NASA’s First A

Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008
National Aeronautics and Space Administration

Office of Communications

Public Outreach Division

History Program Office

Washington, DC

2013

The NASA History Series

NASA SP-2012-4412
NASA’s First A

Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

Robert G. Ferguson
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Ferguson, Robert G.

 NASA’s first A : aeronautics from 1958 to 2008 / Robert G. Ferguson.

 p. cm. -- (The NASA history series) (NASA SP ; 2012-4412) 1. 

United States. National Aeronautics and Space Administration--History. 2. 

United States. National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics--History. I. 

Title. 

 TL521.312.F47 2012

 629.130973--dc23

 2011029949

This publication is available as a free download at

http://www.nasa.gov/ebooks.
v

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Acknowledgments vii

Chapter 1: The First A: The Other NASA ..................................1

Chapter 2: NACA Research, 1945–58 .................................... 25

Chapter 3: Creating NASA and the Space Race ........................57

Chapter 4: Renovation and Revolution ................................... 93

Chapter 5: Cold War Revival and Ideological Muddle ............141

Chapter 6: The Icarus Decade ............................................... 175

Chapter 7: Caught in Irons ................................................... 203

Chapter 8: Conclusion .......................................................... 229

Appendix: Aeronautics Budget 235

The NASA History Series 241

Index 259

vii

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Before naming individuals, I must express my gratitude to those who have 

labored, and continue to do so, to preserve and share NASA’s history.

I came to this project after years of studying private industry, where sources 

are rare and often inaccessible. By contrast, NASA’s History Program Office 

and its peers at the laboratories have been toiling for five decades, archiving, 

cataloging, interviewing, supporting research, and underwriting authors. For a 

survey work such as this, the ability to quickly locate primary documents and 

published historical accounts has been a necessity and a pleasure. I am deeply 

indebted to countless individuals, some of whom I know, many of whom I do 

not, who have quietly saved documents, patiently cared for photographs, and 

generously shared these treasures.

I wish to thank the NASA scientists and engineers who eagerly told their stories—I hope that I have done their stories justice. I also wish to thank the many 

researchers who took the time to cast their work within a historical context.

I need to make special mention of the historians who have gone before me 

and illuminated many of the case histories upon which this book depends. This 

undertaking would have been dramatically different, and probably impossible 

in my lifetime, had it been necessary to investigate every significant research 

program from scratch. While I share a general concern about the use of secondary sources, the authors upon whom I have relied have been exceedingly 

thorough and skilled.

Many at NASA provided their expert assistance, including Jane Odom, 

Colin Fries, John Hargenrader, Kathryn Goldberg, Anthony Springer, 

G. Michael Green, Glenn Bugos, Gail Langevin, and Nadine Andreassen. I 

also am indebted to Steve Garber, Glen Asner, Steve Dick, and Bill Barry for 

their patience, counsel, and encouragement.

I also wish to thank my reviewers, who waded through a difficult manuscript. For introducing me to this particular topic and assisting me at the 

beginning of my research, I thank both Roger Launius and Erik Conway.

A number of talented professionals helped transform my manuscript into a 

finished book. Kay Forrest carefully copyedited the manuscript. In the NASA 

Headquarters Communications Support Services Center, Lisa Jirousek, George 
NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

viii

Gonzalez, and Kurt von Tish performed additional copyediting; Christopher 

Yates designed and laid out the book; and Tun Hla oversaw the printing process.

I have gained much over the years from my network of colleagues in the 

history of technology. Members of the Society for the History of Technology, 

especially those aerospace historians known affectionately as “the Albatrosses,” 

were extremely helpful in a variety of large and small ways.

Lastly, I wish to thank my wife and children and all those I have not 

acknowledged for this opportunity to explore, reflect, and tell a story.
1

Chapter 1: 

The First A: 

The Other NASA

That NASA is more than a space agency may come as a surprise to some. 

Aeronautics, the first A of the NASA acronym, has always been a part of the 

National Aeronautics and Space Administration, but against the headline exploits 

of rocket launches, Moon landings, Space Shuttle missions, and Mars rovers, 

aeronautics is easily lost in the shadows of NASA’s marquee space programs. This 

relative obscurity belies what has been a remarkably creative, productive, and 

highly effective group of researchers who, at one time, even helped bring about the 

Space Age and invent a space agency. The list of accomplishments for NASA’s first 

A is long, and this book goes a modest way toward sketching these developments.

Aeronautics really might be called the “other NASA,” distinct in its charge, 

methodologies, and scale. Aeronautics research is not mission-oriented in the 

same way that going to the Moon or Mars is. It is interested in learning about 

physical phenomena, such as turbulence, and how to do something, such as 

quieting the noise of helicopter blades. Aeronautics’ mission is not about going 

somewhere specific or building one particular thing; it is about supporting the 

country’s commercial and military needs with respect to aviation. The contrast with the space program is telling: where NASA has gone to considerable 

lengths to justify the space program and explain how space innovations feed 

into the country’s more terrestrial needs, aeronautics research has had a direct 

and undeniable impact on commercial and military technology development. 

Its positive economic effects are generally accepted.1

 1. A summary of studies on NASA’s economic impact may be found in U.S. Congress, 
2

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

Being research-oriented, aeronautics naturally has a different methodological bent. Its activities revolve almost entirely around experimentation, made 

up of a combination of cutting-edge basic research and more routine assistance 

to its patrons in the military and industry. It has encompassed the use of wind 

tunnels,2 the flight testing of revolutionary prototypes, and the creation of new 

methodologies, such as computational fluid dynamics. Finally, aeronautics 

research typically has been conducted on a small scale and on, relatively speaking, limited budgets. It has not been characterized by extremely large projects 

on the order of the Apollo or Space Shuttle programs. This is not for lack of 

desire within the aeronautical research community; rather, the political will to 

do in aeronautics what was done for the space program has not been similar. 

Ultimately, the bulk of aeronautics work has been performed on a fraction of 

NASA’s overall budget. Even so, NASA’s aeronautics has had an outsize impact.

The nature of this impact deserves special attention because it locates 

NASA’s work within larger technical and historical narratives. The risk of 

detailing NASA’s technical achievements is to ascribe a kind of primacy and 

distinctiveness that is characteristic only some of the time. NASA researchers 

were not working in ivory towers, and they were not always the first link in a 

chain of innovation stretching from laboratory to industry. It is important to 

appreciate the ebb and flow of scientific and technological knowledge into and 

out of the various communities represented by NASA’s first A. NASA was not 

alone in pursuing aeronautical research: the U.S. military had its own facilities 

and programs, as did industry, academia, and foreign governments. Published 

papers, conferences, technical committee meetings, and joint projects created 

a shifting area of known and unknown, possible and impossible, across all of 

these actors. Researchers picked up where others left off, often taking ideas in 

new directions and, in a spirit of collegiality, hoping to best the others. This 

competition extended to the various communities within NASA as well.

