at excessive 

speed. This would subject the aircraft to disastrous overheating and to aerodynamic forces that would cause it to break up. These problems, however, 

appeared far more manageable if the plane were to enter with its nose high, 

presenting its flat undersurface to the air. It then would lose speed in the upper 

atmosphere, easing both the overheating and the aerodynamic loads. In 

Becker’s words, “It became obvious to us that what we were seeing here was 

a new manifestation of H. J. Allen’s ‘blunt body’ principle. As we increased 

the angle of attack, our configuration in effect became more ‘blunt.”’90 While 

Allen had developed his principle for missile nose cones, it now proved 

equally useful when applied to hypersonic airplanes. 

Even so, the plane would encounter far more heat and higher temperatures than any aircraft to date had received in flight. New approaches in the 

87. Astronautics &Aeronautics, February 1964, p. 53. 

88. Hallion, ed.,Hypersonic, p. 1. 

89. Astronautics &Aeronautics, February 1964,pp. 54,56 

90. Hallion, ed., Hypersonic, p. 386. 

29 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

structural design of these aircraft were imperative. Fortunately, Dornberger’s 

group at Bell Aircraft had already taken the lead in the study of “hot structures.” These used temperature-resistant materials such as stainless steel. 

Wings might be covered with numerous small and very hot metal panels 

resembling shingles that would radiate the heat away from the aircraft, While 

overheating would be particularly severe along the leading edges of the 

wings, these could be water-cooled. Insulation could protect an internal structure that would stand up to the stresses and forces of flight; active cooling 

could protect a pilot’s cockpit and instrument compartment. Becker described 

these approaches as “the first hypersonic aircraft hot structures concepts to be 

developed in realistic meaningful detail.”” 

His designers proceeded to study a hot structure built of Inconel X, a 

chrome-nickel alloy from International Nickel. This alloy had already demonstrated its potential, when, during the previous November, it was used for the 

nose cone in PARD’Srocket flight to Mach 5.92The hot structure would be of 

the “heat sink” type, relying on the high thermal conductivity of this metal to 

absorb heat from the hottest areas and spread it through much of the aircraft. 

As an initial exercise, they considered a basic design in which the Inconel 

X structure would have to withstand only conventional aerodynamic forces 

and loads, neglecting any extra requirements imposed by absorption of heat. 

A separate analysis then considered the heat-sink requirements, with the 

understanding that these might greatly increase the thickness and hence the 

weight of major portions of the hot structure. When they carried out the exercise, the designers received a welcome surprise. They discovered that the 

weights and thicknesses of a heat-absorbing structure were nearly the same as 

for a simple aerodynamic structure.93 Hence, a hypersonic research airplane, 

designed Iargely from aerodynamic considerations, could provide heat-sink 

thermal protection as a bonus. The conclusion was clear: piloted hypersonic 

flight was achievable. 

The feasibility study of Becker’s group was intended to show that this airplane indeed could be built in the near future. In July 1954,Becker presented 

the report at a meeting in Washington of representatives from NACA, the Air 

Force’s Scientific Advisory Board, and the Navy. (The Navy, actively involved 

91. Ibid., p. 384. 

92. Ibid.,p. Ixiv. 

93. Astromurics &Aeronautics, February 1964,p. 58. 

30 
Space Stations and Winged Rockets 

with research aircraft, had built the Douglas Skyrocket.) Participants at the 

meeting endorsed the idea of a joint development program that would build 

and fly the new aircraft by drawing on the powerful support of the Pentagon.94 

Important decisions came during October 1954, as NACA and Air Force 

panels weighed in with their support. At the request of General Nathan 

Twining, the Air Force Chief of Staff, the Aircraft Panel of the Scientific 

Advisory Board presented its views on the next 10 years of aviation. The 

panel’s report paid close attention to hypersonic flight: 

In the aerodynamic field, it seems to us pretty clear that over the next ten 

years the most important and vital subject for research and development is 

thejeld of hypersonicflows.... This is one of the fields in which an ingenious 

and clever application of the existing laws of mechanics is probably not adequate. It is one in which much of the necessary physical knowledge still 

remains unknown at present and must be developed before we arrive at a true 

understanding and competence.. .. 

[A] research vehicle which we now feel is ready for a program is one 

involving manned aircraft to reach something of the order of Mach 5 and altitudes of the order of 200,000 to 500,000feet. This is very analogous to the 

research aircraft program which was initiated ten years ago as a joint venture of the Air Force, the Navy, and NACA. It is our belief that a similar 

cooperative arrangement would be desirable and appropriate 

In addition to this, NACA’s Committee on Aerodynamics met in executive session to make a formal recommendation concerning the new airplane. 

The committee included representatives from the Air Force and Navy, from 

industry, and from uni~ersities.~~ Its member from Lockheed, Clarence 

“Kelly” Johnson, vigorously opposed building this plane, arguing that experience with earlier experimental aircraft had been “generally unsatisfactory.” 

New fighter designs were advancing so rapidly as to actually outpace the performance of research aircraft. To Johnson, their high-performance flights had 

served mainly to prove the bravery of the test pilots. While Johnson pressed 

his views strongly, he was in a minority of one. The other committee mem94 AAS History Series, v01. 13, p 299 

95. Hallion, ed., Hypersonic, pp xxn-xxix 

96. Hansen, Transition, pp. 11, 30 (footnote22) 

31 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

bers passed a resolution endorsing “immediate initiation of a project to design 

and construct a research airplane capable of achieving speeds of the order of 

Mach number 7 and altitudes of several hundred thousand feet.”97 

With this resolution, Hugh Dryden, the head of NACA, could approach 

his Air Force and Navy counterparts to discuss the initiation of procurement. 

Detailed technical specifications were necessary and would come, by the end 

of 1954, from a new three-member committee, with Hartley Soul6 as the 

NACA representative. The three members used Becker’s study as a guide in 

deriving the specifications, which called for an aircraft capable of attaining 

250,000 feet and a speed of 6600 feet per second while withstanding reentry 

temperatures of 1200 degrees Fahrenheit.” 

In addition to this, as NACA and the military services reached an agreement on procurement procedures, a formal Memorandum of Understanding 

came from the office of Trevor Gardner, Special Assistant for Research and 

Development to the Secretary of the Air Force. This document stated that 

NACA would provide technical direction, that the Air Force would administer design and construction, and that the Air Force and Navy would provide 

the funding. It concluded, “Accomplishment of this project is a matter of 

national urgency.’999 

Now the project was ready to proceed. Under standard Air Force practices, officials at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base would seek proposals from 

potential contractors. Early in 1955, the aircraft also received a name: the X15. Competition between proposals brought the award of a contract for the 

airframe to NAA. The rocket engine was contracted to Reaction Motors, 

Inc.Ioo The NAA design went into such detail that it even specified the heatresistant seals and lubricants that would be used. Nevertheless, in many 

important respects it was consistent with the major features of the original 

feasibility study by Becker’s group. The design included wedge-shaped tail 

surfaces and a heat-sink structure of Inconel X.”’ 

The X-15 was to become the fastest and highest flying airplane until the 

space shuttle flew into orbit in 1981. In August 1963, the X-15 set an altitude 

record of 354,200feet (67 miles), with NASA’s Joseph Walker in the cockpit. 

97. Ibid.,pp. 12-14, 

98. Ibid., p. 14; AAS History Series, VOI. 8,p. 299. 

99 Hallion, ed ,Hypersonic, p 1-6. 

100 Ibid., pp. I-iv, 11-15. 

101. Astronautics &Aeronautics, February 1964, p. 54. 

32 
Space Stations and Winged Rockets 

X-15. (NASA)(E-5251) 

Four years later, the Air Force's Captain William Knight flew it to a record 

speed of 4,520 miles per hour, or Mach 6.72.'02 In addition to setting new 

records, the X-15 accomplished a host of other achievements. 

A true instrument of hypersonic research, in 199 flights it spent nearly 

nine hours above Mach 3, nearly six hours above Mach 4, and 82 minutes 

above Mach 5. Although the NACA and the Air Force had hypersonic wind 

tunnels, the X-15 represented the first application of aerodynamic theory and 

wind tunnel data to an actual hypersonic aircraft. The X-15 thus enhanced the 

usefulness of these wind tunnels, by providing a base of data with which to 

validate (and in some instances to correct) their results. This made it possible 

to rely more closely on results from those tunnels during subsequent programs, including that of the Space Shuttle. 

The X-15 used movable control surfaces that substituted for ailerons. It 

also introduced reaction controls: small rocket thrusters, mounted to the air102. Hallion, ed., Hypersonic, pp. I-v, I-viii. 

33 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

craft, that controlled its attitude when beyond the atmosphere. As it flew to 

the fringes of space and returned, the X-15 repeatedly transitioned from aerodynamic controls to reaction controls and back again. Twenty years later, the 

Space Shuttle would do the same. 

In another important prelude to the shuttle, the X-15 repeatedly flew a trajectory that significantly resembled flight to orbit and return. The X-15 

ascended into space under rocket power, flew in weightlessness, then reentered the atmosphere at hypersonic speeds. With its nose high to reduce 

overheating and aerodynamic stress, the X-15 used thermal protection to 

guard the craft against the heat of reentry. After reentry, the X-15 then maintained a stable attitude throughout its deceleration, transitioned to gliding 

flight, and landed at a preselected location. The shuttle would do all these 

things, albeit at higher speeds. 

The X-15 used a rocket engine of 57,000 pounds of thrust that was throttleable, reusable, and “man-rated”-safe enough for use in a piloted aircraft. 

The same description would apply to the more powerful Space Shuttle Main 

Engine. 

The demands of the project pushed the development of practical hypersonic technology in a number of areas. Hot structures required industrial 

shops in which Inconel X could be welded, machined, and heat-treated. The 

pilot required a pressure suit for use in a vacuum. The X-15 required new 

instruments and data systems including the “Q-ball,” which determined the 

true direction of aifflow at the nose. Cooled by nitrogen, the “Q-ball” operated at temperatures of up to 3,500 degrees Fahrenheit and advised the pilot 

of the angle of attack suitable for a safe reentry.’” 

Like the Navaho, the X- 15 also spurred the rise of people and institutions 

that were to make their mark in subsequent years. At NACA-Langley, the X15 combined with the rocket flights of PARD to put an important focus on 

hypersonics and hypervelocity flight. Leaders in this work included such veterans as Robert Gilruth, Maxime Faget, and GharIes D~nlan.’~~ A few years 

later, these researchers parlayed their expertise into leadership in the new field 

of piloted space missions. In addition to this, part of NACA-Langley split off 

to establish the new Manned Spacecraft Center in Houston as NASA’s princi103 Ibid.,pp. 157-159;AAS History Series, vol. 8, p. 306;Miller, X-Planes, p. 110 

104. NASA SP-4308; see index references. 

34 
Space Stations and Winged Rockets 

pal base for piloted space flight. Gilruth headed that center during the Apollo 

years, while Faget, who had participated in Becker’s 1954 X-15 feasibility 

study, became a leading designer of piloted spacecraft. ‘05 

The X-15 program brought others to the forefront as well. At NAA the 

vice president of the program, Harrison “Stormy” Storms, became president 

of that company’s Space Division in 1960. While Gilmth was running the 

Manned Spacecraft Center, Storms had full responsibility for his division’s 

elements of Apollo: the piloted spacecraft and the second stage of the Saturn 

V Moon rocket.Io6 In addition to this, Neil Armstrong, the first man to set foot 

on the Moon, was axong the test pilots of the X-15.’” 

Lif~ngBodies: Wingless 

Although the X-15 emerged as a winged rocket par excellence, an alternate 

viewpoint held that future rocket craft of this type could have many of the 

advantages of wings without actually having any of these structures. Such 

craft would take shape as “lifting bodies,” wingless and bathtub-shaped craft 

that were able to generate lift with the fuselage. This would allow them to 

glide to a landing. At the same time, such craft would dispense with the 

weight of wings, and with their need for thermal protection. 

How can a bathtub generate lift, and fly? Lift is force that is generated 

when the aerodynamic pressure is greater below an aircraft than above it. 

Wings achieve this through careful attention to their shape; a properly-shxped 

aircraft body can do this as well. The difference is that wings produce little 

drag, whereas lifting bodies produce a great deal of drag. Hence the lifting 

body approach is unsuitable for such uses as commercial aviation, where 

designers of airliners seek the lowest possible drag. Space flight, however, is 

another matter. 

The lifting body concept can be traced back to the work of H. Julian Allen 

and Alfred Eggers, at NACA’s Ames Aeronautical Laboratory near San 

Francisco. Allen developed the blunt-body concept for a missile’s nose cone, 

shaping it with help from Eggers. They then considered that a reentering 

body, while remaining blunt to reduce the heat load, might have a form that 

105. NASA SP-4307; see index references 

106. Resume of Harrison A. Storms 

107 Miller, X-Planes, p. 108 

35 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

would give lift, thus allowing it to maneuver at hypersonic speeds. The 1957 

M-1 featured a blunt-nose cone with a flattened top. While it had some capacity for hypersonic maneuverability, it could not glide subsonically or land 

horizontally. It was hoped that a new shape, the M-2, would do these things 

as well. Fitted with two large vertical fins for stability, it was a basic configuration suitable for further research.lo8 

Beginning in 1959, a separate line of development took shape within the 

Flight Dynamics Laboratory of Wright-Patterson Air Force Base. The program that developed sought to advance beyond the X-15 by building small 

hypersonic gliders, which would study the performance of advanced hot 

structures at speeds of up to 13,000 miles per hour, three-fourths of orbital 

velocity. This program was called ASSET-Aerothermodynamidelastic 

Structural Systems Environmental Tests. lo9 

The program went forward rapidly by remaining small. The project's 

manager, Charles Cosenza, directed it with a staff of four engineers plus a secretary, with 17 other engineers at Wright-Patterson providing s~pport."~ In

April 1961, the Air Force awarded a contract to McDonnell Aircraft Corp. for 

development of the ASSET vehicle. McDonnell was already building the 

smali piloted capsules of Project Mercury; the ASSET vehicle was also small, 

with a length of less than six feet. Not a true lifting body, it sported two tiny 

and highly-swept delta wings. Its bottom, which would receive the most heat, 

was a flat triangle. For thermal protection, this triangle was covered with 

panels of columbium and molybdenum. These would radiate away the heat, 

while withstanding temperatures up to 3,000 degrees Fahrenheit. The nose 

was made of zirconium oxide that would deal with temperatures of up to 

4,000 degrees.' 

Beginning in September 1963 and continuing for a year and a half, five 

of the six ASSET launches were successful. They used Thor and nor-Delta 

launch vehicles, the latter being a two-stage rocket that could reach higher 

velocities. The boosters lofted their ASSETS to altitudes of about 200,000 

feet. The spacecraft then would commence long hypersonic glides with 

ranges as great as 2,300 nautical miles. Onboard instruments transmitted data 

108. Hallion, ed., Hypersonic, pp. 529,535, 864-866 

109. Ibd, pp. 449-450,505, 

110. Zbid.,p. 459. 

I I 1. Ibid.,pp. 451,452,464-469. 

36 
Space Stations and Winged Rockets 

Aerodynamic Control 

Surface Experiment 

-Panel Flutter Experiment 

ASSET’S use of metallic shingle-like panels as thermal protection permitted use of indivudual 

panels for specific experiments. (U.S. Air Force) 

~ 

on temperature and heat flow. The craft were equipped to float following 

splashdown; one of them actually did this, permitting direct study of an 

advanced hot structure that had survived baptism by fire.Il2 

The success of ASSET led to the development of Project PRIMEPrecision Recovery Including Maneuvering Entry. Beginning in late 1964,the 

contract for this Air Force project went to the Martin Co., where interest in 

lifting bodies had flourished for several years. Unlike ASSET, PRME featured true lifting bodies, teardrop-shaped and fitted with fins. PRIME was 

slated to ride the Atlas, which was more powerful than the Thor-Delta and 

could reach near-orbital speeds.Il3 

Whereas ASSET had executed simple hypersonic glides, PRIME carried 

out the more complex maneuver of achieving crossrange, namely, flying far 

to the left or right of its flight path. Indeed, to demonstrate such reentry 

112 Ibid,pp 504-519 

113 Hallton, Parh, pp 30-3 1 

37 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

The homebuilt M2-Fl lifting body, left>and the Northrop M2-F2. (NASA)(E-14339) 

maneuvering was its reason for being. PRIME did not attempt to produce data 

on heating, for ASSET had covered this point nicely, nor did it break new 

ground in its construction. Slightly larger than ASSET, it used a conventional 

approach for missile nose cones that featured an aluminum structure covered 

with a thermally-protective “ablative” layer that would carry away heat by 

vaporizing in a controlled fashion during reentry. The ablative material also 

served as insulation to protect the underlying aluminum. 

With its peak speed topping 17,000 mph, PRIME could bridge the 

Pacific, flying from Vandenberg Air Force Base in California to Kwajalein, 

not far from New Guinea. In April 1967, during its best performance, PRIME 

achieved a crossrange of 710 miles, puting it within five miles of its target. A 

waiting recovery plane snatched PRIME in mid-air as it descended by parachute.‘14 

ASSET and PRIME demonstrated the value of lifting bodies at the hypersonic end of the flight path: gliding, maneuvering, surviving reentry using 

114 Hallion, ed ,Hypersonic,pp V-11, V-IV,702-703 

38 
Space Stations and Winged Rockets 

Martin Marietta’s X-24A, built for subsonic flight, duplicated the shape of PRlME, which 

flew at near-orbital welocity. (NASA)(E-l8769) 

advanced hot structures. Both types of craft, however, used parachutes for 

final descent, making no attempt to land like conventional aircraft. If lifting 

bodies were to truly have merit, they would have to glide successfully not 

only at hypersonic speeds but at the slow speed of an aircraft on a final 

approach to a runway. Under the control of a pilot, lifting bodies would have 

to maintain stable flightall the way to a horizontal touchdown. 

These requirements led to a second round of lifting-body projects focusing on approach and landing. These projects went forward with ASSET and 

PRIME at the same time. R. Dale Reed, the initiator of this second round of 

projects, was a sailplane enthusiast, a builder of radio-controlled model airplanes, and a NASA engineer at Edwards Air Force Base. He had followed 

with interest the work at NASA-Ames on the M-2 lifting-body shape, and he 

resolved to build it as a piloted glider. He drew support from the local community of aircraft homebuilders. Designated as the M2-FI, the aircraft was 

built of plywood over a tubular steel frame. Completed in early 1963,the aircraft was 20 feet long and 13 feet across. 

39 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

The M2-FI needed a vehicle that could tow it along the ground to help get 

it into the air for initial tests. The M2-F1, however, produced a lot of drag and 

needed a tow car with more power than NASA’s usual vans and trucks. Reed 

and his friends bought a stripped-down Pontiac with a big engine and a fourbarrel carburetor that could reach speeds of 110mph. The car was turned over 

to a funny car shop in Long Beach for modification. Like any other flight-line 

vehicle it was sprayed yellow and “National Aeronautics and Space 

Administration” was added on its side. Initial piloted tow tests showed reasonable success, allowing the project to use a C-47, called the Gooney Bird, 

for true aerial tests. During these tests, the Gooney Bird towed the M2-Fl 

above 10,000 feet, then set it loose to glide to an Edwards AFB lake bed. 

Beginning in August 1963, the test pilot Milt Thompson did this repeatedly. 

Through these tests, Reed, working on a shoestring budget, showed that the M2 shape, optimized for hypersonic reentry, could glide down to a safe landing. 

During much of this effort, Reed had support from the NASA director 

at Edwards, Paul Bikle. As early as April 1963, he alerted NASA 

Headquarters that “the lifting-body concept looks even better to us as we get 

more into it.” The success of the M2-Fl spurred interest in the Air Force as 

well, as some of its officials, along with their NASA counterparts, set out to 

pursue piloted lifting-body programs that would call for more than plywood 

and funny cars. l5 

NASA contracted with the firm of Northrop to build two such aircraft, the 

M2-F2 and HL-IO. The M2-F2 amounted to an M2-F1 built to NASA standards; the HL-10 drew on an alternate lifting-body design by Eugene Love of 

NASA-Langley. This meant that both NAS A-Langley and NASA- Ames 

would each have a project. In addition to this, Northrop had a penchant for 

oddly-shaped aircraft. During the 1940s, the company had built flying wings 

that essentially were aircraft without a fuselage or tail. With these lifting 

bodies, Northrop would build craft now that were entirely fuselage and lacked 

wings. The Air Force project, the X-24A, went to Martin Co., which built it 

as a piloted counterpart of PRIME, maintaining the same shape.*I6 

All three flew initially as gliders, with a B-52 rather than a C-47 as the 

mother ship. The B-52 could reach 45,000 feet and 500 mph, four times the 

115. NASA SP-4303, pp. 148-152. 

116. Hallion, Path, pp. 29,31-32. 

40 
Space Stations and Winged Rockets 

altitude and speed of the old Gooney Bird.'17 It had routinely carried the X15 aloft, acting as a booster for that rocket plane; now it would do the same 

for the lifting bodies. Their shapes differed, and as with the M2-F1, a major 

goal was to show that they could maintain stable flight while gliding, land 

safely, and exhibit acceptable pilot handling qualities.' '* 

These goals were not always met. Under the best of circumstances, a lifting body flew like a brick at low speed. Lowering the landing gear made the 

problem worse by adding drag. In May 1967, the test pilot Bruce Peterson, 

flying the M2-F2, failed to get his gear down in time. The aircraft hit the lake 

bed at more than 250 mph, rolled over six times, and then came to rest on its 

back, minus its cockpit canopy, main landing gear, and right vertical fin. 

Peterson, who might have died in the crash, got away with a skull fracture, a 

mangled face, and the loss of an eye. While surgeons reconstructed his face 

and returned him to active duty, the M2-F2 needed surgery of its own. In addition to an extensive reconstruction back at the factory, Northrop engineers 

added a third vertical fin that improved its handling qualities and made it safer 

to fly. Similarly, while the rival HL-10 had its own problems of stability, it 

flew and landed well after receiving modification^."^ 

These aircraft were mounted with small rocket engines that allowed acceleration to supersonic speeds. This made it possible to test stability and 

handling qualities when flying close to the speed of sound. The HL-10 set 

records for lifting bodies by making safe approaches and landings from speeds 

up to Mach 1.86and altitudes of 90,000 feet.'2o The Air Force continued this 

work through 1975, having the Martin Co. rebuild the X-24A with a long 

pointed nose, a design well-suited for supersonic flight. The resulting craft, the 

X-24B, looked like a wingless fighter-plane fuselage. It also flew we11.12' 

In contrast to the Navaho and X-15 efforts, work with lifting bodies did 

not create major new institutions or lead existing ones in important new directions. This work, however, did extend that of the X-15 with the hot-structure 

flights of ASSET and the maneuvering reentries of PRIME. The piloted lifting bodies then demonstrated that, with the appropriate arrangements of fins, 

117. Miller, X-Planes,p. 153. 

118. Ibid.,p. 151; NASA SP-4303, p. 153. 

119. NASA SP-4303, pp. 159, 161-162; Spacejlighf, vol. 21, (1979), pp. 487-489. 

120. NASA SP-4303, p. 162. 

121 Miller, X-Planes, pp. 156-160. 

41 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

The X-24B, a lifting body capable of supersonic flight. (NASA)(E-25283) 

they could remain stable and well-controlled when decelerating through the 

sound barrier afid gliding to a landing. They thus broadened the range of 

acceptable hypersonic shapes. 

Solid-~~opella~t Rockets: ~~expe~sive Boosters

The X-15 and lifting-body programs demonstrated many elements of a 

reusable launch vehicle in such critical areas as propulsion, flight dynamics, 

structures, thermal protection, configurations, instruments, and aircraft stability and control. However, the reason for reusability would be to save money, 

and an airplane-like orbiter would need a low-cost booster as a &st stage. 

During the 1950s and I960s, the Navy, Air Force, and NASA laid groundwork 

for such boosters by sponsoring pathbreaking work with solid propellants. 

The path to such propellants can be traced back to a struggling firm called 

Thiokol Chemical Cop. Its initial stock-in-trade was a liquid polysulfide 

polymer that took its name (Thiokol) from the Creek for “sulfur glue” and 

could be cured into a solvent-resistant synthetic rubber. During World War 11, 

42 
Space Stations and Winged Rockets 

it found limited use in sealing aircraft fuel tanks-a market that disappeared 

after 1945. Indeed, business was so slow that even small orders would draw 

the attention of the company president, Joseph Crosby. 

When Crosby learned that California Institute of Technology (CIT) was 

buying five- and ten-gallon lots in a steady stream, he flew to California to 

investigate the reason behind the purchases. He found a group of rocket 

researchers, loosely affiliated with CIT, working at a place they called the Jet 

Propulsion Laboratory. They were mixing Crosby ’s polymer with an oxidizer 

and adding powdered aluminum for extra energy. They were using this new 

propellant in ways that would make it possible to build solid-fuel rockets of 

particularly large size. 

Crosby soon realized that he too could get into the rocket business, with 

help from the Army. While Army officials could spare only $250,000per year 

to help him get started, to Crosby this was big money. In 1950, Army 

Ordnance gave him a contract to build a rocket with 5,000pounds of propellant. A year and a half later it was ready, with a sign on the side, “The Thing.” 

Fourteen feet long, it burned for over forty seconds and delivered a thrust of 

17,000p0~nds.l~~ 

The best solid propellants of the day were of the “double base” type, 

derived from the explosives nitroglycerine and nitrocellulose. Some versions 

could be cast in large sizes. These propellants, however, burned in a sudden 

rush, and could not deliver the strong, steady push needed for a rocket booster. 

The new Thiokol-based fuel emerged as the first of a type that performed well 

and burned at a reasonable rate. These fuels drew on polymer chemistry to 

form as thick mixtures resembling ketchup. Poured into a casing, they then 

polymerized into resilient rubbery solids.’% 

The Navy also took an interest in solid propellants, initially for use in antiaircraft missiles. In 1954, a contractor in suburban Virginia, Atlantic Research, 

set out to achieve further performance improvements. Two company scientists, 

Keith Rumbel and Charles Henderson, focused their attention on the use of 

powdered aluminum. Other researchers had shown that propellants gave the 

122 Forfune,June 1958, p. 109 

123 Ibid., p 190, Thiokol’sAerospace Facts, July-September 1973, p 10; Saturday Evening Post, October 1, 

1960,p 87 

124 Huggett et ai., Solid,pp. 125-128, Ley, Rockets, pp 171-173, 193, 436-438, Cornelisse et al., Propulsion, 

pp. 170-174 

43 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Military uses of solid propellants. Left, Minuteman ICBM. Right, three generations of the Navy's Polaris submarine-launched missile, with a range of up to 

2,500 nautical miles. Human figure indicates scale. (Art by Dan Gauthier) 

best performance with an aluminum mix of five percent; higher levels caused a 

falloff. Undiscouraged, Rumbel and Henderson decided to try mixing in really 

large amounts. The exhaust velocity, which determines the performance of a 

rocket, took a sharp leap upward. By early 1956,they confinned this discovery 

with test firings. Their exhaust velocities, 7,400 feet per second and greater, 

compared well with those of liquid fuels such as kerosene and liquid oxygen.125 

By then the Navy was preparing to proceed with Polaris, a program that 

sought to send strategic missiles to sea aboard submarines. Initial design concepts were unpleasantly large; a submarine would be able to carry only four 

such missiles, and the submarine itself would be excessive in size. The breakthrough in propellants coincided with an important advance that markedly 

reduced the weight of thermonuclear weapons. Lighter warheads meant 

smaller missiles. These developments combined to yield a solid-fueled 

Polaris missile that was very compact. Sixteen of them would fit into a conventional-sized submarine.'Z6 

125. Baar and Howard, Polaris!, pp. 3 1-32. 

126. Journal ofSpacecraft and Rockets, vol. 15 (1978). pp. 265-278. 

44 
Space Stations and Winged Rockets 

The new propellants, and the lightweight warheads, also drew interest 

within the Air Force, though its needs contrasted sharply with those of the 

Navy. Skippers could take time in firing undersea missiles, for a submarine 

could hide in the depths until it was ready for launch. Admirals, however, 

preferred solid fuels over liquids because they presented less of a fire hazard. 

While the Air Force was prepared to use liquid propellants in its ICBMs, 

these would take time to fuel and prepare for launch-and during that time 

they would lie open to enemy attack. With solid propellants, a missile could 

be fueled in advance and ready for instant launch. Moreover, such a missile 

would be robust enough to fire from an underground chamber. Prior to 

launch, that chamber would protect the missile against anything short of a 

direct nuclear hit. 

Lieutenant Colonel Edward Hall, who had midwifed the birth of the 

Navaho during the 1940s, now played a leading role in this newest project. He 

was the propulsion officer on the staff of Major General Bernard Schriever 

who was responsible for the development of the Atlas, Titan, and Thor. Hall 

developed a passionate conviction that an Air Force counterpart of Polaris 

would offer considerable advantage in facing the Soviet ICBM capability. At 

the outset of the new project, he addressed the problem of constructing very 

large solid-fuel charges, called grains. He could not draw on the grains of the 

Polaris for that missile had grains of limited size. 

Hall gave contracts to all of the several solid-fuel companies that were in 

business at that time. Thiokol’s Crosby, who had lost the Polaris contract to 

Aerojet General, now saw a chance to recoup. He bought a large tract of land 

near Brigham City, Utah, a remote area where the shattering roar of rockets 

would have plenty of room to die away. In November 1957, his researchers 

successfully fired a solid-fuel unit with 25,000 pounds of propellant, the 

largest to date. 

Meanwhile, Hall had taken charge of a working group that developed a 

preliminary design for a three-stage solid-fuel ICBM. Low cost was to be its 

strong suit, for Hall hoped to deploy it in very large numbers. Early in 1958, 

with the test results from Thiokol in hand, Hall and Schriever went to the 

Pentagon and pitched the concept to senior officials, including the Secretary 

of Defense. But while that missile, named the Minuteman, might be launched 

on a minute’s notice, it would take most of 1958 to win high-level approval 

for a fast pace of development. 

45 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Barely two years later, in early 1961, the Minuteman was ready for its 

first flight from Cape Canaveral. It scored a brilliant success as all three stages 

fired and the missile flew to full range. The Air Force proceeded to raise the 

Minuteman to the status of a crash program. The first missiles were operational in October 1962, in time for the Cuban Missile Crisis. Because its low 

cost made it the first strategic weapon capable of true mass production, the 

Air Force went on to deploy 1,000 of the Minuteman 

The Air Force and NASA also prepared to build solid-fuel boosters of 

truly enormous size for use with launch vehicles. In contrast to liquid rockets 

that were sensitive and delicate, the big solids featured casings that a shipyard-specifically, the Sun Shipbuilding and Dry Dock Company, near 

Philadelphia-would manufacture successfully. 

The Minuteman's first stage had a 60-inch diameter. In August 1961, 

United Technology Corp. fired a 96-inch solid rocket that developed 250,000 

pounds of thrust. The following year saw the first 120-inch tests-twice the 

diameter of the Minuteman-that reached 700,000 pounds of thrust. The 

next milestone was reached when the diameter was increased to 156 inches, 

the largest size compatible with rail transport. During 1964, both Thiokol 

and Lockheed Propulsion Co. fired test units that topped the million-poundthrust mark. 

Large rocket stages can be moved by barges over water as well as by land. 

Aerojet was building versions with 260-inch diameters. It took some doing just 

to ignite such a behemoth. The answer called for a solid rocket that itself developed a quarter-million pounds of thrust, producing an eighty-foot flame that 

would ignite the inner surface of the big one all at once. This igniter rocket 

needed its own igniter, a solid motor that weighed a hundred pounds and generated 4,500 pounds of thrust. The 260-inch motor was kept in a test pit with its 

nozzle pointing upward. In February 1966, a night firing near Miami shot flame 

and smoke a mile and a half into the air that was seen nearly a 100miles away. 

In June 1967, another firing set a new record with 5.7 million pounds of thrust.'28 

At NASA's Marshall Space Flight Center, a 1965 study projected that 

production costs for a 260-inch motor would run to $1.50 per pound of 

127. Emme, ed., History,pp. 155-159; Neufeld, Ballistic Missiles, pp. 227-230, 237, 239; Fortune, June 1958, 

pp. 190-192. 

128. Quest, Spring 1993, p 26 Astmnautics, December 1961, p 125; November 1962, p. 81,Astronautics ana 

Aerospace Engineering, November 1963, p. 52; Astronauttcs & Aeronautics, February 1965, pp 42-43. 

46 
Space Stations and Winged Rockets 

Titan r ICBM; xtan rr ICBM; ?itan IIr 

launch vehicle. Human figure indicates scale. 

(Art by Dan Gauthier) 

I I I I I I I I I I I 

0 20 4cr 60 80 1OD 

47 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

weight, or roughly a dollar per pound of thrust. This contrasted sharply with 

the liquid-fueled Saturn V, which, with 7.5 million pounds of thrust versus 6 

million for the big solid, was in the same class. Even without its Apollo moonship, however, the Saturn V cost $185 million to purchase, over thirty times 

more than the 260-inch motor. By 1966, NASA officials were looking ahead 

already to sizes as large as 600 inches, noting that “there is no fundamental 

reason to expect that motors 50 feet in diameter could not be made.”’29 

Meanwhile, the Air Force not only was testing big solids but it was 

preparing to use them operationally as part of the Titan program which, in a 

decade, had evolved from building ICBMs to assembling a launch vehicle of 

great power. At the outset, Titan I was a two-stage ICBM project that ran in 

parallel with Atlas and used similar engines in the first stage. While it was 

deployed as a weapon, it was never used to launch a spacecraft or ~ate1lite.I~’ 

The subsequent Titan 11 represented a major upgrade as the engine contractor, Aerojet General, developed new engines that markedly increased the 

thrust in both stages. It too reached deployment, carrying a heavy thermonuclear warhead with a yield of nine megatons. By lightening this load 

somewhat, the Titan I1 was able to thrust a payload into orbit repeatedly. In 

particular, during 1965 and 1966, the Titan I1 carried 10 piloted Gemini 

spacecraft, each with two astronauts. Their weight ran above 8,300p0~nds.l~’ 

The Air Force’s Titan 111-A added, to the Titan 11, a third stage (the 

“transtage”) which enhanced its ability to carry large payloads. It never served 

as an ICBM, but worked as a launch vehicle from the start. In particular, it 

served as the core for the Titan 111-C, which flanked that core with a pair of 

120-inch solid boosters. The rocket that resulted had more than a casual 

resemblance to the eventual Space Shuttle, which would use two somewhat 

larger solid boosters in similar fashion. After Iifting the Titan 111-C with 2.36 

million pounds of thrust, its boosters then fell away after burnout, leaving the 

core to ignite its first stage, high in the air. 

The Titan 111-C had a rated payload of 23,000 pounds. NASA replaced the 

transtage with the more capable Centaur upper stage, which used liquid 

hydrogen as a high-energy fuel. This version, the Titan 111-E Centaur. 

129. Astronautics &Aeronautics. January 1966, p. 33; NASA budget data, February 1970. 

130. Emme, ed.,History, pp. 145, 147. 

131. NASA SP-4012,vol. II,pp. 83-85; Quest, Winter 1994, p. 42; Thompson, ed.,Space Lag, vol. 27 (1991 

p. 87. 

48 
Space Stations and Winged Rockets 

Rocket Motor Igniter 

AFT Heat Shield 

Rocket Enclosure 

Thrust Termination 

Access Port Cover Attack Structure 

Solid rocket motor for the Titan III-C. (AIM) 

increased the payload to 33,000 pounds. Martin Marietta, the Titan I11 contractor, also proposed to delete the third stage while increasing the thrust of 

both the solid boosters and the core. This version, the Titan 111-M, was never 

built, but it would have lifted a payload of 38,000 pounds.13* 

Hence during the 1960s, the X-15, ASSET, PRIME, lifting body and 

solid-booster efforts all combined to provide a strong basis for the Space 

Shuttle program. Such a program might build an orbiter in the shape of a lifting body with a hot structure for thermal protection. Piloted and crewed, it 

could maneuver during atmosphere entry, ride through the heat of reentry 

with its nose up, then transition to gliding flight and fly to a landing, perhaps 

at Edwards Air Force Base. Moreover, long before those early projects had 

reached completion (and even before some of them were underway), the Air 

Force set out to build a mini-shuttle that would ride a Titan 111-C to orbit and 

then return. This project was called Dyna-Soar arid, later, the X-20. 

During the mid-l950s, with the Bomi studies of Bell Aircraft in the background and the X-15 as an ongoing program, a number of people eagerly 

carried out further studies that sought to define the next project beyond the 

132. NASA SP-4012,vol. 111, pp. 38-42; Quest, Fall 1995, p. 18;AAS History Series, vol. 13,pp. 19-35 

49 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

X-15. The ideas studied included Hywards (a piloted hypersonic boost-glide 

research aircraft), the Rob0 (Robot Bomber), and two reconnaissance vehicles, the System 118-P and the Brass Bell. With so many cooks in the kitchen, 

the Air Force needed a coordinated program in order to produce something as 

specific as the X-15. Its officials were in the process of defining this program 

when, in October and November 1957,the Soviet Union launched the world’s 

first satellites. Very quickly, hypersonic flight became one of the means by 

which the US. might turn back the challenge from Moscow. 

Having read the work of Sanger, hypersonic specialists knew of his ideas 

for skipping entry as a way to extend the range of a suborbital aircraft. The 

Air Force described this maneuver as “dynamic soaring.” The craft that would 

do this acquired the name Dyna-Soar. By early 1958, this idea was being studied seriously by a number of aeronautical contractors with the clear 

understanding that the Air Force intended to request proposals and build a 

flying prototype. In June 1958, the Air Force narrowed the competition to two 

contenders: Boeing and a joint Bell Aircraft and Martin Co. team.’33 

By then, Dyna-Soar was caught up in the first round of a controversy as to 

whether this craft should be the prototype of a bomber. While the powerful Air 

Research and Development Command (ARDC) firmly believed that Dyna-Soar 

should be the prototype of a piloted military spaceplane, it found it difficult to 

point to specific military missions that such a craft could carry out. For nuclear 

weapons delivery, the Air Force was already building the Atlas, Titan, and Thor. 

For strategic reconnaissance, the Central Intelligence Agency had launched, in 

1958, a program that aimed to build automated camera-carrying satellites and 

put the first ones into orbit in as little as one year.’34 

Air Force Headquarters, however, with support from the Office of the 

Secretary of Defense, refused to consider weapon-system objectives unless 

ARDC could define suitable military missions. Early in 1959, Deputy 

Secretary of Defense Donald Quarles wrote that his approval was only “for a 

research and development project and did not constitute recognition of DynaSoar as a weapon system.” 

In April, the Defense Director of Research and Engineering, Herbert 

York, made a clear statement of the program’s objectives. Its primary goal 

133 AAS History Series, vol. 17, pp. 255-259. 

134. (bid.,p. 260; Ruffner, ed.,Corona,pp. 3-14. 

50 
Space Stations and Winged Rockets 

would involve hypersonic flight up 

would fall short of orbital velocity. 

able, and capable of landing 

ARDC, stating that it could 

provided that such tests did not detract from the primary goal. ARDC officials 

hastened to affirm that there would be no conflict. They promptly issued 

ermine the miliogram went forward as its manDyna-Soar would fly suborbital missions only. Over the next year and a half, 

however, the choice of booster changed to the Titan 11and then the powerful 

Titan III-C. A new plan, approved in December 1961, dropped suborbital flights 

and called nt of orbital flight, with the Titan III booster.” 

This plan called initially for single-orbit missions that would not require 

the craft to carry an onboard retro-rocket for descent from orbit. Instead the 

51 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Mockup of Dyna-Sour displayed in 1962. (Boeing) (P-30793) 

The piloted Dyna-Soar spacecraft also emerged with highly-swept delta 

wings and two upturned fins at the wingtips. With a length of 35 feet, it lacked 

an onboard rocket engine and provided room for a single pilot only. Like 

ASSET, it relied on advanced hot structures, with a heat shield of columbium, 

well insulated, atop a main structure built from a nickel alloy that had been 

developed for use in jet engines.'37 In September 1962, a full-scale mockup 

was the hit of the show at an Air Force Association convention in Las Vegas. 

In addition to this, the Air Force named six test pilots who would fly DynaSoar as its astronaut^.'^^ 

137. Ibid., pp. 217-219 

138. Ibid.,p. 269. 

52 
Space Stations and Winged Rockets 

The question of military missions raised its head again when in mid-1961 

the new Defense Secretary, Robert McNamara, directed the Air Force to justify Dyna-Soar on military grounds. Air Force officials discussed orbital 

reconnaissance, rescue, inspection of Soviet spacecraft, orbital bombardment, 

and use of the craft as a ferry vehicle. While McNamara found these reasons 

unconvincing, he nevertheless remained willing to let the program proceed as 

a research effort, dropping all consideration of a possible use of the craft as a 

weapon system. In an October 1961 memo to President Kennedy, McNamara 

proposed to “re-orient the program to solve the difficult technical problem 

involved in boosting a body of high lift into orbit, sustaining man in it and 

recovering the vehicle at a designated place.”*39 

This reorientation gave the project another two years of life. With its new 

role as an experimental craft, it was designated by Air Force Headquarters as 

the X-20. In this new role, however, the program could not rely on a military 

justification; it would have to stand on its value as research. By 1963, this 

value was increasingly in question. ASSET, with its unpiloted craft, was 

promising to demonstrate hypersonic gliding entry and hot-structure technology at far lower cost. In the realm of piloted flight, NASA now was charging 

ahead with its Gemini program. Air Force officials were expecting to participate in this program as well. 

These officials still believed that their service in time would build piloted 

spacecraft for military purposes. In March 1963, McNamara ordered a study 

that would seek to determine whether Gemini or the X-20 could better serve 

the role of a testbed for military missions. The results of the study gave no 

clear reason to prefer the latter. 

In October, Air Force officials, briefing the President’s Scientific 

Advisory Committee, encountered skepticism in this quarter as well. Two 

weeks later, McNamara and other senior officials received their own briefing. 

McNamara asked what the Air Force intended to do with the X-20 after using 

it to demonstrate maneuvering reentry. He insisted he could not justify continuing the project if it was a dead-end program with no ultimate purpose. 

He canceled the program in December, stating that the purpose of the program had been to demonstrate maneuvering reentry and precision landing. 

The X-20 was not to serve as a cargo rocket, could not carry substantial pay139. Spaceflight, vol. 21 (1979), pp. 436-438. 

53 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

loads, and could not stay in orbit for long-duration missions. He could not justify continuing with the program because it was costly and would serve “a 

very narrow obje~tive.’’’~~ 

At that moment, the program, well past the stage of paper studies, called 

for the production of 10 X-20 vehicles. Boeing had completed nearly 42 percent of the necessary tasks. While NcNamara’s decision drew hot criticism, he 

had support where it counted; the X-20 did not. Eugene Zuckert, the Air Force 

Secretary, continued to endorse the program to the end, but the project had 

little additional support among the Pentagon’s civilian secretaries. In the Air 

Force, the Space Systems Division (SSD) was to conduct pilot training and 

carry out the flights. Support for the X-20, however, was lukewarm both at the 

SSD and at Aerospace Corp., its source of technical advice. General Bernard 

Schriever, commander of the ARDC,I4l was also lukewarm. So was his deputy 

commander for aerospace systems, Lieutenant General Howell Estes.14* 

This was the life and death of the Dyna-Soar. From its demise one can 

draw several conclusions. By 1963,the program’s technical feasibility was no 

longer in question; it was just a matter of putting the pieces together. Although 

aerospace vehicles were continuing to evolve at a rapid pace, no technical 

imperative existed that could call the X-20 into existence. The program 

needed a mission, a justification sufficiently compelling to win political support from high-level officials. Dyna-Soar demonstrated that even though the 

means were in hand to pursue the development of a vehicle resembling the 

Space Shuttle, such a project would stand or fall on its merits. To be built, it 

would require a reason capable of attracting and winning endorsement from 

presidential appointees and other leaders at the highest levels. 

140. AAS History Series,vol. 17, pp. 271-275. 

141. Redesignated Air Force Systems Command in 1961. 

142 Ibid., p, 275; Hallion, ed., Hypersonic, p II-xvii. 

54 
c A T 0 

ncertain Future 

Technology Bypasses the Space Station 

During the 1950s, as Walt Disney and Collier’s presented the space station and 

shuttle concept to the American public, the rapid pace of technical development 

was making it obsolete before it could ever be built. The concept had taken 

form in an era when radio was the only well-developed electronic technology. 

It was easy, therefore, to imagine that space flight would demand large orbiting 

crews to conduct satellite communications, weather observation, and military 

reconnaissance. Like a base in Antarctica, the space station would support these 

crews with comfortable accommodations inside a centralized facility. 

This point of view appeared not only in the writings of Wernher von 

Braun, but in the work of his fellow visionary Arthur C. Clarke. In 1945, 

Clarke proposed building communications satellites in geosynchronous orbit, 

at an altitude of 22,300 miles. They would circle the Earth every 24 hours, to 

remain fixed in position in the sky: 

Using material ferried up by rockets, it would be possible to construct a 

“space-station” in such an orbit. The station could be provided with living 

quarters, laboratories and everything needed for the comfort of its crew, 

who would be relieved and provisioned by a regular rocket service .... Since 

the gravitational stresses involved in the structure are negligible, only the 

very lightest materials will be necessary and the station could be as large 

as required. 

55 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Let us now suppose that such a station were built in this orbit. It could 

be provided with receiving and transmitting equipment ...and could act as a 

repeater to relay transmissions between any two points on the hemisphere 

beneath, using any frequency which will penetrate the ionosphere. ‘ 

Even then, in 1945, rocket researchers were broadening the use of radio 

by introducing telemetry: the automated transmission of instrument readings. 

Telemetry developed in the technology of weather balloons, which could 

carry meteorological instruments to high altitudes. By transmitting the instrument readings, telemetry eliminated the need to physically recover the 

instruments following a long flight. In addition to this, weather balloons (and 

rockets) required equipment of minimal weight. During World War 11, telemetry was used actively during test flights of the V-2.After that war, when von 

Braun brought his V-2sto the U.S. and carried out a program of instrumented 

flights in New Mexico, telemetry again played an important role.’ 

In space flight, telemetry made it possible to envision automated spacecraft. As part of the Collier’s series, von Braun offered a proposal for such a 

craft in 1953. It was to carry rhesus monkeys, along with a TV camera for 

observation of clouds and weather patterns. Collier’s called it a “baby space 

station,” describing it as the “first step in the conquest of space.” Chesley 

Bonestell, in his lyric style, portrayed it in a closeup view, soaring high over 

New York City. 

This spacecraft, however, would serve as a prelude to the full-size space 

station; in no way would it represent a substitute. In von Braun’s words, “We 

scientists can have the baby rocket within five to seven years if we begin work 

now. Five years later, we could have the manned space station.” Though the 

automated spacecraft could carry a TV camera, “most ofthe weather research 

must await construction of a man-carrying space tati ion."^ 

Two other technical developments allowed automated satellites to come 

into their own. The first was the development of electronic circuits that had 

long life. This drew on work at Bell Telephone Laboratories, where the first 

transistors took form. Bell Labs also introduced the solar cell, a thin wafer of 

silicon that could transform sunlight directly into electric current. In addition 

I. Pierce, Beginnings, pp. 38-39. 

2. Ley, Rockets,pp. 263-265. 

3. Collier’s,June 27, 1953, pp. 33-40. 

56 
NASA’s Uncertain Future 

The Colliers series introduc :ed 

a concept for an automated 

Earth satellite, desm’bed as a 

“baby space station.” (Don 

Davis collection) 

to this, while Arthur Clarke wrote of communications satellites, it was another 

of Bell Labs’ specialists, John Pierce, who developed the invention that 

allowed these spacecraft to emerge as working technology. This was the traveling-wave tube, an electronic amplifier that could work with a broad range 

of freq~encies.~ 

In his 1945paper, Clarke was more able to envision frequent space supply 

flights in high orbits than to foresee electronic circuitry that would operate routinely and reliably for years, without maintenance. Crews in their orbiting 

stations would spend a great deal of time replacing vacuum tubes. The situation was not much different in 1953, when von Braun proposed his “baby 

space station.” He envisioned a time in orbit of only 60 days, which was about 

as much as he could expect given the limits of circuitry at that time. As early 

4. Bernstein, Three Degrees, pp. 75-75, 91-95, 102-105; Pierce, Beginnings, pp. 1-9, New Yorker, September 

21, 1963, pp. 60-66. 

57 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

as 1958, however, the Vanguard 1 satellite demonstrated the prospect of long 

life. Though it lacked instruments and carried only a radio transmitter, it was 

powered by solar cells and was able to transmit for over six years.5 

Another important development brought the advent of spacecraft that 

could operate autonomously and return from orbit. This project, known as the 

Corona program, was run by the Central Intelligence Agency, with Lockheed 

as the contractor. Their spacecraft, called Discoverer, was able to stabilize 

while in orbit and point a lens at the Earth below. It also operated an automated camera, winding the exposed film into a protected cassette. At an 

appropriate moment, the spacecraft then released a reentry capsule that fired 

a retro-rocket. The capsule deployed a parachute to land within a specified 

target area. Air Force cargo planes were then often able to snatch the capsule 

in mid-air.6 

It took over a dozen satellite launches before the CIA got this complex 

system to work successfully. While the first launch, Discoverer 1, flew in 

February 1959, it was not until Discoverer 13 and 14, in August 1960 that the 

program achieved success.’ Its significance then was undeniable. The analyst 

Jeffrey Richelson described space reconnaissance as “one of the most significant military technological developments of this century and perhaps in all 

history. Indeed, its impact on postwar international affairs is probably second 

only to that of the atomic bomb. The photo-reconnaissance satellite, by dampening fears of what weapons the other superpower had available and whether 

military action was imminent, has played an enormous role in stabilizing the 

superpower relationship.”* 

These developments-telemetry, long-life electronics, onboard autonomy-completely changed the prospects for space flight. No longer would it 

be necessary to build von Braun’s 7000-ton cargo rockets or to support large 

crews in orbiting stations. Instead, the nation would proceed by developing 

launch vehicles from the ICBMs and similar missiles that the military was 

building for defense purposes. Satellites would take shape as instrumented 

craft of modest size and weight. In turn, the space station ceased to hold the 

attention of visionaries such as von Braun, who went on to influence policy. 

5 Emme ed Histon, p 138,Thompson, ed ,Space Log. vol 27 (1991).p 50 

6 Ruffner, ed ,Corona,pp 3-39 

7 Ibid ,pp 16-24 

8 Richelwn, Secret Eves, p 265 

58 
NASA’s Uncertain Future 

Recovery Vehicle #I 

Main Takeup 

Cassette 

Recovery Vehicle #2 

Main Intermediate 

Roller Assembly 

Disc Camera 

Film Path 

.Delta Structure Constant Rotating 

Stereo Panoramic 

Cameras 

Film Supply 

Cassette 

Cutaway view of the Corona satellite reconnaissance system. (Central Intelligence Agency) 

Rather than emerging as a matter of urgency for the near future, the space station became something that might be built in the distant future. 

In May 1961, President Kennedy committed NASA and the nation to a 

major effort in piloted space flight that had nothing to do with a space station. 

The goal, instead, was to land astronauts on the Moon. In doing this, NASA 

completely bypassed the classic approach of first building a space station and 

then using it as a base or staging area for the lunar mission. Instead, as a single 

Saturn V rocket carried a complete moonship with a crew of three, NASA 

went for the Moon in one fell swoop,. 

The concept of an orbiting station, however, did not go away. If it now 

offered no obvious path for use in space applications, the space station still 

59 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

promised considerable value as a science center, supporting astronomy and 

studies of the Earth. Kennedy’s effort aimed at a Moon landing; it was easy 

to imagine a permanent base on the Moon. A space station, in Earth orbit, 

could demonstrate and test many critical technologies. As an essential prelude 

to an eventual mission to Mars, it also could test the ability of astronauts to 

remain healthy when living for long periods in zero gravity. 

The architecture of such stations also changed. The concept of a big rotating wheel fell by the wayside, in favor of designs that could fit atop a rocket 

as a single payload. The Saturn V could carry close to 300,000 pounds to 

orbit,9 a capacity that spurred far-reaching thoughts. After 1965, attempts by 

NASA officials to use this capacity led to the development of a space station 

called Skylab. 

Apollo Applicatio~s:Prelude to a Space Station 

The ubiquitous von Braun played a key role in initiating this new effort, not 

because he succeeded in convincing senior NASA officials of the merits of a 

space station, but rather because he knew that his staff would soon need new 

work. During the 1960s, he was director of NASA’s Marshall Space Flight 

Center, where large launch vehicles were a specialty. As he stated in 1962, 

“we can still carry an idea for a space vehicle.. . from the concept through the 

entire development cycle of design, development, fabrication, and testing.” 

His domain included the Michoud Assembly Facility near New Orleans, 

where complete Saturn V first stages were assembled. It also included the 

nearby Mississippi Test Facility, where these five-engine stages could operate 

as complete units on a test stand.‘O 

The development of the Saturn V set the pace for the entire Apollo program. This Moon rocket, however, would have to reach an advanced state of 

reliability before it could be used to carry astronauts. The Marshall staff also 

was responsible for development of the smaller Saturn I-B that could put a 

piloted Apollo spacecraft through its paces in Earth orbit. Because both rockets would have to largely complete their development before Apollo could hit 

its stride, von Braun knew that his center would pass its peak of activity and 

9. NASA SP-4012, VOI. III, p. 27. 

10. NASA SP-4208, p. 4; NASA SP-4206; see index references 

60 
NASA’s Uncertain Future 

George E. Mueller, NA,SA 

Associa te Administrator for 

Mannetd Space Flight in 19618. 

(NASf ‘I) 

would shrink in size at a relatively early date. He would face large layoffs 

even while other NASA centers would still be actively preparing for the first 

mission to the Moon.” 

At NASA Headquarters in Washington, D.C., George E. Mueller (pronounced “Miller”), Associate Administrator for Manned Space Flight, 

understood von Braun’s situation for he had helped to create it. Mueller had 

been vice president of the fm of Space Technology Laboratories in Los 

Angeles, a division of TRW and a prime source of technical support for the 

Air Force’s principal missile programs. Mueller had been deeply involved in 

the Minuteman ICBM effort, and had pushed successfully for “all-up testing,” 

during which that missile fixed all three stages and flew to its full range on its 

first flight. 

11. NASA SP-4208, p. 5 

61 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Coming to NASA in 1963, he quickly became convinced that he could do 

the same with the Saturn V. von Braun had used a cautious step-by-step 

approach in developing the earlier Saturn I, flight-testing only the first stage 

before committing to flights of the complete two-stage launch vehicle. Mueller 

decided that similar caution in flight testing of Saturn V’s three stages would 

push the first lunar landing into the next decade. He won von Braun’s consent to 

allow Saturn V to fly ‘‘all-up” on its first flight by firing all three of its stages.12 

This quickened the pace of development on the Apollo program, making 

it likely that the Saturn V would become available at a relatively early date. It 

also hastened the day when von Braun’s center would largely complete its 

work and face layoffs. Mueller’s decision, however, also made it likely that 

surplus Saturn-class rockets would become available for purposes other than 

direct support of Moon landings. 

In August 1965, MuCller set up a new Saturn-Apollo Applications 

Program Office. The Saturn I-B emerged as an early focus for attention. This 

powerful rocket conducted only a limited program of developmental flights 

for Apollo before giving way to the much larger Saturn V. The Saturn I-B’s 

second stage, the S-IVB, had a liquid-hydrogen propellant tank with a volume 

of nearly 10,000cubic feet. There was interest in turning the S-IVB into an 

orbiting workshop. Mueller later stated that this would match the volume of 

“a small ranch house. The kind I can afford to buy.” 

By early 1967, the program called for an initial mission featuring two 

launches. The first would carry an Apollo spacecraft with its crew of three; the 

second would launch the workshop, mounted to an airlock and docking 

adapter. The S-IVB, modified for use in orbit, was to sprout large solar panels 

along with two floors within the 21-foot wide hydrogen tank. These floors 

would provide living quarters and work areas. The flight crew would rendezvous with the workshop and dock with the adapter. Inside the spent fuel 

tank, these astronauts would find an empty, bare-walled space that would 

require four days of fitting-out to turn into habitable living quarters. The crew 

would then stay in space for 28 days conducting biomedical tests as their principal activity. A subsequent mission to the workshop would bring a fresh crew 

to live in space for 56 days.13 

12. Ibid.,pp. 6-7; NASA SP-4012, vol. 11, pp. 54-58 

13. NASA SP-4208,pp. 20-21,2627, 53-55. 

62 
NASA's Uncertain Future 

In addition to Mueller's powerful Office of Manned Space Flight, a separate NASA program center, the Office of Space Science a d Applications ? (OSSA), made its own contribution to the new post-Apollo effort. Within the 

field of space science, OSSA supported solar astronomy, using spacecraft to 

observe the Sun at ultraviolet and x-ray wavelengths that do not penetrate the 

atmosphere. In 1962 and 1965, two Orbiting Solar Observatory spacecraft 

returned a great deal of useful data and sparked interest in an advanced automated solar observatory. Such plans fit the cyclic activity of the Sun itself, 

which, every 11 years, rises to a peak in the number of sunspots, radiation 

levels, and magnetic activity. The next such peak was to occur in 1969, leaving ample time for development of the new spacecraft. 

OSSA'S plans fit the solar cycle much better than the budget cycle. OSSA 

had little clout, and the demands of Apollo were all-consuming; pressed by its 

budgetary needs, scientific satellites tended to fall by the wayside. The head 

of OSSA, Homer Newell, was undismayed. Though his advanced automated 

observatory failed to win support and had to be canceled, Newell saw that he 

could seek an even more ambitious solar observatory by hitching his wagon 

to the star of piloted space flight. Working with Mueller, Newell developed a 

concept for an Apollo Telescope Mount (ATM), as a second important component of Apollo Applications. 

This ATM took shape as a substantial spacecraft in its own right. 

Requiring its own Saturn I-B to carry it aloft, it also called for its own set of 

solar panels that would unfold to form a large cross. The program plan called 

for it to rendezvous with the orbiting workshop early in the 56-day second 

mission. The astronauts would move it into position and install it as part of 

the complete space laboratory. With a dozen instruments, the ATM would test 

the ability of astronauts to conduct useful scientific research by operating 

sophisticated equipment in orbit.14 

These missions were to herald a major program. Released in March 1966, 

NASA's initial schedule envisioned 26 launches of the Saturn I-B and 19 of 

the Saturn V. Flight hardware would include three S-IVB stages intended for 

on-orbit habitation, four ATMs, and three more capable space stations that 

would ride atop the Saturn V. The Bureau of the Budget (BOB),an arm of the 

White House, was not encouraging. Bureau officials were concerned that 

14. Ibid.,pp. 36-37, 69-71. 

63 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Lunar Module/ 

Apolto Telescope Mount 

Instrumentation Unit ArrayPane's 

SpacecraftLM Adapter (Fixed) 

Airlock Module 

Structural Transition Section 

Apollo Applications wet workshop, derioedfrom an S-IVB upper stage. Note rocket engine at 

right. (NASA) 

Apollo Applications might wastefully duplicate an Air Force program, the 

Manned Orbiting Laboratory. In addition to this, with Apollo reaching the 

peak of its funding, those officials were in no mood to allow NASA to launch 

another costly program. 

Initial discussions focused on the budget request for FY 1967 that 

President Lyndon B. Johnson would present to Congress early in 1966. 

Mueller hoped at first for $450 million, with over $1 billion in FY 1968. 

Bureau of the Budget officials preferred to start by offering $100 million, 

though they were willing to listen to arguments for $250 million. This part of 

NASA's budget included Apollo. To keep it on schedule, Mueller had to put 

Apollo Applications under a particularly severe squeeze with only $42 million (less than a tenth of his initial budget mark) for FY 1967.15 

The FY 1968 budget brought more of the same. Initial discussions 

between NASA and the BOB chopped the request from $626 million to $454 

15. [bid.,pp. 42-43; NASA SP-4011, p. 71. 

64 
NASA’s Uncertain Future 

million, a sum that at least would get the program off to a good start. In his 

budget message to Congress, Johnson endorsed this figure with an argument 

that would be heard again in subsequent years: “We have no alternative unless 

we wish to abandon the manned space capability we have created.” Though 

Johnson and the BOBwere now on board, Congress, which cut the authorization to $347 million, was not. Not even the appropriation-more bad news at 

$300 million-was safe, as the NASA Administrator, James E. Webb, transferred part of it to other activities. Apollo Applications was left with only 

$253 million, the lowest level Mueller could accept.16 

It nevertheless was enough, barely, to get the program under way and turn 

it into something more than a design exercise. As serious engineering activity 

got under way, however, designers came to realize that they were pursuing an 

approach marked with pitfalls. The approach continued to call for a “wet 

workshop,” a propulsive stage that would then serve as living and working 

quarters while in orbit. After reaching orbit, however, astronauts would have 

to convert the empty fuel tank into these quarters and install a good deal of 

equipment. As studies proceeded, it became increasingly doubtful that all this 

could be done. 

The alternative would be to build the space station as a “dry workshop” 

with no provision for use as a rocket stage. Unable to propel itself into orbit, 

the dry workshop would need the heavy lifting power of a Saturn V. That 

rocket’s payload capacity would make it possible to incorporate the ATM 

from the outset, rather than having to bring it up on a separate flight. The 

complete, well-integrated space station could undergo tests and verification 

on the ground. 

While studies of a dry workshop were being conducted at the same time 

as those of the wet version, they were never endorsed by NASA Administrator 

James Webb. The sticking point was the need for a Saturn V. The historians 

Charles Benson and David Compton note that “it had taken all of Webb’s 

power of persuasion to convince Congress and the BOBthat Apollo required 

at least 15 SaturnV launch vehicles, and he would tolerate no suggestion that 

any could be used for something else.”17 When Webb resigned from NASA in 

October 1968, he took his objections with him. In addition to this, in 

16. NASA SP-4208, pp. 53,86-87. 

17. Ibid.,pp. 105-109. 

65 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

December 1968, Apollo 8 carried three astronauts on a successful flight that 

orbited the Moon and returned safely. This was only the third flight of a 

Saturn V, making it highly plausible that it would indeed be possible to spare 

one of those behemoths for Apollo Applications.” 

With the mounting technical problems of the wet workshop approach, 

Mueller became convinced that it simply was not practical. Hence, only a dry 

workshop could save the program. The new NASA Administrator Thomas 

Paine became convinced in 1969 that it was necessary to make the switch. His 

decision was subject only to the success of Apollo 11, the planned first lunarlanding mission. He signed the project-change document on July 18, while 

Apollo 11was en route to the Moon. Four days later, with the landing accomplished and the astronauts homeward bound, the Apollo Applications program 

manager, William Schneider, sent telexes to the NASA centers that directed 

them to proceed with the dry workshop. 

Program cutbacks, however, had taken their toll. Apollo Applications, initially conceived as a long-running extension of Apollo, was down to a single 

workshop supported by three astronaut crews flying the Saturn I-B. There was 

hope for a second workshop that would carry different equipment. The program needed a new name; a committee considered close to a hundred 

possibilities, inchding “Socrates” and “LSD.”The winning name, “Sky lab,” 

came from Lieutenant Colonel Donald Steelman, an Air Force officer on duty 

with NASA. The new name, which replaced Apollo Applications, was formally adopted in February 1970.19 

Space Station Concepts of the 1960s 

There was only a single Skylab orbiting workshop in existence. Though 

NASA had built a second model, there were no funds to launch this spacecraft, and it wound up on display at the National Air and Space Museum.20 To 

this day, Skylab remains the closest thing to a true space station that NASA 

has ever built and operated. Nevertheless, it represented no more than a small 

step toward that goal. 

18 NASA SP-4012, vol. 11, p. 61. 

19. NASASP-4208,~~. 107-110, 112, 114-115. 

20. [bid., p. 353. 

66 
NASA's Uncertain Future 

Skylab grew out of Apollo Applications, which merely sought to make 

good use of Apollo launch vehicles and equipment. Though the Skylab spacecraft strongly modified the standard S-IVB rocket stage, its design was 

heavily constrained. The 22-foot diameter of Skylab followed from the diameter of the S-IVB, even though the Saturn V could accommodate payloads of 

up to 33 feet across. Similarly, although Skylab included the ATM as part of 

its package, its total weight, 165,000 pounds, fell well short of the lifting 

power of the Saturn V. These restrictions arose because the dry workshop, 

which used the Saturn V, developed out of the wet workshop, which was to 

have used the much smaller Saturn I-B.21 

In addition, Skylab was not permanently inhabited. It supported three 

crews in orbit, during 1973 and 1974, who stayed respectively for 28, 59 and 

84 days. Though the last such mission continues to hold the record for duration in U.S.-built spacecraft, Soviet and Russian cosmonauts have stayed in 

orbit for up to 437 days in the Mir station. Following the return of the third 

Skylab crew, in February 1974, NASA made no further attempt to use this 

valuable facility. Skylab's orbit, left to decay, caused it to burn up in the 

atmosphere in July 1979.22 

In spite of its limitations and its shrinking budgets, Apollo Applications 

was important. Not just a paper study, it was a true and funded program, with 

a project office at NASA Headquarters that stood alongside similar offices for 

Gemini and Ap~llo.~~ It thus gave considerable hope to those in both NASA 

and the industry who were carrying out studies for the next space station. 

During the 1960s, a number of studies sought to define such a station. 

NASA's Langley Research Center took an early interest in such studies, setting up a space station office within its Applied Mechanics and Physics 

Division. Early work, from 1959 to 1962, focused anew on the rotating-wheel 

configuration. At the outset, the Langley designers considered a range of shapes 

that could rotate to provide artificial gravity. Like PotoEnik and von Braun 

before them, they decided the wheel was best. With a radius of 75 feet, it would 

rotate at four revolutions per minute, producing two-fims of normal gravity. 

Langley then contracted with North American Aviation (NAA) to carry 

out further studies. A prime question was how to fit so large a structure into 

21 Ibid.,pp. 107-108; Thompson, ed., Space hg, vol. 27 (1991), p. 137. 

22. Thompson,Space Log, vol. 27 (1991), pp. 137, 138, 141; vol. 31 (1995). p. 68. 

23. NASA SP-4208, pp 200-21. 

67 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

63 ft d r -Solar-Cell Panels 1

T

103 it Living Modules 

Access Spoke 

Docking Facility -/ Apollo-type

Ferry Vehicle 

Rotating space station concept of 1962, designed to be folded up 

and launched atop a Saturn V. (NASA) 

the cargo volume of a Saturn V. NAA changed the wheel to a hexagon composed of six long cylinders joined at their ends. These would fold into a 

package 103 feet long by 33 feet in diameter. Once in orbit, mechanical screw 

jacks would unfold the hinged parts. The complete space station would 

include a hub with a docking facility for Apollo spacecraft. With telescoping 

spokes joining the hub to the hexagon, the station’s volume of 45,000 cubic 

feet would accommodate up to 36 crew members.24 

In size between Potocnik’s concept of 1928 and von Braun’s of 1952, 

NASA’s concept represented a brilliant attempt to bring the rotating wheel 

into an era in which major tasks, including piloted flight to the Moon, would 

be canied out in space. Even so, it was behind the times. The project’s emphasis on artificial gravity was better suited to an earlier age when large crews 

were expected to live in comfort. At the same time, by 1960, tasks that were 

to be conducted by astronauts were ready for automated electronics. In addition to this, by 1963 it was clear that studies of human physiology during 

extended durations in weightlessness would represent an important rationale 

for a space station. Subsequent concepts reflected these changes. 

24. Ibid.,pp. 9-10,AAS History Series, voI. 14, pp. 80-83 

68 
NASA’s Uncertain Future 

Cutaway view of MORL. (Douglas Aircraft) 

Langley’s next round of studies, called the Manned Orbiting Research 

Laboratory (MORL),rejected the rotating wheel once and for all. Late in 1963, 

Douglas Aircraft won this study contract. In many ways, MORL illustrated 

what Apollo Applications might have accomplished if it had been given high 

priority and ample funding. 

Rather than seeking to support large crews in the comfort of artificial 

gravity, MORL emphasized small crews that would live in weightlessness in 

versatile, compact stations. The basic station was to fly atop a Saturn I-B and 

hence had that rocket’s diameter of 22 feet. Weighing 30,000 pounds at 

launch, MORL would enclose 9,000 cubic feet of internal volume, with a 

crew of six. Each astronaut would serve a six-month tour of duty. A modified 

Apollo spacecraft, riding its own Saturn I-B, would carry supplies along with 

new three crew members to the space station. 

Specialized equipment would enhance the usefulness of MORL. It would 

carry astronomical telescopes, A crew-tended radar would support large-scale 

topographical mapping. Douglas Aircraft also proposed to install a nine-lens 

camera system for observation of the Earth’s surface and weather at a variety 

of wavelengths. With astronauts tending a lab full of plants, animals and 

69 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECZSZON 

bacteria, additional modules would research new fields such as life sciences. 

The addition of other such modules would allow the basic station to expand 

to house nine astronauts rather than the original six. Selected crew members 

would remain in orbit for as long as a year. 

Use of the Saturn V would enable the MOIU to fly in orbits as high as 

23,000 miles while continuing to receive resupply. The MOIU would be able 

to fly to lunar orbit to map the Moon’s surface. It would be able to land on the 

Moon and to serve as a base. Serving as a test bed for systems intended for 

use in a piloted mission to Mars, MORL also might evolve into an important 

element of a spacecraft built to cany out such a mission.25 

At the Manned Spacecraft Center (renamed the Johnson Space Center in 

1973) in Houston, other investigators agreed that a space station could represent an intermediate step toward a mission to Mars. That center had its own 

space station group that had contracted with the Space Division of the Boeing 

Co. to conduct the pertinent study. Completed in 1967, that study envisioned 

a Mars spaceship that also could serve as an Earth-orbiting station. 

The Mars ship would take the form of a two-deck module, 22 feet in 

diameter, with room for both crew members and equipment. For use as a 

space station, the vehicle would add a second module, together with a central 

section, midway along the station, that could accommodate the docking of 

two Apollo spacecraft. With a weight of 248,000 pounds, this complete station would ride a Saturn V to orbit. It would support a crew of eight, with 

these astronauts flying on the Saturn I-B, in Apollo craft modified to carry 

four rather than the usual three people. Two such launches would provide the 

initial staff. Subsequent flights every 90 days would bring fresh crew members as well as new supplies. The station would remain continuously occupied 

for two years. 

Without resupply or revisit en route, the Mars mission would also last two 

years. Mission designers would chop the space station in two, retrieving the 

basic two-deck module and staffing it with a crew of four. After being placed 

in orbit by a single Saturn V launch, additional Saturn V flights would carry 

fully-fueled S-IVB stages to boost the Mars ship toward its destination. While 

it would fly past and not land on that planet or even orbit it, the mission would 

drop off planet probes, landers, and an orbiter during this flyby. During the 

25. Astronautics &Aeronautics, March 1967, pp. 34-46; NASA SP-4308, pp. 293-300. 

70 
NASA’s Uncertain Future 

Boeing space station concept of 1967. (Boeing) 

close approach to that planet, the flight to Mars would culminate in an 1 1 -day 

period of intense crew activity followed by the long voyage home.26 

Not everyone agreed that a space station should serve as a way station for 

flight to Mars. An alternate viewpoint stressed the usefulness of such stations 

for science alone. This view found support at NASA’s Marshall Space Flight 

Center. A 1966 study there noted that a proper science station could not be all 

things to all people. It was argued that different sciences would impose characteristic demands that would be mutually incompatible. 

Astronomy in space, for example, would require gamma-ray, x-ray, optical, and radio telescopes. These would have to point in fixed directions during 

their observations, maintaining stability to within 0.001 degrees. A due-east 

launch from Cape Canaveral could put them in orbit, with an inclination to the 

equator of 28 degrees. By contrast, observation of the Earth’s surface and 

weather would ideally require a polar orbit that demands more energy at 

launch. An Earth-observing station would have to turn slowly to point continually downward, rather than stare at a fixed position in space. It could work 

26. Report D2-114012-1 (Boeing). 

71 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISZON 

with a stability of 0.05 degrees. Biomedical experiments, including longduration studies of the human response to weightlessness, would be even less 

demanding. Able to work in any orbit, they would dispense with the costly 

control systems necessary for pointing and stabilization. 

The Marshall study thus called for two stations, each with a crew of nine 

and a lifetime of five years for the station. They would fly to orbit atop the 

Saturn V. One station, supporting astronomy, would fly due east from the 

Cape. The second station, supporting meteorology and Earth observations, 

would not use the hard-to-reach polar orbit, but would achieve an intermediate inclination of 55 degrees. This inclination would still permit coverage of 

the world’s major land masses. Biologists and life-science specialists, not 

requiring a specific orbit, could build a specialized module that could fly as 

part of either station.27 

It is important to note that these studies lacked the support of a NASA 

Headquarters program office similar to that of Apollo Applications after 1965. 

These studies, however, did have the attention of center directors. In 1963, the 

original MORL Studies Office reported directly to Floyd Thompson, the director of NASA-Langley.28 Similarly, it was no secret that Wernher von Braun, 

director of NASA-Marshall, had a strong and ongoing interest in space stations. 

With no one at Headquarters who was ready to take those studies and push for 

their fulfillment, the space station represented only a possible new direction for 

NASA. In no way was there a commitment to pursue that direction. 

In addition, these studies reflected the characteristic point of view that 

space stations could offer intrinsic advantages. In 1968,Robert Gilruth, director of the Manned Spacecraft Center, defined such a station as “a site in space 

developed to support men, experimental equipment, and operations permanently and to take advantage of the favorable economies of size, 

centralization, and permanency-in terms of power, volume, instruments, 

communications, data reduction, and 10gistics.”~~ This amounted to an assertion that those “favorable economies” actually existed, a point from which 

both Congress and the Budget Bureau soon would differ. 

Likewise, it was not easy to assume that space stations would win support 

on their merits for use in science. The concepts of the day anticipated the rou27. AAS History Series, vol. 14, pp. 83-86. 

28. NASA SP-4308,p. 294. 

29. Astronautics &Aeronautics, November 1968. p. 54. 

72 
NASA's Uncertain Future 

tine use of the Saturn I-B with the Apollo spacecraft for resupply and crew 

rotation. The Apollo 7 mission, which had flown atop the Saturn I-B in 1968, 

cost $145 million. Two years later, a single flight of a Saturn V with its moonship would cost up to $375 million. By contrast, in FY 1970, the National 

Science Foundation, which sponsors a broad range of basic research in a large 

number of fields, received a budget of $440 million.30 Indeed, it would take a 

true believer to assert that a Saturn V, even with an Apollo mission, could offer 

the scientific return of a year's worth of grants from the NSF to the nation's 

universities and research centers. 

This point was not lost on the advanced-planning designers who were 

nurturing their space stations. They saw that the expensive Saturn V might not 

remain the only way to launch a large station; a reusable launch vehicle might 

cut costs while offering even greater lifting power. In addition to this, it might 

prove feasible to dispense with the Saturn I-B, replacing it with a low-cost 

launcher of intermediate size. A number of specialists pursued these hopes 

during the 1960s, as they allowed their imaginations to run free. In pursuing 

their designs, they laid a considerable amount of groundwork for the serious 

studies for a practical space shuttle that followed. 

Early Studies of Low-Cost Reusable Space Flight 

No one could deny that space flight was expensive. Launch vehicles flew only 

once. There was no way to reuse them; they launched their payloads and then 

splashed into the ocean. A Saturn I-B came to $45 million, excluding its Apollo 

spacecraft and flight operations; a Saturn V cost $1 85 million. For these rockets to carry three astronauts cost as much as $60 million per per~on.~' 

Advocates of reusable launch vehicles said that using throwaway Saturns 

was tantamount to flying a planeload of passengers across the Atlantic and 

having that airliner fly only once. It is a measure of the truly enormous cost 

of space flight that this comparison was off by three orders of magnitude. The 

Boeing 727, a popular jet of the 1960s, had a sticker price of $4.2 million. It 

carried 131 passengers. Had each such plane made only a single flight, the 

cost of a ticket would have been some $30,000.32 The corresponding price for 

30. NASA budget data, February 1970; Science,5 February 1971, p. 460. 

3 1 NASA budget data, February 1970. 

32. Serhng, Legend,p. 186; Pedigree,p. 58. 

73 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

a ticket on a Saturn V was 2,000 times greater. A more appropriate if less 

exact simile came from Newsweek in 1961 .33 It compared the space race to 

the potlatch ceremony of the Kwakiutl tibe of the Pacific Northwest, whose 

members vie to throw the most valuable objects into a fire. Clearly, the nation 

was unlikely to persist in this celestial potlatch unless it had the most compelling of reasons. 

An initial step toward reusability came at NASA-Marshall during 1961 

and 1962, where engineers sought to learn whether a high-performance rocket 

engine could survive a dunking in seawater. They worked with the H-1, a 

standard engine from Rocketdyne that went on to power the Saturn I-B. 

Following immersion, investigators dismantled the engine, checked its parts 

for corrosion, reassembled it, and ran it successfully on a test stand. Thus, it 

was proven that this powerful engine, rated at 187,000pounds of thrust, could 

withstand a bath in seawater and return to service.34 

The next question was whether a Saturn-class first stage could be recovered for reuse. There was considerable interest in using a flexible and 

deployable wing invented by Francis Rogallo of NAS A-Langley. The 

“Rogallo wing” later found its niche as a type of hang glider, allowing enthusiasts to fly from clifftops and soar on uprising air like birds. Advocates hoped 

to use it as a directional parachute, permitting a large booster to descend by 

gliding to a designated recovery point. 

Studies showed that this approach would not work with existing first 

stages such as the Saturn I-B. Because they had not been designed for recovery, they lacked the storage room for the furled Rogallo wing.35 Thus, it would 

not be possible to introduce reuse by the simple approach of mounting a 

deployable wing to a Saturn booster. Studies funded by NASA-Marshall, 

under the name “50-to 100-Ton Payload Reusable Orbital Carrier,” showed, 

however, that NASA might achieve better results by installing fixed wings on 

the Saturn V’s first stage. 

The new first stage would use that booster’s standard engines, adding 

landing gear, a pilot compartment, insulation to protect against the heat of 

atmosphere reentry, and large wings, sharply swept, with big vertical fins at 

the tips. These modifications would add 300,000 pounds of weight. The 

33. Newsweek, January 2, 1961, p. 42. 

34. Akridge, Space Shuttle, pp. 8-9; NASA SP-4012, vol. 11, p. 56. 

35. Akridge, Space Shuttle,p. 9;Astmnautics &Aeronautics, August 1968, pp. 50-54. 

74 
NASA’s Uncertain Future 

second stage, however, would retain its full lifting power. Thus, the payload 

would be decreased by only 20 percent. 

Smaller winged rockets also drew interest, as analyses showed that even 

with parachutes, recovery of any craft at sea would be both costly and clumsy. 

Leonard Tinnan, a manager at North American Aviation (NAA), wrote that “in 

comparing parachute or other so-called ‘simple’ means of booster recovery 

with the ‘sophisticated’ fixed-wing approach, for example, it becomes rather 

easy to demonstrate that the former is economically superior-if the time and 

costs associated with the mid-ocean retrieval and refurbishment of booster 

stages, and the impact of corresponding extension of turnaround time, are 

omitted or minimized. In the final analysis, however, all such factors must be 

fully ~onsidered.”~~ 

A review of design concepts of the early 1960s shows that engineers were 

of two minds on approaches to reuse. The prospect of aircraft-type operation 

tantalized a number of these people, with the X-15 offering inspiration by 

flying routinely in flight test. Designers expected that their reusable launch 

vehicles would fly often. For this they would need wings and runways because 

recovery at sea would hamper frequent flight schedules. Other investigators 

wanted reusable launchers that would carry far more payload than a Saturn V. 

Far too large for wings, such leviathans would have to come down in the ocean. 

Perhaps the largest of these reusable launchers was the Nexus. The work 

of a group at General Dynamics led by Krafft Ehricke, the Nexus was to represent the next leap beyond the Saturn V, carrying up to eight times more 

payload. Fully fueled, it would weigh 24,000tons, as much as an ocean-going 

freighter. It would carry a 1,000 tons to orbit, allowing it to launch a spaceship bound for Mars. This behemoth would have a diameter of 202 feet with 

its height approaching that of the Washington Monument. It would fly as a 

single-stage launch vehicle. Fully recoverable, it would touch down in the 

ocean following a return from orbit. Parachutes would slow its descent. Retrorockets, firing during the last seconds, would assure a gentle landing.37 

Others hoped to develop new types of engines. The years since World War 

IIhad brought enormous advances in turbojets, rockets, and ramjets. By 1960, 

all three offered tested paths to high-speed flight. With such further develop36. Astronautics, January 1963, pp. 50-56. 

31. Astrorzautics & Aeronautics, January 1964, pp. 18-26. 

75 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Touchdown Rockets 400 ft. and Reaction Structure 

Flaps Extended 

LH, Tank 

Flaps Extended 

SectionallzedLO 

Torus Tani 

115ft. 

I

Atlas 

Control Engines OJH, Truncated Plug Engine 

(150 1, MR=5 1) 

NEXUS heavy-lift booster concept. Atlas ICBM at lower left indicates scale. (Krafft Ehricke) 

76 
NASA’s Uncertain Future 

ments in the offing, advocates of advanced propulsion saw their prospects in 

two novel concepts: LACE (Liquid Air Cycle Engine), an airbreathing rocket; 

and the scramjet, a hypersonic jet engine. 

LACE sought to overcome the requirement that a rocket must carry its 

oxygen as a heavy quantity of liquid in an onboard tank. Instead, this concept sought to allow a rocket to get its oxygen from air in the atmosphere. 

Because rocket engines operate at very high pressure, no air compressor 

could compress the ambient air so as to allow it to flow into a thrust chamber. If the air could be liquefied, however, it would form liquid air, which 

could be pumped easily to high pressure. LACE sought to do this by passing 

the incoming air through a heat exchanger that used supercold liquid hydrogen, chilling the air into liquid form. The engine then would use the 

hydrogen and liquefied air as propellant^.^^ 

This approach drew strong interest at Marquardt Co., a Los Angeles 

propulsion-research firm. In tests at Saugus, California, in 1960 and 1961, 

Marquardt engineers successfully demonstrated a LACE design that used heat 

exchangers built by Garrett AiResearch. A film of those tests, shown at a conference of the Institute of the Aeronautical Sciences in March 1961, shows 

liquid air coming down in a torrent, as seen through a porthole. Marquardt 

went on to operate test engines with thrusts of up to 275 pounds. During these 

tests, LACE performed twice as well as conventional hydrogen-fueled rockets. 

There were further innovations as well. Four-fifths of air is nitrogen, 

which does not burn. The presence of this nitrogen reduced the performance 

of LACE by cooling the exhaust and demanding extra liquid hydrogen to 

accomplish liquefaction. Oxygen, however, liquefies at 90 degrees Kelvin 

while nitrogen liquefies at the lower temperature of 77 degrees Kelvin. Thus, 

by carefully controlling the heat-exchange process, oxygen in the air could be 

liquefied preferentially. This represented a topic for further research. In 1967, 

at General Dynamics, a test of this concept demonstrated 90 percent effectiveness in excluding the nitrogen.39 

While LACE represented a new direction in rocket research, the scramjet 

represented advances in the design of the ramjet. Ramjet engines showed their 

power during the 1950s when the Lockheed X-7, an unpiloted missile, 

38. Heppenheimer, Hypersonic, pp. 15- 16. 

39. Zbid., p. 16;Aviufzon Week, May 8, 1961, p 119. Film courtesy of William Escher, Kaiser Marquardt, Van 

Nuys, California. 

77 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

reached Mach 4.31 or 2,881 miles per hour setting a record for the flight of 

airbreathing engines?* This was close to the speed limit of a ramjet. Air in 

such a ramjet, flowing initially at supersonic speeds, had to slow to subsonic 

velocity in order to burn the fuel. When it slowed, an engine became hot and 

lost power. 

For a ramjet to reach speeds well beyond Mach 4, this internal airflow 

would have to remain supersonic. This would keep the engine cool and prevent it from overheating. This also imposed the difficult problem of injecting, 

mixing, and burning fuel in such a supersonic airflow. Nevertheless, a number 

of people hoped to build such an engine, which they called a cramj jet.^' 

Scramjet advocates included Alexander Kartveli, the vice president for 

research and development at Republic Aviation, and Antonio Ferri, a professor at Brooklyn Polytechnic Institute. During World War 11, Ferri had been 

one of Europe’s leading aerodynamicists and had directed Italy’s premier 

research facility, a supersonic wind tunnel. Kartveli was one of America’s 

leading airplane designers, crafting such fighter aircraft as the F-84 and the F105. During the 1950s, his focus was on another proposed fighter, the 

XF-103. It was to use a ramjet to reach speeds of Mach 3.7 (2,450 mph) and 

altitudes of 75,000 feet:’ 

Ferri, who worked as a consultant on this project, formed a close friendship with Kartveli. They complemented each other professionally, Kartveli 

studying issues of aircraft design, Ferri emphasizing the details of difficult 

problems in aerodynamics and propulsion. As they worked together on the 

XF-103 they each stimulated the other to think bolder thoughts. Among the 

boldest put forth first by Ferri, and then supported by Kartveli with more 

detailed studies, was the idea that scramjet-powered aircraft would have no 

natural limits to speed or performance. They could fly to orbit, reaching 

speeds of Mach 25.43 

In the Air Force, concepts such as LACE and scramjets drew support from 

Weldon Worth, technical director at the Aero Propulsion Lab of WrightPatterson Air Force Base. Beginning in about 1960,Worth built up a program 

of basic research called Aerospaceplane. Not aiming at actually building an 

40. Miller, X-Planes, p. 72. 

41. Heppenheimer, Hypersonic, pp. 12-14. 

42. Ibid., pp. 10-12, Gunston, Fighfers.pp. 184, 193-195 

43. Republic Aviation News,September 9, 1960, pp. 1, 5. 

78 
NASA’s Uncertain Future 

airplane that would fly to orbit, the program pursued design studies and 

propulsion research that might lead to such aircraft in the distant future. The 

propulsion efforts were often very basic. When, in November 1964, Ferri succeeded in getting a scramjet to deliver thrust, it was impressive enough to 

merit an Air Force news release. Ferri went on to set a goal of 644 pounds of 

thrust for his test engine; he managed 517 pounds, 80 percent of his goal.@ 

Aerospaceplane was too hot to keep under wraps. A steady stream of 

leaks brought continuing coverage in the trade magazine Aviation Week.45At 

the Los Angeles Times, the aerospace editor Marvin Miles developed his own 

connections, which led to banner headlines: “Lockheed Working on Plane 

Able to Go Into Orbit Alone”; “Huge Booster Not Needed by Air Force Space 

Plane.”46 The Air Force’s Scientific Advisory Board (SAB) was not amused. 

As early as December 1960, it wmed that “too much emphasis may be 

placed on the more glamorous aspects of the Aerospaceplane resulting in 

neglect of what appear to be more conventional problems.” 

By 1963, with hype outrunning achievement, the SAB had had enough. 

In October, it declared that “today’s state-of-the-art is inadequate to support 

any real hardware development, and the cost of any such undertaking will be 

extremely large .... [Tlhe so-called Aerospaceplane program has had such an 

erratic history, has involved so many clearly infeasible factors, and has been 

subjected to so much ridicule that from now on this name should be dropped. 

It is also recommended that the Air Force increase the vigilance that no new 

program achieves such a difficult position.”47 Soon after, the Aerospaceplane 

died as a forrnal program. The scramjet, however, continued to live as NASALangley pursued an experimental program, the Hypersonic Research Engine, 

that continued well into the 1970s.& 

Amid the gigantism of the Nexus and the far-out futurism of 

Aerospaceplane, there were those who were content to envision winged craft 

powered by conventional rocket engines. Here, too, the exuberance of the day 

44. Heppenheimer, Hypersonic, pp. 14-17; Hallion, ed., Hypersonic, pp. 948-952; news release, USAF 

Aeronautical Systems Division, November 12, 1964 Scramjet test data from Louis Nucci, General 

Applied Science Laboratories, Inc., Ronkonkoma, New York. 

45. Aviamn Week October 31, 1960, p 26; December 26, 1960, pp. 22-23; June 19, 1961, pp. 54-62; 

November 6, 1961, pp. 59-61; April 23, 1962, pp. 26-27. See also Mzssiles and Rockets, May 22, 1961, p. 

14 

46. Los Angeles Times: November 3, 1960, p. 3A; January 15,1961, front page. 

47. Hallion, ed., Hypersonic, p. 951 

48. Ibid., pp. 747-842; Heppenheimer, Hypersoizic, pp. I 7-20. 

79 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECZSION 

sometimes found expression in concepts of heroic size, such as the Astroplane 

of Aerojet-General. This concept included wings that would carry liquid 

hydrogen, much as the wings of airliners carry jet fuel. The Astroplane would 

have a wingspan of 423 feet and a length of 260 feet, excluding its payload. 

Carrying up to 220 tons of cargo, it would weigh 5,000 tons at liftoff, and 

would rise into the air with twice the thrust of a Saturn V.49 

There were several design exercises, however, that projected modest size 

and near-term technology. One such concept, the Astro from Douglas 

Aircraft, was a two-stage fully-reusable launch vehicle with a payload of 

37,150 pounds. Both stages of the Astro were designed as lifting bodies and 

would burn hydrogen and oxygen, using rocket engines that were already 

under development. The project engineers saw no problem with reuse of such 

rockets, noting that one of their engines, the Pratt & Whitney RL-IO, had 

already “been operated more than 9,000 seconds with more than 50 restarts.” 

Nevertheless, these engineers also shared the enthusiasm of the times. 

Written in 1963, their paper on the Astro anticipated that this vehicle could be 

operational “in the 1968-70 period.” Each flight would cost $1.5 million. In 

readying the second stage for a reflight, turnaround time “would range 

between 2.5 and 5 days, based on a two-shift operation.” The Astro would fly 

240 times per year.s0 

The era’s exuberance was understandable; it had taken less than 35 years 

to advance from Lindbergh in Paris to astronauts in orbit. It was expected that 

this pace would continue. Amid the plethora of new possibilities, however, 

promising ideas sometimes were lost in the shuffle. This happened to Martin 

Marietta’s Astrorocket concept of 1964. In the light of subsequent events, the 

concept seems to have offered a glimpse of the future, not only because the 

design was highly futuristic but because it clearly foreshadowed a class of 

design concepts that later stood in the forefront between 1969 and 1971. 

With a planned liftoff weight of 1,250 tons, Astrorocket was to be intermediate in size between the Saturn I-B and the Saturn V. It was a two-stage 

fully-reusable design, with both stages having delta wings and flat undersides. 

These undersides fitted together at liftoff, belly to belly. The designers of 

Astrorocket were no clairvoyants; rather, they drew on the background of 

49. Astronautics & Aeronautics,January 1964, pp. 35-41 

50. Ibid.,pp. 42-51. 

80 
NASA’s Uncertain Future 

Martin Marietta’s Astrorocket concept. (Art by Dennis Jenkins) 

Dyna-Soar and studies at NASA-Ames of winged reentry vehicle^.^' The 

design studies of 1969-1971 followed the same approach, featuring two-stage 

fully-reusable configurations and a strong preference for delta wings. 

Unfortunately, Astrorocket was at least five years ahead of its time. It 

failed to win support from NASA, the Air Force, and even its own management of Martin Marietta. That firm would continue to pursue studies of 

reusable launch vehicles, but these would not be Astrorockets. 

“Let a hundred flowers bloom, let a hundred schools of thought content,” 

said China’s Chairman Mao in 1956.52 Studies of future space transportation 

were certainly blossoming. The field, however, needed vigorous pruning to 

define the most promising approaches. Wielding their garden shears, a 

number of investigators began to address some key questions. 

Was it worth waiting for the scramjet? While its performance far surpassed that of even the best rockets, its development would take time and its 

prospects were not certain. Even accepting that the next generation of launch 

vehicles would continue to use rockets, there was the question of whether 

51. Hallion, ed., Hypersonic, pp. 952-954. 

52. Oxford, p. 328. 

81 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

such craft should take off horizontally, like an airplane. A booster, heavy with 

propellant, would need large, massive wings to do this. The vehicle, however, 

might ride a rocket-powered sled that would accelerate to several hundred 

miles per hour, at no cost to the booster in onboard fuel. 

In 1962, NASA-Marshall set out to address such issues through design 

studies. The first step was to set standards for the design of launch-vehicle 

concepts. Each concept had to carry ten passengers or ten tons of cargo. 

Aircraft-type approaches were paramount, with Marshall stating that contractor designs “should be compatible with a philosophy used in the development 

of supersonic commercial jet aircraft and should offer a potential commercial 

application in the late 1970s’ such as operating the vehicle over global distances for surface-to-surface transport of cargo and personnel.’’ 

This study, called “Reusable Ten Ton Orbital Carrier Vehicle,” awarded 

contracts of $428,000to Lockheed and of $342,000 to NAA. From June 1962 

to December 1963, designers looked at two-stage fully-reusable configurations that put fixed wings on both stages, and carried through separate designs 

for both vertical and horizontal launch. They also considered concepts that 

drew on the Air Force’s Aerospaceplane, with advanced airbreathing engines 

to provide propulsion in the first stage. 

Subsequent studies investigated additional alternatives and pursued 

design issues in greater depth. In 1965, General Dynamics defined a concept 

for a reusable second stage that had the shape of a lifting body; both that firm 

and Lockheed conducted studies of first stages that could carry such a second 

stage. First-stage concepts continued to cover both vertical and horizontal 

launch. When using airbreathing engines, design choices ranged from conventional turbojet engines to scramjets. At General Dynamics the possibilities 

included LACE, for which that company had an active experimental program. 

These studies concluded that, without exception, rocket engines were 

preferable to airbreathers for first-stage propulsion. A leader in these efforts, 

Max Akridge of NASA-Marshall wrote that “the economic advantage for the 

rocket engine was always about the same as the developmental cost of the airbreathing engine.” Similarly, vertical takeoff proved to offer an advantage 

over horizontal launch because the cost of developing a rocket sled was not 

offset by lower weight and cost in the flight vehicle. 

These studies defined the preferred approach of NASA-Marshall’s Future 

Projects Office which called for a two-stage fully-reusable launch vehicle, 

82 
NASA's UncertainFuture 

Three classes of adwanced launch vehicles studied in 1966. 

Left, Class I: a piloted spacecraft resembling Dyna-Sour, 

launched by a Saturn I-B. Center, Chs 11: a two-stage fullyreusable space shuttle with rocket propulsion in both stages. 

Right, Chs 111: space shuttle with airbreathing engines in the first stage. (U.S. Air Force) 

with both stages having fixed wings and rocket propulsion. The work also 

established the technical feasibility of such vehicles. NASA's Manned 

Spacecraft Center also adopted this approach, and NASA as a whole proceeded to hold to such designs until 1971.53 

A dissenting word came from the Air Force, where people were in no 

hurry to define a single class of concepts. At Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, 

the Flight Dynamics Laboratory emerged as a center for such studies. The 

FDL, conducting two design exercises during 1965, drew the interest of the 

Aeronautics and Astronautics Coordinating Board, a joint NASA- Air Force 

committee. In August 1965, this board set up a subpanel that spent the next 

year reviewing technology and design concepts for reusable launch vehicles. 

The subpanel issued its report in September 1966. 

Rather than focus on a single type of craft, the subpanel took the view that 

advancing technology would permit increasingly capable designs to emerge 

53. Akridge, Space Shuttle, pp. 5, 16-19;Aviation Week,March 26, 1962, pp. 20-21; Report LR 18790 

(Lockheed); Report GD/C-DCB-65-018 (General Dynamics); Nau, Compuriso?i. 

83 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

in the relatively near future. By 1974, the nation might have a vehicle, called 

Class I, in which a small reusable spacecraft would ride atop an expendable 

booster. The Saturn I-B could serve as this booster; Martin Marietta’s proposed Titan 111-M was another possibility, as was a new booster derived from 

the 260-inch solid rocket motor that was then being tested. Essentially, the 

spacecraft would be tantamount to an updated version of the Dyna-Soar. In 

turn, two-stage fully-reusable configurations (counted as Class II), such as 

those of NASA-Marshall, could be available by 1978. By 1981, the prospects 

could broaden to include Class 111, featuring horizontal takeoff and a first 

stage powered by scramjets. 

Like others in the field, the authors of this report were optimistic. 

NASA’s eventual Space Shuttle would fall into Class I, with two solid boosters, an expendable propellant tank, and a reusable orbiter. However, it would 

not fly until 1981,the year in which this subpanel expected to see an operational scramjet. Nevertheless, the work of this subpanel was significant for 

three reasons. 

It brought reusability into the realm of ongoing collaborations between 

NASA and the Air Force. It was a reminder that development of a new DynaSoar was a quick route to reusability. In addition to this, in the words of the 

report’s summary, “It is important to note that no single, most desirable vehicle concept could be identified by the Subpanel for satisfying future DoD and 

NASA objectives.” The Air Force would not follow the lead of NASAMarshall by focusing attention on a single design approach; the hundred 

flowers would continue to bloom.54 

ders Emerge: Max Hunter and George Mueller 

While many were talking about airline-type space operations, few had the 

professional background that would allow them to do much about it. Most 

managers and senior designers had entered the realm of space flight by way 

of the Pentagon’s missile program of the 1950s. Few of them had working 

knowledge of the standard methodology for determining the operating costs 

of commercial airliners, as published initially in 1940 and subsequently 

adopted by the Air Transport Association. 

54. Hallion, ed., Hypersonic, pp. 964-978;Ames, chairman, Report. 

84 
NASA’s Uncertain Future 

At Lockheed Missiles and Space Company (LMSC), Max Hunter was 

one of the few people in the industry with an intimate knowledge of both airline economics and of launch-vehicle design. Earlier in his career, working at 

Douglas Aircraft, he had spent two and a half years dealing with the performance of transport aircraft. In those days, Douglas ruled the skies with its 

DC-6 and DC-7 airliners. For some time, Hunter was in charge of all calculations on their performance and economics. He then joined the Thor missile 

project and served as chief design engineer. Rebuilt with upper stages, the 

Thor became the Delta launch vehicle and emerged as NASA’s most widely 

used booster. 

This background allowed Hunter to approach the problem of low-cost 

space transportation from a fresh perspective. Existing studies left him dissatisfied; he writes that “by the end of 1963 the state of recoverable rockets 

was terrible.” He disliked two-stage fully-reusable concepts which to him 

meant building two vehicles to do the work of one, with the smaller of the 

two-the second stage-being the one that counted. He also felt that the technology of scramjets or single-stage-to-orbit concepts lay far in the future. By 

March 1964, however, he had the germ of a new idea: the stage-and-a-half 

configuration. 

This new idea was to consist of a reusable core fitted with large expendable tanks that would hold most of the propellant. The core would carry 

everything that was costly and important: payload, crew, engines, electronics, 

onboard systems. With a heat shield on its underside, it would achieve complete reuse. The tankage would consist of simple and inexpensive aluminum 

shells that would carry liquid hydrogen and liquid oxygen. They would fall 

away during the ascent to orbit, leaving the core to continue with the mission. 

Hunter went to work at Lockheed in the fall of 1965. On his first day, he 

was asked if there was anything he thought should be done that was not being 

done already. He responded with an internal company memo on orbital transportation, which drew the attention of a number of senior managers. These 

included Eugene Root, the president of LMSC, who provided the internal 

company support that allowed Hunter to begin to pursue his ideas. He proceeded to take his gospel to meetings of professional societies, and won 

funding from the Air Force. He particularly emphasized that the economic 

model of the Air Transport Association, though developed for airliners, could 

apply as well to rocket transports. 

85 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Paradoxically, two-stage fully-reusable vehicles promised launch costs as 

low as one-third of Hunter’s approach-but only when flying up to a hundred 

times per year. Because it had a far lower development cost for 10 or fewer 

flights per year, the stage-and-a-half had a decided advantage. In Hunter’s 

words, “its development can consequently be justified at an earlier point in 

time with a smaller number of mi~sions.”~~ 

While Hunter gave an airline industry view of airplane-type space operations, NASA’s George Mueller, head of the Office of Manned Space Flight, 

was promoting such concepts as well. His domain included all of Apollo; he 

also was a strong proponent of space stations, and he was pushing vigorously 

for a strong Apollo Applications program. Looking to the future, he understood that low-cost space flight would be essential for viable space stations. 

As a first step, in December 1967, he invited a number of NASA and 

industry specialists to a one-day symposium, held in January at NASA 

Headquarters. Because much of the data from industry was proprietary, 

Muefler limited attendance to representatives of government agencies. Even 

so, some 80 people, most of them from NASA and the Air Force, attended the 

conference. The symposium proceedings give a clear view of the topic at the 

end of 1967, when the field was alive with ideas but when no single design 

approach had come to the forefront. In addition to this, those proceedings presented design solutions that, four years later, would show up in the final Space 

Shuttle configuration. 

Martin Marietta was the most conservative, pitching its Titan 111-M along 

with a small reusable spacecraft, similar to the Dyna-Soar, that would carry six 

people. This was the quintessential Class I design (featuring an expendable 

booster) that NASA and the Air Force had identified in their 1966 joint study. 