That said, NASA has occupied a unique place within the research landscape. It has been a pooled national investment, providing a cadre of talented 

Office of Technology Assessment (Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing Office [GPO], 

October 1991).

 2. Wind tunnels, to be brief, are laboratory devices for measuring the flow of air, especially as it 

moves around solid shapes. They may be used to simulate the performance of aircraft and parts 

of aircraft in a highly controlled environment, thus reducing the need for risky and potentially 

costly flight testing. There are plenty of aeronautical investigations that do not need or make 

use of wind tunnels. It is but one experimental device available, and it finds its greatest utility in 

such areas as aerodynamics (e.g., lift and drag), aeroelasticity, thermodynamics, control, noise, 

propulsion, and icing.
Chapter 1: The First A: The Other NASA

3

researchers as well as facilities beyond industry’s means. Its collection of experimental facilities and flight-test capabilities was and remains unparalleled in the 

United States.3 Since World War II (WWII), it finds international comparison 

only to Russia’s Central Aerohydrodynamic Institute (TsAGI) and Gromov 

Flight Research Institute (both in Zhukovsky) and, more recently, the loosely 

associated but well-supported European experimental facilities.4 Along with 

such advanced experimental capabilities, NASA’s researchers had the institutional space to pursue more basic, more long-range, and riskier projects than 

many of their non-NASA peers. Though NASA has had its share of routine 

aeronautical testing, such as debugging problems for industrial partners, the 

organization gave researchers the freedom to pursue questions without commercial justification or market deadlines and without the narrow confines of 

military applicability. NASA researchers saw their positions as dream jobs, 

not for the money (they likely could have earned more in industry), nor for 

the prestige (none became household names), but for the ability to push the 

boundaries of what was known and what was technically possible. Such ideal 

research conditions drew talented engineers and scientists who, armed with 

some of the most capable and exotic experimental equipment and charged with 

the job of ensuring U.S. preeminence in military and commercial aviation, 

returned a panoply of remarkable, sometimes revolutionary, discoveries and 

technologies. These contributions have largely been invisible to the public.

Step onto a modern commercial passenger jet and you will be surrounded 

by some of the most indispensable of NASA’s contributions. The wings, for 

example, are likely descendants of the supercritical airfoils first developed 

 3. NASA’s aeronautics infrastructure was estimated to have a replacement value of $10 billion 
4

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

at the Langley Research Center in the 1960s and demonstrated in the early 

1970s. The control system, if it is of the latest variety, is a digital fly-by-wire 

system, a technology developed and first demonstrated at the Dryden Flight 

Research Center in the early 1970s. The aircraft itself, if designed in the last 

two to three decades, benefited from computational fluid dynamics (CFD), 

a way of simulating the aerodynamic flows about the aircraft using computers. NASA was a pathbreaker for CFD, aggressively pursuing CFD as both a 

potential replacement for and a complement to wind tunnel studies. Beyond 

commercial aircraft, aeronautical engineers created and tested novel reentry 

systems for returning space vehicles. They helped develop tilt-rotors, vehicles 

that combine the benefits of helicopters and fixed-wing aircraft. As of the writing of this book, they are helping to renovate the nation’s air traffic control 

system. More fundamentally, they have run thousands and thousands of tests 

on all manner of aviation-related questions, such as acoustics, aerodynamic 

drag, icing, vibration, crash survivability, and engine efficiency, just to name a 

few. These are the truly invisible contributions, evidenced by laboratory logs, 

conference presentations, technical reports, and journal articles. These reports 

and articles have been read, some filed away, some debated, some expanded 

and reformulated. Some sparked new solutions, and some spurred designers 

to try new approaches. Such has been NASA’s place in the larger ecology of 

aeronautical knowledge.

Still, one may wonder why NASA is involved in aeronautical research in 

the first place, and why in this manner? Federal support dates not merely to 

the creation of NASA, but to 1915 and the creation of NASA’s predecessor, 

the National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics (NACA, pronounced letter 

by letter).5

 The Wright brothers first flew in December 1903, but only with 

the use of aircraft in World War I did aviation became a matter of national 

importance. This technology and the passions and fears it provoked brought 

about the NACA, a civilian government agency devoted entirely to the military 

and commercial development of a single technology. Certainly this was not 

the country’s first government laboratory, and it was not the first attempt to 

provide research for the country’s economic well-being. The Army and Navy’s 

testing facilities, the Naval Observatory, and the National Bureau of Standards 

 5. Sticklers will note that the U.S. government supported aeronautical activities as early as the Civil 
Chapter 1: The First A: The Other NASA

5

all predated the NACA, as did the country’s agricultural experiment stations 

begun under the Hatch Act in 1897 and the land grant colleges initiated under 

the Morrill Act of 1862,6 but there was no national laboratory for automobiles 

or railroads. Such technologies were the province of private industry.7

 Aircraft 

evoked a different response. Here, a group of individuals from military, academic, and government backgrounds managed to exploit fears about America’s 

technological preparedness to create an aviation laboratory. European advances 

in aviation, as well as strong national support for aircraft development in 

England, France, and Germany, played no small part in encouraging the U.S. 

government to act.8

There were alternatives to the NACA’s civilian laboratory. The government 

could have opted for more narrowly focused military aeronautics laboratories, not unlike what the U.S. Air Force created after World War II. The 

government also could have supported university-run experimental facilities, 

something that the Guggenheim Fund for the Promotion of Aeronautics 

achieved privately in the interwar years.9 The NACA’s government-owned 

 6. A. Hunter Dupree, 
6

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

and -operated laboratory provided something of both: an institution that 

could perform military research (and guard such closely held information) as 

well as more academic and generally useful experimental studies. As a civilian 

laboratory, it could address the dual concerns of military preparedness and 

commercial competitiveness.