The Titan Et-M was to rely on twin 120-inch solid boosters, slightly smaller than 

the solid rockets that, 13years later, would boost the operational Space Shuttle. 

Those rockets were not built as single units, but rather as a stack of segments, like short lengths of pipeline that are bolted together at their flanges. 

Manufacturers such as Thiokol filled each segment with the solid propellant, 

then sent them off by highway or railroad. Such segmented rockets were 

much easier to transport than the unsegmented type; the segments could be 

stacked and joined at the launch site, using putty to fill the gaps. 

55. Hunter, Origins.Reprinted in part in Earth/Space News,November 1976, pp. 5-7 

86 
NASA’s Uncertain Future 

Spacecraft 

Payload Module 

Propulsion Module 

Stage II 

Seven-Segment 

Solid Rocket 

Motors (2) 

Stage I 

150ft. 

p- 31ft -

%tan Ill-M launch wehick. (US. Air Force) 

87 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

i

I 

Lockjleed’s Star Clipper: three-wiew drawing of h e orbiter, with the complete vehicle, including 

proDellant tanks, in upper right. (Lockheed; Dan Cuuthier) 

The standard Titan 111-C used five-segment solid rockets, each 85 feet 

long with a thrust of 1,180,000 pounds. For the Titan 111-M, these rockets 

were to grow to seven segments, each 112 feet in length with a thrust of 

1,508,000 pounds. The first stage was also to grow in length, to hold more 

propellant, while receiving liquid-fueled engines with 1 1percent more thrust. 

The combination would carry 38,000 pounds to orbit from Cape Canaveral, 

or 32,000 pounds from Vandenberg Air Force Base.56 

Lockheed presented Max Hunter’s configuration. Called Star Clipper, it 

€eatured a core vehicle in the form of a lifting body, triangular in shape. The 

expendable propellant tanks would be 156 inches in diameter (the limit for 

highway or rail transport) and would join at the front, running along the 

sides of the core. The vehicle’s avionics would include an automated on56. !&ridge, Space Shuttle, p. 35; Schnyer and Voss, Review, pp. 15-16.40-47; Quest, Fall 1995,pp. 18-19; 

Astronautics, August 1961, pp. 22-25, 50-56. 

88 
NASA’s Uncertain Future 

board checkout system, similar to those on airliners. Lockheed managers 

claimed that the Star Clipper could lift off within one hour after arrival at 

the launch pad.57 

McDonnell Aircraft, recently merged to form McDonnelI Douglas, had 

built the piloted Mercury and Gemini spacecraft, and had been studying new 

launch-vehicle concepts for six years. Like Lockheed, it had adopted the 

stage-and-a-half approach, again with a reusable core flanked by expendable 

propellant tanks. Known as Tip Tank, this concept would carry 12 astronauts, 

sitting side by side like passengers in first class. The core again had the shape 

of a lifting body, but McDonnell went one better than Lockheed by proposing 

to add small wings that would fold within the fuselage and snap out for use in 

landing. These wings then would help the craft to handle better during the 

landing approach, when conventional lifting bodies tended to dive toward a 

runway at speeds of several hundred miles per 

The Lockheed and McDonnell Douglas concepts counted as only partially reusable, because their external tanks would not be recovered. During 

197 1, this became the configuration NASA would adopt; the shuttle orbiter 

would take shape as a core vehicle of the type Hunter had recommended. Its 

propellants would go into a big expendable tank, with two large solids flanking this tank in the fashion of the Titan 111-M. Hence as early as 1967, the 

basic elements of the eventual shuttle not only were well known but had influential advocates among NASA’s contractors. 

At that early date, however, there was no reason to pick this approach over 

others that also had their advocates. The two-stage fully-reusable concept 

continued to shine, and General Dynamics, with Air Force support, had been 

studying a version called the Triamese. It would feature a standard vehicle 

fitted with rocket engines and a pilot compartment. Like the core of 

McDonnell Douglas’ Tip Tank, it was tantamount to a lifting body with 

deployable wings. Three such vehicles, identical in shape, would fit together 

to make a complete launch system. The middle vehicle would carry the payload and would serve as the core; the other two would serve as tankage, 

carrying most of the propellant. This standardization represented an attempt 

to save money during development, for then it would not be necessary to 

57. Schnyer and Voss, Review, pp. 17-22. 

58. Ibid.,pp. 35-39. 

89 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

McDonnell Douglas' 

Xp Tank: top and sde 

views of the orbiter, 

showingfoldout wings, 

and complete vehicle 

with propellant tanks. 

(Dennis Jenkins; 

NASA) 

develop a reusable first stage with a design of its own. In the Triamese 

approach, all three vehicles would reenter and return to a runway.s9 

General Dynamics did not present this concept at Mueller's symposium, 

but instead discussed five alternatives, ranging from the Titan 111-M to a twostage fully-reusable configuration. The company showed, again, that the 

former had a low development cost but a high cost per flight; the latter had 

the highest development cost but the lowest per-flight cost. Though these conclusions were not new, they too pointed a path to the future. 

59. Reports GDC-DCB-67-031, GDC-DCB-68-017 (both from General Dynamics). 

90 
NASA’s Uncertain Future 

Triamese concept of General Dynamics. (NASA) 

These conclusions addressed the issue of designing a reusable launch 

vehicle to meet economic criteria. If the criterion was to achieve the lowest 

possible cost per flight, thus attaining true airline-like operation, then one 

would go with the two-stage fully-reusable, even though this approach carried 

high development cost. If the most important goal was to achieve minimum 

development cost, then one would choose the Titan 111-M. Stage-and-a-half 

configurations appeared intermediate, both in development and in launch 

costs. In sum, one could choose a level of reusability so as to balance between 

these two types of cost. As its space shuttle concepts matured, NASA would 

spend much of 1971 seeking this balance. 

91 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

The General Dynamics presentation offered more. Within the industry, it 

was widely appreciated that piloted aircraft cost much less to develop than 

missiles or expendable launch vehicles. The reason was that missiles 

demanded extensive and costly ground tests to assure that they would fly 

properly, with no pilot at the controls. By contrast, the development of aircraft 

took full advantage of their reusability. Test pilots could start with simple 

exercises in taxiing and takeoff, then reach toward higher speeds and greater 

levels of performance, in step-by-step programs. At each step, the aircraft 

would come back, where engineers could study it carefully and correct deficiencies. Such flight testing was far less costly than ground tests. 

General Dynamics then drew on recent experience with the X-15 and the 

Atlas ICBM, arguing that piloted craft could maintain this advantage even as 

rocket-powered vehicles of extreme performance. The X- 15 and Atlas had 

both gone through development in the late 1950s; their empty weights were 

similar, and both mounted rocket engines that came to their respective contractors as government-furnished equipment. Although the X- 15 was more 

complex than Atlas, it had less than half the development cost because it too 

followed the step-by-step approach to flight test, with its test pilots often 

taking action to save the vehicle from disaster. Indeed, the X-15 would likely 

have been destroyed on as many as a third of its flights had there been no pilot 

aboard.60 Test pilots thus served as inexpensive substitutes for the automated 

systems that might have been required to take their place. 

The reusable concepts of the day, and those that followed during 1968 and 

1969, were often referred to as Integral Launch and Reentry Vehicles. The Air 

Force, in particular, used that designation in its own work.61 Mueller adopted 

a different term, calling such vehicles space shuttles. The term had appeared 

now and then through the years. For example, Philip Bono of Douglas 

Aircraft had offered a concept called the ROMBUS (Reusable Orbital 

Module, Booster, and Utility Shuttle). Dating to 1963, it resembled the 

immense Nexus, and its mission was similar. Walter Dornberger, who had 

proposed to build Bomi during the 1950s, lately had been writing of a “recoverable and reusable space transporter, or shuttle.” He described it as “an 

economical space plane capable of putting a fresh egg, every morning, on the 

60. Schnyer and Voss, Review, pp. 28-34; Asfrunautics,January 1963, p. 53. 

61. Jenkins, Space Shuttle, p. 56;Hallion, ed., Hypersonic, p. 995. 

92 
NASA’s Uncertain Future 

table of every crew member of a space station circling the globe.”62 Mueller 

now made the term his own, fully aware that the space shuttle was to shuttle 

to and from such a station. 

In August 1968, in London, he received an award from the British 

Interplanetary Society and gave a prepared address in which he pledged his 

troth to the shuttle as NASA’s next goal: 

I believe that the exploitation of space is limited in concept and extent by the 

very high cost of putting payload into orbit, and the inaccessibility of objects 

after they have been launched. Therefore, I would forecast that the next major 

thrust in space will be the development of an economical launch vehicle for 

shuttling between Earth and the installations, such as the orbiting space stations which will soon be operating in space .... 

These space stations will be used as laboratories in orbit and will provide 

the facilities to study and understand the nature of space. They will provide 

observatories to view the sun, the planets and the stars beyond the atmospheric 

veil of earth. Stations in orbit will provide bases for continuous observation of 

the earth and its atmosphere on an operational basis-for meteorological and 

oceanographic uses, for earth resource data gathering and evaluation, for 

communications and broadcasting and ground trafic control .... 

One of the applications of these stations that has intrigued planners for 

many years has been their use as fie1 and supply bases, and as transfer points 

enroute to high or distant orbits, to lunar distance, or toward the planets .... 

Essential to the continuous operation of the space station will be the 

capability to resupply expendables as well as to change andor augment crews 

and laboratory equipment .... Our studies show that using today’s hardware, 

the resupply cost for a year equals the original cost of the space station .... 

Therefore, there is a real requirement for an eficient earth-to-orbit 

transportation system-un economical space shuttle .... The shuttle ideally 

would be able to operate in a mode similar to that of large commercial air 

transports and be compatible with the environment of major airports .... The 

cockpit of the space shuttle would be similar to that of the large intercontinental jet aircraft, containing all instrumentation essential to complete 

on-board checkout .... Interestingly enough, the basic design described above 

62. Astronautics & Aeronautics, January 1964,pp. 28-34; November 1965,pp. 88-94. 

93 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

for an economical space shuttle from earth to orbit could also be applied to 

terrestrial point-to-point transport .... 

Barron Hilton, whose hotels ring the earth, has suggested that a Hilton 

resort hotel in low earth orbit would offer unique attractions. Looking at the 

earthporn space, seeing sunrise and sunset every 90 minutes, floating in the 

zero g of weightlessness, are all unearthly experiences. More seriously, lack 

of gravity lightens the load on the heart and certain other organs, so that the 

Orbiting Resort might also be a health spa .... 

The Space Shuttle is another step toward our destiny, another hand-hold 

on our future. We will go where we choose-on our earth-throughout our 

solar system and through our galaq-eventually to live on other worlds of 

our universe. Man will never be satisfied with less than that.63 

This was not your usual speech by a government official. Napoleon may 

have spoken often of “destiny,” but even within NASA, an agency not known 

as a home for shrinking violets, such talk was slightly out of the ordinary at 

least. It helped that Mueller was talking to his fellow enthusiasts and was 

speaking in London, where his presentation was not likely to receive hostile 

fire from the Washington Post. Mueller’s hopes, however, contrasted sharply 

with recent experience, wherein NASA had tried and failed to define an ambitious Apollo Applications effort as a major post-Apollo program. The 

agency’s budget was on a sharp downhill slide, and NASA was nowhere near 

the bottom. Indeed, it had not begun to see the bottom. 

NASA and the Post-Apollo Future 

Before federal bureaucrats such as Mueller could grapple with human destiny, 

they first had to face the more prosaic question of what NASA would do after 

landing astronauts on the Moon. The first significant interest in this issue 

came in January 1964, when President Johnson, in office for barely two 

months, sent a letter to NASA Administrator James Webb. 

The background to this letter involved a program of the Atomic Energy 

Commission called NERVA (Nuclear Engine for Rocket Vehicle Application) 

that was developing a nuclear-powered rocket engine. While NASA did not 

63. Mueller, Address, August 10, 1968. 

94 
NASA’s Uncertain Future 

Junles E. Webb, NASA 

AdnTinismutor between 1961 

and 1968. (NASA) 

need it for Apollo, such an engine might prove useful indeed in any followon program of piloted flight to Mars. The program had strong support from 

Senator Clinton Anderson (D-New Mexico), chairman of the Senate space 

committee; it also had the support of Webb. Its opponents, however, included 

President Kennedy’s science advisor, Jerome Weisner. Weisner convinced 

Johnson to ask NASA to identify the future missions that would require 

NERVA’s power. 

Johnson took up this and other issues in his letter to Webb. Could NASA 

list possible space objectives beyond those already approved? What supporting research and development would these new goals require? How much of 

NASA’s current work, particularly in the development of launch vehicles such 

as the Saturn V, could support such future programs? 

An old hand at Washington politics, Webb smelled a rat. He later 

described this as “part of a power play rather than a desire for proposals. It 

95 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

was an effort to put us on the defensive and to make us commit ourselves to 

certain missions which they could then attack.” Accordingly, Webb did not 

reply immediately, but set up a committee that proceeded to take its sweet 

time in preparing a response. Meanwhile he mollified Johnson with interim 

replies, listing possible future missions but declining to choose among them.64 

Events that summer showed that Webb was wise to be cautious. As far 

back as 1962, the Future Projects Office at NASA-Marshall had contracted 

with several major aerospace firms for initial studies of piloted planetary missions, including landing on Mars. These studies continued during subsequent 

years. Then, in mid-1964, the new presidential science advisor, Donald 

Hornig, asked Webb to present an estimate of the cost of a piloted Mars landing that might follow Apollo. 

The initial estimate, internal to NASA, was $32 billion. An internal 

review added $5 billion for program contingencies and forwarded the total of 

$37 billion to Webb. He accepted some further additions that hiked the cost to 

$50 billion, and gave this figure to Hornig. Hornig doubled it to $100 billion, 

on his own initiative, and gave this new estimate to a Congressional committee. The next day, newspapers quoted one congressman as stating that the 

piloted Mars mission would cost $200 billion, amounting to 40 years of 

NASA’s budgets at the 1965 rate of $5 billion per year. In the words of an 

observer, “In only one week, a well developed estimate of $37 billion was 

multiplied into a $200 billion program.”65 

A year after receiving his initial request, Webb finally gave a full reply to 

Johnson’s letter in a report written in February 1965. It amounted to a verbose 

exercise in saying little that was new or significant and saying it at considerable length, while offering no targets for skeptics. The report reviewed recent 

and current NASA activities in detail, and included three single-page lists of 

future possibilities. These lists resembled pages from a book index, lacking 

any trace of description, estimated cost, schedule, or priority. In an outstanding display of political adroitness, the report called for “a continued balanced 

program” that would “not impose unreasonably large demands upon the 

Nation’s resources.” No one could oppose such recommendations; they were 

on a par with supporting motherhood and apple pie. 

64. NASA SP-4102, p. 243; Logsdon, Apollo, Chapter 1, pp. 27-28. 

65. AAS History Series, vol. 17, pp. 421-429. 

96 
NASA’s UncertainFuture 

Webb’s report drew questions within the Senate space committee, which 

complained that “alternatives are presented, but no criteria are given as to 

how a selection would be made.” That was just as Webb intended; he was not 

about to take the initiative in offering a plan that critics could attack. He 

would have been quite willing to have the President take the lead, as Kennedy 

had done in supporting Apollo in 1961. Johnson, however, also preferred to 

keep his options open. In March 1965, he told his advisor Jack Valenti that he 

did not intend to make a new Kennedy-style commitment in space: “I think I 

would have more leeway and running room by saying nothing, which I would 

prefer.”@ 

The historian Arthur Levine notes that two years later, Webb explained to 

him just why he had finessed Johnson’s initial request: 

First, the announcement by NASA in the mid-1960s of a long-term goal 

would make the agency vulnerable. It would provide ammunition to critics, 

who would be able to shoot down the proposed program as being too expensive or impractical, thereby raising the possibility that long-range technology 

developments tied to the announced goal would be cut out. This in turn would 

cripple the agency’s ability to support the Apollo and other advanced missions that depended on a strong base of advancing technology. 

Second, should NASA announce a long-term post-Apollo goal, critics 

would claim that the lunar landing was simply an interim goal, subordinate 

to the new effort. For example, if NASA announced that the post-Apollo goal 

should be a manned Mars landing, the Apollo program for a moon landing 

would be relegated to a secondary position. This would raise the possibility 

of cutting support for Apollo, thus jeopardizing the program or stretching it 

out. In the event of subsequent change in national opinion on the worth of the 

long-range goal, both the lunar landing and the more distant goal might 

never be realized. 

Third, the major effort required for planning, proposing, and defending 

a new long-range goal would tie up the energies of top NASA leadership and 

key scientists and engineers, diverting them from concentrating on making 

Apollo a success.67 

66. NASA SP-4102, p. 243; Jack Valenh to Lyndon Johnson, March 30, 1965 (Lyndon Johnson Presidenhal 

Library,Austin, Texas); Smith, chairman, Summary. Reprinted in NASA SP-4407, vol. I, pp. 473-490. 

67. Levine, Furure, pp. 1 18-f 19 

97 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

The last point addressed the fact that there was no consensus, even within 

NASA itself, as to NASA’s next goal. George Mueller, head of the Office of 

Manned Space Flight, had his eye on a piloted mission to Mars. The two most 

powerful center directors, von Braun at NASA-Marshall and Robert Gilruth 

of the Manned Spacecraft Center, preferred a different objective: a space station. Mueller also liked space stations and was well aware of their usefulness 

as preparations for Mars. von Braun and Gilruth, however, saw space stations 

as major elements of a program that, diverging sharply from one that would 

aim at Mars, would focus on activities in Earth orbit. 

Nevertheless, during 1965 and 1966, the beginnings of a post-Apollo 

future began to take shape. Not surprisingly, its major features were in line 

with the initiatives that Webb had suggested in his report to Johnson. Apollo 

Applications emerged, strongly backed by Mueller. For Mars, attention 

focused on an ambitious automated mission called Voyager that would orbit 

that planet and then send craft to land on its surface, looking with instruments 

for signs of life. Plans for Voyager flourished for a time. While initial designs 

called for use of the Saturn I-B, in October 1965 its officials decided instead 

to try for the much larger Saturn V.68 

In addition to this, even though Webb was unwilling to carry through a 

serious plan for NASA’s future, the President’s Science Advisory Committee 

(PSAC) proved willing to do it for him. This blue-ribbon panel was potentially a source of clout; it operated within the Executive Office of the 

President, and received support from another White House group, the Office 

of Science and Technology. In February 1967, the PSAC issued a major 

report, The Space Program in the Post-Apollo Period. John Newbauer, editor 

of the trade journal Astronautics & Aeronautics, wrote that it “should prove 

the pivot for policy discussions for some time to come.” He described it as 

“the most cohesive and solid appraisal of space-program goals since the 

Space Act itself,” which led to the founding of NASA in 1958.69 

The PSAC report did not endorse anything so specific as piloted flight to 

Mars. Nevertheless, it proposed an organizing theme: “a program directed ultimately at the exploration of the planets by man.” The report defined this as “a 

68. NASA SP-4102, p. 147; Logsdon,Apollo, Chapter I, pp. 17-18 

69. Astronautics & Aeronautics, March 1967, p. 20. 

98 
NASA’s Uncertain Future 

balanced program based on the expectation of eventual manned planetw 

exploration.” The program would pursue several intermediate goals including 

continued lunar missions by astronauts; long-duration piloted flights, at first 

through Apollo Applications and later in a true space station; and “a strongly 

upgraded program of early unmanned exploration of the nearby planets.” 

The PSAC was certainly not in NASA’s pocket; its report pulled no 

punches. It criticized the Apollo Applications wet workshop: “some doubts 

arise about man’s ability to carry out extensive construction efforts in space. 

The requirement that man actually construct his laboratories in space in these 

initial applications may constitute a serious impediment to their development,” A true space station might represent “a more effective use of funds.” 

The panel endorsed building a single wet workshop, if only as an initial step: 

“The launch vehicle and spacecraft ,for this experiment are already on order, 

and the opportunity for 28- and 56-day flights in 1968 should be taken.” 

In other areas, the report was more favorable: “In the period after the initial two Apollo lunar landings we recommend that a sustained program of 

lunar exploration ...continue manned expeditions at the rate of between one 

and two per year.” The PSAC recommended “that the Saturn V vehicle continue to be produced,” and that “the post-Apollo Saturn V production rate be 

fixed at 4 systems per year.” 

On Voyager: “We recommend an expanded commitment to the Voyager 

planetary lander program, pointing toward a soft landing of a Surveyor-type 

module on Mars in 1973.” As a prelude to Apollo, a program called Surveyor 

was seeking to conduct soft landings of automated spacecraft on the Moon, 

and had scored its first success the previous June. 

On a space station: 

We recommend that programs of studies and advanced developments be initiated promptly with the objective of a launch in the mid 1970’s of the first 

module of a space station for very prolonged biological studies of man, animals, and other organisms in earth orbit. Such a station should be designed 

with consideration of its possible role in support of earth orbital astronomy. 

On future launch vehicles: 

75rze payload capabilities of the [Saturn I-B] are not signiJicantly superior to 

those of the Titan III-M, while the launch costs of the [Saturn I-B] are about 

99 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISZON 

double those of the Titan III-M.... Because of the continuing requirements for 

manned and man-attended systems we visualize that an important problem will 

be posed for a long time by the cost associated with taking men to and from 

orbit....For the longer range, studies should be made of more economical ferrying systems, presumably involving partial or total recovery and reuse.” 

The report did not give NASA everything it might have wanted, even in 

dealing with projects that were achievable in the short-term. It endorsed only 

a modest Apollo Applications effort, as noted. It ignored NERVA, though that 

program was proceeding smartly with its nuclear engine and offered a promising source of propulsion for a piloted mission to Mars. The PSAC also 

recommended delaying a commitment to a true space station until 1971 or 

1972, although its advocates hoped for such a decision as early as 1968.7’ Yet 

by endorsing construction of this station “in the mid- 1970’s,” and by openly 

embracing Mars as a long-term goal, the PSAC endorsed a program that went 

well beyond what NASA in fact would be able to pursue. 

While Mars was in the ascendancy at the PSAC, NASA’s hopes were 

about to prove star-crossed. The agency had been charging ahead with Apollo; 

in January 1967 it had a Saturn I-B on a pad at Cape Canaveral that was being 

readied to launch a mission into orbit. Late that month, the astronauts Gus 

Grissom, Ed White, and Roger Chaffee were conducting a pre-launch exercise atop that rocket, within their spacecraft. A fire broke out; the men could 

not escape, and they perished before help could reach them.72 

In the aftermath of this fire, plans for the future went on hold while NASA 

struggled to win success with Apollo. There also was bad news elsewhere in 

Washington and in the nation. In January, the President had presented the federal budget for Fiscal Year 1968, anticipating a deficit of $8 billion. The 

Vietnam War, however, was escalating rapidly. By August, when the estimate 

was close to $30 billion, Johnson asked Congress to approve a 10 percent 

income-tax surcharge to keep it from rising further. 

The summer of 1967 also brought major riots. Looters in Newark plundered stores on a massive scale; snipers fired from rooftops, and fires blazed 

high. The city’s 1,400police officers could not control the situation. Speaking 

70. Ibid., pp. 20-22, Long, chairman, Space Program. 

7I. Logsdon, Apollo, p 1-32, 

72. Zbid., Chapter 1, pp. 37-38; Chaikin,Man, pp. 1 1-26. 

100 
NASA’s Uncertain Future 

of “a city in open rebellion,” New Jersey’s governor called in the National 

Guard. At the peak, almost half of the city was in the hands of the rioters. The 

upheavals raged for five days; 27 people lost their lives. 

Detroit blew a week later; the next 11 days saw 1,600 fire alarms. Three 

miles of Grand River Avenue, a major thoroughfare, burned to the ground. 

Some sections of downtown resembled the burned-out German cities of 

World War 11.Forty-three people died; over 7,000 were arrested; 5,000 were 

left homeless.73 

“Conditions have greatly changed since I submitted my January budget,” 

the President admitted. “Because the times have placed more urgent 

demands upon our resources, we must now moderate our efforts in certain 

space projects.” In the House, an appropriations subcommittee reopened 

hearings on the NASA budget, and proceeded to make deep cuts in virtually 

every program except Apollo. 

With cities burning, taxes rising, and the Vietnam War escalating, NASA 

proceeded to shoot itself in the foot. In a stunning display of tactlessness, the 

Manned Spacecraft Center invited 28 companies to bid on a study of piloted 

flyby missions to Mars and Venus, beginning in 1975. When this announcement created an uproar, MSC withdrew its request. It was too late. In 

Congress, the view took hold that the automated Voyager project should be 

canceled because it was the first step toward a needless extravagance: a 

piloted mission to Mars. 

The final cut in NASA’s budget came to $5 11 million, a reduction of 10 

percent. Voyager was canceled, being eliminated in conference with the 

Senate. Apollo Applications, budgeted at $454 million in the January presidential request, ended with $253 million. The conferees spared Apollo, voting 

funds to allow this program to recover in the wake of the fire at Cape 

Canaveral. The cuts, however, hit hard at future programs.74 

Voyager did not remain dead for long. Within days of its formal cancellation, NASA officials began discussing a follow-on concept that was 

approved by the president in the budget for IT 1969. The new project had the 

name Viking, and its mission remained the same: to orbit Mars with automated spacecraft, place landers gently on the surface, and look for signs of 

73. Lagsdan,Apollo, p. 1-46; Manchester, Glory, pp. 1079-1081. 

74. Logsdon, Apollo, Chapter 1, pp. 46-47; NASA SP-4102, p. 148. 

101 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

life. Viking, however, would not ride a Saturn V, it would use the Titan IIICentaur. While this was certainly a splendid launch vehicle, it had less than 

one-eighth the lifting power of its much larger cousin.75 

That summer’s near-debacle confirmed Webb’s belief that even a modest 

post- Apollo planning effort could backfire badly. With Apollo continuing to 

reign supreme in a time of cutbacks, Webb took to raiding the Apollo 

Applications budget by reprogramming some of its funds. In June 1968, he 

told his center directors that this program was nothing more than “a surge tank 

for Apollo.” In this fashion, he took from the future to meet the needs of the 

present. Above all else, Apollo had to succeed.76 

That program’s peak funding had come in FY 1965. That year also saw 

NASA’s appropriation peak at $5.25 billion. After this, the budget slid downward; the appropriation for FY 1969, which began the previous July, was 

$3.953 billion, a drop of 25 percent. NASA’s in-house employment stayed 

close to the FY 1965 level of 33,000 positions. The contractors, however, 

were having a hard time of it; their personnel had fallen by half, from 377,000 

to 186,000.77 Unless NASA could take hold of something new and major, it 

was likely to shrink to insignificance. 

Mueller had hoped that Apollo Applications could come to the forefront 

as this new program. Already in 1968, it was clear that this would not happen. 

The agency had spent several years trying to pursue such a route to the future, 

without success. More was involved here than budget cuts per se. Congress 

and the Administration had imposed those cuts because NASA had failed to 

make a persuasive case for its plans. Nor was NASA able to propose anything 

as compelling as Apollo. 

Apollo, above all, had the beauty of simplicity. Everyone knew of sciencefiction visions of astronauts on the Moon. The program’s goal was succinct: 

to carry out the lunar landing during the decade of the 1960s, and to bring 

its explorers back safely. As von Braun stated in 1964, “Everybody knows 

what the Moon is, everybody knows what this decade is, and evcrybody 

can tell a live astronaut who returned from the Moon from one who 

didn’ t.”78 

75 NASA SP-4012,VO~.III,pp 27,40-41,213-219. 

76. NASA SP-4208, pp. 86-87, 104; NASA SP-4102, p 254. 

77. NASA budget data, February 1970. 

78. US.News & World Report, June 1, 1964,p. 54. 

102 
NASA’s Uncertain Future 

Apollo Applications lacked this compelling character. In the end, it was a 

program with no compelling central focus. It offered only modest initiatives: 

solar astronomy, flights with durations of weeks, medical studies, and opportunities to use Saturn-class rockets that otherwise might go to waste. The 

historian John Logsdon writes that, according to program critics, these initiatives “were designed to fit the specific features of the Apollo and Saturn 

hardware. The missions suggested were not necessarily those deserving highest priority, and modified Apollo/Saturn equipment was not necessarily the 

most effective way of carrying out those missions.”79 Here was enough to support a single orbital workshop, but not enough to compete with something as 

historic as putting the first man on the Moon. 

An opportunity, however, did exist to plan once again with boldness. The 

PSAC report had danced around this, proposing nothing more than “the 

expectation of eventual manned planetary exploration.” That was not NASA’s 

style; the agency had established itself by literally reaching for the Moon, not 

by resting content with an expectation that astronauts would get there someday. The new goal was there for anyone who would dare to pursue it, to seize 

it. One could see it in the night sky, glowing redly; one could name this goal 

with a single word: Mars. During 1969, NASA would seek seriously to establish a piloted expedition to this planet as the basis for the agency’s future. 

79. Logsdon, Apollo, p. 1-26. 

103 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

104 
CHAPT T REE 

Mars and Other Dream Worlds 

A key component of early Space Shuttle plans was its linkage to a possible 

mission to Mars as the next major NASA undertaking. During 1967 and 1968, 

the Atomic Energy Commission (AEC) reached key milestones in propulsion 

on the road to Mars. In tests in Nevada, the AEC conducted successful 

demonstrations of nuclear reactors built for use in rocket propulsion and 

showed that its contractors were ready to develop a flight-rated engine suitable for piloted missions to that planet.’ 

Nuclear Rocket Engines 

The AEC’s nuclear-rocket program could trace its beginnings to December 

1953, when the nuclear scientist Robert Bussard published an article on this 

topic in the classified Journal of Reactor Science and Technology. His 

paper stirred interest, and led to the initiation of an experimental effort 

called Project Rover at Los Alamos, New Mexico. Initial work aimed at 

building a succession of rocket reactors named Kiwi after the flightless bird 

of New Zealand. 

The basic approach followed Bussard’s proposal, calling for a compact 

reactor built of graphite, which withstands high temperatures and actually 

gains strength when heated. Hydrogen, flowing through channels in this reactor core, would receive heat from the reactor and reach temperatures of 

1. NASA SP-4012, VOI. 11, pp. 487-488. 

105 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

several thousand degrees. This gas would then expand and flow through a 

nozzle, to produce thrust. 

Such a rocket appeared highly promising because it offered the greatest 

possible exhaust velocity and hence the best performance. It would do this by 

taking advantage of hydrogen’s low molecular weight: two, in appropriate 

units, compared with 18 for water vapor and 44 for carbon dioxide. Molecules 

of low weight fly faster, and hence yield a higher exhaust velocity; for this 

purpose, hydrogen is best.2 

The first version of Kiwi was heavy and produced only 70 megawatts 

(MW) of power, a modest amount. When it ran for five minutes in mid-1959, 

however, it suggested strongly that nuclear propulsion indeed was worth pursuing. Some NASA officials had already been following this work, now they 

joined with their AEC counterparts to set up a joint program oftice. Los 

Alamos managers laid plans for advanced Kiwi reactors that would aim at 

1,OOO megawatts. In addition to this, the joint office set a follow-on goal of 

developing a flight-rated engine called NERVA (Nuclear Engine for Rocket 

Vehicle Application). In June 1961, NASA and the AEC chose Aerojet 

General as the prime contractor for development of the complete nuclear 

engine, with Westinghouse, an experienced builder of reactors, as the principal ~ubcontractor.~ 

In November 1962, during a test of a new and promising Kiwi, disaster 

struck. The analyst James Dewar writes that “paralleling the rapid increase in 

power was a rapid increase in the frequency of flashes of light from the 

nozzle. On reaching 500 MW, the flashes were so spectacular and so frequent 

that the test was terminated and shut-down procedures begun. Quick disassembly confirmed that the flashes of light were reactor parts being ejected 

from the nozzle. Further disassembly and analysis revealed that over 90 percent of the reactor parts had been broken, mostly at the core’s hot end.” 

Harold Finger, head of the joint office, decided that there would be no further hot tests until the cause of the failure was found and carefully fixed. The 

failure was found to have been caused by vibrations produced by gas flowing 

through the core, which cracked the uranium fuel elements. It took over a year 

and a half of new designs to restore confidence in the project. In the end, 

2. Astronautics, December 1962, pp. 32-35, Astronautics & Aeronautics, May 1968, pp. 44,45; Halliday and 

Resnick, Physics, pp. 5 16-519. 

3. Astromtzcs &Aeronautics, June 1965, p. 42; NASA SP-4012, vol. 11, pp. 478-480.484-485, 

106 
Mars and Other Dream Worlds 

vibration-free reactor cores proved to be attainable. In August 1964, another 

Kiwi ran for eight minutes at 900 MW, with complete success. The engineers 

then restarted it and successfully ran it again at full power. This series of tests 

NERVA nuclear rocket under test. (Smithsonian Institution Photo No. 75-13750) 

107 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

demonstrated an effective exhaust velocity of 24,450 ft/sec, far more than any 

chemically-fueled rocket could achieve! 

Other work improved the non-nuclear parts of the rocket. The AEC test 

facility included a liquid-hydrogen pump that served well during the ground 

tests, but was unsuitable for flight. During 1965, however, workers assembled 

a complete nuclear engine that included a hydrogen 

a flight-type turbopump. Tests of this engine b 

reached full power in March 1966.This was the fir 

rocket with major components representative of a flight-rated engine. 

Subsequent work returned anew to reactor development, emphasizing 

long-duration tests as well as high power. In December 1967, an experimental version of NERVA carried through a 60-minute endurance run at rated 

temperature and full power, 3,630 degrees Fahrenheit and 1,100MW. In addition to this, Los~Alamoswas developing a new class of reactors called 

Phoebus, rated at 5,000 MW. A June 1968 test ran for over 30 minutes, with 

12 minutes at or above 4,000 Mw. 

By then plans were in hand for a true flight engine, with 1,560 MW of 

power and temperatures of 4,040" E It would produce a thrust of 75,000 

pourids with an exhaust velocity of 26,500 ft/sec, nearly twice that of the 

best hydrogen-oxygen rocket then available. This version of NERVA would 

not take off from the ground, but would serve in upper stages. The plans 

called for developing this engine through a Preliminary Flight Rating Test, 

a pre-flight qualification. It would be ready for actual space missions soon 

after 1975.5 

The rapid pace o 

of plans in Washington. With NASA having no approved postit was quite possible 

tested NERVA, ready for flight, only to find that 

it. NASA's prospects did not improve durin 

new attempt to plan i 

This new planning e 

Webb named Homer Newe 

of Space Science an 

4. AAS History Series vol. 4-35.42-46. 

5. AsbWnaUfiCS 

108 
Mars and Other Dream Worlds 

Administrator in October 1967, giving him agency-wide responsibility. He 

hoped to prepare proposals that could influence the FY 1970budget request 

that would go to the Bureau of the Budget (BOB) late in September. He proceeded to set up 12 working groups, drawing on a broad range of NASA 

specialists. A Planning Coordination Group (PCG) would direct the working 

groups’ activities; a Planning Steering Group then would choose alternatives 

and pass recommendations to the Administrator. 

This effort accomplished little. The head of the PCG noted “a definite 

failure to pull together among the key program offices, science and manned 

space flight.”6 Newell himself admitted that the results 

were not up to the standards of boldness and imagination expected at the 

beginning of the cycle, or worthy of our first decade in space. It is probable 

that the agency had become so conditioned to retreat over the past two years 

that an intellectual conservatism pervaded the planning .... The total effort in 

terms of forward motion was pedestrian, even timid.’ 

Willis Shapley, NASA’s Associate Deputy Administrator, spoke of 

“Homer Newell’s monumentally bureaucratic planning process. The 

number of new ideas that were injected-well, I think the Space Shuttle was 

really the only one that I can remember.” For instance, 

all the planetary missions sounded about the same. Somebody might have 

thought of some other instrument here and there, but in terms of forward 

NASA planning, everybody was just projecting exactly what the next step in 

his own little segment was.8 

Moreover, even as NASA was pouring old wine into new bottles, the 

Budget Bureau was turning up its nose at the proffered vintage. NASA’s plans 

emphasized long-duration piloted flights, but a BOB staff paper responded 

with skepticism: 

It is dificult to conceive of any use short of a manned planetary expedition 

that would require men to operate in orbit for more than 30 days. Most 

6 Logsdon, Apollo, Chapter 2,pp. 7-10; NASA SP-4102, pp 256-257. 

7. Memo, Homer Newell to George Low, February 9, 1970. 

8. John Mauer interview, Wilhs Shapley, October 26, 1984, pp. 8-9. 

109 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

scientiJic endeavors that require the collection of data by means of space 

flight can be accomplished by unmanned systems at considerably less 

expense than the manned flight systems. 

More broadly, this staff paper saw little reason to continue with postApollo piloted space flight, other than competition with the Soviet Union: 

Reasonsfor proceeding other than competition include enhancing the 

natwnal prestige, advancing the general technology, or simply faith 

that manned spaceflight will ultimately return benefits to mankind in 

ways now unknown and unforeseen. None of these secondary arguments can be quantified and most are dificult to support. 

The case for continuation of a manned spaceflight effort after Apollo is 

one of continuing to advance our capability to operate in space on a larger 

scale, for longer duration, for ultimate purposes that are unclear,’ 

The NASA appropriation for FY 1970 came in at $3.697 billion. This was 

very close to the Administration’s request to Congress. Nevertheless, it represented another step on that agency’s downward road.I0 

“Do not go gentle into that good night,” wrote the poet Dylan Thomas, in 

writing of elderly people facing death. “Rage, rage against the dying of the 

light.” NASA’s light was not yet dying, not with the piloted Moon landings 

immediately ahead. But under new leadership, this agency was ready to rage 

with vigor against the slow demise that seemed to be marked out as its fate. 

w administrator^ Thomas Paine 

During 1966 and 1967, Webb worked with Robert Seamans as his deputy. As 

Administrator, Webb dealt with NASA’s external environment, including 

Congress, the White House, and the Budget Bureau. Seamans had held highlevel NASA positions since 1960.As Deputy Administrator, he served as the 

agency’s general manager; all line and staff offices reported to him. He left 

NASA early in 1968 to take a professorship at Massachusetts Institute of 

9. Budget Bureau, ‘‘Nat~onal Aeronautics and Space Administration-Highlights Summary,” October 30, 

1968. Reprinted in NASA SP-4407, Volume I, pp. 495-499. 

10. NASA SP-4102, p 188. 

110 
Mars and Other Dream Worlds 

Thima Paine. (NASA) 

Technology. His replacement, Thomas Paine, took over his post and became 

the new Deputy Administrator. * 

The son of a naval commodore, Paine served in World War I1 as a radar 

and engineering officer aboard the submarine USS Pompon. The experience 

stayed with him; decades later, trapped in a boring meeting, he would fill the 

time by drawing a sketch of his submarine under way on the surface and ready 

for action. After receiving a Ph.D. in physical metallurgy at Stanford 

University in 1949, he joined the General Electric (GE) Research Laboratory 

in Schenectady, New York. In this company, he rose to manager of engineering applications. In 1963, he returned to the west coast and became head of 

TEMPO, a GE think tank in Santa Barbara, California. From this position, he 

went on to become Webb’s deputy at NASA in January 1968.12 

Like a good Navy man, he hit the ground running. Though still recovering from the Apollo fire during that year, NASA was pushing forward in 

11. Ibid., pp. 309, 310; Logsdon,Apollo, p. 1-14. 

12. Biographical data, Thomas 0.Paine papers, Library of Congress. These papers include an example of a 

submarine sketch. 

111 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

expectation of meeting President Kennedy’s goal of a piloted lunar landing by 

the end of 1969. The Apollo spacecraft, well along in development, would 

soon be ready to carry its crew of three. The Saturn V, in flight test, soon 

would be ready as well. However, a vital element of Apollo, the lunar module, 

was encountering delays. This spacecraft, with room for two astronauts, was 

to carry out the actual landing on the Moon. 

The Saturn V was to carry a complete moonship, comprised of both an 

Apollo spacecraft and a lunar module, with the latter being flight-tested in 

both Earth and lunar orbits before it could qualify for the demanding task of 

a lunar landing. Its delay in development, however, raised the prospect that a 

Saturn V might be ready for launch, with only the Apollo spacecraft qualified 

for flight as its payload. 

At the Manned Spacecraft Center in Houston, George Low, head of the 

Apollo Spacecraft Program Office, was ready to accept this. He recommended that the mission leave the lunar module on the ground, but send the 

Apollo spacecraft into lunar orbit, allowing its crew to circle the Moon repeatedly before breaking out of that orbit to return to Earth. 

In August 1968,Webb and Mueller-both out of the country attending a 

United Nations conference in Vienna-left Paine in Washington to mind the 

store. Sam Phillips, the Apollo program director, told him of Low’s proposal. 

Paine, who found the concept exciting, gave it his full support. He then tried 

to sell it to Webb, as both he and Phillips talked to their Administrator via 

overseas telephone. 

Webb was shocked at the audacity of the idea, and yelled, “Are you out of 

your mind?“ They had not even flown a piloted Apollo spacecraft in Earth 

orbit. In addition to this, Webb viewed the lunar module as a lifeboat that could 

save the crew of a lunar mission if their Apollo spacecraft were to become disabled.13 Any piloted lunar mission would be dangerous; to fly without a lunar 

module would make it more so. In turn, the deaths of additional astronauts, in 

the wake of the Apollo fire, would shake NASA to its foundations. 

Nevertheless, Webb did not say no; he left the door open. When Paine then 

strengthened his argument by sending Webb a long cable, Webb grudgingly 

agreed to consider this proposal, at least for purposes of planning. Events now 

played into Paine’s hands. In September, the Soviet Union carried out an 

13. This happened during the Apollo 13 mission, in April 1970 

112 
Mars and Other Dream Worlds 

important lunar mission, Zond 5. This spacecraft looped around the Moon, 

returned to Earth, reentered the atmosphere, came down in the Indian Ocean, 

and was recovered. Two turtles were aboard, and they came back safely. An 

impressed Webb described this flight as “the most important demonstration of 

total space capacity up to now by any nation.” 

Zond 5 raised the stakes. All along the goal of Apollo had been to beat 

Moscow to the Moon; yet by sending a cosmonaut in place of the turtles, the 

Soviets could still win the race with another Zond mission. While Zond would 

only loop around and not land on the Moon, if cosmonauts were to do this, 

they would become the first pilots to fly to the Moon. Subsequent Apollo 

landings then would appear merely as following in Soviet footsteps. 

During that same September, Webb announced that he would step down 

as NASA Administrator. He had held that post since 1961;he now would turn 

it over to Paine, who would serve as Acting Administrator until the next president, due to be elected in November, could name a new head of NASA. 

Webb’s resignation took effect early in October and left Paine free to make 

decisions as opposed to more recommendations. 

In that same month, the Apollo 7 mission successfully flew with three 

astronauts in Earth orbit, as they tested their spacecraft during an 1 1-day mission. This exorcised the ghosts of the Apollo fire, and led within weeks to the 

commitment Paine had sought. Having flown successfully in Earth orbit, the 

Apollo spacecraft, sans lunar module, indeed would fly to the Moon on the 

next mission. The flight that resulted, Apollo 8, carried the astronauts Frank 

Borman, James Lovell, and William Anders. On Christmas Eve 1968, much of 

the world listened as a radio circuit carried their voices, live from lunar orbit: 

Anders: In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the 

earth was without form and void, and darkness was upon the face of the 

deep.... 

Lovell:And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And 

the evening and the morning were the$rst day.... 

Borman: And God said, “Let the waters under the heavens be gathered 

together in one place, and let the dry land appead’ And it was SO....'^ 

14. NASA SP-4205, pp. 256-260; Logsdon, Apullo, Chapter 2, pp. 10-14; Levine, Future, pp. 101-102; Chaikin, 

Man,pp 56-59; Heppenheimer, Countdown,pp. 237-239,243-244, NASA SP-4102, pp. 257-258,311. 

113 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECZSION 

The year 1968 had been one of war and upheaval, as public bitterness 

over Vietnam drove the powerful Lyndon Johnson from the presidency. 

Nevertheless, Time picked the crew of Apollo 8 as its Men of the Year, and 

assessed the significance of their mission: 

What the rebels and dissenters ask will not be found on the moon: social justice, peace, an end to hypocrisy-in short, Utopia. But to the extent that the 

rebels really want a particular kind oftomorrow-rather than simply a curse 

on, and an escape from, today-the moon fZight of Apollo 8 shows how that 

Utopian tomorrow could come about. For this is what Westernized man can 

do. He will not turn into a passive, contemplative being; he will not drop out 

and turn 0% he will not seek stability and inner peace in the quest for nirvana. Western man is Faust, and if he knows anything at all, he knows how 

to challenge nature, how to dare against dangerous odds and euen against 

reason. He knows how to reach for the moon. 

That is Western man, and with these qualities he will succeed orfail.I5 

Apollo 8 reflected Paine’s leadership and initiative, which he had displayed even while Webb still headed NASA. That mission also reflected a 

characteristic boldness, a willingness to reach for new horizons; this too was 

part of Paine’s approach. He would display such boldness time and again 

during his tenure, as he pushed his colleagues to think more daring thoughts. 

In several respects, however, Paine’s position was weaker than that of 

Webb. Webb had served the Truman Administration as director of the Budget 

Bureau from 1946 to 1949, and as Under Secretary of State from 1949 to 

1952. Though Republicans held the White House during the subsequent eight 

years, Webb’s background made him a charter member of the Democrats’ 

shadow government, ready to receive an important sub-cabinet post when 

they regained the presidency in 1960. 

Paine had no such background. He held no record of government service, 

or even of involvement in the space program as a technical manager. In the 

words of the historian John Logsdon, “’he was as new to the ways of 

Washington as James Webb had been a master of them.” Paine had obtained 

15. Erne, January 3, 1969,p. 17 

114 
Mars and Other Dream Worlds 

his initial selection as Deputy Administrator because he had offered himself 

for appointment to a high-level Washington position, nature unspecified. The 

head of the Civil Service Commission found Paine’s name in a list of executives who had expressed interest in receiving such posts, and passed it on. 

With the new president, Richard Nixon, free to name his own NASA 

Administrator, Paine submitted a pro forma resignation upon Nixon’s inauguration in January 1969. Nixon’s staff offered the post to candidates that 

included General Bernard Schriever, who had built the Air Force’s big missiles; Simon Ramo, a co-founder of TRW who had provided Schriever with 

vital technical support; and Patrick Haggerty, head of Texas Instruments. 

When all declined, Nixon decided to stick with Paine. Continuing as Acting 

Administrator, Paine received Senate confirmation as Administrator, without 

qualification, in March 1969.16 

There was less to this than met the eye, for in no way did Nixon intend to 

endorse Paine’s bold approach to space flight. “He was not committed to 

space,” recalls Hans Mark, director of NASA’s Ames Research Center and 

later an Air Force Secretary. “Nixon had no real interest in it. He didn’t want 

to be the president that would kill our space program, but he had no personal 

interest in it at all.” 

Mark assesses Paine as “a rank failure” because he was 

a Democrat in a Republican administration. Just to give you an idea of why 

I think Nixon didn’t give a damn about the space program, he didn’t go out 

and look for a strong Administratox What better way to have a pliant NASA 

than to have a Democrat sitting there exposed to his people? When Paine was 

confirmed as Administrator under Nixon, my reaction was, “Oh, my Godnobody is going to pay any attention to us.” 

Willis Shapley recalls that Paine initially 

had expected to be fired because he was a liberal Democrat. And Nixon 

delayed in replacing the Administrator of NASA for a long time. Suddenly, 

they realized that with the Apollo program coming up and a reasonable 

chance that it might have failed spectacularly, they wanted to distance them16. NASA SP-4102, p. 309; Logsdon, ApoZlo, pp, 1-14, 11-12,111-2. 

115 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

selves from the Apollo program. That led to, by pretty straightfornard political logic, “All right, this was Kennedy’s program: it’s going to be Kennedy’s 

failure, and here’s a liberal Democrat, Tom Paine. All right, he can be the fall 

guy. Also, we can’t3nd anybody else for the job.” So that’s how Tom Paine 

became Administrator of NASA, 

Space Shuttle Studies Continue 

Amid drama near the Moon and change in Washington, NASA plugged 

ahead, as space shuttle studies continued to receive their modest share of 

attention. As early as October 1966, a meeting in Houston brought together 

officials from NASA Headquarters, NASA-Marshall, and the Manned 

Spacecraft Center. They began to plan ajoint study of Space Shuttles to provide logistics for a space station. A month earlier, a joint Air Force-NASA 

study had concluded that “no single, most desirable vehicle concept could be 

identified... for satisfying future DoD and NASA objectives.”18 The participants in the Houston meeting hoped to create a united front within NASA. 

Noting the substantial number of studies already available, Daniel Schnyer, 

representing the Office of Manned Space Flight, declared that “we have a vast 

store of knowledge to draw on, and should now be able to get together and 

decide on an agency concept for the entire logistic system.” 

This meeting was sufficiently noteworthy for Max Akridge, a representative from NASA-Marshall, to describe it as “the beginning of the space shuttle 

as SUC~.’’’~Little came of it; as George Mueller learned when he hosted his 

symposium in January 1968, various groups and designers were still pursuing 

their individual approaches. Still, NASA Marshall would now work in tandem 

with the Manned Spacecraft Center. This joint approach was in the forefront 

when, in October 1968, managers from these two centers launched a new 

round of space shuttle studies. 

Why could NASA not order up a definitive treatment of some particular 

concept, such as Lockheed’s Star-Clipper, and be done with it? NASA needed 

such studies because there was no way to get such a definitive treatment, at 

17. John Mauer interview,Willis Shapley, October 26, 1984, p. 7; interview, Hans Mark, Austin, Texas, 

October 16, 1991,pp. 9-10. 

18. Ames, chairman, Report, p. 1. 

19. Akridge, Space Shuttle, pp. 25-26. 

116 
Mars and Other Dream Worlds 

least not with the modest sums available to underwrite individual studies. Like 

professors reviewing a graduate student’s dissertation, senior managers could 

always read the report of a particular study and raise new questions, new topics 

for further examination. Similarly, like grad students who look for jobs 

wherein they can continue their dissertation research, engineers and managers 

were eager to carry forward with new design exercises and further analyses. 

They would continue to do this as long as funding remained available. 

George Mueller was the man behind the new activity. In the wake of the 

1968 election, his hopes were high. In mid-December, just prior to the launch 

of ApoIlo 8, he talked with Wernher von Braun and chided him: “You’d been 

telling me that my space shuttle was in the future and you needed an interim 

system,” such as the Titan 111-M. Mueller predicted that the new president 

would want to go “all out,” adding that “this may be the big program for 

Nixon.” Von Braun replied, “If Nixon wants to spend $3 billion, who am I to 

say no?”20 

Initial activity revolved around a formal Request for Proposal, issued 

October 30. It represented an invitation for interested companies to describe the 

studies they hoped to conduct. Responses were due by the end of November. In 

the parlance of the day, the spacecraft under consideration were described anew 

as Integrated Launch and Reentry Vehicles, with the new studies representing 

a continuation of work funded by the Air Force under that designation. 

The study contracts, signed at the end of January 1969, called for all 

designs to follow a common set of ground rules. The Statement of Work defined 

the basic mission as the resupply of a space station, in an orbit with 55-degree 

inclination. Each vehicle was to carry 12 people, as passengers and crew, or a 

payload of 25,000 pounds. Contractors were also to present variations of their 

basic designs, to accommodate payloads ranging from 5,000 to 50,000pounds. 

Payload bays were to provide cargo volume of at least 3,000 cubic feet; when 

returning from orbit, these vehicles were to cany at least 2,500 pounds. 

Designers were to seek to achieve aircraft-like checkout and ease of maintenance, including readiness for rapid launch in as little as 24 hours. 

North American Aviation (NAA), which now had the name of North 

American Rockwell after having merged with the firm of Rockwell 

International, took a contract. It was to study new low-cost expendable 

20. Ibid.,pp. 47-48. 

117 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

boosters with reusable upper stages. Having ruled out existing expendables 

such as the Saturn I-B or Titan 111-C, NASA welcomed new concepts. 

Lockheed was told to concentrate its effort on new studies of stage-anda-half configurations such as the Star-Clipper. The new topics would include 

use of solid- or liquid-fueled booster stages that would ignite at liftoff. (Here 

was another glimpse of the future; the final Shuttle configuration, three years 

later, would use such solid boosters.) In addition to this, Lockheed was to 

develop its own versions of the Triamese concept for comparison with those 

of General Dynamics (GD). 

GD focused on two-stage fully-reusable approaches, excluding stageand-a-half designs. GD’s configurations therefore demanded a “flyback first 

stage,” capable of returning to the launch site, and this fm’s engineers were 

to consider unpiloted concepts. The Triamese approach was to remain an 

important though not predominant focus of effort. At the same time, NASA 

officials raised a new question: Is there a way to design a flyback first stage 

that could develop into a Triamese vehicle? 

McDonnell Douglas, home of the Tip Tank stage-and-a-half concept, was 

to study it anew. Like Lockheed, this firm was to look at the use of booster 

stages; in addition to this, its investigators would study fully-reusable concepts. These became central to this company’s efforts as the study progressed 

during 1969. 

At first glance, these contracts promised more of the same. One could see 

a few new faces in the crowd. Martin Marietta failed to win a study contract 

while North American Rockwell, builder of the Apollo spacecraft and the 

second stage of the Saturn V, won instead. The promised concepts, however, 

amounted to new variations on old themes. No one was offering anything so 

original as Max Hunter’s stage-and-a-half approach, and each of the four 

studies had only $300,000 in funding?’ 

In the light of subsequent events, one notes particularly the strong emphasis on space station logistics. The study requirements placed little weight on 

contractor concepts that would specialize in carrying automated spacecraft as 

payloads. Yet there was a reason for this focus on space station logistics: Tom 

Paine wanted such a station, and was pushing hard in Washington to win 

approval to build it. 

21. Ibid.,pp. 46-53,55-51. 

118 
Mars and Other Dream Worlds 

Space Shuttle Policy: Opening Gambits 

George Mueller believed strongly in convening advisory boards, and in sponsoring studies of future programs. One of his ongoing panels, the Science and 

Technology Advisory Committee (STAC), sought to bring top-level scientists 

into consultation with his Office of Manned Space Flight (OMSF). Many scientists were strongly skeptical of the OMSF and its works; they regarded 

Apollo as a costly extravagance, and argued instead for less costly automated 

spacecraft. STAC scientists, who at least were not vocal in their opposition, 

gave OMSF access to high-quality scientific advice. It also offered a counter 

to criticism from the scientific community. The chairman of STAC, Charles 

Townes, was a physicist who had shared a Nobel Prize for work leading to the 

invention of the laser.22 

In December 1968, a month after the election, Townes agreed to chair an 

advisory group that would make recommendations to the new administration 

on space policy. The group’s members included Robert Seamans, who had 

been NASA’s Deputy Administrator. Other members, including Townes, had 

served on the President’s Science Advisory Committee panel that had prepared the 1967 report, The Space Program in the Post-Apollo Period. 

Townes’s group included at least one true believer: Francis Clauser, vicechancellor of the University of California at Santa Cmz, who was about to 

take over as chairman of the college of engineering at Calte~h.’~ In a letter 

appended to the final report, Clauser urged Nixon to 

chart a bold program ...1 think our rate of development can be considerably 

more rapid than presented in the task force report. For example, I believe we 

can place men on Mars before 1980.At the same time we can develop economical space transportation which will permit extensive exploration of the 

moon. 

On the whole, however, the new report was considerably more cautious in 

tone than the PSAC review of 1967. On NASA’s future, Townes’ panelists 

agreed that “we do not recommend a commitment now to a large space sta22. Logsdon, Apollo. p. 1-16. 

23. Ibid.,p. 1-23. Long, chairman, Space Program, p. v; Asrronautzcr &Aeronautics, May 1969, p. 35; 

Townes, chamnan, Report, letter attached. Reprinted 1n NASA SP-4407, vol. I, p. 5 12. 

119 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECZSZON 

tion, extensive development of ‘low-cost boosters,’ or a manned planetary 

expedition.” The panel called for “a new look...at the balance between the 

manned and unmanned segments of the NASA space program.” Asserting in 

effect that the existing program was badly out of balance, the report proposed 

redress: “an active and successful manned program for several years while at 

the same time steadily decreasing the level of funding for manned space flight 

to perhaps $1.25 billion by fiscal 1972.” 

On a space station: 

We are against any present commitment to the construction of a large 

space station .... The “manraed space station” concept, proposed as a program for the late 1970s, is on much more doubtjiul ground. It is much too 

ambitious to be consistent with the present clear needs for continued exploration of man’s usefulness in space. On the other hand, it is not obviously an 

efective way of continuing to demonstrate for prestige purposes our manned 

space capabili ty.... It therefore seems premature to make any firm program 

decisions regarding the proposed manned space station. 

On a space shuttle: 

The unit costs of boosting payloads into space can be substantially 

reduced, but this requires an increased number offlights, or such an increase 

coupled with an expensive development program. We do not recommend initiation of such a development, 

On piloted flight to Mars: 

The great majority of the task force is not in favor of a commitment at 

present to a manned planetary lander or orbitex...It would be undesirable 

to define at this time a new goal that is both very ambitious in scope and 

highly restrictive in schedule, for example a manned landing on Mars 

before 1985, even though such a goal might be achievable. Such a commitment, adopted now, might inhibit our ability to establish a proper balance 

between the manned space program and the scient@ and applications programs.24 

24. Townes, chairman, Report. In NASA SP-4407, vol. I, pp. 499-512. 

120 
Mars and Other Dream Worlds 

This report, released in January 1969 prior to the inauguration, was not to 

Paine’s liking. In a written critique, he noted 

its repeated opposition to the word “commitment.” We must not commit, the 

report says, to a space station, to low-cost space transportation, to manned 

planetary exploration. I can understand this reluctance to make commitments, but I cannot sympathize with or accept it. I understand that the word 

“commitment’’ means to many scientists the type of commitment we made to 

Apollo, but I do not agree with those who regret or deplore that commitment. 

They see only its disadvantages .... 

We have been frustrated too long by a negativism that says hold back, be 

cautious, take no risks,doless than you are capable of doing. I submit that no 

perceptive student of the history of social progress doubts that we will establish a large laboratory in earth orbit, that we will provide a practical system 

for the frequent transfer of men and supplies to and from such a laboratory, 

that we will continue to send men to the Moon, and that eventually we will 

send men to the planets. If this is true, now is the time to say so. Now is the 

timefor the President of the United States to say, “This country will establish 

a scientific laboratory in earth orbit. This country will develop a practical 

space transportation system. This country will send men to the planets.”25 

By then, Richard Nixon was in the White House and was dealing with the 

federal budget. Preparing a budget for a particuIar fiscal year (FY) took time; 

though elected in 1968 and inaugurated in 1969, the first budget that would 

be truly Nixon’s own would cover FY 1971. At the moment he was dealing 

with the budget for FY 1970 that would begin in mid-1969. Like other new 

presidents, Nixon, seeking to contrast his own financial prudence with the 

spendthrift ways of his predecessor, ordered his department heads to look for 

ways to make cuts. 

The new Director of the Bureau of the Budget, Robert Mayo, wrote a government-wide letter to those heads of agencies on January 23, asking them to 

review their portions of President Johnson’s FY 1970 budget and to propose 

areas where spending might be reduced. Paine took this as an invitation to 

press instead for an increase. A month later, Paine replied to Mayo with a 

25. Letter, Paine to DuBridge, May 6, 1969. 

121 
THE SPACE SHUTILE DECISION 

Robert Mayo, right, with Nixon and Treasury Secretary, Dad M. Kennedy. 

(National Archives) 

seven-page letter, single spaced. Its crux required little more than a single 

line: “In our judgment the NASA FY 1970 budget is deficient by $198 million from the amount required.”z6 

Mayo slapped this down in a hurry. It took him only a few days to reply 

with a letter to Paine: “I am not prepared at this time to recommend to the 

President approval of your requested budget increase.” He also wrote to 

Nixon: “Our fwst look at the agency recommendations ...shows many more 

increases than decreases. In total these requests, if granted, would make precarious if not impossible the attainment of the surplus forecast by the previous 

Administration.” He advised the President to “make no statements endorsing 

future space objectives” pending extensive further review, which would 

include “the total budget context.”” 

Mayo’s staff went on to request a $90 million cut in the NASA budget, 

where Paine had sought a $198 million increase. While Paine succeeded in 

winning some relief, the final BOBcut still came to $45 million. Part of a $5.5 

26. Logsdon, Apollo, Chapter 3, pp. 2-3; letter, Paine to Mayo, February 24, 1969. 

27. Memo, Mayo to Nixon, March 3, 1969; letter, Mayo to Paine, March 3, 1969.Quoted in Logsdon, Apollo, 

p. 111-7. 

122 
Mars and Other Dream Worlds 

billion cut in an overall federal budget of $200 billion for FT1970, this represented no more than NASA’s fair share. This, however, was no way to build 

a post-Apollo future.28 

Nevertheless, the Nixon administration was preparing to chart its own 

course toward that future, with Paine having a hand in the planning. In 

December 1968, during the transition between administrations, Nixon had 

selected A. Lee DuBridge, the president of Caltech, to be his new science 

advisor. At Caltech, DuBridge’s purview had included the Jet Propulsion 

Laboratory, the nation’s principal center for automated exploration of the 

Moon and planets operated by this university under contract to NASA. Like 

many of his fellow scientists, however, DuBridge was skeptical of the value 

of piloted space flight. He favored paying greater attention to automated missions, and he knew them well.29 

The Townes panel had cast its net broadly, offering recommendations that 

dealt with international cooperation in space, issues of NASA’s internal organization and of its relations with the Defense Department, and even matters 

that could require new legislation in Congress.30 The economist Arthur 

Burns, a Nixon advisor, proposed that DuBridge should direct a new study 

that would further address these issues. On February 4, Nixon responded 

with a memo to DuBridge: 

There is general agreement that our space eflorts should continue, although 

there are notable diflerences of opinion in regard to spec@ projects and the 

amount of annual funding. 

The report from Arthur Burns’ group ...proposes the establishment of an 

interagency committee which would include you, the Administrator of NASA, 

and a senior oficial from the Department of Defense. The primary function 

of this committee would be to fimish recommendations to me on the scope 

and direction of our Post Apollo Space Pr~gram.~’ 

As the president’s science advisor, DuBridge served as director of the 

Office of Science and Technology (OST), one of a myriad of special-purpose 

28. Logsdon, Apollo, p. 111-10. 

29. Ibid.,p. II-23, NASA SP-4102, p. 15. 

30. Townes, charman, Report, pp. 22-28. Reprinted in NASA SP-4407, vol. I, pp. 509-51 1. 

3 I. Memo, Nixon to DuBridge, February 4, 1969. 

123 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

bureaus within the Executive Branch. OST staff members proceeded to draft 

a directive which represented an attempt to give DuBridge the leadership of 

this review of space policy. No NASA officials took part in drafting this directive, for in the words of one OST staffer, Russell Drew, “there was a concern 

that we would be called upon to rubber-stamp a NASA document, which we 

did not want to do.”32 

Learning of this ploy, Paine protested strongly. He disliked the idea that 

DuBridge and the OST might present him with plans sanctioned by Nixon 

that he then would have to execute; as he later put it, “YOU never want one 

bunch of guys to do the planning and another bunch to carry it out.” 

Nevertheless, Paine’s position was quite weak at that moment. He was no 

more than Acting Administrator, and because he had sent in his resignation, 

he was merely serving from day to day at Nixon’s pleasure, pending appointment of a replacement. 

But Paine, a Democrat in a Republican administration, was not about to 

play the patsy. As he later recalled, 

I was the person directly reporting to the President, responsible for the space 

program even though I was only the acting rather than the full Administrator: 

I nevertheless took the view that I was acting for the new Administrator whoever he might be, and that it was very important that I not give away any of 

the authority and responsibili ty... to an advisory staff function [the OST]even 

though that staff function might reside in the White House .... 

I took the very early and the very strong view. ..that this must recite the 

fact that NASA would be responsible for setting up the NASA portion of this, 

that the Air Force and the DoD would be responsible for the military portion 

of the space program; and that we then review it with other responsible 

people...to make it reflect a broad Administration-wide consensus. 

Paine won his argument, in what he called “a rather typical Washington 

power struggle.”33 

If not the OST and Lee DuBridge, who would direct this interagency study? 

The answer lay in the original Space Act of 1958that had created a policymak32. Logsdon, Ap0110, p. IV-4. 

33. Interview,ThomasPaine, September3, 1970,pp. 5-6. 

124 
Mars and Other Dream Worlds 

ing body, the National Aeronautics and Space Council (NASC). Its members 

included representatives from all federal agencies with an important interest in 

space: NASA, the DoD, the AEC and the State Department, the latter because 

the space program required overseas tracking stations and featured cooperation 

with scientists of other nations. Though by law the Vice President chaired this 

body, it had never done much. The recent Townes panel described it as “not very 

effective,” noting that Nixon might ask Congress to abolish it. 

The ineffectiveness of the NASC matched that of its new chairman, Vice 

President Spiro Agnew. He was in a position familiar to new vice presidents, 

for he had little to do and was looking for ways to make himself useful. In 

Paine’s words, “at that time, he hadn’t figured out what his role was going to 

be in the administration.” He willingly agreed to chair the new interagency 

review, which would go forward within a committee called the Space Task 

Group (STG>.34 

On February 13,Nixon issued a new memo confirming this arrangement. 

DuBridge was to join the STG and provide its staff. Paine would also be a 

member. Nixon initially designated Secretary of Defense Melvin Laird as a 

third member. Laird, however, chose instead to appoint a representative: 

Robert Seamans, lately the number two man in NASA and now recalled from 

MIT to become the new Air Force Secretary. 

The group held an initial meeting on March 7, with Agnew in the chair. 

This meeting served to organize the group’s activities. Nixon had directed the 

STG “to prepare for me a coordinated program and budget proposal”; hence 

it was appropriate to invite Robert Mayo, director of the Budget Bureau, to sit 

with the group as an observer. The STG issued similar invitations to two 

others: Glenn Seaborg, chairman of the AEC, and U. Alexis Johnson, 

Undersecretary of State for Political Affairs.35 

Already Paine was wooing Agnew vigorously, for Agnew had no background in space-he had been governor of Maryland-and proved amenable 

to Paine’s bold planning. The Apollo 9 mission flew during that month, atop 

a Saturn V, which carried a lunar module into E& orbit along with three 

astronauts in an Apollo spacecraft. This represented the first test flight of a 

34. Ibrd., p 7; NASA SP-4102, p. 15; Townes, chairman, Report, pp. 7, 27. Reprinted In NASA SP-4407, vol. 

I, pp. 502,511. 

35. Logsdon,Apollo, Chapter 4, pp. 5-7; memo, Nixon to Agnew et al., February 13, 1969 Reprinted in 

NASA SP-4407,VOI. I, pp. 512-513. 

125 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

complete moonship. Paine invited Agnew to come to Cape Canaveral on the 

day of the launch, as an honored guest. While DuBridge and Seamans were 

there, it was Agnew who received special treatment. He was given a tour of 

the moonport, with astronauts as his escorts. These included Frank Borman, 

who had commanded Apollo 

The STG held a second meeting two weeks later. Seamans, seeing “considerable military interest and potential use” for a shuttle, won agreement that 

a joint NASA/DoD pane1 would study it anew. Paine called for “a new banner 

to be hoisted,” as daring as Apollo, around which the nation might rally. 

Agnew pursued this thought: Where was the Apollo of the 1970s? Could it be 

that the United States should undertake a human expedition to Mars? The 

issue flickered only momentarily for it was too early for such plans to catch 

fire. Agnew and Paine, however, would return to this topic anew in subsequent 

months.37 

The Townes study, the setting-up of the STG, and Paine’s attempt to boost 

his budget all took place between December 1968 and the following March. 

For Paine, the record was mixed. He sat and watched while Townes’ panelists 

proposed to do little in space that was new. He had lost in his opening 

encounter with Mayo. He had succeeded, however, in shaping the STG to his 

liking and had reason to think he would have Agnew as an ally, with Seamans 

as another highly knowledgeable participant. 

The second STG meeting was the last such full-dress meeting until 

August. During the intervening months, participants would call on planning 

groups to develop specific proposals. Paine was already doing this, for while 

he might have little clout at the Budget Bureau, on his own turf he was king. 

He wanted a space station and a great deal more, and was already working 

with colleagues to determine the designs. 

S~~ce Sta~Qn 

There was little fundamentally new in the realm of space shuttle design; the 

same was true of space stations. The studies of the 1960s had emphasized 

concepts such as the Manned Orbiting Research Laboratory of Douglas 

36 Thompson, ed.,Space Log, vol. 27 (1991),p 107;“Visit by the Vice President, Kennedy Space Center,” 

March 3, 1969 Thomas Pane papers, Library of Congress. 

37 Logsdon, Apollo, Chapter 4, pp. 8, 9. 

126 
Mars and Other Dream Worlds 

Aircraft, carrying crews of six to nine people and using the Saturn I-B for 

logistics. This approach had continued to win attention, with a recent version 

including a component called the Manned Orbiting Module. The name had 

been chosen with care, for as one NASA official put it, “What congressman 

would dare vote against anything called MOM?’38 

Paine wanted more. He not only wanted new and more detailed studies; he 

wanted new thinking, and he was not shy about giving pep talks. Thus, in a letter 

to the director of NASA’s Lewis Research Center in mid-January, he noted 

the need to outline bold objectives for the Space Station program. Modest 

goals, which tax neither our own creativity nor the potential advances of 

our industrial technology, are not worthy successors to those of Apollo.... 

Please review this draft work statement thoroughly, and submit a revised 

document which proposes a substantially stronger and bolder US. Space 

Station Program.39 

A month later, addressing a symposium on space stations at NASA 

Langley, Paine stated openly that the inspiration for his agenda came from the 

Collier’s series of the early 1950s: 

Seventeen years ago a group offorward-looking scientists and engineers proposed that the United States undertake the construction of a large space 

station over a ten-year period at a cost of $4 billion.... The space station, a 

250-foot-diameter ring with artijicial gravity and solar powel; was to be put 

into a 1,075-mile altitude high-inclination orbit .... 

The scientists who worked with Collier’s Magazine on this proposal 

included Dr. Wernher von Braun, Dr. Fred L. Whipple,Dr. Joseph Kaplan, DI: 

Heinz Haber and MK Willy Ley.... Their timetable for space exploration 

included an orbiting space station by 1967 and a possible jrst lunar landing 

by 1977. Five years before Sputnik the scientists warned: “What you will read 

here is not sciencejction. It is serious fact. Moreovel; it is an urgent warning 

that the U.S. must immediately embark on a long-range development program 

to secure for the West ‘space superiority.’ If we do not, somebody else will. 

That somebody else very probably would be the Soviet Union.’’ ... 

38. Aviation Week October21, 1968, pp. 25, 26. 

39. Letter, Paine lo Silverstein,January 14, 1969. 

127 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

As we meet here today the United States stands at the end of theJirst 

decade in space looking forward to the second. ... But we are still looking forward to the establishment of that projected major research laboratory in the 

sky, the permanent US. space station accessed by a low-cost space shuttle.40 

Yet though Paine was sounding a clarion call, in a vital respect he was 

blowing an uncertain trumpet, for his center directors lacked clear direction 

as to what they were to produce. They were quite ready to boldly go where no 

one had gone before, but their engineers needed more than 2001: A Space 

Odyssey when drawing up their specifications. In particular, they needed a 

well-drawn Statement of Work to direct the new space station studies. Paine, 

addressing this issue as well, had recently convened a meeting of those directors for this purpose. 

The draft Statement of‘Work of that moment was the seventh in a series, 

and everyone agreed it left much to be desired. Abe Silverstein of NASALewis, who had received Paine’s letter of mid-January, cited three criteria in 

evaluating the draft: “Would contractors receiving this in the mail know what 

to do? Could we evaluate their responses? Could the project be completed to 

meet our specs within time and money?” 

He added that “the number-seven draft document fails to meet these criteria and cannot be edited to meet these criteria. NASA is asking-in mushy 

language-for something we should know ourselves before going out.” He 

then gave a list of “things we need to do more homework on”: size, weight, 

orbits, programs and experiments, power, logistic support, and communications. “We need to define all these factors for the contractors,” he concluded. 

“In essence, tell them clearly what NASA wants. We need a document that 

defines the basics.” 

With even the basics left undefined, Robert Gilruth of the Manned 

Spacecraft Center was willing to fill in the blanks in a very expansive spirit: 

This work statement doesn’t set NASA’s sights high enough for the future. We 

should now be looking at a step more comparable in challenge to that of 

Apollo after Mercury. The space station size should be modular and based on 

our Saturn V lift capability into 200-mile orbit. Three launches would give us 

40. Paine, speech, February 11, 1969. 

128 
Mars and Other Dream Worlds 

one million pounds in orbit, including spent stages. That is the number we 

should be planning for the core size. 

Gilruth predicted a need for “nuclear power of several hundred kilowatts. The 

design should also emphasize the utility of the space base as a way-station to 

the moon and Mars.” 

Wernher von Braun, representing NASA Marshall, proposed a specific 

approach: 

Tell the contractors what we want in the long run, what we foresee as the ultimate, the long-range, the dream-station program. Then NASA should define 

a 1975 station as a core facility in orbit from which the ultimate “space 

campus” or “space base” can grow in an eficient orderly evolution through 

1985. We should start in 1975 to launch the basic core of the space station or 

space base that we want to be operating in 1980, providing planned orderly 

growth capability.“ 

This meeting took place late in January. Over the next several weeks 

Charles Mathews, George Mueller’s deputy at the OMSF in Washington, 

developed new guidelines that now called for two space stations: an initial 

concept for the short term and a blue-sky version as a follow-on project. 

However, the latter would show a close relation to the former, for the initial 

space station would serve as a module or building block. By launching several of them and linking them together in orbit, NASA could assemble a true 

space base, with accommodation for as many as a hundred people. 

This brought a highly compelling concept for a space station program 

that could extend through the 1970s and beyond. The basic space station 

would not resemble MORL, with its crew of six. Instead, it was to provide 

room for as many as 12 people. It would have a diameter of 33 feet, compared to the 22 feet of MORL, and would fly on the Saturn V. NASA would 

resupply this station using the Saturn I-B or the Titan 111-M, with the chosen 

launch vehicle carrying a modified Gemini spacecraft called Big G. The 

standard Gemini had carried two people; Big G would retain that spacecraft 

as a cockpit or flight deck, while adding a passenger section with 7 to 10 

additional seats. 

41. Paine, notes, January 27, 1969. 

129 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

This station would be in orbit as early as 1975. Modules of similar size, 

brought up on their own Saturn V vehicles, would then build it into the find 

space base, with enough people to fill an office building. After 1975, a space 

shuttle would become available, and would replace Big G along with its 

expendable 

Here indeed was the boldness Paine wanted. Part of what made this scenario exciting was that, in its essence, it called for no more than a modest 

extension of concepts with which everyone was familiar. The new station 

would represent something of a stretch when compared with MORL,, but its 

design would rest solidly on the foundation of earlier studies, and it would 

use the Saturn V. Its logistics vehicle was old hat; the Big G concept had been 

around since 1967. The space base would grow from the basic station in a 

natural way, with a space shuttle-another well-known concept-complementing it strongly. 

With these plans evolving rapidly, Paine received a request from the 

White House dated February 17, in which Nixon solicited his views on issues 

of policy in space and aeronautics. Paine responded by pouring out his heart 

in a nine-page letter, again single-spaced. He wanted his space station, naturally, and he not only wanted a presidential commitment; he wanted it quickly. 

This letter represented an attempt to bypass the deliberations of the Space 

Task Group, even though Paine was one of its members. It also bypassed the 

normal budget process. 

While that was awkward, Paine and Nixon were both aware that the STG 

would require the entire spring and summer to carry through with its work, 

and Paine wrote that the matter was too urgent to wait. He brashly played the 

Soviet card, warning that Moscow was “pushing toward a dominant position 

in large-scale long-duration space station operations in Earth orbit .... Their 

moving clearly ahead of the US. in this field would have a continuing impact 

on the rest of the world.” The Soviets might make their move as early as that 

summer. This would “take the edge off your announcement of a similar U.S. 

objective in the fdl.’’43 

Paine knew his man. Nixon had lost the presidency to Kennedy by a 

whisker-thin margin in 1960 partly because Kennedy had warned that the 

42. Aviation Week June 19,1967, pp. 20-21; February 24, 1969, pp. 16-17; Report H321 (McDonnell 

Douglas); bgsdon, Apollo, chapter 3, pp. 23-24. 

43. Memo, Paine to Nixon, February 26, 1969. Repnnted in NASA SPW, YO]. I, pp. 513-519. 

130 
Mars and Other Dream Worlds 

Russians were ahead of us in the space race. Nixon, however, refused to bite. 

He replied to Paine with a courteous note that put the space station issue firmly 

in the hands of the STG. The PSAC also declined to support NASA, as Lewis 

Branscomb, chairman of its panel on space science and technology, wrote that 

if one does not accept the argument that potential Soviet competition in this 

area compels establishment of the space station at the earliest date, there 

does not seem to be a compelling operational requirement for a specijic 

target date.44 

The work of Mathews and his colleagues now gave a firm basis for a suitable Statement of Work that could guide the new round of space station 

studies. On April 19, this document went out to prospective contractors. There 

would be two study contracts of $2.9 million each, one managed by NASA 

Marshall and the other by the Manned Spacecraft Center, with NASA 

Headquarters providing coordination. The studies were to put more than half 

their efforts into defining the basic station with its crew of 12. These studies 

were also to address issues involving logistic systems, along with concept definition of the eventual space base.45 

Space Shuttles Receive New Attention 

Money talks, and the initial funding of the 1969 Space Shuttle studies showed 

that these held lower priority than those of the space station. While the station 

studies came to,$5.8 million, there was only $1.2 million at first for shuttle 

work. This would be divided among four contractors who were to pursue their 

studies for no more than six months.46 

Shuttles would now win new attention, for these studies would feed into 

the work of the STG. George Mueller then set up a program office almost 

overnight. To direct it, he picked LeRoy E. Day, an Apollo manager who was 

two levels down from him on the organization chart. It was April; the Apollo 

10 mission was only weeks away, and Day was deeply immersed in preparation for a key pre-launch review. 

44. Memo, Nixon to Paine, March 7, 1969; Logsdon, Apollo, p. III-8. 

45. Logsdon,Apollo, chapter 3, pp. 24-26. 

46. Aviarion Week,February 10, 1969, p. 17. 

131 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Day went into Mueller’s office, expecting to discuss this upcoming flight, 

and saw him covering a blackboard with notes on the Space Shuttle. Day knew 

that this would not concern him; it was completely foreign to him in any case, 

so he waited politely for Mueller to finish. The following discussion ensued: 

Mueller: I want you to really get going on the space shuttle. We’ve got a 

whole series of things to be done. We have to complete reports in about 

sixty days here, and then we have to negotiate with the DOD. 

Day: George, what does all this have to do with me? 

Mueller: Well, this is what I want you to do. 

Day: But you haven’t said anything about me leaving my job inApollo. You 

know we ?-e just getting ready for the flight readiness review on Apollo 10. 

Mueller: I understand all that, but I want you to work on the shuttle. I need 

somebody to really head up this stu. and I want you to do it. 

Day: Well, gee, I guess-let me go back and kind of timeline how I can get 

disengaged and come back with some dates to you, and then we’ll talk 

about it, and maybe-I guess I can get out in a couple of weeks, right after 

this flight readiness review. 

Mueller: No. You don’t understand. I want you over here now to begin work 

on the shuttle. 

Day: What does “now” mean? 

Mueller: Tomorrow morning. 

It was past four in the afternoon, and Day felt that he was completely 

over his head. He felt even more intimidated when Mueller said that they 

were to write a proposal for the President’s Space Task Group, which would 

go on to the White House. Mueller assured him that he would not be alone: 

“You’ll have practically a blank check. You’ll be able to get people-whoever you need.”47 

Paine was also taking action, in concert with the new Air Force Secretary, 

Robert Seamans. Their staffs had discussed the formal Terms of Reference for 

a new joint study of space transportation. Less than three years earlier, a similar joint study had found no design concept that could satisfy the needs of 

both NASA and the Pentagon. The STG, however, had called for this new 

47. John Mauer interview, LeRoy Day, October 17, 1983, pp. 1-3. 

132 
Mars and Other Dream Worlds 

study, and Paine and Seamans agreed that it would go forward in two parts. 

At first the DoD and NASA would work separately, each defining the Space 

Shuttle concepts that would suit its own needs. The two agencies then would 

work together, seeking to meld their approaches, and would “recommend a 

preferred concept.” A joint committee would manage both phases of the 

effort, with the co-chairmen being Mueller and Grant Hansen, Assistant 

Secretary of the Air Force for Research and Development. The study was to 

be brief; by mid-June, a joint report was to be ready for the STG.48 

Early in May, Mueller hosted a meeting of the NASA Space Shuttle study 

contractors and presented them with some new rules. The mission of this 

shuttle had emphasized space station logistics, with a modest payload capacity 

of 25,000 pounds to orbit, 3,000 cubic feet, 2,500 pounds returned from orbit. 

This rationale now was broadening to include the launching of spacecraft, 

many of which would require upper stages to reach high orbits. Mueller told 

the attendees that “the principal carload capacity that we would have would 

probably be liquid hydrogen. So that dictates a fairly low density volume.” 

The new rules called for a payload of 50,000 pounds carried both up and 

down, a volume of 10,000cubic feet. The payload bay could be 15 or even 22 

feet in diameter, the latter accommodating craft that would fit atop an S-IVB. 

This doubling of the payload weight would bring a doubIing in the shuttle’s 

takeoff weight. This would suit the Air Force, which had a strong interest in 

large payloads and had built the Titan 111-C to launch them. 

Mueller had been a professor of electrical engineering during part of the 

1950s. Drawing on this background, he proceeded to lay out a new concept 

for the use of computers to achieve rapid onboard checkout, and to present 

flight crews with the information they would use during a mission. This concept would make it possible for a small ground crew to carry out the preflight 

checks, achieving true aircraft-like simplicity. 

Mueller called for designers to equip individual shuttle components, such 

as rocket engines, with sensors that would monitor their condition. Each component would cany a black box that would keep track of measured 

parameters. At any moment, some parameters would stand within acceptable 

limits, while others would lie outside such limits. Still other parameters would 

48. Am-, chairman, Report, p. 1; Logsdon, Apollo, p. IV-9; ‘Terns of Reference for Joint NASA/DOD Study 

of Space Transportation Systems,” April 11, 1969. Reprinted in NASA SP-4407, vol. 11, pp. 364-365. 

133 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

be within bounds at that moment, but would be drifting toward unfavorable 

values. In response to a query from the computer, each black box could 

answer in turn:“I am well,” with all parameters within limits. A particular box 

might answer, “I am sick,” with one or more parameters outside the safe zone. 

Similarly, a box might respond, “I am about to get sick,” with a parameter 

drifting toward danger. Further queries from the computer then could identify 

the bad parameters and permit cures. 

Mueller also wanted the onboard computer to take the initiative in presenting data to the flight crew. While the data would be available on 

flight-deck instruments, a pilot might easily miss something because there 

would be many such instrument displays. Mueller preferred to “have the computer sweeping the cabin and looking at the end points of the gauges, and 

when one is going off from where it ought to be it can flash and show you 

what the reading is and what it ought to be and tell you what is wrong.” With 

the computer running a display, “it provides you with the information you 

need when you need it, but it does not spread that information out over so 

many instrument~.”~~ 

On May 19, two weeks after this meeting, LeRoy Day’s task group submitted an initial report. It represented a milestone in presenting the Space 

Shuttle concept as one that might win serious support, for it broadened the 

rationale while narrowing the range of acceptable design approaches. 

Since the early 1960s, shuttle advocates had been bedeviled by a multiplicity of reusable launch vehicle concepts, all of which could claim the name 

of a shuttle. In their day these had included boosters powered by scramjets or 

by LACE, horizontal-takeoff vehicles employing a rocket sled, and behemoths 

such as the Nexus that matched the weight of an ocean liner. These had fallen 

by the wayside, but the range of concepts had remained uncomfortably broad: 

expendable boosters with reusable upper stages, stage-and-a-half partiallyreusable configurations such as Lockheed’s Star-Clipper, two-stage 

fully-reusables such as General Dynamics’s Triamese. This was somewhat like 

having the Air Force propose to build a new military airplane, without specifying whether it would be a fighter, bomber, or transport. 

The May 19 report now rejected the use of an expendable booster. To 

meet Mueller’s new requirements, such a launch vehicle would have to be 

49. Muelier, Briefing, May 5, 1969 

134 
Mars and Other Dream Worlds 

larger than a Saturn V. It might use a big solid-propellant first stage or rely on 

low-cost liquid-fueled engines, making it cheaper to buy and fly. This vehicle, however, would splash into the Atlantic every time one of them 

flew-something that NASA was not about to do. After all, the goal from the 

start had been to move well beyond the Saturn V, not to develop it anew in a 

less costly version. In the words of the. report, “Fully reusable or near fully 

reusable systems offer the maximum potential for an economic and versatile 

space shuttle system.” 

The report also broadened the rationale. To NASA, though not to the Air 

Force, a shuttle had pimarily held the promise of low-cost logistic support for 

a space station. That made it a speculation nested within a speculation, for the 

station existed only at the level of designs and dreams. The report now added 

several attractive types of missions ,that reflected current practice or that built 

on current activities in plausible ways. This broadened rationale also made it 

more likely that NASA could come up with a configuration that would win 

Air Force support, thus further widening its usefulness. 

A shuttle might not only place satellites in orbit; it could service them. 

Standard practice amounted to shooting and hoping, as ground crews 

launched their rockets and trusted their spacecraft to work. A shuttle crew, 

however, could check out a satellite after carrying it to orbit, ensuring that it 

was functioning properly. If a costly spacecraft failed in orbit, a shuttle might 

fly up to fix it. A shuttle might also carry it to a repair facility within a space 

station, or return it to Earth for rebuilding. 

This reusable launch vehicle could also be large enough to carry the 

highly capable Centaur upper stage and powerful enough to carry communications satellites or planetary spacecraft of considerable size. This would 

lower the cost of such launches, by taking advantage of the shuttle’s reusability, without compromising the demands of spacecraft designers by limiting 

this service to payloads of only modest weight. 

A shuttle could also serve as an interim space station, by carrying an 

instrumented and crew-tended module within its payload bay. Such a mission 

might fly for up to thirty days. It could be far less costly than Skylab, while 

offering duration, internal volume, and onboard power considerably beyond 

that of Apollo. 

Here was a new form of boldness: not a warmed-over version of the 

Collier’s agenda, but a well-grounded concept of a completely new approach 

135 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

to the space activities that were already under way or approved. The report continued to list the prime shuttle mission as “space stationhase logistics support.” 

But its breadth of rationale for the first time raised the possibility that a shuttle 

program might take on a life of its own, serving the nation even in the complete 

absence of a station. On these terms, the shuttle could indeed go 

ace ro re s 

Within the STG, Paine represented NASA, Seamans represented the DoD, and 

DuBridge spoke for the scientific community. Though these leaders and their 

constituencies held distinctly different views on the future of space flight, the 

STG would have to reach a consensus if it was to speak with one voice. Much 

of the work of the STG took place outside its infrequent formal meetings, as 

these members commissioned studies that would define their positions. 

NASA already had a well-established planning procedure in place; 

Homer E. Newell, the Associate Administrator, had set it up the previous year 

to develop program options that the Administrator could present to the BOB. 

This procedure featured a dozen working groups that drew broadly on specialists serving the entire range of NASA activities, with one committee 

providing coordination and a second committee-the Planning Steering 

Group-choosing the options that would reach Paine’s desk. Newell took on 

the task of using this machinery to prepare the planning document that Paine 

would take to the STG. 

Though he now held NASA-wide responsibility, Newell had headed the 

Office of Space Science and Applications (OSSA) that dealt with automated 

spacecraft. OSSA had operated in the shadow of the far more powerful Office 

of Manned Space Flight, and Mueller, its director, was not about to defer to 

Newell when it came to planning. Mueller had a planning group of his own at 

Bellcomm, a branch of AT&T with close ties to Bell Labs. This group had furnished NASA with planning analyses during the Apollo program; it too would 

readily serve the needs of the STG.” 

Newell and Mueller initiated their planning exercises in December 1968, 

with the work of the Townes panel under way. Though the STG still lay two 

50. Day, manager, Summav Report, May 19, 1969. 

51. NASA SP-4102, pp. 256-257; Logsdon, Apollo, chapter 4, pp. 17-19,26-27 

I36 
Mars and Other Dream Worlds 

months in the future, Newell hoped to influence the N 197 1 budget that would 

become the subject of serious negotiation during 1969. During that same 

December, Mueller convened another of his planning groups, the Science and 

Technology Advisory Committee (STAC). In the course of that month, Mueller 

told von Braun that Nixon would go all-out and pick the Space Shuttle as his 

big program. STAC reviewed the prospects for piloted space flight and showed 

similar ebullience, calling for “extensive exploration and initial colonization of 

the Moon,” along with planetary missions that would include “a manned expedition to the surface of Mars.” STAC also strongly endorsed the Shuttle, giving 

it highest priority and calling it “the keystone to future development and largescale practical application of the space pr~gram.”~’ 

Armed with this study, Mueller approached Bellcomm. With two pages of 

handwritten notes, he joined a Bellcomm staffer on a flight to Cape Canaveral 

late in March. The two men discussed the outline of what Mueller wanted. It 

amounted to an extension of the space station approach that was taking shape, 

wherein a single module would serve as a building block for later construction of a space base. Similarly, a minimum number of major new systems 

were to serve as many roles as possible.53 

Spurred on by Paine’s desire for boldness, Newell’s planners proceeded 

to develop a scenario calling for a fast-paced effort that would emphasize 

space stations. The program called for an initial station in 1975, with a crew 

of 12, followed quickly by additional stations in polar orbit and in geosynchronous orbit, the latter at an altitude of 22,300 miles. A space shuttle would 

enter service during 1977. At the same time, other stations would be operating in lunar orbit and on the Moon’s surface, while NASA would begin to 

build an Earth-orbiting space base for a crew of 50, 

Newell did not ignore thoughts of piloted flight to Mars. His working 

groups included a task force on planetary exploration. During April he told 

its chairman, Donald Hearth, to write a position paper on “a mid-’70s decision leading to a manned Mars landing in the mid-1980s.’’ Hearth’s target 

date of 1986 gained influence as it made its way upward through the planning process. In July, a draft report for the STG, which reflected Newell’s 

work, proposed “that the United States begin preparing for a manned expe52. NASA SP-196,pp. iii, 5, 12; Logsdon,Apollo, chapter 4, pp. 16-17, IS, 26 

53. Logsdon,Apollo, Chapter 4, pp. 27-28. 

137 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Trans-Mars 

Injection Stages 

Equipment Module 

Pi -+,4------- 37 75 ft Af--------.--) I AEPS Radiator 

33ft. 

.+ 

Radioisotope

Brayton Cycle Power Systems 

Design for a nuclear-powered spaceship for an expedition to Mars. (NorthAmerican Rockwell) 

dition to Mars at an early date.” In turn, such a goal could provide a focus for 

decisions on future programs.54 

Though Mueller also was interested in Mars, he disliked the overall 

approach of Newell’s planning. In sowing the Earth-Moon system thickly with 

space stations, Newell was repeating the basic theme of the ambitious Apollo 

Applications wish list of a few years earlier. Mueller knew from sad experience 

that this would not work. He had tried it, and all it had produced was Skylab. 

54. Ibid., pp. 19-20.23-24,48. 

138 
Mars and Other Dream Worlds 

Newell’s approach smacked of building space stations for their own sake, as if 

NASA was the Bureau of Reclamation with its penchant for dams and water 

projects. The stations also failed to point a clear path toward Mars. 

Mueller, working with the planners at Bellcomm, was devising both an 

integrated program and an integrated set of projects that could carry it out. 

This plan resembled LeRoy Day’s for the shuttle. Day’s plan held a space 

base as a long-term goal but asserted that the shuttle would pay its way in the 

nearer future by launching and servicing payloads. Similarly, while Mueller 

and Bellcomm aimed specifically at Mars, they expected to get there by using 

rockets and spacecraft that would serve a broad range of activities between 

the Earth and the Moon. The key was breadth of application.A version of the 

plan presented to STAC that July stated that “the program of developments 

and flight activities that comprise the integrated space program will expand 

this nation’s capacity for space flight as far as foreseeable development in 

technology will permit.” 

In addition to the Space Shuttle and a space station module, the plan 

called for three new program elements: 

Space Tug: This would serve as a general-purpose vehicle that would be 

based in space, returning to Earth only at rare intervals, if at all. It would draw 

on the ability of the shuttle to carry propellants in substantial quantities. The 

tug would operate as a “utility propulsion module capable of transporting 

men, spacecraft and equipment throughout cislunar space.” It also would provide a ferry from a lunar-orbiting space station to the Moon’s surface. 

Astronaut-Tended Spacecraft: These would include large automated 

telescopes in orbit as well as automated applications satellites. They would 

be designed to take advantage of the shuttle’s capacity for revisit and onorbit maintenance, including the installation of upgraded instruments by the 

flight crews. 

Nuclear Shuttle: This reusable rocket would rely on the NERVA nuclear 

engine. It would operate between low Earth orbit, lunar orbit, and geosynchronous orbit, with its exceptionally high performance enabling it to carry 

heavy payloads and to do considerable amounts of work with limited stores 

of liquid-hydrogen propellant. In turn,the nuclear shuttle would receive this 

propellant from the Space Shuttle. 

The Space Shuttle, space tug, and nuclear shuttle together would constitute a complete reusable space transportation system, with the tug and nuclear 

139 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DEC‘ZSZON 

Space base as envisioned in the late 1960s. (North American Rockwell) 

shuttle both based in space. In turn, this system would serve an array of programs that would focus on applications of a space station module. Variants of 

this module would operate as components of a large space base, as stations in 

lunar orbit and on the Moon’s surface, and as a geosynchronous station. 

What of Mars? A piloted mission could use this same equipment, with 

the nuclear shuttle providing propulsion for a spaceship that would draw 

again on the basic space station module. Mueller, like Newell, looked toward 

such a mission in 1986, defining it also as an ultimate goal. Unlike Newell, 

however, he expected to get to Mars with equipment that could find plenty 

of uses closer to home. Just as Day’s space shuttle might earn its keep even 

in the absence of a space station, Mueller’s integrated plan would serve the 

nation even if NASA never received permission to send astronauts to the 

Red Planet.55 

55. [bid.,pp. 25-26.27, 30-32,48-49. 

140 
Mars and Other Dream Worlds 

Mueller’s integrated plan came along a little too late to serve as the basis 

for a July draft of NASA’s report to the STG, setting forth the agency’s proposals. That draft drew principally on Newell’s work, adding a discussion of 

Mueller’s plan as nothing more than an appendix. Within a week, however, 

the appendix became the core of the report. The reason for this, as one might 

expect, was Tom Paine. 

Newell’s Planning Steering Group (PSG) had briefed Paine on its activities at the end of May. A dissatisfied Paine saw the report as tantamount to 

stapling together the contributions of its task groups, for the PSG at that 

moment had nothing so succinct as a clear emphasis on space stations. Paine 

was not pleased “with the level of imagination and the level of innovation and 

the level of forward thrust”; he described the recommendations as “good, 

workmanlike, but stodgy and unimaginative.” 

But he reacted quite differently when he received a briefing from 

Mueller. Mueller’s plan proved easy to sell; he recalls that he had to “spend 

more time making sure my facts were right than convincing Tom.” At a June 

24 planning review meeting, Paine personally directed Newell to accept 

Mueller’s plan and to use as much of it as possible in preparing NASA’s 

report to the STG. By then there was not much difference between the two 

plans; both featured space stations galore along with lunar stations and a 

trip to Mars. Mueller, however, had the more convincing scenario as to how 

it might happen, for he made Mars appear to grow out of ongoing future 

activity in a natural way. By contrast, Newell made Mars appear more ad 

Yet while Mueller’s plan offered exciting theater, it flew in the face of the 

demand by the Townes panel for redress of the imbalance between the piloted 

and automated elements of NASA’s program. These corresponded respectively to OMSF and OSSA. With Newell having come out of OSSA to direct 

his NAS A-wide planning activity, there had been at least a chance that NASA 

might respond to Townes’ call. When Mueller, head of OMSF, took over the 

planning with a set of proposals that grew out of his ties to Bellcomm and 

STAC, it was clear that Paine would go to the STG with an agenda that would 

be virtually all OMSF. Paine then would learn that there were plenty of 

people, in both the Air Force and in the scientific community, who opposed a 

56. Ibid.,pp. 22-25,32-33; interview, Thomas Paine, September 3, 1970, p. 3. 

141 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

single-minded emphasis on piloted flight, and who certainly were in no hurry 

to get to Mars. 

Robert Seamans was a fellow member of the STG, co-equal with Paine 

in standing. His report carried a summary that rejected virtually all of 

Mueller’s work. He willingly endorsed and even emphasized the value of a 

space shuttle: 

I recommend that we embark on a program to study by experimental means 

including orbital tests the possibility of a Space Transportation System that 

would permit the cost per pound in orbit to be reduced by a substantial factor 

(10 or more). 

But he rejected building even one space station, let alone several: 

Even though the development of a large manned space station appears to be 

a logical step leading tofurther use and understanding of the space environment, I do not believe we should commit ourselves to the development of such 

a space station at this time. 

He had similar hard words about flight to Mars: “I don’t believe we should 

commit this Nation to a manned planetary mission, at least until the feasibility and need are more firmly e~tablished.”~~ 

Lee DuBridge, the third member of the STG, developed his own view 

as well. As chairman of the President’s Science Advisory Committee (PSAC), 

he commissioned a report from the PSAC’s Space Science and Technology 

Panel. He also issued invitations to other institutions to present their own 

positions. The respondees included the American Institute of Aeronautics and 

Astronautics (AIAA), the nation’s principal professional society in this field. 

The AIAA might readily have done the expected by acting as a standard 

Washington lobby, pleasing its corporate members by asking for the Moon. It 

did no such thing; it issued a report that was remarkable for its moderation. 

Flight to Mars? “This program is the next major step after unmanned exploration of the planets. While it is technically possible to commit to development 

of vehicles for this program at this time, it would not be reasonable to do so.” 

57. Letter, Seamans to Agnew, August 4, 1969.Reprinted in NASA SP-4407, vol. I, pp. 519-522. 

142 
Mars and Other Dream Worlds 

Space stations? “Again, there has been a constant flow of studies for 10 

years of small and large space stations, most of which assumed that man was 

to find an abundance of tasks to perform continually in space.” The AIAA 

declined to endorse any such proposals, opting instead for additional activity 

within Apollo Applications. Its report noted that such missions “will provide 

a means of retaining a manned orbital capability until flight experience produces desirable specifications for new orbital-station hardware.” 

However, concerning space shuttles, the AIAA had a different view: 

We encourage early steps be taken to commit to Jight demonstration a partially reusable low-cost space-transportation system which could start initial 

operations in the 1974-76period.... For example, most versions of low-cost 

space-transportation systems can effectively compete with present expendable boosters in delivering medium to large unmanned payloads to orbit .... 

We consider that commitment to an entirely new space station is less urgent 

than commitment to a new logistics system [emphasis in original].58 

One of a number of papers that reached the PSAC, the AIAA report’s 

moderate tone gave it weight. The PSAC also gave attention to Russell 

Drew, a staffer at the Office of Science and Technology. Drew became convinced that the Shuttle was the key element in the long-range program. In 

May, the PSAC’s Space Science and Technology Panel met with the full 

PSAC at Cape Canaveral, with the Space Shuttle as a prime topic of discussion. Drew wrote a background paper that emphasized its use in 

launching automated spacecraft. Significantly, he downplayed its uses in 

supporting a space station. 

The PSAC report made recommendations that closely resembled those of 

Seamans. Seamans had proposed an expansion of Apollo Applications; the 

PSAC did so as well, asserting that such a program could provide much of the 

data on long-duration human space flight “for which a more ambitious space 

station has been proposed.” PSAC rejected such a station, and proposed 

merely to “keep open the option of manned planetary exploration in the 

1980’s, but without immediate commitment to this goal.” 

The PSAC, however, had kind words for the Space Shuttle: 

58. Astronautics & Aemnautics, July 1969, pp. 39-46. 

143 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Study, with a view to early development, a reusable space transportation 

system with an early goal of replacing all existing launch vehicles ...with a 

system permitting satellite recovery and orbital assembly and ultimately rudical reduction in unit cost of space tran~portation.~~ 

It is worth noting that PSAC, AIAA, NASA, and the Air Force all 

endorsed a shuttle. NASA had developed this concept for use in space station 

logistics, but the other three institutions rejected such a station out of hand. 

Nevertheless, they liked the Shuttle because it seemed to promise lower cost 

and greater effectiveness in supporting automated spacecraft. This unanimity 

gave critical political support to NASA during 1970 and afterward. 

In their overall views, however, the members of the STG were badly split. 

There was good agreement between the views of Seamans and of DuBridge, 

but Paine seemed out in theblue sky. This raised the possibility that DuBridge 

and Seamans might collaborate on a majority report, leaving Paine to tack on 

his views as an appendix, as Francis Clauser had done with his letter to the 

Townes panel. The STG, however, had a fourth member: its chairman, Spiro 

Agnew, who had been developing his own views as well. 