It is conceivable that, in the absence of government support, industry might 

have eventually created its own pooled research infrastructure. During World 

War II, a number of companies did band together to build a cooperative wind 

tunnel; the arrangement and the tunnel, however, did not have a long lifespan.10 There have also been private actors, such as Calspan (the descendent of 

Curtiss-Wright’s Buffalo labs and the Cornell Aeronautical Laboratory), that 

have provided for-hire research and development services.11 Also, companies 

supported, early on, parallel research and teaching programs at nearby colleges and universities (e.g., Boeing at the University of Washington, Douglas 

Aircraft at the California Institute of Technology [Caltech]).12 Thus, templates 

for the privatization of research have existed, but this path has never been fully 

explored and remains an unlikely scenario. In light of government assistance in 

Europe and the former Soviet Union (depending on when the comparison is 

made) and an overriding and persistent national desire to stay at the forefront 

of this particular technology, it has been a foregone conclusion that the U.S. 

government would also underwrite much of the country’s own basic research. 

This global race is very much about competing models of government support for, and intervention in, a particular industry (more broadly defined as 

the aerospace sector).

There have been at least two additional factors that have buttressed the 

economic and military arguments in favor of federally funded research. The 

first is the place that aeronautics has as a cultural force and national symbol. 

The emergence of the airplane was a fantastic and awesome spectacle. The 

 10.
Chapter 1: The First A: The Other NASA

7

first public flights moved quite a few people to decide that aviation was their 

passion and, if possible, their vocation. Aviation was heroic and modern. It 

represented the pinnacle of technological development.13 Though spaceflight 

has eclipsed aeronautics in this respect, aviation remains symbolic of national 

achievement and human ambition. It is no accident that of all the technologies that might be given a place of honor in the nation’s capital, only aviation 

and spaceflight have their own dedicated museum on the National Mall.14

The nation’s commitment to aeronautical prowess is, in part, about retaining 

a technological crown.15

The second contributing factor concerns the pace of technological change. 

An aeronautical laboratory only makes sense in the context of an evolving and 

little-understood technology. Had aviation somehow matured in a decade or 

two and had all the underlying physical phenomena revealed their secrets, there 

would have been little reason to continue further experimentation.16 Instead, 

the last century of flight has seen a series of developments that have fed calls 

for more research. Engineers pushed aircraft performance to faster speeds and 

higher altitudes, and, when they reached practical and economic barriers to 

going faster and higher, they turned their attention to efficiency, safety, and 

maneuverability. It is only more recently, some have argued, that the state of 

aeronautical knowledge has reached levels of maturity that portend quieter days 

for some of the laboratories. Still, aeronautical research remains sufficiently 

fecund that as larger tectonic shifts occur in the global economy, politics, the 

environment, and society, our definition of the technological frontier will also 

shift, leaving the laboratories with new puzzles to solve.

 13.
8

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

The Technical Narrative

In a classic and controversial essay on the history of technology, economic 

historian Robert Heilbroner argued that technology unfolds according to 

a logical sequence, that levels of scientific knowledge and technical skill 

are controlling factors for what follows next.17 A similar argument might 

be made for the unfolding of aeronautical knowledge in the 20th century 

as discoveries and innovations set the context for subsequent discoveries 

and innovations. The rise of computational fluid dynamics, for example, 

paced by the measured and seemingly predictable advance of semiconductors, has had knock-on effects across the organization. The development of 

digital fly-by-wire, likewise, has been an enabling technology for a whole 

new class of unstable vehicles that could not fly without such automatic 

control. Still, that there is an order to technical development obscures the 

manner in which the various aeronautical actors steered research one way 

or another; so too, such a conception ignores the manner in which political, 

military, and economic contexts swayed the paths of research. One can tell 

the story of NASA as a march of progress, but it is more honest and more 

interesting to understand how individual initiative and historical context 

wove the technical narrative.

The narrative about NASA’s aeronautics begins not in 1958, but in 1915, 

with the creation of the NACA. For the next quarter century, the NACA’s 

Langley Laboratory would establish a workmanlike reputation for its aerodynamic investigations, providing a fledgling industry and military aviation 

with key design data and insights.18 World War II and its aftermath greatly 

altered the landscape for aviation, catapulting the role of military aviation 

beyond its prewar, adjunct status. Military aviation proponents gained a new 

service branch, the Air Force, and a Navy with aircraft carriers, not battleships, at the heart of their battle groups (i.e., task forces and task groups).19

The aircraft industry found itself on a new political and financial footing, 

no longer struggling from one small batch of aircraft to the next as it had 

before the war. Commercial aviation, likewise, was growing and profitable. 

 17.
Chapter 1: The First A: The Other NASA

9

The industry now had two legs to stand on.20 The NACA, too, had blossomed 

into three Laboratories with two specialized flight-test areas, one for aircraft 

and one for rocketry. The rapid ascension of the technology and its military 

and commercial acceptance generally augured well for the NACA, but success gave rise to additional actors. Not only did industry greatly expand its 

laboratory infrastructure, but the U.S. Air Force had also begun to create its 

own in-house and subcontracted research and development (R&D) capabilities. All three of the military arms ultimately pursued their own missile 

programs. As to matters of leadership and the nominal task of serving as 

the nation’s aeronautical advisor, the NACA found itself treading gingerly 

between powerful and vocal partners.21

From 1945 to 1957, the dominant aeronautical themes revolved around 

speed and altitude. Jet engines and rockets were enabling technologies in this 

regard, but the research direction was also a complement to the Cold War 

and the spread of atomic weapons. Wartime lessons about R&D and technological leadership stoked fears that the Soviet Union might attain and wield 

superior military capabilities. High-speed, high-altitude flight was one such 

Cold War battleground, for these attributes, at least according to military 

aviators, tipped both offensive and defensive scales. Technically, this direction called for a whole new class of research facilities and methodologies. Of 

particular difficulty was predicting aerodynamic behavior in the transonic 

region, that is, the region straddling Mach 1, or the speed of sound.22 To 

 20.
10

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

sidestep the difficulties encountered when wind tunnels attempted to model 

the transonic regime, the NACA and the military set out to create a series of 

experimental vehicles, the first and most famous being the Bell X-1, which 

rocketed Chuck Yeager past Mach 1. Though researchers at the Langley 

Laboratory eventually discovered how to ingeniously design wind tunnels 

for the transonic region, the move into X-planes established a new and longlasting community of flight-test-oriented researchers. This was a fortuitous 

turn; instead of flight testing serving as a kind of ancillary laboratory function, the community of engineers, pilots, and technicians working on the dry 

lakebeds of Muroc, California, turned flight testing into a creative activity, a 

starting point for new and fruitful investigations.23 Geopolitics and thorny 

physical phenomena nurtured research methodology.