Agnew Leads a Push Towurd Mars 

Like many other children of immigrants, Agnew had advanced in the world 

largely through his own talent and effort. On the eve of World War II, he had 

been a claims adjuster for the Lumbermen’s Mutual Casualty Company in 

Baltimore. After returning from service in the Tenth Armored Division, he 

became a manager at Schreiber Food Stores. He acquired a law degree and 

launched his political career by winning the presidency of his local PTA. He 

rose in politics through the next 20 years, and ran for governor of Maryland in 

1966.It was a time of racial upheaval, and his Democratic opponent courted the 

votes of white people with thinly-disguised racial appeals. Agnew built a reputation as a moderate, won support among black voters, and took the election. 

He maintained his role as a political moderate, becoming a leading supporter of Nelson Rockefeller, governor of New York, who competed with 

Nixon for the 1968 COP presidential nomination. Nixon picked him as his 

59. Logsdon, Apollo, chapter 4,pp. 33-38;DuBridge, chairman, Post-Apollo. 

144 
Mars and Other Dream Worlds 

running mate largely because he had not been around long enough to draw 

opposition from any of the party’s factions. Agnew himself admitted that his 

name was “not a household word.” 

He became better known during the campaign due in part to his personal 

coarseness. He called Poles “Polacks,” referred to a Japanese news reporter as 

“the fat Jap,” and declared that Hubert Humphrey, the Democratic presidential nominee, was “soft on communism.” Campaigning in Detroit- certainly 

a place where discretion was advisable-he remarked that “if you’ve seen one 

city slum, you’ve seen them all.” As his reputation spread, protesters began to 

greet him with signs such as one that read “Apologize Spiro, It Will Save 

Time Later.”60 

This insensitivity was part of a larger artlessness, for in dealing with the 

space program he quickly showed that despite having no background in this 

area, he would rush in where leaders such as Robert Seamans and Lee 

DuBridge would fear to tread. At Cape Canaveral, six weeks after the inauguration, he stated at a luncheon that he was “all-out for space.” Less than 

three weeks later, at a meeting of the STG, he suggested that Mars could be 

an Apollo-like goal for the 1970s.He then raised the prospect of Mars repeatedly in subsequent discussions. 

In mid-May, the STG met with members of the House and Senate who 

served on the congressional space committees. In the words of an observer 

from the Budget Bureau, “a promotional motive ...ran virtually unchecked” at 

the meeting. Agnew declared that the nation could “prove its greatness” with 

the space program. He added that he “might be all alone,” but he “favored a 

great achievement represented by planetary travel as a way of invigorating the 

American public.” 

Early in July, at a meeting with space planners from outside the government, he stated that “a manned spaceflight to Mars” could be the “overture to 

a new era of civilization.” He compared this mission to the early voyages of 

exploration: “Would we want to answer through eternity for turning back a 

Columbus or a Magellan? Would we be denying the people of the world the 

enlightenment and evolution which accompany every great age of dis~overy?~ 

Thus far he had restricted his comments to audiences at STG meetings. 

On July 16, however, as he joined thousands of people at Cape Canaveral for 

60. Manchester, Glory;White, 1968;see index references. 

145 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

the liftoff of Apollo 11, he went public. He stated in an interview that he had 

the “individual feeling that we should articulate a simple, ambitious, optimistic goal of a manned flight to Mars by the end of this century.”61 This 

statement brought quick reaction within NASA, as Paine directed his planners 

to come up with a “very strong, very far-out, but down-to-earth presentation” 

that would “substantially shake up the STG.” Specifically, these planners 

were to prepare a proposal for a Mars mission at a date well before 1986, a 

date that Mueller and Newell had previously endorsed in their planning. 

Mueller’s planners at Bellcomm, who had already devised a concept for 

a Mars mission based on Mueller’s integrated plan, briefed Paine on their scenario on July 19. Characteristically, Paine wanted more, and decided to 

“wheel up NASA‘s big gun”: Wernher von Braun. He told von Braun to prepare a presentation for the STG on the feasibility of a Mars mission that 

would resemble Bellcomni’s, but that would fly at the earliest possible date. 

Such studies had been a specialty of the house at NASA Marshall, which 

von Braun headed. In his words, “it was an effort of a very few weeks to put a 

very consistent and good and plausible story together as to how we would use 

these new elements to go to Mars.” Paine’s directive suited him personally as 

well, for as he said a year later, 

I have been a space man ever since I was a child, and I think I would be 

betraying my profession $1 were to tell you that we should not send men to 

Mars. I think we should and we will, and I am all for the finest and the most 

energetic space program we can imagine.62 

What brought this sudden focus on Mars? Paine would describe it as a 

matter of timing: 

Had we done this in thefirst meeting of the Space Task Group, we would 

really have shot our wad too early. Had we waited until too late, the darn 

thing would have been cast in concrete and we wouldn ’thave had the opportunity. Ifelt that this was the right time. Everyone had listened to various 

proposals. We had listened to everybody; the time had come for us to come 

61. Logsdon,Apollo, chapter 4, pp. 12-13,39-40. 

62. Ibid., pp. 40-43.48-50;interview, Thomas Paine, September 3, 1970,pp. 9-10; John Logsdon interview, 

Wernher von Braun, pp. 11, 13. 

146 
Mars and Other Dream Worlds 

out with a powerful forward look of our own and say, “We really haven’t seen 

the proposal that we can carry to the President for the fiture NASAprogram, 

but we now feel that we have a spec@ one to lay before 

Timing was important in other ways as well, for the early months of the 

Nixon administration coincided with the brilliant successes of Apollo 8 and 

Apollo 11. Less than a month after Apollo 8 had carried the first astronauts to 

orbit the Moon, Nixon had spoken of them in his inaugural address: 

Only a few short weeks ago, we shared the glory of man’s$rst sight of the 

world as God sees it, as a single sphere repecting light in the darkness. 

As the Apollo astronautspew over the moon’s gray su$ace on Christmas 

Eve, they spoke to us of the beauty of earth-and in that voice so clear across 

the lunar distance, we heard them invoke God’s blessing on its goodness. 

In that moment, their view from the moon moved poet Archibald 

MacLeish to write: “Tosee the earth as it truly is, small and blue and beautifil in that eternal silence where itpoats, is to see ourselves as riders on the 

earth togethel; brothers on that bright loveliness in the eternal color-brothers who know now that they are truly brothers.”@ 

Amid the glow of that triumph, Paine had tried to win a budget increase 

and to gain Nixon’s support for a space station. Now in July, the Apollo 11 

lunar landing encouraged even more far-reaching thoughts. In addition to this, 

the success of Apollo 11 had the highly practical consequence of freeing up 

the first Saturn V for other duty, as Paine committed one of them to launch the 

Skylab dry workshop.65 Such broadened use of the Saturn V would be a keystone of an effort that would aim at Mars. 

The members of the STG-Paine, DuBridge, Seamans, and Agnew-had 

not held a full-dress meeting since March 1969, for their staffs had been busy 

preparing proposals and working papers. On August 4, however, two weeks 

after the Moon landing, these principals met anew. Paine declared that 

“Apollo 11started a movement that will never end, a new outward movement 

in which man will go to the planets, first to explore, and then to occupy and 

63. Interview, Thomas Paine, September 3, 1970, p. 11. 

64. Nixon, Inaugural Address, January 20, 1969. 

65. NASA SP-4208, pp. 109-110. 

147 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

utilize them.” He then turned the meeting over to von Braun, who proceeded 

to describe a “typical manned Mars mission.” 

Carrying 12 astronauts, it would leave Earth orbit in two spaceships on 

November 12, 1981. It would arrive in Mars orbit on August 9, 1982 and 

would spend 80 days in this orbit, with six crew members descending to the 

Martian surface and spending up to two months exploring it. The expedition 

would leave Mars late in October and would swing past Venus four months 

later. It would arrive back in Earth orbit on August 14, 1983, ending a flight 

of 640 days. 

Yet despite its boldness, this mission would rely mostly on the equipment 

of Mueller’s integrated plan. Nuclear rockets, essential for propulsion, would 

duplicate Mueller’s nuclear shuttle used for flights between Earth orbit and 

lunar orbit. The Mars ships would be variants of a standard space station 

module. The only major new item would be a Mars Excursion Vehicle, to 

carry crews from orbit to the surface of that planet.66 

This proposal left the STG split right down the middle: Agnew and 

Paine supporting a strong push toward Mars, DuBridge and Seamans recommending much less. There was a fifth man at that meeting: Robert Mayo, 

director of the Budget Bureau. Though he was an observer rather than a full 

member of the STG, his views would carry weight. His staff had been considering proposals as well. They emphasized the need not for a single 

program, but for alternative programs with budgets at different levels. Mayo 

now found an ally in Seamans, who had been highly skeptical of Paine’s 

ambitious plans. 

DuBridge did not emphasize his own point of view, but tried to encourage a compromise. None was within reach; indeed, while the STG had hoped 

to recommend a single program to the White House, there was no chance it 

could agree on one. The disagreements ran deep; Seamans later said he was 

“sort of like a skunk at a garden party” for opposing Paine, while Agnew told 

Mayo that he was “nothing but a cheapskate.” Nevertheless, the group could 

follow Mayo’s recommendation, which was in line with a standard 

Washington practice. Rather than continue to seek the elusive single set of 

recommendations, the STG decided to prepare three program options, which 

the staffer Russell Drew described: 

66. Logsdon,Apollo, chapier4, pp. 51-52 

148 
Mars and Other Dream Worlds 

I. ‘%Austere”: Level fclnding at $4 billion per year; with no commitment to 

Mars but with an option for such a mission retained. 

2. “Intermediate”:Funding increasing over the next Jive years to $5-6 billion per year; with a commitment to Mars. This commitment would carry 

no Jixed date, but the mission would probably Jly in the mid- to late-1980s. 

3. ”Vigorous or all-out”: Funding increasing to $7 billion per year in the 

mid-1970s and possibly to $8-10 billion in the latter half of the decade, 

with a commitment to an early Mars mission.61 

This was a major victory for Paine. This three-option package again 

reflected standard practice, with the one in the middle as the one for the 

President to choose. The other two choices then would appear as too much 

and too little. The STG’s “intermediate” program specifically envisioned a 

commitment to Mars, with all that would entail: a space shuttle, space station, 

space tug, and nuclear shuttle. The only questions would involve the pace, 

schedule, and budget. 

Paine, quickly following up this victory with another, won the assignment 

of preparing the details of the three options. This played to a long-established 

art whereby the officials chosen to write a White House report can often shape 

it to suit their preferences. Rather than provide three different programs, 

Paine’s staffers proceeded to develop three different schedules for the same 

plan. That plan took Mueller’s integrated scenario as its point of departure, 

with all three aiming at a piloted Mars mission sometime during the 1980s. 

Plan A offered the “maximum progress technically feasible.” NASA 

described it as “comparable to the 1961 Apollo decision to go to the Moon.” 

Closely resembling the plan that Paine and von Braun had presented to the 

STG on August 4, it called for a mission to Mars in 1981. Plan B, offering 

“maximum returns from an economical program,” was the one Paine hoped to 

have approved; it differed from Plan A largely in slipping the Mars mission to 

“1983 or 1986.” Plan C offered “minimum investment consistent with continuing technological advance.” It also retained the full Mueller program, 

delaying the Mars mission only to 1986 or 1989. The three alternatives featured dates as follows: 

67. Ibrd., pp. 55-60; John Logsdon interview,Robert Seamans, Washington, September 2, 1970, p. 13 

149 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Plan A Plan B Plan C 

Space Transportation 

Space shuttle I975 1976 1977 

Space tug 1976 1978 1981 

Nuclear shuttle 1978 1978 1981 

Piloted Space Flight 

Space station, crew of 12 1975 1976 1977 

Space base, crew of 50 1980 1980 1984 

Space base, crew of 100 1985 I985 1990 

Lunar orbiting station 1976 1978 1981 

Lunar surface base 1978 1980 1983 

First expeditions to Mars 1981 1983 1986 

These plans were ready in mid-August. NASA then added a fourth 

option, Plan D; it excluded developments related specifically to the Mars 

expedition. In other respects it was identical to Plan C. Plan D, the least ambitious, called for simultaneous development of a space station and a space 

shuttle, with both becoming operational in 1977.6* 

Significantly, amid the deliberations of the STG, the members with the 

most experience-Seamans and DuBridge-favored the most modest initiatives. Paine, the man for Mars, had held his posts within NASA for barely a 

year and a half. Agnew, most enthusiastic of all, had never dealt with space at 

any serious level; he hardly knew a rocket from a sprocket. Both Agnew and 

Paine were living in a dream world. 

The nation had changed since 1961. The circumstances that had led to 

Apollo no longer applied. America now faced new issues and new concerns, 

and to such a degree as to make even the Moon landing appear merely as an 

irrelevant distraction. In no way would Nixon endorse a mission to Mars. 

Indeed, within this new climate, even Plan D would prove to be out of reach. 

68. Logsdon, Apollo, chapter 4, pp. 60-63;NeweII, chairman, ArnericuS Next Decades,pp. 59-60. 

150 
CHAPT FCIUR 

Winter of Discontent 

On an afternoon in July 1969, while the Apollo 11 mission stood poised for a 

flight to the Moon, Tom Paine found himself confronted by a group of civil 

rights demonstrators. Their leader was Reverend Ralph Abernathy, president 

of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. Abernathy had succeeded 

Martin Luther King in that post, following the death of King a year earlier. 

Abernathy now came to Cape Canaveral on the eve of NASA’s triumph. 

A light mist of rain fell intermittently, as thunder rumbled in the distance. Paine stood coatless under a cloudy sky, accompanied only by NASA’s 

press officer, as Abernathy approached with his party, marching slowly and 

singing “We Shall Overcome.” Several mules were in the lead, as symbols of 

rural poverty. Abernathy then gave a short speech. He deplored the condition 

of the nation’s poor, declaring that one-fifth of the nation lacked adequate 

food, clothing, shelter, and medical care. In the face of such suffering, he 

asserted that space flight represented an inhuman priority. He urged that its 

funds be spent to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, tend the sick, and house 

the homeless. 

Paine replied that “if we could solve the problems of poverty by not 

pushing the button to launch men to the Moon tomorrow, then we would not 

push that button.” He added that NASA’s technical advances were “child’s 

play” compared to “the tremendously difficult human problems’’ that concerned the SCLC. He offered the hope that NASA indeed might contribute 

to addressing these problems, and then asked Abernathy, a minister, to pray 

for the safety of the astronauts. Abernathy answered with emotion that he 

151 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

would certainly do this, and they ended this impromptu meeting by shaking 

hands all around.’ 

Their brief conversation brought no lasting consequence. Yet it was heavy 

with history, for Paine and Abernathy stood as representatives of two deep 

themes that had marked the nation’s experience before America even existed. 

Paine was the technologist, heir to a record of splendid accomplishment. 

His forebears had built ships, constructed transcontinental railroads, dug the 

Panama Canal, captured water to allow cities to grow in the arid West, flung 

power and telephone lines from coast to coast. They had built highways and 

factories, had put the nation on wheels, had mastered the art of flight. At that 

very moment, others were winning achievement in the realm of computers. 

There was, however, another and far more somber side to America’s 

history, for the nation had been conceived in the original sin of slavery. 

Abraham Lincoln had proposed that “every drop of blood drawn with the 

lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword”; yet the stain ran so deep 

that not even the Civil War could expunge it. Like Lincoln, Martin Luther 

King had grappled with this sin, had sought the moral authority to sway a 

deeply divided people; and like Lincoln, he had paid with his life, with his 

goal only partly won. 

The Sixties 

“The legacy of Apollo has spoiled the people at NASA,” Wernher von Braun 

remarked in the wake of the Moon landing. “They believe that we are entitled 

to this kind of a thing forever, which I gravely doubt. I believe that there may 

be too many people in NASA who at the moment are waiting for a miracle, 

just waiting for another man on a white horse to come and offer us another 

planet, like President Kennedy.”2 

In 1969, NASA still lived in the shadow of Kennedy, both in its immediate concern with Apollo and in its institutional hopes. Apollo had taken form 

as an initiative in foreign policy. It could hardly have been otherwise 

Kennedy was very much a cold warrior, who had devoted his inaugura 

address entirely to foreign affairs. There was a reason for this overriding con 

1. Paine, Memo for Record, July 17, 1969. 

2. John Logsdon interview, Wernher von Braun, Washington,pp. 18-19. 

152 
Winter of Discontent 

cern: Kennedy, like his party, carried a heavy burden. The party governed 

under its own shadow, for they had held both Congress and the White House 

when China fell to communism in 1949. 

It is difficult to overstate the dismay with which America faced the communist threat of the postwar years. It was almost as if to say that our victory 

in the war was meaningless, that we had defeated Japan and Germany only to 

face the far greater power of Stalin and Chairman Mao. Less than a year after 

Mao proclaimed the People’s Republic of China, the U.S. was at war in 

Korea, a war that President Truman would find himself neither able to win nor 

to end. In turn,this war drove him from office. At home, fear of communism 

encouraged the excesses of Senator Joseph McCarthy and his allies, who 

recklessly smeared the reputations of good and decent people because of their 

political beliefs and activities, real or alleged. 

It was the proud boast of Eisenhower’s Republicans that while Truman 

had lost not only China but Eastern Europe, they had held the line. They had 

ended the Korean War, and had preserved peace amid subsequent dangers in 

a perilous world. Kennedy’s main challenge was to continue to hold this line, 

to deny Moscow and Beijing any further victories. Under the shadow of 

China, however, he would not proceed with the calm confidence that had 

marked Eisenhower and his policies. Living in that shadow, Kennedy’s 

Democrats would find themselves driven to become more anti-communist 

than the Republicans. In conducting foreign policy, they worked amid gnawing concern that they might prove to be weak, and would compensate by 

becoming overly bold.3 

The most important consequence was the war in Vietnam. When the 

French faced defeat in their struggle against Ho Chi Minh in 1954, Ike had 

had his chance to intervene massively in that country. Declining to do this, he 

had left the French to their fate. But Vietnam was adjacent to China, in the one 

area of the world where further communist advance was both most likely and 

most unacceptable. Kennedy and his advisors accepted the domino theory, 

which viewed South Vietnam as a linchpin: if it fell, the whole of Southeast 

Asia would soon go as well. In 1961, General Lyman Lemnitzer, chairman of 

the Joint Chiefs of Staff, warned that if Saigon were to fall, “we would lose 

3. Heppenheimer, Countdown, pp. 177-188 treats the background to Kennedy’s commitment to Apollo. See 

also Logsdon, Decision. 

153 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Asia all the way to Singapore.” Kennedy, accepting this view, made it a basis 

for p01icy.~ 

Waging total cold war, Kennedy believed that it was essential to deny 

Moscow propaganda victories as well as military ones. A prime topic for propaganda was space flight, and in no way would Kennedy concede that the 

Soviets might concentrate resources into this area while failing their citizens 

in a host of ways that were far more important. The issue was one of national 

prestige, what in earlier times had been known as national honor: if the world 

viewed space as important and saw that the Soviets were ahead, then America 

would have to meet this challenge and take the lead. Time and again, during 

the campaign of 1960, Kennedy spoke of other nations and emphasized that 

leadership in space was essential if America was not to forfeit their support: 

The people of the world respect achievement. For most of the twentieth century they admired American science and American education, which was 

second to none. But now they are not at all certain about which way the future 

lies. The first vehicle in outer space was called Sputnik, not Vanguard. The 

first country to place its national emblem on the moon was the Soviet Union, 

not the United States. 

If the Soviet Union was first in outer space, that is the most serious 

defeat the United States has suffered in many, many years. Because we failed 

to recognize the impact that being first in outer space would have, the impression began to move around the world that the Soviet Union was on the march, 

that it had definite goals, that it knew how to accomplish them, that it was 

moving and we were standing still. That is what we have to overcome, that 

psychological feeling in the world that the United States has reached maturiq, that maybe our high noon haspassed and that now we are going into the 

long, slow aftern~on.~ 

Ike had refused to be drawn into war in Vietnam, leaving that commitment to Kennedy. At a cabinet meeting in December 1960, Ike had also 

declined a commitment to the Moon, turning down a specific plan that closely 

resembled the eventual Apollo.6 When Kennedy accepted that challenge, only 

4. Fall, Hell, pp. 293-313; Manchester, Glory, pp. 915-923. 

5. McDougall, Heavens, pp. 221-222. 

6. Logsdon,Decision,pp. 34-35. 

154 
Winter of Discontent 

five months later, the Moon held a threefold significance. It represented a 

simple and dramatic goal that everyone could understand. It appeared reachable during that decade, and would not impose a prolonged effort that might 

lose public interest. In addition to this, the Moon was demanding enough to 

call for an entirely new array of launch vehicles and spacecraft, requiring far 

more power than the Soviet rockets of the day could provide. The Soviet lead 

in rocketry would not help them; like the Americans, they would have to start 

afresh. Kennedy believed, correctly, that in the resulting competition the U.S. 

would prove more capable in coming up with the enormous sums of money 

that would be necessary to reach the Moon. 

As the decade of the 1960s progressed, the cold war lost its sense of 

imminent threat. In 1961, Nikita Khrushchev had provoked a crisis in 

Germany, and had built the Berlin Wall. By 1968, however, the Democrats 

could say that they too had held the line. By then nearly 20 years had elapsed 

since the fall of China had given communism its last major territoria1 advance. 

The Soviets had been stymied in Europe; America and its NATO allies had 

protected West Berlin, even though that city was entirely surrounded by communist territory. Though Fidel Castro ruled Cuba, he had failed to spread his 

revolution elsewhere in the Caribbean or in Latin America. In addition to this, 

communism had received a severe setback in Southeast Asia in 1965, for 

General Suharto of Indonesia broke an attempted communist takeover and 

went on to crush his country’s communist party.7 

In 1968, the nation was at war in Vietnam. During February, amid the new 

year celebrations known as Tet, that country’s communist forces launched a 

massive and widespread series of attacks. Battles raged in Saigon, where they 

penetrated the grounds of the American embassy. They captured the city of 

Hue, an ancient capital, and held it for several weeks. They laid siege to a 

Marine base, Khe Sanh, pounding it with mortars and artillery. Dozens of 

cities came under assault. 

As a military engagement, this Tet Offensive failed. Powerful counterattacks routed the communists, retaking Hue, while the Marines held Khe Sanh. 

As a political exercise, however, the offensive succeeded brilliantly. It drove 

home the fact that North Vietnam was in the war to stay and would not be 

defeated by any means short of additional massive escalation. In 1961, 

7. Heppenheimer, Countdown, pp. 196-197; Johnson,Modem, pp. 479-480 

155 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECZSZON 

Kennedy had declared that America would “pay any price, bear any burden” 

to prevail. By 1968, it was clear that the nation would do nothing of the sort, 

at least not in Vietnam. In the wake of that offensive, the question facing 

America was not how to win, but how to withdraw. In turn, this reflected the 

waning of foreign affairs as a paramount concern, for withdrawal clearly 

meant that the nation would leave the battlefield on terms short of victory.8 

While foreign affairs lost their life-and-death character, the public turned 

to domestic concerns with considerable passion. Now these issues that had 

languished since the late 1930s, amid wars and military preparations, would 

have their day. Foremost among them was race. 

We remember the 1960s for the civil rights revolution. Its roots, however, 

went back an additional decade, and embraced all three branches of the federal government. In 1954, the Supreme Court showed that it would rule 

unanimously in upholding the rights of black America, as Chief Justice Earl 

Warren led his associate justices in handing down the landmark ruling, Brown 

v. Board of Education, that struck down the segregation of schools. Three 

years later, President Eisenhower showed that he would enforce a desegregation order using federal troops, as he sent elements of the lOlst Airborne 

Division to quell a dangerous mob in Little Rock, Arkansas. Also in 1957, 

Senate Majority Leader Lyndon Johnson rallied two-thirds of his fellow senators to break a filibuster and enact a civil rights bill. Though the bill was 

weak, its significance was great; it was the first such measure enacted since 

Reconstru~tion.~ 

In the lives of most black and white people, however, nothing had 

changed. Though the Supreme Court ruling represented binding precedent as 

case law, it lacked the force of a federal statute. Federal civil rights law 

remained so weak that the Justice Department lacked the legal standing to initiate lawsuits aimed at achieving desegregation. The civil rights movement 

had an episodic character; when Eke sent troops to Little Rock, for instance, 

that city’s crisis ended as quickly as if the Seventh Cavalry had come riding 

to the rescue in a John Wayne movie. Similarly, when Kennedy sent a federal 

force against armed white rioters at the University of Mississippi in 1962, this 

news story blazed up and died in a matter of days. Such events made it easy 

8. Time,February 9, 1968, pp. 15-16, 22-33; Newsweek, February 12, 1968, pp. 23-33; Manchester, Glory, 

pp. 1124-1126; Wlute, 1968, pp. 3-5, 10-13; Tuchman, Folly, pp. 348-352. 

9. Manchester,Glory,pp. 734-737,799-809; Branch, Parting, pp. 220-222. 

156 
Winter of Discontent 

to believe that all was well, that federal marshals would preserve order, and 

that America could continue without fundamental change. 

Then in April 1963, Martin Luther King took his movement to 

Birmingham, Alabama, which he described as “the largest segregated city in 

the United States.” Opposing him was the city’s powerful police commissioner, Eugene “Bull” Connor, an ardent racist. King launched a succession of 

protest marches and demonstrations that grew in size as the month progressed; 

Connor struck back by arresting and jailing the demonstrators. King himself 

became a prisoner; still the protests continued to grow. By early May, Connor 

had literally run out of jail cells, and when the demonstrations continued, he 

lashed at them with police dogs and with fire hoses forceful enough to peel 

bark from a tree. 

Television networks had been covering Birmingham as an ongoing news 

story, and now they showed their power. When viewers saw nonviolent protesters under attack by vicious dogs and equally vicious police, the nation shuddered 

in dismay. This marked a breakthrough in the cause of civil rights, for that movement now held America’s full attention, and would not let it go. A month later, 

Kennedy himself addressed the nation, calling for a sweeping law that would 

protect the rights of black citizens. Kennedy took this stand before the election 

of 1964 and not after, for he expected to win a second term. In turn,his reelection was to vindicate his leadership on this most controversial of issues.” 

The historian Bruce Catton writes that during the Civil War, newly-freed 

blacks “were men coming up out of Egypt, trailing the shreds of a long night 

from their shoulders.” For many of their descendants, the passage of a century 

had brought little change. Thus in 1964, a black woman named Fannie Lou 

Hamer told of her attempt to register to vote as a resident of Mississippi: 

I was carried to the county jail. I was placed in a cell. After I was placed in 

the cell I began to hear sounds of licks and screams. I could hear the sounds 

of licks and horrible screams, and I could hear somebody say, “Can you say, 

‘Yes sic’nigger? Can you say ‘Yessir’?” 

They beat he< I don’t know how long, and after awhile she began topray 

and asked God to have mercy on these people. 

And it wasn’t too long before three white men came to my cell. 

10. Manchester,Glory, pp. 943-952,976-978;White, 1964,pp. 199-215. 

157 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

I was carried out ofthe cell into another cell where they had two Negro 

prisoners. The State Highway Patrolman ordered the first Negro to tak the 

blackjack. 

The JLirst Negro prisoner ordered me, by ordersfrom the State Highway 

Patrolman,for me to lay down on a bunk bed on my face, and 1laid on my face. 

The first Negro began to beat, and I was beat until he was exhausted. The 

State Highway Patrolman ordered the second Negro to take the blackjack. 

The second Negro began to beat and I began to work my feet. I began to 

scream, and one white man got up and began to beat me on the head and tell 

me to "hush." 

All this is on account we want to registeq to becomejrst-class citizens." 

Yet if federal legislation could extirpate such evils, the nation now would 

certainly make the attempt. The Civil Rights Act, which became law in mid1964, proved to be only the beginning. A year later, Congress complemented 

it with a far-reaching Voting Rights Act. In turn, these laws were part of a 

surge of domestic legislation that was virtually unparalleled. Trust in government was at a peak, and President Johnson, supported by powerful majorities 

within a willing House and Senate, would make the most of this. 

Aid to education topped his list of priorities; over 40 bills dealt with this 

topic. Congress enacted a law establishing Medicare, which complemented 

Social Security in addressing the needs of retirees. Johnson had declared war 

on poverty; Congress responded with a law that set up a new Office of 

Economic Opportunity, with the rural poor of Appalachia as a particular concern. Other bills established a National Foundation for the Arts and Humanities 

and a Cabinet-level Department of Housing and Urban Development. Still 

others fought heart disease, stroke, and cancer. A new immigration law opened 

the door to newcomers &om Asia, heralding a change in the centuries-old predominance of immigration from Europe. To pay for it all, Johnson won a major 

tax cut that would stimulate economic gr~wth.'~ 

Johnson was not about to promote these new programs at the expense of 

existing ones; hence NASA and Apollo would receive their due. As the nation 

turned its attention toward these domestic concerns, however, it became 

11. Catton, Stillness, p. 259; While, 1964,pp. 332-333. 

12. Manchester, Glory,pp. 1041-IO44, White, 1964, pp. 470-476. 

158 
Winterof Discontent 

increasingly clear that Apollo represented a response to a Soviet challenge 

that was about to run its course. Apollo was a creation of its time, and by 

decade’s end that time had come and gone. Events soon demonstrated that 

Apollo was a program that the nation would neither renew nor long continue. 

In turn, these events weighed heavily upon Paine’s pursuit of Mars. They took 

the form of budget cuts, imposed within the BOB. 

rs: The Advance 

At Gettysburg in 1863, General George Pickett led a charge that reached the top 

of Cemetery Ridge, only to be driven back by superior strength. NASA’s pursuit of Mars would show a similar character, with the contested ground being 

the budget allocation for FY 1971. NASA accounted for some two percent of 

the federal budget. While this was f& below the allocations of the Pentagon or 

Health, Education, and Welfare, it was enough to justify the continuing attention of small groups of staffers within both the White House and the BOB. 

Peter Flanigan, Assistant to the President, served as the White House link to 

NASA. He reported directly to Nixon and was one of the more powerful of the 

presidential assistants. Flanigan had been a Wall Street investment banker; his 

father had been chairman of Manufacturers Hanover Trust. Following Nixon’s 

election, Flanigan had drawn on his broad social and professional acquaintances 

and had recruited some 300 appointees for high-level administration positions. 

His White House responsibilities were correspondingly broad, and he relied on 

five staff assistants. These included Clay Whitehead, a graduate of MIT, who 

dealt with the space program as part of his day-to-day concerns. Whitehead had 

worked on Apollo at the Rand Corp. and helped to plug gaps in Flanigan’s experience, for Flanigan had no prior background in space. 

Within the BOB, the director Robert Mayo and his deputy, James 

Schlesinger, were the only political appointees; the rest of the Bureau consisted of permanent Civil Service staff. Schlesinger was also a Rand Corp. 

alumnus; he worked closely with Whitehead during 1969 in reviewing the 

NASA budget. This budget fell within the purview of BOB’S Economics, 

Science, and Technology Programs Division, where a small professional 

group specialized in the pertinent is~ues.’~ 

13. Logsdon, Apollo, chapter 5, pp. 14-15; National Journal, February 28, 1970, pp. 422-425 

159 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

The Space Task Group (STG) was to submit its report to Nixon in 

September 1969, in time for its recommendations to influence the FY 1971 

budget that Nixon would send to Capitol Hill the following February. 

However, initial exchanges concerning this budget were under way as early as 

April 1969, barely two months after the inauguration. On April 4, Mayo sent 

a letter to Paine that asked: “Should the U.S. undertake the development of a 

long duration manned orbital space station in the FY 1971-73 period?’ 

Attached to this letter was a full page of questions. Paine had recently tried to 

bypass the budget process by seeking Nixon’s approval for a space station in 

his memo of February 26, but Mayo’s letter showed that Paine could still hope 

to win approval by working within this process. The list of questions 

amounted to an invitation to justify such a project in detail, with an understanding that when NASA made its case, Mayo’s staff would give it close 

scrutiny. The BOBwould give particular attention to its cost.I4 

Though the work of the STG was separate from the budget process, the 

two activities went forward in parallel. On June 11, Nixon sent a memo to 

Mayo that made his own attitude perfectly clear: 

Substantively, the continuation of a restrictivejscal policy to combat the critical problem of infzation will be controlling in formulation of the 1971 

budget, and this policy should be applied to the budget requests of all departments and agencies. 1want it made clear to all departments and agencies that 

the budget going to Congress will be my budget and that it should reflect the 

goals and objectives of my Administration.’’ 

Tho weeks later, Whitehead sent a memo to Flanigan: 

As you know, I have expressed in the past some uneasiness about the review 

of the future of our space program. My main concern is that NASA and others 

will use the enthusiasm generated by a success of Apollo 11 to create very 

strong pressures on the President to commit him and the Nation prematurely 

to a large and continuing space budget. 

The immediate problem is that the space task group chaired by the Vice 

President appears to be homing in on a single recommended space program 

14. Letter, Mayo to Paine, April 4, 1969. 

15. Memo, Nixon to Mayo, June 11. 1969. 

160 
Winter of Discontent 

that will involve immediate commitments to high levels of lunar exploration 

simultaneously with a large manned space station program. This may be 

appropriate and may be the President Is ultimate choice. Howevel; a strong 

case can be made for constraining the NASA budget to its present level or 

slightly lower ... 

The President should be informed that NASA is making strong public 

statements about future commitments in space and that there is signifcant 

danger that he may find himself in a very dificult situation in the next few 

months unless he asserts an interest in assessing the desirability of alternative space programs in a considered way without unnecessary pressure being 

generated by NASA in the press and on the 

The NASA appropriation for ,FY 1970 was $3.7 billion. Whitehead 

noted that “the President is personally interested in a serious evaluation of 

several alternative NASA budget levels, including one in the vicinity of $2.5 

to $3 billion.” He proposed that “you or I call Bob Mayo to emphasize the 

importance” of treating such a level as a formal budget option. He also suggested that Flanigan send a memo to Nixon recommending “that NASA be 

calmed down during the enthusiasm of Apollo 11, pending a systematic 

review this fa11.”I7 

Mayo was not about to chop NASA down to $2.5 billion, at least not at 

the moment. However, his staff would certainly consider what it would mean 

to impose cuts to that level, and to even lower levels. Late in August the director of the BoB’s Energy, Science, and Technology Programs Division learned 

of a conversation between Whitehead and the BoB’s deputy director, James 

Schlesinger: 

Mr Whitehead expressed the view that the President was not eager to 

proceed with an expanded space program and in fact would like to see it significantly reduced in the near future. MI: Whitehead had discussed this view 

with other White House people ...and found none of them to be advocates of 

increased space spending and none who indicated any real problem with signifcant reductions in the space program .... 

16. Memo, Whitehead to Flanigan, June 25, 1969 

17. Ibid.; NASA SP-4102, p. 188. 

161 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Mr: Flmigan claimed to have telephoned Dr:Paine and instructed him 

to stop public advocacy of early manned Mars activity because it was causing trouble in Congress and restricting Presidential options. According to Dr: 

Schlesingel; Mr: Flanigan believes the President would like options even 

lower than $2.5 billion. Also according to DKSchlesingel; Mr. Flanigan is 

basing his comments on personal conversation with the President. In the light 

of these events, Dr:Schlesinger asked me to define a $1.5 billion per year 

space program.” 

His staff set forth budget options in an internal BOB paper. The options 

would bear comparison with those favored by Paine; but whereas Paine started 

with the current budget and hoped to go upward, the BOB staff started at the 

FY 1970 level and considered the consequences of tilting sharply downward. 

One alternative, at $3.5 billion per year, eliminated NERVA and stopped 

production of Saturn V and Apollo spacecraft. This option, however, would 

maintain a vigorous program in piloted flight, featuring Skylab with three 

visits as well as six additional Apollo lunar missions. Better yet, such a budget 

would accommodate “Space Transportation System and Space Station 

module development with launch of both in 1979.” 

Two other options, at $2.5 billion, also permitted flight of Skylab with its 

three visits, along with the six Apollos. There could even be a space station in 

1980, with Titan 111-Gemini for logistics. However, there would be no Space 

Shuttle. NASA Marshall would close, while activity at the Manned Spacecraft 

Center would fall substantially. 

At $1.5 billion, the piloted space program would shut down entirely: “All 

manned space flight ceases with Apollo 14 in July 1970.” Not only NAS.4 

Marshall but the Manned Spacecraft Center would close, with the Saturn 

launch facilities at Cape Canaveral shutting down as well. Yet NASA would 

continue to maintain a vigorous program of automated space flight. Even at 

$1.5 billion, the agency could send six Viking landers to Mars, and could take 

advantage of a rare alignment of the outer planets to send spacecraft to Jupiter, 

Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto. NASA would conduct “at least one planetary launch each year in the decade,” and would pursue “a relatively 

ambitious science and applications program with 95 launches in the decade.”19 

18. Logsdon, Apollo, chapter 5, pp. 15-16. 

19. Budget Bureau, “NASA Issues Paper,” undated; late August 1969. 

142 
Winter of Discontent 

Here, in stark contrast, were two visions for NASA’s future: Paine’s, who 

hoped for as much as $10 billion and an early expedition to Mars, versus 

Mayo’s, who would consider cuts to one-seventh of that level and a total shutdown of piloted flight. Yet while such options might represent the shape of 

things to come, Mayo, at least for the moment, would give Paine considerable leeway to argue for his preferred budget. If Paine’s arguments proved 

inadequate then Mayo could lower the boom. However, he would not hasten 

to do this. 

On July 28, Mayo sent a letter to Paine that carried a decidedly mixed set 

of messages: 

The inflationary outlook, combined with the budgetary momentum of prior 

commitments and existing laws, make it imperative that we adopt a very 

restrictive fiscal policy in the I971 budget. 

Federal spending plans for 1971 must conform to the President’s 

declared intention to eliminate the income tax surcharge. The resulting loss 

in revenue will make a balanced budget impossible unless we apply a firm 

brake on the growth of expenditures. Since a balanced budget is essential to 

our effort to cope effectively with continuing inflationary pressures, we must 

maintain a tight rein on budget outlays. 

Accordingly, a stringent and frugal approach must characterize our 

1971 budget proposals. Very few program expansions and new starts can be 

accommodated. 

An attached sheet gave recommended budget figures. Mayo presented 

“budget authority,” or funds to be appropriated by Congress; he also gave 

“outlays,” which could tap unspent funds from prior years or lay aside such 

funds for use in the future. He cited an “official target”: “the maximum 

amount that would be available for NASA under the current fiscal outlook for 

1971.” He also proposed an “alternative target” that represented “a higher 

resource level, in case subsequent events enable changes in current plans”: 

O@cial Target Alternative 

Budget Outlays Budget Outlays 

Authority Authority 

Funding in millions: $3,470 $3,500 $4,500 $4,200 

163 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECZSZON 

The official target assumed that both budget categories would remain 

constant at $3.5 billion per year from 1972 to 1978. This would impose a new 

cut, because the FY 1970 budget stood at $3.7 billion. The alternative target, 

however, assumed a gradual rise to $6 billion in 1978 that would allow Paine 

to get a head start toward Mars. Moreover, Mayo suggested in his letter that 

he might be even more generous: “If you feel that you must request 1971 

budget authority or outlays greater than either of these planning figures, you 

may, of course, do 

Given an inch, Paine would willingly take enough miles to reach the planets. He proceeded to disregard both Mayo’s opening paragraphs, with their 

words of caution, and his official target of $3.5 billion. Instead, Paine 

instructed his associates to prepare their final FY 197 1 budget proposals in 

accordance with Program B within his position paper for the STG. This plan 

aimed to reach Mars as early as 1983, and represented the option that he 

hoped Nixon would approve.” 

Paine also faced the issue of having the STG accept his position paper as 

the basis for the official report that would go to Nixon. The staffer Russell 

Drew prepared a draft of this report; it was ready on August 27. The members 

of the STG-Paine, Agnew, DuBridge, Seamans-met anew on September 3, 

and reached agreement on several basic principles, with all members concurring. This had the important consequence that the STG would not present 

majority and minority views, but would stand united behind their final report. 

They agreed that any program they might recommend was not to include 

merely the use of existing capability such as Skylab, Titan 111, and Saturn V, 

it was to include the development of new capability. In particular, the STG 

accepted the eventual development of both the space station and Space 

Shuttle. This represented a defeat for Seamans, who had rejected the station 

and had accepted the shuttle only with misgivings. Nevertheless, Seamans 

agreed not to press his objections. 

The members also accepted the concept of an eventual expedition to Mars 

as the focus for development of the new capability. However, they did not specify the meaning of “eventual,” other than to say that it would be prior to the year 

2000. This brought DuBridge into the fold, as he too accepted the goal of Mars. 

20. Letter, Mayo to Paine, July 28, 1969. 

21. Logsdon, Apollo, chapter 4, pp. 60-62;chapter5, p. 8. 

164 
Winter ofDiscontent 

Mayo, sitting with the STG as an observer, insisted that the report present 

a low-cost option that would reflect James Schlesinger’s suggestions. 

DuBridge agreed with Mayo, and Paine agreed to add another alternative, Plan 

E. It resembled the BOBoptions at the $2.5 billion level, protecting Apollo and 

Skylab but shutting down piloted flight. This option offered neither the station 

nor the shuttle. It did, however, include a strong program of automated spacecraft, with emphasis on planetary missions. 

Within these options, now numbering five, Paine and Agnew still hoped 

to have the report include a strong recommendation for Plan B. The full STG 

finessed this issue by agreeing not to recommend any particular program to 

Nixon. This allowed each member to maintain his own views of appropriate 

budgets, schedules, and pace, without requiring anyone to yield to others.22 

The next move came directly from the White House. John Ehrlichman, 

one of Nixon’s closest advisors, describes what happened in his memoirs: 

One morning in early September 1969 I had to leave the senior staff meeting 

early to go see the Vice President. Peter Flanigan had alerted me that 

Agnew’s Space Advisory Committee [sic] was about to make some recommendations to the President that Flanigan knew Nixon could not live with. 

Peter had been unsuccessful in dissuading the President’s science advisor, 

Lee DuBridge, from agreeing with the staff of Agnew’s Advisory Committee 

that there should be a very costly manned mission to the planet Mars in 1981. 

So Flanigan had asked for a meeting with Agnew, the ex-oficio chairman of 

the committee, in the hope that we could persuade him to kill it. 

I had read a briejng paper on the question the evening before, and it 

seemed obvious to me that Agnew and DuBridge owed it to the President not 

to include a proposal our budget couldn’t pay fox A Mars space shot would 

be very popular with many people. rf the committee proposed it and Nixon 

had to say no, he would be criticized as the President who kept usfromfinding life on Mars. On the other hand, if the committee didn’t recommend it, we 

avoided the problem altogethel: 

DuBridge was perhaps to be forgiven for failing to understand such a 

political argument, but I saw no excuse for Agnew ’s insistence that the Mars 

shot be recommended. At our meeting I was surprised at his obtuseness. It 

22. bid., chapter4, pp. 63-65. 

165 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

was, he argued, a reasonable, feasible option. That was what his committee 

was supposed to come up with, and that was what they intended to do. 

I had been wooed by NASA, the Space Administration, but not to the 

degree to which they had made love to Agnew. He had been their guest of 

honor at space launchings, tours and dinners, and it seemed to me they had 

done a superb job of recruiting him to lead this fight to vastly expand their 

empire and budget. 

Ifinally took off the kid gloves: “Look, Mr. Vice President, we have to be 

practical, There is no money for a Mars trip. The President has already 

decided that. So the President does not want such a trip in the Space Advisory 

Committee’s recommendations. It is your job, with Lee DuBridge’s help, to 

make absolutely certain that the Mars trip is not in there.” 

Mr. Agnew was not happy to be told what to do by me. He demanded a 

personal meeting with the President. This was a matter for Constitutional 

Oficers to discuss. 

I overlooked the obvious innuendo that I was lying to Agnew about what 

the President had decided. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll arrange it at once, and someone will call you.” 

Flanigan and I left Agnew about 9:45 a.m. At 1O:OO a.m. the Vice 

President called me. He had decided to move the Mars shot from the list of 

“recommendations’’ to another category headed “Technically Feasible.” 

When I saw President Nixon later that day I told him about our session 

with Agnew and his telephone call. 

“Good,” Nixon said. “That’s just the way to handle him; use that technique on him anytime.” Nixon looked at me vaguely. “Is Agnew 

insubordinate, do you think?”23 

The STG staff proceeded to modify the draft of the final report, but only 

slightly. NASA’s Plan A, with its mission to Mars in 1981, lost the status of a 

formal option. Plan E, which excluded new programs in piloted space flight, 

also was downgraded. This left Plans B, C, and D, which were redesignated as 

Options I, II, and III. Because the middle option would remain the one for 

Nixon to choose if he wished, this reshuffle amounted to delaying the Mars 

mission from 1983 to 1986-but retaining this expedition as the ~enterpiece.~~ 

23. Ehrlichman, Wifness,pp. 144-145. 

24. Logsdon, Apollo, p. IV-66. 

166 
Winter of Discontent 

The STG’s final report thus showed a close similarity to NASA’s position 

paper of a month earlier. Plan A, with Mars in 1981, appeared with the designation “Maximum Pace.” The STG rejected it with regret, presenting it 

“only to demonstrate the upper bound of technological achievement.” Plan E, 

described as “Low Level,” was one with which “the interests of this Nation 

would not be served.” 

With these caveats, the report presented Mueller’s integrated plan in full. 

It described the major elements: space shuttle, space tug, nuclear shuttle, 

space station module. In turn, these would represent “development of new 

capabilities for operkting in space.” The three main options would lift NASA’s 

budget from its 1970 level, $3.7 billion, respectively to $5.5, $7.65 and $9.4 

billion, a decade later. 

Graphs, published with the report, presented curves of funding for all five 

plans, giving particular attention to the three main options. Separate curves 

traced funding levels through 1979 for Plan C ; they showed clearly that the 

shuttle and station, pursued concurrently, would dominate expenditures for 

new starts through 1976. Their costs would then diminish, while spending for 

additional new starts-space base, space tug, nuclear shuttle, lunar orbiting 

station-would rise rapidly to prominence. Spending for a 1986 Mars expedition would also increase sharply beginning in 1978. The report concluded: 

As a focus for the development of new capability, we recommend the United 

States accept the long-range option or goal of manned planetary exploration 

with a manned Mars mission before the end of this century as the first target.25 

Agnew decided that Russell Drew, who had drafted the report, would 

brief Nixon on its contents. This briefing took place on September 15; Nixon 

listened attentively, and met as well with STG members and observers, giving 

them opportunities to comment. These panelists stated that they had rejected 

the “extreme options” of Mars in 1981 and of eliminating plans for postApollo piloted programs. Nixon’s press secretary, Ronald Ziegler, then 

reported that the President “had concurred wholeheartedly in the panel’s 

rejection of the two extremes.”26 

25. Newell, chairman, America’s Nexf Decades; Agnew, chairman, Post-Apollo. Reprinted in NASA SP-4407, 

vol. I, pp. 522-543. 

26. Logsdon, Apollo, p. N-66; New York Times,September 16, 1969, pp. 1,21. 

167 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Three levels of space actioity studied by the Spe Task Group in 1969. (NASA) 

PROGRAM I 

(In Billions of Dollars) 

Annual 

Expendrtures 

Maximum Rate of 

Technological 

Achievement 

4-- '2i 8 

Lunar 

Ground-Based Actrvrties 

0 

60 64 68 72 76 80 04 88 

Fiscal Year 

PROGRAM II 

(InBillions of Dollars) 

Maximum Rate of 

Technological 

Achievement 

,----

/

/ ---- / a - t 

-c ----------. / 

/ 

0 

60 64 68 72 76 80 84 88 

Fiscal Year 

168 
Winter of Discontent 

PROGRAM 111 

(In Billionsof Dollars) 

Annual 

Expenditures 

Maximum Rateof 

Technological 

Achievement 

l 28 i 1 

.k I 

;n 

L 

Lunar 

Earth Orbital 

AEG/S-TeThElogy 

Ground-Based Activities 

n ~~~~~~~~~ 

60 64 68 72 , 76 80 84 88 

Fiscal Year 

Below, detail of Program 11, callingfor simultaneous development of a space staion and shuttle, 

followed by a buildup for a Mars expedition in 1986. (NASA) 

Phasing of Decisions 

(In Billions of Dollars) 

/I986 Mars 

Runoutof Annual 

Budget Decisions 

Excluding Major 

New Systems 

70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 

Fiscal Year 

169 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

While Nixon’s response fell well short of a Kennedy-type commitment to 

Mars, even as an option for future presidents, it did represent a significant 

straw in the wind. By endorsing the STG’s rejection of Plan E, with its phaseout of piloted flight, Nixon hinted for the first time that he would want more 

than the Apollo and Skylab missions that he had inherited from previous 

administrations. He would want a piloted program of his own, and Agnew, as 

brash as Paine in these matters, promptly sent a letter to Nixon that strongly 

recommended Plan C (designated Option I1 in the report), which anticipated 

Mars in 1986.This letter amounted to an endorsement of Mueller’s integrated 

plan in its original version, which had also called for Mars in 1986. Paine 

indeed had received the bolder thinking for which he had called. It was clear, 

however, that this boldness had merely given him leeway to back off to the 

far-reaching plan that Mueller had proposed in the first place.” 

Mars: The Retreat 

When Nixon met with the STG, Robert Mayo was among those present. He 

did not need to say much. Everyone knew he had the authority to deal with 

NASA in his own good way. He already had a staff report that came close to 

asserting that NASA should follow Plan E, or something very similar. This 

report had outlined the consequences of holding NASA to future budgets as 

low as $1.5 billion. 

This staff report treated the Space Shuttle at some length, comparing it 

with upgrades of the Titan I11 as an alternative. It concluded that even with an 

active flight schedule of 55 flights per year, the Titan I11 would represent the 

less costly way to proceed, with its advantage growing markedly at lower 

flight rates. The reason for this was that while the Shuttle would reduce the 

cost of space flight, it would take time and cost money to develop. To the 

BOB, dollars in future years held less value than present dollars. This was not 

due to inflation, but rather it reflected the fact that those future dollars would 

have to earn interest to match the worth of present ones. 

NASA had proposed that the Shuttle replace most of the expendable boosters that were currently in use, excluding only the Saturn V. Mayo’s staff doubted 

that NASA and the Pentagon in fact would do this, even if a shuttle became 

27. Letter, Agnew to Nixon, September 15, 1969. 

170 
Winter of Discontent 

available. They noted “the existence of strong vested interests and established 

working relationships in the existing boosters and facilities.” Their report stated: 

Recommendation: We recommend against Presidential endorsement of the 

Space Transportation System at this time. 

Other conclusions were similar: “We recommend against endorsement of 

a space station now-at least until the orbital workshop [Skylab] is further 

along in development-perhaps until it has flown.” “We recommend against 

endorsement of the manned planetary expedition (Mars) goal either with or 

without a target date. In summary, we believe the Mars goal to be much more 

beneficial to the space program than to the nation as a whole.” 

The BOBstaff showed a similar iconoclasm in its overall view of piloted 

space flight: 

The crucial problem with manned space flight is that no one is really prepared to stop manned spaceflight activity, and yet no defined manned project 

can compete on a cost-return basis with unmanned space flight systems. In 

addition, missions that are designed around man’s unique capabilities 

appear to have little demonstrable economic or social return to atone for 

their high cost. Their principal contribution is that each mannedjight paves 

the way for more manned flight .... 

NASA equates progress in manned space capability with increased time 

in space, increased size of spacecraj?, and increased rate of activity. The 

agency also insists upon continuity of operational flight programs, which 

means we must continue producing and using current equipment concurrently with development of next generation systems. Therefore, by definition, 

there can be no progress in manned space flight without significantly 

increased annual cost. 

Staff members also reviewed the STG report in draft form. Their comments were scathing, virtually dismissing it out of hand: 

The report is inadequate as 

-a basis for Presidential decision, 

-a published justijication ofAdministration decision .... 

171 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

What are we asking the President to decide? This is not clear from reading the report. For example, does Presidential acceptance of the objective 

“Developing new capabilities for operating in space ’’ amount to go-ahead 

decisions on a large earth-orbiting manned Space Station and a Space 

Transportation System involving three major new systems development for 

manned and automated systems with both chemical and nuclear engines? 

The report is susceptible to both “yes” and “no” interpretations. 

The central issue--“What is the future of civilian manned space flight 

activities’’ is not directly addressed. 

A good catalogue of technical possibilities for the jkture is provided. 

Howevel; in our view these are very optimistic possibilities. For example, 

ESTP Division stag believe it highly unlikely that a mnned Mars mission 

could in fact be undertaken in 1981 or that a space shuttle ...could in fact be 

developed in five years .... 

The report is lacking in identified outputs for the large-scale mannedprogram recommended. There is therefore little on which to base value judgments. 

Justification for large-scale manned space effort is only loosely 

derived. It is based on 

- challenge to our spirit of adventure 

-challenge to our national competence in engineering 

The view then is that a space program supported by national acceptance 

of these challenges can be used to enhance our national 

-welfare 

-security 

- enlightenment 

In our view, an unmanned flight program, because of its demonstrated 

output and lower costs, can be justified directly on the basis of returns to our 

security, economy, and advancement of science. 

It is the costly, large-scale manned flight program that requires some 

overriding decisive force to keep it going .... 

No low-cost options. The report does not contain any program options 

with annual costs less than current levels. In our vim, such options should 

be identijed in the report, and evaluated in terms of returns to the nationnot in terms of entrancing opportunities passed up.28 

28. Budget Bureau, “NASA Issues Paper,” undated; late August 1969 

172 
Winter of Discontent 

Armed with this staff review, Mayo wrote a letter to Nixon on September 

25, presenting the BOB’Sassessment of the final STG report. He described it 

as having “several shortcomings” that “impair its completeness as a vehicle 

for your jnal decision.” 

Mayo noted an excessively narrow scope that ignored “the relative standing of the space program in our full range of national priorities” as well as 

“the future economic context within which the recommended space expenditure increases would have to be considered.” He suggested that Nixon have 

the report reviewed by the Cabinet and perhaps the National Security Council 

as well. Such reviews would take time, and would give Nixon excellent reason 

to avoid rushing into any hasty commitments. 

Mayo then warned that the report’s estimates of the costs of future programs appeared to be “significantly t~nderestimated.” He also had other words 

of caution: 

The report does not clearly differentiate between the values of the manned 

space flight program versus a much less costly unmanned program with its 

greater emphasis on scient@ achievement and potential economic returns .... 

The report is written in such a way that your endorsement of any of the 

recommended program options implies endorsement of major new long-term 

development projects, which are included in all three of the program options. 

Therefore, in a practical sense, the report gives you little flexibility except as 

to timing (and therefore annual costs) .... All the defined options involve signficant budget increases over current levels .... 

Because the Space Task Group report has now been published, your 

endorsement now of any specific option will commit us to annual budget 

increases of at least the magnitudes spec$ed in the report. Therefore, you 

could lose effective JLiscal control of the program. 

I am convinced that a forward-looking manned space program can be 

developedfor you that does not involve commitments to signijtcant near-term 

budget increases.29 

This letter, circulated within the White House, drew a succinct response 

from Ehrlichman: “I concur with the Director’s recommendations.” It also 

won support from Henry assinger, the national security advisor and head of 

29. Memo, Mayo to Nixon, September 25, 1969. Reprinted in NASA SP-4407, Vol. I, pp. 544-656 

173 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

the National Security Council.30 With this, Mayo was ready to receive Paine’s 

budget request for FY 197I. 

Paine had begun by assembling his associates’ estimates totalling $5.4 

billion and including $1.0 billion in new starts. This was too much even for 

him; he responded that their requests were “not consistent with the recommendations made to the President” by the STG, and “far exceed the dollar 

level that can be reasonably expected.” He met with his colleagues, cut their 

dollar amounts, and presented his proposed budget to Mayo in a letter dated 

October 8. Paine requested $4.2 billion in outlays and $4.497 billion in new 

budget authority, with these levels matching those of the “alternative budget” 

in Mayo’s letter of late July.3’ 

Mayo and his staff, however, had no intention of granting such largesse. 

In a staff paper dated November 13, the BOB gave NASA a tentative 

allowance of $3.349 billion in budget authority and $3.515 billion in outlays. 

The first of these would require congressional appropriation; it represented a 

cut of over a billion dollars or more than 25 percent in Paine’s request. 

Such a budget meant that, at least in FY 1971, NASA would receive no 

commitment to either a space station or a shuttle. It would cut the launch rate 

for Apollo missions to as low as one flight per year7 and would slam the door 

on continued production of the Saturn V. It would so restrict NASA that it 

would prohibit any new starts even in automated ~pacecraft.~’ 

Paine hit the roof. In a letter to Mayo on November 18, he declared that 

“the allowance and rationale are both unacceptable.” He then followed standard procedure by filing a “reclama,” a request for review. This too was part 

of the budget process; it was far from unusual for a department or agency head 

to receive a cut in a proposed budget. Rather than compromise, however, 

Paine stuck to his guns, and to his requested budget levels. He got nowhere in 

a November 21 meeting with Mayo. One participant states that the meeting 

“broke fairly quickly because we couldn’t accommodate anything.” Another 

participant adds that Pine “went away angry.’733 

One should not see this as a personal fight between Paine and Mayo. 

Paine later noted that “Bob Mayo’s son has his wall plastered with NASA 

30. Memo, Ehrhchman to Staff Secretary, October 7, 1969; memo, Kissinger to Whitaker, November 17, 1969. 

31. Letter, Paine to Mayo, October 8, 1969; Logsdon, Apollo, chapter 5, pp. 19-20 

32. Logsdon, Apollo, chapter 5, pp. 20-22. 

33. Bid., pp. 22-23; letter, Paine to Mayo, November 18, 1969 

174 
Winter of Discontent 

posters,” adding that while Mayo was “a little hard-headed about things,” he 

was “an easy person to get to know. I was always very comfortable going 

over and talking to Bob.” Rather than keep matters at an impasse, they now 

agreed that NASA and BOB staffers were to work together to try to narrow 

their differences. 

Mayo proceeded to raise NASA’s allowance to $3.7 billion, matching the 

appropriation for Ey 1970. Paine’s staff developed alternative budgets that ran 

as low as $3.91 billion, though he insisted to Mayo that an appropriation of 

$4.25 billion “is the lowest level you and I can responsibly recommend to the 

President.”This left a gap of over half a billion dollars between their positions.34 

The reclama procedure called for Mayo to meet personally with Nixon to 

present the BOB’S budget recommendation, and then to inform Nixon of areas 

of disagreement between BOB and the agency. Paine was not to be present; 

Nixon did not wish to act as a referee. The meeting took place on December 

5. Three days later, Paine talked by telephone with Flanigan, who presented 

Nixon’s decision: “The President says that he doesn’t have enough money 

within the next couple of years and must accept limitation of activity, doing 

the best he can within the $3.7 limitation.” Nixon had come down strongly on 

the side of may^.^^ 

Paine still had one more card to play, as he wrote to Nixon directly, urging 

a “curtailed and spartan” level of $4.075 billion that would keep the Saturn V 

in production, or a level of $3.935 billion that would suspend Saturn V production but provide startup funds for a space station and shuttle. The two men 

met just before Christmas, and again Nixon stood firm.Paine would have to 

accept the BOB figures of $3.7 billion in budget authority and $3.825 billion 

in outlays. These were the numbers that would go to Congress in the 

President’s budget.36 

Ordinarily that would have been the end of the matter, with NASA absorbing this cut and making the best of it. In fact, the cuts for FY 1971 were only 

beginning, and the first new one came from flanigan. He had tried to develop 

an independent White House view of an appropriate NASA budget, with his 

34. Letter, Paine to Mayo, December 5, 1969; Logsdon, Apollo, chapter 5, pp. 23-24; E. M. Emme interview, 

Thomas Paine, August 3, 1970, p 30. 

35. Covert (secretary to Paine), Memo for Record, December 8, 1969; Logsdon, Apollo, chapter 5, pp. 24,28- 

29. 

36. Letter, Paine to Nixon, December 17, 1969; Logsdon, Apollo, chapter 5, pp. 29-30 

175 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

staff member Clay Whitehead digging into details of this agency’s projects. In 

a letter to Nixon, Paine had warned that at $3.7 billion, “U.S. manned flight 

activity would end in 1972 with an uncertain date for resumption many years in 

the future.” Flanigan and Whitehead wondered if things were really that serious. 

As they pursued their investigations, they became convinced that NASA 

indeed could live with $3.7 billion, could even receive a budget below that 

level and still avoid dire consequences. Flanigan advised Ehrlichman of this. 

Ehrlichman also received counsel from another presidential advisor, Bryce 

Harlow, liaison with Congress, who warned that a $3.7 billion figure would 

not win support on Capitol Hill. Ehrlichman discussed the matter with Nixon, 

and they agreed to seek further cuts. 

Amid a flurry of activity within the White House and BOB, Paine soon 

learned that the $3.7 billion figure that he could not live with now stood at a 

level higher than what he‘would have to accept. Early in January 1970, 

Flanigan presented the news: $3.53 billion in budget authority, $3.6 billion in 

outlays. The latter figure represented a cut of $225 million from an earlier 

estimate of $3.825 billion in outlays. Flanigan’s memo also stated that “there 

is no commitment, implied or otherwise, for development starts for either the 

space station or the shuttle in FY 72. That is a matter to be discussed when 

the ’72 budget is developed.”37 

Paine’s initial response was to order the closing of the Electronics 

Research Center, a NASA facility in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Though it 

was not a center on a par with the likes of NASA Marshall, it had a staff of 

800 and would be missed. Paine then held a press conference on January 13, 

1971. He stated that total employment, within NASA and its contractors, 

would fall from 190,000 to 140,000 during 1971. (As recently as 1966, this 

total had approached 400,000.) Production of the Saturn V would cease, 

Apollo lunar missions would fly only at six-month intervals, and Viking missions to Mars would fly in 1975 rather than in 1973, as earlier planned.38 

Meanwhile, back at the White House, a Cabinet meeting was reaching 

decisions that would lead to further cuts. The economist Arthur Burns, a presidential counselor, had urged Nixon to bring the overall federal budget into 

37. Letter, Paine to Nixon, December 17, 1969memo, Flanigan to Paine and Mayo, January 6, 1970; 

Logsdon,Apollo, chapter 5, pp. 27-28, 30-32. 

38. NASA press release no. 69-17]. December 29, 1969; Pane, statement, January 13, 1970; Logsdon, 

Apollo, p. V-33. 

176 
Winterof Discontent 

line with new and lower estimates of revenue. He had won support from 

George Romney, Secretary of Housing and Urban Development. Romney 

now called for a uniform reduction of 2.5 percent in all department budgets, 

along with restrictions on salaries and pay raises. On January 13, as Paine was 

meeting the press, Nixon met with his cabinet officers and directed them to 

make such cuts. He put Burns in charge of this effort, which they called 

Operation Paring Knife. 

Nixon directed Mayo to inform Paine that NASA would have to reduce 

its budget by another $200 million. Paine received the news just as he was 

arriving at a banquet. He later recalled that 

while I grandly entered this big ballroom for this event the loudspeaker 

boomed out that I was to call the ,White House. And I went with sinking 

heart knowing damned well that they weren’t calling to say that we had 

more money.39 

Paine tried to get by with a cut of only $51 million; Mayo agreed to present this to Nixon. Paine told Flanigan of this, and Flanigan responded 

angrily, “YOU mean Mayo capitulated?’ But Paine’s ploy collapsed within 

hours, as Nixon rejected his compromise. Paine now had no choice but to take 

the full reduction of $200 million. 

This left NASA with $3.333 billion in budget authority and $3.4 billion 

in outlays. As recently as October, Paine had requested $4.497 billion and 

$4.2 billion, respectively. This budget authority represented a cut of 10 percent from the FY 1970 appropriation of $3.697 billion, with inflation eroding 

its value further. This was merely Nixon’s requested budget; Congress was 

free to make further cuts.”’ 

e Tur~of Congress 

The Budget Bureau was part of the permanent Washington bureaucracy, 

staffed by members of the Civil Service who took pride in a tradition of nonpartisan concern for the national interest. By contrast, Congress was as 

39. Logsdon,Apollo, chapter 5, pp 33-34, interview, Thomas Pame, September 3, 1970, pp 15-16 

40. Letter, Paine to Nixon, January 15, 1970; letter, Paine to Mayo, January 16, 1970; Lcgsdon, Apollo, chapter 5, pp. 34-35. 

177 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

partisan an institution as that city could offer. Its members paid keen attention 

to public opinion. When Agnew showed up at the Apollo 1 1 launch and called 

for flight to Mars, key senators were quick to respond. 

Mike Mansfield, the Senate Majority Leader, declared that he would rule 

out such efforts “until problems here on Earth are solved.” Following the safe 

return of the Apollo 11 astronauts, Clinton Anderson, chairman of the Senate 

space committee, stated that “now is not the time to commit ourselves to the 

goal of a manned mission to Mars.” Senator Margaret Chase Smith, a 

Republican member of that committee, added that the government “should 

avoid making long-range plans during this emotional period,” following the 

first Moon landing. She warned against becoming involved “in a crash program without the justification we had for Ap0ll0.”~~ 

There was similar sentiment in the House. Congressman George Miller, 

chairman of that chamber’s space committee, warned against decisions that 

would “commit ourselves to a specific time period for setting sail for Mars” 

and proposed that such decisions might be deferred until “five, perhaps ten 

years from now.” Joseph Karth, a space subcommittee chairman, asserted 

that the success of Apollo would not “translate directly into an urgent mandate to put a man on Mars by 1980 or, for that matter, any other magical 

date.” He declared that NASA was showing “complete lack of consideration for the taxpayer.” Congressman Olin Teague, chairman of the powerful 

Subcommittee on Manned Space Flight, said a year later that “the easiest 

thing on Earth to vote against in Congress is the space program. You can 

vote to kill the whole space program tomorrow, and you won’t get one 

letter.”42 

These people were members and leaders of the congressional space committees. If they were willing to take such candid views, what would the rank 

and file do within the House and Senate? Certainly they would pay close 

attention to public opinion polls-which were strongly adverse to NASA. 

Following Apollo 11, a Gallup Poll took a nationwide survey of views concerning flight to Mars. Fifty-three percent of the respondents were opposed to 

such a program; 39 percent were in favor. A few weeks later, a Newsweek poll 

41. New York ‘IFmes,July 16, 1969, p. 22; Congressional Record, July 29, 1969,p. S8739; Logsdon, Apollo, 

p. IV-53. 

42. Logsdon, Apcllo, p. IV-54; Aviation Week, August 18, 1969, pp. 16-17;John Logsdon interview, Ohn 

Teague, Washington, August 15, 1970, p 5. 

178 
Winter of Discontent 

found that 56 percent of the public wanted Nixon to spend less on space. Only 

10 percent wanted him to spend m0re.4~ 

While Paine did what he could to plead his case, he faced entrenched 

opposition. He met with Senator Edward Kennedy, brother of the late president, and suggested that Apollo astronauts might carry some memento of JFK 

to the Moon. He quickly learned that the senator had no interest “in identifying Jack Kennedy at all with this landing. He more or less gave me the 

impression that he felt that this was one of President Kennedy’s aberrations.” 

Unable to sway his critics, Paine soon was dismissing them out of hand: 

One of the games that some people on the Hill might play would be to say, 

gee, let’s hit the space program and wipe it out, and keep the sewers and so 

forth in. The idea was that, well, the reason the country was so crummy was 

because we went to the moon, and by God, if we had only spent that money 

on all these other things that we needed to do, then we would have a great 

country and a crummy space program. Wouldn’t it be better than a great 

space program and a crummy country. This was the line of reasoning they 

slipped into.44 

Nixon sent his budget for FY 1971 to Capitol Hill on February 2, 1970. 

The first step was for the space committees to hold hearings, where NASA’s 

officials included a new Associate Administrator for Manned Space Flight. 

George Mueller, who had held that post since 1963, resigned from NASA in 

December 1969 and left government service to become a vice president at 

General Dynamics. His replacement, Dale D. Myers of North American 

Rockwell, had managed the Navaho missile program in the long ago. Myers 

had been a vice president in the Space Division and had been general manager of Apollo. He also had directed his company’s studies of the Space 

Shuttle. 

Now, in congressional testimony, he spoke of a “shuttle/station” and 

described it as a single integrated program, offering “the first elements of a 

transportation system.” The shuttle would “transport a crew of two, and 

43. CongressionalRecord, August 13, 1969, p. H7361; Newsweek, October 6, 1969, p. 46. See also NASA 

SP-4407,Vol. I, p. 546. 

44. Paine, Memo for Record, July 1, 1969; interview, Thomas Paine, August 12, 1970, pp 14, 16; E. M. 

Emme interview, Thomas Paine, Washington, September3, 1970, pp, 6-7. 

179 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

twelve passengers, into low orbit.” In addition to supporting the station, it 

would accomplish “propellant delivery, satellite repair, short-duration 

orbital missions, deployment of satellites,” and the launch of automated 

“planetary probes.” 

The space station would have a crew of 12, “seven men working and five 

men operating the vehicle itself,” and would have “an operational life of ten 

years, with resupply.” It would fly atop a Saturn V, with both the shuttle and 

station entering service by 1978. Significantly, Myers noted that the FY 1971 

budget held no funds for even preliminary studies of a piloted mission to 

Mars. NASA officials understood that such studies and plans could only hurt 

the agency.45 

NASA was requesting $110 million for the shuttlektation, up from $18.5 

million in FY 1970. These funds would pay for extensive design work on both 

projects, including early work on a new engine for the Shuttle. In its original 

proposal to the BOB in October 1969, NASA had requested over $250 million 

for these projects. Olin Teague, the most powerful of the space subcommittee 

chairmen and a power within the full committee as well, was in an expansive 

mood and was far from willing to accept the BOB’S cuts. Proposing to add $80 

million for the shuttlehtation, he asked Myers what NASA would do if it had 

more money for piloted space flight. “I don’t think we have to rubber-stamp 

something the Bureau of the Budget does,” he argued. 

We are going along with the people halfway, going along with the people who 

are supposed to know something. That was the President’s Task Group. What 

should we do, just sit back on our cans and let the Bureau of the Budget dictate every damn thing we do? We are right, you know we are right, and we 

know more about it than they do, and I bet you this subcommittee of mine 

knows more about this program than the Bureau of the Budget does.46 

The structure of the House space committee paralleled that of NASA. 

NASA had a powerful Office of Manned Space Flight and a much less influential Office of Space Science and Applications (OSSA) that dealt with 

automated spacecraft. These offices had counterparts among the House subcommittees, with Teague chairing the one on piloted space flight. A separate 

45. Logsdon, Apollo, chapter 5, pp. 41.43-44. 

46. Ibid., pp. 43-44; AAS History Series, Vol. 4, pp. 245,247-248 

180 
Winter of Discontent 

subcommittee dealt with the concerns of OSSA; its chairman was Joseph 

Karth. Karth lacked the clout of Teague, much as OSSA had to defer to 

OMSF. Nevertheless, he was ready to confront Teague, and NASA, when he 

felt this was necessary. 

With their automated orbiters and landers, the Viking missions to Mars 

fell within Karth’s purview. However, he strongly opposed piloted flight to 

that planet. In 1967, he had been working to win support for Voyager, with its 

even more ambitious orbiters and landers, when he learned that NASA was 

requesting proposals for studies of piloted missions to Mars and Venus. He 

stated that this act left him “absolutely astounded. Very bluntly, a manned 

mission to Mars or Venus by 1975 or 1977 is now and always has been out of 

the question-and anyone who persists in this kind of misallocation of 

resources at this time is going to be stopped.”47 

He responded similarly to the work of the STG. In March 1970, addressing a meeting of the American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics, he 

described its plans as 

totally unrealistic. Based on my experience with Rangel; Centaul; Surveyol; 

Marinel; Viking and even Explore6 NASA’s projected cost estimates are asinine. NASA must consider the members of Congress a bunch of stupid idiots. 

Worse yet, they may believe their own estimates-and then we really are in 

bad shape. 

He opposed Teague’s motion in committee, and when Teague prevailed, 

nailing the $80 million increase to the authorization bill, Karth took his opposition to the floor of the House. Teague viewed this as an unprecedented 

breach of congressional practice, for Karth, who chaired a subcommittee that 

did not deal with piloted space flight and who had not participated in the hearings of Teague’s own subcommittee, was taking a strong stand against the 

recommendations of that subcommittee of which he was not a member. 

Teague became so angry that he vowed that, although Karth was among the 

most senior members of the full committee, he would personally see to it that 

Karth would never become its chair. 

Karth’s amendment called not only for the elimination of Teague’s $80 

million increase; it demanded elimination of all funds for the shuttle/station, 

47. Logsdon,Apollo, chapter 1, pp. 13-17; chapter4, pp. 47-48; Aviation Week,September 11, 1967, pp. 26-27. 

181 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

and chopped another $50 million from piloted space programs as well. The 

entire House took up this amendment on April 23, with Karth insisting that 

NASA’s plans were premature: “Before the Space Shuttle can be a reality, 

many difficult technological advances must be made in such areas as configuration and aerodynamics, heat protection, guidance and control, and 

propulsion.” Then he dropped a bombshell, suggesting that approval of the 

shuttlehtation would necessarily imply much more: “This in my judgment at 

least-and there is a great deal of evidence to support the theory-is the 

beginning of a manned Mars landing program.” He spoke of a “back door” 

to that planet, adding that a decision to “embark upon a $50 billion to $100 

billion manned space flight landing program to Mars is something I think we 

ought to debate loud and clear.” 

The House had no love for Mars; indeed, even the automated Viking program was controversial. Congressman Edward Koch, a member of Karth’s 

subcommittee and a future mayor of New York City, had stated, “I just can’t 

for the life of me see voting for monies to find out whether or not there is 

some microbe on Mars, when in fact I know there are rats in the Harlem apartments.” In the floor debate, however, the BOB’Sbudget cuts now worked 

ironically in NASA’s favor, for these cuts had eliminated all funds directed 

toward such a piloted expedition. 

“There is no money in here for a manned trip to Mars,” countered Don 

Fuqua, a member of Teague’s subcommittee. A Republican member, Richard 

Roudebush, added: “I am puzzled by the statement that the Shuttle is in some 

way mixed up with the Mars landing, when nothing is further from the truth.” 

George Miller, chairman of the full committee, also stated authoritatively that 

there was no relation between the shuttle/station and a Mars expedition. 

These reassurances helped to defeat Karth’s amendment, but only by the 

narrowest of margins. Only about one-fourth of the 435 members of the 

House were present and voting, and the final tally was a tie: 53 for, 53 

against. Under House rules, this meant it had failed to pass. Other amendments followed, along with other votes, but the opponents of NASA went 

down to defeat more handily. The full $190 million for the shuttlelstation 

survived-to face new opposition in the Senate.48 

48. AAS History Series, Vol. 4, pp. 246-251; Logsdon, Apollo, Chapter5, pp. 4548; CongressionulRecord, 

April 23, 1970, pp. H3384-H3423; Aviation Week,May 25, 1970, p. 27. 

182 
Winter of Discontent 

Like Karth, Senator Walter Mondale was a Democrat of Minnesota, with 

the two men being close colleagues. The Senate had no counterpart of Olin 

Teague, no one who would push successfully to add funds for the shuttlelstation in the authorization bill; the bill that reached the Senate floor contained 

only the administration request of $110million. Mondale nevertheless moved 

to strike this entire amount, and offered an impassioned plea: 

This item involves a fundamental and profound decision about the future 

direction of the manned spaceflight era. This is, in fact, the next moon-type 

program. I believe it would be unconscionable to embark on a project of such 

staggering cost when many of our citizens are malnourished, when our rivers 

and lakes are polluted, and when our cities and rural areas are dying. What 

are our values? What do we think is more important?49 

The Senate debated Mondale’s amendment for four hours, then sent it to 

defeat by a vote of 29 to 56. Mondale tried anew in July, when this chamber 

turned to the appropriations bill. This bill totalled nearly $18 billion and 

included funds not only for NASA but for the Department of Housing and 

Urban Development. Senators thus faced a potentially irresistible opportunity 

to add funds to meet the needs of the nation’s cities, and to subtract funds from 

the space program. 

Mondale’s colleagues quickly did the former, adding $400 million for 

urban renewal and for sewer and water projects. Mondale then offered his 

amendment again, as he sought to delete the $1 10 million for the shuttlelstation as an appropriation. After several hours of debate, his amendment 

lost-by a margin of only 28 to 32. 

With debate resuming the next day, Paine knew that he faced an imminent 

threat from similar amendments. He discussed the situation at a meeting on 

Capitol Hill with Senator Hugh Scott, the Republican leader. In Paine’s words, 

we decided that the best chance of defeating that would be to offer the 

people who would be on the floor who had to more or less vote against 

increases in space, a bill to vote against. And once they had voted against 

49. Logsdon, Apollo,chapter 5, pp. 48-49; CongressionalRecord, May 6, 1970, pp. S676846817. For Mondale 

quote see alsoChaikin, Man, p. 336. 

183 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECZSION 

NASA, then when the other bill came up proposing to cut us, that they might 

feel free and a little easier in not voting to cut us, since they had already 

voted against us once. 

The Senate appropriations bill called for a level of spending slightly 

below the president’s budget, and they decided to seek a member of the 

Senate space committee who would introduce an amendment to bring it back 

up to Nixon’s request of $3.333 billion. They quickly settled on Bany 

Goldwater, an active space proponent, as the man they wanted. At that 

moment, Coldwater was on the Senate floor; they sent him a note, and he met 

Paine and Scott in the latter’s office. He agreed with the strategy and invited 

them to prepare an amendment that he would introduce. 

“We went into the outer office,” Paine recalls. “We got the girl to put an 

amendment form into the typewriter there, and she banged out an amendment. Barry folded it up, put it in his pocket, and walked out.” Scott then 

invoked Senate procedure and arranged for Goldwater to introduce his measure after everyone was back from lunch. It met resounding defeat, 15 to 

58-as Paine had expected. 

Following this vote, NASA’s opponents launched their onslaught. 

William Proxmire, an ally of Mondale and a strong critic of NASA in his own 

right, noted that the House had approved a NASA budget that was $136 million below the administration request. This cut had not been aimed 

specifically at the shuttle/station, but had been spread among a variety of programs. Proxmire now introduced his own amendment, calling for a cut to this 

level in the Senate appropriation. He asserted that the money saved could 

“provide a subsidy for the building of some 125,000 to 150,000new low- and 

moderate-income housing units.” This amendment also failed, 34 to 39. 

Senator William Fulbright then introduced yet another amendment, 

demanding a cut of $300 million for NASA. Nixon had described the Senate 

as “spendthrift” for having added $400 million to the bill the previous day, for 

urban programs. “We should all have an opportunity to help balance the current bill,” this senator said, adding that his cut in funding for the space 

program would do precisely that. He presented an explicit appeal to take 

money from NASA and spend it on the cities: “We voted for sewers. Certainly 

sewers are more important than going to the Moon.” Again Paine found the 

support he needed as Fulbright’s measure went down, 32 to 37. 

184 
Winterof Discontent 

Constant 1982 Dollars (Billions) 

20 

Annual NASA Budget 

15 

10 

5 

Annual NASA Budget for Space Science and Applications Applications 

0 I 

1960 1965 1970 1975 1980 1985 

NASA's actual budget in constant dollars, 1960-1 985. (Scientific American) 

The final Senate appropriation passed easily, 68 to 4. It provided $3.319billion for NASA, for a cut of only $14 million from the President's budget. This 

bill went to conferencewith that of the House; the conferees gave NASA a final 

appropriation of $3.269 billion. They also granted $110 million for the shuttlehtation, eliminating Teague's proposed increase but matching Nixon's 

original req~est.~" 

This appropriation represented a drop of $428 million from the level of FY 

1970, with inflation reducing the 1971 allocation even further. It marked the 

fourth year in a row of such cuts, and while no one had a crystalball, this budget 

at least would offer the solace that future cuts would be considerably less 

severe. NASA funding finally hit rock bottom in FY 1974,barely above $3 billion. In constant dollars, this represented only one-third of NASA's peak in the 

50. Logsdon, Apollo, chapter 5, pp. 49-51;CongressionalRecord, July 6, 1970, pp. S10603310625; July 7, 

1970, pp. S10681-S10700,SlO721-S10727;E. M. Emme interview, Thomas Paine, July 9, 1970, pp 7-9; 

Low, Personal Notes No. 27, July 18, 1970;Paine, statement, September 2, 1970(withsummary of M 

1971 budget). 

185 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

mid-1960s. Subsequent budgets stayed close to that level, with adjustment for 

idation, and continued at that constant-dollar level through the mid- 1980s? 

Yet even in 1970 the final cut, from $3.333 billion to $3.269 billion, gave 

a clear view of congressional attitudes toward Apollo and, by extension, to the 

challenges that might lie beyond the Moon. This reduction of $64 million represented only two percent of the administration request, but NASA was already 

so hard-pressed that it had significant consequences. Paine now saved $42 million by canceling two planned Apollo Moon landings. This amounted ts a 

down payment; those two missions would have cost $800 million, spread over 

several years. 

The Apollo program had spent $23.85 billion through mid- 1970, and had 

accomplished the two Moon landings of Apollo 11 and 12. The equipment 

was in hand for six more. Hence, to save 3.3 percent of the program cost- 

$800 million out of nearly $24 billion-Paine sacrificed one-third of the 

remaining missions. The loss in lunar science was greater still. Lunar landings 

were visiting rugged regions of interest to geologists; indeed, a professional 

geologist, Harrison Schmitt, flew to the Moon aboard Apollo 17. The final 

Apollo missions were able to stay longer on the Moon, as astronauts ranged 

widely by driving a battery-powered vehicle that resembled a dune buggy. 

Such waste is inconceivable unless one understands that, to Congress, 

Apollo was a means to achieve national prestige. By 1970, the nation had 

reached the Moon and had won whatever prestige it was likely to get from 

this. Members of Congress could look at the Moon and say “been there, done 

that.” Each Apollo flight cost up to $400 million. Such a sum, following the 

estimate of Senator Proxmire, could provide housing for as many as a million 

people. In an era when people looked to Washington to do such things, Apollo 

would fail totally in any c~mpetition.~~ 

Paine Leaves NASA 

During the year that followed the landing of Apollo 11 in the Sea of 

Tranquillity, NASA received a cold bath in the sea of reality. Yet the experi51. NASA SP-4012, Vol. El,p. 12, Scient@cAAmerican,January 1986, p. 34. 

52. Paine, statement, September 2, 1970; Low, Personal Notes No. 30, September 6, 1970;Avzorion Week, 

September 7, 1970, pp. 18-19; NASA budget data, February 1970. For later Apollo missions, see 

Chaikin, Man. 

186 
Winterof Discontent 

ence left Paine unmoved; he remained as ebullient as ever in his hopes. He not 

only continued to cherish the goals of the STG; he sought to define further 

goals reaching to the year 2000, three decades in the future. He set up a threeday meeting at which space experts were to brainstorm on such goals; the 

invitees included Wernher von Braun, Arthur C. Clarke, Robert Gilruth of the 

Manned Spacecraft Center, and astronaut Neil Armstrong. 

Calling for “a completely uninhibited flow of new ideas,” Paine offered an 

“operating manual” for “Spaceship NASA.”He wanted new types of engines, 

“to achieve Wernher’s Metaphysical Goals of extending terrestrial life within 

the solar system and out into the galaxy.” He hoped for an “Intercontinental 

Space Plane,” able to fly “anywhere on Earth in an hour.” He proposed “Global 

TelecommunicatiodSupercomputerNetworks” that indeed would take shape 

as the Internet. Another concept called for “Food Man~facture,~’ synthesizing 

food from fossil fuels and “freeing man from his 5000 year dependence on 

agriculture.” The list concluded: “Understand Man’s Origin and Destiny” and 

envisioned “the future evolution of terrestrial life to other worlds with eventual 

communication with other intelligence.” 

He caIIed for “swashbuckling buccaneering courage” and proposed 

“fighting ships: both naval and buccaneering” as a model for NASA. Having 

served personally in the Navy, he proceeded to issue orders: 

Consider NASA as Nelson’s “Band-of-Brothers”-Sea Rovers-combining 

the best of naval discipline in some areas with freedom of action of bold buccaneers in others-men who are determined to do their individual and 

collective best to moving the planet into a better 21st Century. 

INSTRUCTIONS TO CAPTAINS 

Must be competent and hard working, sensitive but steady nerved, visionary 

but tough minded, determined and thoughtjkl. No room for ideology. 

Scholarship 

Know the ocean, storms, rocks and shoals you will face. Know your ship, men 

and fleet commander: keep your watch, quarter and stations bill up to date 

as casualties and rotation take place. Continuously study your course, position, consumables and destination. Keep a sound man with keen vision and a 

good glass stationed in the foretop. 

187 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Command 

Buccaneer captains with letters of marque and reprisal live dangerously. This 

danger can be reduced by alert lookouts, fast sailing, superior seamanship, 

winning the respect and loyal9 of the crew. Complete your homework before 

talking or issuing orders. Be carejkl of ideology and amateur social science 

and economics. 

The meeting took place in mid-June of 1970. Paine followed with a letter 

to Nixon: “The results are exciting and I would like to request an appointment 

to present to you our best current thinking ....The purpose &...to give you a 

heretofore unavailable Presidential level long-range view of man’s future 

potential in space.”53 

Then in July, he received an attractive job offer from Xerox. The offer 

appealed to him, for his government salary was $42,500 per year. As he put 

it, “with four children in school, 1 can certainly use a little more money to help 

support this family and give them a good start in life.” He called Jack Parker 

at General Electric, an old friend and a member of the board of directors, and 

asked for advice. Parker replied, in Paine’s words, “that they would be very 

anxious to have me come back,” and that GE might be able to offer him a very 

promising position. Paine then talked to the chairman of the board and learned 

that the position would call for him “to head up all of General Electric’s 

power generation activities including both the conventional steam turbine 

business and also the nuclear power plants.” Paine expressed interest and suggested that he could take the post early in 1971; the chairman replied that GE 

would need him that summer. There was nothing pressing to keep him at 

NASA, and on July 28 he sent Nixon his letter of resignation, to become 

effective on September 15. Having left GE only two and a half years earlier, 

he now returned, with his tenure at NASA representing merely a brief interlude within a career at GE that spanned nearly three decades.54 

He had been a liberal Democrat in an administration of Republicans, a 

Lyndon Johnson appointee held over to serve Nixon’s loyalists. In addition to 

this, he had spent much effort fighting for his own agenda, rather than promoting that of the president. Yet he did not leave Washington under a cloud. Peter 

53. Memo, Pame to Addressees, May 25, 1970; Memo for the President, Paine to Haldeman, July 9, 1970. 

54. Biographical data, Thomas 0.Pame papers, Library of Congress; Logsdon, Apullo, p. V-53, E. M Emme 

interview, Thomas Paine. August 3, 1970, pp. 10-14 

188 
Winter of Discontent 

Flanigan described him as a “good soldier” who “accepted decisions after getting a full hearing.” Ehrlichman compared NASA’s bold proposals to a spring 

that “had to be stretched in order for it to come back to where it belonged.” 

Nixon, on receiving Paine’s letter of resignation, wrote that “the course you 

have done so much to set will help guide our efforts for years to 

His push for Mars fell short, but even within the STG report, he expected 

to defer the serious pursuit of this goal until 1976. Although Congress and the 

BOBcut his budget, this schedule left time for them to experience a change of 

heart. In the words of Dale Myers, “Hope springs eternal. After we came off 

the Apollo peak, it was very difficult to accept that we’d be at a level half or 

a third of that. We always wanted to think that next year would be better.”56 

With all his swashbuckling, what did Paine accomplish at NASA? 

Though he did not build this agency ,in the manner of his predecessor, James 

Webb, he was the captain on its bridge during the run-up to the Moon landings. He pushed successfully for the dramatic Apollo 8 mission that orbited 

the Moon at Christmas in 1968; he approved the dry workshop for Skylab. He 

was at the helm when the landings took place. 

Amid his setbacks, Paine followed the lead of George Mueller and steered 

NASA onto the new course that Nixon noted. Mueller had tried and failed to 

build a major post- Apollo effort, Apollo Applications, based on use of Saturnclass launchers and Apollo spacecraft. This effort was in tatters by mid-1968. 

Mueller responded by envisioning a space shuttle as a focus for the future. 

Paine took this vision, made it his own, encouraged Mueller to strengthen it 

with bolder thinking, and sold it to the STG. 

Though Mars provided a long-term goal, the shuttle/station was to represent the main work of the 1970s. When budget cuts hit home, Paine held to this 

plan, preserving options for the future by sacrificing those of the past as he shut 

down Saturn production and canceled Apollo Moon landings. Congress also 

signed on for the shuttlehtation, appropriating $I 10million to start the work 

during FY 197 1. 

As that fiscal year began, however, in mid-1970, NASA’s situation was tenuous in the extreme. Funding for the shuttle/station had survived by votes of 

53-53 in the House and 32-28 in the Senate, which left the program vulnerable 

55 Logsdon, Apollo, p V-55; John Logsdon Interview, John Ehrlichman, Santa Fe, New Mexico, May 6, 

1983, p 15, letter, Nixon to Prune, July 28, 1970. 

56 Author interview, Dale Myers, Leucadia, California, December 6, 1996 

189 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

to even a slight increase in anti-space sentiment. Similarly, Paine had not won 

the endorsement of Nixon for this program. Lacking such endorsement, NASA 

could proceed with detailed studies of the shuttle/station, but could not award 

the contracts that would build it. 

Arthur Cleaver, a leader in British rocket development, quoted the Duke 

of Wellington in describing the votes in Congress as “a damn close-run 

thing-the nearest run thing you ever saw in your life.”57 If NASA was to 

avoid meeting its own Waterloo, it would need new sources of strength. It 

would find them by abandoning the plans of the STG, dropping the space station, placing all hope in the Space Shuttle as a separate project, and making 

common cause with the Air Force. 

57. Astmnautics &Aeronautics, October 1970, pp. 70-72. 

190 
Shuttle to the Forefront 

“I wouldn’t want to be quoted on this,” President Johnson told a gathering 

in 1967. 

We’ve spent $35 or $40 billion on the space program. And if nothing else had 

come out of it except the knowledge that we gained from space photography, it 

would be worth ten times what the whole program has cost. Because tonight 

we know how many missiles the enemy has and, it turned out, our guesses were 

way 08We were doing things we didn’t need to do. We were building things 

we didn’t need to build. We were harboring fears we didn’t need to harbol:’ 

Within NASA, Apollo addressed the perception of power that Moscow’s 

highly publicized space spectaculars pointed to communism as the way of the 

future. The Air Force had a separate space program that dealt with the reality 

of power. Working closely with the CIA, the Air Force had the task of launching reconnaissance satellites that could determine the Soviet order of battle, 

counting that nation’s bombers and missiles while determining the location of 

their bases and their operational readiness. In turn, these satellites provided 

strategic intelligence that shaped America’s Cold War policies. 

TheAir Force in Space 

The background to the Air Force program dated to 1953, shortly after the 

inaugurationof President Eisenhower. In August of that year, the Soviets det1. Richelson, Secret Eyes, p. 93. 

191 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

onated a nuclear weapon with a yield of 400 kilotons. By studying its fallout, 

American analysts determined that it was not a true hydrogen bomb. 

However, it did represent a large step upward in Soviet nuclear power. In 

addition to this, the CIA learned that the Soviets were building a turboprop 

bomber, the Tu-95, with enough range to strike the United States. An intelligence estimate, issued early in 1954, predicted that Moscow would have 500 

such bombers in 1957: 

In March 1954, Eisenhower met with a group of advisors and warned 

them that he feared a surprise attack, a new Pearl Harbor that would destroy 

cities rather than battleships. Lee DuBridge, the president of Caltech and 

chair of this advisory group, responded by taking steps to set up a high-level 

commission, the Technological Capabilities Panel. It would recommend new 

policies that could meet this danger. To chair it, Ike recruited James Killian, 

the president of MIT. 

A subpanel, Project 3, dealt with the technical means for surveillance. The 

people who learned of it included Clarence “Kelly” Johnson of Lockheed, one 

of the country’s top aircraft designers. He had already prepared a design for a 

reconnaissance aircraft and, without success, had tied to win support from the 

Air Force. Johnson now joined with Trevor Gardner, a special assistant to the 

Air Force Secretary, and approached Project 3 for a new try. The subpanel’s 

chairman, Edwin Land, had invented the Polaroid camera and was president of 

the Polaroid Corporation. He and Killian took the proposal to Ike and convinced him to accept it. The plane that resulted was the U-l13 

In mid-February 1955, the full Killian Committee issued its report, titled 

“Meeting the Threat of Surprise Attack.” It declared, “We have an offensive 

advantage but are vulnerable to surprise attack” (emphasis in original). 

“Because of our vulnerability, the Soviets might be tempted to try an attack.” 

In Edwin Land’s section of the report, he wrote, 

We mustfind ways to increase the number of hard facts upon which our intelligence estimates are based, to provide better strategic warning, to minimize 

surprise in the kind of attack, and to reduce the danger of gross overestimation or gross underestimation of the threat.4 

2 Rhodes, Dark Sun, pp 523-525, Zaloga, Target, pp 85-88 

3 McDougall, Heavens, pp 115-1 17, Burroughs, Deep Black, pp 69-75; Kdlran, Sputtzrk, pp 67-71 

4 klhan, Spurnik, pp 70.7 1,72,79, 302 

192 
Shuttle to the Forefront 

At the time, the available “hard facts” were often meager. The 1953 

Soviet nuclear test had caught everyone by surprise. Then, on May Day of 

1954, at a public air show, the Soviets showed off a new jet bomber, the 

Bison. Here was another surprise-a Soviet jet bomber! It was all the more 

worrisome because no one in the U.S. had known of it until the Kremlin displayed it openly. A year later, in preparations for the next such air show, 

American observers saw a formation of 10 of these aircraft in flight. In midJuly came the real surprise. On Aviation Day, Colonel Charles Taylor, the 

U.S. air attach6 in Moscow, counted no fewer than 28 Bisons as they flew 

past a review in two groups. This bomber now was obviously in mass production. The CIA promptly estimated that up to 800 Bisons would be in 

service by 1960. 

In fact, Taylor had seen an elaborate hoax. The initial group of 10 Bisons 

had been real enough. They then had flown out of sight, joined eight more, 

and this combined formation had made the second flyby. Still, as classified 

estimates leaked to the press, Senator Stuart Symington, a former Air Force 

Secretary, demanded hearings and warned the nation of a “bomber gap.” The 

flap forced Ike to build more B-52 bombers than he had planned, and to step 

up production of fighter aircraft in the bargain. Yet even when analysts discovered the Aviation Day hoax, they took little comfort. If Moscow was trying 

to fool the CIA, it might mean that the Soviets were putting their real effort 

into missiles rather than bomber^.^ 

The U-2 became operational in mid-1956, and proceeded to deliver 

photos of the highest value. One mission returned with pictures that showed 

far fewer heavy bombers than expected at Soviet bases. This started a process 

of downward revision of Moscow’s estimated air power. One of Ike’s military 

aides declared that “very quickly we found the Bomber Gap had a tendency 

to recede. It was something that each year was going to occur. But in fact it 

did not occur.” The U-2 also looked at targets of opportunity, and Richard 

Bissell, the project manager within the CIA, would recall an example: “He 

was flying over Turkestan, and off in the distance he saw something that 

looked quite interesting and that turned out to be the Tyuratam launch site. He 

came back with the most beautiful photos of this place.” It was one of the 

5. Zaloga, Target,pp. 81-85; Burroughs, Deep Black, pp. 67-68; Prados, Soviet, pp. 41-50 Klass, Sentries, 

pp. 6-9. 

193 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

principal bases for missile and space launches; yet the CIA had not known of 

its existence.'j 

Nevertheless, the U-2 delivered far less than it had promised. When it 

entered service, Soviet radar promptly picked it up. Following the second overflight, the Foreign Ministry lodged a protest. The protests escalated, and after 

only six such missions, all during July 1956, Ike ordered a standdown. 

Subsequent flights required his personal approval; over the next four years, only 

about 15 took place. Then, in May 1960, a Soviet antiaircraft missile downed a 

U-2 near the city of Sverdlovsk. With this, the overflights ceased ~ompletely.~ 

But now a new concern had arisen: the missile gap. Early in 1960, a 

debate developed in Washington in response to a new intelligence estimate, 

which predicted that Moscow would possess up to 450 ICBMs in mid-1963. 

This would be twice America's anticipated strength in missiles. This was 

frightening enough; deeper skepticism was raised by the fact that the estimate 

actually represented a substantial reduction from earlier ones. Senators 

Symington and Johnson asked whether Ike perhaps was cooking the books, 

downgrading the perceived threat during an election year. Clearly the nation 

needed additional strategic reconnaissance, and needed it quickly. 

By then, the CIA's Bissell had been working for nearly two years to 

address this problem. Early in 1958, he had initiated a highly classified program, Corona, that sought to build reconnaissance satellites known as 

Discoverer. These were to fly to orbit atop Thor-Agena rockets. It took a year 

and a half, however, to get the system to work successfully. The first attempt, 

Discoverer 1, did not even reach orbit. Following launch from Vandenberg Air 

Force Base in February 1959, it wound up near the South Pole. Finally, in 

August 1960, Discoverer 13 proved the lucky 13 in the series. Though it carried no photo equipment, it successfully demonstrated the release of a capsule 

from orbit and its recovery in the Pacific. This was the first spacecraft to reenter from orbit and be retrieved following descent by parachute. 

With this encouragement, Bissell allowed Discoverer 14 to fly with its 

camera. Its capsule, too, was recovered successfully, this time in midair, on 

August 19. The film soon arrived at the CIA's Photographic Interpretation 

Center, and the photo interpreters gathered in an auditorium. The director, 

6. Prados, Soviet,pp. 46,47; Ranelagh, Agency, pp. 316-317. 

7. Richelson, Espionage, pp. 142-152; Ruffner, ed., Corona, p. 3; Prados, Soviet, pp. 33-35; Powers, Secrets, 

pp. 95-97. 

194 
Shuttle to the Forefront 

Arthur Lundahl, spoke to them about “something new and great we’ve got 

here.” His deputy then presented a map of the Soviet Union.’ These maps had 

previously featured a single narrow line to indicate the coverage along the 

path of a U-2. This one had eight broad swaths running north to south across 

the USSR and Eastern Europe, covering over one-fifth of their total area. 

They represented the regions that this single mission had photographed, and 

people broke out in cheers. Some photos were fogged by electrostatic discharges, but the resolution was 20 to 30 feet, which analysts described as 

“good to very good.” Clearly, this was a turning point.8 

During the election campaign that autumn, Kennedy stressed the issue of 

the missile gap, warning that the Republicans had done too little to counter its 

threat. After the election, he appointed a deputy defense secretary, Roswell 

Gilpatric, who believed strongly that this gap was real. On taking office in 

January 1961, Gilpatric and his boss, Defense Secretary Robert McNamara, 

went to the Air Force intelligence office on the fourth floor of the Pentagon 

and spent several days personally studying Discoverer photographs. 

The Air Force held the view that Moscow was building large numbers of 

well-camouflaged missile sites. Sites for the presumed disguised installations 

included a Crimean War memorial and a medieval tower. McNamara and 

Gilpatric, however, preferred the view of Army intelligence: that the Soviet 

ICBM, designated R-7, was very large and unwieldy and could move only by 

rail or military road. Discoverer satellites had taken photos along the Soviet 

Union’s railroads and principal highway s-and had found no missile launchers. In February, at an off-the-record press conference, a newsman asked 

about the missile gap. McNamara replied that “there were no signs of a Soviet 

crash effort to build ICBMs.” Reporters raced to their phones, newspapers 

blossomed with the word that no such gap existed, and Kennedy himself had 

to step in, declaring that it was too early to draw such concl~sions.~ 

Then in June and July, Discoverers 25 and 26 flew with nearly complete 

success. While they were only the third and fourth missions to return photos 

having intelligence value, together these four flights covered more than half 

of the regions suitable for ICBM deployment. Within this vast area, photo 

analysts found no more than two new and previously unsuspected ICBM 

8. Prados, Sovret, pp. 82-83, 86-95, MeDougall, Hemens, pp. 219-220, The, February 8, 1960, pp. 16-19; 

Ruffner, ed., Corona, pp. 3-24, 119-120; Richelson, Secret Eyes, pp. 41-44. 

9. Richelson,Secret Eyes, pp. 57-58; Prados, Sovm, pp. 114-1If, 119; Tnne, February 17, 1961,pp. 12-13. 

195 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

bases. Three others were photographed a second time. By comparing them 

with one another: and with a known testing complex at Tyuratam, the analysts 

came away with a clear understanding of just what an ICBM base would look 

like. That made it possible to eliminate a number of “suspect” launch sites and 

to give a clear and definitive estimate of Moscow’s ICBM strength. 

This assessment, National Intelligence Estimate 11-8/1-61, titled 

“Strength and Deployment of Soviet Long Range Ballistic Missile Forces,” 

came out on September 21. It stated: 

We now estimate that the present Soviet ICBM strength is in the range 

of 10-25 launchers from which missiles can be fired against the US, 

and that this force level will not increase markedly during the months 

immediately ahead. 