Sputnik’s October 1957 launch and orbit upended the NACA. A year 

later, in the NACA’s place, the country created a civilian space and aeronautics agency. To the original NACA Laboratories, Congress and President 

Dwight D. Eisenhower added the various military rocketry programs and the 

charge of answering Soviet space initiatives. For a time, the nation’s space program operated out of Langley Research Center, led by many former NACA 

aeronautics researchers. Most aeronautics programs initially continued to 

operate as they had before the change to NASA, but these were now a minor 

portion of a much larger and qualitatively different enterprise. Representing 

the acme of the higher and faster era of X-planes, NASA and the Air Force 

conducted rocket-plane flights at the edge of space in the X-15. Reaching 

speeds above Mach 6 and altitudes 67 miles above Earth, the X-15 was as 

much spacecraft as aircraft. Another experimental vehicle, begun through the 

personal initiative of an engineer at Muroc, paved the way for the creation of 

spacecraft that could fly to a landing when returning to Earth. The liftingbody program, as it was known, captured both the enterprising nature of 

grassroots projects and a genuine interest among aeronautical engineers to 

contribute to the space program.24

sound through a gas varies depending on the medium through which the sound travels and its 

temperature; in the case of aircraft, this means that sound travels faster at lower altitudes where 

the air is warmer. See John D. Anderson, Jr., A History of Aerodynamics and Its Impact on Flying 

Machines (Cambridge, U.K.: Cambridge University Press, 1998), pp. 375–376.

 23. Richard P. Hallion, On the Frontier: Flight Research at Dryden, 1946–1981 (Washington, DC: 

NASA SP-4303, 1984); Hansen, Engineer in Charge, chaps. 9–11.

 24. R. Dale Reed, with Darlene Lister, Wingless Flight: The Lifting Body Story (Washington, DC: NASA 

SP-4220, 1997); Hallion, On the Frontier.
Chapter 1: The First A: The Other NASA

11

One revealing project of the 1960s that NASA did not oversee was the 

Supersonic Transport, or SST. NASA served as the research arm for this Federal 

Aviation Administration (FAA) project. Had NASA’s aeronautics been equal in 

importance to the mission-oriented space side of the Agency, this might well 

have been a full-fledged NASA-managed project. However, the Agency had 

its hands full with its primary focus, going to the Moon. What is also telling 

is the fact that the nation pursued, however briefly, the SST project at all. The 

U.S. government, though supportive of aeronautics, had never crossed the 

line to underwriting directly the development of a commercial aircraft.25 The 

aircraft had its boosters (in industry, at the FAA, and at NASA) who supported 

the technology because it was the “next step,” but what gave it special impetus 

was the threat posed by Europe’s government-subsidized effort, Concorde. 

Even though Concorde ultimately proved unable to deliver on its commercial 

promises, it was the beginning of a unified and resurgent European aeronautical industry. Over the next five decades, NASA and its supporters would point 

to the growing European competitive threat (and its underlying government 

subsidies) as justification for U.S. support of aeronautical research. Still, and 

in spite of proffers to use NASA to develop exceedingly advanced commercial 

aircraft, NASA’s contribution to the economy continued to reflect a longstanding political philosophy of limited industrial intervention.

One of the more significant developments of the 1960s was one of the least 

flashy. Eschewing the risk and prestige of supersonic aircraft design, Richard 

Whitcomb and his team at Langley explored how to design more efficient 

subsonic airfoils and wings. Their solution, validated using airfoil models in 

wind tunnels, provided a template for all future low-drag, high-subsonic-speed 

wings.26 Whitcomb’s work was unusually insightful, and it exemplified the 

quiet and persistent efforts to understand and improve aircraft performance. 

It was also representative of the engineer’s art, where answers are rarely found 

in singular equations or inventions, but in the complex balancing of competing demands and physical phenomena. Whitcomb would go on to design and 

test winglets in the 1970s, establishing them as a useful option for engineers 

seeking greater subsonic efficiency.

 25.
12

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

The decade of the 1970s was a turning point for the technical, political, 

and economic threads of this narrative. The drawdown of the Apollo program 

(the final Moon mission took place in December 1972) brought the Agency 

into a kind of existential crisis, and it came at a time of environmental protest, technological backlash, and energy shortages. Highlighting aeronautics 

research was one way that NASA could show it was relevant to everyday problems. Answering public concern over oil shortages, NASA created the Aircraft 

Energy Efficiency Program, a multipronged effort that sought to provide a 

knowledge base for more fuel-efficient commercial aircraft. Responding to 

growing air traffic congestion, NASA highlighted its work on short takeoff and landing aircraft for possible commercial use. Though these research 

programs had the appearance of being politically generated (i.e., following 

political demands of the President, Congress, and constituents), they were, 

in fact, existing lines of research. Yet this shift in the packaging of aeronautics 

research was hardly symbolic; it presaged an increased level of control over 

research projects by Headquarters.

The 1970s were the breakout decade for digital computing. NASA had long 

used computers for performing tedious mathematical calculations, and in the 

1960s the Langley Laboratory oversaw the development of a structural analysis software package (NASTRAN, or NASA Structural Analysis) that would 

become widely used in the engineering world; but with the 1970s, NASA put 

digital computing to new use. At Ames Research Center, some researchers 

aggressively set out to replace wind tunnels through the use of supercomputers. 

At Dryden, engineers created a digital fly-by-wire control system that, to put it 

simply, decided how best to fly the aircraft, and at Langley, engineers worked 

to integrate new digital equipment into the cockpit. In hindsight, the spread 

of computers might appear entirely logical and expected, but what researchers were setting out to do was revolutionary in every way. Digital fly-by-wire, 

for example, was not simply about replacing manual control with computer 

control, but about designing aircraft that humans could not control without 

computers. Digital computing helped redefine practice in the laboratory, in 

the factory, and in the air.

The attention paid to aeronautics in the post-Apollo era (along with tighter 

Agency funding) brought about a shuffling of Center specialization. At Lewis, 

which had focused almost exclusively on space propulsion in the 1960s, the 

Center returned to its roots and began experimenting with air-breathing propulsion again. At Ames and Langley, two Centers that appeared (to some) to 

duplicate each other’s research capabilities, concern grew about how to differentiate the two. In fact, there had always been more than enough research 

work to go around, but looking down from the top, Ames and Langley both 

had large expanses of wind tunnels. The outcome was that Ames diversified 
Chapter 1: The First A: The Other NASA

13

into areas beyond its aeronautics core, pursued computational flight dynamics as a gambit to leapfrog wind tunnels, and gained control of NASA’s vertical and short takeoff programs. This put Langley in charge of the long-haul, 

fixed-wing programs, as well as structures, materials, guidance and control, 

and environmental quality.