The low present and near-term ICBM force probably results chiejly from 

a Soviet decision to deploy only a small force of the cumbersome, first generation ICBMs,and to press the development of a smallel; second generation 

system. On this basis, we estimate that the force level in mid1963 will 

approximate 75-12.5 operational ICBM launchers.lo 

There indeed was a missile gap-but it favored the United States, and by 

a large margin. In 1961, the US. was already deploying substantial numbers 

of its first-generation Atlas, Titan, Thor, and Jupiter missiles. In addition, the 

first Polaris submarines were on station at sea. Beginning in October 1962, 

the nation would also have the Minuteman ICBM, which would reach the 

field in even larger numbers.” 

Yet it was hardly a secret in Moscow that the Soviet R-7 was clumsy and 

unwieldy; that nation’s planners had known this from the start. Why, then, had 

they taken the trouble to develop it? An answer was in hand, courtesy of Oleg 

Penkovskiy, a colonel in the Chief Intelligence Directorate of the Soviet army. 

He had recently begun working for MI-6, Britain’s intelligence agency, and 

had gone on to help the CIA as well. In May 1961, he delivered rolls of microfilm that included minutes of Kremlin meetings in which officials decided to 

use the R-7 for space launches, but not as an ICBM. 

10. Ruffner, ed ,Corona, pp. 26-27, 129-130, 137-140; Richelson, Secref Eyes, p. 56; Richelson, Espionage, 

p. 180. 

1 I. Prados, Soviet, pp. 119-122; Neufeld, Ballistic Missiles, pp. 226,234-237 

196 
Shuttle to the Forefront 

At the outset of the R-7 program, during the mid-l950s, Soviet officials 

had expected to fire it from secret bases. This missile would take up to 20 

hours to fuel and prepare for launch, and during that time, it would be highly 

vulnerable to attack. However, if the U.S. did not know where these bases 

were located, the R-7 would remain safe. The advent of American strategic 

reconnaissance upset this plan, by giving America the intelligence needed to 

strike during pre-launch preparations. The head of the Soviet strategic missile 

force, Marshal Mitrofan Nedelin, accordingly decided to delay the deployment of a large fleet of ICBMs until he could receive a more advanced version 

that could be fueled and launched on short notice.” 

The Corona program had sought to use satellites to assess the Soviet threat. 

It did more; it markedly reduced this threat, at least for a time, by piercing the 

secrecy that formed a major element of Moscow’s strategic calculations. Then, 

as the 1960s proceeded, the Air Force and CIA introduced a number of important advances in the satellites and went on to fly them routinely. 

Improved resolution was an early goal. The cameras of 1961 were only 

moderate in resolution, and better versions were in service later in the decade. 

To make the best use of these increasingly sharp images, the post-1961 

Discoverer satellites mounted dual cameras that could photograph a site from 

different directions. This permitted stereophotography, whereby analysts 

could study images that appeared three-dimensional. Later versions of this 

spacecraft also carried more film and stayed up longer. The first Discoverers 

had mission times of a single day; subsequent models stretched this to three 

weeks and longer. 

Resolution always represented a limit for Discoverer imagery. The ThorAgena booster, used by the Discoverer, had only a modest payload capacity. 

Beginning in 1963, however, the Air Force employed the Atlas-Agena and 

then the Titan 111, which could launch larger spacecraft with telescopes of 

greater acuity. These rockets supported a separate program, Gambit, that 

achieved much greater resolution. For the closest looks, the Air Force used the 

closest orbits, with Gambit spacecraft dropping down to perigees as low as 76 

miles,13 

12. Prados, Soviet, p. 116, Richelson, Espionage, pp. 56-65,Zaloga, Target,pp 51-54 

13 Richelson, Secret Eyes, pp. 353-360; Ruffner, ed ,Corona,pp. x1v-xv, 27-37, McDonald, ed., Corona, pp 

301-307, Quest, Summer 1995, pp. 22-33 

197 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

What did Corona and Gambit show? They photographed all Soviet ballistic-missile launch complexes, following existing as well as new missiles 

through development and deployment. In particular, they found and repeatedly observed a major center at Plesetsk, near the northern city of 

Arkhangelsk. Plesetsk specialized in launching reconnaissance satellites and 

other military spacecraft. At its height, it accounted for more than half of all 

space launches in the entire world, with Tyuratam a distant second, and Cape 

Canaveral and Vandenberg Air Force Base far behind. 

Corona also was first to see Severodvinsk, the main construction site for 

ballistic missile submarines. This made it possible to monitor the launching 

of new classes of subs, and to follow them through to operational deployment. 

The CIA also observed the rapid growth of the Soviet surface navy. Coverage 

of aircraft plants and air bases kept analysts up-to-date on bombers and fighters, while other coverage allowed Army experts to learn the nature of the tank 

forces that NATO would face if the Soviets were to invade Europe. 

Corona photography uncovered the construction of antiballistic missile 

sites near Moscow and Leningrad, along with the radar installations that supported them. Other photos located antiaircraft batteries and made it possible 

for the Strategic Air Command to find routes for its bombers that could avoid 

these missiles. Specialized satellites, conducting geodetic mapping, became 

the main source of data for the military charts of the Defense Mapping Agency. 

As recently as the mid-l950s, the Soviets had been able to fool the 

Americans concerning their air strength, and to touch off a major Washington 

flap over a supposed “bomber gap,” merely by flying the same aircraft around 

twice at an air show. By contrast, a 1968 intelligence report contained the 

unequivocal statement: “No new ICBM complexes have been established in 

the USSR during the past year.” As early as June 1964, Corona had photographed all 25 of the complexes then in existence. If there had been any new 

ones, the CIA would have seen them.14 

The Air Force and NASA 

In 1494, the Treaty of Tordesillas divided up the New World by drawing a line 

down the Atlantic, with Spain claiming lands to the west of this line and 

14. Ruffner, ed., Corona, pp. xiv, 31. 

198 
Shuttle to the Forefront 

Portugal claiming lands to the east. l5 The activities of NASA and the Air Force 

lent themselves to similar demarcation. With NASA emphasizing Apollo while 

the Air Force dealt largely with satellite reconnaissance in low orbit, there was 

little overlap between their concerns. However, these two agencies did not run 

independent programs; there was a great deal of cooperation. 

This cooperation was particularly strong in the realm of launch vehicles. 

In launching automated spacecraft, the most important such vehicles were 

derived from the Thor, Atlas, and Titan ballistic missiles; both NASA and the 

Air Force used these rockets repeatedly, and procured them from the same 

contractors. They also shared in ongoing developments that increased their 

payload capacities. 

As early as February 1961, an agreement between NASA’s James Webb 

and the Pentagon’s Roswell Gilpatric stipulated that neither agency would initiate the development of a new launch vehicle without first seeking the consent 

of the other. Then in 1962, a joint NASA-DoD Large Launch Vehicle Planning 

Group issued a report that contained a recommendation: “The 120-inch diameter solid motor and the Titan 111launch vehicle should be developed by the 

Department of Defense to meet DOD and NASA needs, as appropriate in the 

payload range of 5000 to 30,000 pounds, low Earth orbit equivalent.”16 

The Titan I11brought the prospect of wasteful duplication, for it competed 

directly with NASA’s Saturn I-B. This Saturn carried over 36,000 pounds to 

low orbit. The Titan 111-C, the first operational version, had a rated payload of 

23,000 pounds; its immediate successor, the Titan 111-D, raised this to 30,000. 

In addition to this, the projected Titan 111-M promised to carry as much as 

38,000. Nevertheless, as early as 1967, the President’s Science Advisory 

Committee noted that “the launch costs of the [Saturn I-B] are about double 

those of the Titan III-M.”17 

Because NASA was accustomed to receiving launch vehicles that the Air 

Force had developed, it yielded gracefully when the Saturn I-B came under 

pressure. NASA had conducted the initial flight test of a Saturn-class first 

stage as early as October 1961, at a time when the Titan III was still at the 

level of preliminary study. In view of this early start, and because the Saturn 

15. Durant, Reformation,p. 264. 

16. NASA SP-4102, p. 218; NASA SP-4407, Vol. II, pp. 318,323. 

17. NASA SP-4012, Vol. III, pp. 27, 39; Thompson, ed., Space Log,Vol. 27 (1991), p 125; Quest, Fall 1995, 

p. 18; Long, chairman, Space Program, p. 36. 

199 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Titan III, left, which replaced the more 

costly Saturn I-B. The two launch wehicles 

carried nearly the same payload. Human 

figure at bottom indicates scale. (Art by 

Dan Gauthier) 

I I l I l I I I I l i 

0 20 40 60 80 100ft 

I-B was essential for Apollo, NASA went on to build 14 of them, though 

George Mueller hoped for more as he pursued Apollo Applications. When 

budget cuts hit home, however, NASA abandoned the Saturn I-B and turned 

to the Titan 111-E Centaur. It had the energy to launch large payloads on missions to Mars and the outer planets, and did so repeatedly.'* 

In addition to launch vehicles, NASA turned to the Air Force for facilities 

used for launch and tracking. When NASA's rockets flew from Cape 

18. NASA SP-4012,Vol. 11, pp. 54-57;Vol. EI, pp. 40-41; Aviation Week,August 3, 1970, p. 45. 

200 
Shuttle to the Forefront 

Canaveral, they proceeded down the Eastern Test Range-which the Air 

Force operated. That service provided tracking stations, and when NASA 

built stations of its own on the islands of Antigua and Ascension, they were 

co-located near those of the Defense Department. 

The Air Force also built up an extensive array of launch facilities at Cape 

Canaveral. When NASA took over nearly exclusive use of some of them, the 

Air Force transferred them to NASA outright. These included Launch Complex 

12 for Atlas-Agena, LC 36 for Atlas-Centaur7 and LC 19 for the Titan 11.Other 

launch pads served both agencies: LC 17 for Delta, LC 41 for Titan 111.In addition to this, NASA launched early versions of Saturn, including the Saturn I-B, 

from LC 34 and 37, which had been built on land owned by the Air Force. 

The two agencies also cooperated closely in research. The Air Force had 

a valuable set of wind tunnels and engine-test facilities at its Arnold 

Engineering Development Center in Tennessee. This service, however, did not 

attempt to duplicate the far more extensive facilities of NASA Ames, Langley, 

and Lewis. In addition to a broad array of supersonic wind tunnels, NASA 

offered such unique installations as a wind tunnel at Ames Research Center 

with a 40 by SO-foot cross section, big enough to hold and test full-size fighter 

aircraft. At NASA Langley, a 60-foot vacuum sphere could accommodate 

large spacecraft and rocket stages.'' 

In addition to sharing facilities, NASA and the Air Force also pursued 

joint ventures in research. The X-15 was one; another, the XB-70, involved 

large aircraft that could fly at Mach 3.The agencies also collaborated in building immense solid-propellant rockets. At Edwards Air Force Base, NASA 

built test stands for rocket engines used in Apollo. These complemented earlier Air Force test facilities. 

Institutional arrangements also bound them closely. Between 1958 and 

1964, NASA and the Defense Department executed some 88 major agreements. A joint Aeronautics and Astronautics Coordinating Board (AACB) 

dealt with such areas as aeronautical research, launch vehicles, spacecraft, 

and piloted space flight. NASA's Deputy Administrator and the DoD's 

Director of Defense Research and Engineering co-chaired this board; as early 

as 1966, an AACB subpanel carried out an important review of concepts for 

reusable launch vehicles. 

19. NASA SP-4102, pp. 213,221,229,236; NASA SP-440. 

201 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Cape Canavmul in 1972. The Space Shuttle was to use the Apollo facilities, including the 

VAB and LC-39. (NASA) 

Within the Defense Department, the Air Force Systems Command 

(AFSC) held overall responsibility for that service's space and missile programs. In downtown Washington, an AFSC liaison office shared a building 

with NASA's Office of Manned Space Flight (OMSF).After 1962,NASA had 

its own Office of Defense Affairs that performed a similar function.20 

20. NASA SP-4102, pp. 213,217-220,294 (footnote 17);Ames, chairman, Report. 

202 
Shuttle to the Forefront 

Yet this interagency cooperation would only go so far. In August 1963, 

Webb and McNamara signed an agreement that sought “to ensure that in the 

national interest complete coordination is achieved” in pursuing a joint spacestation project. Only a month later, McNamara sent Webb a follow-up letter 

that expressed his reservations. Then in December, McNamara made it clear 

that at least for the short term, the Air Force would want a piloted orbital facility of its own.21 

When he canceled Dyna-Soar, on December 10, he handed the Air Force 

a consolation prize by inviting that service to conduct studies of a new project, 

the Manned Orbiting Laboratory (MOL). MOL took shape as a cylinder, 10 

feet across by 41 feet long, with a Gemini spacecraft at one end; this ensemble was to ride to orbit atop a Titan 111. McNamara could not grant formal 

approval for MOL; that had to come from the White House, and this raised 

anew the question of what the Air Force might do with such a facility. While 

that service had failed to provide good justification for Dyna-Soar, this time it 

came up with a fine reason for MOL: strategic reconnaissance. 

The eventual plan called for MOL to carry a telescope with an aperture of 

six feet, offering resolution of nine inches. Astronauts would avoid photographing cloud-covered regions, but would scan the ground with binoculars, looking 

for items of interest. The Air Force won support from such key figures as Kermit 

Gordon, director of the Budget Bureau, and Donald Hornig, the White House 

science advisor. In August 1965, President Johnson gave MOL his endorsement, 

which meant it could go forward to contract award and development. 

By then George Mueller was nurturing hopes for Apollo Applications, 

which raised anew the prospect of duplication. NASA ofticials, unwilling to 

affiont the Air Force, supported MOL and took the view that it was not the 

national space station contemplated in the 1963 Webb-McNamara agreement. 

Nevertheless, members of Congress as well as Budget Bureau officials soon 

were asking whether NASA could adopt a version of MOL for its own use.22 

In January 1966, Senator Clinton Anderson, chairman of the Senate space 

committee, sent a letter to Webb that recommended use of MOL. Within the 

House, the Military Operations Subcommittee criticized Mueller’s plan for 

“unwarranted duplication” and called for MOL to proceed as a joint NASA21. NASA SP-4407,Vol. 11, pp. 356-360. 

22. NASA SP-4102, pp. 230-235; Richelson, Secret Eyes, pp. 82-83,90-91; NASA SP-4208,pp. 17-19 

203 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Air Force program-with the Air Force in charge. Budget Bureau officials 

also supported a common program. In February 1967, the President’s Science 

Advisory Committee added its own views, calling for “maximum utilization” 

of MOL and calling on NASA to carefidly consider its use “before substantial funds are committed” to Apollo Applications. 

NASA responded by having Douglas Aircraft, the MOL prime contractor, 

evaluate the suitability of MOL for NASA’s objectives. The agency also conducted in-house studies. These began by acknowledging that the Saturn I-B 

was far more costly than the Titan 111, and considered whether it might be 

advantageous to have the latter launch Apollo spacecraft. The OMSF concluded that while this was possible, it would cost $250 million to develop 

such a Titan-Apollo, which would then require 17 launches before the savings 

surpassed the initial cost of conversion. 

The OMSF also concluded that MOL was too small for NASA’s needs. It 

was no larger than a house trailer, whereas Mueller had described his proposed wet workshop as being the size of “a small ranch house.” While the Air 

Force had a proposal in hand for a larger MOL, this would cost an additional 

$480 million and would take four years to develop. In comparison, even the 

Saturn I-B would cost less to use. These arguments mollified the critics, and 

Apollo Applications went forward, though with a reduced budget.” 

MOL also went forward, with strong Pentagon support. The Air Force, 

however, never having carried through the development of a piloted spacecraft, failed to control its cost. Between 1965 and 1969, the projected cost of 

MOL ballooned from $1.5 billion to $3 billion. During those same years, the 

escalating Vietnam War placed military programs under severe strain. 

The future of MOL came up for discussion at a White House meeting 

between Nixon, national security advisor Henry Kissinger, and Budget 

Bureau director Robert Mayo. Though the program carried the strong 

endorsement of Defense Secretary Melvin Laird and the Joint Chiefs of Staff, 

it proved to lack support from a key official: Richard Helms, Director of 

Central Intelligence and head of the CIA, In the words of the analyst Jeffrey 

Richelson, Helms’s advisers “feared that an accident that cost the life of a 

single astronaut might ground the program for an extended period of time and 

cripple the reconnaissance program.” 

23. NASA SP-4208, pp. 43.46-48, 54; NASA SP-4102, p. 232; Long, chairman, Space Program, pp. 23-25 

204 
Shuttle to the Forefront 

Mayo suggested canceling MOL; Nixon and Kissinger agreed. Only then 

did Mayo discuss the matter with Laird, who had not even believed that MOL 

was in trouble. Though Laird appealed directly to Nixon, emphasizing that 

the Joint Chiefs fdy supported this program, Nixon turned him down. The 

public announcement of the end of MOL came on June 10,1969, with its first 

piloted flight still three years in the future.24 

During the 1960s, the Air Force pursued two major and separate effortsDyna-Soar and MOL-that sought to place military astronauts in orbit. This 

service ended the decade with both projects canceled and with nothing to 

show for its efforts. Clearly, if it was to send such astronauts aloft, it would 

not do so on its own, but would have to work in cooperation with NASA. 

In addition to this, the experiences of the Titan 111, the Saturn I-B, MOL, 

and Apollo Applications had shown clearly that these agencies could easily 

introduce wasteful duplication by pursuing their own programs. This made it 

plausible that a cooperative NASA- Air Force program, focusing on piloted 

flight to orbit, would take shape as a national program, a unified effort shaped 

to serve the needs of both agencies. 

Clearly, Air Force involvement would emphasize strategic reconnaissance, which represented the main rationale for that service's activities in 

space. The experience of MOL, however, showed that it would not do 

simply to propose that astronauts could operate telescopes and cameras 

from orbit. Instead, the Air Force would have to use piloted flight to support 

its work with automated reconnaissance satellites, such as those of Corona 

and Gambit. 

As early as 1963, NASA and the Air Force had executed the WebbMcNamara agreement, which contemplated a joint space station. With MOL 

now canceled, it was difficult to see how the Pentagon could justify major participation in the space station that NASA's Tom Paine wanted so badly. The 

Space Shuttle was another matter. By launching, retrieving, and servicing 

spacecraft, it might significantly enhance the ability of the Air Force to conduct strategic reconnaissance. In turn,by serving Air Force needs, the Shuttle 

might indeed take shape as a truly national system, carrying military as well 

as civilian payloads. Beginning in 1969, the evolution of the space shuttle 

concept took a sharp turn in this direction. 

24. Richelson, Secrer Eyes, pp. 101-103. 

205 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

A New Shuttle Configuration 

When a new round of shuttle design studies got under way, early in 1969, the 

field had seen no truly new concept since Max Hunter’s partially-reusable 

Star Clipper of several years earlier. While work went forward at the contractors, Max Faget, at the Manned Spacecraft Center, carried through a 

parallel effort of his own that indeed came up with a new approach. His configuration not only went on to dominate the alternatives; it changed the terms 

of the ongoing discussions. These discussions had emphasized such issues as 

full versus partial reusability, with neither approach finding expression in a 

generally-accepted design concept. Faget now introduced a specific concept: 

a two-stage fully-reusable shuttle. As it gained acceptance, it spurred debate 

over its specific features, notably size, payload capacity, and choice of wing 

design. By focusing the debate, Faget’s work thus narrowed the topics that 

subsequent studies would address, and enabled these studies to achieve 

greater depth. 

Faget was an aerodynamicist who had built his career at NACA’s Langley 

Aeronautical Laboratory. He was a member of the Pilotless Aircraft Research 

Division, an early nucleus of activity in high speed flight. In 1954, he took 

part in an initial feasibility study that led to the X-15. He then found a point 

of departure for his subsequent career in the findings of his fellow NACA 

aerodynamicists, H. Julian Allen and Alfred Eggers. They had shown that for 

a reentering nose cone, a blunt shape would provide the best protection 

against the heat of reentry. 

Working with a longtime associate, Caldwell Johnson, Faget proceeded to 

devise a suitable blunt shape for Project Mercury, which put America’s first 

astronauts in orbit. His Mercury capsule took shape as a cone, with its broad 

end forward and covered with a thick layer of material to provide thermal protection. (A cutaway view of this concept, elegantly rendered, hangs in Faget’s 

offices to this day.) He came to Houston as a founding member of the Manned 

Spacecraft Center (MSC), where he became Director of Research and 

Engineering. He also adapted his basic shape to provide capsules for Gemini 

and Ap0Il0.~~ 

25. Author interview,Max Faget, Houston, March 4,1997; AAS History Series,Vol. 8, p. 299; NASA SF-4307 

and -4308, index references under “Faget.” 

206 
Shuttle to the Forefront 

Maxi1me Faget. (NASA) 

“My history has always been to take the most conservative approach,” he 

declares. In this frame of mind, he disliked much of the work done to date on 

Space Shuttle concepts. Lifting-body configurations were popular; 

Lockheed’s Max Hunter had used them in his Star Clipper. Faget acknowledged their merits: “You avoid wing-body interference,” which brings 

problems of aerodynamics. “You have a simple structure. And you avoid the 

weight of wings.” He saw difficulties, however, that were so great as to rule 

out lifting bodies for a practical shuttle design. 

They had low lift and high drag, which meant a dangerously high landing speed. As he put it, “I don’t think it’s charming to come in at 250 knots.” 

Engineers at McDonnell Douglas, studying their Tip Tank lifting body, had 

tried to improve the landing characteristics by adding small wings that 

would extend from the body during the final approach. This appeared as 

very makeshift. 

Because they required a fuselage that would do the work of a wing, lifting 

bodies also promised serious difficulties in development. It would not be possi207 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Fuget’s shuttle concept. (NASA) 

ble to solve aerodynamic problems in straightforward ways; the attempted solutions would rami@ throughout the entire design. In his words, “They’re very 

difficult to develop, because when you try to solve one more problem, you’re 

creating another problem somewhere else.” His colleague Milton Silveira, who 

went on to head the MSC Shuttle Engineering Office, held a similar view: 

If we had a problem with the aerodynamics on the vehicle, where the body 

was so tightly coupled to the aerodynamics, you couldn’t simply go out and 

change the wing. You had to change the whole damn vehicle, so ifyou made 

a mistake, being able to correct it was a very di@cult thing to do.26 

Instead, Faget proposed to build each of his shuttle’s two stages as a 

winged airplane, with thermal protection on the underside. Before it could fly 

as an airplane, such a shuttle would first have to reenter, which meant it 

26. Author interview, Max Faget, Houston, March 4, 1997; Joe Guilmamn and John Mauer interview, Milton 

Sdveira, Washington, November 14, 1984, p, 14. 

208 
Shuttle to the Forefront 

would need the high drag of a blunt body. “With extremely high drag,” he 

notes, “you throw a big shock wave in front of you, and all the energy goes 

into that shock.” Even with thermal protection, he did not want to fly his shuttle during reentry, in the manner of an airplane: “It’s a hell of a lot easier to 

do a no-lift entry than a lifting entry, from the standpoint of heat protection.” 

With airplane-style reentry, “you are stuck in the atmosphere, going fast for 

a long time.” Rather than lose energy to a shock wave, the airplane would 

experience drag through friction with the atmosphere which would transfer 

heat to its surface. 

Faget expected to turn his airplane into a blunt body by the simple method 

of having it reenter at a very high angle of attack, with its broad lower surface 

facing the direction of flight. In effect, he would take an Apollo capsule, with 

its large circular heat shield, and trim it to the shape of an airplane with wings. 

This concept drew on the experience of the X-15 that looked like a fighter 

plane but reduced its reentry heating by coming in nose-high. It also revived 

a design approach introduced a decade earlier by NASA’s Charles Mathews. 

He had also proposed to build a winged spacecraft as a glider that would reenter with its bottom side facing forward. 

Faget wrote that “the vehicle would remain in this flight attitude throughout the entire descent to approximately 40,000 feet, where the velocity will 

have dropped to less than 300 feet per second. At this point, the nose gets 

pushed down, and the vehicle dives until it reaches adequate velocity for level 

flight.” This dive would cost some 15,000 feet of altitude. The craft then 

would approach a runway and land at a moderate 130 knots, half the landing 

speed of a lifting body. 

Faget wrote that because its only real flying would take place during this 

landing approach, a wing design “can be selected solely on the basis of optimization for subsonic cruise and landing.” The wing best suited to this limited 

purpose would be straight and unswept, like the wings of fighter planes in 

World War II. A tail would provide directional stability, again as with a conventional airplane. By moving control surfaces on the horizontal stabilizer, a 

pilot then could raise the nose slightly just before touching down on a runway, 

in a maneuver called a flare which adds lift and makes the touchdown gentle.27 

27. Astmnautics & Aeronautics, January 1970, pp. 52-61; author interview, Max Faget, Houston, March 4, 

1997; Faget and Sdveua, Fundamental Design Consideratdons, October 1970. 

209 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Faget’s concept had the beauty of simplicity and, inevitably, knowledgeable specialists would criticize it as being too simple. The Air Force Flight 

Dynamics Laboratory (FDL), at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, quickly 

emerged as a center of such criticism. The FDL had sponsored space shuttle 

studies in parallel with those of NASA, and had investigated such concepts as 

Lockheed’s Star Clipper. One of its managers, Charles Cosenza, had been a 

leader in the development of ASSET. Another FDL scientist, Alfred Draper, 

was a leader in the field of space systems. Beginning in early 1969, he took the 

initiative in questioning Faget’s approach.28 

Draper did not accept the idea of building a shuttle as an airplane that 

would come in nose-high, then dive through 15,000 feet to pick up flying 

speed. With its nose so high, the plane would be fully stalled, and the Air 

Force disliked both stalls and dives, regarding them as preludes to an out-ofcontrol crash. Draper preferred to have the shuttle enter its glide while still 

supersonic, thus maintaining much better control while continuing to avoid 

aerodynamic heating. 

If the shuttle was to glide across a broad Mach range, from supersonic to 

subsonic, then it would encounter an important aerodynamic problem: a shift 

in the wing’s center of lift. Although a wing generates lift across its entire 

lower surface, one may regard this lift as concentrated at a point, the center of 

lift. At supersonic speeds, this center is located midway down the wing’s chord 

(the distance from leading to trailing edge). At subsonic speeds, this center 

shifts and moves forward, much closer to the leading edge. Keeping an airplane in proper balance requires the application of an aerodynamic force that 

can compensate for this shift. 

The Air Force had extensive experience with supersonic fighters and 

bombers that had successfully addressed this problem, maintaining good control and handling characteristics from Mach 3 to touchdown. Particularly for 

large aircraft-the B-58 and XB-70 bombers, and the SR-71-the preferred 

solution was a delta wing, triangular in shape. Typically, delta wings ran along 

much of the length of the fuselage, extending nearly to the tail. Such aircraft 

dispensed with horizontal stabilizers and relied instead on elevons, control 

surfaces resembling ailerons set at the wing’s trailing edge. Small deflections 

28. Jenkins, Space Shuttle, pp. 36, 56; Hallion, ed., Hypersonics, p. 459; Astronautics & Aeronautics, January 

1971, p. 28. 

210 
Shuttle to the Forefront 

Straight-wing orbiter, top, and delta-wing orbiter. (Art by Dennis Jenkins) 

211 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

of these elevons then compensated for the shift in the center of lift, maintaining proper trim and balance without imposing excessive drag.29 

Draper proposed that both stages of Faget’s shuttle should feature delta 

wings, rather than straight ones. Faget would have none of this. Though he 

acknowledged the center-of-lift problem, he expected to avoid it: “The straight 

wing never flew at those speeds; it fell at those speeds.” A delta wing with 

elevons promised problems at landing, when executing the flare prior to touchdown. That flare was to add lift, but raising the elevons would increase the 

drag-with the added lift coming only after the nose had time to come up. This 

momentary rise in drag would make the landing tricky and possibly dangerous. 

To achieve a suitably slow landing speed, Faget argued that the delta wing 

would need a large wingspan. A straight wing, having narrow chord, would be 

light and would offer relatively little area demanding thermal protection. A 

delta of the same span, necessary for a moderate landing speed, would be physically much larger than the straight wing. It would add considerable weight, 

and would greatly increase the area that would receive thermal protection. 

Draper responded with his own viewpoint. For a straight wing to deal 

with the shift in center of lift, a good engineering solution would call for 

installation of canards, small wings mounted well forward on the fuselage that 

would deflect to give the desired control. Canards produce lift, and would 

tend to push the main wings farther to the back. These wings would be well 

aft from the beginning, for they would support an airplane that was empty of 

fuel but that had heavy rocket engines at the tail, placing the airplane’s center 

of gravity far to the rear. The wings’ center of lift was to coincide closely with 

this center of gravity. Draper wrote that the addition of canards “will move the 

wings aft and tend to close the gap between the tail and the wing.’’ The wing 

shape that fills this gap is the delta; Draper added that “the swept delta would 

most likely evolve.” 

The delta also had other advantages as well. Being thick where it joins the 

fuselage, it would readily offer room for landing gear. Its sharply-swept leading edge meant that a delta would produce less drag than a straight wing near 

Mach 1. In addition to this, when decelerating through the sound barrier, a 

delta would shift its center of lift more slowly. The combination of a sudden 

drag rise near Mach 1, combined with a rapid center-of-lift shift, would pro29. Hallion, Hypersonic, p. 1032; author interview, Dale Myers, Leucadia, California, December 6, 1996. 

212 
Shuttle to the Forefront 

duce a sudden and potentially disconcerting change in the stability characteristics of a straight-winged shuttle when slowing through the speed of sound. 

This change in stability would be much less pronounced with a delta, and 

would give a pilot more time to react.30 

The merits of deltas might have remained a matter for specialists except 

for another important feature of the delta: Compared to the straight wing, it 

produced considerably more lift at hypersonic speeds. Using this lift, a reentering shuttle could achieve a substantial amount of crossrange, flying large 

distances to the left or right of an initial direction of flight. The Air Force 

wanted plenty of crossrange, and the reasons involved its activity in strategic 

reconnaissance. In particular, these reasons drew on recent experience involving the Six-Day War in the Middle East in 1967, and the Soviet invasion of 

Czechoslovakia in 1968. 

The Six-Day War broke out suddenly, pitting Israel against a coalition led 

by Egypt whose tanks and aircraft came largely from the Soviet Union. 

Though America’s intelligence community sought to follow the fighting 

closely, its means proved to be limited. A ship near the Israeli coast, the USS 

Liberty, monitored the communications of the belligerents-until the Israelis 

bombed it. Though spy planes, such as the U-2 and SR-7 1, could look down 

through clear desert skies, experience had shown that the U-2 was vulnerable 

to antiaircraft missiles. Satellite reconnaissance relied on Gambit and Corona, 

which had been designed to follow the slow development and deployment of 

missiles and other strategic weapons. They were not well-suited to the swift 

battle maneuvers of the 1967 war, and Defense Secretary McNamara does not 

recall that these spacecraft played any role in U.S. intelligence-gathering 

during those six days. By the time Corona photography became available, the 

war was already over. 

Then, in August 1968, the Soviets stormed into Prague. A Gambit spacecraft, launched on August 6, performed poorly and was deorbited before the 

invasion took place. In addition to this, the CIA had a Corona satellite that 

entered orbit on August 7. It carried two capsules for film return. The first 

one appeared reassuring; it showed no indications of Soviet preparations for 

an attack. The second capsule returned photos that clearly showed such 

30. Author interview, Max Faget, Houston, March 4, 1997; Asfronaufics & Aeruneufzcs, January 1970, pp. 26- 

35; AIAA Paper 70-1249. 

213 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

preparations, including massing of troops. By the time that film reached 

Washington, however, those photos were of historical interest only. The invasion had already taken place.31 

Clearly, the CIA needed real-time space reconnaissance, and its pursuit of 

this goal would represent one more instance wherein a task originally thought 

to require astronauts would be accomplished using automated electronics. 

The true solution would lie in doing away with photographic film, which took 

time to expose and return. This film would give way to a new electronic 

microchip called a charge-coupled device. With an image focused onto this 

chip, it would convert the image into a rapid series of bits. The data, transmitted to the ground, would give the desired real-time photography, and with 

very high resolution. In addition to this, by freeing reconnaissance satellites 

from the need to carry and return film, this invention would allow such spacecraft to remain in orbit and to operate for years.32 

The charge-coupled device grew out of the work of two specialists at Bell 

Labs, William Boyle and George Smith. In 1969,such technology still lay in 

the future. The view in the Air Force was that the CIA would need piloted 

spacecraft to produce the real-time photos. The late lamented MOL had represented a possible method, for an onboard photointerpreter might take, 

develop, and analyze photos on short notice. Now, with MOL in its graveyard, 

attention turned to the Space Shuttle. It might fly into space, execute a single 

orbit, and return to its base with film exposed less than an hour earlier. 

Because much of the Soviet Union lies above the Arctic Circle, the Air 

Force was accustomed to placing reconnaissance satellites into polar orbits. It 

could not do this by firing its boosters from Cape Canaveral; geography dictated that these boosters would fly over populated territory. A launch to the 

north carried the hazard of impact in the Carolinas; a launch to the south would 

compromise security if the rocket fell on Cuba. Hence, the Air Force maintained its own space center at Vandenberg AFB,on the California coast. It 

offered a clear shot to the south, across thousands of miles of open 

While a satellite orbit remains fixed in orientation with respect to distant 

stars, the Earth rotates below this orbit. This permitted single reconnaissance 

missions to photograph much of the Soviet Union. Howyer, it meant that if 

31. Richelson,Secret Eyes, pp. 94-96,97-99. 

32. Ibid., pp. 124-132, 362; Quest, Summer 1995, pp. 31-32 

33. Tlme, December 15, 1958,pp. 15,4142. 

214 
Shuttle to the Forefront 

a shuttle was to execute a one-orbit mission from Vandenberg, it would return 

to the latitude of that base after 90 minutes in space only to find that, due to 

the Earth’s rotation, this base had moved to the east by 1,100 nautical miles. 

Air Force officials indeed expected to launch the Shuttle from Vandenberg, 

and they insisted that the Shuttle had to have enough crossrange to cover that 

distance and return successfully. 

The Air Force had other reasons to want once-around missions. Its planners were intrigued by the idea of using the Shuttle to retrieve satellites in 

orbit. They hoped to snare Soviet spacecraft in such a fashion-and because 

Moscow might defend such assets by deploying an antisatellite weapon, the 

Air Force took the view that if the thing was to be done at all, it was best to 

do it quickly. A once-around mission could snare such a spacecraft and return 

safely by the time anyone realized it ,was missing. 

In addition to this, NASA and the Air Force shared a concern that a shuttle might have to abort its mission and come down as quickly as possible after 

launch. This might require “once-around abort,” which again would lead to a 

flight of a single orbit. A once-around abort on a due-east launch from Cape 

Canaveral would not be too difficult; the craft might land at any of a number 

of sites within the United States. In the words of NASA’s LeRoy Day, “If you 

were making a polar-type launch out of Vandenberg, and you had Max’s 

straight-wing vehicle, there was no place you could go. You’d be in the water 

when you came back. You’ve got to go crossrange quite a few hundred miles 

in order to make land.”34 

The Air Force had ample opportunity to emphasize its desire for crossrange by working within the Joint Study Group that Paine and Seamans had 

set up to seek a mutually-acceptable shuttle design. There were informal discussions as well. George Mueller, who continued to head NASA’s OMSF 

through the whole of 1969, met repeatedly with Air Force representatives at 

his home in Georgetown, close to downtown Washington. One of his guests 

was Michael Yaryrnovych, an Air Force deputy assistant secretary. Another 

guest, Grant Hansen, was assistant secretary for research and development. 

He and Mueller also were co-chairmen of the joint study.35 

34. Personal discussions with John Pike, Federation of American Scientists, July 1997; John Mauer interview, 

LeRoy Day, October 17, 1983, p. 41; Pace, Engineering, pp. 146-149. 

35. Mueller,Briefing, 5 May 1969, p. 2; Pace, Engineering, p. 103. 

215 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

These Air Force leaders knew that they held the upper hand. They were 

well aware that NASA needed a shuttle program and therefore needed both 

the Air Force’s payloads and its political support. The payloads represented a 

tempting prize, for that service was launching over two hundred reconnaissance missions between 1959 and 1970.36In addition to this, Air Force 

support for a shuttle could insulate NASA quite effectively from a charge that 

the Shuttle was merely a step toward sending astronauts to Mars. 

Yet while NASA needed the Air Force, the Air Force did not need NASA. 

That service was quite content with existing boosters such as the Titan 111. 

“Sure, NASA needs the shuttle for the space station,’’ Hansen said in the spring 

of 1970. “But for the next 10years, expendables can handle the Air Force job. 

We don’t consider the Shuttle important enough to set money aside for it.” 

Yarymovych has a similar recollection: 

NASA needed Air Force support, both for payloads and in Congress. I told 

Mueller we %I support the Shuttle, but only if he gave us the big payload bay 

and the crossrange capability, so we could return to Vandenberg afer a 

single orbit. Mueller knew that would mean changing Max Faget’s beloved 

straight-wing design into a delta wing, but he had no choice. He agreed.37 

It was not that simple, of course; no impromptu discussion with Mueller 

would settle such an issue. Rather, it was a matter for the formal protocols of 

Air Force-NASA cooperation. There was strong conflict between these agencies’ wishes, for a NASA baseline document of June 1969, “Desired System 

Characteristics,” emphasized that NASA needed only 250 to 400 nautical 

miles of crossrange, enough to assure a return to Cape Canaveral at least once 

every 24 hours. Faget’s straight-wing shuttle could achieve 230 nautical miles; 

straightforward modifications would meet NASA’s modest requirements. 

To give the Air Force its 1,100nautical miles of crossrange would impose 

a serious penalty in design, by requiring considerably more thermal protection. The change to a delta wing, even without crossrange, would add 

considerably to the wing area demanding such protection. Crossrange then 

would increase this requirement even further. The Shuttle would achieve its 

36. Quest, Summer 1995, pp. 22-33; Winter 1995, pp. 40-45. 

37. Grey, Enterprise, pp. 67-68. 

216 
Shuttle to the Forefront 

Reference Heating Rate Histories for Orbiter 

120 f 

100 

Heating 

Rate, 

QREF 

BTU/~F60 

1 \ L/D=05 \ 

40 .. ....

sec 

20 

il v 1 \

0 200 400 600 800’ 1000 1200 1400 1600 1800 2000 

Entry Time, Sec 

Comparison of types of orbiter. The straight-wing design has low lift, L/D=O.S. It achieves 

little crossrange, but its reentry is brief and limits the heating rate. The delta-wing orbiter has 

high lift, L/D=l.7, and achiewes large crossrange. Its reentry, however, is prolonged and 

imposes both a high heating rate and a high total heat. (NASA) 

crossrange by gliding hypersonically, and hence would compromise the 

simple nose-high mode of reentry that would turn it into a blunt body. This 

hypersonic glide would produce more lift and less drag. It also would increase 

both the rate of heating and the duration of heating. Crossrange thus would 

call for a double dose of additional thermal protection, resulting in a shuttle 

that would be heavier-and more costly.38 

Even in its simple straight-wing form, Faget’s concept of a two-stage 

fully-reusable shuttle did not take NASA by storm. It won its pre-eminence 

only after a process of review and evaluation that extended through 1969 and 

into 1970. The framework for this process involved the contractors’ studies of 

shuttle configurations that had begun early in 1969. Those studies ruled out 

expendable boosters for a reusable shuttle, for such boosters were found to 

exceed the Saturn V in size. Fully- and partially-reusable shuttle concepts 

38. Day, manager, Task Gmup Report, VoL II, June 12, 1969, pp. 40-42; Astronautics & Aemnaiitics, January 

1970, pp. 57.59; Faget and Silveira, Fundamenfa[ Design Considerations, October 1970, pp. 5, 17. 

217 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

remained in the running, and Faget’s concept counted as a new example of the 

former. NASA proceeded to examine it alongside several alternatives, beginning in mid- 1969. 

The initial round of studies, during the first half of 1969, had come to $1.2 

million, divided equally among four contractors. NASA now extended these 

studies by giving $150,000 more to each of three contractors, with 

McDonnell Douglas receiving $225,000. The participating companies also 

received new instructions that redirected their work. 

North American Rockwell had examined expendable boosters. With this 

approach now out of favor, this fun was free to direct its attention to something new. This proved to be Faget’s straight-wing concept, largely in the form 

he recommended. 

McDonnell Douglas, which had examined its Tip Tank stage-and-a-half 

design, now switched to two-stage fully-reusables. These, however, were not 

Faget’s, but rather continued an earlier line of work. They featured orbiter 

designs derived from the HL- 10 lifting body, with this contractor’s engineers 

considering 13 possible configurations for the complete two-stage vehicle. 

At first, the other two contractors saw little change in their assignments. 

Lockheed was to continue with studies of Star Clipper and of its own version 

of the Triamese. General Dynamics, home of the initial Triamese concept, 

was to study variants of this design, and would also apply its background to 

design a fully-reusable concept having only two elements rather than the three 

of Triamese. 

The orders for this redirection went out on June 20, 1969. Within weeks, 

the studies brought a flurry of activity that further narrowed the admissible 

choices. Expendable boosters had already fallen by the wayside. On August 6, 

a meeting of shuttle managers brought a decision to drop all partidly-reusable 

systems as well. With this, both Lockheed’s Star Clipper and McDonnell 

Douglas’s Tip Tank were out. This decision meant that NASA would consider 

only fully-reusable concepts.39 

Partially-reusable designs had represented an effort to meet economic 

goals by seeking a shuttle that would cost less to develop than a fullyreusable system, even while imposing higher costs per flight. This approach 

had held promise prior to the spring of 1969, when the shuttle had been con39. Akridge, Space Shuttle, pp. 53,71-72, 90; Jenluns, Space Shuttle, pp. 60-64. 

218 
Shuttle to the Forefront 

Fully-reusable shuttle concepts of 1969;R indicates the stage is reusable. I) Triamese of General 

Dynamics. 2) Two-stage arrangement with both stages thrusting at launch. 3) Two stages, upper 

stage ignited at high altitude. 4) Faget’s concept. 5) Concept of NASA Langley, with both stages 

as lifting bodies. (NASA) 

sidered largely as a means of providing space station logistics. Now its 

intended uses were broadening to include launches of automated spacecraft, 

which meant it might fly far more often. The low cost per flight of a fullyreusable now made it attractive, and encouraged NASA to accept its higher 

development 

There were at least five ways to build a fully-reusable shuttle, and NASA 

had appropriate designations and descriptions: 

FR-1: the Triamese; 

FR-2: a two-stage vehicle with the engines of both stages ignited at launch; 

FR-3: a two-stage vehicle with engines in the orbiter ignited only upon 

staging (Faget’s shuttle was an FR-3; so were the concepts of 

McDonnell Douglas); 

FR-4: a variant of the Triamese with the core stage not of the same length 

as the twin booster stages; 

FR-5: a concept designed to avoid a shift in its center of gravity as its 

propellant tanks would empty, thus easing problems of stability and 

control. 

40. Day, manager, Summary Report, December 10, 1969 

219 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

On September 4, another meeting eliminated the Triamese configurations. 

The initial concept, the FR-1, had called for three elements of common length 

and structural design. It had proven difficult, however, to have one shape serve 

both as booster and orbiter; to Silveira, “it gets all screwed up, so you get a 

lousy orbiter and a lousy booster, but you don’t get one that does well.” 

Advocates of the Triamese had turned to the FR-4, with its unequal-length 

design. This, however, proved heavier than the FR-3, while requiring two 

booster elements rather than one. It also lost much of the potential cost saving 

from design commonality between the three elements. 

The FR-3and FR-5 remained. The latter had few advocates; the problem 

of center-of-gravity shift was not so severe as to call for the design innovations of this class of concepts. The manager Max Akridge writes, “It was felt 

at this time that clearly, the FR-3 configuration was the forer~mner.”~~ 

These decisions brought a further redirection in the studies, for while 

North American Rockwell had gotten an early start on Faget’s concept, the 

other three contractors had to change course. McDonnell Douglas, having 

found no advantage in its lifting-body orbiters, turned to winged orbiters 

resembling those of Faget. 

While Lockheed also turned to the FR-3, it did not embrace Faget’s concept wholeheartedly. This company had spent several years studying Star 

Clipper, which featured a lifting-body orbiter, triangular in shape. This now 

looked like a good way to meet Air Force crossrange requirements, and 

Lockheed‘s new design retained this lifting body, with a broad underside in the 

shape of a delta. 

General Dynamics showed its own individuality. That firm had designed 

its Triamese with retractable wings, which would fold into the body during 

flight but swing outward for landing. This eased the problem of providing 

these wings with thermal protection, because the fuselage would shield them. 

This feature now reappeared in the company’s new FR-3. It drew on more 

than Triamese; it also reflected company experience with swinging wings. 

These were part of the F-111 fighter-bomber, which swung its wings to 

achieve good performance in both subsonic and supersonic flight.42 

41 Akridge, Space Shuttle, p 93; Jenkins, Space Shuttle, pp. 66-70; Joe Guilmartin and John Mauer interview, 

Milton Silveira, Washington, November 14, 1984, pp. 12-13. 

42. Reports MDC E0056 (McDonnell Douglas); GDC-DCB69-046 (General Dynamics); SD 69-573- 1 (North 

American Rockwell); LMSC-A959837 (Lockheed), Jenkins, Space Shuttle, pp. 63-70. 

220 
Shuttle to the Forefront 

Hence, by the end of 1969 NASA had settled on the FR-3 as its choice, 

with Faget’s specific concept in the forefront. This raised important questions 

concerning thermal protection. The booster was to be as large as a Boeing 

747, yet was to outperform the X-15, reaching considerably higher speeds. 

The orbiter would be longer than a Boeing 707. For both, the thermal protection had to be reusable. 

Within the industry, a standard engineering solution called for the use of 

hot structures. This approach had a background that included the X-15, 

Dyna-Soar, ASSET, as well as the Lockheed SR-7 1 that was flying routinely 

above Mach 3. Hot structures typically called for titanium as the basic material, covered with high temperature insulation and an outer skin formed of 

metallic shingles. The metal was molybdenum or columbium, to withstand 

extreme temperatures while radiating away the heat. Like the shingles on a 

roof, those on the surface of a hot structure were loosely attached, to expand 

and contract freely with temperature change. 

Such structures were complex, and the shingles posed difficulties of their 

own. Columbium and molybdenum oxidize readily when hot, and required 

coatings to resist this. The Dyna-Soar had been designed to use such thermal 

protection, and Faget declared that “the least little scratch in the coating, the 

shingle would be destroyed during re-entxy.” In turn, lost shingles could bring 

the loss of a vehicle. 

NASA and Lockheed now were developing a new surface material: an 

insulation made of interlaced fibers of silica that could be applied to the outside of a vehicle. These could withstand temperatures of 2,500 degrees 

Fahrenheit, making them suitable for all but the hottest areas on a reentering 

shuttle. The outer surface would radiate away the heat, in the fashion of the 

shingles. The thickness of the silica then would prevent most of the heat 

from reaching the vehicle’s skin. This material would not oxidize. It also was 

light, weighing as little as 15 pounds per cubic foot, or one-fourth the density of water. 

This material would form the well-known “tiles” of the Shuttle program, 

being attached to the skin in the form of numerous small shapes somewhat 

resembling bricks. In 1969, their immediate prospect lay in simplifying the 

design of hot structures. These might now dispense with their shingles; engineers instead would use titanium to craft an aircraft structure, with skin 

221 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECZSZON 

covering an internal framework, then provide thermal protection by covering 

the skin with the tiles.43 

The design studies of 1969 raised another tantalizing prospect: that these 

tiles might offer enough heat resistance to build the basic structure of aluminum rather than titanium. Titanium was hard to work with; few machine 

shops had the necessary expertise. Moreover, its principal uses in aerospace 

had occurred within classified programs such as the SR-71, which meant that 

much of the pertinent shop-floor experience itself was classified. This metal 

could withstand higher temperatures than aluminum. Yet, if tiles could protect 

aluminum, the use of that metal would open the Shuttle to the entire aerospace 

industry. In Silveira’s words, building aluminum airplanes was something that 

“the industry knew how to do. The industry had, on the floor, standardsthings like, ‘What are the proper cutting speeds?’ They knew how to rivet or 

machine aluminum.”44 

Hot structures, built of titanium, would continue to represent an important 

approach in shuttle design. As early as 1969, however, Lockheed took the initiative in designing a shuttle orbiter built of aluminum and protected with 

tiles. General Dynamics added its own concept, featuring aluminum protected 

by shingled hot structures that could keep internal temperatures below 200 “E 

At the end of 1969, the contractors’ orbiter concepts were as follows, with 

the boosters being similar:4s 

Configuration Main structure Thermal protection 

North American Faget-type, Titanium Tiles 

Rockwell straight wing 

Genera1 Deployable Aluminum Hot structure 

Dynamics straight wing 

Lockheed Delta lifting Aluminum Tiles 

body 

McDonnell Faget- type, Titanium Tiles 

Douglas straight wing 

43. Author interview, Max Faget, Houston, March 4, 1997; proceedings, NASA Space Shuttle Symposium, 

October 16-17, 1969, pp. 581-591; Report MDC E0056 (McDonnell Douglas), pp. 10-1 I; Jenluns, Space 

Shuttle, p. 64. 

44. Heppenheimer, Turbulent Skies, p. 209; Joe Guilmartin and John Mauer interview, MiIton Silveira, 

Washington, November 14, 1984, p. 16. 

45. Reports MDC E0056 (McDonnell Douglas); GDC-DCB69-046 (General Dynamics); SD 69-573- 1 (North 

American Rockwell), LMSC-A959837 (Lockheed);Jenkins, Space Shuttle, pp. 63-71. 

222 
Shuttle to the Forefront 

These represented variants of Faget’s two-stage concept, which showed 

that shuttle design had come a long way during that year. Twelve months 

earlier, the candidate configurations included expendable boosters as well 

as partially- and fully-reusable concepts. The range of alternatives included 

the Titan 111-M with an enlarged Dyna-Soar, the Star Clipper, and the 

Triamese. These were as mutually dissimilar as a fighter, a bomber, and a 

commercial airliner. 

People still debated such issues as delta wings vs. straight, aluminum vs. 

titanium, and hot structures vs. tiles. By year’s end, however, everyone agreed 

that the Shuttle would look much like Faget’s. This meant that the most basic 

issues of configuration had been settled, allowing engineers to advance to 

deeper levels of detail. The studies of 1970 would pursue such levels, and 

would lay important groundwork for the eventual evolution of complete engineering designs, explicit in all particulars. 

The work of 1969 had given the space station more support than the 

Shuttle. The studies of that year initially had allocated $5.8 million for the station and only $1.2 million for the Shuttle; the additional funds granted for the 

latter at midyear, totalling less than $0.7 million, did little to redress this 

imbalance. In 1970, however, NASA would bring the shuttle to the forefront. 

In this year, the centerpiece of effort would involve two $8-million contracts 

for further work on the Shuttle. There would be no significant amount of new 

funding for the station. These internal NASA decisions would point toward 

abandonment of the station, at least for a number of years, and elevation of 

the Shuttle into the sole focus for NASA’s 

Station Fades; Shuttle Advances 

In preparation for the work of 1970, NASA and its contractors established a 

new set of institutional arrangements. Following a proposal of Dale Myers, 

the agency gave responsibility for managing the upcoming study contracts 

to NASA Marshall and to the Manned Spacecraft Center (MSC). Each 

center would hold a complete contract, covering both the booster and 

orbiter. Marshall, however, would provide technical direction for the booster 

46. Logsdon, Apollo, p. III-26;Aviation Week,February 10, 1969, p. 17; Akridge, Space Shuttle, p. 71. 

223 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

portion of both contracts, while MSC would give similar direction for the 

orbiter portions. This continued the arrangements of Apollo, which had 

assigned responsibility for the Saturn V to Marshall and for the Apollo 

moonship to MSC.47 

Within the industry, competing companies made their own arrangements. 

There would be only two principal new study contracts, but there were many 

more than two firms eager for the business, and several of them proceeded to 

form teams. This reflected the Shuttle’s two-stage design, for the complete 

shuttle was likely to be too large a project for a single contractor to handle. 

Accordingly, Lockheed teamed up with Boeing, with the two companies 

proposing respectively to handle the orbiter and booster. North American 

Rockwell joined with General Dynamics, while McDonnell Douglas associated with Martin 

Another and highly important set of decisions extended the scope of Air 

Force-NASA cooperation. The two agencies had collaborated on a joint 

study of shuttle requirements as part of the work of the STG; this had led to 

the issuance of a three volume report in June 1969, classified Secret. That 

collaboration, however, had merely served the immediate needs of the STG 

and its supporting studies. Now, in February 1970, Paine and Seamans 

agreed to set up a permanent coordinating committee, with members to be 

drawn in equal numbers from each agency. As in the 1969joint study, there 

again would be two co-chairmen: Dale Myers and Grant Hansen. Hansen 

had co-chaired the earlier study, while Myers would replace Mueller, on 

behalf of NASA.49 

On the matter of crossrange, at least for the moment, they agreed to disagree. Neither agency would seek to impose its will on the other. Rather, each 

main study contract would conduct two design exercises in parallel: one for 

an orbiter with crossrange of 200 nautical miles, the second with capability of 

1,500 nautical miles. The first was well within the reach of Faget’s straightwing concepts; the second called for more than the Air Force would need. 

Like a baseball player who swings two bats during wmup and then finds 

that his single bat feels lighter, the exercise of designing for 1,500 nautical 

47. Low, Personal Notes No. 5, January 17, 1970, p. 4;Aviation Week, February 16, 1970, p. 14. 

48 Aviation Week, January 19, 1970, pp. 17-18; February 9, 1970, p. 27. 

49. Akridge, Space Shurtle, p. 70; NMI 1052.130,February 17, 1970. Reprinted in NASA SP-4407,Vol. 11, pp. 

367-368; see also p. 369. 

224 
Shuttle to the Forefront 

miles would stretch the minds of engineers and make it easier for them to 

achieve the 1,100 nautical miles that represented the real requirement. 

From the outset, however, Paine and Seamans could agree on an important point which Paine described as “a payload volume of 15feet diameter by 

60 feet long.” Previous studies had considered payload bays not only of this 

size but of 22 feet diameter by 30 feet long. The new requirement reflected 

the needs of both agencies.5O 

The Air Force needed length, for its reconnaissance satellites amounted to 

orbiting telescopes, and these had to be long to yield the sharpest images. 

Moreover, such satellites were growing markedly in length. The Corona 

spacecraft of the 1960s, each with an attached Agena upper stage, had started 

at 19 feet and quickly grew to 26. The CIA was now readying a new class of 

satellites that would win the name of Big Bird. With dimensions of 40 by 10 

feet, it represented a backup to MOL, whose length and width had been virtually the same. The next generation of satellites, called Kennan, would keep 

the 10-foot diameter but would grow in length to 64 feet. 

Big Bird was in an advanced state of development in 1970; the first of 

them flew to orbit atop a Titan 111-D in June 1971. Their photos gave a resolution of two feet. Kennan was still in initial studies, for it would introduce 

long-duration operations and the use of charge-coupled devices rather than 

film. Though it would not fly until December 1976, its images would show 

resolution as sharp as six inches. 

In 1970, the size of Kennan had not been fixed; indeed, very little about 

this project had been fixed. It was clear to Air Force planners, however, that 

they would face an increasing need to launch long satellites. Accordingly, they 

declared that they would need a length of 60 feet for the shuttle’s payload bay. 

While NASA did not need so much length, its officials wanted a 15-foot 

diameter to accommodate modules for a space station. This reflected a new 

approach to the design of such stations. The studies of the 1960s, including 

those that Paine had initiated in 1969, had envisioned a space station as a 

single unit that would fly atop a Saturn I-B or Saturn V. As the prospects for 

Saturns faded while those of the Shuttle seemed to advance, it appeared prudent to envision a class of stations that could be assembled in space as an 

50. Letter, Paine to Seamans, January 12, 1970; Reports NAS 9-10960 (NASA), p. 2; LMSC-A959837 

(Lockheed), p. 2; Low, Memo for Record, January 28, 1970. Reprinted in NASA SP-4407, Vol. II, pp. 

366-367 

225 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECZSION 

array of cylindrical modules, one module per shuttle flight. A shuttle bay with 

this diameter would accommodate modules 14 feet across, intermediate 

between the 10 feet of MOL and the 22 feet of Sl~ylab.~' 

In addition, a 15-by-60 foot bay would serve the needs of both agencies 

by providing room for the space tug and its payloads. Many spacecraft would 

fly to high orbit, including geosynchronous orbit, and the payload bay had to 

address such expectations as that future communications satellites would also 

grow larger. Thus, when Dale Myers asked Grant Hansen to weigh the merits 

of a reduction to 12 x 40 feet, Hansen replied: 

The length of the payload bay is the more critical dimension affecting DOD 

mission needs. If the payload bay length is reduced to 40feet, then 71 of the 

149 payloads forecasted for the 1981 to 1990 time period in Option G and 

129 of the 232 payloads forecasted in Option B of the mission model will 

require launch vehicles of the Titan III family.... 

The 15foot diameter by 60foot length payload bay size previously stated 

as the DOD requirement is based upon payloads presently in the inventory, 

on the potential use of a reusable upper stage to accomplish our high energy 

missions, and on a capability to provide limited payload growth. This 

requirement is still considered valid. 

In summary, should you elect to develop the shuttle with a 12 8 x 408 

payload compartment, it will preclude ourfull use of the potential capability 

and operational flexibility offered by the shuttle .... Also, if a portion of the 

present expendable launch vehicle stable must be retained to satisjj some 

mission requirements, then the potential economic attractiveness and the utility of the shuttle to the DOD is severely diminished.s2 

On February 20, NASA officials issued the formal Request for Proposals 

(RFP) that would lead to awards of the Shuttle study contracts of 1970. In 

addition to studies of the complete two-stage vehicle, a separate RFPsolicited 

proposals for similarly detailed studies of a main engine. Competing companies had 30 days to respond; the submitted proposals would then go before a 

Source Evaluation Board that would pick the winners. This board included 

members from the Air Force. On May 12, it chose the teams headed by 

51. Richelson, Secret Eyes, pp. 48,90, 105-106, 124-130.361-362; Pace, Engineering, pp. 110-116. 

52. Letter, Hansen to Myers, June 21, 1971. 

226 
Shuttle to the Forefront 

McDonnell Douglas and by North American Rockwell and accepted their 

bids. These companies now were to proceed with 1 1-month studies that 

would carry their shuttle designs to new levels of detail, with each study contract being funded at $8 million. 

A year earlier, those same companies had won similar $2.9 million contracts for studies of the space station. This reflected their strength, for they 

were the only firms to have designed and built both piloted spacecraft and 

large hydrogen-fueled rocket stages for Apollo. McDonnell had built the 

Mercury and Gemini spacecraft; Douglas’ credits included the S-IVB stage, 

MOL, and the upcoming Skylab. North American’s record included the 

Apollo spacecraft and the S-11, the second stage of the Saturn V. Other companies had gained strong achievements: General Dynamics’s Atlas, 

Lockheed’s Agena stages used with Corona, Martin Marietta’s Titan family, 

Grumman’s Apollo lunar module. In their experience, however, McDonnell 

Douglas and North American Rockwell were in a class by them~elves.~~ 

They had initiated their current space station studies in September 

1969. By the following July, these companies had carried their designs to a 

good level of detail. Their stations would take shape as a cylinder with 

diameter of 33 feet, suitable for launch by Saturn V, surmounted by an enormous solar array. Jack Heberlig, a space station manager at MSC, described 

the internal layout as “basically four decks with a cellar and an attic.” The 

cellar and attic would house spacecraft equipment, including storage tanks 

as well as noisy fans and blowers, with acoustic insulation to keep their 

noise from disturbing the crew. The four decks would provide room for 

living and working. 

Mockups, built by the contractors, showed how crew members would 

live in comfort. Each person would have a stateroom resembling a small college dorm room, with a bunk bed, desk and chair, television and 

communications equipment, and plenty of storage space in drawers and a 

closet. Two communal lavatories would each provide a shower stall, urinal, 

and a zero-gravity toilet called a “dry john.” The commander’s stateroom 

would feature a personal lavatory, a small conference table, and a computer 

terminal-which was rare in 1970. 

53. Aviation Week, September22, 1969, p. 100;February 16, 1970, p. 14; February 23, 1970, p. 16; May 21, 

1970, p. 18; letter, Paine to Seamans, January 12, 1970 letter, Paine to Teague, May 28, 1970. 

227 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Space station concept of 1970, intended for launch with the Saturn V. (North American 

Rockwell) 

A U-shaped galley, with plenty of countertop space, would include ovens, 

dishwasher, trash compactor, refrigerator, and storage cabinets. Tables, each 

with four seats, would stand near a wall of freezer cabinets. Within a recreation area, a similar table would provide room for hobbies and games, with 

television and movies also being available. A medical room with a treatment 

table would serve as a dispensary and first-aid station, while also supporting 

studies of crew members’ general health. 

Though a Saturn V was to launch this station, its logistics were to depend 

on use of the Shuttle. Heberlig projected “a minimum of 91 Shuttle flights over 

228 
Shuttle to the Forefront 

a 10-year period.” But in July 1970, with the shuttle/station having survived by 

the narrowest of margins in both the Senate and House, it was clear that to proceed with simultaneous development of both projects would court di~aster.’~ 

Dale Myers responded by deciding to move ahead with the Shuttle first. 

This brought a major NASA decision that redirected the ongoing space station studies. While work on 33-foot-diameter versions would continue, the 

agency now would emphasize investigation of modular versions, which the 

Shuttle could build in orbit as well as service. 

This decision took shape as part of the broader cutbacks that Paine 

announced in September 1970. Those cutbacks canceled two Apollo missions, freeing their Saturn V rockets for other duty, and Paine noted hopefully 

that they might find use “in the Skylab, Space Station or other programs 

where manned operations or a heavy boost capability is required.”55 

Early in 1969, a year and a half previously, it had appeared obvious that 

Paine’s station, with its crew of 12, would fly atop a Saturn V. The space station studies of that decade had all assumed use of Saturn-class launch 

vehicles, with the Shuttle merely as a handmaiden, a logistics vehicle that was 

poorly defined. By mid-1970, however, the Shuttle and station had reversed 

positions. The Shuttle now was ready to stand on its own, justified in large 

part by the work it could do in supporting the Air Force’s automated spacecraft. With the Saturn V now representing the rarest and most valuable of 

commodities, NASA could expect to use it only after the most searching 

examination of alternatives. These alternatives would particularly include the 

construction of modular space stations, which could avoid use of Saturn-class 

boosters entirely. 

Now it was the station that retreated to the realm of initial studies. There 

was no clear understanding, at least in 1970, of how specifically one might proceed with such modular stations, for the work to date had emphasized the 

design of such stations as large single units. North American Rockwell and 

McDonnell Douglas carried through an appropriate round of studies during 

1971, and issued their reports. Then, with budget cuts continuing to squeeze 

future goals, NASA largely dropped its plans for such stations pending com54. Aviation Week,Septembw 22, 1969, pp. 100-1 13; August 3, 1970, pp. 40-45; Report SD-70-536 (North 

American Rockwell), AIAA Paper 69-1064. 

55. Low, Personal Notes No. 27, July 18, 1970, p. 13; Paine, statement, September 2, 1970; letter, Low to 

Shultz, September30, 1970, p. 4. 

229 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Modular space station, with modules to be carried aboard the Space Shuttle. (McDonnell 

Dough) 

pletion of shuttle development. Not until 1984, with the shuttle operational, 

would President Reagan finally give the go-ahead for a space station 

After 1970, with the space station off in the wilderness, its supporters 

could at least take heart that the Shuttle’s capacious payload bay had been 

sized to accommodate its modules. The size of that bay also served a more 

immediate purpose, for it helped to nail down Air Force support. During the 

latter months of 1970, events showed that by working to win this support, and 

by deferring the space station to a much later time, NASA was well on the 

way to overcoming its opposition in Congress. 

The NASA appropriation for FY 197 1 had been part of an omnibus spending bill that had included funds for the Department of Housing and Urban 

56. Reports MDC 2570, MDC 2727 (McDonnell Douglas), SD 70-153, SD 70-160, SD 71-214, SD 71-217-1, 

SD 71-576 (North Amencan Rockwell). 

230 
Shuttle to the Forefront 

Development. In debate during July, the Senate had added $400 million for the 

programs that Paine described as This led Nixon to veto the entire 

bill, forcing NASA and the other affected agencies to get by for a time through 

the temporary funding provided by a continuing resolution in Congress. The 

Senate again took up the appropriations measure on December 7, and once 

more Senator Mondale introduced his amendment that sought to delete funding for the shuttle/station. 

This time it went down to defeat by a comfortable margin, 26 to 50. 

Several senators switched their votes to support NASA, with one of them 

being John Pastore, chairman of the Senate Appropriations Committee. 

Following the vote, he stated, “This matter came before the Senate twice; the 

matter has been decided. It has been decided by the House and it has been 

decided by the Senate.” Mondale continued to introduce similar amendments 

on subsequent occasions, but found his quest becoming increasingly lonely as 

they met defeat by even larger margins: 22 to 64 in 1971, 21 to 61 in 1972. 

With the Senate vote of December 1970, however, it was already clear that 

opposition had collapsed.57 

Also during 1970, the joint NASA-Air Force Space Transportation 

System Committee emerged as a forum where representatives of the two 

agencies could hammer out solutions in areas of disagreement. The February 

1970 concordat between Paine and Seamans, in establishing this committee, 

also stated that shuttle development “will be managed by NASA” and “will 

be generally unclassified.” At meetings of this committee, however, Air Force 

officials proved quite frank in presenting classified material to support that 

service’s point of view. 

At a committee meeting on June 29, the Air Force gave a briefing on the 

size and weight requirements of DoD payloads. This began by disclosing the 

size and weight of current payloads, and went on to project the specifications 

of future payloads, eight to ten years ahead. The presentation also reviewed 

the history of Air Force launch vehicle payload capabilities and the length of 

payload fairings. 

This briefing supported the Air Force demand for a 60-by-15 foot cargo 

bay. The length would accommodate both current and future payloads; the 

57. Logsdon, Apollo, chapter 5, pp. 51-52; Congressional Record December 7, 1970, pp. S19525319552; 

Low,PersonalNotes No. 37, December 20, 1970, p. 4;Aviation Week, July 5, 1971, p. 19; Nafzonal Journal, 

August 12, 1972, p. 1290 May 12, 1973, p. 689. 

23 1 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

diameter would provide room for a space tug. It would also alleviate design 

complications associated with the restrictions of current launch vehicles such 

as the Titan 111-D, which limited spacecraft to diameters of 10 feet.58 

NASA willingly accepted this requirement, incorporating it explicitly 

within the Study Control Document that would guide the new round of space 

shuttle studies. However, this document did not specify a payload weight. At 

that same meeting on June 29, the Air Force declared that it wanted the 

Shuttle to carry 40,000 pounds to low polar orbit. This again would provide 

room for growth; Big Bird, a year away from its first launch, weighed close 

to 30,000 pounds, and future spacecraft would certainly be heavier. 

NASA officials gave their response at another committee meeting, on 

October 2. They noted that the baseline mission, described in the Study 

Control Document, had continued to involve logistics resupply of a space 

station or space base, in an orbit with an inclination of 55 degrees. The 

Shuttle was to carry 25,000 pounds to this orbit. Following reentry, however, it would not glide to its home base, but would fly with power from 

turbojet engines. New studies now showed that an operational shuttle could 

indeed glide safely to this base, dispensing with those jet engines. That 

would save weight; the Air Force’s requirement of 40,000 pounds then 

would indeed be achi~vable.~~ 

By now it was clear that the Air Force was very much in the pilot’s seat 

when it came to steering the Shuttle program. Max Faget learned this late in 

1970, when he wrote a memo to his deputy director at MSC: “The USAF 

appears not to be nearly as firm on the 15 ft. diameter requirements as they 

are in length. NASA has no need for 15 ft. diameter either. It is suggested that 

you attempt to have the payload diameter reduced to 12 ft.” 

Faget was a power within NASA. He was Director of Engineering and 

Development at the MSC and reported directly to the head of that center, Robert 

Gilruth. It took the Air Force only three days to put him in his place, with a reply 

that read: “The USAF fully supports and stands firm on the present Level I 

requirement for a payload diameter of 15 feet and a length of 60 feet.” This 

reply came from one Patrick Crotty-whose rank was no higher than major.“’ 

58 NASA SP-4407, Val. 11, pp. 367-368,373-374: Pace, Engineering, pp. 113-1 14. 

59. NASA SP-4407, Vol. 11, p. 374; Pace, Engineering, p 115: Report NAS 9-10960 (NASA), p. 2: Richelson, 

Secret Eyes, p. 106. 

60 NASA SP-4307, pp 170,212-213; Pace, Engineering, pp. 115-116, 130. 

232 
Shuttle to the Forefront 

Late in December, NASA formally upgraded the Shuttle's status. It had 

been managed by the Space Shuttle Task Group, headed by LeRoy Day. The 

space station had resided within a similar task group. Now the Shuttle 

received a separate program office, headed by Charles Donlan, Deputy 

Associate Administrator for Manned Space Flight. Donlan reported directly 

to Dale Myers, an Associate Administrator, and also kept Day as his own 

deputy. On NASA's organization chart, this raised the Shuttle to the status of 

such programs as Mercury, Gemini, and Skylab. 

A month later, on January 19 and 20, 1971, NASA hosted a meeting in 

Williamsburg, Virginia, that included representatives from shuttle study contractors and from the Air Force. This meeting had the purpose of defining 

shuttle requirements that would guide the work of these contractors. NASA 

used the occasion to give the Air Force everything it wanted. In particular, the 

Shuttle would have a delta wing, with crossrange of 1,100 nautical miles. Its 

payload capacity, 40,000pounds into polar orbit, would correspond to 65,000 

pounds in a due-east launch from Cape CanaveraL6' 

One sometimes hears that when two parties are in a relationship, the one 

that wants it more is the weaker. NASA certainly had been pursuing support 

for the Shuttle with unmaidenly eagerness, and the Williamsburg rules were 

the result. The agency now was promising to build a bigger and heavier shuttle than it had wanted for its own uses, with considerably more thermal 

protection. It also was prepared to treat the Shuttle as a national asset-which 

meant the Air Force would not pay for its development or production and yet 

would receive the equivalent of exclusive use of one or more of these vehicles, entirely gratis. That service would not receive the Shuttle on a silver 

platter, but would pay for construction of its own launch facilities at 

Vandenberg AFB. Even so, with the Air Force having by far the larger budget 

as well as greater political clout, the Williamsburg agreement resembled a 

treaty between a superpower and a small nation. 

Max Faget, for one, was not about to bow to the Air Force's superior 

wisdom. He was responsible for providing technical direction on the orbiter 

portions of the shuttle study contracts. His designers duly proceeded to turn 

out representative designs of delta-wing configurations that could guide the 

work of the contractors. His heart, however, remained with the straight wing. 

61. National Journal, March 13, 1971, pp. 541, 545; Pace, Engineering, p. 116. 

233 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

He continued to come forward with new design variants until well into 1971, 

when as Dale Myers recalls, “I just denied MSC further activities on the 

straight-wing version.”62 

Having carried through its elaborate courtship (some people would prefer 

a different word) of the Air Force, NASA was now about to reap its reward. 

This came in March 1971, when Air Force Secretary Seamans presented testimony before the Senate space committee: 

Now let me address the Air Force views regarding development of the Space 

Transportation System. The DOD supports its development $the results of current NASA Phase B studies and ourown complementary studies show that such 

a system is feasible and can ofer the desired peij%omnce and cost advantages 

over current systems. Preliminary indications from these studies are that such 

a system can be developed. If the jnal study results confirm this, and we think 

they will, the Air Force will provide a strong recommendation that Shuttle 

development be authorized. When the operational system is achieved, we 

would expect to use it to orbit essentially all DOD payloads, “hasing out” 

our expendable booster inventory with the possible exception of very small 

boosters such as the SCOUT.63 

The DOD investment over the next two to three years is planned to be 

small. Howeve6 in the fiture, we will require majorfinding to equip a DOD 

jleet and to provide unique DOD hardware, facilities and operational s~pport.~ 

While Seamans was not ready to give full consent, or to promise to give 

up the Air Force’s cherished Titan I11 family, he certainly was saying 

“maybe,” and was saying it emphatically. 

The Shuttle program was advancing in another respect. With studies of its 

main engine having been under way for some time, NASA was about to award 

a contract for its actual development. With this engine as a long-lead item, this 

would be the first major component of the Shuttle to reach this level of commitment, advancing beyond the level of studies and design exercises to 

become a true hardware project. 

62. Jenkins, Space Shuttle, pp. 107-117; Hallion, ed.,Hypersonic,pp. 1006-1030, 1048-1051;author interview, 

Dale Myers, Leucadia, California, December 6, 1996. 

63. A four-stage solid-fuel launch vehicle with payload capacity of some 425 pounds in orbit. NASA SP-4012, 

VO~.JJI, pp. 28-31. 

64. Seamans,Senate testimony, March 30, 1971, pp. 9-10. 

234 
Shuttle to the Forefront 

The Space Shuttle Main Engine 

The legacies of the 1960s include the use of hydrogen as a rocket fuel, which 

powered two important engines of the period. The RL-10, developed by Pratt 

& Whitney, had a rated thrust of 15,000 pounds. Two of them were in the 

Centaur upper stage. The 5-2 of Rocketdyne was an important component of 

Apollo, with five of these engines in the S-I1 stage of the Saturn V and a single 

5-2 in the S-IVB. Its thrust was 230,000 pounds. 

The RL-10 and 5-2 certainly did not represent the last word in rocketry. As 

early as 1967, well before the Shuttle began to take shape, the Air Force initiated an advanced propulsion program that led to new work at both Rocketdyne 

and Pratt & Whitney. These firms selected different approaches toward improving the hydrogen-fueled rocket engine, with the intent of building test hardware. 

At Rocketdyne, the point of departure involved an inescapable shortcoming of conventional rocket nozzles, which had the shape of a bell. Within these 

nozzles, during and after liftoff, atmospheric pressure retarded the free expansion and outward flow of an engine’s exhaust. This reduced both its thrust and 

exhaust velocity-and did so just when the launch vehicle was heavy with 

fuel and was burning propellant at the most rapid rate, thereby needing all the 

thrust and performance it could get. 

The cure appeared to lie in a new type of engine, the aerospike. It required 

a ring-shaped combustion chamber surrounding a central body that resembled 

an upside-down volcano, with inward-sloping flanks and a central vent. 

Turbine exhaust flowed through the vent; the main engine exhaust expanded 

against the flanks, with no wall or barrier separating this exhaust from the 

atmosphere. Atmospheric pressure thus worked freely to shape the exhaust 

plume as it exited the engine. The aerospike concept offered a compact engine 

installation that could perform nearly as well at sea level as in a vacuum. 

However, this performance was somewhat less than could be achieved with a 

conventional bell nozzle.65 

Accordingly, Pratt & Whitney accepted the disadvantages of the bell and 

sought to achieve the highest possible performance by raising the engine’s 

internal pressure. The 5-2 had operated at 763 pounds per square inch. Pratt 

65. Ibid., pp. 23,27; Sutton, Rocket, pp. 60,62-63; Technology Week,March 13, 1967, pp. 18-19; proceedings, 

NASA Space Shuttle Symposium, October 16-17, 1969, pp. 377-403. 

235 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Aerospike rocket engine ofRucketdyne. (Artby Dan Gauthier) 

& Whitney expected to go much higher. This pressure increased the exhaust 

velocity. It also allowed an engine to produce high thrust within a compact 

and lightweight package. 

The Air Force awarded a contract to Pratt & Whitney for a new engine, the 

XLR-129. It aimed at 2,740 psi, nearly four times the pressure of the 5-2, and 

was to deliver 250,000pounds of thrust. NASA went on to support the work at 

Rocketdyne, which went forward with its own program for the development of 

aerospikes. Thus, when concepts of the Shuttle began to jell, during 1969, these 

programs offered two paths toward development of a shuttle main engine.66 

Midway through that year, Wernher von Braun, director of NASA 

Marshall, sent telexes to the nation’s rocket-building companies that asked a 

66. Rocketdyne,ExpendabZeLaunch VehicleEngines;Technology Week, March 13, 1967, p. 18;Aviation Week, 

August 31, 1970, p. 38; Perkins, History, January-June 1970, p. 49. 

236 
Shuttle to the Forefiont 

LH Inlet 

Low Pressure 

LHTurbopump 

High Pressure 

LH Turbopump 

I 

I 

/

/ 

/ 

/ \ 

Low-Altitude 

Exhaust 

High-pressure rocket engine with bell nozzle, studied at Pratt B Whitney. Note the use of a 

single preburner. (Art by Dan Gauthier 

number of specific questions. One appreciates the flavor of his queries by 

noting a few: 

Is industry ready to commit to hard design and development, an engine 

operating at, say, 8OOK pounds sea level thrust that will meet the requirements of the space shuttle? Is it technically realistic, and can an orderly 

development program be accomplished to meet a PFRT [Preliminary 

Flight Readiness Test] date of mid 1974,with delivery offirst flight engines 

concurrent? 

State the top IO technical problem areas in order of signijicance that 

would be expected in achieving the development program. 

237 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

If a 15 percent to 25 percent thrust uprating became necessary afer the 

engine design is committed, what changes in the design would be required, 

and what is your assessment of the problems involved? 

Other questions raised searching issues in a host of technical areas: turbine 

design for high temperatures, high-speed turbopumps, seals and pump bearings, 

ground-test facilities, and onboard engine checkout using computers. Von 

Braun also expressed concern that engine materials would become brittle when 

exposed to hot hydrogen at high pressures. In addition to this, he sought to 

uncover shortcomings in the aerospike, which faced possible problems of 

delayed ignition, combustion instability, sources of hot gas to drive the turbines, 

and the credibility of estimates for component weights and effi~iencies.~~ 

The aerospike held on through the summer, with shuttle managers not only 

continuing to consider it on an equal basis with the high-pressure bell, but even 

looking at shuttle designs offering interchangeability between both types of 

engine. NASA and its contractors, however, had no real experience with the 

aerospike, though they had plenty with the bell; indeed, all their rocket engines 

built and flown to date had been of the bell type. In October, a meeting of shuttle managers brought a decision to use the bell type only. This decision won 

unanimous support from key technical people at both NASA Marshall and the 

Manned Spacecraft Center. With this, the aerospike was out in the cold.68 

This was bad news for Rocketdyne, which had conducted a limited 

amount of high-pressure work but nevertheless had spent several years placing its money on the wrong horse. It was correspondingly good news at Pratt 

& Whitney, which had a solid head start. That firm had already built and 

tested a high-pressure thrust chamber, suitable for the XLR-129, though that 

chamber had lacked its own turbopumps. High-performance turbopumps, 

however, were becoming a specialty of the house within this company, which 

was also pursuing a NASA project. It was building versions suitable for a 

high-pressure engine of 350,000 pounds of thrust.69 

Even so, NASA was not about to accept the XLR-129, for that engine 

promised 250,000 pounds of thrust and NASA wanted 415,000, to reduce the 

67. Von Braun, NASA MSFC Telex No. P1816552,August 1969. Contentsreprinted in letters: Mulready (Pratt 

& Whitaey) to Weidner (NASA-MSFC), August 20, 1969; Stiff (Aerojet) to Weidner, August 21, 1969. 

68. Akridge, Space Shuttle, pp. 94-96; Memo for Record, Long (NASA HQ), January 16, 1970, p. 2. 

69. Proceedings, NASA Space Shunle Symposium, October 16-17, 1969, p. 370; Astronautics & Aeronautics, 

June 1971, p. 1 (advertisement). 

238 
Shuttle to the Forefront 

number and weight of the engines in the Shuttle’s booster. In turn, those 

415,000 pounds were to come from an entirely new rocket motor, the Space 

Shuttle Main Engine (SSME). Still, it was highly likely that this SSME would 

take shape as an enlarged XLR-129. 

In February 1970, NASA issued a Request for Proposal that would lead to 

the award of three contracts, each funded at $6 million, for detailed engineering 

studies of the SSME.These contracts went to Rocketdyne, Pratt &Whitney, and 

Aerojet General. Aerojet had its own strong base of experience; it had built the 

hydrogen-fueled NERVA test engines in collaboration with Westinghouse, and 

had also built main and upper-stage engines for the Titan family. Though the Air 

Force now turned the XLR-129 effort over to NASA, Air Force engineers 

remained active within this program, transferring XLR- 129 technology to 

Rocketdyne and Aerojet and making sure that its lessons were understood. 

During 1970, Pratt &Whitney showed anew that it had the team to beat. In 

its work on the NASA 350,000-pound engine, it built a hydrogen turbopump 

that produced over 100 horsepower per pound of weight of its turbomachinery. 

In World War 11, nearly 30 years earlier, builders of aircraft piston engines had 

counted it as a milestone to achieve a single horsepower per pound; the new turbopump thus was 100times better. It also had five times the power density of 

Rocketdyne’s 5-2, which offered only 20 horsepower per pound. 

In August, Pratt & Whitney demonstrated a hydrogen turbopump for the 

XLR-129. This test drove its turbine with a flow of hot gas from a preburner, a 

high-pressure auxiliary combustion chamber. This work had particular sign& 

cance because it went forward unusually quickly. In developing turbopumps for 

the 350,000-pound engine, this company had taken two years to raise the working pressure of the hydrogen pump to 6,000 psi. Its engineers attained 6,700 psi 

with the new XLR-129 pump in no more than six months. 

The company also used XLR-129 hardware as a testbed for the SSME.The 

latter was to have a combustion chamber pressure of 3,000 psi. While the XLR129 had a design pressure of 2,740 psi, tests of its thrust chamber repeatedly 

demonstrated successful operation at and above the level of the SSME. Pratt & 

Whitney went on to conduct some 200 test firings at these elevated pressures.7O 

70. AviafionWeek,January 19, 1970, p. 17; August 31, 1970, pp. 38-44; March 8, 1971, p. 186; June 14, 1971, 

pp. 51-57; Astronautics & Aeronautics, June 1971, p. 1, proceedings, NASA Space Shuttle Symposium, 

October 16-17, 1969, pp. 326-341; Nayler, Aviation, pp. 148-151; Reports GP 70-35, GP 70-271 (Pratt & 

Whitney); Executive Summary, PWA FP 71-50 (Pratt & Whitney). 

239 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

At Rocketdyne, the head of the SSME effort was Paul Castenholz, a corporate vice president who had previously been project manager on the 5-2. 

While he knew he would need more than paper studies to win against Pratt & 

Whitney, he also saw an opportunity to go that company one better. The complete SSME would include preburners driving turbopumps, a main 

combustion chamber fed by an injector, and a nozzle. To build SSME-class 

turbopumps was out of the question; the work would take too long. The rest 

of the engine was another matter. 

Castenholz saw that he could build a complete thrust chamber with everything but the turbopumps. He could craft it using SSME materials and 

manufacturing processes. Lacking pumps, he would have to feed its propellants using tanks under high pressure. He then could run tests that would 

demonstrate essential features of a successful SSME: a thrust of 415,000 

pounds, stable combustion, a chamber pressure of 3,000 psi, and cooling of 

the engine. He could do these things at full scale. Pratt &Whitney had already 

done most of them repeatedly, but only in an XLR-129 thrust chamber, of 

250,000 pounds of thrust. By leaping ahead into the realm of the SSME, 

Castenholz hoped to put his firm back in the race. 

The recent NASA engine study contract provided no funds for this work. 

He approached the president of Rocketdyne, William Brennan, and asked for 

up to $3 million in company money. Brennan sent him on to meet with 

Robert Anderson, president of the parent company of Rockwell 

International, who approved this expenditure. Castenholz’s engineers then 

set to work, with an important concern being the prevention of combustion 

instability within the engine. 

Good injector design would suppress this instability. Castenholz started 

with an injector based on that of the J-2, which had shown its stability during 

this engine’s repeated operational use. He then added technical features that 

experience had shown would promote even more stability. In the words of a 

close associate, Robert Biggs, “We put two big preventers on an injector that 

was basically stable to begin with.” While this was like wearing both belt and 

suspenders, it offered a reasonable guarantee that the thrust chamber would 

work properly on its first try. 

The engine testing proceeded at the Nevada Field Laboratory, a rocket 

facility some 20 miles northeast of Reno, in the Virginia Mountains. The initial work, late in 1970,involved an uncooled thrust chamber that worked as a 

240 
Shuttle to the Forefront 

Rocketdyne SSME thrust chamber under test in 1970 or 1971. (Rocketdyne) 

heat sink, absorbing heat within thick metal rather than using flows of propellant to carry the heat away. While the thickness of the metal made the 

engine strong and unlikely to explode, it still could run only very briefly 

before it would burn a hole in its side and blow up. The first tests dealt only 

with starting the engine, with ignition trials that ran to durations less than five 

seconds and pressures that stayed well below rated levels. 

Early in 1971, the cooled thrust chamber was ready, aiming at NASA's 

requirements: 415,000 pounds of thrust, 14,670 ft/sec in exhaust velocity, 

3,000 psi in pressure. The last test achieved full thrust for only 0.45 seconds. 

It nevertheless bettered these numbers substantially, delivering 505,700 

pounds, 14,990 ft/sec, and 3,172 psi. This was twice the rated thrust of the 

XLR-129, and 60 ft/sec greater in its exhaust velocity. Though small, this 

improvement was significant. It promised a shuttle payload nearly 2000 

pounds heavier than Pratt &Whitney's engine might carry to orbit, along with 

a saving in the program cost of close to $50 milli~n.~' 

71. Author interviews: Paul Castenholz, Colorado Spnngs, August 18, 1988; Ventura, California, March 18, 

1997,Robert Biggs, Canoga Park, California, January 21, 1997; AIAA Papers 70-044, pp 2-3; 71-658, p. 

4; 71-659;Perkms, History, July-December 1967,pp. 36-37; Report RSS-8333-1 (Rocketdyne), chapter IV; 

Aviation Waek,June 21, 1971, pp. 60-62;Execuhve Summary,PWA FP 71-50 (Pratt & Whitney), p. 3. 

241 
THE SPACE SHUTILE DECISION 

No engine, not even the XLR-129, had yet operated as a complete unit, with 

turbopumps together with its thrust chamber. Pratt & Whitney soon accumulated a total of 2,877 seconds of test operation of its XLR-129 chamber, rated 

at 250,000 pounds, along with its full-pressure tests of advanced turbopumps 

for both this engine and the 350,000-pound model. Rocketdyne, in turn, had 

demonstrated successful starting and stable operation within its SSME thrust 

chamber, though only briefly. Then, in late January, NASA officials changed the 

requirements, raising the planned thst of the SSME from 415,000 to 550,000 

pounds. This reflected the growing weight of the Space Shuttle as a launch vehicle, which now was to carry up to 65,000 pounds in payload. Though 

Rocketdyne had not known that this thrust was to increase, its high-thrust 

engine test, delivering 505,700 pounds in a chamber built for 415,000, meant 

that it remained close even to this new requirement. By contrast, the best of 

Pratt & Whitney’s achievements, at 350,000 pounds, lagged well behind.72 

“The highest risk I’ve ever taken, in terms of a rocket engine, was to build 

this full-scale thrust chamber for a proposal,” Castenholz recalls. “We worked 

around the clock. We slept at Rocketdyne in the hospital, every night for a 

month.” Though this did not help his marriage (he and his wife Marilyn later 

divorced), it did provide what he would need to take to NASA. 

High-speed cameras had filmed the tests in Nevada. Those films now 

were ready to show to officials at NASA Marshall, who were managing work 

on the SSME. Castenholz arranged to take along the actual thrust chamber: 

“We thought it was necessary that everyone who would be on the evaluation 

program should see that we’d actually done it.” He wanted them to see his 

chamber and touch it, not just read about it: “If you can touch something, you 

feel more comfortable.” 

Castenholz made a presentation to officials that included Eberhard Rees, 

the center director. He had succeeded von Braun, who had taken a position at 

NASA Headquarters in Washington. Robert Biggs, Castenholz’s associate, 

described this as “the best briefing I’ve ever seen.” It included multiple slide 

projectors and movies with sound, and not all the scenes were of rockets. 

When Castenholz said that they had done the test in winter, his slides showed 

the desert covered with snow. Following the briefing, Rees turned to a colleague and said, “Now I really believe it can be done.” 

72. Aviariori Week, June 14, 1971, pp. 51-57; Executive Summary, PWA F’P 71-50 (Pratt & Whitrtey), p. 3. 

242 
Shuttle to the Forefront 

It was March 197 1;NASA now was issuing the Request for Proposal that 

would lead to the award of a contract for actual development of an operational 

SSME. Rocketdyne’s proposal included an executive summary, seven volumes on technical issues, five volumes on management, and 81 more of 

supporting data. “Thousands of pages, and beautifully done,” Castenholz 

recalls. “A thick document devoted to every detail. Materials. What the materials included. How it was manufactured-pictures of the manufacturing. The 

tools we used. The test program-how many tests. Each test. Why. Where.” 

Copies of the proposal went off to NASA Marshall on April 21, with each 

complete copy filling a bookcase. The denouement came on July 13, 1971. 

Castenholz recalls that it was rather casual: “I got a call one day. Bill Brennan 

called me in and said, ‘We won.’ Bob Anderson came the next day.” Then 

Rocketdyne held a party, inviting all ,participants. Castenholz recalls feeling 

“tremendous, joyous that we’d accomplished it. The idea that we’d won was 

almost mystical.” He thought of things that could have gone wrong, but concluded, “I was fortunate to lead a good team. What won? Running that 

chamber won, and writing a super proposal.”73 

There was no joy in West Palm Beach, Florida, the home of Pratt & 

Whitney. That firm had taken out advertisements in major aerospace magazines, stating, “We can’t wait to start working on the SSME. So we haven’t.’’ 

It had solicited help from the local congressman, Paul Rogers, who had led 

his state’s congressional delegation-including both senators-in writing a 

letter to Nixon on behalf of this company and its proposal. (Nixon had failed 

to intervene, and it would not have escaped his attention that California had 

more electoral votes than Florida.) There was still a possibility, however, that 

Richard Mulready, Castenholz’s counterpart, might yet win the chance to 

build the SSME. Rocketdyne’s margin of victory had been narrow indeed: a 

score of 71 1 to 705 in the score of the source evaluation board. It might not 

take much to tip the balance in the other direction. 

Accordingly, the president of Pratt & Whitney, Bruce Torell, lodged a 

formal protest with the General Accounting Office, with his legal representatives filing a 100-page brief that listed six areas of complaint. The attorneys 

73. Author interviews: Paul Castenholz, Colorado Springs, August 18, 1988, Robert Biggs, Canoga Park, 

California, January 21, 1997; Aviation Week, March 8, 1971, p 186; July 19, 1971, p 12; AAS History 

Series, Vol. 13, pp. 73-74. 

243 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

asserted that Rocketdyne’s proposal held technical deficiencies that violated 

NASA specifications. NASA also had allegedly failed to conduct meaningful 

negotiations, had treated the Pratt & Whitney proposal in an “arbitrary and 

capricious” manner, and had accepted procedures that “maximize the risk of 

cost overruns.” Rocketdyne had supposedly obtained an unfair advantage by 

diverting funds from the Saturn program to support its SSh4E effort. A sixth 

cause of complaint was perhaps the most heartfelt: “Selection of Rocketdyne 

wastes 11 years of knowledge, test-proven design, and government investment in prior Pratt &Whitney programs.” The company had been working on 

high-performance hydrogen-fueled engines since 1960. Yet if the contract 

award could not be overturned through this appeal, the firm would have nothing but its IU-10engine for the Centaur, developed a decade prior to 1971. 

This appeal put the contract award on hold. The Comptroller General, 

Elmer Staats, would not negotiate directly with the competing companies; 

rather, he would deal with NASA, which had reviewed the contracts and had 

held the legal responsibility to conduct the competition fairly. NASA’s case 

now harmonized with Rocketdyne’s: that the agency had followed proper procedures and had conducted a valid assessment of the proposals. Rocketdyne 

retained its own legal counsel; Castenholz recalls that “we had an attorney in 

New York who handled our case.” Until Staats made his decision, however, 

the SSME was moribund.74 

During that summer of 1971, it became clear that the Shuttle program as 

well was in serious trouble. Not only had it failed to win presidential authorization to proceed; it also was receiving increasingly severe treatment at the 

hands of critics. While NASA’s pact with the Air Force had stilled most of the 

doubters in Congress, these critics would not be mollified so easily. They 

were in the Bureau of the Budget. 

74. Astmnautics & Aeronautics, June 1971, p. 1 (advertisement), letter, Rogers et al. to Nixon, June 16, 1971; 

Aviation Week,August 9, 1971, p. 23, August 23, 1971, p. 23; author interview,Paul Castenholz,Coloradc 

Springs, August 18, 1988. Points of protest are summarized tn letter B-173677, Staats to Eletcher, Marct 

31. 1972. 

244 
CHAP SIX 

Economics and the Sh Re 

The Space Shuttle effort had a full share of optimists, with one of the more 

noteworthy being Francis Clauser, chairman of the college of engineering at 

Caltech. As a member of the Townes panel that had reviewed the space program, immediately following Nixon’s election, he had written, “I believe we 

can place men on Mars before 1980.At the same time, we can develop economical space transportation which will permit extensive exploration of the 

Moon.” His views of the Shuttle were similarly hopeful. 

In May 1969, Clauser proposed that the coming decade “will see the cost 

of space transportation reduced to the point that the average citizen can 

afford a trip to the Moon.” He emphasized that “when I speak of low-cost 

space transportation, I define low to be so low that the citizenry can afford to 

buy tickets for space.” To achieve such a goal, he put his trust in single-stage 

launch vehicles burning hydrogen for high performance, and capable of routine flight to orbit. With such craft, NASA might undertake as many as 

40,000 missions “before flight costs would begin to absorb a major share of 

its minimal budget.” 

Lockheed’s Max Hunter had a similar outlook, as he abandoned his partially-reusable Star Clipper to embrace NASA’s two-stage fully-reusable 

configuration. Speaking at the University of Michigan in mid-1970, he proposed that a schedule of 95 flights per year would bring a cost per flight of 

some $350,000, or $7 per pound of payload delivered to orbit. He added that 

Texas Instruments would conduct manufacturing operations in space if the 

245 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

cost went below $50 per pound; at $5 per pound, the Hilton family would 

build a hotel in orbit.' 

Was there any basis for such optimism? There was a modest but significant 

base of experience with existing rocket engines and with the X-15. In addition 

to this, experience with commercial airliners offered a set of approaches that 

appeared to be potentially useful. Other approaches reflected the work of 

design engineers, who expected to meet specifications calling for low cost. 

Why People Believed in Low-Cost Space Flight 

In October 1969, at a Space Shuttle symposium held in Washington, George 

Mueller presented opening remarks: 

The goal we have set for ourselves is the reduction of the present 

costs of operating in space from the current figure of $1,000 a pound 

for a payload delivered in orbit by the Saturn ?? down to a level of 

somewhere between $20 and $50 a pound. By so doing we can open 

up a whole new era of space exploration. Therefore, the challenge 

before this symposium and before all of us in the Air Force and NASA 

in the weeks and months ahead is to be sure that we can implement a 

system that is capable of doing just that. 

Let me outline three areas which, in my view, are critical to the achievement of these objectives. One is the development of an engine that will 

provide suficient spec$c impulse,2 with adequate margin to propel its own 

weight and the desired payload. 

A second technical problem is the development of the reentry heat shield, 

so that we can reuse that heat shield time afer time with minimal refurbishment and testing. 

The third general critical development area is a checkout and control 

system which provides autonomous operation by the crew without major support from the ground and which will allow low cost of maintenance and 

repair. Of the three, the latter may be a greater challenge than theJirst 

1. Astronautics & Aeronautics, May 1969, pp. 32-38; seminar, Department of Aerospace Engineering, 

University of Michigan, June 15, 1970; Townes, chairman, Report, letter attached. Reprinted in NASA SP4407, vol. I, p. 512. 

2. A measure of performance, equivalent to exhaust velocity. 

3 Proceedings, NASA Space Shuttle Symposium, October 16-17, 1969, pp. 3-8 

246 
Economics and the Shuttle 

At that time, when the 50,000-pound payload was still the standard, 

Mueller’s cost goal represented a cost per flight of from $1million to $2.5 million. This would not allow ordinary citizens to buy tickets into space, and was 

somewhat higher than Max Hunter’s figure of $350,000. Regardless, if realized, it would be a long leap downward from the $185 million of a Saturn V. 

The X-15 had already established itself as a reusable and piloted rocket 

airplane, with performance approaching at least that of a shuttle booster, 

though not of an orbiter. As program participants developed experience, they 

brought the turnaround time to as little as six working days. Individual X-15 

aircraft could fly as often as three times a month. 

A careful post-ff ight inspection followed each mission and took about 

two days. Inspectors examined the aircraft closely, looking for loose fasteners, cracks, hydraulic or propellant leaks, and overheating. Technicians 

checked the engine system for leaks using pressurized helium. The pilot 

reported in-flight problems, while other problems became known through 

study of data from onboard instruments. These post-flight activities guided 

subsequent work of maintenance and repair. 

The engine received particularly close attention. At the start of the X-15 

program, an engine run was required before each flight. In subsequent years, 

an engine still required a pre-flight run after replacement or major maintenance, or after three flights. A test pilot played an essential role during these 

engine tests, sitting in the cockpit and operating the aircraft systems. These 

tests disclosed such problems as rough engine operation and faulty operation 

of a turbine or pump, with the source of the problem being found and fixed. 

All aircraft systems received complete tests prior to the next flight. They 

also received close inspection and overhaul at stated intervals. After every five 

flights, the landing gear, which was under high stress, was x-rayed for cracks. 

Because flaps were essential for a safe landing, their gear boxes were checked 

for wear after every five flights as well. Stability augmentation systems, 

which helped to maintain control during reentry, were tested for alignment. 

An engine demanded major maintenance after 30 minutes of operation; it thus 

had a long life between overhauls, for at full thrust an X-15 would burn a 

complete load of propellant in less than 90 seconds. 

In the X-15 program, the principal maintenance problems centered on 

structural repairs and On propellant and pneumatic leaks. The latter often 

resulted from failures of gaskets or O-rings. Most of the structural repair items 

247 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

were minor. Significantly, the hot structure of the X-15, which absorbed the 

heat of reentry, did not represent an important source of problems. Working at 

Edwards Air Force Base, a ground crew of modest size successfully handled 

most issues of maintenance and repair. Three X- 15 aircraft thus conducted 199 

powered flights between 1959 and 1968, when the program ended.“ 

The X-15 represented one element of experience pertinent to the Space 

Shuttle. Another element involved the high-performance liquid rocket engines 

of the 1960s. The Space Shuttle Main Engine (SSME) was initially planned for 

100 starts and a 10-hour life, representing a twentyfold improvement over the 

engine of the X-15. This long life would be essential for a low-cost shuttle, by 

reducing the number of costly engine overhauls and eliminating downtime due 

to engine changeouts and major maintenance. Although the engines of the 

1960s had not been designed for long life in service, tests had shown that they 

already were close to achieving the requirement for an SSME. 

The RL-10, with 15,000 pounds of thrust, had been the first to show this. 

As early as 1963, individual engines had been operated for over two and a half 

hours, with more than 50 restarts. By 1969, the total duration for a single test 

engine exceeded that of 50 shuttle missions, while a thrust chamber, sans turbopumps, received a series of test firings that totaled more than 11 hours5 

The engines of Apollo showed similar life. The F-1 was rated for 20 starts 

and 2,250 seconds in total duration. Yet by replacing the liquid-oxygen pump 

impeller and the turbine manifold at 3,500 seconds, test engines achieved as 

many as 60 starts and total durations of 5,000 to 6,000 seconds. The 5-2did even 

better, with a test engine running for 103starts and 6.5 hours, without overhaul. 

“We never wore out an engine of the 5-2 type,” recalls Rocketdyne’s Paul 

Castenholz, who managed its development. “We could run it repeatedly; there 

was no erosion of the chamber, no damage to the turbine blades. If you looked 

at a 5-2 after a hot firing, you would not see any difference from before that 

firing. The injectors always looked new; there was no erosion or corrosion on 

the injectors. We had extensive numbers of tests on individual engines,” which 

demonstrated their reliability.6 

4. NASA TM X-52876, vol. V, pp. 33-44; Miller, X-Planes, pp. 106-111. 

5. Aviation Week, August 31, 1970, p. 38, Astronautics & Aeronautics, January 1964, p. 44; proceedings, 

NASA Space Shuttle Symposium, October 16-17, 1969, p. 360. 

6. Proceedings,NASA Space Shuttle Symposium, October 16-17, 1969, p. 401;AIAA Paper 89-2387, author 

interview, Paul Castenholz, Ventura, California, Mach 18, 1997 

248 
Economics and the Shuttle 

This experience meant that existing engine-design practice gave a reserve 

of engine life that engineers could draw on in meeting SSME goals. SSME 

requirements, however, were far more demanding because it was to operate at 

much higher pressures. The chamber pressures of the F-1 and J-2 were 

modest by later standards: 763 and 982 psi, respectively. At full power, that of 

the SSME would be 3,280 psi. Preburners, which fed the main combustion 

chamber, were to operate at pressures up to 5,500 psi. In turn, these preburners received propellants from the turbopumps, whose pump discharge 

pressures had to be higher still: as much as 8,000 psi. 