In the 1980s, a loosening of oil supplies reduced concerns about fuel 

efficiency while reinvigorated fears of the Soviet Union increased funding 

for military development and new experimental vehicles. Playing into the 

Cold War push were changes in battle tactics that emphasized stealth and 

maneuverability over speed and altitude.27 NASA’s digital fly-by-wire technology proved to be an enabling technology for many of these highly unstable 

designs. While many of the vehicles of this X-plane renaissance were fruits of 

the Department of Defense (DOD), NASA’s Langley and Dryden facilities 

provided essential assistance in wind tunnel evaluation and flight testing. The 

1980s also saw the introduction of three major test facilities: the creation 

of the National Transonic Facility at Langley (1982), the addition of a new 

80-by-120-foot open section to Ames’s National Full-Scale Aerodynamics 

Complex (1987), and the creation of Ames’s Numerical Aerodynamic 

Simulation facility (1988).

In 1986, NASA’s Space Shuttle Challenger exploded during launch. The 

tragedy forced the Agency into a period of public scrutiny and self-examination. 

Leaky O-rings on the Shuttle’s solid rocket boosters were eventually tied to failures in leadership, program management, and Agency culture.28 A little over a 

week after the accident, President Ronald Reagan announced that the country 

would be moving ahead with the Space Shuttle, a space station, and a new 

project called (at least in his State of the Union Address) the Orient Express. 

Though advertised primarily as a commercial passenger vehicle, the National 

Aero-Space Plane (NASP) was really the second phase of a single-stage-to-orbit 

project for the military. NASA joined the project and performed research on 

scramjets, hypersonic aerodynamics, and materials, all areas in which the Agency 

had prior experience. Indeed, Langley’s longtime work on scramjets had helped 

inspire the military’s earlier designs. NASP never realized its goal, but it did 

 27.
14

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

answer those critics who said that NASA needed to regain the bold spirit of 

the Apollo program.

The 1990s signaled a series of turning points in the Agency’s aeronautics 

programs. Externally, the end of the Cold War spelled fewer military research 

and development programs; it also lessened one of the key rationales for 

federally funded aeronautics research. At a time when the forthcoming generation of American fighter aircraft (i.e., the eventual F-22 and F-35) was 

going unanswered by potential adversaries, research on even more advanced 

technologies was hardly pressing. Further, within the federal government 

and within NASA, moves were afoot to make the Agency more accountable and businesslike, trends that reduced grassroots control over research 

and budgetary decisions. Daniel Goldin, who served as NASA Administrator 

from 1992 to 2001, championed these changes and called on aeronautics 

to reinvent itself. What followed for the next decade was a series of mission 

statements and restatements, each with consequent organizational tweaks 

and upsets. Most immediately, NASA’s aeronautics programs attempted to 

emulate NASA’s large-scale programs by situating its research within two 

massive programs: the Advanced Subsonic Technology (AST) Program and 

the High Speed Research (HSR) Program. For a time, the strategy appeared 

successful: NASA’s annual aeronautics funding approached 1 billion dollars 

(or even more, depending on how one measures the aeronautics budget), 

with AST and HSR funding a broad array of projects, such as engine noise 

and composite material applications. However, the Agency was never greatly 

invested in the two megaprograms, so when budgetary pressures became too 

great, AST and HSR tumbled. Program size proved no bulwark against spending cuts. By 1999, funding for AST and HSR came to an end, and, from a 

budget high of $957 million in 1994, funding dropped to $600 million in 

2000 and continued retreating into the next decade.29

By the turn of the millennium, aeronautics was caught in the doldrums, 

beset by shifting program goals and uncertain support for much of the basic 

research that had been its mainstay. The loss of the Shuttle Columbia on reentry 

in 2003 brought about another reexamination of the human space program; 

this ultimately led to a decision to continue building the International Space 

Station while also designing and building a new space transportation system 

that would take humans back to the Moon and on to Mars. All of this was to be 

accomplished without a dramatic increase in Agency funding. In aeronautics, 

these more recent events only exacerbated longer-term trends that were whittling away at core programs. Concern grew about the viability of wind tunnels 

 29.
Chapter 1: The First A: The Other NASA

15

and expert communities. The rotorcraft program at Ames, for example, almost 

disappeared, leaving for a period only the Army half of the rotorcraft laboratory. 

In 2005, a new Administrator, Michael Griffin, reoriented the Agency, this 

time returning the Aeronautics Mission Directorate’s focus to basic research. 

Whereas the prior decade had sought to buttress aeronautics through a futile 

search for politically attractive applications and end products, Griffin’s policy 

stated that basic research was the goal. Though a welcome change, the policy 

did little to stem the overall decline in funding.

Communities of Researchers

Aeronautics was never a singular entity or function within NASA. It comprised activities at four Research Centers. Langley in Virginia, the oldest of 

the Laboratories, has been the most closely associated with aviation and often 

characterized as engineering-minded and pragmatically oriented.30 The Lewis 

Lab in Ohio, renamed the Glenn Research Center in 1999, focused largely 

on space propulsion during the 1960s but revitalized its jet and propeller 

turbine research in the 1970s.31 Not all propulsion work has been done at 

Lewis/Glenn; Langley has long been the center of research for scramjets, very 

specialized engines designed to operate at hypersonic speeds. In California, 

Ames initially was a complement to Langley and included a large number of 

similar wind tunnel facilities. Over time, Ames established itself as the more 

theoretically oriented of the two and worked to diversify itself away from 

Langley’s strengths by developing astrobiology research, CFD, human factors, flight simulation, airspace management, and “short-haul” aircraft (e.g., 

rotorcraft).32 Dryden, initially a simple flight research base amidst California’s 

dry lakebeds, blossomed into a very capable and innovative research facility 

in its own right.33

Within each one of these Research Centers were various research branches, 

teams of scientists and engineers focused on a particular problem area or 

subject. Early on, the branches at Langley and Ames were typically associated 

with particular speed regimes and a specific wind tunnel. Other branches 

 30.
16

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

focused on a variety of subject areas, such as “theoretical” (often a code word 

for groups working in computational fluid dynamics), materials, simulation, 

or safety. The branches were important because they formed the research unit. 

The branch was where most of the work was performed; it was where new 

employees were inducted into a particular field of expertise; it was where key 

technical decisions were made (as opposed to key policy decisions); and it 

was, for many years, the starting point for climbing the Laboratory hierarchy. 

The branch system rewarded intellectual rigor and innovative thinking, but 

not necessarily managerial skills or fealty to NASA Headquarters. Branch 

chiefs reported to division chiefs, and division chiefs reported to the Center 

Director (or Engineer-in-Charge, as the position was originally called at 

Langley). Center Directors in the NACA era exercised significant control 

over Laboratory budgets. In the NASA era, organizational trends slowly 

eroded this hierarchy. Branches remained, but increasingly they reported to 

project offices and the aeronautics directorate operating out of Headquarters. 