The turbopumps thus would face enormous stresses, produced not only 

by pressure but by extremes of temperature. These turbopumps would be 

driven by hot gases and were to pump liquid oxygen and liquid hydrogen at 

temperatures hundreds of degrees below zero. They had to be built as compact units-which meant that across a distance of no more than two or three 

feet, a red-hot turbine would be driving a deeply chilled pump. These temperatures would cause the metals and materials of a turbopump to expand and 

contract every time the engine was fired, and designers had to ensure that the 

resulting stresses would not produce cracks. 

In addition to this, the turbopumps were to operate at extraordinary power 

levels. The hydrogen turbopump, more powerful than the oxygen pump, was 

to approach 75,000 horsepower-in a unit the size of an outboard motor. This 

compared with the 55,000 horsepower that drove the liner Titanic early in the 

century, in an era when engine rooms covered an acre of space below decks. 

Moreover, its rotating turbomachinery was to spin at over 36,000 rpm. Yet its 

bearings had to work without lubrication, for the use of oils or greases was 

out of the question. At the hot end of a shaft, these lubricants would evaporate. At the cold end, they would freeze solid. Within the oxygen turbopump, 

exposed to liquid oxygen, such substances would e~plode.~ 

Pratt & Whitney built prototypes of such pumps for both its XLR-129 and 

its NASA 350,000-pound engine, and Rocketdyne expected to do likewise. To 

deal with thermal stresses produced by the temperature extremes, designers 

were accustomed to using high-strength ceramics that expanded and contracted less than metals. Though hydrogen made some alloys brittle, designers 

I. Rocketdyne, Expendable hunch Vehicle Engines; Pocket Data RVRD81-142(Rocketdyne), pp. 1-9.2-15, 

2-17, 2-29, 2-31; Lord, Night, p. 103. 

249 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

could protect them with thin coatings of gold, deposited on hot engine parts. 

This led to talk of “gold-plated engines,” but gold was desirable because it 

would not corrode. 

There were a variety of means to design turbopumps. Conventional ball 

bearings were of stainless steel, but specialized ceramics and glasses offered 

greater hardness and resistance to wear. It even was possible to dispense with 

ball bearings altogether and introduce hydrostatic bearings that relied on fluid 

pressure to maintain a clearance between a shaft and its housing. This avoided 

having parts in contact that could experience friction and wear. While hydrostatic bearings demanded a great deal of testing to ensure that they would 

operate properly, Rocketdyne’s Robert Biggs noted that when such bearings 

were used on the SSME, they “worked beautifully.” 

Although a complete SSME would have 45,000 parts, it was not necessary that all of them last for the rated engine life between overhauls. 

Engineers expected to design for ease of maintenance, by providing for ready 

replacement of some parts and components. “Line-replaceable units” could 

be removed and reinstalled while leaving an engine as a whole attached to its 

mounts. Through these approaches-design for maintainability, design for 

relief of thermal stresses, alternate means for building heavily stressed bearings, reliance on the reserve of engine life afforded through existing 

experience-engineers expected to meet the challenge of developing an 

SSME with long life.8 

Other alternatives existed in the area of thermal protection for the booster 

and orbiter, to guard against the heat of reentry. Hot structures offered a wellestablished but complex and tricky approach; while tiles of matted silica fiber 

promised simplicity, they were in an early stage of development in 1970. There 

also was a third approach: ablative heat shields of light weight and low cost. 

In their earliest forms, such heat shields dated to the missile nose cones 

of the mid-1950s. They had been standard elements of the Mercury, Gemini, 

and Apollo spacecraft, showing particular merit on the latter, which returned 

from the Moon by reentering the atmosphere with twice the energy of a 

return from Earth orbit. Ablative shields carried away the heat of reentry by 

vaporizing or charring in a controlled manner; hence they were not reusable. 

8. Author interviews: Robert Biggs, Canoga Park, California, January 21, 1997; Paul Castenholz, Ventura 

California, March 18, 1997. 

250 
Economics and the Shuttle 

New versions, however, had densities as low as 15 pounds per square foot, 

matching the low weight of tiles. There also was strong interest in low-cost 

methods for fabrication of large ablative panels that could be installed and 

removed readily while covering substantial areas of a shuttle’s wings and 

body. Engineers thus were confident that they could use such panels as an 

interim method for thermal protection, allowing them to get a shuttle up and 

flying even if development of the tiles were to encounter delays. 

In addition to this, while the tiles were to cover large areas, they could not 

cope with the reentry temperatures of a shuttle’s nose and wing leading edges, 

which would range from 2,500to 3,500 “E For these limited regions, still 

another alternative was under development: carbon composites. Carbon had 

an excellent ability to withstand high temperatures; vanes of graphite, dipping 

into the rocket exhaust of the V-2,had steered that missile as far back as 1942. 

Being brittle, graphite was unsuitable for use in thermal protection. The new 

carbon composites, however, were resilient, and reusable. 

These composites drew on a recent invention: carbon fiber, which was not 

fragile, but possessed some strength. Such fibers could be woven into cloth, 

then impregnated with a specialized resin. A contractor would pile layers of 

this resinous cloth within a mold, forming a layup. Heated to high temperatures in the absence of oxygen, the resin would pyrolize, emitting gases and 

turning into carbon as well. The resulting article, treated with a coating to resist 

oxidation, showed promise at temperatures up to 4,000 degree^.^ 

A strong technical background was also emerging in the third of 

Mueller’s critical areas, which he had described as “a checkout and control 

system which provides autonomous operation by the crew and which will 

allow low cost of maintenance and repair.” Mueller had outlined a basis for 

such a system in a May 1969 briefing to shuttle contractors. He had called for 

an array of sensors and onboard computers that could diagnose the health of 

a shuttle’s engines and other subsystems, returning such messages as “I am 

well” or “I am going to be sick.”1o 

Computerized checkout offered an important path toward low-cost space 

flight. Cost meant people, and it was taking a ground crew of 20,000NASA 

and contractor employees to prepare and launch a Saturn V with its Apollo 

9. Proceedings, NASA Space Shuttle Symposium, October 16-19, 1969, pp. 581-591; NASA TM X-52876, 

vol. III, pp. 185-200; AL4A Paper 73-31, pp. 14-15,3536; Jenkins, Space Shuffle,pp. 129-131. 

10. See chapter 3 pp. 133-134, for a more complete description. 

25 1 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

moonship. If computers were to eliminate some of these jobs, here was a good 

reason for this to happen. Computerized checkout also promised more effective maintenance, a topic on which people in the airline industry had a number 

of pointed comments.” 

In 1968, with computerized checkout still off in the distance, two maintenance managers at American Airlines noted “the difficulty of quickly and 

accurately locating a fault in our complex airplanes. As a consequence, much of 

our current troubleshooting efforts are ineffective.” Many aircraft components 

received an allotted time in service prior to removal for test or overhaul; yet over 

80 percent of these “time-controlled” units did not run to their approved time 

limits. Yet, it was not desirable to reduce the time between overhauls. 

Experience had shown that when items were removed for test or for major 

maintenance, they tended to fail more frequently after being reinstalled. 

Troubleshooting also was hit-and-miss. We all have had the experience of 

taking a car to a garage for repair, having a mechanic replace a part, paying 

the bill-and finding that the problem remains unsolved. Such experiences 

were also common in the airline industry. The American Airlines managers 

wrote that 

over a recent six-month period, 44 percent of the components replaced 

during maintenance of the air conditioning system did not eliminate the 

pilot’s complaint. Fifty-two percent of the replacements in the autopilot 

system did not eliminate the pilot’s complaint. 

The nation’s airlines thus had a particularly strong interest in computerized checkout. While NASA was quite prepared to develop its own system for 

the shuttle, the airlines and their contractors could offer valuable experience, 

while subjecting such systems to the demands of daily use in large fleets over 

long periods. Pan American World Airways was emerging as an industry 

leader in this area; in 1970, it was providing onboard fault detection and 

analysis for cockpit instruments and items of flight equipment. These 

included the radio altimeter, radio receivers used for navigation and low-visibility landings, transponders that returned a radar signal to make a plane 

show up brightly on a radar screen, and electrical generating systems. 

11. Mueller, Briefins, May 5, 1969; Heppenheimer,Countdown,p. 254. 

252 
Economics and the Shuttle 

Pan Am was also extending the use of such airborne monitoring systems 

to detect faults in engines. Sensors took data on engines during flight; an 

onboard computer used this data to determine solutions to equations that calculated engine performance. It also compared the solutions to stored values to 

establish trends in performance. If a trend was unfavorable-if an engine was 

beginning to deteriorate-a printer on the flight deck would prepare a message and warn the crew. In 1970, a prototype had already been flight-tested 

aboard a Boeing 707 and was slated for similar testing on a Boeing 747. 

During that same year, those airlines became part of the teams that conducted the principal space shuttle design studies. North American Rockwell 

worked with American Airlines, leading a team that also included General 

Dynamics, Honeywell, and IBM. McDonnell Douglas linked up with Pan 

Am, while also bringing in TRW and Martin Marietta. Hence, in seeking airline-style operations for a shuttle, these teams had the counsel and experience 

of the airlines themselves.12 

Of course, NASA was going to have to spend money to achieve low-cost 

space flight, and development of the Shuttle would not be cheap. This was 

worrisome, for in pushing the frontiers of technology during the 1960s, the 

agency had often encountered cost overruns. An in-house review, which Paine 

received in April 1969, showed that NASA's principal automated spacecraft 

programs had increased in price by more than threefold, on average, since 

their initiation. The costly programs in piloted flight had performed similarly. 

Gemini had gone from an initial estimate of $529 million, late in 196 1, to a 

final expenditure of $1.283 billion. Apollo, with a program cost estimated at 

$12.0 billion in mid-1963, ballooned to $21.35 billion by the time of the first 

Moon landing in July 1969. That program indeed had fulfilled President 

Kennedy's promise by reaching the Moon during the decade of the 1960s, but 

only because it had drowned its problems in money.13 

What had caused these overruns? Here, too, cost meant people. Major 

overruns resulted when large technical staffs drew salaries to little effect, as 

when projects encountered technical stumbling blocks, forcing major 

redesigns. Such difficulties brought delays and pushed up costs by wasting 

much of the earlier work. Other delays stemmed from unanticipated failures, 

12. Astronautics & Aeronautics,July 1968, pp. 42-51; NASA TM X-52876, vol. V, pp. 1-32; National Journal, 

April 24, 1971,p.875. 

13. NASA SP-4102, p. 155; NASA SP-4012, VO~.III, p. 61. 

253 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

such as the Apollo fire in early 1967; this alone accounted for much of 

Apollo's overrun. The Shuttle was all too likely to encounter such issues, for 

it offered technical challenges aplenty. Budget officials therefore were well 

aware that the cost estimates of the day represented estimates made at the start 

of a program and were subject to potentially large increases several years 

down the road. Even so, low-cost space flight indeed appeared feasible. 

In summary, people believed in this feasibility because leaders such as 

Mueller had identified the most promising routes to low cost: engines with 

high performance and long life, reusable heat shields, and onboard checkout. 

Experience in engine development, supplemented by a wealth of design alternatives for critical technical problems, promised assurance of a good SSME. 

Similar alternatives existed for thermal protection, again promising multiple 

routes to low cost. Major airlines, working in partnership with shuttle contractors, were already taking the lead in developing onboard checkout. 

Nevertheless, a question remained: Even if NASA could build its Shuttle, 

was it in the national interest for the agency to do this? 

The Shuttle Faces Questions 

In carrying through the increasingly detailed studies that were to precede a 

major program commitment, NASA had adopted a phased approach, which 

Paine described in a letter to Congressman Teague: 

The first phase (Phase A) consists primarily of an in-house analysis and 

preliminary study effort to determine whether the proposed technical 

approach isfeasible. Phase B consists of detailed studies and definition, comparative analyses, and preliminary design directed toward facilitating the 

choice of a single approach from among the alternate approaches selected 

through the first phase. Phase C involves detailed systems design with mockups and test articles to assure the hardware is within the state-of-the-art and 

that the technical milestone schedules and resource estimates for the next 

phase are realistic. The final phase (Phase 0)covers final hardware design 

development and project operations.'4 

14. Letter, Paine to Teague, May 28, 1970. 

254 
Economics and the Shuttle 

Like the progression of a personal friendship through dating, engagement 

and onward to marriage, this phased sequence carried increasing levels of 

commitment at each step. The most noticeable sign of this commitment was 

the budget. The Shuttle studies of 1969 had held the level of Phase A; they 

had initially been funded at $300,000for each of four contractors. The studies of 1970 would constitute Phase B, and were considerably more costly. The 

SSME alone would receive three such studies, at Rocketdyne, Aerojet 

General, and Pratt & Whitney, funded at $6 million each. The Shuttle itself, 

as a two-stage fully-reusable design, would be the subject of two Phase B 

investigations, conducted by teams led by North American Rockwell and by 

McDonnell Douglas. Their funding was initially set at $8 million each, and 

subsequently raised to $10.8 milli~n.’~ 

This increasing commitment was sure to bring increasing scrutiny from 

the Budget Bureau, whose analysts were prepared to seek justification of the 

Shuttle by applying a standard economic approach. This approach relied on 

constant or uninflated dollars, thus making it possible to ignore the effects of 

inflation. Its point of departure lay in the indisputable fact that during the 

1970s, the Shuttle program would require substantial outlays of funds to pay 

for its development. In exchange for this, the program could hope to reap valuable savings by lowering the cost of space flight, during the 1980s. One then 

could ask if would not be better and more cost-effective to use the Titan III 

family instead. As an alternative to the Shuttle, the Titan I11 was already in 

hand, and could readily receive technical improvements that would allow it to 

carry heavier payloads. 

On a straight dollar-for-dollar basis, the answer to this question clearly was 

“no.” The Titan III was an expendable launch vehicle, thrown away after each 

flight. Hence, even a modest level of space activity would give advantage to the 

Shuttle, for the continuing costs of Titan III production would quickly exceed 

the one-time-only cost of shuttle development. With the Shuttle being reusable, 

its cost per flight, once operational, would be minimalby comparison. 

The BOB, however, was not about to assess the merits of the Shuttle in this 

straightforward way. Instead, it insisted on the use of discounted dollars, 

reflecting the time value of money. To economists, this concept reflected 

accepted professional practice and was not a subject for argument. It stemmed 

15. “NASA Space Shuttle Studies”(summary of contracts), April 16, 1971. 

255 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECZSION 

from a simple principle: the dollar of next year is worth less than the dollar one 

holds today, even without inflation. 

We apply this principle in our own personal investments, when we purchase a certificate of deposit (CD). This CD ties up money for years, and we 

will not buy the CD if it will merely keep that money safe for that duration, 

returning it with no interest earned. Similarly, we will not buy it if it only 

returns interest at a ridiculously low rate such as two percent per year. We 

insist on a reasonable rate such as six percent, or four percent after 

allowance for inflation. That four percent represents the true rate of return, 

in constant dollars. 

On this basis, again in constant dollars, a ten-year CD with value at maturity of $1,000 will cost $675 in money we hold today. This is as much as to 

say that the sum of $1,000,payable in 10years, has a value at present of $675. 

This also illustrates that not only is tomorrow’s constant dollar worth less than 

today’s, but that money markets act to determine how much less, and to set 

the price of securities accordingly. 

In working with discounted dollars, the BOB applied a discount rate, analogous to the interest rate on that CD. The Bureau was prepared to set this rate 

by invoking a concept analogous to investment risk. In securities trading, it is 

commonplace to demand higher return on investments that carry greater risk. 

Thus the corporate bonds of AT&T, which are very safe and highly rated, may 

return no more than six percent, while bonds of riskier companies may pay 

over eight percent. 

For the BOB, the analogous concept was national priority. Many federal 

programs could be viewed as investments, laying out money in the short-term 

in hope of realizing a social or economic return in the future. Programs holding high priority-interstate highways, construction of schools and 

colleges-could receive a low discount rate, analogous to the low interest rate 

of bonds rated AAA. By contrast, programs of low priority resembled speculative investments, and demanded a high discount rate. Because of the 

priorities of the Nixon administration, the Bureau gave the space program a 

particularly low priority, and imposed discount rates as high as 10 percent. 

This was as much as to say that the Space Shuttle, viewed as an investment, 

was no better than an issue of junk bonds. 

The BOB’S analysts were prepared to compare the Shuttle and Titan 111 

in a variety of ways. The comparison would depend closely on the assumed 

256 
Economics and the Shuttle 

level of activity, or number of flights per year. For a given level, these analysts could determine the discount rate at which the cost of the Shuttle, in 

discounted dollars, would be low enough to save money. For a given discount 

rate, such as 10percent, the BOB could also show whether the Shuttle indeed 

would be the less costly way to proceed-or whether the Titan I11 would hold 

the advantage. 

Such analyses, using discounted dollars, in no way amounted to a simple 

comparison of shuttle development cost to Titan 111production cost. If the 

Shuttle would ever pay for itself, it would do so when operational during the 

1980s, using the discounted dollars of the 1980s.Because the discount rate was 

high, those dollars would have little present value at the immediate moment, in 

1970. Hence, the Shuttle would have to promise a discounted cash flow that 

would be enormous indeed. Its discounted cash savings, achievable during the 

1980s and hence worth very little in 1970, would nevertheless have to exceed 

the cost of development, which NASA would incur during the 1970s. 

Therefore, in dealing with the BOB, NASA was in the position of a corporation whose officials hoped to finance a major development program by 

issuing bonds. With the program being speculative, the bonds would feature 

high risk and would carry high interest. Investors then might readily fear that 

the company would go broke paying interest before it could realize the return 

from a successful program. To guard against this, company executives would 

have to give those investors excellent reasons to believe that the benefits from 

this return, far off in the future, would be large enough to be worth the wait. 

If NASA had held higher priority, qualifying for a lower BOB discount rate, 

it would have been in the position of a solidly-managed corporation with a giltedged credit rating. Such a corporation, paying low interest on its bonds, might 

readily carry its indebtedness while awaiting the benefits of its new projects. This 

interest rate would correspond precisely to the BOB’S discount rate, for with 

those benefits being discounted less heavily, they would have greater present 

value and would more convincingly justify the short-term project expense.16 

Thus, in August 1969, the BOB had carried through a comparison of the 

Shuttle and Titan 111using discounted dollars. This analysis presented low, 

medium, and high scenarios for NASA activity, respectively at 15,20, and 25 

flights per year. It also presented low, medium, and high scenarios for Air Force 

16. AIAA Paper 71-806Standard & Poor’s Bond Guide (any month), p. 3; letter, Mayo to Paine, January 20,1970. 

257 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Shuttle vs.Titan 111: 

Outlays, 1970-1985 (billions of dollar^)'^ 

Caah Outlays Shuttle 

Gross Discounted to Discount 

Requirements Outlay 1970 Present Value Rate 

5%rate 10% rate Rate of 

Return 

1. NASA High, DoD High Shuttle $9.0 $ 6.8 $ 5.2 

(Averages 55 flights per year) Titan 111 15.0 8.0 5.0 9% 

Benefits 6.0 1.2 - 0.2 

2. NASA High, DoD Medium Shuttle 7.9 5.9 4.5 

(Averages 45 flights per year) Titan Ill 13.0 7.I 4.1 8% 

Benefits 5.0 7.2 - 0.4 

3. NASA Medium, DoD Medium Shuttle 8.6 6.5 5.2 

(Averages 40 flights per year) Titan 111 10.6 6.5 4.1 5% 

Benefits 2.0 0.0 - 0.9 

4.NASA Medium, DoD Low Shuttle 8.0 6.1 4.8 

(Averages 36 flights per year) Titan 111 9.5 5.8 3.7 4% 

Benefits 1.5 - 0.3 - 1.1 

5. NASA Low, DoD Low Shuttle 7.2 5.6 4.4 

(Averages 28 flights per year) Titan 111 7.7 4.8 3.1 1.5% 

Benefits 0.5 - 0.8 - 1.3 

and Defense Department activity, at 15,20, and 30 flights per year. The 15-peryear rate was close to the current DoD level; the high rate was twice this level. 

The analysis showed that at the lowest level of activity, averaging 28 

flights per year, the Shuttle would barely compete with the Titan I11 even on 

a straight dollar-for-dollar basis, without discounting. The Shuttle would save 

only half a billion discounted dollars, and would break even with the Titan I11 

at a discount rate of only 1.5 percent. This was as if a Las Vegas hotel and 

casino, a speculative venture if ever one existed, were to try for a loan with 

interest at 1.5 percent. If the Shuttle had to do this, it would not fly. 

17. Budget Bureau, “NASA Issues Paper,” August 1969 attachment, “Space Transportation System:’ August 

22, 1969. 

258 
Economics and the Shuttle 

Its prospects, however, improved markedly at the highest activity level 

of 55 flights per year. Now the Shuttle would break even at a discount rate 

of nine percent, encouragingly close to the BOB requirement that the 

Shuttle justify itself at a 10 percent discount rate. True, this projection 

raised the question of whether it was anything more than blue sky and hype, 

for it would call for doubling the recent Air Force activity level. Much of 

that activity had involved the launch of large numbers of Corona reconnaissance satellites, which were about to give way to the far more capable 

Big Bird spacecraft-with Big Bird flying in much-reduced numbers. 

Nevertheless, under these BOB ground rules, it was clear that the best way 

to justify a shuttle program was to project the largest possible number of 

operational flights. ’* 

The Bureau’s analyses carried a thoroughness that could put a tax audit 

to shame. Even so, its analysts would give NASA full opportunity to argue 

in favor of the Shuttle, and particularly of the two-stage fully-reusable configuration that now was the agency’s desire. In doing this, the BOB would 

repeat the experience of 1969. Its director, Robert Mayo, had given Paine 

free rein to deveIop the post-Apollo plan of his dreams and even to see it 

endorsed by the Space Task Group, largely without change. Then Mayo had 

lowered the boom, cutting NASA’s budget and putting that plan out of 

reach. His colleagues now were ready to give NASA similar leeway during 

the studies of 1970, amid a general awareness that their budget axe was 

close at hand. 

Robert Lindley, an engineering director at NASA Headquarters in 

Washington, held the initial responsibility for studies of shuttle economics. 

Though he was well aware that the Shuttle would have to make its living by 

providing low-cost space transportation, he appreciated that even this might 

not be enough. President Nixon’s budget for FY 1971, which went to Congress 

early in 1970, provided $125 million for procurement of expendable launch 

vehicles. This was 3.7 percent of the total request of $3.333 billion and offered 

a useful estimate of the amount NASA might have saved that year if it already 

had a shuttle. This was not an aberration. The nuclear physicist Ralph Lapp, a 

Manhattan Project vetera and a leading critic of the Shuttle, would shortly 

note that during the eight years of 1964- 197 1, procurement of expendables had 

18. Ibid. 

259 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

cost an average of some $130 million per year, or 2.9 percent of NASA’s 

cumulative budgets.19 

NASA certainly was not going to justify the Shuttle on such a basis, particularly since these minimal savings would fall much further in present value 

through use of the 10 percent discount rate. It was not clear how to invent 

additional savings, and some officials seemed constrained to conjure them out 

of little more than thin air. Dale Wyatt, an assistant administrator, put his hope 

in the fact that just then, in early 1970, the Shuttle still held close links to the 

space station. He assumed that the nation and not just NASA would need this 

station. He further assumed that it would demand logistic support at the rate 

of a resupply mission every two weeks. If those missions were to use conventional expendables, including an enlarged Gemini capsule for the crews, 

they would cost $1.625 billion per year. If, however, they were to use the 

Shuttle, their cost would drop to $480 million. Thus, out of these calculations, 

Wyatt came up with savings of over a billion dollars per year, more than 

enough to justify shuttle development.20 

This, however, represented a retreat toward viewing the Shuttle once 

again as a vehicle for use in space station logistics. During 1969, the Shuttle 

had gained considerable headway through a different approach, which had 

presented it as the linchpin of a program of automated rather than of piloted 

spacecraft. Lindley saw that he could provide a more convincing justification 

by extending this approach. He asserted that the Shuttle could achieve additional cost savings not only by reducing launch costs, but by cutting the cost 

of the payloads themselves. 

Lindley proposed that the availability of such inexpensive payloads could 

stimulate new uses for space, encouraging satellite contractors to build more 

such spacecraft. The Shuttle could thus promote the growth of its own traffic, 

for it would carry not only the planned payloads of 1970 but many others 

besides. The Shuttle then might repeat the experience of commercial aviation, 

which had achieved vast growth by cutting the prices of its passenger tickets. 

How could the Shuttle achieve such “payload effects?’ It would do this 

by completely revamping standard practice in satellite design and development. The spacecraft of 1970 faced stringent limits on weight and volume, 

19. Letter, Paine to Shultz, September 1, 1970; U.S. Senate Committee on Aeronautical and Space Sciences, 

Hearings, FY 1973, pp. 1079-1086. 

20. Wyatt, memo, “Cost Effectiveness of the Shuttle,” February 12, 1970. 

260 
Economics and the Shuttle 

Synchronous Equatorial Orbiter (SEO) 

A Medium-Size, Semi-Complex Payload 

Operating in Synchronous Equatorial Orbit 

Conventional Launched Space Shuttle Launched 

Configuration Configuration Using 

(Minimized Weight and Volume) Low Cost Module Construction 

High 

Gain 

Antenna 

Solar 

Array 

Panel 

+ 

Earth 

Weight 495 krlograms Weight 1420 kilograms 

Volume (Undeployed) - 3 cubic meters Volume (Undeployed) - 18 cubic meters 

Cost - $36 million Cost - $21 million 

The concept of payload effects. The large volume and payload capacity of the shuttle’s cargo 

bay made it plausible that spacecraft might cut cost by relaxing constraints on weight and size. 

(NASA) 

imposed by the restricted capacities of that era’s launch vehicles. Because 

there was no way to recover a failed satellite for study, much effort went into 

extensive ground tests that could assure reliability. Quality assurance 

demanded extensive documentation, to assure that engineers could use limited data from telemetry to trace and recreate the cause of an in-flight failure. 

To cope with such a failure, the project staff had to remain on call, drawing 

salaries all the while. A large technical staff would also be necessary to assure 

success, conducting extensive pre-launch checkouts and then working with 

the spacecraft after it reached orbit. 

The Shuttle offered a completely different outlook. Already its capacious 

payload bay was promising to ease restrictions on weight and volume. To 

Lindley, this meant that the electronics of future spacecraft might be packaged 

in modules mounted in racks, having standard connections for power and 

261 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

data. Like the cockpit instruments of Pan Am with their provisions for 

onboard fault detection, these modules would indicate their health to the 

Shuttle flight crew. 

Satellite checkout would occur after reaching orbit, not on the ground. 

Astronauts would locate problems using the satellite’s fault detection system, 

removing faulty modules and replacing them with spares. A satellite also 

would incorporate other systems: solar panels, power conditioning, attitude 

control, and data and telemetry. These could also receive on-orbit checkout. 

In addition to this, because they would provide standard functions, they could 

be built to standardized designs. They would take shape as additional modules, listed in a catalog. 

Existing practice called for new spacecraft to have new subsystems in all 

these areas, designed from scratch and meticulously tested. The use of standard subsystems, however‘, would turn satellite design into an exercise in 

choosing and assembling these off-the-shelf components. They would usually 

demand more weight, volume, and power than custom versions, but would 

offer great cost savings through their standardization. Other savings would 

accrue through the Shuttle’s low cost per flight. When a spacecraft began to 

fail after years of service, a shuttle mission might refurbish and restore it for 

a fraction of the cost of a replacement.21 

Lindley’s work received an attentive audience at the BOB,where Mayo 

wrote a letter to Paine in mid-March that called for NASA to prepare a 

detailed economic analysis of the Shuttle. Mayo accepted that payload effects 

represented a promising route toward justifying the Shuttle, and called on 

Paine to conduct a study that would define their cost savings. He also urged 

NASA to compare the merits of four alternative programs: 

1. Full scale development of afully reusable space shuttle. 

2. Develop a hybrid system with a reusable spacecraft and expendable 

boostel: 

3. Develop a fully expendable low-cost launch system. 

4. Continue to rely on the current family of launch vehicles or improved 

versions of these vehicles. 

21. Low, Personal Notes No. 16, March 28, 1970; Report LMSC-990594 cockheed); Astronautics & 

Aeronautics, June 1972, pp. 50-58. 

262 
Economics and the Shuttle 

Mayo wanted estimates of the expected potential demand for payloads in 

orbit, with the understanding that payload effects could increase this demand. 

He also wanted estimates of the cost of development of his four alternatives. 

Finally, he requested calculation of the discount rate for each alternative, 

equivalent to a rate of return. He described this as “the discount rate which 

equates the annual benefits to the annual program costs through 1990.” He 

added in his cover letter that “we request general use of a 10percent discount 

rate”; it was up to Paine to show that the Shuttle could achieve this?’ 

NASA was to conduct the analyses in-house while working with a BOB 

staff member, Earl mode. Though Lindley was the man in charge, it soon 

became clear that he was getting in over his head. Joseph McGolrick, a manager of advanced programs, later recalled what happened: 

Lindley had this group of people from all over Headquarters, and he was 

drawing frompeople their estimates of “How much could be saved?” He was 

an extremely charming and extremely shrewd man who was getting out of this 

group of people a set of numbersfor what the economics of the shuttle might 

be downstream. I mean, people would object about “This is not knowable, or 

if it is knowable, we don’t have the information yet: we would have to do a 

study.” But he really charmed them and said, “Hey, you know, let’s just get 

an estimate. ’’ 

It was obvious to me what he was doing was focusing, steering this 

group of Headquarters people into a totally subjective, qualitative kind of 

justijication of the shuttle, without any real basis at all. And he went through 

aboutfour orfive iterations of this thing, finding out where the critical problems were, and finding solutions to these little problems. [The] problems, 

from their point of view, in justifiing the shuttle.23 

Lindley knew that he needed more than arm-waving. He required an 

assessment of payload effects by an aerospace corporation with actual experience in building spacecraft. He wanted “mission models,” projections of the 

specific spacecraft, and payloads that the shuttle might carry, and he needed 

such mission models for the Air Force as well as NASA. The BOB also 

encouraged him strongly to have the economic analysis-including the vital 

22. Letter, Mayo to Paine, March 18, 1970. 

23. John Mauer interview, Joseph McGolrick October 24, 1984, pp. 22-24 

263 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

determination of discount rates-conducted by professional economists with 

experience in this area. 

He proceeded to set up a series of studies. For mission modeling and for 

payload and launch vehicle cost estimates, he turned to the Aerospace Corp., 

which had strong ties to the Air Force and was widely known as a center of 

expertise. Lockheed, builder of the Corona spacecraft, took charge of work on 

payload effects. For the overall economic evaluation, which these other contracts would support, LindIey followed recommendations from the BOBand 

approached the firm of Mathematica, Inc., in Princeton, New Jersey. 

Mathematica was the lengthened shadow of its founder, the economist 

Oskar Morgenstern. Expelled from a professorship at the University of 

Vienna following the Nazi occupation in 1938, Morgenstern had taken a post 

at Princeton's Institute for Advanced Study, where he proceeded to work with 

John von Neumann, one of the world's leading mathematicians. Together they 

developed the theory of games, which provided mathematical analysis of situations where competitors act independently and with conflicting interests, 

while influencing one another's actions. Their book of 1944, Theory of 

Games and Economic Behavior, became a landmark. In turn, its mathematical methods proved applicable not only in business and economics but in 

military planning and nuclear arms negotiations. Morgenstern set up his firm 

of Mathematica to pursue such applications.24 

In addition to analysis that might justify NASA's Shuttle, BOBofficials also 

wanted further studies of alternate shuttle configurations. Though NASA might 

be ready to push ahead at full speed with a detailed study of two-stage fullyreusable designs, as early as February 1970, agency officials assured industry 

representatives that NASA would pursue other concepts as well. These might 

offer lower development cost, or reduce the outlays in the near term. 

In mid-May, NASA awarded the main Phase B contracts to North 

American Rockwell and McDonnell Douglas. The chairman of Grumman,a 

losing bidder, responded with a vigorous protest. In phone calls and meetings 

with NASA officials, he stated that he opposed NASA's preferred shuttle concept, that the Request for Proposal had been faulty, and that NASA's decision was tantamount to declaring that Grumman would have to get out of the 

24, National Journal, March 13, 1971, p. 540; August 12, 1972, p. 1292; Report LMSC-A990594 (Lochrheed), 

p. 1-1; Blaug, Economists, pp. 172-174;New York Ems, Fehruaq 13, 1977, section 3, pp. I, 9. 

264 
Economics and the Shuttle 

business of piloted space flight. He also complained that Grumman lacked 

strong support from the senators of New York, its home state, and that the 

company’s top executives lacked rapport with their NASA counterparts. 

Paine’s colleagues responded in kind, noting that selection of contractors was 

not a popularity contest and adding, frankly, that in its technical aspects, 

Grumman’s proposal had been the worst of the four received. 

At the same time, NASA was ready to supplement the main Phase B contracts with additional Phase A studies of alternatives. Grumman walked away 

with the largest of these, funded at $4 million. This company had a strong 

background in piloted space flight, having built the lunar module that had carried Apollo astronauts to the Moon’s surface. Grumman did lack experience, 

however, with large rocket stages. Its management redressed this deficiency 

by teaming with Boeing, which had designed and built the first stage of the 

Saturn V. Boeing’s own Phase B bid had failed, but this team was potentially 

as strong as that of North American Rockwell or McDonnell Douglas. 

The Grumman/Boeing alternatives included the use of expendable propellant tanks, in the fashion of Lockheed’s Star Clipper. They also included 

several approaches to phased development, whereby an initial version of the 

Shuttle would fly with interim systems. Rather than use the SSME for the 

main engines of both stages, a two-stage fully reusable shuttle might use a different engine, Rocketdyne’s 5-2s. This was a simplified version of the 

standard 5-2, with its thrust increased to 265,000 pounds. At 14,030 feet per 

second, its exhaust velocity would not match that of the SSME. Still, it was 

2.6 percent higher than that of the standard 5-2, representing a modest but 

useful increase. 

A more far-reaching approach to phased development called for the initial use of an expendable booster. This could be a Saturn V first stage; it also 

might be a large new stage using solid propellant. This approach would allow 

NASA to delay the development of a reusable shuttle first stage while allowing the stage that counted-the orbiter-to enter initial service.25 

Two other companies also received Phase A contracts, each worth $1 million. Lockheed was to study new versions of Star Clipper, including a variant 

that might fly as a second stage atop the reusable booster of McDonnell 

25. Low: Personal Notes No. 22, May 16, 1970; No 23, May 19, 1970; Rocketdyne, Expendable Launch 

Vehicle Engines; Aviation Week, June 22, 1970, p. 251. 

265 
THE SPACE SHUlTLE DECISION 

Shuttle concept of Chrysler Corporation: left, as a booster stage with a conventional shuttle 

orbiter; right, cutaway view, which allegedly could carry payload to orbit. (Art by Dennis Jenkins) 

Douglas. The second such contractor, Chrysler Corp., had operated since the 

early 1950sas Wernher von Braun’s manufacturing arm and had built most of 

the kst stages of the Saturn I-B. its alternative shuttle concept was strange 

indeed, with a reusable first stage powered by Rocketdyne’s aerospike 

engines and shaped like an enormous Apollo capsule. Though it was definitely a wild card in NASA’s deck, it showed that even at this late date, Paine 

was still willing to look at concepts that did not reflect the views of Max 

Hunter or Max Faget.26 

The following is a summary of the studies that were under contract by 

mid-1970.” 

Phase E-Fully Reusable Space Shuttle 

North American Rockwell: $8 million (late6 $10.8 million} 

McDonnell Douglas: $8 million (late6 $10.8 million) 

Phase B-Space Shuttle Main Engine 

Pratt & Whitney: $6 million 

Rocketdyne: $6 million 

Aerojet General: $6 million . 

26. Aviation Week,June 22, 1970, p. 96; Jenlans, Space Shuttle, pp. 96-100. 

27. “NASA Space Shuttle Studies,” summary,April 16, 1971. 

266 
Economics and the Shuttle 

Phase A-Alternate Space Shuttle 

Grummafloeing: $4 million 

Lockheed: $1 million 

Chrysler: $I million 

Economic Studies and Analysis 

Aerospace Corp.: Payloads and launch costs, $1,625,000 

Lockheed: Payload effects, $399,000 

Mathematica: Cost-benefit analysis, $400,000 

The Phase B contracts, initially totalling $34 million, reflected NASA's 

hope that the detailed study of vehicle and engine designs could lead relatively quickly to award of contracts for Phase C and D, covering mainstream 

design and development. NASA would fulfill this wish for the SSME by 

granting its development contract to Rocketdyne in July 1971. The agency 

hoped to choose a single main contractor for the Shuttle itself soon afterward. 

Under the spur of questions from the BOB,however, NASA now would 

give the Shuttle an unusually close level of scrutiny. Its economic analysis 

would go beyond standard cost-benefit analysis, with its emphasis on discounted cash flows, by introducing the new topic of payload effects. This 

topic, with its promise of sweeping changes in methods of satellite development, promised to broaden anew the significance of the ShuttIe. Studies of 

alternative designs would go beyond the earlier issue of reducing development cost while accepting higher operational cost. These studies would now 

include phased development, with the prospect of treating the shuttle effort as 

three separate projects-booster, orbiter, SSME-that might go forward in a 

sequence rather than simultaneously. The resulting program stretchout then 

might allow NASA to proceed with the Shuttle while fitting its year-to-year 

costs within a tight budget ceiling. 

Change at NASA and the Bureau of the Budget 

Tom Paine, who had been reporting to James Webb as Deputy Administrator 

during much of 1968, took over as Acting Administrator following Webb's 

resignation that October. During 1969, as Paine became full Administrator, he 

served without a deputy. In September, he moved to remedy this situation by 

recommending George Low for that post. Low, who had been managing the 

267 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

George M. Low, NAS‘A 

Deputy Administrator, 

1969-1 976. (NASA) 

Apollo spacecraft program at NASA’s Manned Spacecraft Center, started 

work as Paine’s deputy in December. When Paine left NASA in September 

1970, Low became Acting Administrator in his turn.” 

The BOBsaw considerably more far-reaching changes that grew out of a 

revamping within the Executive Branch. Nixon had a strong interest in management and policy development; in April 1969, he set up an advisory council 

to recommend changes within the White House that could enhance its effectiveness in these areas. During the following year, his personal experience 

stimulated his desire for change. As Vice President under Eisenhower, and 

now as President, he had worked with the National Security Council (NSC), 

which had dealt in an orderly fashion with contrasting recommendations from 

the Pentagon, the State Department, and the intelligence agencies. Nixon felt 

the lack of any similar institution to coordinate policy in domestic affairs. 

In March 1970, he announced his decision. He would set up a Domestic 

Council within the White House, as a Cabinet-level counterpart of the NSC. 

Its membership would include the Vice President as well as nine Cabinet sec28. Press release, White House, November 13, 2969;Low, Personal Notes No. 1, January 1, 1970. 

268 
Economics and the Shuttle 

retaries. Nixon chose his assistant John Ehrlichman to direct it, thus giving 

him power on a par with that of Henry Kissinger, the National Security 

Advisor and head of the NSC. 

Nixon also proposed to reorganize the BOB, to strengthen an emphasis on 

management while enhancing its activity in program evaluation and coordination. The BOB would also receive a new name: the Office of Management and 

Budget (Om).In Nixon’s words, “The Domestic Council will be primarily 

concerned with what we do; the Office of Management and Budget will be primarily concerned with how we do it, and how well we do it.” 

The BOB had long since established itself as an elite group within 

Washington. Its responsibilities covered the whole of the federal budget, with its 

myriad of programs and agencies. Yet the BOB staff rarely numbered more than 

550,with some 350being professiofials, many with two or more college degrees. 

They stayed away from the media; they were not a good source of leaks. Veteran 

staffers, proud of the BOB’S small size and central responsibilities, viewed themselves as unique. They said that if an army of Martians marched on the Capitol, 

while everyone would flee to the hills, the BOB staff would stay behind and prepare for an orderly transition in government. 

Robert Mayo, head of the BOB, did not stay on. He had worn out his welcome by interceding in the shaping of the Pentagon budget, which Nixon had 

sought to develop through talks with only Henry Kissinger, the Joint Chiefs, and 

the Secretary of Defense. John Ehrlichman would recall that “Nixon felt that he 

understood enough of the general budget process that he didn’t need Mayo. 

Nixon just froze him out. And he also just plain didn’t like Mayo.” 

The new OMB had plenty of clout. Mayo’s successor, George Shultz, had 

been Nixon’s Secretary of Labor. After taking over as head of the OMB, he 

received an office within the White House itself. He started work on July 1,1970, 

the day the OMB formally came into existence, and quickly emerged as one of 

Nixon’s closest intimates. 

“I think he has the most important position in government,” AFL-CIO 

president George Meany said in Iate August. “He is, in my book, the executive vice president of the corporation. In other words, he is the guy who runs 

the corporation from day to day. He is without question over all the Cabinet 

members. They are just department heads under him.” In January 1971, 

NutionaE Journal reported that “Shultz sees and communicates with Mr. 

Nixon on official business more than any other senior White House aide. 

269 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Several times a day he is summoned to the President’s oval office; the two talk 

by phone frequently. He regularly receives memoranda from the President 

with the notation penned in the margin, ‘What do you think, George?’”29 

For NASA, during the summer and fall of 1970, the immediate matter at 

hand was the budget for FY 1972. On August 7, Shultz sent a letter to Paine 

that set a target of $3.215billion in outlays, representing a further cut from the 

already much-reduced level of FT 1971. Low responded on September 30, 

replying: yes, we could meet this mark with additional cancellations, including termination of NERVA and scrapping plans for Apollo 17. He would much 

prefer, however, an outlay of $3.411 billion. “We strongly advise against the 

actions that would be required to achieve the target level,” he c~ncluded.~” 

Subsequent exchanges with the OMB did not go well. In late November, 

Low hosted a meeting at his home to discuss what to do next. Participants 

included Dale Myers, head of the Office of Manned Space Flight, and Charles 

Donlan, head of the Space Shuttle program. As Low noted in a personal 

memo, a few days later: 

We held the meeting because of our collective concern that the shuttle program, as now constituted (two-stage fully reusable vehicle), would probably 

cost more than we could afford on an annual basis in the middle of the ’70s. 

A phased program, wherein we would first procure only the orbiter and 

launch it on a mod$ed S-ICstage3‘ and only subsequently build a boostel; 

would make more sense from the point of view of annual funding. It might 

also make more sense technically because we would face only one major 

problem at a time. At the same time, we could also adopt a Block IBlock II 

approach, wherein many of the “nice to have features” would be reservedfor 

Block I1and would not be incorporated into Block 

On December 7, late in the evening, Low received a phone call from 

Donald Rice, an OMB assistant director. Rice said that NASA would receive 

outlays of $3.206 billion, less than Shultz’s mark of four months earlier, with 

29. Berman, Ofice,pp. ix-x, chapter 5; NationalJournal, March 21, 1970, pp. 620-626; January 23, 1971, pp. 

151-165; June 12, 1971,pp. 1235-1244, December 13,1975, pp. 1690-1691;John Logsdon interview, John 

Ehrlichman, Santa Fe, New Mexico, May 6, 1983, pp. 17-18. 

30. Letters: Shultz to Pine,August 7. 1970; Low to Shultz, September 30, 1970. 

31. The first stage of the SaturnV. 

32. Low, Personal Notes No. 36, November 28,1970. 

270 
Economics and the Shuttle 

new obligational authority of $3.283 billion. The latter represented the request 

for appropriations that Nixon would send to Congress. Apollo 17remained in 

the budget, while NERVA would survive with support from key senators. The 

Shuttle, however, took a heavy hit. 

Low still hoped to receive approval to proceed with shuttle development 

during FY 1972.Four days later, he sent Rice a letter proposing language for 

a formal statement on shuttle policy: 

The FY 1972 budget provides forproceeding with the development of a space 

shuttle system. 

Detailed design and development of the shuttle engine-the longest lead 

time component-will be begun in FY 1972. 

Airji-ame design and development will proceed on an orderly step-bystep basis leading to detailed design or initiation of development during FY 

1972 depending on progress in studies now underway. 

Rice sent this letter down through channels to Daniel Taft, an OMB 

staffer who worked with this issue. Taft replied with his own letter to Rice, 

noting that Low was proposing that “the Administration has approved proceeding with the space shuttle system.” Taft continued: 

We recommend that the Administration presewe flexibility by: 

A. Making no commitment to proceeding with the development of the entire 

shuttle system. 

B. Making no commitment to an FY 1972 decision on initiation of development of the airframe. 

Taft added a draft of a letter with which Rice replied to Low. While Rice 

agreed to proceed with development of the SSME, he made no such commitment to the Shuttle itself. This had obvious potential for an embarrassing 

situation wherein people would regard a commitment to the engine as abackdoor commitment to the shuttle. The SSME therefore received the provisional 

name of Advanced Space Engine, with the understanding that it might power 

a new low-cost expendable launch vehicle instead.33 

33. Low, Personal Notes No. 37, December 20, 1970; letters: Low to &ce, December 11, 1970; Taft to Rice, 

December 15, 1970; Rice to Low, December 17. 1970; Wiskanen to Rice, December 26, 1970;Taft to Rice, 

January 8,1971. 

27 I 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Rice’s phone call of December 7 did not mark the end to the budget negotiations. In Nixon’s formal budget, late in January, NASA received another 

cut. It now was slated for $3.271 billion in new obligational authority. The 

only hopeful note was that at least this matched the $3.269 billion appropriated for FY 197 1,with no allowance for inflation. NASA, however, was to set 

aside over $100 million of this to spend in future years; its outlays were to 

total only $3.152 billion. 

In initial discussions, NASA had sought $220 million for the Shunle. A preliminary review at OMB had cut this to $195 million. In a subsequent review, 

however, the OMB swung its budget axe much harder, chopping the final 

number to $105 million, or $100million in budget authority. This included $35 

million for studies of the orbiter and booster along with $44 million for engine 

development. The space station was still alive within the FY 1972 budget and 

would receive $15 million, fo cover continuing studies. While the shuttle was 

healthier than the station, it now would be on hold for another year.34 

The Administration’s intention to keep NASA on a tight leash was reemphasized as the agency received a new Administrator, James Fletcher. Fletcher 

had been president of the University of Utah. While his predecessor, James 

Webb, had spent much of his career as a high-level Washington apparatchik, 

and while Tom Paine had been a research manager at General Electric, James 

Fletcher brought hands-on experience in aerospace development. During the 

1950s, he had headed a guidance-system group at the fm of TRW. That 

company had provided a technical staff that managed the development of the 

Air Force’s major missiles: Atlas, Titan, Thor, and Minuteman. 

The aerospace industry was well aware of the leadership that had come 

out of the Navaho missile program at NAA: NASA’s Dale Myers, Paul 

Castenholz of the SSME, and Sam Hoffman who had been president of 

Rocketdyne. TRW had produced leadership that was even more stellar, for 

this company’s Air Force work had placed it at the center of the nation’s most 

important military efforts. 

George Mueller had been a TRW manager before coming to NASA. Other 

TRW alumni included Richard DeLauer, who became an under-secretary of 

defense; Louis Dunn, who had headed the Jet Propulsion Laboratory; Ruben 

34. Low, statement, January 28, 1971; letter, Shultz to Low, February 19, 1971; Aviation Week, January 25, 

1971,~.13; February I, 1971, pp. 18-19. 

272 
Economics and the Shuttle 

James (2. Fletcher, 

NASA Administrator, 

2971-1 977. (NASA) 

Mettler, who stayed at TRW and became its chairman and chief executive; 

George Solomon, who went on to serve as TRW’s executive vice president; 

and Albert Wheelon, who pushed the development of the Big Bird reconnaissance satellite within the CIA, and later became chairman of Hughes Aircraft.35 

Having served amid such company, Fletcher’s pedigree was sterling. To 

Nixon’s colleagues, however, he was merely a man who might help NASA toe 

the line. In February 1970, Peter Flanigan of the White House asked his 

staffer Clay Whitehead to prepare a memo on the subject of NASA, which 

Flanigan sent over to Ehrlichman: 

ThisAdministration has never really faced up to where we are going in Space. 

NASA, with some help ffom the Vice President, made a try in 1969 to get the 

35. Heppenheimer, Countdown,pp. 80, 149, 259; Ramo, Business, p. 102. 

273 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

President committed to an “ever-onward-and-upward’’ post-Apollo program 

with continuing budget growth into the $6-10 billion range. We were successful in holding that of at least temporarily, but we have not developed arty 

theme or consistency in policy. As a result, NASA is both drifting and lobbying for better things-without being forced to focus realistically on what it 

ought to be doing .... 

NASA is--or should be-making a transition from rapid razzle-dazzle 

growth and glamor to organizational maturity and more stable operations for 

the long-term. Such a transition requires wise and agile management at the 

top if it is to be achieved successjidly. NASA has not had that. (Tom Paine may 

have had the abilio, but he lacked the inclination - preferring to aimfor continued growth.) They have a tremendous overhead structure, far too largefor 

any reasonable size space program, that will have to be reduced. ... 

We need a new Administrator who will turn down NASA’s empire-building 

fervor and turn his attention to (I)sensible straightening away of internal management and (2)working with OMB and White House to show us what broad 

but concrete alternatives the President has that meet all his various objectives. 

In short, we need someone who will work with us rather than against as,and 

will seek progress toward the President’s stated goals, and will shape the program to reflect credit on the President rather than embarrassment .... 

We really ought to decide if we mean to muddle through on space policy 

for the rest of the President’s term in ofice or want to get serious about it.36 

The Fall of the Two-Stage Fully-Reusable Shuttle 

Mayo’s letter of March 18, 1970,which directed Paine to compare the merits 

of four alternatives, set a date of May 1for an interim report. With a week to 

spare, Lindley concluded that economic criteria showed that the fullyreusable shuttle was best. It would cost the most to develop, but even when 

using discounted dollars, its low cost per flight would yield the largest savings. The report ranked the other choices in order: a new low-cost expendable 

booster, a partially reusable shuttle, and continued use of current expendables. 

In sum, NASA’s preferred design offered the greatest advantage, but anything 

would be better than the expendables that represented current practice. 

36. Memo,Whitehead to Flanigan, February 6,1971. Reprinted in NASA SP-4407,vol. I[, pp. 50-52. 

274 
Economics and the Shuttle 

This interim report impressed ofticials at the OMB; it also drew favorable 

new report asserted that 

uction in launch costs. In 

from contention.” 

May 1971 were a time of 

gements for award of the 

A for alternative designs. 

e OMB strengthened its 

an, to review the analysis of 

ve work to date on the Shuttle design and its 

ptics at OMB, these reports 

would swing it to an upright position and mount it to a Launch Umbilical 

37. Letter. Mayo to Paine, March 18, 1970; NASA interim report, “Alternate Systems for Reducing the Cost of 

Payload in Orbit,” April 24, 1970; memo, Rhode to Young (OMB), July 23, 1970; NASA report, “Economic 

Analysis: Alternate Systems for Reducing the Cost of Payloads in Orbit,” August 15, 1970; NASA, 

“Documentation of the Space Shuttle Decision Process,” February 4, 1972. 

275 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Saturn V, on its launch platform with tower, aboard an enormous tracked vehicle as it exits the 

VAB. NASA expected to use these facilities and equipment in launching the shuttle. (NASA) 

Tower, a massive steel platform carrying a red-painted tower with arms that 

would connect to the Shuttle. Next, an orbiter would go onto the booster’s 

back. A crawler, a diesel-powered vehicle weighing 3,000 tons, then would 

move beneath the platform and lift it to ride atop a flat surface the size of a 

baseball infield. 

276 
Economics and the Shuttle 

Eight tractor treads would begin to clank, each 40 feet long and 10 feet 

high. The entire array-crawler, platform, tower, booster, orbiter-would 

make its way through the immense door. The crawler would proceed down a 

roadway paved with crushed rock and resembling an interstate highway, with 

two sets of lanes divided by a median. That entire roadway, however, would 

serve the crawler alone, with those divided sections accommodating the 

crawler’s widely-separated treads. The crawler would head for a launch pad, 

three miles away, and in this fashion the Shuttle would set out for orbit at the 

speed of those treads-one mile per hour. 

Fueled and cleared for launch, the Shuttle would thunder into the air with 

the thrust of 12 SSMEs in the base of the booster. The orbiter would separate 

and fly onward, propelled by its own SSMEs. The booster, empty of fuel, 

would come down through the atmosphere and return to a runway at the 

Cape, with power from up to 12 jet engines. After completing its mission in 

space, the orbiter would reenter and land on the same runway. Preparations 

for the next flight, covering both the booster and orbiter, would take as little 

as two weeks.38 

North American Rockwell and McDonnell Douglas both presented estimates for the development costs of their shuttles, and for operational costs. 

Analysts at the Aerospace Corp. prepared separate estimates, which fed into 

the economic studies of Mathematica. These projected $9.92 billion for shuttle development along with a cost per night of $4.6 million. The latter number 

represented “marginal cost,” which would pay for one additional shuttle flight 

once the system was up and flying routinely. It was less than the cost of a 

Delta expendable vehicle, $5.4 million. While a Delta could carry some 5,000 

pounds to orbit, the Shuttle would carry 65,000. This capacity would show a 

substantial increase over the 40,000 pounds of a Saturn I-B, with this Saturn 

showing a cost per flight of some $55 million. Hence, if all went well, the 

Shuttle indeed would cut the cost of space flight by an order of magnitude.39 

The Aerospace Corp. received wish lists from NASA, the Air Force, and 

from the commercial Communications Satellite Corp., describing the payloads these agencies hoped to launch during the years 1978-1990. It is 

38. Heppenhetmer, Countdown,p. 224; Jenkins, Space Shuttle, pp. 86-94, Aviation Week, June 7, 1971, pp. 55-

61; AIM Papers 71-804, 71-805; Reports MDC E0308 (McDonnell Douglas); SD 71-114-1 (North 

American Rockwell). 

39. Report Am-72 (7231)-1 (Aerospace Corp.);AIAA Paper 71-806; Jenkins, Space Shuttle, p. 125. 

277 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

difficult to characterize those payload lists as reflecting more than wishes, for 

while these agencies had some sense of what they hoped to do during the 

1970s, the 1980s were too far off for serious attention. Nevertheless, although 

NASA and the Pentagon were subject to year-to-year funding approvals, their 

planners blithely proceeded to describe what they hoped to be doing some 20 

years in the future. 

The ensemble of these lists defined a baseline mission model, with each 

individual payload described in at least an introductory fashion. Each payload 

had an estimated weight which Aerospace Corp. analysts used as a basis for 

work that would compare the Shuttle to alternatives calling for expendable 

launch vehicles. Based on its weight, each payload could be assigned to a particular rocket having a known launch cost, such as a Delta or Titan 111.These 

analysts also determined a cost for each payload by using “cost estimating 

relationships,” which drew on historical data. These relationships gave good 

approximations of the actual costs of existing spacecraft and satellites, which 

served as benchmarks. 

In treating shuttle payloads, payload effects were at the forefront. 

Lockheed selected four spacecraft, three being satellites that together spanned 

a broad range of sizes and the fourth being a Mars orbiter. Company engineers 

examined these spacecraft in considerable detail, at the level of subsystems. 

They then prepared a design guide for low-cost shuttle payloads, which would 

emphasize minimal weight and volume constraints, modular electronics and 

subsystems, and on-orbit checkout and refurbishment. The Aerospace Corp. 

then used this Lockheed work to derive new payload cost and weight estimates, redefining the entire baseline mission model in the light of payload 

effects. This baseline mission model thus called for 736 shuttle flights during 

1978-1990, or some 57 flights per year>0 

The Aerospace analysis also presented year-by-year costs for both payloads and launch vehicles, treating three alternatives: a fully-reusable shuttle, 

a new low-cost expendable booster, and the continued use of existing expendables. These covered three of the four alternatives that Mayo had presented to 

Paine in his letter of March 18, 1970. The fourth alternative, a hybrid or partially-reusable shuttle, was not treated, a point that would not escape the 

40. Reports ATR-72 (7231)-1 (Aerospace Corp.); LMSC-A990556, -A990558 and -A990594 (Lockheed); 

Astronautics &Aeronautics, June 1972, pp. 50-58; MAA Paper 73-73. 

27 8 
Economics and the Shuttle 

Costs of Three Space Vehicles 

(in millions of dollars): 

Fully 

Current New Reusable 

Expendable Expendable Shuttle 

Expected Launch Vehicle Costs 

Research and development 

Facilities and fleet 

$ 960 

584 

$ 1,185 

727 

$ 9,920 

2.884 

Total incurring costs 

Launch-by-launch recurring costs 

1,544 

13.115 

1,912 

12,981 

12,804 

5.510 

Total launch costs $14,659 $14,893 $1 8,314 

Expected Payload Costs 

Research and development 12,382 11,179 10,070 

Production and recurring costs 31,254 28,896 15,786 

Total payload costs 43,636 40,075 25,856 

Expected total space program costs $58,295 $54,968 $44,170 

(Aerospace Corporation) 

attention of the OMB. Aerospace Corp. presented its findings in undiscounted 

dollars, leaving the discounted cash-flow analyses to Mathematica. Even so, 

these findings were valuable, and revealing (above). 

Current expendables would also require funds for research and development, to enhance their capabilities. Their launch facilities would receive their 

own enhancements. Nevertheless, even with an extraordinarily generous mission model and with undiscounted dollars, the Shuttle would fail to pay its 

way-if one considered launch costs only. The large size of the mission model 

would amplify the substantial difference between recurring launch costs of the 

Shuttle versus those of expendables. Still the high cost of shuttle development 

and procurement, some $12.8 billion, would swamp these savings derived 

from lower launch costs, to give the current expendables a strong advantage. 

Payload effects promised to change this picture dramatically. These 

effects promised modest but welcome reductions in the cost of payload 

research and development. They also promised savings of some 50 percent in 

payload recurring costs, which represented the largest single item in all three 

space programs. As a consequence, when one extended the comparisons to 

include payload costs and not merely launch costs, the Shuttle-based space 

program gave a projected saving of as much as $14 billion when compared to 

a program based on current expendables. 

279 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Space Program Costs (1978-1990 Operations) 

Scenario I(NASA and DoD BaselineModel) 

Current Expendable System vs Space Shuttle and Tug System 

5 I 

G4 Irnb 

cn= QS 0 

0J)’O 3 2;

2s 

3z - 2

m’i;

S E

<g 

0 

1971 1975 1980 1985 1990 

Fiscal Year 

Economic justification for the Shuttle. The dotted area at left, 1971-1 977, represents the cost 

of Shuttle development. The much larger shaded area at right, 1978-1 990, represents cost 

savings thought to be achievable using the Shuttle. (Mathematica Corporation) 

A year-by-year comparison showed that the Space Shuttle would operate 

at a strong financial disadvantage between 1971 and 1977, for it would incur 

its cost of development during those years. As early as 1979, however, the 

Shuttle-based program would show a billion-dollar saving in annual outlays, 

due to payload effects as well as lower launch costs. That advantage would 

top $2 billion per year during most of the following decade. 

In discounted dollars, the heavy outlays of the 1970s would be equivalent to money borrowed at an interest rate of 10 percent. The savings of the 

1980s then would amount to repayments of these borrowed sums, with interest plus principal. Using discounted cash flow, however, it would not be 

necessary for the Shuttle to show an advantage of $14 billion. It would suffice if the Shuttle could break even. Its $14 billion in undiscounted savings 

then would amount to the total of interest paid on the initial borrowings. Put 

another way, that $14 billion would provide a cushion, ensuring that the 

Shuttle would save enough discounted and therefore less-valuable dollars 

280 
Economics and the Shuttle 

during the 1980s to repay in full the more-valuable dollars that would pay for 

its development during the 1970s. 

At Mathematica, analysts led by the economist Klaus Heiss considered a 

broad range of mission models. They did not treat only the baseline model with 

its 736 shuttle flights, but examined other models that called for from 500 to 

900 shuttle flights, again between 1978 and 1990. In addition to this, they carried through two types of economic analysis. “Equal capability” analysis, 

using discounted dollars, assumed that a particular mission model represented 

the whole of the nation’s space activity, with shuttle and expendables launching the same payloads and therefore having the same capability. In this view, 

the economic benefits of the Shuttle would consist entirely of cost savings, due 

to both launch cost reductions and to payload effects, in flying this standard set 

of missions. The table, “Cost of Three Space Programs” (p. 279), gives an 

example of an equal-capability analysis, in undiscounted dollars. 

This type of analysis could be described as highly conservative, for it 

ignored the likelihood that with the Shuttle chopping the cost of space activity, 

government and commercial agencies would seek to do more in space. The 

second type of economic analysis, “equal budget,” addressed this issue. It took 

the view that total space spending would stay the same, even with the Shuttle 

bringing lower costs. Shuttle-derived cost savings then would not represent cash 

returned to the United States Treasury, but instead would pay for additional 

spacecraft and their Shuttle flights. In turn, those additional missions would have 

economic value, and Mathematica could estimate what this value would be. 

Equal-budget analysis captured the cost savings of the equal-capability 

case. It asserted, however, that the Shuttle’s economic benefits would also 

include the value of those additional payloads, with the Shuttle spurring the 

growth of its own traffic. This type of analysis broadened the Shuttle’s economic rationale-and increased the cost that the program could incur for 

development and procurement, while still breaking even through discounted 

cash flow. 

Mathematica’s equal-capability studies showed that with the Shuttle incurring $12.8 billion in total nonrecurring costs, it would pay for itself with 506 

flights between 1978 and 1990, or 39 flights per year. The baseline mission 

model with its 736 flights, in turn,would support a shuttle program with nonrecurring costs as high as $18 billion, in undiscounted dollars. Results from 

equal-budget analysis were even more hopeful, showing that this baseline mis28 1 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

“Equal Capability” Cost Analyses 

(10% Discount Rate) 

- ---- 23 1 ScenarioNumber 12 11 24 10 3 - - 494 547 562 585 600 578 736 -4 Number of Flights 

I l l I l l I l l I l l I 

500 600 700 800 900 

Number of Shuttle Flights (1978-1990) 

Data Points for Vanous Scenarios 

@IData Point for Scenario I (NASA and DoD Baseline 736 flights, 57 flights/year) 

0 Break Even Point (506 flights, - 39 flightslyear, 1978-1990) 

11 1 I Estimated Nort-Recurring Space Shuttle + Tug Costs (3/31/71) 

Equal-capability cost analysis. By prujecting a large number of Shuttle flights, economists could 

justify a large expense for Space Shuttle dewelopment. (Mathemtica Corporation) 

sion model could justify nonrecurring costs approaching $24 billion, nearly 

twice NASA’s planned level.4I 

The work of Mathematica was brilliant. If its sole purpose had been to 

allow one of Klaus Heiss’s graduate students to win a PhD, it would have 

succeeded magnificently. At the OMB, however, key people hardly believed 

a word of it. 

These people were prepared both to criticize the Mathematica report 

severely, and to conduct their own independent assessments as well. This 

drew on strengthening capabilities within the OMB for program management 

41. Morgenstem and Heiss, Analysis, May 31, 1971; Astronautics & Aeronautics, October 1971, pp. 50-62 

Alk4 Paper 71-806. 
Economics and the Shuttle 

“Equal Budget” Cost Analyses 

(10% Discount Rates) 

35 

tj 

s 

30 

2 3 4 5 

Annual Space Program Budgets (1978-1990, NASA and DoD) 

(Billions of Undiscounted1970Dollars) 

0 Data Points for Various Scenarios 

@ Data Point for Scenario I(NASA and DoD Baseline 736 flights, 57 flights/year) 

Equal-budget cost analysis. This approach appeared capable ofjustifying even larger Shuttle 

dewelopment costs. (Mathematica Corporation) 

and evaluation. Those capabilities had long been present within the BOB; 

NASA’s James Webb, who had headed the BOB during the Truman years, 

often said that “its name conceals its function.” Under Lyndon Johnson, the 

BOBincluded an Office of Program Evaluation. Newly strengthened, its counterpart within the OMB became the Evaluation Division, with the economist 

William Niskanen as its director. 

Niskanen, from the University of Chicago, counted himself as a disciple 

of the economist Milton Friedman, a leading advocate of the free market and 

a strong critic of government programs. Niskanen himself went on to build a 

283 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

reputation as a supporter of tax cuts, heading the libertarian Cat0 Institute. He 

did not love the Space Shuttle in 1971, and his criticisms were blunt. He dismissed out of hand the Aerospace Corp.’~ mission models: “My impression is 

that the mission models that NASA is projecting for the 1980s are unrealistic. 

They start at a number that strains credibility and go up from there.” 

The Mathernatica report had tried to make such models appear plausible 

by noting that “the 1964-1969 U.S. traffic equivalent is represented by an 

annual traffic of 5 1 Space Shuttle flights.” This was close to the 57 flights per 

year of the baseline mission model. Because a rising tide lifts all boats, 

NASA’s flight rates during the 1960s had been buoyed powerfully by the 

agency’s generous budgets. The OMB had no intention of granting such 

largesse during the 1970s. In addition to this, the Air Force had flown large 

numbers of Corona reconnaissance satellites, modest in size. These were about 

to give way to the much larger Big Bird, which would fly far less frequently. 

Niskanen also struck at the heart of NASA’s rationale for the Shuttle, as he 

rejected the idea that payload effects would lead to large cost savings: “A large 

part of the presumed savings come from relaxed design, repair, and refurbishment of satellites. I was struck, however, with the fact that payload design is so 

far down the road-in miniaturization, sophistication, and reliability-that you 

wouldn’t get manufacturers or users to go for much relaxati~n.”~~ 

The payload-effects concept amounted to asserting that the Shuttle indeed 

would meet its cost goals, including cost per flight as low as $4.6 million, and 

hence would spark a revolution in spacecraft design. The first statement was 

a speculation; the second then amounted to a speculation that rested on a 

speculation. Moreover, while payload effects drew strong enthusiasm from a 

coterie of supporters, this concept flew in the face of the hard-won lessons 

through which engineers indeed had learned to build reliable spacecraft. 

Much of this experience had accumulated within Lockheed itself, which 

had struggled through a dozen failures in the Corona program, during 1959 and 

1960, before finally achieving success. “It was a most heartbreaking business,’’ Richard Bissell, the program manager within the CIA, would later 

recall. “In the case of a [reconnaissance] satellite you fire the damn thing off 

and you’ve got some telemetry, and you never get it back You’ve got no hard42. John Mauer interview, Willis Shapley, October26, 1984, p. 29; NationaI Jouml,August 12, 1972, p. 1296; 

Who’sWho in Economics (1986), p. 641; Morgenstem and Heiss, Analysis, May 31, 1971, p. 0-37. 

284 
Economics and the Shuttle 

ware. You never see it again, and you have to infer from telemetry what went 

wrong. Then you make a fix, and if it fails again you know you’ve inferred 

wrong. In the case of Corona it went on and on.”43 

NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory had a similar experience. This lab had 

developed after World War I1 as a center for the Army’s battlefield missiles, 

which did not demand particular care in development. Failure was acceptable 

in test flights of such missiles because other rounds were readily available for 

future launches. During the 1950~~ a new director, William Pickering, redirected the lab as it became a center of expertise in electronics. By 1960, the 

Jet Propulsion Laboratory was ready to proceed with Ranger, a series of lunar 

spacecraft that would carry television cameras to photograph the Moon’s surface at close range. 

The program suffered three highly embarrassing failures during 1962, all 

involving onboard circuitry within the spacecraft. Pickering reshuffled his 

managers and ordered a standdown that lasted over a year. It didn’t work; the 

next Ranger failed as well. Now the lab was really up against it and heads 

rolled anew, for everyone understood that another such failure could bring 

cancellation of the program. Fortunately, the next one indeed succeeded, as 

did two later ones. This showed that the Jet Propulsion Laboratory indeed had 

learned to build successful spacecraft. 

The historian Clayton Koppes notes 

the precision engineering and quality assurance necessary for spacecraft 

which had to operate nearly peljfectly every time. God was in the details-in 

spotless cleanliness, in thorough testing, and in ruthless follow-up to make 

sure each failure report was corrected rather than accepted on faith. 

This new culture carried over to subsequent projects. When the Jet Propulsion 

Laboratory built the Mariner 4spacecraft that flew to Mars in 1965, it became 

necessary to remove an onboard instrument that had been prone to electrical 

arcing. Jet Propulsion Laboratory technicians then installed a dummy instrument of the same weight, polished to give the same reflectivity, and engineered 

to use the same electric current.@ 

43. Ruffner, ed.,Corona, pp. 16-24; Mosley, Dulles, p. 432. 

44. Heppenheimer, Countdown, pp. 291-295; Koppes, JPL, p. 164, Emc, July 23,1965, p. 37. See also NASA 

SP-4210, index references. 

285 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Such experiences flew in the face of the payload effects concept, which 

amounted to asserting that spacecraft of the future would resemble stereo systems assembled from components. Yet there also was excellent reason to 

believe that even if the users of satellites were in a position to do so, they 

would not want to pursue payload effects. 

On-orbit refurbishment of spacecraft represented an important aspect of 

payload effects. NASA’s Joseph McColrick noted that “the users that were 

contacted indicated no interest in doing that. Usually, what you were talking 

about was a satellite that was at the end of its life or was partway through its 

life, and they really didn’t want it back. It was, effectively, garbage.” 

Refurbishment on the ground was even less promising: “you’re bringing 

back junk and relaunching, and you’ve got an extra launch in there to be 

paid for.” 

On-orbit checkout of payloads was another important concept. It drew 

fire from NASA’s Philip Culbertson, Director of Advanced Manned Missions: 

We asked the communications satellite people if they expected to check their 

payloads out in low earth orbit. And the answer came back that they would 

not anticipate doing an extensive test of the satellites, $for no other reason 

than that would require deploying solar arrays and then retracting them and 

putting them back together again. They felt that the benejitfiom that was outweighed by the additional risks that they would go through in going through 

that additional deployment and retra~tion.~’ 

Niskanen was one influential skeptic within the OMB; another was 

Donald Rice. He had served as director of cost analysis within the Office of 

the Secretary of Defense, at a time when Defense Secretary Robert 

McNamara viewed cost-benefit analysis as a key to successful procurement 

and military management. In 1972,Rice left OMB to become president of the 

Rand Corp. Willis Shapley, a senior NASA official, would later describe 

Rice’s approach to the Space Shuttle: “He was very much enamored of, and 

very capable in, Rand-style systems analysis. And so he treated this as well 

he might: as a classic case for a Rand-style study of what system to select.” 

45. John Mauer interviews: Joseph McGolrick, October 24, 1984, pp. 34-36; Philip Culbertson, October 29, 

1984, p. 15. 

286 
Economics and the Shuttle 

At the OMB, between 1970 and 1972, Rice served as an assistant director. The Economics, Science, and Technology Programs Division, which 

covered NASA, was part of his purview, and he developed his own complaints 

about the Mathematica study. He was not pleased that NASA had refused to 

allow that study to treat alternate shuttle designs. He also would have liked to 

see “a good careful scrubdown of the operating costs. That number [$4.6 million per flight] that NASA was carrying around was absurd.”46 

Cost overruns represented another sticking point. If the Shuttle did no 

worse than Apollo, which increased in cost by over 75 percent between 1963 

and 1969, then its expense would leap to well over $20 billion. Mathematica 

itself admitted that it was difficult to see how any plausible level of space 

activity would justify such o~tlays.4~ 

The whole of that company’s analysis thus was open to challenge: Shuttle 

development costs, launch costs, mission models, payload effects. The one 

point that was beyond challenge was OMB’s insistence on a 10 percent discount rate. This was bad news for NASA officials, who had cherished the 

hope that if only they could present a good justification of the Shuttle on economic grounds, OMB would allow this program to proceed. 

Significantly, however, the OMB did not reject the basic premise of 

NASA and Mathematica: that technical means existed to build a shuttle capable of low-cost and routine access to space. Those means-including rocket 

engines with long life, onboard systems for automated checkout, and reusable 

thermal protection-all appeared within reach. Rather, the OMB argued that 

the Shuttle would cost too much when compared to the benefits it promised, 

and that those benefits had been overstated. This argument invited a response 

wherein NASA would seek shuttle designs having lower development costs, 

which might win the OMB’s favor. Such a strategy would carry NASA 

through the months that lay ahead. 

In May 1971, in a briefing to Om,NASA officials stated that, as early as 

August, they intended to issue a Request for Proposal covering mainstream 

development of a fully-reusable shuttle. This Request for Proposal then would 

follow closely the completion of the Phase B design studies, at North American 

Rockwell and at McDonnell Douglas. Those studies, complemented by work 

46. JohnMauer interview,Willis Shapley, October 26, 1984, pp. 29-30; National Journal, January 23, 1971, p. 

161; John Logsdon interview, Donald Rice, November 13, 1975, p. 5. 

47. National Jouml, August 12,1972, p. 1293. 

287 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

at the Aerospace Corp., were projecting peak funding requirements of as much 

as $2.3 billion in the mid-1970s. NASA hoped for a budget to match this?8 

Though Apollo was nearing its end and Skylab would soon pass the peak 

of its funding, NASA had wide-ranging responsibilities in space flight and 

could not give itself over predominately to the Shuttle. The OMB was about 

to present NASA with a preview of its FY 1973 budget allowances. On May 

14, George Low met with Daniel Taft, an OMB staffer who dealt with NASA. 

Low stated that he viewed annual funding levels of $4.5 to $5 billion as reasonable to expect. This would represent a marked rise from recent levels, with 

$3.27 billion appropriated in FY 1971 and requested in Nixon’s budget for FY 

1972. Low, however, was an optimist. 

Three days later, his hopes received a rude shake. An in-house OMB 

analysis repeated the findings of the economic review of August 1969: The 

fully-reusable shuttle would not be cost-effective when compared with the 

Titan III family. NASA had done its best, using mission models and payload 

effects to get the answer it wanted in the Mathematica study. The OMB, however, was well aware that economic analysis was certainly not a disinterested 

exercise seeking demonstrable merit. It was highly political, and the OMB’s 

new in-house study reflected this. 

On that same day, May 17, Rice sent a letter to Fletcher that rejected all 

hope for Low’s increased budgets. Rice would not budge from his proposed 

five-year NASA plan with a peak at $3.2 billion per year. Fletcher would later 

recall him wanting a budget that would “trail off to nothing, really. He didn’t 

ever say ‘nothing,’ but at various times he said, ‘well, why don’t you just make 

it constant in terms of absolute dollars and let inflation take it down.’ Don 

Rice wouldn’t give up. He wanted to do away with the manned space program; and quite honestly, I think he probably wanted to close down Marshall 

Space Flight Center.”49 

NASA had now taken three heavy hits in only a year and a half. The first 

blow, in the fall of 1969, had come when the BOB had cut the agency’s budget 

request by over a billion dollars. This had forced Tom Pabe to abandon his 

hopes for Mars and to fall back on the Shuttlehtation. While this combined 

48. NASA, “Documentation of the Space Shuttle Decision Process,”February 4,1972; Morgenstem and Heiss, 

Analysis, p. 0-15; AIAA Paper 71-804, p. 19; Report MDC 0308 (McDonnell Douglas), p. 28. 

49. NASA, “Documentation of the Space Shuttle Decision Process,” February 4, 1972; letter, Rice to Fletcher, 

May 17, 1971; John Logsdon interview, James Fletcher, September 21,1977, pp. 8, 15. 

288 
Economics and the Shuttle 

program survived near-death experiences in the House and Senate during 

1970, as the budget received new cuts during that summer, Paine chose to 

emphasize the Shuttle while deferring the space station for the indefinite 

future. Now, with Rice bringing more bad news, Fletcher saw that even the 

Shuttle was about to fall, at least as a two-stage fully-reusable design. The 

Shuttle concept that could fit the budget was nowhere in sight. 

On May 22, George Low summarized his agency’s dilemma: 

The question, therefore, is, “is there a phasing of the shuttle OK alternatively, a cheaper shuttle that will not reach the very high expenditures in the 

middle of the decade?” In spite ofthe fact that I have been pushing this point 

for about six months now, we have not yet been able to come up with an 

answe,: It may well be that there is no viable answel: One then has the choice 

of foregoing the shuttle altogether for the 1970s and starting it in the 1980s. 

In that case and with the argument that manned spaceflight must go on, one 

would go back to something like a “bigG” approach” and a cheap space 

station. Of course, I’m not sure whether that alternate approach would be 

any more acceptable in this period of time.5’ 

50. “Big G” was a proposal for an enlarged Gemini spacecraft canying up to nine people 

51. taw,Personal Notes No. 47, May 22, 1971. 

289 

CHAPT SEVEN 

Aerospace Recession 

The poor prospects for the Space Shuttle, midway through 1971, emerged 

within a broad and sweeping downturn within the aerospace industry as a 

whole. This industry has long been highly cyclical. For instance, orders for 

military aircraft have soared during wars and Air Force buildups, only to fall 

off sharply in times of peace. The nation's aerospace efforts have also 

included major activities in civil aviation and in space flight, which at times 

have tended to counteract downturns on the military side. 

During the early 1970s, however, all three of these industry components 

went into downturn simultaneously. The waning of the Vietnam War 

brought a sharp falloff in military procurement, which dropped from $23.3 

billion in 1968 to $18.4 billion only three years later. The waning of Apollo 

led to a similar falloff in NASA contractor employment, which plunged 

from 394,000 in 1966 to 144,000 in 1971. The nation as a whole went into 

a recession during 1970, which caused new orders for airliners to dry up as 

well. This brought extensive layoffs at Boeing, along with severe distress 

within its home city of Seattle.' 

Total aerospace employment reached a peak of over 1.4 million in 1967. 

It then slid downhill very rapidly, dropping to 900,000 in mid-1971. 

Employment of production workers fell by nearly 50 percent, from nearly 

800,000tojust over 400,000.It was nearly as bad for scientists and engineers, 

as their ranks dwindled from 235,000 in 1968 to 145,000 four years later.* 

1. Astronautics &Aeronautics, February 1912, p. 21; NASA budget data, February 1910. 

2. Astronautics &Aeronautics, February 1972, pp. 27.28. 

291 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECZSION 

~ 

Aerospace Employment (1964-71) 

1,600,000 

1,400,000 

1,200,000 

1,000,000 

u) 

800.000 

e 

w 

600,000 

400.000 

200,000 

0 

1964 1965 1966 1967 1968 1969 1970 1971E 

Year 

E4stirnated 

Source AerospaceIndustres Associaton 

Aerospace recession, which fobwed the boom of the i960s.(Aerospace industries Association) 

Much of this was unavoidable. The nation certainly was not about to keep 

the NASA and military programs at 1967 levels merely to maintain full 

employment within the industry. In addition to this, the layoffs at Boeing 

stemmed from a cyclic downturn in civil aviation. Indeed, the aerospace 

292 
Aerospace Recession 

recession cut deepest on the commercial side. Three programs held particular 

significance: the Boeing 747, the supersonic transport (SST), and the 

Lockheed L-1011. The SST and L-1011 also brought unprecedented forms of 

federal involvement in commercial planeb~ilding.~ 

This involvement proved highly controversial, and led to a series of close 

congressional votes during 1971. These votes made it clear that neither 

Congress nor the Nixon Administration would sit back and allow major aerospace corporations to wither on the vine. Rather, despite heated controversy, 

Washington would step in to offer support. With this, the prospects shifted for 

aerospace, and for the Shuttle. With the industry taking its lumps, it lost something of its reputation as a recipient of undeserved largesse. This made it 

politically feasible to support the Shuttle, not with interim funding from one 

year to the next, but as a long-term national effort. 

The Boeing 747 

The background to the 747, and the source of most of its troubles, lay in its 

engines. These were of a new type, known as the high-bypass turbofan. In 

contrast to earlier jet engines, which had the long and slender shape of a cigar, 

they introduced an enormous and gaping mouth, with a very large rotating fan 

in the front. This arrangement produced high thrust with relatively low noise 

and excellent fuel economy. The term "high-bypass" reflected the fact that 

most of the air blown by the fan would bypass the engine core, allowing the 

fan to act as a high-speed propeller." 

During the mid-l960s, the Air Force held a burgeoning interest in such 

engines, which were to power transport aircraft of unprecedented size. These 

would support the policy of Defense Secretary Robert McNamara, whereby 

the U.S. was to build up its airlift and sealift capacity to be ready to cany 

troops and equipment wherever America might choose to intervene. In August 

1965, the Air Force picked a high-bypass design from General Electric, the TF39, and marked it for development. Mounting a fan with diameter of eight feet, 

this engine was to produce 40,000 pounds of 

Discussion of these three programs, within the present chapter, generally follows Heppenheimer,Turbulent, 

chapters8 and 9. 

NASA SP-468, pp. 225-227; Newhouse, Sporty, pp. 11 1-1 12; Eight Decades, p. 152; Bathie, Gas Turbines, 

pp. 167-170. 

Newhouse, Sporty, p. 113; Eight Decades, p. 131; Rice, C-SA,p. 3. 

293 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Schematic of High-Bypass Turbofan Engine 

Example: Rolls-Royce RB-211 

High-bypass turbofan engines, key to the widebody airliners that entered service after 1970. 

(Art by Don Dixon andChris Butler) 

A month later, in September, the Air Force awarded a contract to 

Lockheed for the C-5A, the transport that this engine would power. Newsweek 

later referred to this aircraft as Moby Jet. Placed within a football stadium, it 

would stretch from the goal line to the opponents’ 18-yard line. Its wings 

294 
Aerospace Recession 

would overhang both teams’ benches. Its cargo would accommodate heavilyarmored tanks. Fully loaded, its weight of 769,000 pounds would double that 

of the largest commercial jetliners.6 

Douglas and Boeing had competed with Lockheed for this award, 

coming forth with similar designs. At Boeing, the immediate question was 

how to turn such a concept into something that looked like an airliner. For 

several reasons, the C-5A as such would not do. It was too big; it could carry 

far more passengers than the market would provide. Its planned cruising 

speed, 506 mph, would also be too slow. It would be costly to operate, and 

its design was to emphasize the military requirements necessary for operation from short and unpaved landing strips rather than from hard-surface 

airports. Nevertheless, Boeing’s work on the C-5A offered a basis for an airliner that took shape as the 747.7 

Right at the start, this project held the strong interest of Juan Trippe, 

chairman of Pan American World Airways. Pan Am was the nation’s leading 

overseas carrier. While it held no domestic routes, in its chosen realm of 

international travel, it carried more passengers than all other U.S.-flag airlines 

combined. Within the aviation industry, Trippe was a power in his own right. 

He had single-handedly launched the jet age, in October 1955, by placing a 

$269 million order for Boeing 707 and Douglas DC-8 jetliners. Now, a decade 

later, he had the strength to launch the 747.8 

His vice president of engineering, John Borger, began talking with 

Boeing officials on the very day that Lockheed won the C-5A. Now, by prearrangement, Boeing’s advanced-design policy shifted focus to the 747. The 

group’s manager, Joseph Sutter, knew he would head up the new project as 

soon as the Air Force gave the C-5A to Lockheed. Market projections also 

favored the 747-and called for it to be huge in size. 

As the Boeing vice president John Steiner describes it, aircraft are 

designed to fit the market four years after they enter service. For the 747, that 

was to be 1973 or 1974. Traffic had been shooting up for several years at 

annual rates of increase of 10to 12 percent; lately those rates had gone up further. Pan Am, carrying nearly six million passengers in 1965, would top the 

ten million mark only four years later. Yet, if one projected no more than that, 

6. Rice, C-SA, p. 1; Pedigree, p. 57; NASA SP-468, p. 497. 

7. Rice, C-SA, p. 2; Daley, Saga, p. 435; Aviation Week,April 26, 1965, pp. 35-38. 

8. Lehman Brothers, Prospectus (Pan Am);Daley, Saga, pp. 411-412. 

295 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

growth rates would stay below 12 percent, then airliners delivered in 1970 

should accommodate 350 to 375 people? 

An early issue called for selection of an engine. The big General Electric 

TF-39 was far from being the obvious choice. GE’s management, believing 

that this engine would find a civilian market, expected to pitch it to the airlines after the Air Force had paid for its basic development. It quickly became 

apparent, however, that for the 747, the TF-39 was too noisy. While this problem was far from insuperable, it would demand a major rework, a significant 

civilian effort that would run parallel to the military’s. GE took the view that 

the Air Force would receive priority. That did not suit Boeing, and the chance 

for a deal fell through. 

GE’s main competitor, Pratt & Whitney, had a different spirit. That firm 

had built a high-bypass turbofan of its own for the Air Force engine competition. While it had lost to GEas TF-39, Pratt’s design won new life as an engine 

for the 747. The initial concept called for 41,000 pounds of thrust, matching 

the performance of the TF-39. Pratt called its engine the JT-9D. In turn, the 

selection of Pratt was propitious, for this contractor had a virtual monopoly 

(with a market share of some 90 percent) on jetliner engines that were already 

in production. By contrast, GE’s strength lay in military engines.l0 

At Boeing, Joe Sutter’s engineers proceeded to prepare design concepts for 

Trippe’s latest world-beater. Initial thinking, during 1965, held the view that 

the 747 might emerge as something resembling a big 707 with a double-deck 

cabin. Trippe, who had a strong interest in air freight, insisted, however, that 

the 747 wasto permit easy conversion for use in cargo hauling. His requirement called for the plane to accommodate two side-by-side rows of containers 

of the type that were traveling by ship, rail, and truck. Their standard dimensions included width and height of eight feet. To fit them into a fuselage of 

circular cross section, then, would require a diameter of 21 feet. Here was the 

origin of the wide-body cabin, with Its double aisles and ten-abreast seating. It 

would give a feeling of spaciousness that travelers would greatly appreciate. 

From this basic decision came others. The 747 might sustain hard landings in which those containers would rip free of their moorings and hurtle 

forward with crushing force. Hence it would be a good idea to put the pilot 

9. Newhouse, Sporty, p. 113; Steiner,Jet Aviation, p. 25. 

10. Newhouse, Sporty, pp. 117-120;Aviation Week,April 25, 1966, p. 41. 

296 
Aerospace Recession 

and crew out of the way, with the flight deck high above the cargo deck. That 

would also offer the opportunity to install a big upward-swinging nose door 

for easy loading of freight, as on the C-5A. 

For aerodynamic reasons, however, this flight deck could not simply sit 

atop the front fuselage like a camel’s hump. It would have to be faired 

smoothly with the rest of the fuseiage, sweeping gently to the back. This 

meant there would be a good deal of extra space to the rear of the cockpit. 

Sutter thought this would be a good place to put air-conditioning ducts. Trippe 

had other ideas. 

Some 20 years p,arlier, Trippe had supported Boeing in another venture 

that had built a four-engine airliner called the Stratocmiser. It had featured a 

downstairs cocktail lounge that longtime travelers remembered with pleasure. 

He now took the view that a similar lounge in the 747, reached by a spiral 

stairway, would be just the thing. In subsequent versions of the 747, it would 

grow into a true passenger deck. But even in the earliest models, this lounge 

would offer a popular center of cheer.” 

Meanwhile, other Boeing officials were addressing the question of where 

to build their leviathan. The company’s existing production facilities were 

busy building the 707,727, and 737; hence Boeing would need new facilities 

for the 747. The search for a new plant site led to Everett, a lumber town 30 

miles north of Seattle. The new factory, quite simply, would feature the largest 

enclosed space in the world, within a building spanning 40 acres. At Cape 

Canaveral, the Vehicle Assembly Building had held the previous record, with 

130 million cubic feet under roof; the new Boeing plant would be 50 percent 

larger. The completed production center would span more than a square mile 

and would have a concrete apron with room for 20 of the big jets.” 

Then in April 1966, Trippe formally ordered 23 passenger and two freight 

versions of the 747, for a total of $53 1 million. A decade earlier, his $269 million jetliner order had set a record for dollar value; this 1966 order now set a 

new record. Over the next three months, five other airlines signed on for 28 

more 747s. With these orders, the die was cast.I3 

11. Newhouse, Sporty, pp. 115, 116, 163; Steiner, Jet Aviation, p. 26; Bender and Altschul, Instrument, p. 504, 

Irving, Wide-Body, p 204; Pedigree, p. 44,Kuter, Gamble, pp. 7-9, 19, 24; Aviation Week, November 20, 

1967, pp. 60-61. 

12. Serling, Legend, pp. 287-290; Pedigree, p. 62; Steiner, Jet Aviation, p. 26. 

13. Newhouse, Sporty, pp. 113-114, 120-121;Aviation Week, April 18, 1966,pp. 38-40. 

297 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

As the orders rolled in, however, managers at Boeing and Pan Am followed a course that soon had the weight of the 747 running badly out of hand. 

Initial design decisions had been relatively straightforward, with the planned 

weight being 655,000 pounds as of April 1966. Pratt &Whitney was prepared 

to accommodate such a design using its proposed engine, the JT-9D, and 

expected to increase its power according to a careful plan. 

When it entered service in 1969, the engine was to produce 41,000 

pounds of thrust. This thrust would increase to 44,000 in new versions 

planned for 1972. Pratt’s designers would do this by pushing up the turbines’ 

operating temperatures; in essence, this engine would deliver more power by 

running hotter. There are, however, a number of other ways to boost an 

engine’s rated power. The view within Boeing, strongly encouraged by Pan 

Am, was that Pratt could deliver a 44,000 pound engine a lot sooner and 

enable the 747 to grow larger still. 

Once this point of view took hold, Boeing’s managers began acting like 

kids in a candy store. As early as April 1966, as Trippe was placing his 

order, Boeing was already anticipating that the plane’s weight would run to 

680,000 pounds. There were plenty of opportunities to go further. For a 

while, people talked of putting a swimming pool in the upstairs lounge. 

Though that notion fell by the wayside, the cocktail lounge by itself added 

more than two tons to the empty weight. More tons went in when Boeing 

lengthened the fuselage to accommodate extra seats. The additional passengers meant larger and heavier galleys for the food service, which in turn 

called for weightier structural bracing. The British airline BOAC declared 

that noise rules of the London Airport Authority would demand quieter 

engines. The 747’s engine pods took on an additional half-ton of soundabsorbing linings. 

Pratt &Whitney now had to play catch-up. Its basic engine would now be 

quite inadequate; it had to offer more thrust, and quickly. In October 1966, 

Pratt achieved a small rise in the turbine temperature, pushing the thrust to 

42,000 pounds. This was pushing limits as well and would be all it could offer 

for a while. 

In June 1967, Bruce Connelly, Boeing’s vice president of sales, sent a 

letter to Pan Am’s chief technical managers. He stated that the 747’s weight 

was on its way to 710,000 pounds. Even then, the 747 would be lighter than 

the C-5A. It was to fly considerably faster, however, which is why its engines 

298 
Aerospace Recession 

needed more power. To Pan Am, the 747’s weight meant a cut in the passenger capacity that would slice the profit on each flight by as much as $20,000. 

Alternately, the plane would fall short in range on a number of key overseas 

routes. Either way, this design would be unacceptable. 

Boeing nevertheless hoped that Pan Am would accept such limitations on 

the grounds that better engines soon would restore the 747 to its full promise. 

Yet, in the words of Laurence Kuter who headed Trippe’s technical staff, 

There was no doubt that Pan Am was convinced that it was Boeing, not Pan 

Am, that became pregnant when the 747 was conceived. Pan Am expected 

Boeing to make good on all commitments to the time of delivery and all elements of guaranteed airplane peflormance that were specified in the half 

billion dollar contract. l4 

Fortunately, Pratt had some power in reserve. By strengthening the 

engine’s compressor and turbine, it could arrange for the engine to run at 

higher rotational speeds, processing more airflow and yielding more thrust. 

This would boost takeoff power to 43,500 pounds. Late in 1967, Pratt offered 

more. By providing water injection, that firm would boost the takeoff thrust 

to 45,000 pounds. Pratt promised to deliver such engines late in 1969. 

Water injection was a specialty of the house at Pratt, dating to the pistondriven aircraft motors of World War 11.Small quantities of water injected into 

an engine’s airflow would evaporate within the engine, cooling the air and 

making it denser. This denser air then could burn more fuel, for extra power. 

This same principle had carried over to jet engines. Pratt had used water 

injection on the engines of the Boeing 707. Its additional thrust helped assure 

safe takeoffs. One senior Pan Am captain declared that he would rather lose 

an engine on takeoff than lose his water supply. 

In 1967, however, Pratt, too, was overextending itself. It was promising a hotter, heavier engine of greater complexity: the plumbing and 

design of the JT-9D had been so much less demanding. It was these engines 

that would determine whether Boeing could build complete airplanes 

14. Kuter, Gamble,pp. 23-32; Newhouse,Sporty, pp. 162-165; Irving,wide-Body, p. 277;Aviation Week,April 

18, 1966, pp. 38-40,42-43; November 20, 1967, pp. 79-85. 

299 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

rather than gliders, and whether Pan Am and other airlines could put the 

747 into service.I5 

In pursuing this program, Boeing faced difficulties that went beyond the 

sheer size of the aircraft and the need for its vast new Everett facility. The 747 

set new marks in complexity. For instance, it was so large that not one of its 

control surfaces, such as ailerons or rudder, could be deflected through the use 

of a pilot’s muscles. The demands of safety then required four independent 

hydraulic systems. Earlier jetliners, such as the 727, had gotten along with 

only two. The demands on suppliers also were correspondingly greater than 

on the earlier programs. In turn, the task of assembling wings and tail surfaces 

was that much more complex. l6 

At the outset, Boeing’s senior management had been well aware that the 

747 would soak up money for several years before it could begin to generate 

revenue by delivering complete aircraft. The up-front expenses would include 

building and equipping the Everett factory, paying wages and benefits for its 

workforce, and assembling the first flyable 747 aircraft. Yet even then the 

company would not be ready to deliver them to customers such as Pan Am, 

Those initial production aircraft would first undergo extensive flight tests that 

would win a federal Certificate of Airworthiness for the 747. During these 

tests, Boeing would have to continue paying salaries as well as interest on 

borrowed money. This process of certification represented a legal requirement 

that the 747 would have to meet before it could see use in scheduled service. 

Only after completion of this process would Boeing be free to deliver those 

airliners and receive payment. 

Hence, during 1966, the company laid financial groundwork by assembling a billion-dollar kitty. It raised $420 million through sale of notes, 

convertible debentures, and stock. Boeing’s bankers helped as well, with a 

$400 million line of credit. The firm owned a subsidiary that was building 

gas turbines; the president, William Allen, ordered it sold. Airlines, placing 

orders for the 747, also contributed. They had usually paid no more than 

one-fourth of the purchase price prior to delivery. For the 747, however, 

they would pay half. Pan Am, for one, would pay as much as $275 million 

in advance. Then in 1967, company underwriters converted recently-issued 

15. Solberg, Conquest, pp. 396-397; Irving, Wide-Body, p. 306; Kuter, Gamble, pp. 62, 72-73; Bee-Hive (Pratt 

& Whitney), January 1947,p. 3; Aviation Week, November 20, 1967,pp. 79-85. 

16. Newhouse,Spony, p. 102; Eddy et al., Disaster,pp. 30,98. 

300 
Aerospace Recession 

debentures into new stock, thus placing Boeing in a position to sell still 

more securities. l7 

As work began at Everett, however, the 747’s assemblers proved not necessarily to be the highly skilled production workers upon whom Boeing had 

long relied. The mid-1960s had brought a boom and had taken available aircraft assemblers for existing programs, leaving relatively few for the 747. 

During 1967, amid the buildup for this newest effort, Boeing hired 37,000 

employees and let 25,000 go. The company was resting its prospects on its 

most inexperienced workers. 

Then the engine problems hit home. Coming to the fore following the 

rollout of the first 747 in September 1968, these problems dogged the program as it proceeded through initial production and flight test. No one ever 

expected that the rollout would lead in mere weeks to commercial service, for 

Boeing had planned from the outset to use the entire year of 1969 in testing 

five such aircraft. Still, in the words of John Newhouse of the New Yorker: 

William Allen, now the honorary chairman, says that what he 

remembers best about the engines is that “they didn’t work.” 

Boeing used eighty-seven engines in testing the 747; sixty of them 

were destroyed in the process. At one time, Boeing had four 747s 

to be tested, and couldn’t get more than one of them ojfthe ground 

at a time, because so few of the engines were working. By 1969, 

finished 747s were rolling ofthe line, but there were no engines 

for them. Instead, Boeing was obliged to hang cement blocks on 

the wings so as to balance the airplanes and prevent them from tipping ovex18 

The flight tests disclosed a new engine problem known as “ovalization,” 

which cropped up only after hundreds of hours in the air. It resulted from wear 

in the compressor assemblies that distorted the circular cross sections of elements of the compressor into an oval shape, with loss of power and 

considerable increase in fuel consumption. This resulted from the engines 

high thrust, which reacted against their supports and bent the engine casings. 

17. Newhouse, Sporty, pp. 120-121; Business Week, December 24, 1966, p. 44; Aviation Week, November 20, 

1967, p. 59. 

18. Newhouse, Sporty,p. 166; Serling, Legend, p. 335; Astronautics &Aeronautics, June 1969, pp. 26-29. 

301 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Though cure emerged in the form of a steel yoke that would stiffen the case, 

it took time to apply.I9 

Meanwhile, new orders were drying up. During 1967, 1968, and 1969, 

the total value of airliners on order from Boeing, of all types, fell from $3.2 

billion to $1.1 billion. This did not reflect a falloff in passenger demand, for 

airline traffic was zooming. The carriers, however, had anticipated this 

demand and had provided for it with their earlier purchases. Then, in 1970, as 

a nationwide recession blew in, passenger traffic went flat. It would not rise 

again until 1972. Airlines responded by cutting new orders close to zero. 

Boeing’s John Steiner notes that “at the bottom, we did not sell a single commercial airplane to a U.S. trunk carrier for a period of seventeen months.” 

The 747 took its lumps as well. Airline executives, sensing an opportunity, moved to sweeten their terms of purchase. Instead of paying 50 percent 

of the purchase price prior to delivery, they dropped the amount to 30 percent. It did not help; in the year and a half after September 1970, Boeing 

sold only two 747s in the world, and went nearly three years without a single 

sale to a domestic carrier. Total orders were barely 200, too few to cover the 

program’s costs. 

Even when the Everett facility rolled out production 747s, they were not 

always in condition for service. In March 1970, two dozen of these craft were 

parked outside the factory waiting for their engines. Together with other 747s 

in final preparation, Everett had a total of $800 million worth of aircraft on 

hand. Boeing could not receive the airlines’ checks, for payments due on 

delivery, until these planes were actually ready for commercial use. 

These cash-flow problems brought dreadful consequences for the company’s debt. Following conservative accounting practices, Boeing had 

maintained the trust of its bankers. This helped as the firm’s debt, owed to a 

syndicate of banks, topped the billion-dollar mark. In 1970, however, William 

Allen and Hal Haynes, his chief financial officer, tried for a further increase 

in their credit line and met defeat. 

To win further leeway, Boeing had few choices. Its executives could not 

seek a merger, for the firm was heavily burdened with debt; who would want 

to buy it? Nor could the company raise capital by issuing new stock; its shares 

on Wall Street were in a slump. Because it was indebted beyond the value of 

19. Newhouse, Sporty, p. 164;AIAA Paper 2987 (1991), p. 8. 

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Aerospace Recession 

its net worth, there was no equity on which to base an offering of new bonds 

or debentures. 

Bankruptcy loomed. “We have never revealed how close we got to the 

edge,” wrote Steiner. In speaking of the 747, William Allen noted that “the 

magnitude of the risk and the capital required were sufficiently great that, at 

best, we knew that it would strain the Boeing Company. It was really too large 

a project for us.” Though he had hoped to keep his debt below the billiondollar mark, the actual amount topped $2 billion. Much of the difference lay 

in nearly-complete but undelivered aircraft that sat outside the Everett plant, 

waiting for their engines. At the worst, Boeing’s syndicated debt, owed to its 

banks, reached $1.2 billion. This set a record, not only within the aviation 

industry, but for all corporate borrowing.20 

The company could do little more than to fall back on its own resources, 

instituting sweeping reorganizations aimed at boosting efficiency. Massive 

layoffs paced these changes. The Commercial Airplane Group was by far the 

largest part of Boeing, and its employment peaked at 83,700 during 1968. 

Layoffs proceeded at a modest pace during 1969 but stepped up abruptly 

during 1970. The number of employees fell below 30,000 by year’s end, dropping toward a nadir of 20,750 late in 1971. This was part of an industrywide 

trend, for from December 1970 to June 1972, employment in the commercial 

airplane industry fell by nearly one-third. 

During one week alone, some five thousand of Boeing’s people received 

pink slips. Firings reached to the top of major organizations; even vice presidents got the axe. People took to saying that an optimist was someone who 

brought a lunch to work; a pessimist kept his auto engine running while he 

went inside. 

In the Seattle area, the consequences were devastating. Each unemployed 

Boeing worker cost the job of at least one other person, due to the loss of the 

worker’s purchases and spending. The resulting multiplier effect sent unemployment to 14 percent, the highest in the nation, according to the Department 

of Labor. About the same number of people were on welfare or receiving food 

stamps. Enrollment in a free-lunch program for schoolchildren soared more 

than fiftyfold. 