Center Directors, who by the 1970s were starting to come from outside of the 

branches, became caretakers for various divisions, branches, and facilities that 

stretched across directorates (e.g., aeronautics and space science). The informal, insular, and technocratic traditions of the old Laboratories slowly gave 

way to remote oversight and increased administrative checks and reporting.

The role of the space program is impossible to ignore in this narrative, for it 

had a strong impact on the content and organization of aeronautical research. 

Even if aeronautics is the “other NASA” (and it is probable that other subsets 

of NASA would also lay claim to being distinct in form and function), it is still 

part of NASA. As such, it has a shared history as well as a shared leadership 

and administrative structure with the larger organization. It would be an oversimplification to say that as NASA’s space program goes, so goes aeronautics. 

But in some key respects, the statement holds, and not just because of porous 

boundaries between the two. First, aeronautics has been subject to long-term 

administrative trends that began primarily on the big-project, space side of the 

house, especially the centralization and bureaucratization of research administration. At the risk of overstatement, aeronautics has become a collection of 

relatively small research programs run with big-program management. Second, 

aeronautics’ budget does not exist within a safe harbor but is subject to Agencywide pressure to carry out NASA’s biggest and most public programs, namely, 

the human space program. These pressures became particularly acute after 

the end of the Cold War, which had served as a core justification for military 

aeronautics research since the late 1940s. Third, for good and ill, aeronautics 

has ridden the coattails of the space program, sharing in the prestige of the 

Agency’s successes and redoubling its efforts in the face of tragedy and criticism 

about the Agency’s efficacy and goals.
Chapter 1: The First A: The Other NASA

17

The relationship between aeronautics and the space program is not a question 

of whether aeronautics would have been better off as a separate entity (a thorny 

hypothetical), but the ways in which aeronautics research has adjusted to a management structure focused on a very different task. Interestingly, NASA’s founders 

drew a line between the research side of the Agency (which included both space 

and aeronautics) and the mission-oriented space side. The research side was largely 

the old NACA community, reconstituted within NASA. For quite a while, this 

research community continued to do its work as it had under the NACA. With 

time, this managerial and budgetary wall between research and missions fell, leaving research, including aeronautics research, as just another claimant to NASA’s 

budget. Furthermore, the spread of space-oriented administrative procedures 

evolved to treat research as an engineering management exercise with predefined 

goals, metered pacing, and centrally approved budgets. Though these procedures 

were entirely appropriate for expansive projects that sought to build and deploy 

space hardware, they were ill fitting to an endeavor that had open-ended possibilities, unknown schedules of discovery and innovation, and hunches that fell 

outside of budgeted research. In short, big-project management was not the same 

endeavor as supporting an advanced research community.

Living with the space program had salutary, if unintended, effects for aeronautics research. Notably, making aeronautics second fiddle forced Centers and 

branches to think about their competitive advantage and to consider alternate 

technologies and approaches. It is quite possible that the technical narrative 

would be very different had aeronautics been restricted to the activities of a 

single Center. One might see in this an evolutionary explanation for the creation and population of new research programs; one might also view this as 

mere bureaucratic opportunism. Regardless of motivation, the outcome has 

been fruitful competition and a differentiation of methodologies.

Conversely, this competition for resources led aeronautics to act like the 

space side of the house, refashioning itself in ways that were not necessarily 

reflective of either the scale or nature of research in the Labs. In the 1960s, 

the various aeronautics programs were specifically prevented from overseeing 

their own SST vehicle program, but come the 1970s, they began inching 

toward larger policy-directed programs that aggregated numerous small-scale 

programs. The apotheosis of this trend could be found in the AST and HSR 

programs of the 1990s. Large, application-oriented programs seemed to have 

a natural attraction as viable competitors for funding within the Agency and 

political support on the Hill.34 The problems for big-name projects were, first, 

 34.
18

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

that in their size, they were unrepresentative of the kind of work done at the 

Centers, and, second, that the Agency simply did not have the resources to give 

aeronautics a sustained, space-size budget. It remains a continuing challenge 

for aeronautics to carve from the space agency an organizational apparatus that 

meets the needs of this “other NASA.”

Another inescapable facet of this history is the role played by experimental 

apparatus and methodology. For the first century of aviation, the wind tunnel 

has been the archetypal laboratory instrument for aeronautics research. Early 

on, the NACA developed a close association with wind tunnels, being both 

innovators in tunnel design and strong proponents of their use. In the 1920s, 

for example, the NACA established its reputation building and using a pressurized wind tunnel called the Variable Density Wind Tunnel. In the late 1940s, 

the NACA developed the first useful transonic wind tunnels (i.e., slotted wind 

tunnels). Wind tunnels were not the NACA’s only research methodology; 

other important approaches included structures, avionics, and flight testing. 

Yet none matched the importance and utility of wind tunnels. They were 

logical and flexible instruments, useful for theoretical explorations as well as 

highly applied studies. More crucially, tunnels allowed researchers to shift back 

and forth from mathematical models to flight, in the process increasing the 

reliability of models while also serving to predict aircraft performance. Wind 

tunnels were, and remain, a critical link between the theory and physical phenomena of flight.

There were also nontechnical reasons for the prominence of wind tunnels. 

Tunnels fit the American political context; they were general research tools that, 

for the most part, were too expensive for the private sector. In their high cost to 

construct and employ, tunnels helped rationalize a continued national investment. Only with World War II did American manufacturers have sufficient 

resources to begin building their own wind tunnel laboratories, though industry 

would never attain the breadth of capabilities offered by the NACA and NASA.35

In short, wind tunnels were easily understood as a public good rather than a 

support over a longer period. Large R&D projects offer an executive agency an opportunity to 

broaden its Congressional support, but along with this support goes a political commitment to 

keep funding large projects even if cost overruns or shortfalls in agency funding force cutbacks 

in other R&D spending. Large projects may be favored because of the economic benefits they 

bring to local communities. Once they are initiated, the momentum of large R&D projects gathers 

strength from the beneficiaries of project spending in both the public and private sectors.” U.S. 

Congress, Congressional Budget Office, “Large Non-Defense R&D Projects in the Budget, 1980 

to 1996,” July 1991, p. 42.

 35. Ferguson, “Technology and Cooperation.”
Chapter 1: The First A: The Other NASA

19

corporate subsidy, even as they performed research for their corporate patrons. 

Wind tunnels did not appear to overstep the line between the two.36

As noted above, wind tunnels were often tied to the organizational structure 

of the laboratories, with groups of researchers focused on specific speed ranges 

and, likewise, with specific tunnels. Taken as a whole, the wind tunnel was 

not merely an instrument, but a bundled sociotechnical package with strong 

institutional momentum. It was a research community, a continuous research 

tradition with built-in mechanisms for the transfer of explicit and implicit 

information from one generation to the next and between government and 

private researchers. It encompassed a system for professional advancement. 

It formed the basis for a long-running funding mechanism that dated to the 

Progressive Era, and, of course, it was an eminently useful laboratory tool.

An earlier history of the NACA argued (and not without contention from 

fellow historians) that this momentum behind wind tunnels, behind a particular methodology, overly shaped the direction and administration of research.37

With so much momentum, it is easy to see that determining which questions 

to study can become a question of what a tunnel can do and, following from 

that, how to acquire the next generation of wind tunnel. It comes as no surprise 

that one of the major battles between the NACA and the U.S. Air Force in 

the late 1940s and early 1950s was over future wind tunnels (the outcome of 

which was the Unitary Plan Wind Tunnel).38 Similarly, the emphasis on wind 

tunnels and aerodynamics meant less emphasis on other lines of inquiry. Not 

 36.
20

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

until the NACA created the Lewis Engine Laboratory in 1942, for example, 

did propulsion research begin to approach the priority accorded to traditional 

tunnel work (and this, perhaps, too late to answer postwar critics who decried 

the Agency for not having matched the Germans and British in turbine research 

and rocketry). Likewise, in the 1950s, aircraft manufacturer Douglas argued 

that the NACA should do for structures and materials what the Agency had 

done for propulsion: create a separate materials laboratory that was out of the 

shadow of the aerodynamics core.39

For the NASA era, this history digresses from earlier arguments about wind 

tunnels. While tunnels and aerodynamics remained as crucial pieces of experimental hardware and emphasis, the NASA era is characterized by the growth 

of alternative methodologies that successfully competed with the tunnels for 

space and funding at the Labs, even as these methods also complemented 

traditional experimental means. There are a number of factors behind this 

evolution. Institutionally, with the switch to NASA and the emphasis on space, 

wind tunnels were no longer the anchor that they had been. For space, wind 

tunnels were merely a means to an end. Thus, as with aeronautics generally, 

wind tunnels dropped a few notches in importance.40 More fundamentally, 

the creation of multiple NACA Laboratories, largely an artifact of World War 

II, sowed the seeds for competing communities of researchers that sought to 

differentiate themselves through methodology. The prime example of this was 

Dryden, which showed how a research community could thrive while focusing on flight testing, especially through the use of remotely controlled scale 

vehicles. Computational fluid dynamics, likewise, became a powerful competitor and complement to wind tunnels. CFD reflected the influence of external 

(or macro) technological change while it also exemplified the willingness of 

the Laboratories to seek out new methodologies as a means of differentiation. 

Finally, we may also point to broader changes in NASA’s aeronautics mission: 

that the Agency and the Laboratories actively sought to attract support by 

reinventing themselves. Here, the best example is NASA’s growing involvement in airspace research. The end result is that at the end of five decades of 

NASA research, even as wind tunnels remain critical to advanced research, the 

 39.
Chapter 1: The First A: The Other NASA

21

Laboratories have embraced a range of methodologies and have done so in an 

entrepreneurial fashion.

Organization of the Book

The book is about aeronautics during the NASA era, but to gain the best 

understanding, we must begin with a discussion of the NACA era. NASA’s 

aeronautics research did not spring forth anew in 1958 but was a continuation 

of NACA work under a new name and mission. The next chapter examines 

some of the important long-term characteristics of NACA research, paying 

close attention to post–World War II developments. This late-NACA period 

forms a discrete historical unit in terms of technical and political trends. While 

the NACA’s work in the 1920s and 1930s is no less historically important, it 

was from this post-WWII environment of the Cold War that NASA was born.41

World War II itself represented a deep discontinuity in technical trends, leading 

to a postwar emphasis on high-speed, high-altitude research employing jet and 

rocket engines. The war also, as noted, led to a system of competitive laboratories, something that would have a long-term impact on research strategy.

The NASA chapters (3 to 7) are generally chronological by decade, but in 

numerous cases, technical programs are discussed out of sequence in order to 

maintain some of the minor narrative arcs. For example, the Small Aircraft 

Transportation System (SATS) program ran from 2000 to 2005, yet I grouped 

it with the Advanced General Aviation Transport Experiments (AGATE), 

which I cover in the chapter on the 1990s. SATS was a successor program to 

AGATE, both of them growing from the same concern over the decline of 

the general aviation market and both of them employing strong collaborative 

links to private industry. It did not make sense to break this story in two for 

the sake of tidy chapter divisions.

Chapter 3 begins with the creation of the space agency. Whereas most histories of NASA have focused squarely on space-related R&D, this chapter examines 

the way in which aeronautics adjusted to the new mandate. For the most part, 

and in keeping with how the Agency initially was constructed, aeronautics functioned along familiar lines. NASA’s management was, after all, preoccupied with 

larger matters and did not have the resources or time to remake or micromanage 

 41.
22

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

the aeronautics mission. Still, aeronautics researchers responded to the space race, 

some jumping entirely into the new enterprise, others crafting research projects 

that assisted in some fashion. So, for example, there was the X-15 rocket airplane, 

a continuation of a pre-NASA program, and there was the new lifting-body program, which sought to create flyable reentry vehicles. As noted, NASA conducted 

research on a supersonic commercial transport, even as it demurred on running a 

full SST development program. The chapter also covers revolutionary, if prosaic, 

developments in subsonic wing design.

Chapter 4 investigates the decade of the 1970s, focusing especially on 

the changes wrought by the drawdown of the Apollo program and external 

political forces. By this point, NASA’s leaders had the time and incentive to 

focus more attention on aeronautics, and with growing pressure on NASA 

to make itself relevant to increasing energy and environmental problems, 

aeronautics offered a distinct opportunity. One result was a large, multifaceted energy-efficiency program for aircraft that drew together a number of 

existing lines of research. The chapter also explores changes brought about 

by advances in digital computing, including the rise of computational fluid 

dynamics and digital fly-by-wire aircraft. The chapter covers work on vertical and short takeoff aircraft, including not only the well-known tilt-rotor 

experiments, but also work on aircraft meant to operate from short runways, 

something that was pitched as a potential solution to airspace congestion. 