20. Steiner,Problems, pp. 1, 15; Serling, Legend, p. 333; Newhouse,Sporty,pp. 168-169; Forbes,July 1, 1970, 

pp. 33-34; Business Week, March 28, 1970, pp. 124-128; April 1, 1972, pp. 42-44; author interview, John 

Steiner,Bellevue, Washington,April 13, 1991. 

303 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECZSZON 

A brand-new car went on sale at half price-and drew no takers. A former 

Boeing employee had to back out of a deal to buy a house with a federal lowinterest loan, for nothing down. Apartment managers offered a month’s free 

rent along with a free stereo. Nevertheless, vacancy rates reached 40 percent 

in some suburbs and topped 16 percent within the area, up from one percent 

during the boom of 1967. Night after night, near the main airport, fewer than 

half the available motel rooms were full. The operator of one motel, the Sky 

Harbor, declared that he would “rent any room for any price right now.” 

Auto sales dropped by as much as 50 percent, and more than a dozen 

dealerships went under. Seattle’s sister city, Kobe in Japan, sent food parcels 

and relief funds. As people fled the area in droves, the demand for U-Haul 

trailers grew so large that local agencies ran out of equipment to lease. Two 

real-estate men put up a billboard near the airport, showing a light bulb hanging on a wire and captioned: 

Will the last person 

leaving SEA7TLETurn out the lights 

As lights dimmed across the city, another Boeing project, the Supersonic 

Transport (SST), was flying toward its own day of decision.21 

The Supersonic Transport (SST) 

The SST took shape as a response to a joint Anglo-French venture, the 

Concorde. Like the 747, the push for supersonic commercial flight demanded 

heavy dollops of advanced technology. While the 747 developed into an exercise in corporate management and finance, the Concorde and SST programs 

were marked by politics. The politics featured international agreements, competing centers of influence in Washington, congressional hearings, and the 

rise of environmentalism as a major popular movement. 

The Concorde grew out of a strong base of experience, in both Great 

Britain and France, in commercial aviation as well as supersonic flight. 

21. Steiner, Problems, p. 2;Serling, Legend, pp. 334-337; Astronautics &Aeronautics, February 1972, pp. 27, 

32;AviationWeek,June 29,1970, pp. 14-17; July 6,1970, pp. 44-46; Time,January 4,1971, pp. 28-29; April 

5, 1971, pp. 76-82; Newsweek,August 17, 1970, pp. 56-57; August 28, 1972, pp. 72-73. 

304 
Aerospace Recession 

Britain’s Sir Frank Whittle had invented the jet engine; the Yankees had for a 

time been little more than apt pupils of the British, with General Electric 

building British-designed engines under license. Sir Geoffrey de Havilland, a 

leading planebuilder, then had parlayed this engine technology into the 

Comet, the world’s first commercial jetliner. Though it aimed at the transatlantic market, it proved uneconomical and failed to compete with the 707 and 

DC-8. It did, however, demonstrate a clear penchant for pioneering. 

The French followed with the Caravelle, a small short-range jetliner built 

by Sud Aviation in Toulouse. Significantly, its engines also were British: 

Avon turbojets from Rolls-Royce, with 12,600 pounds of thrust. In this fashion, the Caravelle set a precedent for future Anglo-French cooperation. It 

sold well in Europe, and won sales in America as well. United Airlines 

bought 20 of them, putting the first ones in service in mid-1961. For France, 

this was a breakthrough; never before had a French manufacturer sold aircraft to a U.S. airline.22 

Another French planebuilder, Marcel Dassault, spent the 1950s leading 

his country into supersonic flight. The company he headed, Avions Dassault, 

built the Mystere IV-B, the first European plane to break the sound barrier in 

level flight. It accomplished this feat in February 1954, only nine months 

after an American fighter, the F-100, did the same. Then, in October 1958, 

another Dassault aircraft, a Mirage 111-A, became the first European aircraft 

to fly at Mach 2. 

The British were also making sonic booms. The firm of Fairey built an 

experimental jet, the Delta FD-2. In March 1956, it set a world speed record 

at Mach 1.7 1,or 1,132 mph. Another company, Bristol Siddeley, developed a 

highly capable engine called the Olympus; an upgraded version would power 

the Concorde. In addition, the Royal Aircraft Establishment at Farnborough 

was a world-class center of aeronautical re~earch.2~ 

Two planebuilding firms, Sud Aviation and British Aircraft, carried 

through the design studies that led to the Concorde. For the engine, Bristol 

Siddeley cooperated with SNEC at had built engines for 

the Mirage fighters of Dassault. As design concepts took shape, leaders in 

both countries cherished the hope that they might leap past the era of subsonic 

22. Eight Decades, pp. 30.42-55;Davies, History, pp. 451-455,487-489;Wilson, Fiasco, p. 16. 

23. Gunston, Fighters, pp. 38, 46, 171; Wilson, Fiasco, p. 17; Burnet, Concorde, pp. 19,151; Costello and 

Hughes, Concorde,p. 43. 

305 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

jets, in which America had taken a strong lead, and take the initiative in a new 

realm of supersonic flight. 

France, led by the strongly nationalistic Charles de GaulIe, had reasons of 

its own to proceed. De Gaulle had vowed to challenge what he called “America’s 

colonization of the skies,” and won strong support from his nation. There was 

widespread resentment of American corporations that were dominating a host of 

European markets, including commercial aviation. This resentment was quite 

similar to what Americans themselves would feel, two decades later, as Japan 

took over increasing shares of the automobile and electronics industries. 

The joint commitment to Concorde took the form of an intergovernmental 

agreement in November 1962, with the force of a treaty. Each nation agreed to 

carry half the cost. In turn, the four participating companies-Sud, British 

Aircraft, Bristol Siddeley, SNECMA-would all work as contractors to their 

respective government^.^^ 

This challenge was too serious for President Kennedy to ignore. 

America’s planebuilders had nothing like Concorde in the offing. Moreover, 

there was never any prospect that an American SST would go forward as a 

purely commercial venture, with corporations raising the needed funds 

through bank loans and sales of securities. The costs of an SST would be too 

great, as were the technical uncertainties. In addition to this, airline executives, busily purchasing the current generation of jets, were far from thrilled 

at the thought of being stampeded into a supersonic era. Within the Kennedy 

Administration, however, the SST found a persuasive champion in Najeeb 

Halaby, the head of the Federal Aviation Agency.25 

Halaby started in early 1961 by winning a congressional appropriation of 

$11million with which he launched feasibility studies. Late in 1962, with the 

study results in hand and the Concorde under way, he urged JFK to initiate a 

major SST program in response. Though Kennedy was not quite ready just 

then, he responded by commissioning an interagency review headed by Vice 

President Lyndon Johnson, a strong SST supporter. While this review proceeded, Juan Trippe proceeded to stir the pot. 

24. Dwiggins, SST, pp. 197-198,201-202; Newhouse, Sporry,pp. 193-194; Wilson, Fiasco, pp. 24-32; Knight, 

Concorde,pp. 21-31; Costello and Hughes, Concorde,pp. 39-52; Owen, Concorde,pp. 44-58,262; Aviation 

Week,September 17, 1962, pp. 34-36; December 3, 1962, p. 41. 

25. The FAA changed its name to Federal Aviation Administration in 1967, upon formation of the Department 

of Transportation. Kent, Safe; see index references. 

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Aerospace Recession 

During the spring of 1963, Trippe let it be known that he intended to place 

a “protective order” for six Concordes. He, however, would much prefer to 

purchase American SSTs, should they become available. In June, he 

announced that he was taking options on the European airliner, putting down 

money to reserve positions on the production schedule, though he was not 

actually committing to make the purchases. By then, Kennedy had the favorable results of the interagency review. On the day after Trippe’s 

announcement, he also made a favorable statement of his own. Addressing the 

graduating cadets of the Air Force Academy, he declared: 

It is my judgement that this Government should immediately commence a 

new program in partnership with private industry to develop at the earliest 

practical date the prototype of a commercially successjid supersonic transport, superior to that being built in any other country in the world.26 

In his formal message to Congress, sent in mid-June, he emphasized that 

the government would put up no more than $750 million, while the manufacturers would carry at least 25 percent of the development costs. 

Halaby got the program off to a running start in August, as the FAA 

issued a formal Request for Proposal to interested companies. As they prepared their proposals, however, executives of major planebuilders also came 

forward with complaints. They objected strongly to the cost-sharing arrangements, under which they were to put up 25 percent of the program expense. 

This was their way of declaring that the SST looked like a fine way to lose 

money. Nevertheless, they would do their duty as patriots if Uncle Sam would 

carry more of the financial load. Boeing’s William Allen was particularly 

blunt: “Government must be prepared to render greater financial assistance 

than presently proposed.” 

Kennedy responded by commissioning an outside review of the issue, 

putting it in the hands of Eugene Black, former president of the World Bank, 

and Stanley Osborne, chairman of Olin Mathieson. He asked them not only to 

review the cost-sharing issue but also to cast a broad net by talking as well to 

government officials. Their report reached the White House a week before 

Christmas, with Lyndon B. Johnson now holding the presidency following the 

death of Kennedy. 

26. Dwiggins, SST, pp. 1-9, 118-126, Horwitch, Wings,pp. 53-54; Aviafion Week,June IO, 1963, p. 40. 

307 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

The report’s conclusions were devastating to Halaby. It rejected his view 

that the SST should go forward as a race with Concorde. Instead, the effort 

was to focus initially on building a test aircraft to serve for research. The 

report went so far as to recommend that the program should be taken out of 

Halaby’s hands altogether, for the FAA had no staff ready to manage such a 

task. On the cost-sharing issue, it recommended that the government should 

pick up 90 as opposed to 75 percent. 

These conclusions generally suited the preferences of another player: 

Robert McNamara. He had faced down the Air Force in dealing with a technically similar program, the North American B-70, that sought to build 

supersonic bombers with the size and speed of an SST. Though Air Force generals had called for its rapid development and production, McNmara 

endorsed an Eisenhower Administration decision to build only three prototype craft, XB-70s7for use in flight test. McNamara also had developed an 

interest in the SST itself, and had served as a member of Vice President 

Johnson’s interagency review panel. 

The Black-Osborne report set in motion a Washington debate that eased 

Halaby toward the margins of SSTmanagement and made McNamara a central figure. In April 1964, Lyndon B. Johnson picked him to head a 

presidential advisory committee on the SST. Though the program remained 

within the FAA, high-level decisions went into the hands of this advisory 

panel. As defense secretary, McNamara had insisted that new military programs were to receive extensive study and analysis before their managers 

could cut metal for prototypes. He now approached the SST from the same 

perspective, arguing that the FAA should commit to building a prototype only 

after suitably refined designs were in hand and only after serious economic 

analyses showed a reasonable prospect for success.27 

It would take nearly three years, till the end of 1966, before SST studies 

would reach this level of depth. An initial issue for research involved public 

response to sonic booms. These are different from ordinary loud noises, as 

from a jackhammer. A sonic boom arises from an airplane’s shock wave, 

which spreads behind the aircraft like the bow wave of a ship. The shock produces a moving wall of compressed air that trails along the ground, sweeping 

27. Pace, XB-70,pp. 15-19;Horwitch, Wings,pp. 64-73; Dwiggins, SST, pp. 12, 15-16, 108-111, 128-133,138-

143, 147, 149-152; Fortune, February 1964, pp. 118-122, 168-172. 

308 
Aerospace Recession 

out a swath up to 50 miles wide and the full length of the supersonic flightpath. Within this swath, every person feels the boom when the shock passes. 

The pressure rise is not large, rarely more than a thousandth of atmospheric 

pressure. It is, however, both sharp and sudden; hence it can startle people and 

crack plaster. The strength of a sonic boom is measured as an overpressure; 

designers expected that an SST would produce values of around two pounds 

per square foot during cruise. By contrast, loud noises have their intensity 

measured in decibels, a completely different unit. Hence the FAA wanted to 

know how boomy an SST could be and still produce no more annoyance than 

conventional subsonic jets. 

An initial exercise, Operation Bongo, took place around Oklahoma City 

during 1964. It was a joint FAA-Air Force experiment that sought to determine whether people could learn to accept sonic booms as just another type 

of noise, akin to that of railroad trains or trucks on a highway. For six 

months the Air Force sent supersonic F-104 fighters over the city, day after 

day and at specified times. Observers found reason to believe that there 

might indeed not be much of a problem, for a number of people put the 

booms to their advantage. 

A secretary used the recurring booms as an alarm clock. She got out of 

bed at the window-rattling crack of the seven a.m. boom, then took a shower. 

She shut off the water when she heard the next boom, for this meant it was 

7:20, time to start her day. Other people also treated the eight daily booms as 

if they were blasts from a factory whistle. One group of construction workers 

used the 11 a.m. boom as their signal for a coffee break. Animals as well went 

undisturbed. In El Reno, a nearby town, a farmer saw a tom turkey chasing a 

hen. Though a boom rattled the barn, the tom never broke stride. 

In several respects, these tests were biased toward minimizing citizen 

complaints. Oklahoma City was strongly aviation-minded, with a major FAA 

center and an Air Force base. The booms came by day, never at night, and 

people knew when to expect them. They also knew that the test would run for 

only a few months. The booms themselves were weaker than those of an SST 

and carried less energy, though they did increase in strength over the months. 

Nevertheless, the results were enough to give pause, as some 4900 people 

filed claims for damages. Though most involved little more than cracked plaster, one man did receive a payment of $10,000. Two high-rise office towers 

sustained a total of 147 cracked windows. During the first three months of the 

309 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

tests, polls indicated that 90 percent of the people felt they could live with the 

booms. After six months, this number was down to 73 percent. This meant 

that some one-fourth of these citizens believed they could not live with them 

and would regard them as unacceptable. 

This was bad news at the FAA in Washington. The news soon grew worse, 

as a second series of tests, at Edwards Air Force Base, introduced the use of 

larger supersonic aircraft. These included the XB-70, the only plane in the 

world with the size and speed of an SST. The workhorse of the new studies, 

the B-58 bomber, was only slightly smaller. Already it had shown its uses in 

sonic-boom tests, flying from Los Angeles to New York in two hours. 

Unfortunately, it had shattered windows as well as speed records, showering 

offices and living rooms alike with broken glass. Police switchboards from 

coast to coast had lit up with calls as frightened peopIe reported they had 

heard a terrible explosion.28 

The tests at Edwards took place during 1966, and Karl Kryter, a sonicboom specialist at Stanford Research Institute, summarized the findings in the 

journal Science: When both European and American SSTs are fully operational, late in the 1970s, 

it is expected that about 65 million people in the United States could be 

exposed to an average of about ten sonic booms per day. ... A boom will initially be equivalent in acceptability to the noise from a present-day 

four-engined turbofan jet at an altitude of about 200feet during approach to 

landing, or at 500feet with takeoff powel; or the noise from a truck at maximum highway speed at a distance of about 30feet. 

The historian Me1 Horwitch would note that when these results reached 

an SST coordinating committee, “an almost instant consensus developed that 

the American SST could never fly overland.” 

This did not rule out going ahead with the program. Boeing and the FAA 

estimated that even if the SST was restricted to overwater flights, it could 

still sell 500 airplanes. That would suffice to ensure commercial success. 

With no restrictions, Boeing’s managers believed they could sell as many as 

twelve hundred. Even so, Business Week noted that “at $40 million per SST, 

28. Fortune, February 1967, p. 117; ShurcH,SBR, pp. 3-521-38; Dwiggins,SST, pp. 57-62,69-73,77-78.80. 

310 
Aerospace Recession 

a ban would mean a sales penalty of $28 billion-greater than Boeing’s total 

sales for the last fifteen years.” 

Similar warnings came from Senator William Proxmire, an eventual 

opponent of the Space Shuttle who was already taking the lead as a strong 

opponent of the SST: “The SST will start by flying the ocean routes. Soon the 

economic pressures of flying these high-cost planes on limited routes will 

force admission of the planes to a few scattered land routes. And ultimately 

they will be flying e~erywhere.”~~ 

Also during 1966, design studies and analyses reached a level that 

allowed the FAA to select contractors through a design competition. Boeing 

won, with a proposal that called for engines from General Electric. This contract award came through on the last day of that year; a four-year program 

now lay ahead, aimed at building two prototype aircraft. This selection of 

contractors was crucial. The program now was in a new phase, no longer one 

of endless study but rather of mainstream airliner development. 

This shift in status brought a quick response from SST critics, as the 

beginnings of organized opposition took form. The man who did the organizing was William Shurcliff, a physics professor at Harvard. Early in 1967, he 

set up the Citizens League Against the Sonic Boom. His son and sister were 

founding members; its office was in his home. He did not set out to arrange 

protest demonstrations. Instead, he proceeded to run a clearinghouse for critics, taking out newspaper ads, writing letters, raising questions, and generally 

working to argue that the emperor had no clothes. His organization was never 

large, its peak membership running to only a few thousand. The rudder of a 

ship is also quite small. Like that rudder, Shurcliff would prove to be highly 

influential in steering the SST to its fate. 

Shurcliff s activities unfolded within a burgeoning environmental movement that was about to rise to a height of influence. This movement drew 

strength from a surge in public outrage against air and water pollution. As 

early as 1965, the Opinion Research Corp., a polling organization, found that 

up to one-third of the American people viewed such issues as serious. Here 

was a level of concern that no political leader could ignore. By 1970, nearly 

three-fourths of the public shared this attitude, representing a power capable 

of sweeping everything before it. 

29. Hmitch, Wings,p. 148;Science,January 24, 1969,p. 359; Business Week,October28,1967, pp. 64-68. 

31 1 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Matching this rise was a dramatic increase in the prominence and clout of 

leading environmental organizations. In 1967, the Sierra Club, then with only 

55,000 members, was already one of the largest and most active of these 

groups. Though its emphasis was on protecting wilderness areas, its focus at 

the time was on a regional issue, fighting the construction of Marble Canyon 

Dam on the Colorado River. To win political support, it had to bend to the 

needs of such powerful senators as Henry Jackson, chairman of the Senate 

Interior Committee and a strong SST supporter. By 1971, its membership was 

at 200,000 and rising, and its leaders were taking pivotal roles in the fight 

against the SST. 

The rapid growth in environmental concern during the late 1960s recalls 

the widening power of the civil rights movement. A turning point for that 

movement had come in Birmingham, Alabama in May 1963, when the nation 

watched as that city’s commissioner turned police dogs and fire hoses against 

protesting black citizens. For the nation’s environmentalists, a similar 

moment came early in 1969 in Santa Barbara, California. 

The Santa Barbara Channel is rich in offshore oil; a line of drilling platforms stands six miles out to sea. Early that February, an oil-well blowout sent 

vast flows of crude into the water, where it quickly drifted onto the beaches. 

The Santa Barbara beaches, as highly prized as those of Malibu, now turned 

from shining white to gummy black. The very waves of the ocean lay 

unformed as they drowned beneath the thick suffocating scum. Its stink blew 

into the canyons, a mile and more inland. It took live steam to remove this ugly 

mess from the hulls of boats, and the toll of birds and sea life was immense. 

The historian William Manchester would write that “pelicans drove straight 

into the oil and then sank, unable to raise their matted wings, and the beaches 

were studded with dead sandpipers, cormorants, gulls, grebes, and loons, their 

eyes horribly swollen and their viscera burned by petroleum.’730 

Shurcliff had been proceeding with his anti-SST activism. In July 1969, 

he received valuable support as David Brower, who had been executive director of the Sierra Club, founded Friends of the Earth. It took a strong stand 

against the SST. The following March, a wealthy Baltimore man, Kenneth 

Greif, took the lead in organizing a nationwide coalition of SST opponents. 

30. Wattenberg,America, pp. 226-227; Manchester,Glory,pp. 1173- 1174; Horwitch, Wings, pp. 221-224,233- 

239,310; Fortune,February 1967, pp. 113-1 16,227-228. 

312 
Aerospace Recession 

The Sierra Club now signed on. So did the National Wildlife Federation, the 

Wilderness Society, and the Consumer Federation of America. In this coalition, opponents now had an instrument suited for work in the political arena. 

A nucleus of anti-SST sentiment already lay at hand within the Senate, 

where William Proxmire regarded its economics as most curious. The plan 

called for the FAA to put up $1.3 billion to carry the program through the construction and test of two prototypes. The SST then would go into production, 

and Boeing would pay the government a royalty on each plane sold. The federal outlay thus was “not a subsidy, it’s a loan,” said William Magruder, a 

Lockheed man who had taken over as SST program manager. “By the time 

the 300th airplane is sold, all of the Government’s investment will be returned 

to the U.S. Treasury, and when we sell five hundred airplanes, there will be a 

billion dollars in profit to the Government.” 

Proxmire responded by arguing that Uncle Sam was not a venture capitalist. If this “loan” was so profitable, then Boeing should tap into its banks 

instead, as it had done in financing the 747. Referring to Nixon’s SST budget 

request for fiscal 1971, Proxmire added, 

We are being asked to spend $290million this year for transportationfor one 

half of one percent of the people-the jet setters-to fly overseas, and we are 

spending $204 million this year for urban mass transportation for millions of 

people to get to work. Does that make any sense? 

His colleague Gaylord Nelson, another Senate opponent, described the SST as 

a high-cost, high-fare plane being built to serve a small constituency that 

may be willing to pay a substantial extra fee to save three hours’ travel time 

to Europe. These people are flying on expense accounts or fat pocketbooks. 

If there is suficient demand to support such a plane, it should stand on its 

own and be built without subsidy.3’ 

The immediate focus of attention was a congressional hearing held in May 

1970, with Proxmire as chairman. He chose the witnesses with care. Among 

31. Honvitch, Wings, pp. 276-278; Newsweek,December 14, 1970, p. 83; US.News & World Report, March 

15, 1971, pp. 68-69. 

313 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

them was Richard Garwin, a senior physicist at IBM who had participated in 

a White House review of the program. Calling for an immediate end to its federal support, Garwin asserted that “the SST will produce as much noise as the 

simultaneous takeoff of fifty jumbo jets.” He drew concurrence from Russell 

Train, a member of Nixon’s Council on Environmental Quality, who described 

such noise as the SST’s “most significant unresolved environmental problem.” 

Train also opened a new attack by introducing the issue of whether a fleet 

of SSTs might damage the ozone layer in the upper atmosphere. The air at its 

cruising altitude, some 65,000 feet, is very dry and low in humidity. It also is 

rich in ozone, which forms a layer that protects the Earth from the Sun’s dangerous ultraviolet rays. The atmospheric scientist Conway Leovy, writing in 

the Journal of Geophysical Research, had set forth a “wet photolysis” theory 

whereby water vapor in the stratosphere could speed the destruction of ozone. 

Train stated in his testimony that the SST would discharge “large quantities of water vapor, carbon dioxide, nitrogen oxides and particulate matter.” He 

added that “500 American SSTs and Concordes flying in this region of the 

atmosphere could, over a period of years, increase the water content by as much 

as 50 to 100 percent.” This water vapor, formed copiously from the burning of 

jet fuel, could destroy some of the ozone, putting the world at greater risk from 

the ultraviolet. Proxmire welcomed Train’s statement as a “blockbuster.” 

The turn of the tide quickly became evident. During the previous autumn, 

SST funding had passed by large margins in both the House and Senate. On 

May 27, however, voting on the 1971 budget, the House passed the bill by 

only 13 votes, 176 to 163. Opponents took new heart, for they understood that 

with the margin of victory having narrowed so dramatically, the SST might 

quickly fall during the next round of congressional action. 

During the summer of 1970, critics sprouted anew. In July, the Airport 

Operators Council, representing all major airports, stated that the SST should 

receive funding only if it could meet stringent noise standards. In August, a 

group at MIT, conducting the Study of Critical Environmental Problems, gave 

further support to concerns about the upper atmosphere. It stated that a fleet of 

SSTs could produce effects similar to those of the 1963 eruption of the volcano 

Mt. Agung, which had increased stratospheric temperatures by as much as 12 

degrees. In September, the prestigious Federation of American Scientists came 

out against the SST. So did the mayor of New York, John Lindsay, who was 

widely viewed as the Republicans’ answer to the Kennedys. 

314 
Aerospace Recession 

Also in September, Kenneth Greif‘s coalition orchestrated a devastating 

attack on the SST’s economic prospects. Over a dozen prominent economists 

signed individual statements stating their criticisms. The group included Paul 

Samuelson, Milton Friedman, Kenneth Arrow, John Kenneth Galbraith, 

Wassily Leontief, Walter Heller, and Arthur Okun, who had chaired the White 

House’s Council of Economic Advisors. The group thus spanned the political 

spectrum from Friedman on the right to Galbraith on the left. Only one leading economist, Henry Wallich, came out in favor of the SST. 

Senate leaders put off their vote until after the November election, a move 

that SST supporters hoped would allow some senators to vote with less fear 

of public pressure. Instead, the delay gave opponents more time to organize. 

Leading supporters included the senators from Washington state, Warren 

Magnuson and Henry Jackson. On November 30, sensing defeat, they introduced a last-minute bill to ban overland flights that would produce sonic 

booms. It was too late; such bills had been in the congressional hopper since 

1963,and the fact that this one passed unanimously was not important. After 

all, it would have to pass the House as well, where it quickly died. Early in 

December, the Senate voted to kill funding for the SST, 52 to 41. 

This was not the end of the matter. The House, after all,had passed the bill 

in May, albeit narrowly. Now a conference committee recommended a compromise: to continue the SST program, but with reduced funding. The issue 

was not settled; it now would take the form of whether Congress would accept 

or reject this new arrangement. The vote would not take place for three months. 

Again, though, time worked for the opponents. In January 1971, the citizens’ group Common Cause, which was growing in influence, announced its 

opposition. So did Charles Lindbergh, the man who had flown to Paris in 

1927. Still active after all those years, he had long held a seat on Pan Am’s 

board of directors, and had become an ardent environmentali~t.~’ 

Another round of hearings would precede the votes, and again the opponents had new ammunition. James McDonald of the University of Arizona, a 

member of a National Academy ciences panel on climate modification, 

asserted that 500 SSTs could deplete enough ozone to produce 10,000 cases 

32. Kent, Safe, pp, 302-306; HorwitcR, Wags, pp. 282-289,303-311; Dwiggins, SST, pp. 68-69,81; Bender and 

Altschul, Imtmnt, p. 501; Newsweek, December 14, 1970, p. 83;Aviation Week, December 14, 1970, p. 

18; Science, July 24, 1970, pp. 352-355; Time, December 14, 1970, pp. 13-14; Journal 0fGeophysical 

Research,Janua~y15, 1969, pp. 417-426. 

315 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Artist’s conception of American SST in the late 1960s. (NASA HQ RA69-15944) 

per year of skin cancer within the US. This would result from the increased 

power of the solar ultraviolet. His statement caused a sensation. 

McDonald had based his conclusions on the threat to ozone from water 

vapor. Ironically, this wet-photolysis theory was overturned within months, as 

new research in atmospheric science showed that the effects of water vapor on 

ozone were all but nil. Another scientist, Harold Johnston of the University of 

California at Berkeley, rode to the rescue by asserting that nitrogen oxides 

would also damage the ozone layer. SST engines would produce such oxides 

in large quantities. Johnston calculated that 500 SSTs would destroy up to 

half the ozone in the air over the United States.33 

33. Honvitch, wilzgs, pp. 319,327; Astmnautics &Aeronautics, December 1972, pp. 56-64; Science,August 6, 

1971, pp. 517-522; JournaZ of PlanetaryandSpace Science, April 1971, pp. 413-415. 

3 14 
Aerospace Recession 

Not all the arguments were on Proxmire’s side. During 1970, the pro-SST 

forces had consisted largely of the usual corporate interests. By early 1971, 

however, these forces were stiffening their strength. A key argument involved 

jobs: With the Concorde as an SST in being, an American riposte was essential. That argument had failed to win more than divided support among union 

leaders, but now George Meany, head of organized labor’s powerful AFL-CIO 

federation, came out in favor of the SST. Nixon Administration officials also 

weighed in with endorsements. Even William Ruckelshaus, director of the 

new Environmental Protection Agency, argued in favor of building at least the 

two prototypes. 

Acoustics expert Leo Beranek, chief scientist of the fm of Bolt, 

Beranek, and Newman, concluded that production SSTs could be quiet 

enough to meet FAA noise restrictions. There also was countering testimony 

on the atmosphere, as William Kellogg, associate director of the National 

Center for Atmospheric Research, stated that effects due to SSTs would be 

imperceptible amid those due to natural causes. 

Yet, by 1971, the issue was well past being one of whether design refinements might address specific objections or whether new research might lay 

scientists’ concerns to rest. The public was simply against the SST, by over 85 

percent in opinion polls. In 197 1,barely half of all Americans had ever flown 

in any kind of airplane; supersonic flight to Europe was as far beyond most 

expectations as a visit to Shangri-La. Many people thus viewed the SST as 

useless, as well as being harmful to the environment. The Los Angeles Times 

cartoonist, Paul Conrad, caught this spirit neatly by showing an SST’s four 

engines as garbage cans spewing refuse that included a dead cat. 

Even so, the final vote was close. As recently as December 1970, the 

House had maintained its narrow margin of support. Now, however, 

Congressman Sidney Yates, a key SST opponent, took the floor and said, “I 

demand tellers with clerks.” This set in motion a new procedure, in use only 

since the beginning of the year, whereby the votes would be recorded. 

Unable to vote in secrecy, as it had done before, the House turned thumbs 

down on the SST, 215 to 204. The Senate repeated its earlier no vote, and it 

was all over.34 

34. Horwitch, Wrzgs,pp. 314-327; Ti:March 22, 1971,p. 15; March 29,1971, pp. 13-14;April 5,1971, pp. 

11-12,77;Newsweek March 8, 1971,pp. 81-82; March 29, 1971, pp. 23-24; April 5, 1971,pp. 19-21. 

317 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

These votes eliminated further federal funding for the SST. They did not 

ban the construction of SSTs using private-sector funding; Boeing was perfectly free to proceed with the program, if it could win the necessary support 

through banks or sale of securities. The company, however, was already mortgaged to the hilt; its financial leeway was close to zero. When the SST died 

on Capitol Hill, it died for good. 

This congressional action had important consequences. It marked an end 

to the policy of having the FAA take on a new role by underwriting the development of new jetliners. The funding of such projects now returned to the 

private sector. The FAA returned to its permanent responsibilities, which 

included air traffic control and certiiication of airliners and their equipment. 

The demise of the SST also brought an end to a half-century of continuing advance in the performance of commercia1 airliners. The industry would 

continue to come forth with new designs, but these would be conventional in 

form. The nation’s airlines would find their future below the speed of sound 

and at altitudes well under the ozone layer. 

In the struggle over the SST, the environmental movement came of age 

and took its place as a major and powerful political force. In defeating the 

SST, the nation’s environmentalists showed that they had the clout to block 

such a program even when it held support from the AFL-CIO, the 

Administration, and the aerospace industry with its well-funded lobby. 

With its votes against the SST, the House and Senate showed that they 

would cancel an important aerospace program even in the face of an industry-wide recession, and with the national economy as a whole in a slump. 

This raised the question of whether Congress as a whole would continue to 

oppose the interests of this industry. This question would not take long in 

receiving an answer, for in the immediate wake of the SST controversy, 

Congress faced a debate over another project: the Lockheed L-1011 airliner. 

The Lockheed L-1011 

The new high-bypass turbofan engines, in launching the Boeing 747, also 

launched a parallel effort that proved less ambitious but better-suited to the 

workaday needs of the nation’s domestic carriers. At American Airlines the vice 

president of engineering, Frank KO&,was responsible for determining what 

type of equipment his airline would need and for working with the manufactur318 
Aerospace Recession 

ers to get it. When Juan Trippe ordered his 747s, in April 1966, Kolk saw that 

this aircraft was far too large for his market. He quickly took the initiative in 

recommending the development of another new airliner, one that would offer 

wide-body comfort along with the economy of the new turbofans. His plane, 

however, would be intermediate in size between the earlier jets and the 747. 

Kolk’s initial concept was well suited to American’s route structure, 

which featured large numbers of flights between New York and Chicago. 

Indeed, it was a little too well suited; it lacked the size and performance that 

other airlines demanded. Kolk held discussions with his counterparts at 

Eastern, TWA, United, and Delta, and together they agreed that the new airliner was to have three engines and a larger passenger capacity. These four 

carriers along with American would be the initial customers, and Kolk and his 

colleagues proceeded to develop a qomrnon set of requirements. 

Two planebuilders, Lockheed and McDonnell Douglas, proceeded to 

craft designs. This, however, was no federal competition for a contract, 

wherein one would win and the other would lose; this was an exercise in freemarket competition, in which both firms had the opportunity to vie for 

success. The designs that emerged, the DC-10 and L-1011, were highly similar in size, performance, and general appearance, reflecting their compliance 

with Kolk’s specifications. 

During 1966, Lockheed was matched with Boeing in a federal competition that was the mirror image of the one in 1965. That earlier bidding war 

had involved the C-5A; when Boeing lost, its management immediately 

moved to pursue the 747. In 1966, the focus of attention was the SST, with 

these same firms competing for the FAA contract, and this time it was 

Boeing’s turn to win. Lockheed’s president, Daniel Haughton, learned the 

news on the last day of the year. Like his counterparts at Boeing, he immediately ordered that the people who were working on the SST shift gears and 

turn their attention to Kolk’s airliner. 

In aerospace design, small details can have large consequences, and this 

would be true of the L-1011. This airliner was to install one of its engines at 

the rear end of the fuselage, receiving its air through a curving duct that ran 

beneath the vertical fin. At the outset, Lockheed’s engineers knew that they 

needed a short engine to fit this installation. Neither General Electric nor Pratt 

& Whitney had what they wanted, but a third player was at hand: Britain’s 

Rolls-Royce. That company had a design on paper for a new engine, the RB3 19 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Lockheed L-1011, showing its rear engine installation. (Lockheed) 

211, along with a very aggressive head of its Aero Engine Department, David 

Huddie. Above all, he wanted to place his company’s engines within 

America’s new generation of wide-body jetliners. Rolls had never cracked the 

domestic market in America, the world’s most lucrative, but Huddie saw his 

opportunity in the L-1011. He succeeded, and in return he later received 

knighthood from the Queen.35 

By 1971, however, Lockheed’s Dan Haughton was finding that he had 

hatched some chickens that now were coming home to roost. This had happened during 1965, when he had presided over his company’s bid for the 

C-5A. The company had needed the work quite badly; if it had lost the contract, it would have had to shut down a division in Georgia, a major operating 

arm.To guard against this, Haughton had “bought in,” submitting an unrealistically low bid of $1.95 billion. Even the Air Force had estimated that $2.2 

billion would be more like it. 

Then, amid escalation of both inflation and the Vietnam War, the C-5A 

program encountered major strains and delays. Costs went through the roof. 

35. Newhouse, Sporty, pp. 122-123, 141-155; Astronautics & Aeronautics, October 1968, pp. 64-69; Fortune, 

May 1968, pp. 61-62; June 1, 1968, pp. 80-85, 151-154; March 1969, pp. 123-128, 136-140. 

320 
Aerospace Recession 

By 197 1, the Pentagon had budgeted $1.3 billion to cover Lockheed’s share 

of the overrun. Though most of this would be charged to the taxpayers, 

Lockheed would take its lumps as well. Early in 1971, Haughton, now chairman, agreed to accept an additional loss of $200 million. That wiped out a 

modest profit; it even cut into the company’s net worth. This news would not 

be welcome at the annual meeting, but business was business, and this transaction meant that Lockheed could begin to put the messiness of the C-5A 

behind it.36 

Haughton executed the agreement, headed for the airport, and flew to 

London to talk about the L-1011 with people from Rolls-Royce. As he later 

put it, “For about fourteen hours I felt good.” But Rolls had been buying in as 

well, and for the same reason: it needed the business. Its 1968 contract with 

Lockheed had committed Rolls to, develop its turbofan, the RB-211, for a 

fixed price of $156 million and Lockheed to pay $840,000 for each engine. 

Rolls was also pushing onto new technical ground. This became apparent as 

the development of the RB-2 1 1 proceeded. 

Rolls had been pioneering in the use of carbon fiber, a strong and very 

lightweight material. In selling the RB-211, a key point had been the firm’s 

intention to build its fan of Hyfil, a proprietary carbon-reinforced epoxy. Hyfil 

resembles plastics used in today’s tennis rackets, and its use in the three 

engines of an L-1011 stood to save 900 pounds of weight. Such fans must 

stand up to collisions with seagulls in flight. Hyfil’s merits would rest on its 

ability to pass the chicken test. This involved a cannon that would fire fourpound chicken carcasses at an engine operating at full speed on a test stand. 

The blades broke under the impact, which meant that these blades would have 

to use the conventional material, titanium. Titanium was heavier than Hyfil, 

and this change marked a sharp setback for the RB-211 program. 

It was one of a number of probIems that drove up the program’s cost. As 

this cost escalated, Rolls reported a loss of $1 15 million for the first half of 

1970. Its chairman, Sir Denning Pearson, turned to the recently-elected Tory 

government of Prime Minister Edward Heath. The Tories responded by offering a subsidy of $100 million. Pearson, however, had failed to control his 

costs and hence he would have to go; the firm would have a new chairman, 

Lord Cole. His board members would include a representative of the govern36. Rice, C-5A, pp. 8-16, 18,25,27, 195; Time, May 31, 1971, p. 78; Fortune, June 1971, p. 69. 

321 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

ment, Ian Morrow, who specialized in healing sick companies. Morrow soon 

arranged for an independent accounting firm, Cooper Brothers, to audit 

Rolls’ books. 

There was ample opportunity for questions, for Pearson had been using 

accounting practices that made bankers wince. Since 1961, he had avoided 

debiting the expenses of jet-engine development in the years they were 

incurred. Rather, he held them over and debited them in subsequent years, as 

these engines reached their customers. This practice amounted to prorating 

the development cost against income from sales. In this fashion, Rolls had 

reported a string of profits prior to 1970. Now it was difficult to know the 

firm’s total liabilities. 

The Cooper audit even had difficulty in estimating the cost of completing 

the development of the Rl3-21 1. The 1968 contract had specified $156 million. 

Early in 1971, it was at least $408 million. In turn,Lockheed had contracted 

to pay $840,000 for each engine, a price that supposedly would allow Rolls to 

make a profit. However, the bare-bones cost of production, even without profit, 

would now be $1,1 million. In addition to this, Rolls would deliver the engines 

late. As a consequence, it faced penalties for late delivery of an additional $120 

million. 

All this meant that Rolls was well past the point where an extra $100 million from the government, or even $200 million, could make a difference. 

Late in January 1971, Lord Cole learned that he lacked the funds to proceed 

with the RB-211. His board of directors promptly voted to place the entire 

company in receivership. In a word, Rolls was bankrupt. 

This would be very bad news for Haughton. Britain’s bankruptcy laws 

are far more stringent than those in the United States. American law works to 

protect a company against its creditors, shielding the firm against debts and 

legal claims while seeking a reorganization that can open a path to profitability. In Britain, however, creditors come first. A company is not permitted 

to operate if it has no prospect of success. Rather, it must sell off its assets 

and go out of business. 

Though the Rolls-Royce board reached this decision on January 26, it did 

not announce it publicly. A week later Haughton, newly arrived at the Hilton 

Hotel, received a phone call from Lord Cole of Rolls: Could they meet privately at the Grosvenor House? Cole proceeded to tell him the news, which 

was both unexpected and crushing. When other executives arrived, for a pre322 
Aerospace Recession 

viously scheduled luncheon, they found Haughton looking “as if he had got a 

bullet between the eyes.” 

The bullet was aimed more at Lockheed than at its chairman, for those 

engine intakes on the L-1011 now were all too likely to suck the company into 

its own bankruptcy. There simply was no easy alternative to the Rolls engines. 

To turn to Pratt & Whitney for its JT-9D turbofan or to General Electric for its 

own commercial engine, the CF-6, would cost a year in time and $100 million 

in development costs. That was because neither of these engines would slip in 

neatly as a replacement. There would be need for extensive redesign of engine 

housings and installations, starting with wind-tunnel tests, proceeding through 

reconsideration of weight distributions, and ending with extensive new tests 

necessary to win FAA certification. Lockheed would receive a triple blow: a 

massive overrun, a set of prices charged to airlines that would bring further 

losses on each sale, and penalties payable to the airlines for late delivery. 

In addition to this, Lockheed already was deep in hock, having drawn 

$350 million from a $400-million credit line held by a syndicate of its banks. 

It could not seek help from the Defense Department; the settlement of the C5A had also settled other outstanding issues. The company’s stock was 

depressed. Worse, the L-1011 itself was stirring little interest. Though it had 

pulled in as many as 168 orders back in 1968, the total since then had grown 

by only ten more. Lockheed had not booked a single order for it in over a year. 

Yet to abandon the L-1011 was unthinkable. Its overhang of bank debt could 

drive Lockheed into insolvency as well. 

Rolls’ receiver, Rupert Nicholson of Peat, Marwick, and Mitchell, took 

control of that company on February 4. On the same day, the bankruptcy was 

announced in the House of Commons. As one official told the magazine 

Fortune, “The news was like hearing that Westminster Abbey had become a 

brothel.” Prime Minister Heath might have bailed everyone out by nationalizing the whole of Rolls, but he had excellent reason not to do so. His legal 

advisers held that by doing so, the government could become liable for 

Rolls’s debts, the magnitude of which was unknown even to the auditors from 

Cooper Brothers. Instead, Heath would take over only the portions of the 

company that were building military equipment. The receiver could sell off 

the division that was building the famous motorcars, which was profitable and 

would readily find a buyer. As for the RB-211, Heath would Ieave it to twist 

slowly in the wind. 

323 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

This approach drew vigorous objection in Parliament. Jeremy Thorpe, 

leader of the Liberal Party, stated that the L-1011 would then be “the largest 

glider in the world.” Worse, a default on Rolls’ contract with Lockheed would 

“throw into doubt our credibility, our commercial competence and our good 

faith in all spheres of advanced science.” Labour M.P.’s raised the issue of 

jobs, for some 24,000 people were working on the RB-211 at Rolls and at its 

subcontractors and suppliers. 

Faced with such arguments, Heath unbent slightly, agreeing to have his 

defense minister take a closer look at the engine’s prospects. This minister, 

Lord Carrington, appointed three investigators that he called his “ferrets,” 

whose report a few weeks later struck a more hopeful note. The RB-211 was 

meeting its performance goals in runs on the test stand. This was important; 

it meant the engine after all could be a technical success. Moreover, its development could go to completion for an extra $288 million. 

Even so, the odds were formidable against saving the RB-211 ,and hence 

Lockheed. Twenty-four banks were directly involved as Haughton’s creditors. 

All were highly averse to risk. Nevertheless, they would have to live with it and 

accept more; they might even have to throw good money after bad. Nine customers also had ordered the L-1011. Each had its own financial problems and 

could solve them in part by enforcing contract provisions requiring Lockheed 

to pay out money as a penalty for late delivery. 

Though his hand was weak, Haughton was not without cards of his own to 

play. The banks, after all, wanted him to succeed; a Lockheed bankruptcy would 

leave them with bad debts, whereas with forbearance they might yet continue to 

hold profitable loans. The customers also had reason to stick with the L-1011, 

for they had already laid out substantial down payments. They also had purchased this airliner on highly favorable terms. This had resulted from 

Lockheed’s competition with the McDonnell Douglas DC- 10, wherein 

Lockheed had won orders by lowering its price and sweetening the terms of sale. 

Even under the best of circumstances, the problems with the program would 

bring delays of several months in delivering the L-1011. However, most major 

airlines had lost money in 1970. They were in no hurry to receive the new airliners in accordance with the contracted schedule. To the contrary, delays in 

delivery would also put off the dates when they would have to pay the balance 

of the purchase price. The chairman of TWA went so far as to suggest that “a 

delay of a year would have as many advantages as disadvantages, maybe more.” 

324 
Aerospace Recession 

Hence, the report to Lord Carrington meant that the outlines of a deal 

could begin to emerge. In essence, it would call on everyone to go back to 

Square One and renegotiate their contracts, paying little heed to the legal 

commitments of the previous years. Heath would need assurance that 

Lockheed would indeed stay in business and would not abandon the L- 101 1. 

Haughton would need more money from his bankers to give him a base from 

which to offer such guarantees. He also would have to pay more for his 

engines, while waiving penalties for late deliveries. For their part, the airlines 

would have to accept higher prices and later deliveries for their airplanes, 

again without receiving penalty payments. 

Haughton now was the man who had to make it come together. He had 

a prodigious capacity for work, on which he now drew. Often he had flown 

in from the East Coast in his Lockheed JetStar, sleeping en route on a couch, 

checking in at home for a quick shower, then reaching his desk at three or 

four in the morning to begin his day’s work. He also had extensive experience as a salesman. In this business this certainly did not make him a Willy 

Loman in the play by Arthur Miller, riding on a smile and a shoeshine. It 

meant, rather, that although he was Lockheed’s chairman, he had a strong 

personal involvement in its sales. If an airline executive raised a question, 

Haughton himself might turn up the next day in that person’s office to answer 

it. 

In dealing with his banks and airlines, Haughton had to do a lot of handholding. Two financiers, one a vice president from Bank of America and the 

other a vice president from Bankers Trust, accompanied him on his travels, as 

representatives of the entire banking syndicate. Still, each airline and every 

bank would have to agree that such a deal would represent the best possible 

outcome for its investors and stockholders. Each of them would naturally 

prefer to hold back and try for better terms. All would have to agree at the 

same time, however, or the chance for a deal would fall through. As Nixon’s 

treasury secretary, John Connally, put it, “Dan, your trouble is you’re chasing 

one possum at a time up a tree. What you’ve got to do is get all those possums 

up the tree at the same time.” 

The most elusive of those possums would be the U.S. government. Early 

that spring, Haughton became aware that he could build a fragile arch that 

might support Lockheed, Rolls, and the L-1011. Its keystone, however, would 

be a new line of bank credit totaling $250 million. Lockheed lacked the assets 

325 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

to pledge as collateral, and its creditors would certainly demand security. That 

might be available, however, through a federal loan guarantee, a pledge that 

the Treasury would reimburse the banks if Lockheed should fold. On May 6, 

Connally met with Nixon at the White House and announced that the 

Administration would send the necessary legislation to Congress. 

There it would face a minefield of opposition. Congressman Wright 

Patman, chairman of the House Banking Committee, had blocked federal 

support for the bankrupt Penn Central Railroad only a year earlier. He was 

highly skeptical of the proposed Lockheed loan guarantee. Senator William 

Proxmire, slayer of the SST and a harsh critic of Lockheed, was ready to 

filibuster against the bill. Though Lockheed was an important defense contractor, the L-1011 was entirely a commercial venture. If the firm went 

bankrupt, the Pentagon would find a way to rescue its military projects, 

most likely by having other aerospace firms buy up the pertinent company 

divisions. Moreover, the L-1011 was to use British engines, a point that did 

not escape the attention of lawmakers with ties to General Electric and Pratt 

& Whitney. An alternative, the DC-10, was already on the verge of entering 

service. 

Weighing against these arguments was a single word jobs. Haughton, testifying before Patman’s committee, stated that as many as 60,000 people 

would be out of work if the L- 101 1 were to fail. The Democratic Party, which 

controlled both House and Senate, was still the party of Senator Hubert 

Humphrey, the presidential nominee of 1968 and a strong labor man. Having 

shot down the SST as recently as March, Congress could not lightly affront 

the unions a second time, particularly since the country was still in a recession. Moreover, 1972 would be an election year. 

The outcome was thin indeed. On July 30, the House approved the bill, 

192 to 189. The measure then moved to the Senate, which was to recess for a 

month on Friday, August 6. Hstughton, however, had warned that by 

September, Lockheed would be out of cash. The Senate leadership responded 

by bringing the bill to a vote the previous Monday. 

California’s Senator Alan Cranston, a principal backer, had been doing 

the nose-counting and calculated that it would lose by the margin of a single 

vote. He tried to win over Lee Metcalf of Montana, whose no vote seemed 

soft, and as the calling of the roll reached its conclusion, Metcalf saw that his 

vote was likely to be decisive. He told Cranston, “I’m not going to be the one 

326 
Aerospace Recession 

to put those thousands of people out of work.” He voted yes, and the loan 

guarantee passed by a margin of 49 to 48.37 

With this, the main stone of Haughton’s arch fitted into place. The threat 

of a Lockheed bankruptcy receded, while Rolls now could emerge from its 

own receivership. With its RB-211, it would become a leader in the business 

of building engines for wide-body airliners. In turn,Lockheed now was free 

to proceed with its L-1011. 

Aftermaths 

The L-1011 did not succeed in the market. Though the program went through 

development and production, Lockheed went on to construct only 252 of 

these airliners, rolling out the last,in 1983. The program did not earn back its 

development costs; in fact, this firm sold few if any at a profit, for this company faced strong competition first from the DC-10 and Iater from the Boeing 

767 and Airbus A-300. Hence to win further sales, Lockheed had to offer 

prices that were very low. The program had received over $1.7 billion at the 

time of the near-collapse of Rolls; the final losses, at the time of program cancellation, dame to $2.5 billion. With this, Lockheed retired from the ranks of 

the commercial plane-builders and proceeded to make its living almost 

entirely as a military c~ntractor.~~ 

By contrast, Boeing came back strongly following its own brush with 

bankruptcy. Though the company’s sweeping layoffs were painful, they were 

part of a set of management reforms that brought sharp reductions in the time 

necessary to build a 707,727, or 737. In 1966, this had averaged 17 months, 

from customer order to delivery. By 1972, it was down to 11 months. “You 

may ask why the hell we didn’t do that earlier,” said Jack Steiner. “We never 

had to. We could have done better. Any time you’re threatened with extinction 

you develop abilities you didn’t know existed.” 

In turn, the company saved itself by offering new versions of its narrowbodied 727 and 737. To compete with the wide-bodies, they needed new 

37 Newhouse, Sporty, pp. 48, 153, 173-183; Eddy et al., Disnster, pp. 100-104, 120-121; Fortune,August 1, 

1969, p. 77, June 1971, pp. 66-71,156-160; Business Week, February 13, 1971, pp. 64-68; March 13,1971, 

pp. 42-43; January 29, 1972, pp. 72-74; Time, February 15, 1971, pp. 68-69; February 22, 1971, pp. 84-86; 

May 31, 1971, pp. 78-79; August 9, 1971, p. 57; August 16, 1971, pp. 70-72; Newsweek, August 9, 1971, 

pp. 51-53; August 16, 1971, pp. 65-66. 

38. Newhouse, Sporty, p. 4; Fortune, June 1971, p. 68. 

327 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

features: longer range, quiet engines, low operating cost, plenty of seats for 

the purchase price. Boeing introduced such improvements, which amounted 

to offering more airplane for the purchaser’s dollars, and won new income 

through increased sales. 

At the nadir, in 1971, Boeing indeed had been close to ruin. Production 

of the 707,727, and 737 was forecast to fall to three per month during 1972 

(not three of each model but three of the entire group). The SST was dead, 

and sales of the 747 were flat. As sales of the improved 727 and 737 took 

hold, prospects brightened. By late 1974, production of the three narrowbodies was up to 15 a month. Debt went down rapidly; in 1973 alone, Boeing 

paid off nearly half a billion dollars. Better yet, orders for the 747 finally 

picked up. In 1978, the company was back on its feet and was strong enough 

to launch not one but two new programs: the 757 and 767.39 

The demise of the SST‘might have opened a major opportunity for the 

Concorde. Early in 1973, however, Pan Am declined to exercise its option 

to purchase these airliners, noting “significantly less range, less payload 

and higher operating costs that are provided by the current and prospective 

widebodied jets.” TWA, Pan Am’s principal rival, foIlowed suit by declining to exercise its own option, with its chairman noting Concorde’s “dismal 

economics.” 

Significantly, these U.S. carriers made these decisions nearly a year 

before the energy crisis sent the price of fuel soaring. The airlines of the 

1960s had grown rapidly in an era of cheap fuel; the price of jet fuel was only 

11 cents a gallon in 1973, and builders of the SST expected the price to stay 

at this level for the next two decades. Needless to say, it did not; to the contrary, the second and more severe oil crisis, in 1979, pushed this price above 

a dollar per gallon. Though this hurt all of commercial aviation, it particularly hurt Concorde whose supersonic speed demanded high fuel 

consumption. In the end, only 14 of these aircraft entered service, divided 

equally between British Airways and Air France. Taxpayers’ subsidies built 

those planes, and to paraphrase Sir Winston Churchill, rarely have so many 

given so much for so little.40 

39. Steiner, Problems; Steiner, Jet Aviation, pp. 31-34; Pedigree, pp. 67-68; Business Week, April 1, 1972, pp. 

42-46. 

40. Kolght, Concorde,p. 100; Newhouse, Sporty, pp. 12,227; Owen, Concorde,p. 235; Costello and Hughes, 

Concorde,p. 11; Astronautics & Aeronautics, April 1970, p. 50. 

328 
Aerospace Recession 

These developments unfolded in the wake of the House and Senate votes 

of 1971. As exercises in raw vote-counting, the narrow margin of the 

Lockheed loan guarantee-192 to 189 in the House, 49 to 48 in the Senaterecalls the near-death of NASA’s shuttlehtation a year earlier, which survived 

by 53-53 in the House and 32-28 in the Senate. Even the players were the 

same, with Senators Walter Mondale and William Proxmire playing active 

roles in both controversies. Proxmire had also taken the lead in the fight 

against the SST.41 

The two votes, however, had very different meanings. The shuttle/station 

was a standard federal project, of the type that NASA had been set up to 

pursue. Though critics challenged the wisdom and desirability of such an 

enterprise, no one sought to repeal the Space Act of 1958, which had created 

NASA and gave it the charter to pursue such initiatives. In turn, this challenge 

proved to be addressable through such means as having the shuttle stand on 

its own, supporting it with an Air Force endorsement, and allowing the station 

to fade in significance. By mid-1971, the Shuttle was well past its time of 

danger in Congress, as its funding authorization passed the House on a voice 

vote and the Senate by a vote of 64 to 22.42 

In both the SST and Lockheed debates, however, the issues were more 

far-reaching. Though the drama of environmentalism captured the headlines, 

the SST debate also introduced a disturbing economic question: Was the federal government to provide funding for this project as a risky venture that 

could not win financial support in the private sector? Similarly, the Lockheed 

loan guarantee amounted to proposing that Washington should underwrite a 

line of credit that this firm could not back with collateral, and that therefore 

was also too risky for banks. 

Neither of these ventures were simple exercises in corporate welfare. 

Federal support for the SST was to be repaid through royalties from sales. 

Recall the remarks of the project manager, William Magruder, that the SST 

41. These senators were liberal Democrats. More importantly, they were from Wisconsin and Minnesota, which 

lacked important aerospace corporations. Other liberal Democrats took different views, reflecting the interests of their states. Senator Alan Cranston (D-Calif.) took the lead in fighting for the Lockheed loan 

guarantee, because that company was a major employer in his home state. Senator Henry Jackson (D-Wash.) 

was known as “the senator from Boeing” because of his strong support for that company. Newsweek, 

October 8, 1962, pp. 25-28. 

42, Aviation Week,July 5, 1971, p. 19. 

329 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

would return a profit to the government by selling 500 of these airliners. 

Similarly, the funds advanced to Lockheed came from banks, not from the 

Treasury, with the loan guarantee merely providing security in lieu of collateral. Both ventures, however, were controversial because they opened the 

door for the government to assume risks that had traditionally rested within 

the domain of corporate finance, with its banks and securities markets. 

In the face of these well-founded objections, the House and Senate nevertheless voted to support Lockheed, even though their members were well 

aware that they might be setting an unwelcome precedent for further such 

interventions. In doing this, Congress showed that it would fight the aerospace recession by passing a measure-the Lockheed loan guarantee-that 

went well beyond the usual demand for pork-barrel spending to provide jobs 

during hard times. This meant that to support the aerospace industry in its 

time of difficulty, Washington would go the extra mile and would enact legislation that ordinarily it would not consider. Against this background of 

industry woes, the Shuttle, which had stirred such controversy during 1970, 

appeared in 1971 as a straightforward initiative that could win backing on its 

merits. In this spirit, though continuing to face opposition within the Office of 

Management and Budget, the shuttle would gain support where it counted 

most: from Nixon himself. 

330 
CHAPT EIGHT 

A Sihuttle to FZt the Budget 

In May 197 1, the Office of Management and Budget (OMB) proposed to limit 

NASA’s spending to a peak of $3.2 billion during the next five years. George 

Low, working with his NASA associate Willis Shapley, responded by proposing a constant budget, with shuttle spending rising no higher than a billion 

dollars per year. Low would later describe this approach as “the only one 

which could convince the OMB that we could do the shuttle and at the same 

time have a balanced space program.” Unfortunately, this billion-dollar limit 

left NASA with funds to build an orbiter but not a booster. Could the agency 

find a way to build both? 

The Orbiter: Convergence to a Good Solution 

As early as 1969, during the initial Phase A studies, Lockheed had taken the 

initiative in proposing a two-stage fully-reusable design with both stages built 

of aluminum and using silica tiles for thermal protection. While the final 

design for the shuttle orbiter would in fact use this approach, one must not 

think that Lockheed was prescient. Though that company indeed was in the 

forefront in developing such tiles, they were items for laboratory research. A 

design that specified their use had no more intrinsic credibility than one that 

proposed to use the miracle metals Unobtanium and Wishalloy. Nevertheless, 

the work at Lockheed suited an emerging preference within the Air Force. 

Late in 1969, Air Force officials stated that they wanted to build the 

orbiter using a conventional aluminum airframe, along with whatever form of 

331 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

thermal protection would be appropriate. In contrast to strong reliance on titanium in hot structures, this preference for aluminum stemmed from an Air 

Force finding that the aerospace industry faced a shortage of the specialized 

machine tools needed to fabricate large structural parts from titanium alloy. 

Within NASA and its contractors, design studies weighed the relative 

merits of aluminum and titanium as primary structural materials. The aluminum airframe promised to be lighter in weight, reflecting the fact that 

aluminum is lighter than titanium. It also would be less costly to build, reflecting the industry’s long experience with aluminum. By contrast, titanium 

structures promised to cost up to three times as much as their aluminum counterparts, and would carry greater risk in development. 

Titanium, however, could overcome these disadvantages with its ability to 

withstand temperatures of 650 OF, compared with 300 degrees for aluminum. 

This brought a considerable reduction in the weight of the thermal protection, 

for two reasons. The temperature resistance of titanium would make it possible to build the top areas of the wing and fuselage of this metal alone, without 

additional thermal protection, for they would be shielded against the extreme 

temperatures of re-entry by the bottom of the vehicle. In addition to this, a 

titanium structure could function as a heat sink, absorbing some heat and 

thereby reducing the thickness and the effectiveness of thermal protection 

where it would be needed. 

Overall, the advantages of titanium promised a complete orbiter, including thermal protection, that would weigh some fifteen percent less than a 

counterpart built of aluminum. With the titanium orbiter requiring less thermal protection, it also would cost less to refurbish between missions. Though 

the higher cost and risk of titanium would militate in favor of aluminum once 

NASA faced the Om’s cost ceiling, the merits of titanium encouraged its 

use during NASA’s design work of 1970 and 1971 .’ 

The Phase B studies represented the main line of effort, with John Yardley 

directing the work at McDonnell Douglas and Bastian Hello managing the 

activity at North American Rockwell. Both contractors proposed fullyreusable orbiters, carrying all propellant tankage within the fuselage. They 

looked like large delta-winged fighter planes; indeed, the McDonnell concept 

1. Aviation Week,January 18, I97 1, pp. 36-39;Jenkins, Spuce Shuttle, pp. 67.95; letter, Low to Professor John 

Logsdon, January 23, 1979. 

332 
A Shuttle to Fit the Budget 

Fully-reusable shuttle of North American 

Rockwell. (North American Rockwell) 

somewhat resembled that company’s F-4 Phantom aircraft, which were seeing 

extensive use in Vietnam? 

Both orbiter concepts called for building the propellant tankage of aluminum. Though the tanks would be empty of propellant during reentry, they 

would require insulation to keep their contents-liquid hydrogen and liquid 

oxygen-from evaporating. That same insulation then would protect the aluminum from heat that would soak through the thermal protection. Similarly, 

the crew compartment was to be of aluminum, with the crew members riding 

amid an insulated and air-conditioned coolness that would protect the adjacent structure from overheating as well. 

In the structural frames and outer skin of the wings and fuselage, the contractors proposed to use titanium freely. They differed, however, in their 

approaches to thermal protection. McDonnell Douglas continued to favor hot 

structures, with insulation to protect the underlying framework and temperature-resistant metal panels facing the heat of reentry. Metallurgists had 

developed specialized alloys of nickel and cobalt for the turbine blades of jet 

engines; these metals resisted oxidation when hot, making them suitable for 

2. Aviarion Week,April 5, 1971, pp. 36-38; June 7,1971, pp. 55-61. 

333 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

1950" . 47 

850" 

650" \ Y I 650" 

0Titanium mReinforced Carbon/Carbon 

Mullite Matrix Inconel718 Steel 

Temperatures in Degrees Fahrenheit 

Thermal p-otection on the North American orbiter. (North American Rockwell) 

the skin of this orbiter. For instance, most of its underside was to be covered 

with shingles of Hastelloy-X, a chrome-nickel alloy. The wing leading edges 

would use struts and beams of columbium; shingles of coated columbium 

protected areas that were too hot for Hastelloy. Though only a small coterie 

of engineers had experience with such materials, the McDonneII Douglas 

designers were not reticent about pushing the state of the art.3 

3. AIAA Paper 71-804: Report MDC E0308 (McDonnell Douglas). 

334 
A Shuttle to Fit the Budget 

High Cross Range System 

Booster Abes (IO) Orbiter Abes (4) 

I 

Orbiter Booster 7 Dry Weight (Ib ) 226,400 511,000 166 ff 

Landing Weight (Ib) 264,700 533,000 166ff. Gross Weight (Ib ) 836,000 3.764.000 

GLOW 4,600,000

h- 1603 fI ___+I r I 

Fully reusable shuttle of McDonnell Douglas. (NASA) 

North American also had a strong interest in titanium hot structures, 

expecting to use them as well on the upper wing surfaces and the upper 

fuselage. Everywhere else possible, this company’s design called for applying thermally-protective tiles directly to a skin of titanium. Such tiles would 

cover the entire underside of the wings and fuselage, along with much of 

the fuselage forward of the wings. The main exceptions included the nose 

and leading edges, protected with carbon composite, and the vertical fin, 

designed as a hot structure with a skin of Inconel 718, a heat-resistant 

nickel steeL4 

These orbiter concepts represented the fruit of several years of experience 

in the design and study of two-stage fully-reusable shuttles. They also were 

quite representative of what NASA now would not be e to build, under the 

fiscal limits of the Om. The agency, however, had an ace in the hole, for in 

parallel with these Phase B efforts, Lockheed and Grumman had been pursuing studies of alternatives. 

4. AIAA Paper 71-805;Repoas SV 71-28, SD 71-114-1 (NorthAmerican Rockwell). 

335 
THE SPACE SHUTI'LE DECISION 

-~ 

TPS Material Definition 

,--Carbon/Carbon Columbium Shingles--,

CarbonlCarbon 

Theml protection on the McDonnell Douglas orbiter. (McDonnell Dough) 

For both companies, the point of departure lay in partially-reusable configurations that would carry their propellant in expendable tanks. This offered 

a route to lower development cost because the orbiter could shrink in size by 

carrying its propellant externally. The tanks could take form as simple aluminum shells, while the orbiter would have much less volume to enclose 

within its hot structures, and much less surface area to protect thermally. 

336 
A Shuttle to Fit the Budget 

Such approaches dated to the original Star-Clipper concept of 1965.They 

had lost favor because the throwaway tankage would cost money, in dollars 

that literally would be thrown away. Partial reusability was attractive to the 

OMB because it would cut the all-important development cost, the year-toyear line item in the federal budget. NASA's fully-reusable approach promised 

huge up-front costs in return for the goal of large savings through reduced cost 

per flight. The OMB insisted on smaller short-term outlays in exchange for the 

prospect of a somewhat greater cost of launch, 15 years down the road. The 

OMB held most of the cards. 

Among the alternative shuttle designs, Lockheed was continuing to examine variants of Star-Clipper, with a lifting body for its core vehicle and 

external tanks flanking this core. The new versions included a two-stage fullyreusable design that placed the propellant tanks within the core and used a 

McDonnell Douglas shuttle booster as the first stage. NASA by now had little 

interest in lifting bodies, for they promised difficulty in development along 

with high landing speeds. With the main line of design activity now defined 

by delta-winged versions of Max Faget's two-stage rocket airplanes, NASA's 

continuing support of Lockheed amounted to telling the OMB: Since you 

want us to look at alternatives, here is what we have.5 

By contrast, Grumman began its examination of alternative designs with 

no preconceived views as to how to proceed. When the work began, in mid1970, this company started with 29 configurations in three categories: 

two-stage fully reusable, reusable orbiter with expendable booster, and 

reusable orbiter with expendable propellant tankage. Like everyone else, the 

Grumman manager, Lawrence Mead, concluded that full two-stage 

reusability would be best in the long run. His report, however, noted pointedly that the other approaches offered promising means of reducing the 

peak funding. 

Meanwhile, during the fall of 1970, the Grumrnan group supplemented its 

NASA funds with company money, to broaden further the range of alternatives. The most promising modified the basic two-stage fully-reusable 

approach by removing the orbiter's liquid hydrogen fuel from within its fuselage, and storing it in a pair of expendable tanks. Grumman managers 

presented this concept to officials at the Manned Spacecraft Center in 

5. Report LMSC-A989142 (Lockheed); Jenkins, Space Shuzrle, pp. 98-103. 

337 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

November 1970. Within weeks, these managers were instructed to concentrate 

their efforts on further and more detailed study of this expendable-tank orbiter, 

and to compare it with a fully-reusable variant having internal tankage. This 

approach gained further favor in March 197 1, as NASA instructed McDonnell 

Douglas and North American Rockwell to develop variants of their fullyreusable configurations that would also place the orbiter’s liquid hydrogen 

within expendable tankage.6 

Why was this approach so promising? Liquid hydrogen is bulky, having 

only one-fourteenth the density of water. Thus, although it makes up only 

about one-seventh of a shuttle’s propellant load by weight, with six-sevenths 

being liquid oxygen, liquid hydrogen accounts for nearly three-fourths of the 

volume. Being low in density and hence light in weight, this fuel could be carried in external tanks of similar light weight. Being bulky, its removal would 

bring a welcome reduction hthe vehicle size and surface area. 

In addition to this, Grumman’s approach brought a useful shrinkage in the 

size and weight of the complete two-stage shuttle, including the booster. In 

designing two-stage vehicles, standard procedures exist for choosing the best 

staging velocity, so as to achieve the lowest weight of the two stages together. 

At a higher staging velocity, the first stage becomes excessively large and 

heavy; at a lower velocity, the orbiter requires more size and weight. Ground 

rules set at Marshall Space Flight Center, based on such optimization, defined 

this staging velocity as being close to 10,000feet per second. For Grumman’s 

two-stage fully-reusable configuration, used as a reference for purpose of 

comparison, it was 9,750 fdsec. 

With the liquid hydrogen now to be carried in lightweight external tankage, a re-calculation of this optimum showed that it would be advantageous 

to make these tanks larger, allowing them to carry more of this fuel. The 

orbiter then would have to carry more liquid oxygen, stored within its fuselage. This, however, would be easy to accommodate. Liquid oxygen is dense, 

denser than water. Hence, the extra quantity would require little additional 

volume and would not compromise the overall design of the orbiter. 

The upshot was that the optimum staging velocity, concomitant with the 

lowest overall weight, would drop to only 7,000 fdsec. This would greatly 

ease the task of designing the booster. The booster now could be considerably 

6. Report B35-43 Rp-I 1 (Grumman), Section 1; Aviarion Week,March 29, 1971, pp. 45-46. 

338 
A Shuttle to Fit the Budget 

Grumman’s two-stage shuttle, which put the orbiter’s liquid hydrogen in expendable tanks. 

(Art by Dennis Jenkins) 

339 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECZSZON 

smaller and lighter in weight, reflecting its reduction in required performance. 

It also would be much easier to protect thermally, 

The orbiter design followed standard practice, with a main structure of 

titanium. Grummm’s report stated that the company would rely on “materials, analysis, manufacturing and test procedures developed for the F-14 

aircraft,” a Navy fighter that was just entering service. The orbiter’s thermal 

protection was to rely primarily on hot structures, in the fashion of 

McDonnell Douglas, with carbon composite and silica tiles at the nose and 

leading edges. The use of external tankage cut the dry or unfueled weight of 

the complete two-stage shuttle by nearly one-third, from 1.02 million pounds 

to 692,000 pounds. In the words of the report, this weight saving “means 

structure we eliminate from design, do not provide tooling for, nor build, 

maintain, refurbish or otherwise pay for.” 

This comparison of weights drew on the fact that Grumman had worked 

to encourage such comparisons deliberately, by carrying through studies of 

designs with both external and internal orbiter tankage, according to the same 

ground rules. The report noted that 

for those who have in the past undertaken to compare configurations from 

several contractors, the necessity for a dual effort of this nature is readily 

apparent. There is nothing more frustrating and inaccurate than to attempt to 

compare weighl, pe~ormnce, and costfrom several contractors, using, by 

definition, their own unique preliminary design groundrules and criteria. 

As a consequence, Grumman’s work had to be taken seriously when it 

pointed to financial advantage: 

Fully Reusable External Hydrogen 

Development cost, $ M 7,777 6,497 

Peak funding, $ B 2.20 1.85 

Cost per flight, $ M 4.29 4.22 

The peak funding level, $1.85 billion, was a long way from the OMB 

requirementof $1 billion. Nevertheless, it was $350million closer to this goal 

than the fully-reusable design. Moreover, in a brilliant example of having 

one’s cake and eating it, Grumman proposed that the expendable tankage 

340 
A Shuttle to Fit the Budget 

would actually reduce the cost per flight. The tanks per se would cost 

$740,000 per flight. Other savings, however, would more than offset this, with 

the largest of them stemming from a substantial cut in the amount of propellants for a flight, and from eliminating the need to refurbish the thermal 

protection of the now-simpler b~oster.~ 

While Lockheed's Star-Clipper was widely known for its use of external 

tankage, it used no booster, relying on a single set of engines in the core to 

carry it from liftoff to orbit. The use of a reusable booster, in conjunction with 

expendable tankage on the orbiter, now opened new prospects to explore. An 

important group of explorers worked at McDonnell Douglas, where they proposed particularly large external tanks that would allow the orbiter to ignite 

its engines at liftoff, with these engines burning all the way to orbit. Though 

this shuttle still needed a booster, its staging velocity fell even further, to 

6,200 ft/sec. This booster's dry weight, 346,000pounds, was only three-fifths 

that of the booster in the fully-reusable system. For the complete two-stage 

shuttle, cost of development dropped from $9.82 billion to $8.67 billion, 

yielding a reduction on a par with that projected by Grumman.' 

Another group of designers worked with Max Faget at NASA's Manned 

Spacecraft Center. Decisions dating to early 1970 had given that center 

responsibility for technical direction of orbiter concepts, with NASA 

Marshall receiving similar responsibility for boosters. Faget had responded by 

initiating studies of a succession of two-stage, fully-reusable configurations, 

indulging to the full his taste for straight wings and for lightweight payloads 

in small payload bays that would suit the mission of space-station resupply. 

In January 1971, when NASA officials had met with Air Force counterparts, 

they had agreed that the orbiter should have delta wings along with a payload 

capacity of 60 x 15 feet and 65,000 pounds. Faget, nevertheless, had gone his 

merry way, as if this agreement did not apply to him. He continued to pursue 

his personal preferences in shuttle design; it was well into 1971 before he 

caught up with the rest of the world. 

He knew a good thing when he saw it. Although he had strongly advocated the fully-reusable orbiter with internal tankage, he quickly turned to 

designs with expendable tanks. The Grumman and McDonnell Douglas con7. Report B35-43 RP-11 (Gumman); Aviation Week,July 12, 1971, pp. 36-39; Powers, Shuttle, p. 240. 

8. Report MDC EO376-1 (McDonnell Douglas). 

341 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

MSC-020 

May 1971 

I- LH, External Tank +Solid Rocket Booster ” 

MSC-021 

May 1971 

3 

External Tank ------+Solid Rocket Boo 

e 

LCbTank J . .

How Max Faget &opted external tankage and moved toward the find orbiter concept, 1971. 

(Art by Dennis Jenkins) 

342 
A Shuttle to Fit the Budget 

MSC-023/ MSC-024 

May 1971 Booster Air-Breathing 

Orbiter \ I A 

External Tank -Recoverable Booster -1 

MSC-037 

June 1971 

343 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

cepts had carried their hydrogen in long cylinders running alongside the 

orbiter fuselage, just above the wing. As early as May 197 1, Faget prepared a 

set of drawings designated MSC-020 that put the hydrogen in a single tank, 

slung beneath the front of the vehicle. This concept followed his preferences 

by specifying straight wings, a 20,000-pound payload, and a 30 x 15-foot bay. 

It showed that, at least in this respect, he was willing to change with the times. 

The next step was to lengthen this single external tank to allow it to carry 

liquid oxygen as well. This would reduce the size of the orbiter to a bare minimum. The tank, attached to the orbiter’s belly, would demand structural 

strengthening, for its store of liquid oxygen would be quite heavy. With all 

propellant removed from the orbiter, that vehicle could achieve a standard 

design, independent of the tank. The tank could grow to a particularly large 

size, further lowering the staging velocity of the booster. In turn, this lower 

staging velocity would further reduce the size of the booster, cutting the cost 

of the Shuttle program anew. 

The first such concept, the MSC-021, came forth during that May. Again, 

it featured straight wings and the same payload weight as in the MSC-020. 

Though the bay now had a length of 40 feet, it still was much shorter than what 

the Air Force would accept. During that same month, Faget also proposed the 

MSC-023, again with all propellants for the orbiter in a single large underbelly 

tank. It featured delta wings and a full-size bay, 15x 60 feet. Here, for the first 

time, was the outline of a shuttle orbiter that would actually be built. 

Even so, Faget was not ready to offer an uncritical embrace of delta wings 

and large payload bays. Though he now had an external tank that he liked and 

would stick with, his subsequent designs continued to show small bays and 

straight or swept wings, and sometimes both. He also examined a number of 

variations in the arrangement of the orbiter’s main engines. Though the MSC023 had only a single such engine, in June he released the MSC-037, 

amounting to a variant with three engines and a 40,000-pound payload. It 

matched the final design in important respects. 

The contractors quickly followed this lead, as they launched new studies 

that assessed its merits. Grumman, which initially put only the hydrogen in 

external tanks, declared that an orbiter such as the MSC-037 was at least as 

promising. Lockheed, McDonnell Douglas, and North American found that 

it was superior, with all three firms giving it a strong endorsement. Indeed, 

as early as September I, North American presented its own version of the 

344 
A Shuttle to Fit the Budget 

LO2/ LH:! Low Cost Configuration 

(15x 60 Cargo Bay) 

IlOft 

82 25 ft 

Orbiter Dry Weight 148klb 

Tank Dry Weight 48klb 

Gross Weight (Gen 1) 1034klb 

Orbiter concept of September 1, 1971, which foreshadowed the Shuttle that NASA would 

build. (North American Rockwell) 

LO:! / LH2Orbiter vs. LH:! 

(15x 60 ft Cargo Bay) 

202n 

Shrinkage of the shuttle orbiter. Planforms compare the sizes of the fully-reusable orbiter with 

internal tankage; the orbiter with internal LO, and with LH, in external tanks; and the final 

orbiter, with all propellants carried externally. (North American Rockwell) 

345 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

MSC-037, singling out this design as the one to pursue. An artist’s rendering 

showed an orbiter closely resembling the one that NASA would build. 

Eleven days later, NASA formally instructed its contractors to adopt a 

variant, the MSC-040, and to use it as a basis for comparison within their 

ongoing st~dies.~ 

The Booster: Confusion and Doubt 

In contrast to the rapid convergence of the orbiter designs, the booster studies 

fell into disarray. The initial points of reference lay in the Phase B booster 

concepts of McDonnell Douglas and North American Rockwell. Both contractors proposed vehicles somewhat larger than a Boeing 747, and weighing 

some five times as much when fueled. The North American concept had two 

dozen engines: 12 SSMEs and 12 jet engines, the latter serving during flyback 

to the launch site. McDonnell Douglas’s booster, only slightly less ambitious, 

was to use a dozen SSMEs as well, with ten turbojets. 

The North American orbiter had featured a primary structure and skin of 

titanium, with tiles providing most of the thermal protection. The booster 

design was more eclectic. Its front section, which enclosed the crew compartment, had frames and skin of Ren6 41, a nickel-chromium alloy that 

contained cobalt and molybdenum. Though it was strong and oxidation-resistant, it was hard to fabricate. Wings, vertical fin and canards, small 

forward-mounted winglets used for control, all were of titanium. The fuselage 

and its tankage were largely of aluminum. 

Then came the thermal protection, which avoided the use of tiles in favor 

of hot structures. The designers might have simplified matters by specifying 

the wide use of tiles, as on the orbiter. Tiles, however, were in their infancy and 

North American had to show that it also understood the design of hot structures. As usual, bare titanium skin sufficed for the upper surfaces of the wings 

and fuselage. The underside, nose and forward fuselage, however, were a metallurgist’s delight-or nightmare. The wing leading edges would use coated 

columbium. Large surface areas would rely on the alloys Ren6 41 and Haynes 

188, which were exotic mixtures of nickel, cobalt, chromium, tungsten, and 

9. Jenkins, Space Shuttle, pp. 107-116; Hallion, Hypersonic, pp. 1018, 1048-1068;Reports SV 71-40 (North 

Amencan Rockwell); (Grumman); LMSC A-995931 (Lockheed), Section 1, Intenm Reporr (McDonnell 

Douglas). 

346 
A Shuttle to Fit the Budget 

445" 

2,160' 

T \ 2,450\'2.1;F 

'650" 

1,780" 

1.800° 2,210" 1.850" 

'1,660" 

1-J Titanium Rene 41 

Inconel718 HS 188Steel 

Reinforced Carbon-Carbon Coated Columbium 

Temperaturesin Degrees Fahrenheit 

Thermalprotection on the North American booster. (North Americm Rockwell) 

347 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECZSZON 

molybdenum. Because these metals would expand when hot, designers proposed to build the thermal protection in the form of shells, free to slide over 

the underlying strucfxre. On paper, at least, the shells would not come loose. 

Such a design certainly was not in keeping with the preferences of Max 

Faget, who always sought the most conservative approach. It was an engineering efflorescence to match the economic efflorescence of the 

cost-benefit studies at Mathematica, and was likely to raise just as many eyebrows. Moreover, it showed that the exuberance of 1969, when Tom Paine 

wanted to go to Mars, was still alive. By contrast, much engineering experience is summed up in the acronym KISS: Keep It Simple, Stupid. This is 

what John Yardley's designers had done at McDonnell Douglas, in crafting 

their own booster concept. 

One can describe it succinctly: aluminum primary structure throughout, 

including wings, canards, and tail, with tiles of varying thickness to provide the 

thermal protection. Though metallic shingles would protect the leading edges, 

they would see use only in the limited areas where tiles would fail to suffice." 

These design exercises gave both contractors the opportunity to conduct 

detailed investigations using a range of approaches: hot structures, aluminum 

and titanium primary structures, tiles, and metallic thermal protection. 

Neither contractor offered anything so simple as an aluminum orbiter protected with tiles, though McDonnell Douglas used this approach in its booster. 

Despite their complexities, however, the concepts were not obviously infeasible, and some people believed they could actually be built. 

Along came the Grumman design studies, which put the orbiter's liquid 

hydrogen in external tanks and lowered the booster's staging velocity from 

9,750 to 7,000 fdsec. Boeing, which had built the first stage of the Saturn V, 

was teamed with Grumman and had responsibility for the booster. Its engineers determined that this reduction in velocity would bring a 

disproportionate reduction in the size and weight of the booster, which now 

would require much less propellant. In addition to this, the lower velocity 

meant that the booster would be much closer to the launch site when it 

released the orbiter and began its return. Being closer, it would need less fuel 

for its jet engines, further reducing its size. The upshot was that whereas the 

IO. Brady and Clauser,Materials, pp 241, 272, Lynch, Handbook, pp 552, 822, Avrarion Week,January 18, 

1971, p. 37; June 7, 1971, pp. 55-61; AIAA Papers 71-804.71-805; Reports LE 71-7, SD 71-114-1 (North 

American Rockwell); MDC E0308 (McDonnell Douglas) 

348 
A Shuttle to Fit the Budget 

fully-reusable orbiter’s booster would have a dry weight of 798,500 pounds, 

the new orbiter would cut this booster weight to 494,900 pounds. 

Better still, the lower staging velocity virtually eliminated the need for 

thermal protection. The booster now would need neither tiles nor exotic 

metals. Instead, it would use its structure as a heat sink, just as with the X-15. 

During reentry, it would experience a sharp but brief pulse of heat, which a 

conventional aircraft structure could accept and absorb without exceeding 

temperature limits. Hot areas would continue to demand a titanium hot structure, which would cover some one-eighth of the booster. The rest of this 

vehicle, however, would make considerable use of aluminum. 

How could bare aluminum, without thermal protection, serve in a shuttle booster? It was common understanding that aluminum airframes would 

lose strength due to aerodynamic h,eating at speeds beyond Mach 2; higher 

speeds required titanium, with its greater temperature resistance. These principles, however, dealt with aircraft in cruise, which would face their 

temperatures continually. The Boeing booster would reenter at Mach 7. Its 

thermal environment, however, would resemble a fire that does not burn 

your hand when you whisk it through quickly. Across part of the underside, 

the vehicle would protect itself by the simple method of using metal with 

more than usual thickness, to cope with the heat. Even these areas would be 

limited, with the contractors noting that “the materia1 gauges [thicknesses] 

required for strength exceed the minimum heat sink gauges over the majority of the vehicle.”” 

In 1954, amid the early feasibility studies that led to the X-15, investigators found, to their pleasant surprise, that they could follow standard aircraft 

design practice in crafting this research airplane. As a bonus, they also discovered that its metal skin, designed for strength rather than for heat 

resistance, nevertheless would have enough thickness to serve effectively as a 

heat sink. Now, in 1971, engineers at Boeing were learning that their booster 

could offer the same bonus, while providing the convenience of aluminum, 

the most familiar of metals and the easiest to use. 

When McDonnell Douglas went further, introducing an external-tank 

orbiter that lowered the staging velocity to 6200 ft/sec, its engineers designed 

a winged booster that was 82 percent aluminum heat sink. Though these 

1 I. Report B35-43 RP-I 1 (Grumman);Aviuriun Week, July 12, 1971, pp. 36-39 

349 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

designers could have lowered the staging velocity still further, by putting 

more propellant in the orbiter’s tanks, their selected configuration brought the 

largest savings in the weight of thermal protection.‘2 

Unfortunately, while the move to external tankage brought a welcome 

reduction in peak annual funding, it took NASA less than one-third of the distance from the $2.2 billion peak funding of the fully-reusables to the $1 

billion of the OMB. This move had addressed the easiest part of the problem; 

the rest of the solution would prove considerably more elusive. 

The next step came during June 1971, as the new NASA Administrator, 

James Fletcher, embraced what his agency had previously rejected: a phased 

approach to shuttle development. This called for the extensive use of interim 

systems that would make it possible to build and fly an initial shuttle orbiter, 

with development of the final systems being delayed for several years. Such 

an approach would be wasteful, for the interim arrangements would cost 

money and yet would serve merely as a stopgap. Phased development also 

carried political risks, for in Washington, few things are so permanent as a 

temporary solution. If NASA could get any kind of shuttle into space, even 

one of interim design, it might face strong opposition and long delays before 

it could win permission to build the shuttle it truly wanted. A phased 

approach, however, would spread the program over a term of years, reducing 

the all-important peak funding level. 

Eletcher had formally taken over his office on May 1. On June 16, in his 

first major decision, he made an announcement: 

The preferred configuration which is emerging from these studies is a twostage delta wing reusable system in which the orbiter has external tanks that 

can be jettisoned. 

Although our studies to date have mostly been based on a concurrent 

approach in which development and testing of both the orbiter and booster 

stages would proceed at the same time, we have been studying in parallel, the 

idea of sequencing the development, test and verijication of critical new technology features of the system. We now believe a “phased approach” is 

feasible and may offer significant advantages.I3 

12. Report MDC E0376-1 (McDonnell Douglas). 

13. Fletcher, statement, June 16, 1971;Aviation Week, June 21, 1971,p. 19; June 28, 1971, p. 16; Gomersall 

and Wilcox, Working Paper. 

350 
A Shuttle to Fit the Budget 

The SSME represented a potentially important element of this approach. 

It had been slated to receive early attention and funding, for it was to power 

both Shuttle stages. Its development therefore would pace the entire program. 

An alternative engine did exist: Rocketdyne’s J-2s was an uprated variant of 

the J-2 engine used in Apollo. It would lack the performance of the SSME, 

while delivering considerably less thrust. A cluster of these engines nevertheless would push a shuttle orbiter into space, though with a greatly reduced 

payload weight. Also, use of the J-2s would permit a delay (potentially a long 

one) in proceeding with the SSME. Indeed, Max Faget was already incorporating the J-2s in a number of his orbiter de~igns.’~ 

Most of the cuts in peak funding, however, would come by putting off 

plans to develop a fully-reusable booster, even one of smaller size and simplified design such as one of the new heat-sink versions. NASA instead would 

fly its orbiter atop an existing rocket stage such as the S-IC, the first stage of 

the Saturn V. By delaying development of a fully-reusable booster for three 

years, the agency could cut the peak funding to $1.3 billion per year. This 

would represent a reduction of nearly a billion dollars from the proposed peak 

funding levels of the Phase B studies, and would put NASA within hailing 

distance of the OMB requirement. 

While the move to external orbiter tankage represented ingenuity, 

Fletcher’s decision amounted to desperation. Dale Myers, the Associate 

Administrator for Manned Space Flight, admitted to Aviation Week that 

phased development might prove to be impractical. Fletcher himself wrote a 

letter to a leading shuttle critic, the space scientist James Van Allen: “The 

political cards are so heavily stacked against this pro gram... that no opposition from the scientific community is necessary. I think you are shooting at 

a dead horse.”15 

Nevertheless, the prospect of an interim booster spurred hope among the 

contractors that had products ready to offer. Boeing’s situation now was 

advantageous, for that company’s S-IC was the only immediately-available 

stage with the power to carry a full-size shuttle orbiter. For Boeing, NASA’s 

new interest in that stage also represented a reversal of fortune. Only a few 

months earlier, the fm was looking ahead to an imminent shutdown of its 

14. Rocketdyne,Expendable Launch Vehicle Engines; Jenkins, Space Shuttle, pp. 110, 113-1 15. 

15. Letter, Fletcher to Van Allen, July 12, 1971; Aviation Week,June 21, 1971, p. 19. 

35 1 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

shuttle orbiter 

IC used as an 

rim first stage. 

(Grumman) 

Saturn production facility. Now it could cherish the hope that production of 

this rocket stage might continue after all. 

Martin Marietta was also in the picture. This firm had actively promoted 

the Titan 111-M, in an era when NASA had been willing to consider a small 

shuttle orbiter that would amount to an enlarged Dyna-Soar. Though the company had done little of significance for the Shuttle after 1969, now, in 

mid- 197 1, it came forward with a new concept, the Titan 111-L (“large”). This 

would use a new liquid-fueled core with a diameter of 16 feet, compared to 

10 feet for the standard Titan III,and with up to six solid-fuel boosters of 120- 

inch diameter. 

David LeVine, Martin’s vice president for launch vehicles, noted that the 

solid boosters were already in production at United Technology Corp., and 

could readily be lengthened to yield more thrust. Though the core would be 

352 
A Shuttle to Fit the Budget 

new, it too would use existing engines from Aerojet General. Though the 

Titan 111-L would be expendable, it would cost no more than $30 million per 

launch, compared to $73 million for the S-IC. The Shuttle orbiter riding atop 

the new Titan would certainly not resemble Dyna-Soar; it would be a full-size 

orbiter, carrying up to 65,000 pounds of payload.I6 

The principal builders of solid rocket motors-Thiokol, Aerojet, United 

Technology, Lockheed Propulsion Co.-were prepared to make a pitch for 

their own units as well, arguing that suitable clusters could also provide a 

good interim shuttle booster. A few years earlier, these firms had built and 

test-fired rockets with diameters of 156 and even 260 inches. This technology 

had subsequentIy been set aside as having no immediate application. Now, 

however, with the Shuttle needing an interim booster, these big solid motors 

might see their day. 

A fourth approach came from NASA Marshall: the pressure-fed expendable booster. It amounted to reinventing the liquid-fueled rocket, using 

approaches selected for their simplicity. Conventional rocket stages used 

structures of thin-gauge aluminum that saved weight. Their engines relied on 

turbopumps that pumped the propellants to high pressures, with the engines 

operating under internal pressures that were similarly high. Such engines 

offered good performance and strong thrust from compact and lightweight 

units. The turbopumps, however, were costly and difficult to develop, and at 

times were prone to failure. 

Marshall’s new concept did away with the turbopumps, relying on gas 

pressure within the propellant tanks to push the fuel and oxidizer into the 

engines. Though these engines would have to be of new design, their lack of 

turbopumps would greatly ease the problem of development. They would be 

larger and heavier than their pump-fed counterparts and would give less performance. Moreover, the booster would gain weight, for it would require heavy 

thick-walled tanks to contain the pressure. Though this approach was inelegant, flying in the face of the quest for high performance that marked the 

SSME, it offered one more route toward reducing the peak annual fUnding.l7 

This plethora of possibilities reflected the use of external orbiter tankage, 

which reduced the staging velocity and made it easier for a booster to do its 

16. Aviation Week, June 28, 1971, p. 16; July 12, 1971, p 38; August 2, 1971, pp. 40-41, Report MCR-71-309 

(MartinMarietta). 

17. Jenluns,Space Shuttle, pp. 122-123; Aviation Week,June 28, 1971, p. 16 

353 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Inboard Profile 

Series Burn-Pressure Fed Booster 

Interstage I Jacketed 

Separation 1 Fuel Feed 

Plane , Duct 

Nose Cone 

Reinforced 

for Water 

Impact 

Catalytic

Pressurization 

Gas Gen 

Hydrazine

Pressurant LOX Pressurant Shield and 

Storage Gas Storage Engine Mount 

Plane 

Engine Stowed with 

Engine Cover Deployed 

Recowerabk pressure-fed booster.’ (McDonnell Douglas) 

job. This diversity of boosters meant that there now was no clear reason to 

choose any of them. The wide range of alternatives recalled the era of the late 

196Qs, when a hundred flowers had bloomed and when neither NASA nor the 

Air Force had yet developed a convincing idea of how a shuttle should look. 

Though the contractors might have helped by settling on a preferred type 

of booster, this happened only in part. Early in September, North American 

declared that all of them appeared acceptable, and recommended deferring a 

choice. Grumman also found little reason to prefer any of them-but noted 

that within an interim program of 30 flights or fewer, the S-IC, built by its 

partner Boeing, would offer lower costs because it was already in hand and 

would not demand up-front spending for development. Lockheed gave the 

nod to a cluster of 156-inch solid boosters. McDonnell Douglas did the same, 

but also had nice words for the Titan III-L.18 

Having thoroughly muddied the waters with these expendable boosters, 

NASA officials proceeded to do an about-face as they learned that they might 

indeed build a reusable booster after all. This happened as further studies of 

external-tank orbiters showed that they could cut the staging velocity to 5,000 

18 Reports SV 71-40(No& American Rockwell); LMSC-A995931 (Lockheed); B35-43 Rp-21 (Gntmman), 

Inrerim Repon (McDonnell Douglas). 

354 
A Shuttle to Fit the Budget 

NoseDoor Pivot 

ACPS Pitch Thrusters (6) 

ACPSYav~Thrusters(8) 

Hydraulic Reservoir (4) 

Cruciform Vortex Baffle 

Lower Rudder Actuators (4) 

Mid Tank Umbilical 

(LOX Fill and Drain) 

Winged S-IC stage. (Boeing) 

and even below 4,000 ft/sec. This further enhanced the prospects for reducing 

the booster size and easing the problem of its thermal protection. 

Though it lacked wings, the pressure-fed booster became a candidate for 

reusability because its thick aluminum skin would easily serve as a heat sink. 

This same robust skin would allow the vehicle to come down by parachute and 

land in the ocean, surviving the impact and the subsequent perils of the sea. It 

would enter the water 200 miles offshore; a boat would then bring it back. No 

355 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

one was prepared to describe this as graceful; with this form of makeshift 

added to those of its design, the concept was unofficially called the Big Dumb 

Booster. Such dumbness seemed, however, to promise a new path to wisdom. 

A more elegant reusable booster concept came from Boeing, which 

proposed to remodel its S-IC by turning it into a big airplane. It would receive 

wings, a tail, a nose with a flight deck, and 10jet engines for the return to its 

launch site. Though the standard S-IC had never been built for reentry and 

reuse, thermal protection would not be a problem; modest thickenings of its 

aluminum skin now would provide heat sink. To emphasize its near-term 

feasibility, Boeing’s technical artists presented top and side views in lavish 

detail, even specifying the location of the onboard power units and the choice 

of tires for the landing gear. At a time when NASA still expected to defer 

building a flyback booster for several years, one member of the study team 

emphasized that “our proposal is the reusable booster.” 

By late September, NASA was ready to abandon phased development, 

returning to the original plan of simultaneously building the booster and orbiter. 

The booster would be either the winged S-IC that used standard F-1 engines,or 

the Big Dumb Booster with pressure-fed propulsion. In turn, the orbiter would 

use phased technology. It would have a full-size payload bay, but would use 

four J-2s engines; the SSME program would go on the shelf. For thermal protection, the orbiter would rely on an ablative heat shield, even though this would 

demand costly replacement after every flight. In time, however, the SSME 

could be resurrected for use in an upgraded orbiter. This orbiter would also use 

tiles or hot structures, as reusable and low-cost thermal protection. 

The development costs and peak annual funding for the complete Shuttle, 

in billions of dollars, now looked highly en~ouraging:’~ 

Pressure-Fed Reusable Winged S-IC 

Development Peak Development Peak 

Grumman $4.08 !$ 1.02 $4.5 $ 1.11 

North American 5.12 0.94 5.79 1.21 

McDonnell Douglas 5.16 0.81 7.51 1.30 

Lockheed (Not given) 4.41 0.99 

19 Aviation Week, September 20, 1971, pp. 16-17; October 11, 1971, p. 23; October 25, 1971, pp. 12-13, 

ReportsLMSC-A995931 (Lockheed);MDC E-0497 (McDoimell Douglas); B35-43 W-30 (Grumman); SV 

7 1-50 (North American Rockwell); Bullistic Recoverable (Boeing) 

356 
A Shuttle to Fit the Budget 

These costs compared with estimates prepared by the Aerospace Corp. for a 

two-stage fully-reusable shuttle: development, $9.92 billion, with a peak of 

$2.34 billion.20 The pressure-fed booster yielded a development cost less than 

half that value, with a peak comfortably under the OMB ceiling of $1 billion. 

The winged S-IC was only slightly more costly, and it preserved all the operational advantages of the fully-reusable boosters of Phase B, on which NASA 

had placed so much hope. 

The new booster concepts did even more, for they addressed major technical deficiencies of the Phase B boosters. Thermal protection had appeared 

particularly difficult, at a time when tiles were too new to trust. Charles 

Donlan, the Shuttle program director, put it this way: 

Phase B was the first really extensive effort to put together studies related to 

the completely reusable vehicle. As we went along, it became increasingly 

evident that there were some problems. You had to develop two hypersonic 

aircrafl configurations, simultaneously. The engine problem was compromised. Trying to use common engines made them not optimized for either 

case. We ran into a problem of pilot escape from the booster in the event of 

an abort. We never could quitefigure out what to do about it. And then as we 

looked at the development problems, they became pretty expensive. 

We learned also that the metallic heat shield, of which the wings were to 

be made, was by no means ready for use. The slightest scratch and you are in 

trouble. It became increasingly evident that you want to have the cheapest 

possible configuration, but you put all this time and effort on a vehicle, the 

biggest part of which (the jrst stage), its only role was to get the orbiter up 

high enough for it tofly itselJ:So here you’re spending all this effort on a part 

of the system that had no basic pay08 The important thing is the orbiterthat is the pay08 

So you see, it was easy to say, “Why do we break our necks putting 

twelve engines in this damn big reusable booster? You cannot get the pilots 

away, the metallic heat shield is going to give you all kinds of problems, to 

do it with ablative stuff makes it too heavy; drop it entirely. That started the 

ball rolling into other types of boostersfor the orbitel: 

20. Morgenstem and Heiss,Analysis, May 31, 1971, p. 0-15. 

357 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

The merits of an aluminum heat-sink booster appeared stronger yet when 

one recalls that the most plausible Phase B alternative, which used hot structures in the fashion of the North American Rockwell design, amounted to 

covering much of the surface of a craft the size of a Boeing 747 with alloys 

that had previously seen use only in turbine blades. By comparison, the simplicity of aluminum heat sink was overwhelming. It was as much as to say 

that instead of attempting to leap with one swoop into the metallurgy and 

launch vehicle design of the twenty-first century, engineers instead could 

build the booster using design methods that dated to World War 11. 

The Phase B work had also pointed to demanding issues of safety. To 

reduce weight to a minimum, the internal tanks had to carry part of the 

Shuttle’s weights and loads. The resulting stresses would tend to produce 

leaks. Hydrogen leaks are difficult to detect, raising the prospect that hydrogen could build up beneath the skin of an orbiter, to produce a damaging fire 

or explosion. External tankage solved this problem, at least for the orbiter. A 

leak of propellant now might indeed be detected, since it would occur in plain 

view. The leak would also be far less dangerous, for the propellant would waft 

away on the winds rather than build up to form a dangerous concentration. 

The Phase B shuttles also promised severe difficulty in technical development. Airplanes and spacecraft, as a rule, tend to gain weight in the course 

of development. A two-stage shuttle could accommodate such weight growth 

by enlarging the tanks, to allow them to carry more propellant. With the tankage being internal in both stages, this would demand extensive redesign of 

one or both stages-which would introduce opportunities for further weight 

growth. External tankage addressed this problem as well. A simple lengthening of the tanks would do, leaving both booster and orbiter untouched.” 

It thus appeared that in mere months, NASA had scored an impressive 

coup, addressing these technical issues while simultaneously meeting the 

OMB’s cost limits. As with the Mathematica study, however, OMB officials 

again found reason aplenty to view this work with skepticism. 

The new configurations closely suited NASA’s institutional arrangements, 

which dated to the time of Apollo. Those arrangements had given NASA 

Marshall responsibility for the Saturn launch vehicles and their engines, with 

21. John Mauer interview, Charles Donlan, Washington, October 19, 1983, pp. 19-20; Loftus et al., Evolution, 

pp. 15-18. 

358 
A Shuttle to Fit the Budget 

the Manned Spacecraft Center holding responsibility for the Apollo moonship, 

with its piloted spacecraft and lunar lander. This division of authority had carried over to the Shuttle, with Marshall in charge of the booster and MSC 

dealing with the orbiter. The Shuttle certainly needed an orbiter; hence MSC’s 

prospects were clear. It was less obvious, however, that the Shuttle needed a 

booster, particularly if it was to be complex and costly. At Mathematica, Klaus 

Heiss had managed the Shuttle studies and now was recommending simplified 

designs within NASA. He met resistance, and as he told the NationaZ Journal, 

“For a long time some people over there kept seriously telling us, ‘We can’t go 

that route, because we’ve got to have something for the Marshall Space Center 

as well as something for the Houston Space Center.”’22 

NASA Marshall had taken shape as a reflected image of Wernher von 

Braun, its founder and longtime director. He and his fellow veterans of the 

wartimeV-2 effort, who still held senior positions, had long since nailed their 

flag to the mast of liquid-fuel rocketry, and had left the development of large 

solid rockets to the Air Force. The recent Shuttle studies reflected this strong 

Marshall preference. Thus, early in September, the prospect had emerged that 

the Shuttle might use a cluster of 156-inch solids as its booster. Lockheed and 

McDonnell Douglas had both made outright selections of this choice, while 

North American and Grumman had found no reason to reject it. 

NASA thus had a clear opportunity to seek a phased-development program with these solids as the interim booster. Instead, in a directive dated 

September 12, 1971, NASA had instructed its contractors to set aside their 

studies of phased development and to return to assessments of concurrent 

development, using two new reusable booster concepts: the pressure-fed and 

the winged S-IC. Both had NASA Marshall written all over them. Of course, 

Marshall was the world’s leading center for rocket development; its voice 

would certainly be heard. NASA’s decision, however, had amounted to a 

peremptory dismissal of solids. The results of the new studies were a little too 

good to be true.23 

The winged S-IC, for one, promised the fully-reusable booster of NASA’s 

hopes. Its shuttle would do nearly everything that the Phase B fully reusables 

were to accomplish, with a billion dollars less in peak annual funding. Yet 

22. National Journal, August 12, 1972, p. 1299 

23. NASA Tech. Directive GAC-3, September 16, 1971; Reports B35-43 W-28 (Grumman), p. 11, SV 71-50 

(North American Rockwell), pp 2, 3,s. 

359 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

because this booster was to grow out of the standard S-IC and would use the 

F-l engine, it would continue to demand work aplenty from both Marshall 

and its contractors. The budget analysts at OMB had been trained to spot flimflam. They had reason for doubt when they saw that in an astonishingly brief 

time, NASA had succeeded in devising a new shuttle design with a flyback 

booster that would make the agency’s wishes come true-while still purporting to meet the cost goals of the OMB. 

Projected cost savings also raised questions, for they seemed disproportionately large when contrasted with the relatively modest engineering 

changes that had led to the shuttle with the winged S-IC. Were the Phase B 

cost estimates valid? They were certainly high, and if NASA could receive 

largesse on such a scale, it could continue to maintain itself in the style to 

which it had become accustomed. On the other hand, one could equally question the low estimates of the recent exercises. Lockheed’s invited particular 

scrutiny, for it was the lowest-and its peak level, interestingly, was just a hair 

under the OMB mark of $1 billion. Everyone knew that Lockheed had won 

the C-5A contract with an unrealistically low bid; everyone also knew that the 

man who had presided over that bid, Dan Haughton, was now the firm’s 

chairman. Was Lockheed attempting again to buy in? Were the other contractors very far behind? 

Even if one cared to accept everyone’s cost estimates as reflecting good 

faith, the trend of these estimates invited further questions. On its face, this 

trend meant that in only six months, NASA had cut the planned cost of development in half, from $10 billion to $5 billion, while sacrificing little in the 

Shuttle’s capability. These cuts had been won at a price, for the cost per flight 

was now on the rise-while still remaining low enough, at least in the published estimates, to make the Shuttle attractive to users. Still, it was 

appropriate to ask if NASA had any other rabbits it might pull from a hat. 

Thus, late in November two OMB staff members, Daniel Taft and the economist John Sullivan, sent a memo to Donald Rice, an OMB assistant director: 

In the light of the innovative Shuttle designs which have been forthcoming 

over the past several months, we believe that the best procedure would be to 

provide NASA with a constraint in terms of total investment cost (say, $3-4B) 

rather than have us try to define a preferred conjiguration. If NASA’s 

resourcejklness to date in changing the Shuttle’s design is any guide, we have 

360 
A Shuttle to Fit the Budget 

not yet begun to see what they could achieve ifthey really tried to optimize a 

systemfor $3-4 B.24 

Rice’s domain included the Economics, Science, and Technology 

Programs Division, which covered NASA. He reported directly to the OMB 

deputy director, Caspar Weinberger. Rice also had noted that NASA’s recent 

exercises in redesign had brought the Shuttle very close to what NASA had 

wanted originally. Four years later, he noted particularly that NASA’s basic 

assumptions had seemed to be set in concrete: 

I guess what sticks in my mind more than anything else about it was the difficulty of getting any solid attention paid to alternative designs. I don’t mean 

alternative in the technical detail sense, but alternative in terms of mission 

requirements and why that mattered. How hard it was to get an examination 

of alternative specijications of what you would like to accomplish, and the 

systems designs that reasonably derived from that will lead to each different 

specijicationof what you wanted to do. 

He added that within the Pentagon, “they do a hell of a lot better job of 

looking through the alternatives before they head down one of those 

Even so, there had been change within the Shuttle program, at least in 

terms of its engineering design. The two-stage fully reusables were dead, and 

Charles Donlan would not miss them, later declaring, “It wasn’t till the phase 

B’s came along and we had a hard look at the reality of what we meant by 

fully reusable that we shook our heads saying, ‘No way you’re going to build 

this thing in this century.’ As I say, ‘Thank God for all the pressures that were 

brought to bear to not go that route.”’26 

The winged S-IC soon would die as well, for it appeared more costly than 

the pressure-fed reusable booster. That one might look and fly like an ugly 

duckling, but it was a graceful swan in the realm of budgets, and would survive into the next round of designs. This round would resurrect the 

solid-propellant booster, and would determine the shape of the Shuttle in the 

form that would actually be built. 

24. Memo, Taft and Sullivan to Rice, November 29, 1971. 

25. John Logsdon interview, Donald Rice, November 13, 1975, p. 1. 

26. John Mauer interview, Charles Donlan, Washington, October 19, 1983, pp. 23-24. 

361 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

End Game in the Shuttle Debate 

Within the internal debates of the Executive Branch, the end game, during the 

second half of 197 1 had much in common with the opening gambits of early 

1969. Those gambits had featured opposition to NASA’s plans from the 

Budget Bureau, along with the high-level review panel of Charles Townes that 

had recommended much less than Tom Paine had hoped to pursue. Now, two 

and a half years later, a similar review would introduce a concept for a minishuttle that would win support from NASA’s critics-and that this agency 

could not accept. 

Congress was not a significant player within these debates, as it remained 

generally supportive. The flurry of design changes, in the wake of Phase B, did 

not dent this support. Congressman Don Fuqua, a leader within the House space 

committee, notes that these changes initially produced “great consternation” 

among his colleagues: 

We had just finished defending one configuration on thefloor and then suddenly they announced they were going to change it. Tiger Teague got the top 

brass from NASA over here and raked them over the coals. 

We all wanted to know how long they had known they were going to 

change and how much of this kind of thing was going on behind the committee’s back. They explained the reasons behind the changes, and everybody 

calmed down. After that, though events moved pretty fast, they did try to keep 

us reasonably well informed.” 

The President’s Science Advisory Committee, however, wanted its own 

sources of information. Nixon’s first science advisor, Lee DuBridge, had 

retired in August 1970, citing his wish to step down “well in advance of my 

70th birthday in 1971.” His successor, Edward David, had been executive 

director of communications research at Bell Labs. David inherited the existing staff of the Office of Science and Technology. Within this staff, Russell 

Drew soon proposed that a new PSAC panel should review the Shuttle’s 

prospects and offer views on how NASA should proceed. Daniel Taft, an 

OMB stdffer with responsibility for the NASA budget, warmly endorsed this 

review and urged his management to support it as well. 

21. National Journal, August 12, 1972, p. 1294. 

362 
A Shuttle to Fit the Budget 

The resulting panel took shape in mid-1971, with its chairman being 

Alexander Flax, president of the Institute for Defense Analyses, a Pentagon 

think tank. In July, at the outset, Rice presented David with a list of questions 

he hoped that Flax would address. The first meeting of this Flax Committee 

was a three-day affair in mid-August, at Woods Hole, Massachusetts, far from 

the heat and humidity of Washington, with Martha’s Vineyard visible across 

the ocean. The group proceeded to meet about once a month, holding discussions with NASA officials and Shuttle contractors. During the summer and 

autumn, as these meetings proceeded, NASA replayed anew its familiar struggle with the OMB.” 

On June 16, when Fletcher announced that he was extending the ongoing contractor studies to consider phased development, he had formally 

advised the OMB of this in a letter. A month later, in mid-July, Daniel Taft 

drafted a letter of reply for Don Rice, which asked NASA to “identify an 

orbiter with minimum performance characteristics.” These would include 

low crossrange, along with substantial reductions in payload size and weight. 

Rice’s letter urged Fletcher to place emphasis on “defining approaches which 

will substantially reduce the overall investment cost” of the Shuttle, citing a 

number of design approaches that would cover “the full range of alternatives.” Rice, however, did not have to cite a preferred configuration that the 

OMB would support. 

On August 2 the OMB deputy director, Caspar Weinberger, sent a letter 

to Fletcher that set forth budgetary ceilings for use in preparation of NASA’s 

budget request for FY 1973, which was due at the end of September: 

The planning ceilings established for your agency for the 1973 budget are: 

(in millions) 

Net budget authority .......................... $2,835 

Net outlays ................................. $2,975 

The above figures provide the basis for developing your 1973 budget 

submission. The Presidents budget decisions require that you submit your 

28. Science, August 28, 1970, pp 843-844, September 18, 1970, p. 1185; October 23, 1970, pp. 417-419; 

MutiurzalJounzaZ,August 12, 1972, p 1295; memo, Taft to Young,January22, 1971; letters, hce to David, 

July 14, 1971; David to Fletcher, July 26, 1971, memo, Drew to PSAC Space Shuttle panel members, 

August 4, 1971; Myers, Memo for Record, August 19, 1971; NASA, “Documentation of the Space Shuttle 

Decision Process,” February 4, 1972. 

363 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

budget at or below thosefigures. [Emphasis in original] .... It should also be 

understood that subsequent developments may necessitate reducing these 

planning ceiling amounts; thus, there is no assurance that yourjnal budget 

allowance will remain at this level. 

These budget marks, if enacted, would represent a further and substantial 

cut from recent levels: $3,268.7 million appropriated in FY 1971,$3,298 million in FY 1972.With such a budget, NASA certainly would not be able to 

start the Shuttle during the upcoming fiscal year.29 

Weinberger was well aware of this. He also knew that these budget marks 

reflected staff recommendations that had reached his desk by making their way 

upward through the OMB chain of command. He was willing to listen to 

Fletcher’s viewpoint as well, and three days later he met with Fletcher and with 

JohnYoung, the head of OMB’s Economics, Science, and Technology Programs 

Division. In notes from that meeting, Fletcher presented several conclusions: 

1. Come in with budget that meets spec. 

2. Present several alternatives (incl. shuttle) which bring us back to 

3.2 outlay & maybe 3.27 authority. 

3. Cap...didn’t realize manned would be out of business if we made no 

new starts a la shuttle. Jack Young concurred. 

When Weinberger heard that a $2.8-billion budget would mean the end of 

piloted space flight, he suggested that NASA might be able to stay at the FY 

1972 level. On August 12, he wrote a memorandum to Nixon: 

Present tentative plans call for mjor reductions or change in NASA, by eliminating the last two Apollo flights (16 and 17),and eliminating or sharply 

reducing the balance of the Manned Space Program (Skylab and Space 

Shuttle} and many remaining NASA programs. 

I believe this would be a mistake. 

1. The real reason for sharp reductions in the NASA budget is that NASA 

is entirely in the 28% ofthe budget that is controllable. In short we cut it 

29. NASA SP-4012, vol. ID, p. 12; letter, Fletcher to Rice, June 16, 1971, memo, Taft to Rice, July 15, 1971, 

letter,hce to Fletcher,July 20, 1971; letter, Weinberger to Fletcher, August 2, 1971. 

364 
A Shuttle to Fit the Budget 

Caspur Weinberger with Nixon. (NationalArchives) 

because it is cuttable, not because it is doing a bad job or an unnecessary 

one. 

2. We are being driven, by the uncontrollable items, to spend more and 

more on programs that offer no real hope for the future: Model Cities, OEO, 

Welfare, interest on the National Debt, unemployment compensation, 

Medicare, etc. Of course, some of these have to be continued, in one form or 

another, but essentially they are programs, not of our choice, designed to 

repair mistakes of the past, not of our making. 

3. We do need to reduce the budget, in my opinion, but we should not 

make all our reduction decisions on the basis of what is reducible, rather 

than on the merits of individual programs. 

4. There is real merit to the future of NASA, and its proposed programs. 

The Space Shuttle and NERVAparticularly ofer the opportunity, among other 

things, to secure substantial scientific fall-out for the civilian economy at the 

same time that large numbers of valuable (and hard-to-employ-elsewhere) 

scientists and engineers are kept at work on projects that increase our knowl365 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

edge ofspace, our ability to develop for lower cost space exploration, travel, 

and to secure, through NERVA, twice the existing propulsion efJiciency forour 

rockets. 

He warned against canceling Apollo 16 and 17, noting that such action ... 

...would have a very bad effect, coming so soon after Apollo 15’s triumph. It 

would be conjrming, in some respects, a belief that 1fear is gaining credence 

at home and abroad: That our best years are behind us, that we are turning 

inward, reducing our defense commitments, and voluntarily starting to give 

up our super-power status, and our desire to maintain our world superioriq. 

America should be able to aford something besides increased welfare, 

programs to repair our cities, or Appalachian relief and the like .... 

7.I believe 1can find enough reductions in other programs to pay for continuing NASA at generally the $3.3 - $3.4 billion level I propose here. This 

figure is about $400 - $500 million more than the present planning targets. 

Here was a milestone. For the first time since the heyday of Apollo, 

NASA now had an advocate who had real clout within the budget and policymaking process. What was more, Weinberger’s memo brought a response, 

as Nixon read it and wrote in the margin, “I agree with Cap.”30 

By mid-August George Low, the deputy NASA administrator, had reason 

to believe that piloted flight might survive, if only at a bare-bones level. He 

wrote, “My own view is that we might be able to bring the 1973 budget back 

to the 1972 level, but that our chances of bringing it above that level are essentiaIly nonexistent.’’ The. 1972 budget had been too small to launch the Shuttle 

as a new start, and if future budgets would continue at that level, a shuttle 

would be out of the question. Taking the bull by the horns, he added that in 

this situation, “we should drop the Shuttle right now”: 

My view is that we should assume that this is a permanent situation, that we 

should drop the shuttle, and that we come up with a new manned spaceflight 

program. In my view, this program should be based on an evolutionary space 

30. Fletcher, meeting notes, August 5, 1971; Weinberger, Memorandum for the President, August 12, 1971. 

Reprinted in part in NASA SP-4407, volume1, pp. 546-547. For Nixon’s comment see attachment to memo, 

Huntsman to Shultz, September 13, 1971. 

366 
A Shuttle to Fit the Budget 

station development, leading from Skylab through a series of research and 

applications modules to a distant goal of a permanent space station .... The 

transportation system for this manned spaceflight program would consist of 

Apollo hardwarefor Skylab; a glider launched on an expendable booster for 

the research and applications modules; and finally, the shuttle but delayed 5 

to 10 years beyond our present thinking. The new element in this plan is the 

expendable booster-launched glidel: The whole program ties together in that 

none of it is dead-ended. The glider would be both an up and down logistics 

systemfor the research and applications modules, and, at the same time, lead 

toward the development of a shuftle in the future. 

The glider would lack engines; it thus would resemble, once again, an 

enlarged Dyna-Soar. Martin Marietta had advocated such vehicles as recently 

as 1969; now, with its proposed Titan 111-L, it had a launch vehicle suited to 

this task. Low’s notes amounted to admitting that with piloted flight in 

extremis, this glider might form the basis of a fallback position that NASA 

might accept if continued budget reductions were to force the agency to abandon its plans for a Shuttle. 

Two days later, in a review of Shuttle configurations and alternatives, 

Low described the glider more fully: 

The glider itself would look somewhat like the shuttle, but would be 

smallel: It would carry a payload of 12feet by 40feet and a payload weight of 

about 30,000pounds. It would have suficient propulsion for on-orbit maneuvering but would not have the engines or propellant tanks required to propel 

itself into orbit. It would make use of current technology in avionics and other 

on-board systems. The glider would be placed into orbit with a two-stage vehicle of the Titan IIIL class. The glider and its payload would be reusable but 

both booster stages would be expended. The requirement for a 153-by 60ft., 

65,000-lb. payload, could be met with the same expendable launch vehicle.3‘ 

Needless to say, this was not an approach that NASA would embrace 

willingly. The agency was still a gung ho outfit, deeply engaged even at that 

31. Low, Personal Notes No. 52, August 15, 1971; Low, “Space Transportation System Planning,” August 17, 

1971. 

367 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

moment in sending astronauts to the Moon, and its senior officials were not 

about to go back to Dyna-Soar if they could avoid it. Dale Myers, head of the 

Office of Manned Space Flight, wrote a memo to Low in which he scoffed at 

the glider, declaring that its advocates wanted no more than to send an astronaut “‘whirling about the Earth’ with no evident use for him in space. In the 

meantime, these people can get back to doing things as they do them now, 

with various sized ballistic systems, a relatively constant budget, and a relatively ‘status quo’ sort of operation.” 

LeRoy Day, deputy director of the Shuttle program, would criticize the 

glider more pointedly: 

You had to put this thing on top of an enormous booster which you had to 

throw away each time. And so you had an operating cost that was getting to 

be kind of ridiculous. The vehicle size and everything-it didn’t have much 

utility. It was kind of a demonstration. It would certainly have been a 

research vehicle that you could have studied re-entry with. When you got all 

through with that then you would have said, “Gee, that would be nice if it was 

big enough to really do something.” Then you would have to turn around and 

build another vehicle. And with the way the budget climate looked, we were 

pretty sure that we’d be shut out. We’d never be able to say, “Okay, now let’s 

start up a real program and build another one that will be an enlarged version and have more capability..” The OMB and Congress would never support 

it; it would be like two different programs, and we said, “That’11 be the death 

of it for sure.”32 

Then in mid-September, just when it counted, George Shultz, director of 

the OMB, received a staff memo: 

The President read with interest and agreed with MI: Weinberger’s memorandum of August 12, 1971 on the subject of the fiture of NASA. 

Furthel; the President approved MI: Weinberger’s plan to find enough 

reductions in other programs to pay for continuing NASA at generally the 

3.3-3.4 billion dollar level, or about 400 to 500 million more than the present planning targets. 

32. Memo, Myers to Low,September 29, 1971; John Mater interview, Leroy Day, October 17, 1983, p. 29. 

368 
A Shuttle to Fit the Budget 

Significantly, this approval did not embrace the Space Shuttle itself. Low 

writes that during the next two weeks, “Fletcher and I debated whether we 

should not forego the Shuttle entirely and develop instead some alternative 

manned space flight program.” Late in September, however, in presenting 

NASA’s formal budget request for FY 1973, Fletcher screwed his courage to 

the sticking point and indeed sought funds for a Shuttle. 

This budget request took the form of a 13-page letter to Shultz. Fletcher 

stated, “My minimum recommended program requires budgetary authority of 

$3,385 million and outlays of $3,225 million for FY 1973.” He placed the 

Space Shuttle at the top of his agenda, and asked for funding of $228 million: 

$200 million for research and development, and $28 million for facilities. 

Three weeks later, in a follow-up letter to Weinberger, he emphasized the 

Shuttle anew: 

Space shuttle development should be started no later than the summer of 

1972 [emphasis in original]. Our studies have led to a shuttle concept that 

minimizes peak finding requirements, and at the same time drastically 

reduces development cost required for the first manned orbital flight. Yet this 

concept still leads to a productive space transportation system to meet the 

needs of US. civilian and military space programs.33 

Fletcher, however, was not the only one with ideas on how to build a 

piloted spacecraft. Within the Flax Committee, reviewing the Shuttle program 

on behalf of the White House, a member named Eugene Fubini had taken a 

leading role. He had been the Pentagon’s deputy director of research and engineering, and he had willingly met with the same officials of Martin Marietta 

who had been recommending the Titan 111-L and its glider in lieu of a true 

Space Shuttle. 

Influenced by Fubini, Flax sent an interim report to Edward David on 

October 19. This report presented a set of alternatives in which the glider, far 

from ranking lower than the least acceptable form of piloted space vehicle, 

was actually the most ambitious option that the Flax Committee was willing 

to endorse. Moreover, the committee’s glider would carry only 10,000pounds 

33. Memo, Huntsman to Shultz, September 13, 1971; letter, Fletcher to Shultz, September 30, 1971; Low, 

Personal Notes No. 55, October 2, 1971; letter, Fletcher to Weinberger, October 19, 1971. 

369 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

of payload, one-third as much as the version hesitantly considered by NASA’s 

George Low. 

What could be less ambitious than this glider? There was the possibility 

of modifying Apollo spacecraft to make them refurbishable and continuing to 

fly them using the existing Saturn I-B, on rare occasions. Another option 

called for developing the Titan 111-M and its Big Gemini, a variant of this 

existing spacecraft that would grow to carry as many as nine people. Such 

alternatives might keep piloted space flight alive-but it would resemble a 

patient on life support. 

Flax’s report also addressed the subject of shuttle economics. He dealt 

specifically with NASA’s preferred concept, which called for concurrent 

development of booster and orbiter, with the orbiter using phased technology. 

People described this orbiter as “Mark mark 11,” referring to an initial version that would later be upgraded with SSME engines, reusable thermal 

protection, and advanced onboard electronics. 

NASA’s estimated cost per flight was $9.0 million for Mark I, falling to 

$5.5 million for the improved Mark 11. Significantly, and like the OMB, Flax 

did not challenge these estimates. He merely denied that they promised 

advantage. As his report stated, 

Considering all of the technological and operational unknowns involved in 

the shuttle development and the fact that no vehicles of similar finction have 

ever been designed before or have ever operated over the range of flight 

regimes required for the shuttle, prudent extrapolation of prior experience 

would indicate that estimated development costs may be 30 to 50percent on 

the low side. Thus, the estimates of $6.5 billion in RDT&P4 for the Mk I.Mk 

I1 shuttle program may range between $8.5 to $10 billion, reflecting 

increased program costs of $2.5 to $3.5 billion. Similar uncertainties must be 

considered to apply to other non-recurring costs such as production and 

facilities (amounting to about $4 billion). Thus a possible cost uncertainty of 

about $5 billionfor total program costs might be envisioned giving a high 

estimate of total non-recurring cost of about $15 billion. 

At a launch rate of about 40per year (000,NASA and other) over the 

13 years used in the NASA cost model and an average payload cost of $30 

34. Cost of development:Research, Development, Test and Engineering. 

370 
A Shuttle to Fit the Budget 

million (not unrepresentative of the mix of current unmanned payloads), the 

total payload costs would be $15.5 billion. Thus, even [f the total payload 

cost were saved (including those launched to Mars, Venus, etc.) over a 13- 

year period by recovery and reuse at zero refurbishment cost, it would, in the 

case of the high-end cost estimate, barely offset the cost of the shuttle program without discounting. A more realistic (although probably generous) 

estimate of the savings possible through payload recovery might be 50 percent of payload costs which could account for only $7.5 billion. 

The other area of savings which is offered by the shuttle is its launch 

cost. Average launch cost with current expendable boosters is $12 million 

(projected into the 1978-90 era in the NASA cost model). Thus, with current 

expendable boosters, the annual launch cost will be $500 million. The cost 

of Mk II shuttle operation perflight is usually cited at $5.5 million: thus the 

costfor 4Oflightsper year will be $220 million. The saving of $280 million 

annually for 13 years amounts to $3.6 billion. Howevel; a doubling of the 

operational cost would reduce the saving to $60 million annually or $780 

million.... 

The operating cost estimates of $5.5 million per flight for the shuttle, 

within narrow limits, must be considered to be a very rough estimate at this 

time, particularly for the early years of shuttle operation. The actual value 

will depend upon the time between overhaul of equipment not yet designed, 

refurbishabilityof thermal protection system materials not yet out of the laboratory, and on the feasibility of operating in the shuttle in an “airline” 

mode radically different from all past experience in space operation^.^^ 

These few paragraphs delivered a body blow to the Shuttle’s economic 

prospects, for although their conclusions were highly unfavorable, they actually carried a strong bias infavor of the Shuttle. This was because this analysis 

used current or undiscounted dollars. The Mathematica study had moved 

heaven and earth to try to justify the Shuttle in dollars discounted at ten percent 

per year, and members of the Flax Committee had little use for that study’s 

findings. In the words of a committee staff member, “No one believed all the 

fancy economics and no one believed the mission model. I think they were on 

35. Note, Frank Williams tovon Braun, August 23, 1971; Low, Personal Notes No 56, October 17, 1971; letter, 

Flax to David, October t9, 1971. 

37 1 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

hemp when they were talking about sixty flights per year.” Yet it had seemed 

easy to show that the Shuttle could be cost-effective in undiscounted money. 

Now, however, Flax was saying that the Space Shuttle would fail this test 

as well. NASA might have moved mountains to try to cut the Shuttle’s cost of 

development, but the complete nonrecurring cost, taking account of a plausible overrun, could easily approach $15 billion. The undiscounted savings, 

with a reasonable mission model and an optimistic cost per flight, would 

barely top $1 1 billion and could be less. The OMB economist John Sullivan, 

who had made shuttle studies his specialty, summarized the matter within a 

memo to Don Rice: “A Shuttle cannot be justified when using cost-effectiveness as the criterion.” 

Nevertheless, no one wanted to shut down the piloted-flight effort. In 

early October, Low wrote of a meeting with the OMB’s John Young: 

I took Jack Young to lunch about a week ago, largely because I had heard 

that he was the one most negative toward manned spaceflight within OMB. 

During our discussions, he agreed that the manned space program and the 

unmanned planetary programs were the big swing factors in the NASA 

budget. He indicated, however, that he understood that only the level of 

manned spaceflight was in question and not whether to have a manned 

space flight program at all. He agreed that the President would not, and 

could not, stop the nation’s manned spaceflight effort.% 

Yet if piloted space flight was to involve more than infrequent missions 

in which astronauts would show the flag, then NASA would need help, and in 

a hurry. The help came from Mathematica, which now gave a strong endorsement to a preferred shuttle configuration. 

TAOS:A New Alte~~a~ve 

The Mathematica analysis of May 3I, 1971, had drawn criticism because it 

had dealt only with the two-stage fully-reusable approach of Phase B, paying 

no heed to design alternatives. Yet a comparison of such alternatives, on eco36. Memo, Sullivan to Rice, October 19, 1971; Low, Personal Notes No. 55, October 2, 1971; John Logsdon 

interview, Dave Elliot, p. 3. 

372 
A Shuttle to Fit the Budget 

nomic grounds, promised insights that even the Flax Committee was willing 

to pursue. Flax’s interim report stated that while direct cost-benefit analysis 

lacked “sufficient credibility to serve as a primary basis for deciding to undertake such an expensive and high-risk program,” economic comparisons “are 

undoubtedly extremely valuable in making cost tradeoffs and in considering 

alternatives in design and program planning.” 

In studying such alternatives, designers traded reduction in development 

cost against an increase in cost per flight. This tradeoff had to stay within 

bounds; if the cost per flight was too high, the Shuttle would fail to capture 

traffic from existing expendables. Yet the Mark I orbiter, as discussed in 

Flax’s report, would cost $9 million per flight, comfortably under the $12 

million of expendables. This was enough of a margin to give this design a 

strong advantage. 

Klaus Heiss, who was continuing to direct the Mathematica studies, was 

not in a position to introduce new design concepts of his own. Instead he proceeded by receiving the contractors’ concepts, comparing them using 

methods of economics. As he pursued such comparisons, he concluded that 

NASA had not pushed its tradeoffs far enough. The opportunity existed to 

push the cost per flight as high as $10 million, in exchange for a further 

reduction in development cost and in peak annual funding. Even at $10 million per flight, all but five percent of the Shuttle’s planned missions would 

remain cost-effective when compared with similar missions using expendable launch vehicles. 

Heiss saw that a specific class of Shuttle designs would do this. He called 

this class TAOS (Thrust Assisted Orbiter Shuttle). It would use a standard 

orbiter, possibly of the Mark mark I1 type, with an external tank large enough 

to permit the orbiter’s engines to operate with “parallel staging,” burning from 

liftoff to orbit. Two booster rockets would flank this tank, giving added thrust 

after liftoff, then falling away at staging velocity. The boosters might use pressure-fed liquid-fuel engines. Alternately, they could use solid propellant. 

“If you could go to $10 million,” Heiss later told National Jour-nul, “then 

some kind of thrust-assisted orbiter shuttle beat out all other systems. It had 

the lowest development costs of any system capable of sustaining continuous 

manned flight.”37 

37. Letter, Flax to David, October 19, 1971, p. 6; National Journal, August 12, 1972, pp 1298-1299 

373 
THE SPACE SHUPLE DECISION 

b 

-? 6

f

" I 1 k 

$ 1 a!2

e'? 

Jr & 1 s t to 

Sketch made by George Low in 1979, illustrating the trade-off between cost per flight and 

dewelopment cost. (Drawing by George Low courtesy ofJohn Logsdon) 

Such designs already existed. McDonnell Douglas had one called RATO, 

Rocket Assisted Take-Off. It put the orbiter's propellants in two external tanks, 

with a 180-inch solid rocket mounted to the belly. Crumm had TAHO, 

Thrust Assisted Hydrogen-Oxygen, with a single external tank flanked by twin 

pressure-fed liquid boosters. This background meant that key NASA contractors already had people who had introduced TAOS concepts and had studied 

some of their engineering issues. 

For TAOS, the 260-inch solid motor would not do. It would be difficult 

to develop, hard to handle due to its enormous size, and yet it would offer no 

374 
A Shuttle to Fit the Budget 

Example of TAOS. Grummn concept of a shuttle with a single large solid-propellant booster 

and propellants in external tankage. McDonnell Douglas had a similar concept called RAT0 

(Rocket Assisted Take-Off} . (Grummn) 

cost advantage. The TAOS approach, however, specifically included the 

selected Shuttle configuration of 1972, with twin solids, smaller in size, for 

the booster. Ironically, this specific configuration appears to have originated 

within the Institute for Defense Analyses, the think tank whose president, 

Alexander Flax, was challenging NASA’s approaches so effectively. 

The IDA had close ties to the Air Force, which had been using solid 

boosters for years on the Titan 111, and NASA’s Charles Donlan gives credit 

for the twin-solid TAOS to two IDA staffers, Reinald Finke and George 

Brady. In 1986, Donlan declared that “Brady came up with the configuration 

that’s almost identical” to the one that NASA built. “And so a year or so ago, 

375 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

I recommended that NASA give him one of their awards, when they were recognizing Shuttle contributors.” 

During 1971, however, TAOS had a strong disadvantage: those booster 

rockets, whether with liquid or solid propellant, would be unpiloted. NASA 

still was pinning its hopes on a piloted booster, quite possibly the winged SIC, and its officials paid little heed to Heiss’s proposals. Heiss hew why: “In 

the first place, there was the irresistible urge to go for the most advanced 

design and technology possible. And then there was a deep-seated bureaucratic bias for two manned vehicles.” There also were the institutional 

prerogatives of NASA Marshall, which might accept pressure-fed liquid 

boosters in a pinch, but had little background in solids. The OMB’s Don Rice 

would note that NASA “pushed so hard for the liquid fuel thing in the first 

place, because it was hard to find something for Marshall to do. A reason to 

keep Marshall around if they didn’t have one of those big booster development programs 

Heiss nevertheless pressed the case for TAOS within NASA, working 

with Robert Lindley, the director of engineering and operations within the 

Office of Manned Space Flight. Lindley had carried out initial cost-benefit 

studies of the Shuttle, as an in-house NASA effort, and had worked closely 

with Heiss when Mathematica pursued its subsequent efforts. Heiss would 

describe Lindley as “one of the few people over there to grasp clearly the real 

economic and design tradeoffs.” 

Through September and October, Heiss and Lindley exhorted McDonneIl 

Douglas and Grumman to include TAOS designs in their presentations to 

NASA. Says Heiss, however, “some NASA officials kept telling them to 

forget it, the configuration had no chance.” As late as October 15, in a presentation to the Flax Committee, NASA failed to include TAOS. Toward the 

end of the month, Heiss adds, “we thought the whole program was on a catastrophic course.” 

“There were still many people in NASA who believed they could sell the 

Administration an $8-billion to $10-billion two-stage flyback system,” which 

might be even more ambitious than the phased-technology orbiter with winged 

S-IC. “At the other end of the spectrum, the OST [White House Office of 

38. Report B35-43 Rp-28 (Grumman); Interim Report (McDonnelI Douglas), pp. 13,25; John Maner interview, 

Charles Donlan, October 19, 1983, pp. 28-29; John Lngsdon interview, Donald Rice, November 13, 1975, 

p. 2, Narional Journal, August 12, 1912, p. 1299. 

376 
A Shuttle to Fit the Budget 

,--- 24~116 Tank 

-26xl18Tank 

26.5x 155.8Tank 

1 

F-1 Powered Pressure Fed Twin Pressure Fed 

Booster concepts of autumn 1971, with a winged S-IC at left. Configuration at right is a 

TAOS. All three alternatives were to boost the same orbiter, which would carry all its propel* 

Iant in a single expendable tank. (McDonnell Dough) 

Science and Technology] and OMB seemed to be drawing back toward some 

kind of advanced expendable system,” based on the Titan 111-L or the even less 

capable Titan 111-M. A major shuttle design review loomed during November, 

and in Heiss’s words, “We decided to try and get to Fletcher.” 

Heiss and his boss, Oskar Morgenstern, wrote a 15-page report that called 

strongly for TAOS. Under standard procedures, they would have submitted it 

through channels; senior officials with axes to grind could have sat on it or 

downplayed it before the report could reach the policymaking level. Instead, 

Heiss and Morgenstern sent it to Fletcher directly. “Those who say 

Mathematica was a kept child of NASA really don’t know what they’re talking about,” Donlan later said. “Morgenstern was nobody’s kept child. In fact, 

we had no way of controlling what he did.’’39 

The conclusions of his report dealt not only with the Shuttle but addressed 

the Space Tug, a reusable rocket stage intended to carry spacecraft to and 

from high orbit: 

39. Nationnl Journal, August 12,1972, p. 1299; John Mauer interview, Charles Donlan, October 19, 1983, p. 28. 

377 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

The TAOS concept foregoes the development of a Two Stage Shuttle System. 

With the use of thrust assists of either solid rocket motors or high pressure feed 

systems-which can be made in part reusable for low staging velocities-the 

TAOS concepts promise a reduction of the non-recurring costs (RDT&E and 

initial fleet investment) from about $9 billion or more (two stage systems, 

including reusable S-IC) to about $6 billion or less, with a minimal operating 

cost increase, if any, in the operating phase of the TAOS system. 

The detailed economic justifications of the TAOS concept-when compared to any two stage reusable system are: 

I. The non-recurring costs of TAOS are estimated by industry to be $6 

billion or less over the period to 1979 or to 1984-85, depending on 

the objectives and choices of NASA. 

2. The risks in the TAOS development are in balance lower but still 

substantial. Intact abort with external hydrogen and oxygen tanks is 

feasible; lagging performance in the engine area can be made up by 

added external tank capacity. A large reusable manned booster is 

not needed. 

3. The TAOS 's that were analyzed promise the same capabilities as the 

original two stage shuttle, including a 40,000 pound liji capability 

into polar orbit and a 60 x 15feet payload bay. 

4. The TAOS can carry the Space Tug and capture high energy missions from 1979 on. 

5. The most economic TAOS would use the advanced orbiter engines 

immediately. Our calculations indicate that among the alternative 

TAOS configurations an early full operational capability (i.e., high 

pegormance engines on the orbiter) is economically most advantageous, and feasible, within budget constraints of $1 billion peak 

finding. 

6. The TAOS can use J-2s engines on the orbiter for an interim period. 

7. The TAOS abolishes completely the immediate need to decide on a 

reusable booster and allows postponement of that decision without 

blocking later transition to that system if still desired. Thereby, 

TAOS eliminates or lowers the risk and potential cost overruns in 

booster development. 

8. The TAOS can use '"parallel burn" concepts, which, iffeasible, may 

change the reusable booster decision. 

378 
A Shuttle to Fit the Budget 

9. Technological progress may make tank costs, and thrust assisted 

rocket costs less expensive, thus further aiding TAOS concepts when 

compared to two stage concepts. 

10. TAOS assures NASA an early program definition, and a purpose to 

the agency. An agreement on TAOS will allow NASA Headquarters 

a quick and clear reorganization of major NASA centers to meet the 

TAOS development requirements economically. 

11. The TAOSfunding schedule makes an early Space Tug development 

possible. The Space Tug is an important part of the Space Shuttle 

System. A 1979 Space Tug should recover its complete development 

costs before 1985 even with the stretched build up of Space Shuttle 

missionsfrom 1979 to 1985. 

12. A clear policy on TAOS development will give an incentive to 

European countries to undertake and fund the Space Tug development-thereby possibly even eliminating Space Tug funding from 

NASA budget considerations. 

13. The cost per launch of TAOS can be as low as $6 million or even less 

on an incremental cost basis, with reuse of parts of the thrust iassist 

rockets (either SRM orpressure-jied). With Point 9 realized, the costs 

of TAOS would practically match the costs per launch of the two 

stage fully reusable system. 

14. TAOS practically assures NASA of a reusable space transportation 

system with major objectives achieved.4Q 

Like Grumman a few months earlier, Mathematica, with Point 13, was 

not above assuring Fletcher that he might have his cake and eat it too. This 

low cost per flight indeed might be attained-but only if it proved possible 

to dunk a pressure-fed booster into the Atlantic and fish it out none the worse 

for wear, ready for refurbishment and reuse at minimal cost. Contractor studies, however, soon supported Mathematica’s high hopes, showing that TAOS 

indeed offered low cost-and that solid boosters promised costs that were 

lower still:41 

40. Heiss and Morgenstern, Factors Reprinted in NASA SP-4407,vol. I, pp.549-555. 

41. Reports MDC E0497 (McDonnell Douglas), p. 1-23; B35-43 W-30 (Grumman), pp. 2, 17 

379 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Coacept Development Peak annual cost per 

cost 

$B 

funding 

$B 

flight

$M 

Grumman: 

twin pressure-fed 4.02 0.97 8.2 

McDonnell Douglas: 

twin pressure-fed 4.83 0.74 6.4 

McDonnell Douglas: 

twin solid motors 4.34 0.71 9.9 

TAOS did not take NASA by storm. Its design concepts were already part 

of the mix of alternatives; they had merely been languishing for want of attention. TAOS, however, proved highly useful as it provided a fallback concept, 

less costly than the winged S-IC, which NASA would adopt as it continued to 

yield to pressure from the OMB. 

A Time to Decide 

For NASA, it was time to have the OMB fish or cut bait. Fletcher had submitted his budget request on September 30, with a line item of $228 million 

to initiate Shuttle development. This NASA request was one of many budget 

proposals from federal agencies and cabinet departments; the OMB would 

modify them and then assemble them into the President’s budget, which 

would go to Congress early in 1972. An early milestone in this budget 

process, the Director’s Review, included a session titled “Space and General 

Research.” Weinberger ran those reviews in 197 1. They represented meetings 

at which OMB staff would recommend actions on agencies’ requests, with 

Weinberger being free to respond. Following standard rules, NASA officials 

would not be present. 

OMB staff members were well prepared for this session. A staff paper, 

prepared in early October, admitted that the use of a single pressure-fed 

booster would be more cost-effective than use of the winged S-IC. This represented a response to NASA’s booster alternatives of September; the 

pressure-fed option was a rocket stage of the usual type, and the Shuttle 

was not a TAOS. While this configuration looked better than the alternative, 

it still was not good enough. The paper concluded that the most cost-effective option of all, more so than any shuttle, was an uprated Titan I11 with 

Big Gemini. 

380 
A Shuttle to Fit the Budget 

By contrast, Fletcher wanted his shuttle and he wanted it very soon. In a 

letter to Weinberger of October 19, he pressed his point: 

The aerospace industry will be hurt by continuing indecision and firther 

delay in the shuttle program. Ajrm go-ahead, on the other hand, will quickly 

createjobs in the industry. 

It will not be possible to sustain the momentum now built up in the shuttle program much longer. A loss in momentum will have serious and costly 

consequences, and may even be irre~ersible.~~ 

It would not be possible to maintain the Shuttle effort indefinitely as an 

exercise in design study and analysis. The aerospace industry was set up to 

build, not to dither endlessly. Its preliminary-design groups, which had carried forward the Shuttle work to date, practiced a highly skilled and 

specialized trade. If their efforts were not to bear fruit, their companies would 

be weakened unless senior management could reassign these people to the 

preparation of other proposals. 

NASA’s Director’s Review session took place on October 22, and the OMB 

staff recommendation was blunt: cancel the Shuttle program. Staff members also 

proposed that if this was not feasible, the decision should be held off for another 

year, when the OMB would deal with the budget for Fry 1974. Weinberger was 

not eager to accept such options. Neither was he willing to flatly override his 

staff, even though this was his prerogative, and endorse NASA’s position. NASA 

wanted the Mark YMark II orbiter with winged S-IC booster, and Weinberger 

was interested in alternatives studied by the Flax Committee. 

That committee had held a key meeting only a week earlier, with the 

OMB staff economist John Sullivan attending as an observer, and Flax had 

reviewed shuttle alternatives only three days earlier, in his interim report to 

the White House’s Edward David. These alternatives included the glider. As 

Weinberger later described the meeting: 

The stafi in effect, decided they weren’t going to do it. The stafthen told me 

that, if we wanted to do it, it could be done less expensively. So I was 

42. Letters: Fletcher to Shultz, September 30, 1971; Fletcher to Weinberger, October 19, 1971; NASA, 

“Documentation of the Space Shuttle Decision,” February 4, 1972; Space Polrcy, May 1986, p. 112. 

381 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

delighted to hear that; and so they went back and worked with NASA to work 

out a diferent configuration. 

I could have cut it offat the Director’s Review and insist that we are 

going to do it the way NASA wants it. But the opportunity to do it at a lower 

cost on additional analysis appealed to me. I never had any doubt in my own 

mind but, one way or another, I wanted to do it. I thought it was the proper 

thing for the government to do at that time, and that we needed some forward-looking new activities geared toward the fiture instead of the past. 

With Solomonic precision, Weinberger then split the difference between 

the views of NASA and of his staff. He told Don Rice that some sort oi shuttle indeed would be approved; NASA would not have to settle for Big Gemini. 

Rice and his staff, however, would have a free hand to seek lower costs. If this 

meant that NASA would wind up with nothing more than the glider-well, no 

one in Washington expected the OMB to come forward as a bearer of 

NASA had some support on the White House staff, but its critics were 

both numerous and well-placed. In mid-November, George Low gave a summary view of the players that reflected the assessments of William Anders, a 

former astronaut who now was running the interagency National Aeronautics 

and Space Council: 

Weinberger:is a real space bu. The only one in OMB really positive toward 

the NASA program. Causes Rice to over-balance in the opposite direction. 

Everybody lower in OMB is negative. 

Rice: the most knowledgeable opposition comes from Rice. Feels that NASA is 

out of control; howevel; he will probably support a glider on a Tfl’ IIIL 

Ed David: was noticeably quiet, measuring his words, and repeatedly saying 

that he only represented science and that other factors are also involved. ... 

Not really plugged into the President. 

Flax: Fubini is really running the Flax Committee. Flax apparently states that 

no program as large as the Shuttle will gain continuing support. We need a 

less costly program ....Anders feels that Flax is driving David toward the 

glider and not vice versa. Anders believes David will support the Orbiter 

43. NASA, “Documentationof the Space Shuttle Decision,” February4, 1972; John Logsdon interview, Caspar 

Weinberger, San Francisco,August 23, 1977, pp. 5, 13; Space Policy, May 1986, p. 113; Science, May 30. 

1986, pp. 1102-1103. 

382 
A Shuttle to Fit the Budget 

with the parallel staged pressure-fed booster ifF1a.x so recommends. 

Whitehead.Whitehead could be helpful in making Flanigan a meaningjkl 

communications link to the President, which Anders believes Flanigan 

needs to be. Whitehead’s main motivation now is to improve the 

FletchedFlanigan communications link. Whitehead can be extremely helpful in selling the NASA desired Shuttle approach .... Believes in a $3.5 

billion NASA. 

Rose: is the California unemployment buff in the White House. Tries to be 

helpfil and sees Flanigan all the time. He defers to Whitehead when 

Whitehead is present. 

Flanigan: states that the Shuttle story is improving; however, he is by no 

means convinced that there should be a Shuttle. Is strongly influenced by 

Whitehead, Rose and David. . 

Peterson: is the most negative of all about NASA. Perhaps the most dangerous opposition we have within the White House. Believes the space 

program is the place to take money to stimulate technology. Asked why not 

take $1 billion out of space and who needs manned spaceflight. 

Ehrlichman: asked the question, “Given the public attitude on space, why 

not put the money in aeronautics?” However, he is very much concerned 

about the aerospace industry and will probably go along with whatever 

OMB/OST/Flanigan recommend.44 

These were not the scoundrels depicted in the subsequent bestseller on 

Watergate,All the President’s Men. Though skeptical, they were open to argument and perhaps even to persuasion, and it was up to Fletcher and Low to try 

to sway them. 

On November 22, Fletcher responded to a request from Jonathan Rose, a 

member of Flanigan’s staff, and sent him a 10-page paper that presented 

NASA’s case for the Shuttle. On that same day, Low addressed a request from 

Rice and offered his own paper, which gave a reply to Flax’s interim report 

of a month earlier. Flax had discussed a range of alternatives that included 

Big Gemini and a small glider. Low now gave his own range of alternatives, 

with each receiving a succinct description. Big Gemini was conspicuous by 

its absence, but in other respects, Low’s list covered the most important con44. Low, Memo for Record, November 15, 1971. 

383 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

figurations of 1971. 

At the high-cost end of this Iist were two-stage reusables, both the fullyreusables of Phase B and the variant with external hydrogen tanks on the orbiter. 

In the middle was the Mark mark 11orbiter with a single large tank carrying 

both propellants, and four choices of booster: winged S-IC, single pressure-fed 

first stage, TAOS with twin pressure-fed boosters, TAOS with twin solids. 

Anchoring the low-cost end was the Titan UI-L with a glider carrying payload 

of 30,000 pounds. Low recommended a version of TAOS: “The most promising candidate configuration today is the Mark Wark I1 orbiter with the 

parallel-staged pressure-fed booster,” with all engines burning at liftoff. 

Low also went to a meeting of the Flax Committee and drew a diagram 

on a blackboard, summarizing the points of this paper. Fletcher sent a copy to 

Edward David at the white House, with a cover letter: 

All of these configurations of the Shuttle can be developed for costs substantially below those we planned six months ago. We have progressed to the 

point where a decision to proceed with the shuttle in connection with the FY 

1973 budget process is definitely in order? 

Needless to say, the OMB staff had its own views of the matter. Low’s 

glider had a 12 x @foot payload bay; it was the lowest in his range of 

options, but was the most ambitious of OMB’s. On November 29, OMB 

staffers Daniel Taft and John Sullivan sent their own memo to Rice: 

Even a small (1O’x 20’)glider could capture all manned spaceflight trafic, 

e.g.: Space station visits and return to Earth (station modules could be 

launched unmanned by expendable rockets). 

Since the Shuttle is not an economic system under optimistic assumptions, 

the importance of whether or not all of the payload benefits are realized 

becomes less signiJicant. The important factors are really such considerations 

as national prestige, continuation of a manned space flight program, and 

advancement of technology. Any of the reusable vehicles discussed in this 

paper (even a 10’ by 20’glider) provide this type of intangible benejit. 

A 10’x20’glider would provide virtually the same intangible benefits as 

45 Memo, Fletcher to Rose, November 22, 1971; letters: Low to Rice, November 22, 1971; Fletcher lo David, 

November 24, 1971; Low, Personal Notes No. 59, November 28, 1971. 

384 
A Shuttle to Fit the Budget 

Space Shuttle Cost Comparison 

Glider 

Titan Ill-L 

Plus Second Stage 

- 30 000 Ib Payload 

12x40ft Bay 

Mark II Mark II Orbiter 

-with Flyback Booster 

-with Pressure Fed Booster 

-With Parallel-Staged Pressure Fed Booster 

-with Parallel-Staged Solid Rocket 

65 000 Ib Payload 65,000 Ib Payload 15 x 60 ft Bay 15 x 60 ft Bav 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 

DevelopmentCost -Billions 

Alternate concepts of November 1971,showing cost per fight and development cost. Compare 

with figure on page 374. (NASA) 

a 1.5’~60’orbiterfor less than half the investment cost. 

A 12 x 4O’glider or orbiter would provide more operational experience 

with larger payloads than would a IO’x 20’ and hence would make it easier 

to grow to a larger system should that later be desired.46 

The elements of a consensus now appeared to be at hand. Following Low’s 

presentation to the Flax Committee, its members felt that NASA had “finally 

come around to something reasonable’’-with the reasonable thing being the 

glider, not the TAOS booster and orbiter. Such a glider also appeared on the 

option Iists of both Low and the OMB staff. Within the White House, Flanigan 

met with two of the top executives of North American Rockwell. He told them 

that there definitely would be a Shuttle program, that the government was 

about ready to make the decision, but that some issues still had to be sorted out. 

Weinberger had already rejected Big Gemini; Low now argued against 

the glider. Lacking its own propulsion, it could not make use of designs such 

as TAOS to keep the cost per flight within bounds. Instead, a glider would 

46. Memo, Taft and Sullivan to Rice, November 29, 1971. 

385 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

require its own two-stage rocket, which would drive the cost per flight as high 

as $35 million. Low met with Rice, Whitehead, Rose, and Edward David, and 

wrote that “we demonstrated quite conclusively that a glider would not be 

cost-effective. Apparently, we also made considerable headway with all the 

glider advocates in convincing them of this point.” 

A moment of decision came on December 2, as the OMB sent Nixon a 

Memorandum for the President. It dealt with space policy, covering a range of 

issues. The memo included a two-page discussion of the Space Shuttle, and 

presented the OMB’s recommendation: “a smaller reduced cost version of a 

manned reusable Shuttle with an investment of $4-5 billion over the next eight 

years-less than one-half NASA’s original proposal.” With a stroke of his pen, 

Nixon would grant his consent: 

Approve Disapprove 

1. Initiate reduced-cost smaller 

Space Shuttle program ....................... 

2. Conduct Soviet docking mission. ............... 

3. Conduct other manned Earth-orbital missions ...... 

4. Apollo 16and 17 

Cancel both missions ........................ 

Cancel just Apollo 16 ........................ 

Reschedule Apollo 16 and fly both .............. 

For NASA, however, this Shuttle that would fit the budget amounted to 

a throwback to earlier years, when NASA had considered only its own needs 

and had not yet introduced the large payload capacity that the Air Force 

would demand. The new shuttle would not be a glider; it would have its own 

propulsion. It would, however, carry only 30,000 pounds, in a 10 x 30-foot 

bay. It offered considerably less than the lowest-cost version of TAOS considered to date. 

For months, NASA’s senior administrators had been negotiating with the 

OMB, which time and again had pressed for less costly designs. These same 

administrators then had to turn around and act as an in-house version of 

OMB, pressing their engineering managers to pursue such designs. These 

managers operated at the working level; meetings with Weinberger or 

Flanigan took place far over their heads. They liked the two-stage fully 

386 
A Shuttle to Fit the Budget 

reusable Space Shuttle; they had nurtured it and did not want to give it up. 

Low and Myers thus had to put a good deal of effort into keeping their troops 

in line. 

This internal NASA debate, paralleling that between NASA and the 

OMB, brought such contretemps as Max Faget’s reluctance to accept Air 

Force requirements, the resistance that Heiss and Lindley encountered when 

they advocated TAOS, and insistence at NASA Marshall that the booster had 

to be liquid-fueled. The December 2 Space Shuttle, which the OMB proposed 

and Nixon endorsed a week later, fell outside the bounds of what NASA was 

willing to take. Fletcher, dealing with both the White House and the OMB, 

would promptly declare that it was ~nacceptable.4~ 

47. OMB, Memorandum for the President, December 2,1971;OMB, “Space Shuttle Program:’ December 10, 

1971;Low, Personal Notes No. 60, December 12, 1971,letter, Low to John Logsdon, January 23, 1979 

387 
388 
C APT NINE 

ixon’s Decislon 

Richard Nixon liked space flight. “1 can remember Nixon coming off a 

phone conversation with the astronauts,” John Ehrlichman recalls. 

And you know, they are up on the moon, and [Nixon was] as high as a kite. 

He got a big charge out of them. Then when the astronauts would come to the 

White House for dinner afterwards, he would always be enormously stimulated by contact with these folks. He liked heroes. He thought it was good for 

this country to have heroes. 

Like other presidents before and since, he basked in the reflected glory of 

spacefarers. When the crew of Apollo 11 returned from the first landing on the 

Moon, he was aboard the aircraft carrier USS Hornet to greet them. He then 

used this triumph to gain diplomatic advantage, for after hailing the achievement, he set out on a nine-day world tour that took him to capitals in 

Southeast Asia, India, Pakistan, and Europe. Significantly, he had planned this 

tour well in advance of the Apollo 11fight, anticipating its safe return. “The 

President had rather daringly pegged his trip to the success of this operation,” 

Tom Paine later remarked. 

Had he gone out to the Pac@c to be present at the splashdown and had there 

been some kind of an accident, it might have harmed considerably his ability then to have the successful trip, which was his first trip abroad as 

President. I was scared to death that we would have a fiasco or even a 

389 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

tragedy. We just wondered whether he knew the odds as well as we did. Well, 

fortunately Apollo 11 was a success, and in the ensuing world trip, everywhere the President went, the only thing about the United States that 

anybody wanted to talk about was of course the lunar landing.”‘ 

Yet while Nixon willingly embraced Apollo, which he had inherited from 

Lyndon Johnson, he took his time in committing the nation to new initiatives, 

whether in space or in other areas of technology. Between 1960 and 1980, 

such civilian initiatives were largely a province of Democrats: Kennedy and 

Johnson with Apollo and NASA, Jimmy Carter with his ambitious syntheticfuels program in the late 1970s. But when George Shultz presented Nixon 

with NASA’s plan for the space shuttle and urged him to accept it, he did. 

Nixon and Technology 

If Nixon had wished to emulate Kennedy by supporting a new push in space, 

he could have endorsed the September 1969 report of the Space Task Croup, 

with its recommended focus on a piloted mission to Mars. Nixon did no such 

thing. He did not even respond to this report in a timely fashion, waiting 

nearly six months before issuing his own statement on space policy. Nor did 

this statement come from a senior advisor such as Ehrlichman or Henry 

Kissinger. Instead, it was the work of two middle-ranking staffers, William 

Kriegsman and Clay Whitehead, who reported to Peter Flanigan. 

John Kennedy, while in the White House, had repeatedly spoken of space 

flight with the ring of a clarion call, and it is appropriate to note the contrast. 

Here is JFK, speaking at Rice University in September 1962: 

The exploration of space will go ahead whether we join in it or not, and it is 

one of the great adventures of all time, and no nation which expects to be the 

leader of other nations can expect to stay behind in this race for space. 

For the eyes of the world now look into space-to the moon and to the 

planets beyond-and we have vowed that we shall not see it governed by a 

hostileJaagof conquest, but by a banner offeedom and peace. 

1. Manchester, Glory,pp. 1159-1160 John Logsdon interview, John Ehrlichman, Santa Fe, May 6, 1983, pp. 

21.25-26; Eugene Emme interviews, Thomas Paine, Washington, August 3, 1970, pp. 27-28; September, 

1970, pp. 13-14. 

390 
Nixon 's Decision 

We set sail on this new sea because there is new knowledge to be gained 

and new rights to be won, and they must be won and used for the progress of 

all people. 

But why, some say, the moon? Why choose this as our goal? And they 

may well ask, why climb the highest mountain? Why, thirty-five years ago, jZy 

the Atlantic? Why does Rice play Texas? 

We choose to go to the moon! We choose to go to the moon in this decade, 

and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard. 

Because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies 

and skills. Because that challenge is one that we are willing to accept, one 

we are unwilling to postpone, and one we intend to win.2 

Similarly, here is Nixon in his statement of March 1970,which amounted 

to a most uncertain trumpet: 

Having completed that long stride into the future which has been our objectivefor the past decade, we now must define new goals which make sense for 

the Seventies. We must build on the successes of the past, always reaching out 

for new achievements. But we must also recognize that many critical problems here on this planet make high priority demands on our attention and our 

resources. By no means should we allow our space program to stagnate. 

But-with the entire future and the entire universe before us-we should not 

try to do everything at once. Our approach to space must continue to be 

bold-but it must also be balanced. ... 

We must realize that space activities will be apart of our livesfor the rest 

of time. We must think of them as part of a continuing process-one which 

will go on day in and day out, year in and year out-and not as a series of 

separate leaps, each requiring a massive concentration of energy and will 

and accomplished on a crash timetable .... We must also realize that space 

expenditures must take their proper place within a rigorous system of 

national priorities. 

The statement endorsed the activities that were under way at the moment 

or were well along in preparation: additional Apollo flights, Skylab, planetary 

2. New York Times,September 13, 1962, p. 16. 

391 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

missions, and Earth-orbiting spacecraft. It called for further moves toward 

international cooperation in space. It stopped, however, well short of endorsing the Space Shuttle: 

We should work to reduce substantially the cost of space operations [emphasis in original]. Our present rocket technology will provide a reliable launch 

capabilityfor some time. But as we build for the longer-range future, we must 

devise less costly and less complicated ways of transporting payloads into 

space. Such a capability-designed so that it will be suitable for a wide range 

of scient@, defense and commercial uses-can help us realize important 

economies in all aspects of our space program. We are currently examining 

in greater detail the feasibility of re-usable space shuttles as one way of 

achieving this objective. 

This paragraph amounted to a Nixonian blessing for the continued 

“examining” that would proceed during the next two years. The overall statement, however, endorsed only one new initiative: “Grand Tour,” a program 

that would take advantage of a rare alignment of the outer planets to visit 

Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune. Moreover, Nixon’s statement specifically supported his budget for FY 1971, which continued a policy of cuts in 

appropriations that dated to 1966.In 1970, NASA was still in retreat, and this 

statement underscored this march to the rear.3 

Yet amid this retreat, Nixon maintained strong support for his existing 

program, with the SST being a prime example. In Ehrlichman’s words, 

Nixon died very hard on the SST, and he had a commitment to that which had 

to do with chauvinism, I think, is the proper word. We had to be at the leading edge of this kind ofapplied technological development. And if we weren’t, 

then a great deal of national virtue was lost, and our standing in the world 

and all that. He was terribly troubled to go to an international conference 

and have the French president arrive in an SS1: That was why that was very 

hard on him. 

In an attempt to recoup, Nixon borrowed an idea of the Democrats: that 

the government should use the resources of aerospace to solve domestic 

3. Nixon, “Statement by the President,” March 7, 1970. Reprinted in Launius, NASA, pp. 216-221 

392 
Nixon ’s Decision 

problems. During the second half of 197 1, several of his senior advisors tried 

to launch an effort called the New Technology Opportunities Program 

(NTOP), which sought to define specific projects that might be ripe for federal support. The key man in this effort, William Magruder, had been Nixon’s 

head of the SST program. Ehrlichman recalls that Nixon gave an instruction: 

“Let’s keep in science and technology, and let’s find something good for 

Magruder to do.”4 

The activity began on July 1,when Ehrlichman sent letters to 15 agencies, 

asking for proposals. The responses went to the Office of Science and 

Technology, where Edward David’s staff carried out initial evaluations. Then 

in September, Nixon bypassed David as head of this program, even though 

David had come up within Bell Labs as a technologist, and even though his 

purview specifically included technology. In an action that effectively downgraded this side of David’s domain, Nixon named Magruder as head of NTOP. 

The OST staff continued its assessments, but Magruder broadened the review 

to include people from the Treasury Department and the Council of Economic 

Advisers. Magruder also worked with the OMB’s Donald Rice, who assigned 

a staff member, Hugh Loweth, to work full-time on budgetary aspects. 

The effort went forward under tight deadlines, for Ehrlichman wanted to 

have a finished set of proposals in hand by the end of 1971, in time for inclusion in the FY 1973 budget and the President’s State of the Union message. 

Magruder expanded his reach by seeking ideas from private industry, sending 

out hundreds of letters to corporations and trade associations. “We were continually in a crisis situation,” said one OST manager. “Toward the end, we were 

killing those guys in the OMB, hitting them with more and more proposals 

every day. Poor Hugh Loweth was working practically a 24-hour day.” 

The reviewers quickly discovered, however, that the prospective domestic 

initiatives carried difficulties that ranged well beyond the merely technical. One 

important proposal called for full-scale development of high-speed rail transportation in the Northeast, laying new rail and refurbishing passenger stations. 

The New York Central and Pennsylvania railroads, recently merged into the 

Penn Central, had allowed this service to deteriorate badly; the Penn Central had 

gone bankrupt in 1970. Yet its tracks and rights-of-way were still se~iceable.~ 

4 John Logsdon interview, John Ehrhchman, Santa Fe, May 6, 1983, pp. 2-4 

5. National Journal: October 23, 1971, pp. 21 14-2124; October 30, 1971, pp. 2156-2163; May 6, 1972, pp 

756-765; Audacity, Summer 1993, pp. 52-62. 

393 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECZSZOIV 

We pushed that pretty hard,” said Lawrence Goldmuntz, who directed the 

OST’s proposal evaluations. 

And who can argue that it shouldn’t be a high-priority item? But in analyzing that proposal the White House also had to take into account the fact that 

there are several thousand government jurisdictions involved, that the Penn 

Central is not the most popular railroad in the country today, that it might get 

athwart union work rules-and well, a number of complicated issues like this 

came up. 

Another proposal envisioned the development of two- way television, 

which would foreshadow today’s personal computers with e-mail. Two-way 

TV would allow individual citizens to communicate directly with city socialservice agencies, including health, welfare, and police-protection programs. 

“But we quickly got caught in a crossfire between the Corporation for Public 

Broadcasting, the Office of Telecommunications Policy, and the cable TV 

interests,” said Goldmuntz. “The policy questions were just too complex.” 

Another concept promised to develop integrated utilities, which would 

combine sewage and solid-waste disposal, power, heat, and light within a 

single system. Such systems, built as modules, offered major savings through 

lower fuel consumption, with the modules being installed in office towers and 

apartment buildings. Such integrated services, however, would have raised 

opposition from unionized municipal workers. 

Other proposals ran afoul of recent changes in the national mood. The 

Atomic Energy Commission had a long-running interest in peaceful uses of 

nuclear explosives. Its officials endorsed a demonstration project that would 

use multiple detonations to fracture impermeable rock formations that held 

natural gas. The concept gained high marks from Magruder’s reviewers; the 

AEC plan even seemed to promise commercial feasibility. However, 1972 

was an election year, and with environmentalists showing their strength, the 

Administration could not touch it. 

Still other proposals faced political opposition, such as a plan to build offshore terminals for deep-draft supertankers that drew too much water to enter 

conventional ports. Such terminals promised to cut shipping costs by eliminating the need to route the supertankers to the Caribbean, where they would 

transfer their cargoes of oil to smaller tankers of lesser draft. This proposal, 

394 
Nixon’s pecision 

however, faced strong opposition from governors of states in the Northeast, 

who feared oil spills. It also would have tended to push the White House 

toward endorsing expansion of oil imports, a policy that Nixon was reluctant 

to support. 

Four senior White House officials carried out the final review: John 

Ehrlichman, head of the Domestic Council; OMB director George Shultz; 

Peter Flanigan, special assistant to the President; and Peter Peterson, director 

of the Council on International Economic Policy. They declined to endorse any 

of Magruder’s proposals, and the main reason was that in the course of the 

NTOP exercise, key people had come to realize that they truly knew little about 

the process of technological innovation. By Christmas, NTOP was moribund. 

“We did think in the summer that we could do more and do it quickly,” said 

Peterson. “By December, we were. determined to go slow and keep our feet on 

the ground. I didn’t think we should jump into anything before we knew where 

we were going.” Edward David added that “one of the things many of us had 

driven home more clearly than before was that R and D is not the whole storyyou’ve got to take into account customs, mores, politics, existing structures, 

and a whole host of other things when you attack a technological issue.” 

Raymond Bisplinghoff, deputy director of the National Science Foundation, 

concluded that this exercise “verified that we do not know how to make major 

interventions by the federal government in the R and D sector.” 

It is a matter of record that as the NTOP fell, the Space Shuttle rose and 

won Nixon’s approval. The latter event, however, did not follow from the 

former. Edwin Harper, assistant director of the Domestic Council, told 

National Journal, “I was at all the relevant meetings and the two programs 

were never discussed in terms of a trade-off. The timing of the space-shuttle 

decision had an independent history.” Both NTOP and the shuttle had to stand 

on their respective merits; in the end, only the Shuttle survived the cut. 

NTOP nevertheless was important, for it represented a serious White 

House attempt to redirect the resources of aerospace toward new domestic 

priorities. When the attempt faltered, it soon became clear that Nixon would 

not try to help the beleaguered aerospace industry by having its people work 

on mass transit or pollution control. Instead, he would give them an electionyear gift by keeping that industry’s resources within the realm of aerospace.6 

6. National Journal, May 6, 1912,pp. 156-165. 

395 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISZON 

Space Shuttle: The Lust Moves 

In mid-November, three weeks after the Director’s Review and three weeks 

before the OMB would request Nixon’s approval for a downsized shuttle, 

Low wrote: “The shuttle configuration is beginning to be focused on a considerably smaller orbiter with external hydrogen and oxygen tanks (but with 

the same payload size and weight) and with a pressure-fed recoverable 

booster which might be parallel staged.” The use of a pressure-fed booster 

was an option dating to the studies of early summer; the possibility of parallel staging, with booster and orbiter engines all burning at liftoff, showed the 

influence of TAOS. On November 22, in his report to Rice, Low was more 

definite: “The most promising candidate configuration today is the Mark 

mark I1 orbiter with the parallel-staged pressure-fed booster.” 

Ten days later, the OMB’s Memorandum for the President acknowledged 

NASA’s recent design revisions but called on the agency to accept a version 

of the shuttle that would be less costly still: 

Last year NASA was proposing a $10-12 B Shuttle. In response to questions 

from OMB and OST about whether the benefits justiJied such a large investment, NASA has since designed a $6 B Shuttle which can do all the missions 

of the Eargel; more expensive one because it has exactly the same payload 

capability. (We think both costs are underestimated, perhaps by 50%, i.e., cost 

overruns are likely on both but more likely on the more expensive version.) 

In either case, NASA would plan to replace all of the US. expendable 

booster programs with the Shuttle. Thus, one program, the Shuttle, would 

dominate NASA for the coming decade, as did Apollo in the 1960’s. This 

would make efforts to reorient NASA to domestic pursuits more dificult, and 

tend to starve unmanned earth applications missions for resources. 

The Shuttle alternative that is chosen must balance costs, benejits and 

subjective considerations. 

What are the Options? NASA, NASA contractors, OST, PSAC and OMB 

have all given consideration to alternatives to NASA’s large Space Shuttle 

proposal. In summary these alternatives run the gamut from: 

- large systems with both reusable powered orbiters and boosters ($12 B) to 

- small systems with an unpowered reusable orbiter and a non-reusable 

launch vehicle ($3B). 

396 
Nixon's Decision 

A Parallel Burn 

Series vs. parallel burn. Series burn calls for conventional staging, with the orbiter engines 

ignitingfollowing cutoff of the first stage. Parallel burn ignites both booster and orbiter engines 

m'or to liftoff. TAOS concepts culled for parallel burn. (Thiokol) 

397 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Space Shuttle Booster Candidates 

Solid Rocket Motor Pressure Fed Liquid 

Nose Cone 

LNz 

LN2 Tank 

Nose Cone 

Thrust Termination 

Igniter 

LOX 

LOX Tank 

Pressurization 

Line 

Propellant 

lntertank Structure 

Pressure System 

He and NzH4 Tanks 

Insulation 

LOX Lines 

Case 

RP-1 

RP-I Tank 

AFT Skirt 

AFT Skirt 

Nozzle Thrust Chamber (7) 

TAOS alternatiwes: solid rocket motors and pressure-fed liquid boosters, to fly as strap-ons. 

(Thiokol) 

398 
Nixon ’s Decision 

3,900 Ibs 5,720 Ibs 10,200Ibs 33,000 Ibs 65,000 Ibs 

Delta 2914 Delta 3914 Atlas Centaur Titan Centaur Shuttle 

Expendable launch vehicles of the 1970s,intended for replacement by the Shuttle. (NASA) 

Operating costs vary from a high of $30 million per launch for the lowest 

investment cost option to a low of $5 million per launch for the highest inwstment cost option. 

The revised program proposed in this memorandum would develop a 

smaller reduced cost version of a manned reusable Shuttle with an investment of $4-5 billion over the next 8 years-less than one-half NASA’s 

original proposal. 

The OMB proposal was not the result of a thoughtless exercise aimed at 

pressing NASA until the pips squeaked; it represented a serious alternative. 

With its 10 x 30-foot payload bay and 30,000-pound capacity, the OMB 

shuttle would still capture some 80 percent of the payloads of the larger 

designs. Similarly, the OMB would not pennit its shuttle to be all things to 

all people; its memo to Nixon stated that “for national security purposes, we 

may not want all our eggs in one basket.” The OMB stated explicitly that the 

399 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

nation was to “retain the reliable Titan I11 expendable booster to launch the 

few largest payloads that would not fit the smaller Shuttle. These include 

space telescopes and large intelligence ~atellites.”~ 

Nixon took about a week before he read and accepted the OMB memo. 

On Saturday, December 11, Fletcher and Low met with Rice, David, and 

Flanigan. These NASA officials learned that Nixon indeed had decided to go 

ahead with the shuttle-provided that it was the downsized version of the 

OMB. This brought considerable and heated discussion. Fletcher finally 

declared that he could not accept such a decision, and that he wanted to see the 

President. This meeting did not take place, for Fletcher subsequently decided 

that he would not help his cause by staging a confrontation with Nixon. 

Fletcher nevertheless would fight for a larger shuttle, and in doing this, he 

would stand for NASA in the fashion of his predecessors. Paine had been the 

visionary, pushing toward Mars. Low had succeeded Paine; as Acting 

Administrator, he pushed strongly for two-stage fully-reusable designs. He 

also sought OMB approval to initiate shuttle development during FY 1972, 

and won permission to proceed with the SSME on such a schedule. By contrast, Fletcher had acquiesced to OMB pressure from the outset, abandoning 

the high-cost alternatives as he struggled to meet the OMB’s stringent cost 

limits. He nevertheless had a limited amount of wiggle room, and he would 

make the most of it. 

Though the OMB memo to Nixon specified a development cost, it did not 

state a payload size or capacity. The OMB presented its numbers separately 

in a paper for NASA: 10 x 30 feet, 30,000 pounds. Low responded quickly; 

on Monday, December 13, he sent a memo to Dale Myers that asked for an 

in-house assessment of this OMB shuttle, to be completed by the end of the 

month. In this assessment, Myers was to try once more for the full-capacity 

Shuttle of 15x 60 feet and 65,000pounds, by comparing its merits with those 

of the OMB’s configuration. 

Flanigan also proved helpful, as he sent a memo to Fletcher from the 

White House: “None of the figures in the paper given to you are set in concrete. 

Rather, they should be viewed as a new way to approach the problem, against 

which an initial estimate will be made within a couple of weeks. Obviously, 

7. Low, Personal Notes No. 58, November 14, 1971; letter, Low to Rice, November 22, 1971; OMB, 

Memorandum for the President, December 2, 1971. 

400 
Nixon ’s Decision 

those figures will have to be refined in succeeding weeks.” He added pointedly, 

“There is no written directive from the President on this subject.”* 

Fletcher, however, had to prepare once again to give ground. The OMB 

was willing to permit NASA to build its shuttle with the SSME; it was willing to bypass the interim Phase I orbiter with its J-2s engines. The QMB also 

would allow a booster “of the reusable pressure-fed type,” which Low had 

recommended. Nevertheless, while rejecting the OMB’s small payload size 

and weight, Fletcher and Low had to find new ways to save money and to cut 

the developmental cost anew. 

With OMB ready to toss the Air Force’s payload bay out the window, and 

with the QMB calling for continued use of the Titan HI for large Air Force 

payloads, it was appropriate to take a fresh look at another Air Force requirement, which had demanded a crossrange of 1,100 nautical miles. This had 

been a prime reason for the choice of a delta wing for the orbiter, which drove 

up the weight of the Shuttle and increased its cost by requiring more thermal 

protection. With the QMB now pressing NASA to return to the payload 

capacity recommended by Max Faget, the agency had to consider whether it 

might cut costs by also returning to Faget’s straight-wing orbiter design. 

Charles Donlan, acting director of the Shuttle Program Office, ruled this 

out. In a memo to Low, he emphasized that high crossrange would be “fundamental to the operation of the orbiter.” It would make the Shuttle 

maneuverable, greatly broadening the opportunities to abort a mission and 

perhaps save the lives of astronauts. A high crossrange would also afford frequent opportunities to return to Cape Canaveral in the course of a normal 

mission, following launch from that site. 

Delta wings also promised advantages that were entirely separate from 

crossrange. A delta orbiter would be stable in flight from hypersonic to subsonic speeds, throughout a wide range of nose-high attitudes. The 

aerodynamic flow over such an orbiter would be smooth and predictable, with 

the delta wing thus permitting accurate predictions of heating during reentry 

and giving confidence in the design of the thermal p tion system. In addition to this, the delta vehicle would experience relatively low temperatures of 

600 to 800 OF over its sides and upper surfaces. 

8. OMB, “Space Shuttle Program,” December 10, 1971; Low, Personal Notes No. 60, December 12, 1971; 

memos. Low to Myers, December 13, 1971; Hanigan to Fletcher, December 17, 1971; Science, May 30, 

1986, p. 1103. 

401 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

By contrast, straight-wing configurations would produce complex hypersonic flow fields, with high local temperatures and severe changes in 

temperature on the wing, body and tail. Temperatures on the sides of the fuselage would run from 900 to 1,300degrees, making the analysis and design of 

thermal protection more complex. During transition from supersonic to subsonic speeds, the straight-wing orbiter would experience unsteady flow and 

buffeting, making it harder to fly. 

Because of this combination of aerodynamic and operational advantages, 

Donlan favored the delta wing for reasons that were entirely separate from 

those of the Air Force. Fletcher, however, still could back off on the issue of 

payload-bay capacity. A smaller bay would give a smaller and somewhat less 

costly orbiter. Reducing the payload weight would trim the size and mass of 

the entire Shuttle, cutting costs even further. Moreover, for the past several 

weeks Fletcher had been holding in reserve the possibility of such cuts. 

He had gone to lunch on October 19, 1971, with David Packard, the 

Deputy Secretary of Defense, and Packard had stated that he felt very uneasy 

over the Air Force’s design requirements for the shuttle. As Fletcher wrote in 

a memo to Low, 

The requirements which he was particularly concerned about were the crossrange requirement, and payload requirement, and the size requirement. He 

felt that the cross-range requirement might have been an artificial one and 

although he didn’t filly understand the implications of itfelt that if it were 

causing dificulties, it could easily be modijied. I assured him that the diameter requirement came primarily from NASA and not from the Air Force, but 

that the length probably came from the Air Force. He knew quite well which 

program caused the length dificulty and although it can’t be discussed in this 

memorandum, it is clear to both of us that something could be done in this 

regard also. We both agreed that the payload requirement was somewhat 

arbitrary at this point. 

Retcher did not discuss this with Rice or Weinberger, for he was about to 

engage them in the high-stakes game that followed the Director’s Review, and 

he did not want to tip his hand. Two months later, however, with Fletcher 

preparing to play this card of shuttle capacity, Low’s memo of December 13 

directed Myers to compare four cases: the OMB shuttle, the full-size NASA 

402 
Nixon’s Decision 

shuttle, a design of 12 x 40 feet and 30,000 pounds that NASA had studied 

previously, and a new case of 14 x 50 feet and 65,000 pounds. They all knew, 

however, that they could not start with a smaller bay and then enlarge it. 

Donlan had written that such a course “is not considered practical. The most 

cost effective system is one sized properly at the outset for its intended use.”’ 

In addition to this, with Low presenting new alternatives to the NASA 

staff for evaluation, Don Rice found himself in a position to add a few alternatives of his own. He had formal channels for receiving information from 

NASA, but now he opened up some back-channels that gave him access to 

additional sources. “Some of my information came from the Defense 

Department, but not very much of it,” he later remarked. “Some of it came 

from industry. There were clearly some people in industry who were concerned that NASA was going to lead them down the road of another C-5A 

debacle and that they would end up with nothing.” 

Fletcher saw what was happening: 

He would come up with his own drawings on what it should look like. He had 

private sources that he was turning to. Contractors wanting their particular 

version. Contractors do that. And there is no reason why they shouldn’t. I 

hate to say this about Don but he really didn’t understand aerospace contractors. Tell him to design a cheaper system, he’d design a cheaper system. 

He went that far; he came up with his own design. 

Fletcher took it in stride: “We kept dealing with him. After all, you have to 

be polite, because you never know who’s going to be your boss next.” Low also 

joined in the exchanges. At one point, Rice presented a developmental cost of 

$4 billion and claimed that it came from a contractor whose name he could not 

divulge. Low asked him to disclose the contractor, so that NASA could critique 

his claim. Rice refused, but based on the questions he had asked, Low concluded that the contractor was North American Rockwell. That company had 

given far more information to NASA than to Rice, and Low determined that 

Rice’s $4 billion left out company profit and the cost of NASA program support. Indeed, it was the equivalent of numbers that NASA itself had shown. 

9. Memos: Fletcher to Low, October 20, 1971; Donlan to Low, December 5, 1971; Low to Myers, December 

13, 1971. 

403 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Every time Rice got a bright idea, he would send it over to NASA for 

assessment by its staff. The OMB’s William Niskanen, head of its Evaluation 

Division, chimed in with similar requests of his own. Within NASA, William 

Lilly was the chief budget officer and was close to the working level where 

people had to take the time to deal with these matters. 

Lilly tried to come between Rice and his staff 

It was some dirty wadare going on at that time. Our approach was to, in 

essence, to create doubt in their boss’s mind of the value of the work they 

had done. We did our studies and in many ways in order just to prove that 

they were biased, and they were wrong and they didn’t know what they were 

doing. And any way we could embarrass them, we did it. 

Lilly took care to control the flow of information from NASA to the 

OMB, for he knew that a small leak can sink a great ship: 

I reached the point, to hell with you, back of my hand to you. I mean, you 

can’t do your job $1 don’t let you in the agency [NASA]. And in essence, I 

probably went about shutting them off from information throughout the 

agency. I just told my people that, in a way that they understood, but not 

really telling them, they weren’t to respond. I wanted to see everything that 

went ovey. There was to be no answers to questions given throughout the 

agency to OMB without it coming through me personally. 

“They kept throwing road blocks on us,” Lilly continues. “Every time 

we would come up with a study and do what they wanted in terms of comparative analysis. They couldn’t challenge what we had done in many ways, 

they would turn around and come with studying a new concept.” In time, 

Niskanen sent a request that went too far: “To be brutally frank about it, the 

reaction we had or my attitude on it, and what, in essence, I told them? I told 

them to go shove it up your ass. I wasn’t going to do any such thing. It didn’t 

make any goddamn sense. I wasn’t about to do such a study, and we never 

did.” 

Fletcher, by then, was using channels of his own: “We were kind of mean 

to Don in going over his head all the time. But I figured that was the only way 

we could get this thing done.” He met with Caspar Weinberger “quite fre404 
Nixon’s Decision 

quently,” with Peter Flanigan “almost as often,” and with George Shultz “two 

or three times.” He also arranged a meeting with John Ehrlichman.’O 

These exchanges continued through Christmas. On Monday, December 

27, having reviewed the latest contractor studies, Fletcher prepared to play his 

poker card of shuttle capacity and to make an offer that would counter the 

OMB shuttle of two weeks earlier. “We met all day to discuss the various 

options,” Low wrote. Low continued those meetings on Tuesday morning, 

talking with Myers, with Lilly, and with others as well. Following those meetings, Low and Fletcher agreed on the terms of their counteroffer. Fletcher then 

presented these terms to Weinberger in a December 29 letter: 

We have concluded that the full capability 15 x 60’ - 65,000#shuttle still represents a “best buy”, and in ordinary times should be developed. However, in 

recognition of the extremely severe near-term budgetary problems, we are 

recommending a somewhat smaller vehicle-one with a 14 x 45’ - 45,000# 

payload capability, at a somewhat reduced overall cost. 

This is the smallest vehicle that we can still consider to be usefil for 

manned flight as well as a variety of unmanned payloads. However, it will 

not accommodate many DOLI payloads and some planetary payloads. Also, 

it will not accommodate a space tug together with a payload, and will therefore not provide an effective capability to return payloads or propulsive 

stages from high “synchronous” orbits, where most applications payloads 

are placed. 

An accompanying table compared costs for five options: 

CASE 1 2 2A 3 4 

Payload bay (ft.) 10x30 12x40 14x45 14x50 15 x 60 

Payload weight (lbs.) 30,000 30,000 45,000 65,000 65,000 

Development cost 

($billions) 4.7 4.9 5.0 5.2 5.5 

Operating cost 

($millions/flight) 6.6 7.0 7.5 7.6 7.7 

Payload costs 

($/pound) 220 223 167 115 118 

10 John Logsdon interviews: Donald Rice, November 13, 1975,p. 2; James Fletcher, September 21, 1977, pp. 

20-21, 23, John Mauer interview, William Lilly, Washington, October 20, 1983, pp. 28-33; Roger Launius 

interview, James Fletcher, September 19, 1991,p. 14, Low, Personal Notes No. 61, January 2, 1972. 

405 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

This table included the four cases cited by Low in his memo to Myers of 

December 13,and reviewed by Myers. Case 1was the OMB shuttle; Case 4 was 

the shuttle NASA wanted and now apparently would not have. Following standard custom, the option Fletcher proposed was right in the middle as Case 2A.” 

Fletcher privately knew that he could go still lower. Talking with Low, he 

decided that they could accept something as small as 14 x 40 feet with 40,000 

pounds. The two men then went to an afternoon meeting with White House 

and OMB officials: Shultz, Weinberger, Flanigan, David, Rice and Rose. 

Shultz was now the key man; he headed the OMB, he was Rice’s boss, and he 

had Nixon’s ear. 

Shultz looked at NASA’s presentation and decided that the only thing that 

made any sense, as NASA had said all along, would be the full-size version, 

Case 4. Shultz, however, did not press this point for Rice objected vigorously. 

Rice’s staff was still active; only one day earlier, his economist John Sullivan 

had sent him a memo arguing anew that the most cost-effective system was 

still the Titan 111.The meeting broke up with no decision. Fletcher and Low, 

however, came away fairly confident that they would at least get Case 2A, 

which they had recommended. Indeed, Shultz’s support, however tentative, 

allowed them to hope that they might even win the full-capability Case 4. 

Rice again prevailed, as he talked further with Weinberger. In a phone 

conversation with Fletcher, Weinberger stated that he wanted NASA to look 

at a 14 x 45-foot shuttle-with 30,000pounds of payload, only two-thirds that 

of Case 2A. In Low’s words, “Fletcher came close to telling Weinberger to go 

to hell but restrained himself perhaps better than I could.” Fletcher then 

phoned Shultz and talked with him at length. Shultz remained unwilling to 

make a decision, but recommended that NASA should take one more look at 

Rice’s request. 

Although Rice was holding firm on a weight of 30,000 pounds, he now 

was willing to budge slightly on payload size, for Sullivan’s memo had discussed a 12 x @-foot shuttle with twin solid boosters. Though this 

configuration would cany no more weight than a Titan 111, it could fly with 

the boosters of a Titan III: 120-inch solid motors that were in production and 

had known costs. Such a shuttle still would not match the cost-effectiveness 

of the Titan I11itself, but it would come close. In Sullivan’s own analysis, that 

11. Letter, Fletcher to Weinberger, December 29, 1971; Low,Personal Notes No. 61, January 2, 1972. 

406 
Nixon 3 Decision 

Titan would save only $100 million when compared to that shuttle. Within the 

OMB, this was as near to an endorsement as any type of shuttle was likely to 

receive. 

Low phoned Rice and asked him to put his questions in writing. Rice 

replied that he might have further questions subsequently, but he drew up a set 

of queries and sent it over to Low late on Friday evening, which was New 

Year’s Eve. Low discussed them with Fletcher and Myers over the weekend; 

on Monday, January 3, they completed their response. A sampling will illustrate the exchanges: 

1.Iffiture budgets for NASA were constrained to $3.2 - $3.3 B, would you 

want to do a large shuttle? 

Answer: The answer is yes. The NASA budget is not committed to exceed 

the FY 1973 level even if the maximum credible cost overrun occurred. 

2. Why should a relatively few space station modules for the mid-1980’s 

determine the size and weight capabilities of the shuttle? What other missions are really driving the payload size and weight requirements? 

Answer: In addition to “a few space station modules,” the payload length 

is driven above 40 feet by most NASA planetary payloads, most DOD payloads, and a few of the NASA science payloads ....The payload diameter is 

driven above 13 feet by manned payloads, some NASA science payloads, 

and some NASA planetary payloads. The payload weight is driven above 

40,000 lbs. not only by space station modules but by space station resupply logistic vehicles, as well as sortie cans;I2 a 40,000-lb. payload 

capability is also exceeded by many DODpayloads, as well as 13 different 

science, applications and planetary payloads. 

4.What capabilities and dollar benefits would be lost by going to a 12 x 40’ 

(30 - 35,000 lb.) shuttle launched by SRM’s? 

Answer: At this size and weight we lose most DOD payloads, all manned 

payloads (including resupply logistics vehicles), most planetary payloads, 

and many science and applications payloads. 

12. Small laboratories that would not fly freely in space but would remain within the payload bay and return 

with the Shuttle orbiter. 

407 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

These exchanges with Rice would feed into a letter that Fletcher intended 

to prepare for Weinberger on Monday, January 3. On Sunday, however, with 

no resolution in sight, Low confided privately that “there is nobody in the 

White House willing to make any decisions.” 

He later wrote, 

The single most significant factor was that there was no top-level leadership 

in the White House. Nixon was unwilling to deal with his agency heads and 

dealt solely with his staff This placed a great deal of the decision-making 

responsibility with the OMB, and by definition the OMB is far more interested in short-range budgetary problems than in the long-rangebture of the 

nation.l3 

The Hinge of Decision 

Low did not know it, but the commitment he wanted already was imminent. 

At a recent budget session held in Key Biscayne near Miami, a decision had 

been made to include funds for the Shuttle. A subsequent decision called for 

Nixon to release an announcement at the Western White House in San 

Clemente, California. He would also meet there with Fletcher, who would 

hold a press conference. Fletcher learned of this during that New Year weekend. He and Jonathan Rose responded by asking William Anders of the 

National Aeronautics and Space Council to prepare a draft of this presidential statement. 

Monday dawned, with the day’s action items prominently featuring 

Fletcher’s letter to Weinberger and NASA’s responses to Rice’s question set. 

People at the Manned Spacecraft Center had been working over the weekend 

to come up with the answers, but when these responses reached Washington, 

early that afternoon, they were quite inconsistent. It quickly developed that 

some of the specialists in Houston had misread some key tables of data. With 

time pressing, NASA Headquarters gave them only one hour to come up with 

the right answers, which they did. These answers made it possible for Fletcher 

to finish his letter: 

13. Memo, Sullivanto Rice, December 28,1971; “Space Shuttle Questions Provided by OMB on 12/31/71”; 

Low, Personal Notes No. 61,January 2, 1972; letter, Low to John Logsdon, January 23, 1979. 

408 
Nixon s Decision 

Our view that the shuttle with the 14x45 - 45,000# capability is the minimum 

acceptable option is still valid. 

The OMB proposed option of a 14x45 - 30,000# shuttle is not acceptable 

because it will not handle manned space station modules, manned sortie 

jights or manned resupply missions in a standard space station orbit: in short, 

it would not provide a manned spacejlight capability for the United States. 

Also, this shuttle would not handle 28 different science, applications and planetary payloads that could be carried with a 45,000# payload capability. 

At 6 p.m., Fletcher and Low met in George Shultz’s office with a group 

of participants that again included Shultz, Weinberger, Flanigan, Rice, and 

David. The opponents’ positions remained the same, with Rice calling for a 

smaller design and David proposing that they put off a commitment for several months, to give NASA time to refine its most recent estimates. Shultz 

responded differently. Unlike those critics, he had been at Key Biscayne. 

He had given Rice full opportunity to raise his objections. Now, in this 

meeting, he had seen NASA respond to Rice’s questions, with answers that 

militated strongly against the OMB shuttle. What happened next proved to be 

the hinge of decision. 

Only Low wrote of this moment soon afterward, and in a terse manner: 

“Shultz agreed with our position that the 15 x 60’65,000 lb. Shuttle should be 

developed.” Weinberger, Rice, and Fletcher all gave interviews during subsequent years, but did not discuss the events of this meeting. Fletcher and Low, 

however, spoke of the matter with senior NASA officials, who would present 

their own recollection^:'^ 

Lilly: Rice got a little bit confused. There was a feeling with Low and 

Fletcher that Rice got too carried away, moving toward misstatements, trying 

to exaggerate some things. George Shultz picked up the phone and called 

Morgenstern during the meeting and asked him about it. Now, NASA had prepared for this kind of thing-to be sure Morgenstern was fully 

knowledgeable. And Shultz got off the phone and made the decision-we ’11 go 

this way, and to prepare the papers for the approval. 

14. Memos: David N. Parker (White House staff), December 31, 1971; Rice to Shultz, January 3, 1972; letter, 

Fletcher to Weinberger, January 3, 1972, Low,Personal Notes No. 62, January 15, 1972. 

409 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Donlan: I get this directly from Dl:Fletchel: He was telling his wife the story 

of how he went over there with the information that I supplied him from our 

shuttle program studies that showed that there wasn’t all that much to be 

gained by going 45-foot length and> furthermore, it invalidated a lot of missions that the Air Force claimed they needed for the sizing of the satellites. So 

Shultz said, “Well, what are you fooling around with that 45-foot configuration for? It doesn’t cost that much more. Why don’t you get the one you 

want-take the 60-foot one.” And Fletcher came back with that message. 

That’s how it was settled. 

Willis Shapley, NASA Associate Deputy Administrator: George Shultz-he 

had personally spent almost as many hours going through all the planning 

studies, and especially this famous economic analysis that Klaus Heiss at 

Mathematica had done. And he personally called up Oskar Morgenstern and 

other people there, and he was satisfied, finally, that it was a reasonable 

proposition. So when it was clear that all the boys made their case, Shultz 

said, ‘If we’re going to do it, let’s do it right; let’s do the big shuttle and 

forget about the Bureau of the Budget shuttle.’ So that’s how we ended up 

with what it was.” 

It was Christmas in January, for whereas Fletcher and Low had come in 

hoping for approval of the downsized version that they really did not want, 

Shultz now was ready to recommend that they receive the full-size version 

that had not been in play for over a month. Similarly, the views of Rice and 

David would carry no weight. Shultz, after all, was Rice’s boss, and it was 

Shultz who would meet with Nixon. David also reported to Nixon, but he had 

little clout. He had been bypassed in favor of Magruder during the recent 

NTOP exercise. A year later, amid a post-election White House reorganization, Nixon would abolish his post of presidential science advisor-and 

would alsa abolish the OST in the bargain.I5 

The decision to proceed with the Shuttle became firm during the meeting 

in Shultz’s office, with Shultz confirming his assent to NASA’s request for 

$200 million as startup funds for the Shuttle within Nixon’s FY 1973 budget. 

15 John Mauer interviews: Charles Donlan, Waslungton, October 19, 1983, pp. 33-34; William Lilly, 

Wmhington, October 20, 1983, p. 39; W1lhs Shapley, October 26, 1984, p 26; Science, January 19, 1973, 

p. 233; February 2, 1973, pp. 455,458-459; February 16, 1973, p. 641; March 30, 1973, p. 131 1. 

410 
Nixon ’sDecision 

Nixon meetS with Fletcher and approwes the Shuttle as a at-ogranz,January 5, 1972. 

(National Archiwes) 

Flanigan now asked Low and Fletcher to prepare a draft of the presidential 

statement-which Anders was writing already. In turn, Anders’ statement 

formed the bulk of the material used in Nixon’s release. 

As recently as November, Flanigan had anticipated that any White House 

announcement would be low-key. At that time, with the $3 billion glider as 

the likely new initiative, Flanigan expected to see the main coverage limited 

to the aerospace trade press, thereby reassuring this industry of Nixon’s support while avoiding the high visibility that would draw fire from critics. The 

Space Shuttle, however, had metamorphosed now into a $5.5 billion program. 

As early as the previous Friday, prior to the meeting in Shultz’s office, a 

White House staffer had already laid out the high-profile announcement that 

now was scheduled for Wednesday, January 5, 1972. 

Fletcher and Low flew out to California, editing two NASA statements 

along the way. Nixon greeted them at the Western White House, as did John 

411 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Ehrlichman. Though the President had planned to spend only 15 minutes with 

his visitors, the meeting ran well beyond a half-hour as he showed strong 

interest in the Shuttle and the space program. Fletcher had brought a model of 

a TAOS, and Ehrlichman would remember “Nixon’s fascination with the 

model. And he held it and, in fact, I wasn’t sure that Fletcher was going to be 

able to get it away from him when the thing was over.” 

Nixon stated that NASA should stress civilian applications but should not 

hesitate to note the military uses as well. He showed interest in the possibility of routine operations and quick reaction times, for he saw that these could 

allow the Shuttle to help in disasters such as earthquakes or floods. He also 

liked the idea of using the Shuttle to dispose of nuclear waste by launching it 

into space. Fletcher mentioned that it might become possible to collect solar 

power in orbit and beam it to Earth in the form of electricity. Nixon replied 

that such developments tend to happen much more quickly than people 

expect, and that they should not hesitate to talk about them. 

He liked the fact that ordinary people, who would not be highly-trained 

astronauts, would be able to fly in the Shuttle. He asked if the Shuttle was a 

good investment, and agreed that it was indeed, for it promised a tenfold 

reduction in the cost of space flight. He added that even if it was not a good 

investment, the nation would have to do it anyway, because space flight was 

here to stay. Fletcher came away from the meeting saying, “The President 

thinks about space just like McCurdy does,” referring to a colleague within 

NASA’s upper management. 

Although his formal statement largely reflected NASA’s views, Nixon 

edited the draft in his own hand. The final version showed a fmess and sense 

of direction that had been utterly lacking in his March 1970statement on space 

policy. It also featured a grace note that might have suited John Kennedy: 

I have decided today $hut the United States should proceed at once with the 

development of an entirely new type of space transportation system designed 

to help transform the space frontier of the 1970s into familiar territoq easily 

accessible for human endeavor in the 1980s and ‘90s. 

This system will center on a space vehicle that can shuttle repeatedly 

from earth to orbit and back. It will revolutionize transportation into near 

space, bj) routinizing it. It will take the astronomical costs out of astronautics. 

In short, it will go a long way toward delivering the rich benefits of practical 

412 
Nixon’s Decision 

space utilization and the valuable spinoffs from space efforts into the daily 

lives of Americans and all people.,.. 

Viewsof the earth from space have shown us how small and fragile our 

home planet truly is. We are learning the imperatives of universal brotherhood and global ecology-learning to think and act as guardians of one tiny 

blue and green island in the trackless oceans of the universe. This new program will give more people more access to the liberating perspectives of 

space.... 

“We must sail sometimes with the wind and sometimes against it,” said 

Oliver Wendell Holmes, “but we must sail, and not drijl, nor lie at anchod’ 

So with man’s epic voyage into space-a voyage the United States of America 

has led and still shall lead.lb 

It was appropriate to give a name to this new ship of space, and of state. 

Fletcher, Shapley, and Low had prepared a list that included Pegasus, Hermes, 

Astroplane, and Skylark. Flanigan passed this list to White House staffers, 

who picked the name Space Clipper. A draft of Nixon’s statement used this 

name, which resembled Lockheed’s Star-Clipper. Nixon himself, however, 

decided that‘it would be better to refer to the vehicle in the usual fashion, as 

the “Space Shuttle.” Earlier piloted spacecraft had carried names such as 

Mercury, Gemini, and Apollo, but the new one would break with this practice. 

Criticism of Nixon’s decision came from the usual sources, with Senator 

Proxmire issuing a press release: “The President has clearly reordered our priorities. But he has reordered them the wrong way.” Senator William Fulbright 

played the same note: “I believe the shuttle simply cannot rank high on our 

list of priorities in view of the critical social and economic problems we face.” 

They, however, were merely outriders within a Democratic Party that had long 

commanded the center of American politics but now was slipping to the left, 

and whose presidential candidate, George McGovern, would shortly receive 

one of the worst electoral drubbings ever administered. Though Congress 

would perform its constitutional role by voting the funding, it would not 

become an important source of opposition. 

16. Low: Personal Notes No. 59, November 28, 1971; No. 62, January 15, 1972; letter, Fletcher to Weinberger, 

January 4, 1972; memos: David Parker, December 31, 1971; Flanigan to Nixon, January 4, 1972; Nixon, 

“Statementby the President,” January 5, 1972; John Logsdon interview, John Ehrlichman, Santa Fe, May 6, 

1983, p. 1; Low, Memo for Record, January 12, 1972. Reprinted in NASA SP-4407, vol. I, pp. 558-559. 

413 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Certainly there was politics aplenty in Nixon’s decision. He wanted to 

help the aerospace industry during the upcoming election year, and the staffer 

Jonathan Rose, reporting to Flanigan, had been monitoring that industry’s 

unemployment. Fletcher, in a letter to Rose of November 22, had written that 

an early start on the Shuttle “would lead to a direct employment of 8,800 by 

the end of 1972, and 24,000 by the end of 1973.” Ehrlichman would recall 

that this was 

a very important consideration in Nixon’s mind. There are what we call battleground states; they are the pivotal states that control big blocks of electoral 

votes. So when you look at unemployment numbers, and you key them to the 

battleground states, the space program has an importance out of proportion 

to its budget. 

The politics also reached a much higher level, touching the matter of 

presidential decisions that could stand as a legacy, with consequences that 

would reverberate through coming decades. Theodore White, a chronicler of 

presidents, had written in 1965 that “on the far edge of the plateau lie problems which we in this decade cannot conceive of as political.” These included 

“the Moon and space. How large a part of American energy should be 

invested in this exploration with no definable certainty except the certainty 

that it will change the lives of all our children?” 

Weinberger had made an important point in his memo to Nixon of August 

12: the United States, as the world’s great reserve of strength, could do more 

than merely add bricks to the welfare state. Such policies might suit the British, 

of whom the former secretary of state Dean Acheson had said, “Great Britain 

has lost an Empire and has not yet found a role.” They would not suit America. 

One could view Nixon’s decision as a straightforward exercise in daily 

work at the White House. Nixon had a strong interest in management; he had 

set up a staff system, which included a strengthened OMB, that could weigh 

policy alternatives with considerable effectiveness and present him with wellresearched options for his decision. As one Flax Committee staffer put it, 

“Once they decided to do it, Nixon and Ehrlichman weren’t going to argue 

with NASA whether it ought to be a 60or a 45-foot-long bay, or 12 or 15 feet. 

If the head of NASA is telling them that it has to be this size and they want to 

go ahead with the project, they are going to say go ahead.” The demise of 

414 
Nixon’s Decision 

NTOP also helped. While the Space Shuttle stood on its merits and did not 

simply replace NTOP as a backup, Nixon and Shultz had been prepared to 

include funding for NTOP initiatives in the FY 1973 budget. When no suitable proposals came forth, that made it easier to shift the putative NTOP funds 

over to the Shuttle, and to approve a larger Shuttle as well. 

Yet while the Shuttle could not match the significance of Nixon’s opening to China, it drew on more than good staff work. In Ehrlichman’s words, 

“There wasn’t anybody who made those final decisions except Nixon, in this 

kind of area. Defense, space, certain kinds of domestic problems-he was the 

final arbiter.” The Shuttle carried Nixon’s personal stamp because it carried 

his personal de~ision.’~ 

Loose Ends I: A Final Configuration 

Now that Shultz had handed NASA its Space Shuttle on a silver platter, the 

agency had to decide how it would look. The question of choosing a booster 

was still up in the air, and it was far from clear that the Shuttle indeed would 

be a TAOS; liquid-fueled boosters designed as conventional first stages were 

making a strong comeback. Similarly, the agency could not simply walk away 

from Fletcher’s alternative of 14 x 45 feet and 45,000 pounds; NASA itself had 

proposed it, and it merited additional attention because it offered the potential 

advantage of being able to use existing 120-inch solid rocket motors. Further 

study of this design would also discourage the OMB from complaining that 

NASA once again was abandoning a good possibility with unseemly haste. 

Though the issue of payload size and weight was still open, the basic 

design of the orbiter was approaching a definitive form. During the fall of 

1971, when the Mark mark I1 approach was still in the forefront, the contractors had worked from a Max Faget configuration known as MSC-O4OA. It 

elaborated the earlier MSC-040 by adding small liquid-fuel engines for 

orbital maneuvers, along with thrusters for attitude control that were mounted 

at the tips of the wings and tail. 

The Mark I/Mark I1 concept, however, with its phased technology, had 

never been more than an artificial stratagem to reduce peak funding by stretch17 NafionalJournal, August 19, 1972, p. 1329, John Logsdon interviews: Dave Elliot, p. 4, John Ehrlichman, 

Santa Fe, May 6, 1983, pp. 9, 32-33; White, 1964, pp. 476, 478; O@ord, p 1, letter, Fletcher to Rose, 

November 22, 1971. Reprinted in NASA SP-407, vol. I, pp 555-558. 

415 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISiON 

ing out the development, while accepting serious compromises in design. With 

Shultz’s support, NASA now was free to build an honest orbiter, one that 

would be right the first time. MSC-040A had called for four J-2s engines; a 

variant of January 1972, MSC-O4OC, replaced them with three SSMEs. 

Other decisions shaped the orbiter’s structure and thermal protection. 

Though hot structures now looked like an open invitation to a cost overrun, 

everyone knew how to build an aluminum airplane, and the orbiter indeed 

would take shape as an aircraft built largely of this metal. It then needed 

thermal protection, and NASA now placed its hope in the still-unproven tiles. 

Though recent research had increased confidence that they indeed would 

serve, what made tiles more attractive yet was that NASA could count with 

reasonable assurance on using ablative heat shields as a backup. Ongoing 

work with ablatives had cut their cost dramatically while reducing their weight 

to 15 pounds per square foot, matching the weight of the tiles. A year later, 

Eugene Love, a director at NASA Langley, would write, “Ablators are baselined as a confident fall-back solution (temporary) for both leading edges and 

large surface areas, should development of the baseline approaches lag.”’* 

Though the choice of booster was still unsettled, during the early weeks 

of 1972 there was excellent reason to believe that NASA’s eventual selection 

would take good care of the Marshall Space Flight Center. The winged S-IC 

would have done splendidly, but even Boeing, which had built the basic S-IC 

and knew this concept best, had been unable to drive its development cost low 

enough to compete with alternatives such as TAOS. It fell by the wayside 

around the end of 1971, amid criticism even within the shuttle community. 

John Yardley, who headed the work at McDonnell Douglas, told Aviation 

Week, “You just could not build the world‘s largest airplane without all the 

problems that would go with a 700,000-pound craft, And it doesn’t buy you 

much flying it back if you can do the same job in a cheaper way.” 

Boeing and NASA Marshall, however, would not be denied, as they proposed a new alternative: a pump-fed booster. Though this again was to be an 

S-IC variant, it would be without wings, tail, jet engines, landing gear, or crew 

compartment. Instead it amounted to the standard S-IC, fitted out to land in 

the ocean by using parachutes. A retro-rocket was to cushion its impact in the 

18. AIM Paper 73-31; Jenkins, Spucc Shuttle, p. 115; memo,Taft to Rice, January 27, 1972; letter, Low to 

Rice, January 11, 1972. 

416 
Nixon s Decision 

sea; it then would float like a ditched airplane as it awaited rescue. After refurbishment, it would fly again. 

TAOS concepts were still very much in the running, with solid motors 

receiving a share of attention. The liquid-fueled TAOS, however, with twin 

pressure-fed boosters flanking the external tank, had lost favor. A key group 

of shuttle design reviewers, at the Manned Spacecraft Center, had come 

around instead to recommending a single pressure-fed booster that would take 

the form of a conventional first stage. This, too, would provide grist for the 

mill of NASA Marshall, for that center would manage development of both 

the booster and its engines. 

Within the OMB, Daniel Taft, who worked with the NASA budget, saw 

an opportunity-and smelled a rat. The opportunity existed because NASA’s 

own estimates proposed that a suitable solid rocket motor would cost up to a 

billion dollars less to develop than a pressure-fed booster. In addition to this, 

the Air Force had already developed the 120-inch solids of the Titan 111, thus 

providing a base of experience along with confidence in the validity of the 

new cost estimates for solids. Pressure-fed versions carried no such experience and no such confidence, for they had never been built before. 

NASA, however, wanted a pressure-fed booster, and Taft knew that to 

lead it to solids would not be easy. In a memo to Rice, late in January, he laid 

out the issues. He wrote that “NASA’s schedule for the selection of the final 

configuration...is extremely tight (March l).” Drawing on Rice’s back-channels to the contractors, Taft noted that one such source had recommended that 

pressure-fed designs should be studied for six to twelve months. Taft also 

asked “whether NASA can overcome its instinctive dislike” of solid rocket 

motors. He added: 

NASA has recently let contracts with the four major solid rocket contractors 

($150 K each)for quick (1 month) studies of development and production 

costs and technical aspects of SRMs. This is truly a hasty last minute eflort 

by NASA which can hardly be expected to make upforNASA’s failure to study 

SRMs seriously in the past. 

Of course, the requirement for Marshall’s involvement in the shuttle program would be quite weak if SRMs were selected. Ironically, Marshall, which 

has little understanding of SRMs and much to lose by their selection, is managing the SRM contractor effort .... 

417 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

If le@ to their own desires, NASA would probably select the 15 x 60’ 

orbiter with the pressurezfed boostev. This is regrettable because we consider 

the pressurefed booster to be a high risk option from the standpoint of both 

investment cost and operdng cost .... 

At this time I believe that we should lay our cards on the table and 

explain frankly to NASA our concerns about the risks involved in the pressurezfed boostev. ...lg 

Meanwhile, there was the irksome matter of the budget. Nixon’s message to Congress included NASA’s full amount of $228 million for the 

Shuttle: $200 million for the program per se, $28 million for construction of 

facilities. NASA’s FY 1973 request totaled $3.379 billion in new obligational 

authority, $3.192 billion in outlays. In a letter to Fletcher dated February 9, 

Weinberger, however, emphasized that the second of these numbers was the 

one that counted: “For planning purposes an annual spending level of $3.2 

billion should be assumed for the foreseeable future”-that is, through FY 

1978. A week later, Shultz repeated this and added, “We also fully expect 

NASA to develop a shuttle system within the $5.5 billion estimate.” The billion-dollar difference in development costs, pressure-fed versus solid, came 

to nearly one-fifth of this total. Choosing solids thus would give much 

needed leeway.20 

During the subsequent week, contractors presented briefings and gave 

their recommendations concerning the choice of booster. Low wrote that 

these briefings “yielded the recommendations for each contractor that were 

most predictable based on vested interests.” They also were predictable based 

on the contractors’ choices during a similar exercise six months earlier, when 

they had compared expendable boosters for interim use. On both these occasions, Boeing’s recommendations had been particularly egregious. 

Boeing was home to the S-IC and was teamed with Grumman. In their 

report of September 1, they had proposed that the standard S-IC, which 

needed no development, would give lower costs in an interim program of up 

19. Aviation Week,January 10, 1972,pp. 15-16; January 24, 1972, pp. 36-37,40-41; Low, Personal Notes No. 

61, January 2, 1972; letter, Low to Rice, January 11, 1972; memo, Taft to Rice, January 27, 1972; Report 

B35-43 RP-30 (Grumman). 

20. Avialrorz Week,January 3 I, 1972, pp. 24-25, letters Weinberger to Fletcher, February 9, 1972; Shultz to 

Fletcher, February 16, 1972; memo, Low to Fletcher, March 22, 1972. 

418 
Nixon 's Decision 

to 30 shuttle flights. (Boeing had built only 15 S-ICs for the whole of 

Apollo.) Now, in February, Boeing continued to root for the home team by 

coming out in favor of its pump-fed booster. This report also came out 

strongly against solid rockets, urging that they "should be eliminated from 

further consideration." 

By contrast, Lockheed was a major builder of solids. In September, it 

merely had weighed the merits of competing sizes and arrangements of solids, 

drawing on this in-house expertise. Now, however, it compared a range of 

alternatives that included liquid boosters-and found again that solids were 

best. The February briefing from North American Rockwell was also in character. In September, that company had found no reason to choose between the 

alternatives of the day. Now it hedged anew, stating that one could choose 

either solids or a conventional liquid first stage, depending on what cost goals 

were most important. 

McDonnell Douglas also liked solids. It certainly had long experience 

with liquids, having built the Thor missile, the Delta launch vehicle, and the 

S-IVB, the third stage of the Saturn V. It also was familiar with solids, being 

accustomed to use them to provide the widely-used Delta with extra thrust at 

launch. It had endorsed solids in September; it now did so again. In addition 

to this, its report carried a lengthy review of their safety. 

The review covered 2,128 solid-motor firings, as Delta strap-ons, Titan 

I11 boosters, Minuteman ICBMs, and the small four-stage Scout. Thirteen 

had failed, in ways that were pertinent to the Shuttle, and McDonnell 

Douglas took care to note both the causes of the failures and the changes in 

design or in quality-control procedures that could prevent them from recurring. The report noted particularly that in the event of such recurrences, it 

would usually be possible to safely abort a Shuttle launch. However, there 

was an exception. 

This would happen if the hot, high-pressure gas within a solid motor succeeded in burning through its casing. Large solids were built in segments, 

pinned together at their joints, and such joints posed particular hazard of a 

burnthrough. The report noted:*' 

21 Reports. B35-43RP-21, Evaluation (quote, p. 211) (Grumman). LMSCA995931, -Dl57302 (Lockbed); 

Interim Reporr; Desigiz Review (briefing chart, p. 60) (McDonnell Douglas); SV 71-40,SV 72-14(North 

Amerrcan Rockwell), Low,Personal Notes No.65, February 27, 1972. 

419 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECZSZON 

Shuttle Abort 

Problem Remedy Consideration 

Case burnthrough Increase case If bumthrough occurs 

insutation thickness; adjacent to HO tank or 

use two “0’rings orbiter, timing sensing 

between segments may not be feasible and 

abort not possible 

Like a distant ffash of lightning on a pleasant summer day, this briefing 

chart clearly foreshadowed the loss of the Challenger, 14years later. 

On the whole, contractor studies found no advantage in the smaller 

orbiter, no offset to its compromise of NASA’s ability to carry DoD payloads. 

This removed the last questions as to whether NASA would get the full-size 

version that it wanted. But with the booster recommendations ranging over 

the map, NASA once again had no clear way to proceed. Six months earlier, 

a similar confusion over choice of boosters had worked to NASA’s advantage, 

by opening the door to new possibilities that included the winged S-IC. The 

situation now was different; the agency wanted to narrow its alternatives, not 

expand them. Yet within the contractors’ reports, data on costs gave an overriding basis for a decision. 

Between January and March, while the development cost of a pressurefed booster stayed virtually constant, the SSME escalated sharply and the 

orbiter went higher still. An internal OMB memo, from the economist 

Sullivan to Rice, summarized NASA’s own estimate of the changes, in millions 

of dollars: 

1/3/72 Current 

Estimate Estimates 

(Pressure-fed) Pressure-fed Pump-fed Solids 

Orbiter 3,058 3,660 3,660 3,750 

Main Engine 450 580 580 580 

Booster 1,390 1,400 1,080 350 

Program Support 602 570 560 470 

TotaI 5,500 6,210 5,880 5,150 

Costlflight 7.7 9.3 8.6 10.4 

The situation was not completely bleak; the increased cost of the orbiter, 

as much as $700 million, included $260 million for specialized solid rockets 

420 
Nixon ’s Decision 

that might be useful in abort. Sullivan noted that the justification for this abort 

system “seems weak,” and it soon was dropped from the design. As a result, 

these estimates could be reduced. 

But when NASA oEcials confmed these estimates, they threw in the 

towel. Both Weinberger and Shultz had insisted that NASA stay within a $5.5 

billion development cost, and it would be most unseemly if the program were 

to start with a projected cost overrun that would violate this limit. This could 

happen quite severely with the pressure-fed option; it would also happen with 

the less costly pump-fed booster, even with the abort system deleted. 

Moreover, while the projected costs for the solids drew on Air Force experience and were both low and firm, estimates for either of the liquid-fueled 

options were dodgy and likely to increase by the next design review. 

The strong case of a solid motor also gave a strong case for choosing the 

solid motor. No one had previously tried to recover and reuse a solid booster; 

those of the Titan I11had simply plopped into the deep, to provide homes for 

fishes. Early in January, a NASA official had said, “It is not contemplated at 

this time that a solid-rocket booster would be recoverable.” Yet the modest 

staging velocity of the solids, as low as 4000 ftlsec, meant that their heavy 

casings could easily serve as a heat sink. They also could withstand the stress 

of dropping by parachute into the ocean. NASA Marshall and its contractors 

found that reusability of these solids would cut the cost per flight to around 

$10 million, allowing the Shuttle to maintain its advantage and to capture its 

traffic from expendables.22 

NASA also had to consider the danger of the sea, for inevitably, some 

boosters would be lost. The high cost of a liquid booster meant that losing 

even one of them would be quite expensive. Moreover, although the pump-fed 

booster would save on development costs through its use of the existing F-1 

engine, its thin-walled structure would easily sustain damage while afloat. 

The casing of a solid booster would cost much less. It would be relatively 

impervious to damage, and the occasional loss of such a casing would not 

compromise the program’s overall economics. 

Low wrote that at the end of February 1972, ‘‘Dale Myers presented the 

OMSF and OMSFKenter recommendation, which was to go with...solid 

22. Aviation Week, January 10, 1972, p. 15; March 20, 1972, pp. 14-16; memo, Sullivan to Rice, March 13, 

1972; letter, Low to Rice, January 11, 1972. 

421 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

rocket motor boosters.” Fletcher took the news to a meeting with David, 

Anders, Flanigan, and Rose. In Fletcher’s words, “There was uniform agreement in the group that we had made the right choice.” He also met with 

Weinberger, who “seemed quite receptive” to NASA’s decision. Weinberger 

also agreed that there was no need to make a new decision on the size of the 

orbiter; that choice had already been made in early January. Low met with 

Rice and wrote that “he appeared to accept our conclusions, almost as though 

he had invented them himself.”23 

The director of NASA Marshall, Eberhard Rees, had expressed hope that 

the shuttle would use a liquid booster, because that would provide more work 

for his center. Although he had been deeply involved with liquid rockets since 

the wartime V-2 effort, he now would have to change with the times. The 

Shuttle would use two 156-inch booster~,’~ which were as large as could 

travel on American railroads. Only nine such solids had been test fired-five 

by Thiokol, four by Lockheed-and Marshall would have plenty to do in 

bringing them to a level of reliability that would allow them to cany astronauts. Marshall also would manage the development and production of the 

SSME and the external tank. This center thus would not wither on the vine. 

Budget officer William Lilly went over the estimates and came up with a 

development cost of $5.15 billion, well below the target of $5.5 billion. Myers 

objected, insisting that he could accept no lower figure than $5.34 billion, but 

Low sided with Lilly and persuaded Myers to accept his number. Naturally, 

this was the one that went to the OMB. It did, however, include the $260 million for the abort system that later was discarded, and thus carried a margin 

for further red~ction.~~ 

With this, the Shuttle took form in the shape that NASA would build and 

that flies to this day. Ironically, though it was a NASA project from the start, 

its main design features reflected pressures from outside that agency. The Air 

Force had pushed for the large payload capacity and the high crossrange that 

called for a delta wing; while NASA later accepted these features and made 

23. Memos: Fletcher to Low, March 3, 1972; Rice to Shultz and Weinberger, March 13, 1972, Fletcher, Memo 

for Record, March 3, 1972; letters: Fletcher to Weinberger, March 6, 1972; Weinberger to Fletcher, March 

13, 1972, Shultz to Fletcher, March 17, 1972; Low: Memo for Record, March 8, 1972; Personal Notes No 

66, March 12, 1972; Donlan, Space Shuftle. 

24. A year later this specification changed to a diameter of 142 inches, due to a reduction in the design weight 

ofthe orbiter. Loftus et al., Evolution, p. 26 Astronautrcs & Aerorzautics, January, 1974, p. 72 

25. Aviation Week,March 20, 1972, pp. 14-16;Low, Personal Notes No. 66, March 12, 1972. 

422 
Nixon’s Decision 

them its own, the initial impetus had come from the Pentagon. Similarly, the 

solid boosters came from the OMB. Left to its own devices, NASA surely 

would have picked a liquid booster such as the fully-reusable winged heatsink type that flourished during the second half of 197 1. In this fashion, the 

Air Force and OMB crafted a design that NASA would construct and operate. 

Loose Ends 11: NERVA and Cape Canaveral 

NASA now was not only ready to proceed with the orbiter it wanted; it also 

could look ahead to having most of the principal elements of George 

Mueller’s integrated space program of 1969, which he had planned to culminate in piloted missions to Mars. That program envisioned a Space Shuttle, 

approval for which was in hand. It called for a space tug, which was on the 

agenda as part of the development of the operational Shuttle. Mueller had 

looked ahead to astronaut-tended spacecraft, including a Large Space 

Telescope that would take shape as today’s orbiting Hubble instrument. 

These, too, were in prospect in 1972. Space station modules, launched by the 

Saturn V, were key elements in his scenario, with variants of these modules 

evolving into portions of Mueller’s eventual Mars ship. Though the Saturn V 

would fly no more, Fletcher had pushed successfully for a shuttle that could 

serve to build a future space station. This effort would come to the forefront 

during the 1980s. 

NASA needed one more element to make this framework complete. It 

needed the NERVA nuclear rocket, which would power the Mars mission. 

Work in Nevada with experimental nuclear engines had brought this technology to an advanced level that was ready for mainstream development, and 

NERVA held influential support in Congress. If this program could go forward, NASA might yet be able to set sail for the Red Planet. 

During FY 1970, NERVA moved into a phase of detailed design and 

hardware fabrication. The goal now was not further research, but rather the 

development of a flight-qualified engine with 75,000 pounds of thrust, at a 

cost of $860 million over a period of eight to nine years. The program 

received $88 million in FY 1970 and $85 million in FY 1971, with the funds 

coming jointly from NASA and the Atomic Energy Commission. 

On Capitol Hill,its political support was unassailable. The program had a 

research center at Los Alamos, New Mexico. The National Journal described 

423 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

that state’s Senator Clinton Anderson as “NERVA’s most zealous and watchful 

guardian over the years.” Anderson was one of the most senior Democrats in 

the Senate, and chaired its space committee. The test area was in Nevada; 

hence the program also held strong support from that state’s Senator Howard 

Cannon, another influential Democrat who was also a member of the space 

committee. Indeed, support for NERVA was bipartisan. Westinghouse was 

building its reactors in Pennsylvania, home to another key supporter: the leader 

of the Senate’s Republicans, Hugh Scott. In the House, the Pennsylvania congressman James Fulton was the most senior Republican within that chamber’s 

space committee. He took a strong stand for NERVA as well. 

Nevertheless, NERVA faced opposition within the OMB. As one of its 

officials said, “Here we had a high technology. program that was expensive as 

hell, averaging $100 million a year. It had a long-term potential, but NASA 

didn’t know for a long time what they were going to do with it. It was a logical place in the budget to raise questions.” 

Late in 1970, amid preparation of the FY 1972 budget, NASA and the 

AEC requested a total of $88 million. By then, however, NASA was abandoning Mueller’s bold Mars plan. There was no need for rapid development of 

NERVA, which was likely to be ready long before any mission could use it. 

NASA decided to slow it down by lowering its priority. The OMB responded 

by treating it as a splendid opportunity to save money by canceling it outright. 

When the smoke cleared, the budget request for NERVA was down by fourfifths, to only $17.4 million. 

Late in January 1971, at a NASA budget briefing, George Low went out 

of his way to deny that his agency still was looking ahead to a piloted mission 

to Mars, saying, “We have in our program today no plans for a manned Mars 

landing.” He actually had plans aplenty, but he was telling the truth; they were 

not in the program. NERVA stood at their core, and NERVA by then was dying. 

Congress, exercising its power of the purse, appropriated $69 million for 

the program. Nixon, however, held the right to impound funds and refuse to 

spend them. A few years later, that power would be curtailed by the 

Impoundment Control Act, but in this fashion he released only $29 million for 

FY 1972, withholding the rest. That did it; when Fletcher sent his FY 1973 

budget request to Shultz, in September 1971, he abandoned hope of building 

a nuclear-powered engine suitabIe for Mars. 

This decision ended a longstanding NASA policy of developing advanced 

424 
Nixon 's Decision 

engines well before there was need for them. The agency had contracted with 

Rocketdyne to build the F-1 as early as January 1959, over two years before 

Kennedy called for Apollo. Development of the J-2 dated to September 1960. 

The demise of NERVA meant that nobody would be flying to Mars, perhaps 

not even within our lifetimes.26 

There also was a good deal of politics in another issue: where to launch 

the Shuttle. Though NASA had an obvious interest in using the Apollo launch 

facilities at Cape Canaveral, the Shuttle was not the Saturn V and plenty of 

people in other areas of the country were ready to propose that they could offer 

sites having unique advantages. All these people demanded careful attention, 

for they had congressmen and senators as well as access to local newspapers. 

The merits of Cape Canaveral were undeniable. In addition to its Apollo 

facilities, it was on the Intracoastal Waterway; hence barges could bring oversize rocket stages from such locations as NASA's Michoud Assembly Facility, 

a government-owned plant near New Orleans that had built the S-IC. The 

southerly latitude of the Cape also meant that rockets launched from this site 

would benefit from the Earth's rotation, which would impart a velocity of up 

to 914 mph while a vehicle sat on its pad. 

The Cape, however, had disadvantages as well. Many military launches 

demanded a polar orbit, but Canaveral could not accommodate rocket flights 

to due north or south; they might drop spent stages on the Carolinas or Cuba. 

The Air Force had built its own separate facilities at California's Vandenberg 

Air Force Base to get around this. The Cape was subject to corrosion from 

salt air. It needed a 10,000-foot runway to land the Shuttle, and while this was 

feasible, the Cape often had cloudy or rainy weather. Lying at sea level, it 

required rockets to blast their way through the entire thickness of the atmosphere. 

As early as April 1970, NASA's Tom Paine set up a 14-member Space 

Shuttle Facilities Group, which went on to evafuate both the Cape and the 

alternatives. NASA also contracted with the Ralph M. Parsons Co., a major 

heavy-construction firm, to provide independent outside advice. Some 20 

states went on to propose over a hundred possible locations, though many bidders had little idea of what NASA needed. Mill Creek, Oklahoma, invited 

26. National Journal, March 13,1971, p.541; May 29, 1971, pp. 1156-1 165; May 6, 1972, p. 787; Data Sheets: 

F- 1 Rocket Engine; J-2 Rocket Engine (Rocketdyne). 

425 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

NASA to use its town airfield; Brownsville, Texas put in a word for the nearby 

Cameron County Airport. Another bid came from Michigan’s upper peninsula. 

The source was an unemployed truck driver who told the New York Times, 

“Some of my friends and I were drinking it up a little at the town bar, and this 

guy came in who had just read about the space base competition ...” 

Nevertheless, there was at least one serious alternative: the Army’s White 

Sands Missile Range with its adjacent Holloman Air Force Base. Holloman 

offered existing runways along with a 4,000-foot elevation to complement its 

southerly latitude, thus giving a double boost to a shuttle. Located amid high 

desert, its weather was virtually cloudless and its flying conditions nearly 

ideal. An arid climate discouraged corrosion. The remoteness of White Sands 

also stimulated thoughts of all-azimuth launches, whereby this single facility 

would fire the Shuttle into both NASA and Air Force orbits. A community of 

missile specialists had worked here since World War 11. This location had 

another important resource: the powerful Senator Clinton Anderson of New 

Mexico, its home state, who was ready to fight vigorously for its selection. 

Anderson, however, was not the only Washington baron with eyes on this 

prize. Another was Congressman Oh Teague, chairman of the Subcommittee 

on Manned Space Flight within the House space committee. A committee 

staffer noted that early in 1970, 

NASA and industry spokesmen suddenly began pointing out that the shuttle 

potentially could be launched from almost anywhere in the United States. At 

that juncture, a number of congressmen discovered that they had phaseddown or abandoned facilities or Air Force bases in their districts. So Teague 

and the subcommittee decided they had better make their position-and that 

of thebll committee-clear from the outset. 

In December, he came out strongly in favor of Cape Canaveral, reacting 

with vigor against the suggestion that the Shuttle might go anywhere else. He 

warned, “Unless I am convinced that NASA is making maximum use of existing facilities, I intend to oppose any money for the shuttle in every way, form 

or fashion.” He later added that NASA had better put the base at Canaveral, “or 

come up with a goddamned good case for its removal.” 

NASA thus had to do a lot of stroking. In October 1970, George Low 

assured Senator Anderson that White Sands would receive close scrutiny. The 

426 
Nixon ’s Decision 

following March, Dale Myers reamed that the competition was far from over, 

and described White Sands as the closest challenger to the Cape. But when 

NASA announced its decision, in April 1972, it stated clearly that it was not 

about to build a national shuttle site in the New Mexico desert. It awarded the 

palm to Cape Canaveral, with Vandenberg AFB to serve for military launches. 

In announcing the decision, George Low said that it would cost $150 

million to modify the existing Apollo facilities, which included the Vehicle 

Assembly Building and Pads 39-A and -B. Though Vandenberg had nothing 

resembling the VAB that it could convert, it did have a big Titan I11 launch 

facility, Space Launch Complex 6, known as Slick-Six. This site would 

require $500 million, with the Air Force paying the bill. That service had no 

intention of sharing the cost of shuttle development with NASA; NERVA 

had received its budget partly from NASA and partly from the AEC, but the 

Shuttle would be entirely a NASA project even though the Air Force was to 

receive many of its benefits. By promising to pay for its own launch facility 

at Vandenberg, this service nevertheless showed that it too would become 

actively involved. 

The rejection of both NERVA and White Sands, at nearly the same time, 

was a double defeat for Senator Anderson. However, he was 76 years old and 

in poor health. In 1972, he announced that he would retire from the Senate 

and would not run for re-election. As chairman of that chamber’s space committee, he had done much for NASA. Even so, he wouId not be receiving any 

major base or program in New Mexico, to serve as his monument.27 

Awarding the Contracts 

The presidential campaign was in full swing in mid- 1972, and on July 3 1Jean 

Westwood, chairing the Democratic National Committee, issued a statement:28 

Three days ago, the Nixon Administration awarded the $2.6 billion space 

shuttle contract to the North American Rockwell Corporation in California. 

I regard this decision as the latest, and perhaps most blatant, example of 

President Nixon’s calculated use of the American taxpayers’ dollars for his 

21. National Journal, April 24, 1971, pp. 869-876; April 24, 1972, pp. 706-107. 

28. Westwood, “Statement,”July 31, 1972. 

427 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

own re-election purposes .... 

The award of this contract to North American Rockwell also raises questions of ethics. Why is it that five of the current directors of the corporation 

happened also to be major contributors to Richard Nixon’s election in 1968? 

I ask Democratic members of Congressfor a full airing of this contract 

award.... 

Westwood‘s press statement included a list of the “major contributors,” 

whose 1968 donations had mostly come to $1,000. One wealthy man, Henry 

Mudd, had given all of $2,000.Yet while stating explicitly that Nixon could 

be bought and sold for the price of a Volkswagen Beetle, she missed a potentially more significant story: Dale Myers, who had spent his career at North 

American, had put together the selection board that had picked this company 

as the winner of the contract. 

Myers was NASA’s Associate Administrator for Manned Space Flight. He 

was clearly aware of the potential for conflict of interest, for in Washington, it 

is well understood that the person who picks the membership of a review board 

can often determine its decisions in advance. George Low also saw the potential for conflict, and discussed the matter with colleagues. He later wrote that 

Myers “had fully divested himself of all his connections with North American 

and since this activity is so closely tied to all that he is going to do over the 

next several years, it was necessary that he should be involved.” 

Myers put together this board in January, while the choice of booster 

was still open. He picked its members based on their positions within NASA 

and their responsibilities within the shuttle program; the only non-NASA 

members were from the Air Force. A senior attorney provided legal counsel. 

Low wrote that he “concurred fully and formally in the selection” of the 

members. He and Myers also emphasized that the board “will conduct its 

business in strict accordance with the provisions of the Source Evaluation 

Board Manual.” 

The Request for Proposals went out on March 17, shortly after NASA 

had wrapped up the choice of the booster. Responses were due on May 12, 

and four companies replied: North American Rockwell, McDonnell Douglas, 

Lockheed, and Gmmman. Fletcher and Low-but not Myers-then reviewed 

the findings of the board during July, and met with the bidders’ corporate officers. With them was another NASA official, Richard McCurdy. He had just 

428 
Nixon’s Decision 

Space Shuttle Vehicle 

External Tank 

318 in Diameter 

SRM I Tank Forward 

1019 in 1493in -4 

rbiter AFT Ahach (2) 

+Z 

L+x 

2474 in 

The shuttle concept that won the contract, July 1972. (Rockwell International) 

returned from vacation; his secretary had flown to Spain to give him documents so he could read them on the way back. These three men then made the 

final decision. 

Lockheed ranked fourth in the competition. Though its bid was only $40 

million more than North American’s, some suspected that the proposal looked 

like another attempt at buying in. Its shuttle was heavy, and Fletcher wrote that 

its design had “unnecessary complexity.” Lockheed left a 65-second gap 

during ascent with no provision for abort. It proposed an overly high landing 

speed, a structure that could accumulate moisture, and a program management 

that would rely on subcontractors to do much of the detailed design. “We 

didn’t see how they were going to drive all those horses and keep the costs 

down,” said McCurdy. “We ended up not believing their proposal on costs.” 

Lockheed also was the only bidder with no experience in building 

piloted spacecraft. By contrast, McDonnell Douglas had been a mainstay in 

this area, for McDonnell Aircraft had built the Mercury and Gemini capsules 

429 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECZSZON 

while Douglas Aircraft constructed the Skylab space station. This very 

breadth of experience, however, worked against this merged company, for 

the concepts within the proposal came partly from Douglas in Huntington 

Beach, California and partly from McDonnell in St. Louis. “Their proposal 

was almost like two company proposals,” one source confided. “They gave 

the impression of never having consummated their marriage, and we couldn’t live with that.” 

Moreover, the proposal projected a relatively high cost, and showed 

technical weaknesses. It divided the flight testing between Edwards Air 

Force Base and Cape Canaveral in a way that required full data-handling 

capability at both sites. Its discussion of ground operations did not reflect 

recent company experience in the Apollo program. In addition to this, 

although Douglas had designed its DC- 10 airliner for easy maintenance, the 

provisions in the proposal ‘for maintainability of the Shuttle failed to adequately make use of this background. 

The company might have strengthened its bid with a good presentation 

to Fletcher, Low, and McCurdy, but this did not go well. Low wrote that this 

briefing 

really did not answer any questions. For example, we still don’t know who the 

Chief Engineer on the Shuttle will be. Answers in general were broad, generalized, and weak. The attitude displayed was “we are a great company and 

you had better give us the job because we will do the best job for you.” 

McDonnell Douglas came away ranked third in the competition. 

That left Grumman and North American, which together had built the 

piloted spacecraft of Apollo. “Theirs is the most recent, the most intense and 

the most demanding experience with manned space flight,” McCurdy said. 

“There’s no question it helped them formulate their proposals.” 

Grumman actually gained the highest score in the technical areas. Its configuration was not perfect, with Fletcher noting “complex designs” in 

guidance, control, navigation, and data processing. He, however, wrote that 

“Grumman’s design went to a greater depth of detail than those of the other 

companies. Its detailed weight estimates were substantiated by the design 

details.” Its structural layouts showed “a thorough understanding of potential 

problems and positive solutions,” and were simple and straightforward. 

430 
Nixon’s Decision 

“Grumman did a very good job in proposing design features to enhance maintainability,” he added. “The provisions it made for access throughout the 

vehicle were outstanding.” 

Grumman, however, was less outstanding in cost and management. Its 

proposed cost was higher than NASA liked. Fletcher saw why: the firm 

planned “to build up its work force rapidly to an early manpower peak. This 

poses the risk of premature hardening of the specifications and premature 

commitment of resources during the course of the program.” Grumman came 

in a strong second overall; its excellent design did not outweigh its shortcomings in these other areas. 

North American’s concept showed weaknesses, such as a crew cabin that 

would be difficult to build. Ironically, its overall strength stemmed in part 

from a near-disaster: the flight of Apollo 13, which had an onboard explosion 

and barely survived. Fletcher wrote that this company’s “good understanding 

of all electric power subsystems reflected the very thorough studies that North 

American made following the Apollo 13 accident, which had its origin in an 

electrical subsystem.” 

This firm’s proposal “provided the lightest dry weight of any of the 

designs submitted.” It “presented an excellent analysis of maintainability 

from the standpoint of design criteria and goals to achieve optimum turnaround conditions and timing between flights. It designed its orbiter vehicle 

with very good overall accessibility for maintenance.” For the critical functions of guidance, control, and navigation, North American provided a 

“simple design with minimum interfaces.” 

In addition to this, the proposal was particularly strong in cost and management. Its projected cost was the lowest of the four, and Low noted “the 

universal opinion that North American, indeed, will wind up with the lowest 

cost.” It achieved this in part by proposing a more measured approach to 

buildup of employment. “We were impressed by the way North American had 

thought through the personnel buildup,” said McCurdy. “The others attacked 

this problem a little more like a cavalry charge. North American had the 

lowest number of man-years in its shuttle proposal. Man-years is where you 

save money, nowhere else.” 

This company also gained an edge through its approach to minority 

hiring. A confrontation with black employees in 1969 had left North American 

determined to take the lead in promoting equal opportunity, and in 1972 this 

431 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECZSZON 

fmhad more blacks, Hispanics, and Asians than any of the three competitors. 

NASA viewed this as advantageous, for as McCurdy put it, “We’re not crusaders for civil rights. But the fact that North American moved forward on this 

front tells us something about how the company is thinking ahead.” 

Fletcher, Low, and McCurdy picked this winner on the afternoon of July 

26. In Low’s words, “we very quickly determined that all three of us wanted 

to select North American Rockwell on the basis of the highest score” and “the 

lowest cost.” They then made phone calls to spread the news. When Fletcher 

phoned North American, just after lunchtime in California, he found that this 

company’s executives already had gotten the word. Their local congressman, 

Del Clawson, had received his own phone call from NASA earlier that afternoon, and beat Fletcher to the punch with a call of his own. 

Had Nixon’s hand steered the choice? “The lack of White House interest in this selection had been remarkable,” Low wrote. Prior to that week’s 

round of meetings, he had asked Fletcher “whether he had any commitment 

to inform the White House what was going on and whether they wanted to 

get into the act in any way whatsoever. His answer was an emphatic no to 

both ques ti 01-1s.” 

At the company briefings, Low asked the bidders to comment on the fairness of the competition. In Low’s words, three of these firms “all indicated 

that this had been the best and fairest competition they had ever participated 

in.” Sanford McDonnell, president of his firm, reserved the right to lodge a 

protest, and Low noted that “in effect, Sandy McDonnell said that the competition was a fair one if we select McDonnell Douglas, and unfair if we select 

somebody else.” However, he accepted the final decisi0n.2~ 

His conduct thus contrasted with that of Pratt & Whitney, which had 

made just this type of formal protest a year earlier, on losing the SSME competition to Rocketdyne. This complaint had the legal status of a lawsuit, 

directed not against Rocketdyne but rather against NASA, which allegedly 

had performed wrongful acts in selecting that contractor. With Pratt as the 

plaintiff and NASA as defendant, Rocketdyne held the role of a highly interested witness whose testimony could help NASA in seeking to uphold this 

29. O’Toole and Dash, Space Shuttle; memo, Myers to Manned Spacecraft Center Duector, February 23, 1972; 

Source Evaluation Board, Report of Findings,June 23, 1972, General Summary; Low,Addendum to 

Personal Notes No. 75, July 29, 1972, Fletcher et al., “Selection of Contractor,” September 18, 1972. See 

also Reports SV 72-19, SSV 72-2 (North Amencan Rockwell). 

432 
Nixon’s Decision 

award. The proceedings did not take place in federal court, but rather went 

forward under the Comptroller General, Elmer Staats. He issued his decision 

at the end of March 1972, while preparation of proposals for the complete 

Shuttle was under way. 

Pratt’s attorneys, who were highly capable, argued that NASA had “failed 

to conduct meaningful negotiations.” NASA’s discussions with ’ the bidders 

“did not include the pointing out of deficiencies or weaknesses and did not 

afford offerors an opportunity to improve their proposals.” Staats would have 

none of this: 

“It is also unfai6 we think, to help one proposer through successive rounds 

of discussions to bring his original inadequate proposal up to the level of 

other adequate proposals by pointing out those weaknesses which were the 

result of his own lack of diligence, competence, or inventiveness. 

Had NASA “erroneously and illegally accepted a nonresponsive proposal?’ Though this introduced engineering issues, Staats found “no basis to 

object to the technical judgment reached.” Was it true that “NASA’s determination of Pratt & Whitney’s deficiencies was arbitrary and capricious?’ Pratt 

charged that NASA had failed to respond to requests for information, had 

unfairly penalized certain technical deficiencies in its proposal while giving 

Rocketdyne something of a free ride, and had failed “to read and fully comprehend” this proposal. Staats wrote, “The addnistrative report contains a 

detailed rebuttal of these contentions.” NASA’s evaluations “provided a sound 

basis for selecting the most advantageous proposal.” 

Pratt also complained that “selection of Rocketdyne wastes eleven 

years” of its experience. Though Pratt indeed had devoted much effort to its 

XLR-129 rocket engine, Staats concluded that NASA had fairly weighed 

the merits of this engine and had not overlooked its advantages in determining that “Rocketdyne offered the superior technical approach.” NASA 

had been obliged to give due weight to the experience of Pratt, and had 

done this. 

Staats disagreed with another contention: ithat Rocketdyne’s design 

invited a cost overrun. He concluded that Rocketdyne’s cost estimates had 

been well substantiated. Similarly, he did not accept that Rocketdyne had 

“obtained an unfair competitive advantage by diversion of Saturn funds to the 

433 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

SSME proposal effort.” He cited an audit by which “Rocketdyne determined 

the amount involved to be $2,526, and that it has made appropriate adjustments to the respective contract^."^^ 

He concluded, “We believe the procurement was conducted in a manner 

which was consistent with applicable law and regulations and was fair to all 

proposers.” The contract award to Rocketdyne would stand; Pratt’s attempt to 

overturn it had failed. Rocketdyne indeed would design and build the SSME. 

Because this division was part of North American Rockwell, the subsequent 

award of the main Shuttle contract to this company’s Space Division gave this 

fmresponsibility for the entire Shuttle orbiter, including its engine. This was 

more than North American had carried during Apollo, more than it had held 

since the days of Navaho some 20 years earlier. 

Now that Rocketdyne had the SSME, it intended to keep it. On receiving 

the initial contract award the previous July, William Bergen, president of 

North American, had approached Pratt & Whitney, inviting that company to 

share in the engine development. Pratt chose instead to pursue its appeal, and 

Low wrote in April 1972 that “there may be a lot of bad blood between the 2 

companies. Certainly it is not our intent to force a marriage at this time 

between Pratt and Whitney and Rocketdyne.” 

In building the orbiter, however, the Space Division would generously 

share the work by awarding important subcontracts to its rivals. In March 

1973, North American-now known as Rockwell International-gave 

Grumman responsibility for the orbiter’s delta wing, and granted McDonnell 

Douglas the right to build the small onboard rocket system that would be used 

for on-orbit maneuvers. NASA conducted additional contract competitions 

during 1973, choosing Martin Marietta to build the external tank and selecting Thiokol for the solid rocket booster^.^' 

The events of 1972 brought an end to NASA’s search for a post-Apollo 

future. The search had begun in 1965, when George Mueller had set up his 

Apollo Applications program office. This effort led to Skylab, but that offered 

no more than one more year of piloted missions. Characteristically, Mueller 

responded by seeking a larger space station that could fly atop a Saturn V. The 

Space Shuttle then grew out of this new pursuit, initially as a logistics vehicle 

30. Letter B-173677, Staats to Fletcher, March 3 1, 1972. 

31. [bid.;Low, Personal Notes No. 68,April 17, 1972; NASA SP-4012, vol. In, p. 49, 122-123. 

434 
Nixon 's Decision 

but growing to take on a life of its own. 

Why, finally, did Nixon decide to build the Shuttle? One must not underestimate the tendency of the federal government to look after its own; few 

major Washington programs reach an end, to vanish into the night. Nixon had 

no wish to shut down piloted space flight; he wanted to keep it alive. He also 

was concerned over aerospace employment. Yet he could have addressed such 

issues with nothing more than Big Gemini riding atop a Titan 111-M, to fly 

occasionally and show the flag. 

The key to the Shuttle was its well-founded prospect of low cost and routine operation. This promise did not rest on the cost-benefit studies of 

Mathematica, which the Flax Committee largely refuted and the OMB 

rejected out of hand. Rather, it rested on technical developments: automated 

onboard checkout, reusable thermal protection, rocket engines with long life. 

No OMB internal memo or White House report ever denied this promise; only 

experience would do that, years later. The Space Shuttle thus could find its 

way to approval, within a nation and government that remained willing to 

embrace the new. 

During 1972,the Shuttle entered a new phase, as a mainstream aerospace 

program. The debates and arguments were finished. NASA now held its 

future in its own hands, with responsibility for executing what it had planned 

and delivering what it had promised. 

435 
436 
Some publications have accession numbers from CAS1 (Center for Aerospace 

Information) or from SHHDC (Shuttle History Historical Documents 

Collection), at NASA-Marshall. 

Agnew, Spiro, chairman. The Post-Apollo 

Space Program: Directions for the Future 

[reprinted in NASA SP-4407, vol. I, pp. 522- 

5431 (Space Task Group, September 1969). 

Akridge, Max. Space Shuttle History (NASAMSFC; SHHDC-5013, January 8, 1970). 

Allen, H. Julian, and A. J. Eggers. A Stuiiy of 

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Ames, Milton B., chairman. Report of the Ad 

Hoc Subpanel on Reusable Launch Vehicle 

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Bender, Marylin, and Selig Altschul. The 

Chosen Instrument (New York Simon & 

Schuster, 1982). 

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Press, 1979). 

Bernstein, Jeremy. Three Degrees Above Zero 

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Catton, Bruce. A Stillness at Appomattox (New 

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Chaikin, Andrew. A Man on the Moon (New 

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437 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

-. NASA Space Shuttle Task Group Report, 

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Donlan, Charles J. Space Shuttle Systems 

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Dwiggins, Don. The SSP Here It Comes 

Ready or Not (Garden City, New York 

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Eddy, Paul; Elaine Porter, and Bruce Page. 

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Faget, Maxime, and Milton Silveira. 

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Fahrney, Rear Admiral D. S. The History of 

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Gomersall, Edward W., and Darretl E. Wilcox. 

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Gunston, Bill. Fighters of the Fifties (OsceoIa, 

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Halliday, David, and Robert Resnick. Physics 

for Students of Science and Engineering (New 

York: John Wiley, 1962). 

Hallion, Richard P. The Path to the Space 

Shuttle: The Evolution of Lzfting Reentry 

Technology (Edwards Air Force Base, 

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Hansen, James R. Transition to Space: A 

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Heiss, Klaus P., and Oskar Morgenstem. 

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438 
-. Turbulent Skies: The History of Commercial 

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Honvitch, Mel. Clipped Wings: The American 

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Huggett, Clayton; C. E. Bartley, and Mark M. 

Mills. Solid Propellant Rockets (Princeton, 

New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 

1960). 

Hunter, Maxwell W. II. The Origins of the 

Shuttle (According to Hunter) [reprinted in 

part in EartWSpace News, November 1976, 

pp. 5-71 (Sunnyvale, California: Lockheed, 

September, 1972). 

Huzel, Dieter K. Peenemunde to Canaveral 

(Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 

1962). 

Irving, Clive. Wide-Body: The Triumph of the 

747 (New York William Morrow, 1993). 

Jenkins, Dennis. Space Shuttle: The History of 

Developing the National Space Transportation 

System (Marceline, Missouri: Walsworth 

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Killian, James R. Sputnik, Scientists and 

Eisenhower (Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT 

Press, 1977). 

Klass, Philip J. Secret Sentries in Space (New 

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Knight, Geoffrey. Concorde: The Inside Story 

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Koppes, Clayton R. JPL and the American 

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Manchester, William. The Glory and the 

Dream (Boston: Little, Brown, 1974). 

439 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

McDonald, Robert A., ed. Corona Between the 

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442 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

REPORTS AND OTHER 

PUBLICATIONS: AIAA, 

CORPORATIONS, NASA 

The title of a report is often followed by an 

accession number: CASI (Center for 

Aerospace Information) or SHHDC (Shuttle 

History Historical Documents Collection), 

located at NASA’s Marshall Space Flight 

Center. Documents are grouped by source 

below. Except as noted, cited corporate documents are executive summaries. 

Aerospace Corp.: 

ATR-72 (7231)-1. August 1, 1971. Integrated 

Operations/Payloadeet Analysis Final 

Report. CASI 72N-26790. 

AIAA (American Institute of Aeronautics 

and Astronautics): 

69-1064. September 1969. L. J. Walkover and 

A. J. Stefan. Space Station Design for 

Flexibility. 

70-044. June 1970. E M. Stewart and R. L. 

Wetherington. Space Shuttle Main Propulsion. 

70-1249. October 1970. Philip P. Antonatos, 

Alfred C. Draper and Richard D. Neumann. 

Aero Thermodynamic and Configuration 

Development. 

71-658. June 1971. Richard C. Mulready. 

Pratt & Whibney’s Space Shuttle Main Engine. 

71-804. July 1971. J. E Yardley. McDonnell 

Douglas Fully Reusable Shuttle. 

71-805. July 1971. Bastian Hello. Fully 

Reusable Shuttle. 

71-806. July 1971. Robert N. Lindley. The 

Economics of a New Space Transportation 

System. 

73-31. Jannary 1973. Eugene S. Love. Von 

Kannan Lecture: Advanced Technology and 

the Space Shuttle. 

73-73. January 1973. M. W. Hunter 11, R. M. 

Gray and W.F. Miller. Design of Low-Cost, 

Refurbishable Spacecraft for Use with the 

Shuttle. 

89-2387. July 1989. D. Warren and C. Langer. 

History in the Making-The Mighty F-1 

Rocket Engine. 

2987. April-May 1991. B. L. Koff. Spanning 

the Globe with Jet Propulsion. 

Boeing: 

D2-114012-1. November 1,1967. Saturn V 

Single Launch Space Station and Observatory 

Facility. CASI 70N-27668. 

December 1971. Ballistic Recoverable & 

Reusable LOWRP Flyback Boosters. SHHDC2965. 

General Dynamics: 

GD/C-DCB-65-018. April 1965. Reusable 

Orbital Transport Second Stage Detailed 

Technical Report. 

GDC-DCB-67-031. September 25, 1967. 

Multipurpose Reusable Spacecraft Preliminary 

Design Effort. 

GDC-DCB-68-017. November 1968. Reusable 

Launch VehicleEpacecraft Concept. SHHDC0023. 

GDC-DCB-69-046. October 31,1969. Space 

ShuttZe Final Technical Report. CASI 70N31536. 

SAMSO-TR-68-171. April 1968. 

Multipurpose Reusable Spacecraft Cmise 

Vehicle Preliminary Design Effort. CASI 81X77461. 

November 17, 1971. Fully Reusable Shuttle. 

Grman: 

B35-43 RP-5.December 31, 1970. Alternate 

Space Shuttle Concepts Mid-Tern Report. 

442 
B35-43 RP-11. July 6, 1971. Alternate Space 

Shuttle Concepts Study. 

B35-43 Rp-21. September 1, 1971. Alternate 

Space Shuttle Concepts Study; Design 

Requirements and Phased Program 

Evaluation. CASI 73N-17877. 

B35-43 RP-28. November 15, 1971. Definition 

of Mark 1/11 Orbiters & Ballistic & Flyback 

Boosters. SHHDC-3004. 

B35-43 Rp-30. December 15, 1971. Shuttle 

Systems Evaluation and Selection. CASI 72N18871. 

B35-43 Rp-33. March 15, 1972. Space Shuttle 

System Program Definition; Phase B 

Extension Final Report. CASI 74N-30308. 

February 16, 1972. Shuttle Systems Evaluation 

and Selection; Phase B Extension Final 

Briefing. 

Lockheed: 

LMSC-A946632. March 1969. Space 

Transport and Recovery System (Space 

Shuttle). SHHDC-0048. 

LMSC-A959837. December 22,1969. Final 

Report: Integral Launch and Re-entry Vehicle. 

CASI 7ON-3183 1. 

LMSC-A989142. June 4, 1971. Study of 

Alternate Space Shuttle Concepts. CASI 74N76538. 

LMSGA990556. June 30, 1971. Payload 

Effects Analysis Study. CASI 7 lN-37496. 

LMSC-A990558. June 30, 1971. Design 

Guide for Space Shuttle Low-Cost Payloads. 

CASI 72N-31883. 

LMSC-A990594. June 30, 1971. Final Report 

Summary, Payload Effects Analysis. CASI 

7 1N-35028. 

LMSC-A991394. September 1, 1971. 

Alternate Space Shuttle Concepts Study: 

Interim Review Presentation. CASI 74N75495. 

Bibliography 

LMSC-A995887. November 3,1971. 

Alternate Space Shuttle Concepts Study. CASI 

74N-76542. 

LMSC-A995931. November 15,1971. 

Alternate Concepts Study Extension. CASI 

73N-30844. 

LMSC-D152947. February 22, 1972. Space 

Shuttle Final Review. CASI 75N-74948. 

LMSC-D153024. March 15, 1972. Space 

Shuttle Concepts. 

LMSC-D157302. February 15 1972. Space 

Shuttle Final Review. 

LPC 629-6. March 15, 1972. Study of Solid 

Rocket Motors for a Space Shuttle Booster. 

CASI 72N-22772. 

LR 18790. May 21, 1965. Design Studies of a 

Reusable Orbital Transport, First Stage. CASI 

65X- 19708. 

Martin Marietta: 

M-69-36. December 1969. Spacemaster: A 

Two-Stage Fully Reusable Space 

Transportation System. SHHDC-214. 

MCR-7 1-309. October 197 1. Study of Titan 

IlIL Booster for Space Shuttle Application. 

Mathernatica, he.: 

See Bibliography under “Heiss” and 

“Morgenstern.” 

McDonnetl Douglas-Space Shuttle: 

G994. February 7, 1969. Low-Cost Reusable 

Orbital Transport System. CASI 72x42639. 

H321. August 21, 1969. Big G: Logistic 

Spacecrafi Evolving from Gemini. CASI 69X18044. 

MDC E0049. November 1, 1969. Integral 

Launch and Reentry Vehicle System. CASI 

70N- 152 12. 

443 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

MDC E0056. December 15, 1969. A TwoStage Fixed Wing Space Transportation 

System. CASI 70N-31597. 

MDC E0308. June 30, 1971. Space Shuttle 

System Phase B Study Final Report. SmC2825. 

MDC E0376- 1. June 30, 1971. External LH2 

Tank Study Final Report. 

MDC E0497. November 15, 1971. Phase B 

System Study Extension Final Report. CASI 

76N-71552. 

MDC E0558. March 15,1972. Space Shuttle 

Phase B System Study Extension Final Report. 

CASI 77X-78418; SHHDC-2861. 

September 1, 1971. Interim Report to OMSF: 

Phase B System Study Extension. SHHDC2854. 

February 22, 1972. Space Shuttle Design 

Review: Phase B System Study Extension. 

McDonnell Douglas-Space Station: 

MDC G2570. November 1971.Space Station, 

Laboratory in Space. 

MDC G2727. April 1, 1972. Space Station 

Executive Summary. CASI 72N-27912. 

NASA: 

NAS 9-10960. June 1970. Study Control 

Document: Space Shuttle System Program 

Definition (Phase BJ.SHHDC-2916. 

SP-196. 1969. Proceedings of the Winter Study 

on Uses of Manned Space Flight, 197.5-1985. 

NASA Science and Technology Advisory 

Committee. 

SP-440. 198I. Donald D. Baals and William 

R. Corliss. Wnd Tunnels of NASA. 

SP-468. 1985. Laurence K. Loftin. Quest for 

Pelfonnance. 

SP-4011. 1977. Roland W. Newkirk, Ivan D. 

Ertel and Courtney G. Brooks. Skylab: A 

Chronology. 

SP-4012. 1988.Linda Neuman Ezell. NASA 

Historical Data Book: Programs and Projects. 

Vol. IX: 1958-1968. 

Vol. 111: 1969-1978. 

SP-4026. 1995. Hermann Noordung. The 

Problem of Space Travel: The Rocket Motor 

[English translation]. 

SP-4102. 1982. Arnold S. Levine. Managing 

NASA in the Apollo Era. 

SP-4205. 1979. Courtney G. Brooks, James 

M. Grimwood and Loyd S. Swenson, Jr. 

Chariots for Apollo: A History of Manned 

Lunar Spacecrafl. 

SP-4208. 1983. W. David Compton and 

Charles D. Benson. Living and Working in 

Space: A History of Skylab. 

SP-4210. 1977. R CargilI Hall. Lunar Impact: 

A History of Project Ranger. 

SP-4303. 1984. Richard I? Hallion. On the 

Frontier: Flight Research at Dryden, 1946-

1981. 

SP-4307. 1993. Henry C. Dethloff. 'Suddenly 

Tomorrow Came...': A History of the Johnson 

Space Center. 

SP-4308. 1995. James R. Hansen. Spaceflight 

Revolution: NASA Langley Research Center 

from Sputnik to Apollo. 

SP-4407. John M. Logsdon, gen. ed. Exploring 

the Unknown: Selected Documents in the 

History of the US.Civil Space Program. 

1995:Vol. I. Organizing for Exploration. 

1996.Vol. II.Relations with Other 

Organizations. 

TM X-52876. July 1970. Space 

Transportation System Technology Symposium. 

NASA Lewis Research Center. 

TTF-9227. December 1964. Hermann Oberth. 

Rockets in Planetary Space [English translation]. 

444 
North American Aviation: 

AL-1347. October 1951. Development of a 

Strategic Missile and Associated Projects. 

North American RockweU4pace Shuttle: 

LE 71-7. 1971. Shuttle - The Space 

Transporter of the 19805. 

SD 69-573-1. December 1969. Study of 

Integral Launch and Reentry Vehicle System. 

CASI 70N-3 1832. 

SD 71-114-1. June 25, 1971. Space Shuttle 

Phase B Final Report. CASI 74N-75830. 

SD 71-342. November 12, 1971. Space Shuttle 

Phase B Extension. CASI 72N-13860. 

SD 72-SH-0012-1. March 15, 1972. Space 

Shuttle Phase B Final Report. CASI 74N31330. 

SSV 72-2. October 1972. Space Shuttle 

Summary Briefing. 

SV 7 1-28. July 19, 197 1. Fully Reusable 

Shuttle. 

SV 7 1-40. September 1, 197 1. Space Shuttle 

Phase B Extension Mid-Ten Review. 

Vol. I: Executive Summary. 

Vol. 11:Mid-Term Presentation. CASI 90N70121. 

SV 71-50. November 3, 1971. Space Shuttle 

Phase B Extension, 4th Month Review. 

SHHDC-2961. 

SV 71-59. December 15, 1971. Space Shuttle 

Program Review. 

SV 72- 14. February 22, 1972. Space Shuttle 

Phase B Final Briefing. SHHDC-203. 

SV 72-19. July 8, 1972. Space Shuttle System 

Summary Briefing. 

Bibliography 

North American Rockwell-Space Station: 

SD 70-153. July 1970. Space Station Program 

Phase B Definition. CASI 70X-18668. 

SD 70-160. July 24, 1970. Space Base 

Definition. CASI 70X-17323. 

SD 70-536. November 1970. Space Station 

Mockup Brochure. CASI 71X-10114. 

SD 71-214. January 1, 1972. Modular Space 

Station Phase B Extension Period. CASI 72N18889. 

SD 71-217-1. January 1, 1972. Modular Space 

Station Phase B Extension: Preliminary 

System Design. CASI 72N-18881. 

SD 71-576. November 4, 1971. Modular 

Space Station Phase B Extension. CASI 72N22904. 

Pan Am (Pan American World Airways): 

December 8, 1970. Lehman Brothers. 

Prospectus: $87,375,000: 11-1/8% 

Guaranteed Loa Certijkates Due December 

16, 1986. 

Pratt & Whitney: 

GP 70-35. February 7, 1970. Space Shuttle 

Engine. 

GP 70-271. August 12, 1970. Space Shuttle 

Main Engine Orientation. 

PWA FP 71-50. April 28, 1971. Proposal for 

Space Shuttle Main Engine. 

Racketdyne: 

RSS-8333-1. June 23, 1971. Space Shuttle 

Main Engine Phase B Final Report. Volume I: 

Summary. 

445 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Thiokol: 

TWR-5672. March 15, 1972. Study of Solid 

Rocket Motors for a Space Shuttle Booster. 

CASI 73N-29820. 

United Technology: 

UTC 4205-72-7. March 15, 1972. Study of 

Solid Rocket Motors for a Space Shuttle 

Booster. CAS1 72N-22784. 

446 
Page references to illustrations or photos are in italics. 

A 

Aerojet General Corp., 16,24,48, 80, 106 

SSME, 249,255,266 

solid rockets, 45,46,353 

Aeronautics and Astronautics Coordinating Board (NASA-USAF), 83-84,201 

Aerophysics Laboratory (NAA),24 

Aerospace Corp., 54, 264,267,277-279,357 

aerospace industry, 291,292,395 

Aerospaceplane, 78-79,82 

Agenda rocket stage, 194, 197,227 

Agnew, Spiro, 125-126, 167, 170 

background, 144-145 

supports Mars flight, 126,145-146, 148, 150, 165-166,178 

Air Force: 

and CIA, 58,194, 195, 197,205,214,216,259 

high-speed flight, 25,28, 30-32,33,36-39,78-79 

lifting bodies, 40-41 

missiles, postwar, 17, 18, 19,22, 24,26,45-46,61 

and NASA, 83-84, 132-133, 199-202,215,224-225 

rocket engine research, 235-236,239 

space shuttle studies, 83-84, 116, 117, 210-213, 331-332 

sonic boom research, 309-3 10 

See also Dyna-Soar; Manned Orbiting Laboratory 

Air Force officials: 

Crotty, Maj. Patrick, 232 

Estes, Lieut. Gen. Howell, 54 

Hall, Lt. Col. Edward, 17,20,45 

Putt, Maj. Gen. Donald, 22 

Roth, Col. M. S., 19 

Schriever, Maj. Gen. Bernard, 45,54, 115 

Steelman, Lt. Col. Donald, 66 

Yarymovych, Michael, 215; quoted, 216 

Zuckert, Eugene, 54 

See also Hansen; Seamans 

Allen, H. Jnlian (NACA), 26,29,35-36,206 

Allen, William (Boeing), 300, 301, 302, 303, 307 

American Airlines, Inc., 252-253,319 

Kolk, Frank, 3 19 

American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics, 142-144 

Newbaner, John, 98 

Anderson, Sen. Clinton, 95, 178,203,423-424,426,427; quoted, 178 

ApOll~pr~g~Xtm, 25,63,64, 100, 101, 102, 112, 136,154-155, 158-159, 174, 176, 186,206,224,229, 

253 

Apollo 7, 73,113 

A@lo 8, 66, 113-1 14, 126, 147 

Apollo 9, 125-126 

447 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECIslON 

APOIIO 11, 66, 145-146, 147, 389-390 

Apollo 13, 113n, 431 

Apollo 16,366 

Apollo 17, 186, 270, 271,366 

lunar module, 112, 113, 125-126,227 

Apollo Applications Program,62-66,64,67,98,99, 101, 102, 103, 138-139, 189,434 

Apollo Telescope Mount, 63,65 

wet vs. dry workshop, 65-66,67 

See also Skylab 

Armstrong, Neil, 35, 187 

Army, 18,23,24,43 

Lemnitzer, Gen. Lyman, 153-154 

Army Air Forces, 14 

ASSET (hypersonic research vehicle), 36-37,41,53,210,221 

Astro launch vehicle concept, 80 

Astronauts: 

Anders, William, 113,382,408,422 

Armstrong, Neil, 35, 187 

Borman, Frank, 113, 126 

Chaffee, Roger, 100 

Grissom, Gus, 100 

Lovell, James, 113 

Schmitt, Harrison, 186 

White, Ed, 100 

astronomy in space, 2,8,63,71,423 

Astroplane launch vehicle concept, 80 

Astrorocket launch vehicle concept, 80-81 

Atlas rocket, 92 

for space flight, 25,37, 197, 199,399 

as ICBM, 24,45,50,196 

Atomic Energy Commission, 94, 105, 108, 394,423-424 

Seaborg, Glenn, 125 

automated checkout, in airliners, 88-89,252-253 

aviation, commercial, 84-85,260,292-293,295,318,328 

See also Boeing 727; Boeing 747; Concorde; Lockheed L-1011; Pan American; SST; Trippe 

aviation in Europe, 305. See also Concorde 

B 

B-52 bomber, 40-41, 193 

B-58 bomber, 210,310 

Becker, John, 27,28,29,30, 32,35 

Bell Aircraft Corp., 27,30,49,50 

Woods, Robert, 27 

Bellcomm, 136-137, 139, 146 

Bell Telephone Laboratories, 56-57, 214 

Boyle, William, 214 

Pierce, John, 57 

Smith, George, 214 

Bissell, Richard (CIA), 193, 194; quoted, 193,284-285 

Boeing Company, 50,5 1,70 

aviation, 295,297,300-301,302-303,311,318, 327-328 

Connelly, Bruce, 298 

Haynes, Hal, 303 
Index 

space shuttle studies, 224,265, 267, 348-349, 351-352,416-417,418-419 

Sutter, Joseph, 295, 296-297 

See also Allen; Boeing 747; SST; Steiner 

Boeing 747,295-302, 304,319,328 

design of, 295-297,301-302 

engines, 296,298, 301-302 

Bollay, William, 15, 16-17 

Bonestell, Chesley, 3, 5, 56 

magazine covers, 4,57 

Borman, Frank, 113, 126 

Bossart, Karel, 26 

Branscomb, Lewis, quoted, 131 

Bristol Siddeley, 305,306 

British Aircraft Corp., Ltd., 305, 306 

Bureau of the Budget, 63-65,109-110, 114, 121-123,203,204,269 

discounted dollars, in analyses, 170,255-259 

as federal institution, 159, 177, 269 

Gordon, Kermit, 203 

Rhode, Earl, 263 

Schlesinger, James, 159, 161 

See also Mayo; Office of Management and Budget 

Bussard, Robert, 105 

c 

C-5A transport, 294-295,297,320-321,323 

C-47 aircraft (“Gooney Bird”), 40, 41 

California Institute of Technology, 43, 119, 123 

Cape Canaveral, 198,200-201,202,214,215,275-277,425,426-427 

Vehicle Assembly Building, 275,276,297,427 

Caravelle airliner, 305 

Castenholz, Paul, 24, 25, 240-243, 272; quoted, 242, 243, 248 

Centaur rocket, 48-49, 135,235 

Central Intelligence Agency, 50,58, 191, 192, 193-196, 198,225 

Helms, Richard, 204 

Lundahl, Arthur, 194-195 

Wheelon, Albert, 273 

See also Bissell; Discoverer; reconnaissance 

Charyk, Joseph, 51 

China, 22, 153 

Chairman Mao, quoted, 81 

Chrysler Corp., 266, 267 

civil rights movement: 

Abernathy, Ralph, 151-152 

Brown v. Board of Education, 156 

Connor, Eugene “Bull,” 157 

Hamer, Fannie Lou, quoted, 157-158 

King, Martin Luther, 151, 152, 157 

Warren, Earl, 156 

Civil War, 152, 157, 159 

Clarke, Arthur C., 4, 11, 57, 187; quoted, 55-56 

Clauser, Francis, quoted, 119,245 

Cleaver, Arthur, quoted, 190 

Cold War, 3-4, 153-155 

449 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Castro, Fidel, 155 

See also Reconnaissance; Soviet Union 

Collier's magazine (series on space flight), 2-4,5,6, 11, 12,56,57, 127 

Manning, Gordon, 2, 3 

Ryan, Cornelius, 2-3 

Comet airliner, 305 

communications satellites, 8,55-56,57, 135,226,277,286 

Pierce, John, 57 

Concorde airliner, 305-307,328-329 

background of,304-306 

engine, 305 

Congress, 158,204,330,362 

and NASA budget, 65, 101, 177-186, 189-190,230-231,329 

and SST, 313-318 

and Lockheed L-1011,326-327,329 

See also House of Representatives; Senate 

Conquest of Space, The (George Pal film), 5, 11 

Conrad, Paul, 316,317 

Cosenza, Charles, 36,210 

Dassault, Marcel, 305 

David, Edward, 362,382,393,400,406,409,410,422 

Day, LeRoy, 131-132,134-135, 139,233; quoted, 368 

de Gaulle, Charles, 306 

de Havilland, Sir Geoffrey, 305 

De Lauer, Richard, 272 

Delta launch vehicle, 25, 85,277,399,419 

Democrahc Party, 326,413 

Westwood, Jean, quoted, 427-428 

Die Rakete zu den Planetenraumen (Oberth): quoted, 7-9 

discounted dollars, 255-256 

Discoverer reconnaissance satellites, 58,59, 194-196,284-285 

resolution, 195, I97 

achievements, 197, 198 

Disney, Walt, 5, 11 

Domestic Council, 268-269 

Dodan, Charles, 34,233,270,361, 375-376,401-402.403; quoted, 357, 377,410 

Dornberger, Walter, 27.28, 30; quoted, 92-93 

Douglas Aircraft Co., 69, 80, 85, 204, 227 

Bono, Philip, 92 

Douglas Skyrocket, 25-26, 30-31 

Drew, Russell, 124, 143, 148-149, 164, 167,362 

DuBridge, Lee, 123-124, 125, 126, 136, 142, 144, 148, 150, 164-165,192,362 

Dyna-Soar, 49-54,52,80-81,203,205, 221 

E 

Economists: 

how, Kenneth, 3 15 

Burns, MIX,123,176-177 

Friedman, Milton, 283,315 

Galbraith, John Kenneth, 3 15 

450 
Zndex 

Heller, Walter, 3 15 

Leontief, Wassily, 3 15 

Okun, Arthur, 3 15 

Samuelson, Paul, 315 

Wallich, Henry, 315 

Edwards Air Force Base, 39-40,41,51, 201, 248, 310 

BikIe, PauI, 40 

Eggers, Alfred, 27,35-36,206 

Ehrlichman, John, 173, 176, 189,269,383, 393, 395,404,411-412,414; quoted, 165-166,389, 392, 

414,415 

Eisenhower, Dwight, 153, 154, 156, 192, 193, 194 

electronics, 55,56-58, 68 

charge-coupled devices, 214,225 

engines, 6, 12, 19-20. See also rocket (several entries); ramjets; turbofans 

environmental movement, 31 1-312,318,394 

Brower, David, 312 

Exploration of Space, The (Clarke), 4 

F 

F-100 fighter, 26, 305 

FAA, 307,308,309,310,311,318 

Faget, Maxime, 34-35,206-207,221,232 

space shuttle concept, 208-213,217-223,224,233-234,337,401 

and external tanks, 341-344,342-343,346, 351,415-416 

foreshadows final shuttle design, 343, 344 

Fairey Delta FD-2,305 

Feni, Antonio, 78, 79 

Flanigan, Peter, 159, 165, 175-176, 177, 188-189, 273, 383, 385, 395.400-401,404,406,409,411,413, 

422 

Flax, Alexander, 363, 369-372,373, 381, 382 

Fletcher, James: quoted, 350,402,403,404 

background, 272-273 

meets with Nixon, 408,411-413 

and NERVA, 424 

and space shuttle, 350,351, 363-364,369,380-381,383,384,387,400,402-406,408-411,414,422, 

423 

shuttle contractor selection, 428,429,430-431,432 

Fubini, Eugene, 369, 382 

G 

Gardner, Trevor, 32, 192 

Garrett AiResearch, 77 

Gamin, Richard, quoted, 3 14 

Gemini program, 48,53, 129-130,203,206,253 

Big G, 129-130,289,370,383-384,385 

General Accounting mice, 243 

Staats, Elmer, 244,433-434 

General Dynamics Corp. (Convair),26,75,77,82,90,92,220,222,227 

Triamese, 89-90, 91, 118,218, 219-220 

shuttle studies of 1970-1971, 224 

General Electric Co., 11 1, 188,293,296-305,311 

Parker, Jack, I88 

451 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Gilpatric, Roswell, 195, 199 

Gilruth, Robert, 28, 34-35,72,98, 187,232; quoted, 128-129 

Goddard, Robert, 6-7 

Grand Tour (pIanetary mission), 392 

Grumman Aerospace Corp., 227,264-265,267,434 

Mead, Lawrence, 337 

space shuttle, contract competition, 428,430-43 1 

space shuttle studies, 337-341,339, 344, 348, 354,356,374,375 

w 

Haber, Heinz, 3 

Halaby, Najeeb, 306,308 

Hansen, Grant, 133,215,216,224,226 

Haughton, Daniel, 3 19-321,323-326, 360 

Hayden Planetarium, 2 

Coles, Robert, 2 

heat sink (thermal protection), 30,32,349, 355,356, 358 

Heath, Prime Minister Edward, 322,323-324 

Heiss, Klaus, 281, 359,373,376-377,410 

Hilton hotels, 94, 246 

historians, quoted: 

Benson, Charles, 65 

Catton, Bruce, 157 

Compton, David, 65 

Hunley, John, 11 

Honvitch, Mel, 310 

Koppes, Clayton, 285 

Logsdon, John, 103,114 

Newhouse, John, 301 

Richelson, Jeffrey, 58,204 

White, Theodore, 414 

Holloman Air Force Base, 426 

Homig, Donald, 96,203 

hot structures, 30,32,34, 36-37,38-39,52, 53,221,248, 349 

for space shuttle, 221-222, 333-336, 340, 346,348-349,351 

See also heat sink Inconel; thermal protection 

House of Representatives, members: 

Clawson, Del, 432 

Fulton, James,424 

Fuqua, Don, quoted, 182, 362 

Koch, Edward, quoted, 182 

Miller, George, 182; quoted, 178 

Patman, Wright, 326 

Roudebush, Richard, quoted, 182 

Yates, Sidney, 3 17 

See also Kartb Teague 

Hunter, Max, 85-86,88,89,207,245-246,247 

hypersonic flight, 26-33,34,35-39, 50,51,53 

crossrange, 37-38,213,216-217 

452 
I 

ICBMs, 26,27,45,58, 194-197 

Inconel metals, 30, 32, 34, 335 

Institute for Defense Analyses, 363, 375 

Brady, George, 375-376 

Finke, Reinald, 375 

Integral Launch and Reentry Vehicles, 92, 117 

Jet Propulsion Laboratory, 43, 123, 272, 285 

Dunn, Louis, 272 

Pickering, William, 285 

Ranger lunar program, 285 

Johnson, Clarence “Kelly,” 3 1, 192 

Johnson, Lyndon, 100, 114, 156, 158, 194; quoted, 101, 191 

and space program, 64-65,94-97, 101, 191,203 

and SST, 306,307-308 

Karth, Congressman Joseph, 180-182; quoted, 178, 181, 182 

Kartveli, Alexander, 78 

Kennedy, John F., 157; quoted, 154,307,390-391 

and Apollo, 59, 152, 390-391 

and civil rights, 156, 157 

and Cold War, 130.131, 152-156, 195 

and SST, 306,307 

Killian, James, 192 

Kmg, Martin Luther, 151, 152,157 

Kissinger, Henry, 173-174,204-205,269 

Kiwi nuclear rocket, 105-108 

Korean War, 22, 153 

Kryter, Karl, quoted, 310 

Kubnck, Stanley, 11 

Land, Edwin, 192 

Lang, Fritz, 9 

Lapp, Ralph, 259 

Ley, Willy, 1-2, 3,4, 5, 9 

lifting bodies, 35-36, 37-42, 89 

Peterson, Bruce, 41 

Reed, R. Dale, 39-40 

as space shuttles, 80, 82,88-89,207-208,209, 218,220, 337 

Thompson, Milt, 40 

HL-10,40,41, 218 

M2-F1,38,39-40,41 

M2-F2,38,40,41 

X-24A, 39,40 

X-24B, 4l,42 

Lilly, William, 404-405,422; quoted, 404,409 

Index 

453 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Lincoln, Abraham, 152 

Lindbergh, Charles, 315 

Lindley, Robert, 259-264,274-275,376 

Lockheed Aircraft Corp., 31,82,85,218,220,221 

C-5A, 294,320-321,323,360 

Johnson, Clarence “Kelly,” 31, 192 

L-loll airliner, 323,324-327,329-330 

Root, Eugene, 85 

Shuttie contract competition, 428 

shnttle studies, 1970-1972 224,264,265-266,267,278,354,356,360,419 

solid-fuel rockets, 46,353, 419, 422 

Space Shuttle, final design foreshadowed, 222,331 

Star Clipper concept, 88-89, 118,206,207,210,218,220,265,336-337 

See also Haughton; Hunter; SR-71 

Lockhecd L-1011,319-327 

and DC-IO, 319,326,327 

engines, 320,321-323,326 

Lord Carrington, 324 

Lord Cole, 322,323 

Los Angeles Ernes, 79 

Conrad, Paul, 316,317 

Miles, Marvin, 79 

Low, George, 112,267-268,372; quoted, 382-383,424 

and budgets, 270-271,331 

and contractor selections, 428,430,431,432,434 

and space shuttle, 270-271,289,366-367,383-384,385-386,387,396,397,400,402-403,405-406, 

407-408,409-411,418,422,426-427 

M 

MacLeish, Archibald, quoted, 147 

Magruder, William, quoted, 313 

New Technology Opportunities Program, 393,410 

SST, 3 13,330 

Manhattan Project, 3 

Man in Space (Disney), 5, 11 

Manned Orbiting Laboratory (USAF), 64, 203-205,214 

Manned Orbiting Module (NASA), 127 

Marquardt Co., 77 

Mars: automated missions, 98,99, 101-102, 176, 181-182,285 

Mars: piloted missions, 3, 5,60,70-71, 120, 126,138, 140, I65 

and BOB,171 

and Congress, 178, 181-182,216,424 

engincs for, 94-95, 105. See also NERVA 

as NASA goal, 96,98, 101,137-138,142,146-147,149-150, 164, 166, 167, 180,425 

Martin Marietta Cop. (also Martin Aircraft Co.): 

LeVine, David, 352 

lifting bodies, 37,40, 41 

space shuttle, 80-81, 118,224,352,367,434 

Titan launch vehicles, 49, 86 

See also Titan 

Mathematica, Inc : 

recommends TAOS, 378-379 

See also Heiss; Morgenstem 

454 
Index 

Mayo, Robert: 

director, Budget Bureau, 121, 159, 204-205, 259, 269 

and NASA budget, 121-123, 160, 161, 163-164, 170, 174-175, 177 

and space shuttle, 262-263, 274 

and Space Task Group, 125, 148, 164-165, 173 

McCurdy, Richard, 412,428-429; quoted, 430, 431,432 

McDonnell Aircraft Corp., 36, 89, 227 

McDonnell Douglas Cop, 89,218,219,220,222,319,434 

McDonnell, Sanford, 432 

shuttle contract competition, 428,429-430 

shuttle studies, 1970-1972: 224,226-227, 253,255,266, 332-336,335,341, 348, 349-350, 354, 

356,374,419 

space station studies, 227-228,229,230 

Tip Tank concept, 89,9U, 118,207, 218 

Yardley, John, 332,348,416 

McNamara, Robert, 53-54, 195,203,213,286,293,308 

and SST, 308 

Meany, George (An-CIO), 317; quoted, 269 

Mercury piloted spacecraft, 36,206 

missiles: 

Jupiter, 24, 196 

Minuteman, 44,45-46,61, 196 

MX-770, 16, 18-19 

Polaris, 44,45, 196 

R-7 (Soviet ICBM), 195, 196-197 

Redstone, 22-24 

See also Atlas; Navaho; Thor; Titan; V-2 

Mondale, Senator Walter, 183, 184, 231, 329; quoted, 183 

Moon: automated missions, 99, 112-113, 285 

Moon: piloted missions, 3, 5, 59-60, 70,99, 140, 150, 155 

See also Apollo 

Morgenstern, Oskar, 264,377,409 

MORL space station concept, 69-70,72, 126-127, 129 

Morrow, Ian, 322 

Mudd, Henry, 428 

Mueller, George, 61-62,98, 112, 119, 133, 179, 272; quoted, 92-94,246 

and Apollo Applications, 62-66, 102,200,203,204 

and post-Apollo future, 136-141, 146, 148, 149, 167, 170, 189,423,434 

and space shuttle, 86,92-94, 116, 117, 131-132, 133-134,215,224,246,251 

Myers, Dale, 25, 189, 223, 233, 270, 272; quoted, 179-180 

and space shuttle, 179-180,224,226,229,234, 351, 368,387,400,405,407,421-422,426,428 

N 

NACA (National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics), 25,27,28-29,30,31-32, 33 

Ames Aeronautical Laboratory, 35-36 

Dryden, Hugh, 32 

Langley Aeronautical Laboratory, 27-28,34-35,206 

Pilotless Aircraft Research Division (Langley), 28, 34,206 

Thompson, Floyd, 27-28,72 

NASA (National Aeronautics and Space Administration), 6,25,59,85, 102-103,106, 110, 152, 159, 

223,233,288-289,358-359,424-425 

Ames Research Center, 39,40,81, 115,201 

BOB,OMB views of, 109-110, 171-172, 360-361,364-366,396,398-400 

455 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

budget and staff level, 64-65,94, 101, 102, 110,121-123, 159, 161-164, 167-170, 174-177, 185-186, 

259-260,270-272,291,331,363-364,366,369,418 

cost overruns, 253-254,287 

Electronics Research Center, 176 

Langley Research Center, 40, 67,68,72,74,79,201 

long-range plans, 6,97-100, 137-141, 149-150, 162, 166-170, 168,169 

Michoud Assembly Facility, 60,425 

nuclear propulsion, 106,423-424 

Office of Manned Space Flight, 63, 86, 116, 119, 129, 136, 141, 180,421-422 

Office of Space Science and Applications, 63, 108, 136, 141, 180 

Planning Steering Group, 109, 136, 141 

procedures, planning, 108-109, 136-137 

program phases, 254-255 

space shuttle studies, 116-1 18,218,223-224,226-227,264-267,332,337-338,357,402-403,405 

White House views of, 160-162, 165-166, 273-274 

NASA Manned Spacecraft Center, 34-35,70, 101, 112, 131,358-359 

space shuttle, 82-83, 116,223-224,238, 359,408,417 

See also Faget; Gilruth 

NASA Marshall Space Flight Center, 74,358-360 

and Apollo, 60-61,224, 358 ' 

committed to liquid-he1 rockets, 359, 376, 416 

Mars missions, 96, 146-148 

Rees, Eberhard, 242,422 

solid-propellant rockets, 46,48, 359, 376,417,422 

space shuttle, 82-83, 84, 116, 131,223-224, 338, 353,416-417,421,422 

space stations, 71-72 

SSME, 236-238,242-243 

NASA officials: 

Akridge, Max, quoted, 82, 116,220 

Culbertson, Philip, quoted, 286 

Hearth, Donald, 137 

Love, Eugene, 40,416 

Mark, Hans, quoted, 115 

Mathews, Charles, 129, 131,209 

McGolrick, Joseph, quoted, 263, 286 

Phillips, Sam, 112 

Schneider, WiIIiam, 66 

Schnyer, Daniel, 116 

Silveira, Milton, 220,222; quoted, 208 

Silverstein, Abe, 127, 128 

Wyatt, Dale, 360 

See also Day; Donlan; Faget; Fletcher; Gilruth; Lilly; Lindley; Low; McCurdy; Mueller; Myers; 

Newell; Paine; Shapley; Von Braun; Webb 

National Aeronautics and Space Council, 125,382 

National Air and Space Museum, 66 

National Science Foundation, 73,395 

Bisplinghoff, Raymond, 395 

National Security Council, 268, 269 

Navaho missile, 20-25,45, 179,272 

engines, 19-24,23,25, 26 

Navy: 

and high-speed flight, 20,30-31, 32 

and solid-propellant rockets, 43-44 

456 
Index 

NERVA nuclear rocket, 94-95, 100, 106-108,107, 139,239,365-366,423-425,427 

termination of, 270,424-425 

Newell, Homer, 63, 108-109, 136-141; quoted, 109 

New Technology Opportunities Program, 392-395,414-415 

Nexus launch vehicle concept, 75, 76,79,92 

Nicholson, Rupert, 323 

Nixon, Richard, 115, 121,122, 123, 130-131, 144-145, 160, 161, 175, 177, 179, 184, 188, 189, 204-205, 

243, 326, 389-390,392-393,424 

approves space shuttle, 386,387,400,408,411-413,414-415 

management, interest in, 268-269,414 

sets up Office of Management and Budget, 268-270 

space, statements on, 147,391-392,412-413 

space, views on, 115-1 16, 161-162, 170, 366, 368,389,435 

and Space Task Group, 123, 125, 166, 167, 170,390 

Nixon Administration officials: 

Bums, Arthur, 123, 176, 177 

Connally, John, 325 

David, Edward, 362, 382, 393 

Harper, Edwin, quoted, 395 

Helms, Richard, 204 

Kriegsman, William, 390 

Laird, Melvin, 125,204-205 

Peterson, Peter, 383; quoted, 395 

Romney, George, 177 

Rose, Jonathan, 383 

Packard, David, 402 

Ruckelshaus, William, 317 

Schlesinger, James, 159, 161 

Seaborg, Glenn, 125 

Staats, Elmer, 244, 433-434 

Train, Russell, quoted, 314 

Ziegler, Ron, 167 

See also Flanigan; Kissinger; Magruder; Mayo; Office of Management and Budget; Rice; Rose; 

Seamans; Shultz, Weinberger; Whitehead 

Noordung, Hermann (pen name of Herman Potoc‘nik), 9-1 1, 67,68 

North American Aviation, 14-15, 24-25,26, 32, 35,67-68,75, 82, 117-1 18 

Atwood, J. Leland, quoted, 16, 17 

Bollay, William, 15, 16-17 

corporate divisions, 24-25 

Kindelberger, James “Dutch,” 14- 15 

Moore, John R., 25 

and postwar missiles, 16, 17, 20,22, 23 

Rice, Raymond, 15 

Storms, Harrison “Stormy,” 35 

Tinnan, Leonard, 75 

North American Rockwell, 117, 118,218,220,222,227,431-432,434 

Anderson, Robert, 240,243 

Bergen, William, 434 

foreshadows final shuttle design, 344-346,345 

Hello, Bastian, 332 

space shuttle, contract competition and award, 427-428,43 1-432 

space shuttle studies, 1970-1972: 224, 226-227,253,255, 266, 332-333,334, 335, 344-348,345, 

347,354,356,419,429 

space station studies, 227-228,229 

457 
0 

THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Northrop Corp., 40,4 1 

nuclear weapons, 22,44,48,50, 191-192, 193 

Oberth, Herman, 6-9 

Office of Management and Budget, 269,270-271,282-283,288,331,363-364,380-382,384-386,396, 

399-401,403-408,414,422,424 

Loweth, Hugh, 393 

Niskanen, William, 283-284,286,404 

S~llivan, John, 275,360,372,381,384,406,420-421 

Taft, Daniel, 271,288,360,362,363,384,417 

Young, John, 364,372 

See also Bureau of the Budget; Rice; Schulz; Weinberger 

Office ofScience and Technology, 98, 123-124, 143,362,393,410 

Goldmuntz, Lawrence, quoted, 394 

P 

Paine, Thomas, 66,111, 114-116, 124; 125, 126, 147, 150,188-189,229,267-268;quoted, 121, 124, 

127-128, 146-147, 177, 179,183-184, 187-188,389-390 

and Apollo, 112-1 14, 186,229 

background, 111, 114-115, 188,272 

boldness of, 114, 121-122, 127-128, 170, 187-188,400 

and civil rights demonstrators, 151-152 

and critics, 179 

and federal budget, 160, 164, 174-177, 183-184,229 

and post-Apollo future, 118, 125-126, 130-131, 136, 141, 144, 146-149, 165, 189 

and space shuttle, 132-133,224-225,425 

Pal, George, 4-5, 11 

Pan American World Airways, 295,297,328 

airliners, fault detection in, 252-253 

Boeing 747,295,297,298-299,300 

Borger, John, 295 

Kuter, Laurence, quoted, 299 

payload effects, 260-264,261,267,275,278, 279,284, 286 

Pearson, Sir Denning, 322 

Penkovskiy, Oleg, 196-197 

Penn Central Railroad, 326,393-394 

Phoebus nuclear rocket, 108 

Pierce, John, 57 

PotoEnik, Herman, see Noordung 

Pratt &Whimey, 235-236,238-239,255,266 

appeals to GAO, 243-244.432-434 

jet engines of, 296,298-299 

Mulready, Richard, 243 

Torell, Bruce, 243 

RL-10 rocket engine, 80,235,244,248 

XLR-130 rocket engine, 236,237,238,240,241-242,249,433 

President’s Science Advisory Committee, 98-100, 119, 131, 142-144,204,362 

PRII‘viE (hypersonic research vehicle), 37-39,40,41 

Problem of Space Travel, The (Noordung), 10 

project management: 

cost overruns, 1 16-117 

458 
Index 

preliminary design, 381 

program phases, 254-255 

studies, 116-117 

Prode, Senator William, 184, 186,326, 329; quoted, 311, 313,413 

opposes SST, 311,313-314 

Q 

Q-ball instrument, 34 

Quarles, Donald, 50 

R 

Raketenflugtechnik (Sanger), 12 

ramjets, 19-20,22, 77-78 

supersonic combustion (scramjet), 78-79, 81, 82, 83, 84 

Worth, Weldon, 20,78-79 

Rand Corp., 26, 159,286 

reaction controls, 33-34 

Reaction Motors, Inc., 32 

Reagan, Ronald, 230 

reconnaissance, 2, 8,50,53, 191-198,203,216,284 

Big Bird, 225, 232, 259, 273 

Corona, 58,59, 194-198,213-214,225,227, 259,284-285 

Gambit, 197, 213 

Kennan, 225 

real-time, 213-214 

significance of, 58, 191, 197, 198 

See also Central Intelligence Agency; Discoverer 

reentry, 26, 29, 34,35-36,37-38,41,206,209,217,401-402 

See also hypersonic flight; thermal protection 

Rice, Donald, 270-271, 286-287,288,360-361, 363,382, 383, 393,400,403-404,406,407,409, 410; 

quoted, 361 

Richelson, Jeffrey, quoted, 58,204 

riots, 100-101 

Rockefeller, Nelson, 144 

Rocketdyne, 24-25,74,235,238,239,240-244,255,266,432 

aerospike engine, 235,236,238,266 

Biggs, Robert, quoted, 240,242,250 

Brennan, William, 240, 243 

PI engine, 248,249,360,424-425 

Hoffman, Sam, 25,272 

5-2 engine, 25,235,240, 248, 249, 425 

J-2s engine, 265,351,356 

rocket, liquid fuel: 

airhreathing (LACE), 77 

early concepts, 6-7, 8-9,15 

injector, 17-18, 19,21,240 

in 1960s, 235-236 

postwar development, 16-18,20-24,25,26 

principles of, 7,21,235-236,397 

reusable, 74, 80, 248 

test facilities, 16, 17, 21,60 

turbojets, compared to, 12 

459 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

for X-15,32,34 

See aZso Pratt & Whitney; Rocketdyne; Space Shuttle Main Engine 

rocket, nuclear, 105-108, 139, 148 

Bussard, Robert, 105 

Dewar, James, quoted, 106 

Finger, Harold, 106 

See also NERVA 

rocket propellants: 

liquid, 6,7,8,45,338 

solid, 43-44,45 

rocket, solid fuel, 43,45,46,48,49, 84, 86, 88, 199, 421-422 

Atlantic Research Corp., 43 

Henderson, Charles, 43,44 

Rumbel, Keith, 43,44 

safety of, 419-420 

Sun Shipbuilding and Dry Dock Co., 46 

See also Aerojet; Lockheed; Thiokol; United Technology 

rocket, winged, 12-14, 13, 15-16, 18-20,22,25,74-75,79-81 

Bomi, 27,49 

Rockets, Missiles and Space Travel (Ley), 1-2 

Rogallo, Francis, 74 

Rolls-Royce, Ltd., 322-324 

Avon turbojet, 305 

Huddie, David, 320 

RB-211 turbofan, 320,321-322,324 

ROMBUS launch vehicle concept, 92 

Rose, Jonathan, 383,406,408,414,422 

Ryan, Cornelius, 2-3 

S 

Stinger, Eugen, 12-13,27,50 

Saturn I, 25, 62 

Saturn I-B, 25,60,74,83,84,98,99-100,199-200,266,370 

and Apollo Applications, 62, 63,66,67 

cost, 73, 199,271 

S-IVB (second stage), 62,63, 67, 70 

and space stations, 69,70, 126-127, 129 

SaturnV, 6,25, 35,59, 60,62,65-66,98, 102, 112, 125,229,276, 348 

and ApoIlo Applications, 63,65, 67, 147 

Cost, 48,73-74, 246-247,251-252 

production, 65,99,174, 176 

S-IC (first stage), 270,351,352,353,416,418-419,425 

and space stations, 67-68,70,72,129-130, 180,228-229 

Schlesinger, James, 159, 161 

Schriever, Maj. Gen. Bernard, 45,54, 115 

Science and Technology Advisory Committee (NASA), 119, 137, 139 

science fiction, 1,4-5,9, 11 

Seamans, Robert, 119,126; quoted, 142,234 

Air Force Secretary, 125,224-225 

background, 110-111 

endorses space shuttle, 142,234 

and Space Task Group, 125, 132-133,136,142, 143,144, 148, 150, 164 

Seattle, 303-304 

460 
Senate, members: 

Cannon, Howard, 424 

Cranston, Alan, 327 

Fulbright, William, 184,413 

Goldwater, Barry, 184 

Jackson, Henry, 3 12,3 15 

Kennedy, Edward, 179 

Magnuson, Warren, 3 15 

Mansfield, Mike, 178 

McCarthy, Joseph, 153 

McGovem, George, 413 

Metcalf, Lee, 327 

Nelson, Gaylord, quoted, 3 13 

Pastore, John, quoted, 231 

Scott, Hugh, 183-184,424 

Smith, Margaret Chase, quoted, 178 

Symington, Stuart, 193, 194 

See also Anderson; Johnson, Lyndon; Mondale; Proxmire 

Shapley, Willis, 109, 115,286, 331; quoted, 109, 115-116,410 

Shultz, George, 269-270, 368,390, 395,404, 406,409-410,415,418 

Sierra Club, 312, 313 

Silveira, Milton, 220,222; quoted, 208 

Six-Day War (1967), 213 

Skylab, 12,25,60,66, 67, 138-139, 147,434 

See also Apollo Applications 

SNECMA (France), 305,306 

solar power, 10-1 1, 62, 63,412 

Soviet Union, 9, 13, 22, 50, 130-131, 154-155, 195 

armaments, 13, 191-197, 198 

invasion of Czechoslovakia, 213-214 

Khrushchev, Nikita, 155 

Mir space station, 67 

Nedelin, Marshal Mitrofan, 197 

Plesetsk rocket center, 198 

Severodvinsk naval base, 198 

Stalin, 13, 155 

Tyuratam rocket center, 193-194, 196, 198 

Zond 5 (lunar mission), 112-113 

See also Cold War 

Space Act (1958), 98, 124-125,329 

space base (crew of 50 to loo), 129-130, 137, 140, 150 

spacecraft, automated, 56-58, 59,139, 194 

design of, 260-261, 278, 284-285 

low cost, see payload effects 

Vanguard, 57-58 

space flight: 

changing prospects, 56-59 

criticized by BOB and OMB, 109-1 IO, 171-172 

early visions of, 6-13,55-57 

long durations with crews, 67 

and national prestige, 154 

national significance, 414 

public opinion of, 178-179 

as wasteful, 74 

Index 

46I 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

Space Shuttle, 1,22,54,73, 81, 84, 120,293,399,422-423,429 

and Air Force, 133,214-217,224-226,231-234,401,402,422,427 

aluminum or titanium in construction, 222,331-332,416 

approved by Nixon, 386-387,408-415 

and BOB, 170-171,174,255-259 

booster, see space shuttle, booster 

concept of 1952: 3,4,5,6 

concepts of 1960-1969: 75-84,81,83,86-91,93-94, 116-118, 134-135,217-223 

and Congress, 179- 184,230-23 1,329 

contract award, 427-432 

cost-benefit tradeoff, 90-91,337,373,374,384,385 

costs, projected for program, 258,277,279,280,287, 340,341, 350,351,356-357,360, 370-372, 

373,378-380,405,420-421,422 

economic studies, 86,90-91,255-260,262-263,267,274-275,279-283,280,370-374,410,435 

with external tanks, 336,337-346,339,342,343,345,434 

fully reusable, 81, 82-84,83,85, 89, 118, 135,208-210,217-221,219,274-275,289,331,333,335, 

337,357-358, 361,387 

funding and budget, 118,131, 169, 180, 183-184,185,218,223,227,255,266-267,369,410,418 

with jet engines, 232,277,346,348 

launch and abort, 215,275-277 

launch site selection, 425-427 

low-cost flight, technology for, 246-253,254,287,435 

mission models, 263-264,277-278, 281, 284 

missions and rationale, 135-136,179-180,205,214-215,218-219,229 

name, origin of, 6, 92,413 

as NASA goal, 137, 142-144, 149-150, 164, 189-190,233,267 

and OMB, 271-272,282-288,331, 337, 358,360-361, 380-382,383-387, 396,399-401, 403-408, 

417-418 

onboard checkout, 88-89, 117, 133-134,251-253,261-262,278 

orbiter, see space shuttle, orbiter 

partially reusable, 85, 88-89,91,217-218,265,275, 278,336-337 

payload capacity, 117,133,225,231-233,341,405-407,409,415,420 

phased development, 265,267,270,350,356,359,370,415-416 

reviewed by Flax panel, 362-363,369-372,385 

and space station, 73,93,116, 117,118,130, 131,133, 135-136, 179-180,225-226,228-230,329, 

434 

and SpaceTask Group (1969), 133-136, 137, 150 

TAOS, 373-380,375,377,384,396,398,417 

technical background for, 33-34,48,49 

and White House officials, 382-383,395. See also Nixon 

See also Air Force; NASA; Space Shuttle Main Engine 

space shuttle, booster, 346-350,347,35 1-358,359-360,416-423 

expendable, 117-118, 134-135,218,265,351-354,352 

prassure-fed, 353,354, 355356,379,398,417-418 

pump-fed, 416-417,419,421 

solid propellant, 118,353,354,374-375,406,415,417,420-421 

and staging velocity, 338,340,341,344,348-349,354355,421 

winged S-IC, 74-75,355,356-357,359-360,361,381,416 

space shuttle, orbiter, 331-346,334,336,345,357 

final design, 331,344-346,345,399 

glider, 367-368,369-370,384,385-386,411 

Phase B concepts, 332-336,334 

Space Shuttle Main Engine: 

background, 235-239,248250,255,266 

462 
Index 

research and test, 240-242,241 

contract and protest, 239,243-244,432-434 

NASA role for, 34, 271,351,356,401,416 

space station, 12,59-60,66, 120,229-230 

and Air Force, 203,205 

and BOB, 171, 174 

bypassed by technology, 55-59 

concepts, early, 2-3,6-11,10,55-56,57 

concepts of 1960s: 67-73,68,69, 71, 126-127,225 

concepts of 1969-1970: 128-130, 131, 140, 180,227-228 

funding and budget, 131,169,223,272 

Heberlig, Jack, 227, 228-229 

modular designs, 225-226,229,230 

as NASA goal, 98,99, 100, 137, 142-144, 149-150, 164 

rationales for, 68-69, 71-72,93 

See also Apollo Applications; MORL; Skylab 

Space Task Group, 125-126,130-131, 132-133, 136, 137-138, 141-142, 144, 145-150, 160, 164-170, 

174, 181, 189, 190,224 

space tug, 139,226,232,377,378,379,423 

SR-71 aircraft, 210,213,221,222 

SST (supersonic transport), 304,306-318, 319, 329-330, 392 

and Congress, 3 13-3 18 

and environment, 311,312-314, 315-317,316 

financing of, 306,307,308,313,318 

sonic booms, 308-310 

SST, supporters and opponents: 

Beranek, Leo, 317 

Black, Eugene, 307-308 

Greif, Kenneth, 3 12,3 15 

Johnston, Harold, 316-317 

Kellogg, William, 3 17 

Leovy, Conway, 314 

Lindbergh, Charles, 3 15 

Lindsay, John, 3 14 

McDonald, James, 315-316 

Osborne, Stanley, 307-308 

Ruckelshaus, William, 3 17 

Shurcliff, William, 311, 312 

Train, Russell, quoted, 3 14 

See also Magruder; McNamara; Proxmire 

State Department, 125,268 

Acheson, Dean, quoted, 414 

Johnson, U. Alexis, 125 

Steiner, John (Boeing), 295; quoted, 302,303, 327-328 

submarines, 6, 7,44-45, 11 1, 198 

Sud Aviation (France), 305,306 

Suharto (Indonesia), 155 

supersonic flight, 19-20, 25-26, 27,305 

sonic boom, 308-309 

463 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DEClsION 

T 

Taylor, Charles, 193 

Teague, Congressman Olin ‘‘Tiger,” 178, 180-181,362,426; quoted, 180 

telemetry, 56,284-285 

test pilots, 92,247 

Knight,William, 33 

Peterson, Bruce, 41 

Thompson, Milt, 40 

Walker, Joseph, 32 

Texas Instruments, Inc., 115,245-246 

Haggerty, Patrick, 11 5 

Theory of Games and Economic Behavior (Morgenstem, Von Neumann), 264 

thermal protection, 36, 37, 38 

materials, 36, 221-222,251, 331, 334, 335, 346,348 

for shuttle booster, 222, 346-350,347, 356, 358 

for shuttle orbiter, 212,217,222,250-251, 333-336,334,416 

See also heat sink; hot siructures 

Thiokol Chemical Corp., 42-43,45,46,86, 353,422,434 

Crosby, Joseph, 43,45 

Thomas, Dylan, quoted, I IO 

Thor rocket: 

and space flight, 25,36,37,85, 194, 197, 199 

as weapon, 24,45,50, 196 

See also Delta 

Thorpe,Jeremy, 324 

Time magazine, 4,6, 114 

Titan ICBM, 24,45,47,48,50,51, 196, 199 

Titan 11,47,48-49, 5 1 

Titan III, 47,48-49,51,88, 102, 199-200,203,225,232,399,400 

alternative to shuttle, 170,216,255-259,288,380,406-407 

Titan III-L, 3.52-3.53, 354, 367 

Titan 111-M, 49, 84, 86-88,87, 91,99-100, 129, 199,352, 370 

Townes, Charles, 119 

committee report (1969), 119-121, 123, 125, 126, 141,245 

Treaty of Tordesillas, 198-199 

Trippe, Juan, 295,297,306-307 

Truman, Harry, 153 

TRW, Inc., 115,212-273 

Mettler, Ruben, 272-273 

Ramo, Simon, 115 

Solomon, George, 273 

Tsiolkovsky, Konstantin, 9 

turbofans, 293,294,319,323 

CF-6 (General Electric), 323 

JT-9D (Pratt & Whitney), 296,298-299,323 

ovalization problem, 301-302 

RB-21I (Rolls-Royce), 294, 320,321, 324 

TF-39 (General Electric), 293,296 

TWA (Trans World Airlines), 325,328 

Tyuratam (Soviet rocket center), 193-194, 196, 198 
U-2 aircraft, 192, 193-194,195,213 

United Airlines, 305 

United Technology Corp., 46,352-353 

V 

Y-2 missile, 1-2, 3, 9, 13, 14, 15-16,56,251 

engine, 16-18,21, 23-24 

V-2, project staff: 

Dannenberg, Konrad, 16-17 

Domberger, Walter, 27,28, 30; quoted, 92-93 

Ehricke, Gafft, 75 

Huter, Hans, 16-17 

Huzel, Dieter, 17 

Rees, Eberhard, 242,243 

Riedel, Walter, 17 

Riedel, Walther, 16-17,21 

Roth, Ludwig, 14 

Thiel, Walter, 17-18 

See also von Braun 

Van Allen, James, 35 1 

Vandenberg Air Force Base, 38, 194, 198, 214-215, 233,427 

Vietnam War, 100, 101, 114, 153-154, 155-156,204,291 

Ho Chi Minh, 153 

von Braun, Wemher, 9, 56,72, 117, 187,242,266; quoted, 60, 102, 129, 146, 152 

and Apollo, 60,62, 102, 152 

colleagues of, 16-18. See also V-2,project staff 

and Collier’s series, 2-3,6, 11,56,57 

flight to Mars, 146, 148 

publicizes space flight, 4, 5 

and rocket engines, 22-24,236-238,359 

and space stations, 2-3, 11,67,68,98, 129 

von Harbou, Thea, 9 

von Neumann, John, 264 

W 

Webb, James, 65,94-98,95, 102, 108, 110, 112-1 13, 114, 199,203,272,283; quoted, 97 

Weisner, Jerome, 95,361 

Weinberger, Caspar, 363-366,365,380-382,404,406,409,414,418,422; quoted, 381-382 

Wellington, Duke of, quoted, 190 

Westinghouse Electric Corp., 106,239 

Whipple, Fred, 3, 11 

Whitehead, Clay, 159, 160-161, 176,273,383,390 

White Sands Missile Range, 426-427 

Whittle, Sir Frank, 305 

wings, 30, 36.209-213,211,233,401-402 

canards, 18,212 

Draper, Alfred, 2 1 0,2 12 

Worth, Weldon, 20,78-79 

Wright-Patterson Air Force Base (Wright Field), 19-20,32, 36,78, 83,210 

465 
THE SPACE SHUTTLE DECISION 

x-Y-z 

X-1 aircraft, 25 

X-IA aircraft, 27 

X-2 aircraft, 27,28,29 

X-7 missile, 77-78 

X-15 aircraft, 32-35,41,42,49-50, 7.5, 92,201,209, 221,349 

ground operations, 247-248 

X-15, personnel: 

Brown, Clinton, 27-28 

Knight, William, 33 

McLellan, Charles, 29 

Soulb, Hartley, 28, 32 

Walker, Joseph, 32 

XB-70 aircraft, 201,210,308,310 

XF-103 fighter, 78 

York, Herbert, 50-5 1 

466 
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470 
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ion: NASA's Search for a Reusable Space Vehicle 

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T.A. Heppenheimer 

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13. ABSTRACT (Maximum200 words) 

Covers the political debate over building the Space Shuttle, explaininghow the Shuttle came into being after disagreem

Congress, the Office of Management and Budget, the Air Force, the White House, and NASA and takes a look at the lar

how politics can interact with science, technology,national security, and economics in national government. 

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Space Shuttle 470 

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