Finally, the chapter discusses changes in Center focus, notably the division 

of labor between Langley and Ames.

Chapter 5 takes the book into the 1980s and the Reagan presidency. It 

was an era that saw increasing hostility to federally funded research, something that would become a long-term feature of conservative critiques of the 

government. At the same time, the era saw a renewed emphasis on the Cold 

War and increased military spending and, ultimately, aeronautical R&D. 

Whatever the ideological objections to NASA, it was not suffering from a 

lack of projects. The military push coincided with a rethinking of air combat 

strategy that focused on stealth and maneuverability and took advantage of 

earlier developments in digital flight control to make aircraft do things that 

were hitherto impossible. Among the most remarkable of a string of new 

X-planes was the X-29, a small jet aircraft with forward-swept wings that 

relied on computers to stay in the air and, just as important, also depended 

on an unprecedented understanding of aeroelastic behavior. Another military 

project that steered work toward NASA was the NASP. Pitched as a commercial technology, the program actually represented an expansion of earlier 

experimental work on high-speed, high-altitude vehicles for the military. 

Even if NASP was never close to being realized, it supported fundamental 

work on materials and propulsion.
Chapter 1: The First A: The Other NASA

23

The 1980s were not all about Cold War–inspired military experiments. 

The Advanced Turboprop Project, an heir of the energy-efficiency programs 

of the 1970s, took wing, as did the AD-1, an oblique-wing aircraft that pivoted its wing about its center. The laboratories also took major steps toward 

supporting computational flight dynamics and computers as major research 

methodologies. Ames was the most daring in this regard, creating a Numerical 

Aerodynamic Simulation (NAS) laboratory that initially sought to build the 

most advanced computing hardware. At the same time, NASA continued to 

do the kind of troubleshooting for which it was long known, in this case in 

the areas of wind shear and icing.

Chapter 6 examines the 1990s, a period in which aeronautics lost one of its 

main pillars of support, the Cold War. Without a defense imperative, federally 

funded research became a ripe target for critics, just as funding for military 

prototypes and X-planes slowed. Commercially, the U.S. aircraft industry was 

under threat and losing market share to the European airframe maker, Airbus, 

but this was no replacement for the strategic threat posed by the former Soviet 

Union. Overlaid on these developments were large-scale changes in how NASA 

operated and formulated aeronautics policy. NASA Administrator Daniel 

Goldin sought to make the Agency more nimble and efficient by applying lessons from private industry. Congress introduced complementary measures to 

make agencies more accountable. The net result was greater and more centralized administrative control over research direction and funding. The Agency 

repackaged the bulk of its aeronautics research into two programs, High Speed 

Research and the Advanced Subsonic Technology Program, and was able to 

reach a funding level of nearly a billion dollars. By the end of the decade, 

however, the two programs came crashing down amidst Agency-wide funding 

pressures. In addition to HSR and AST, the chapter covers the UH-60 Airloads 

program and the expansion of NASA’s general aircraft research.

Chapter 7 covers a shorter period, from the turn of the century to the early 

years of NASA Administrator Michael Griffin. This was a tumultuous period 

for aeronautics, which, since the late 1990s, jumped from mission statement 

to mission statement vainly in search of a successful policy formula. While the 

situation eventually stabilized under Griffin, funding for aeronautics remained 

drastically lower than it had been at its peak in the 1990s. The chapter discusses 

three project areas: blended wing body designs, which attempt to provide a revolutionary new configuration for subsonic aircraft; integrated scramjet research 

that, after decades of study at NASA, lofted a test engine over the Pacific; and 

air traffic control research, which represented a substantial increase in NASA’s 

purview as well as the culmination of grassroots research begun decades earlier.

25

Chapter 2: 

NACA Research, 

1945–58

The history of NASA’s aeronautics research correctly begins with the National 

Advisory Committee for Aeronautics. The NACA formed an organizational 

platform for the creation of NASA in 1958, while the NACA’s focus on aeronautics research formed a subset of the new NASA. As much as NASA represented an organizational revolution and a redirection of R&D effort, the 

aeronautics core persisted as a fairly continuous strand of history. Though 

Sputnik proved to be a turning point for the Agency and spaceflight, the end 

of World War II was similarly critical for aeronautics, for the war established a 

set of political, organizational, and research challenges that persisted through 

the second half of the 20th century. An outline of the NACA between 1945 

and 1958 establishes a baseline for understanding the impact of the space 

program and brings into relief long-term changes within postwar aeronautics.

Among the challenges of the NACA after World War II was maintaining 

its position within a crowded market for federally funded research. Though 

its budget was larger than ever, it had to bargain for resources and agendas 

shared with the military and industry. In this, the definition of NACA research 

existed as a political compromise, fitting awkwardly amid the desire to produce 

long-term public goods, the search for military superiority, and support for 

commerce. While the NACA suffered considerably for its perceived lapses 

in World War II, it retained political backing and continued to receive relatively unhindered support for four communities of aeronautical researchers 

at Langley, Ames, Lewis, and the High Speed Flight Station (HSFS, later 

renamed Dryden).

With steady leadership and an organizational structure characterized by 

engineering committees and technical peer review, the NACA offered a safe 

harbor for the exploration of the multitude of problems facing postwar aviation. Making up for wartime shortcomings vis-à-vis German laboratories, the 

NACA focused predominantly on high-speed research and jet turbines. It 

established very close ties to the military, especially the Air Force, through the 

joint development of experimental vehicles. In engine research, it formed a 
26

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

hands-on relationship with the engine manufacturers. Spaceflight was a peripheral activity before the launching of Sputnik, but by January 1958, the NACA 

leadership chose to recast the organization’s mission.

The Postwar NACA

The full impact of World War II and the Cold War came late to the NACA. 

While the NACA grew during the war and was extremely busy testing military 

designs, the magnitude of its growth was never enough to prompt widespread 

organizational change. The wartime NACA was indeed much larger, going 

from 500 employees in 1939 to 6,077 in 1945, but it retained the same committee structure that had characterized the organization since World War I.1

Similarly, though its research shifted away from knowledge production and 

toward the refinement of military vehicles during the war, it conducted its 

work in much the same fashion as it had before mobilization.2 To borrow 

an engineering phrase, the NACA was scalable. Wind tunnels and personnel 

could be multiplied without substantially changing the organization’s structure 

or routines. This was not true of either the military or industry. By war’s end, 

the production of new knowledge and leading-edge hardware fundamentally 

had changed the aircraft industry and military R&D. The relevance for the 

NACA was twofold.

First, the NACA had not been pressed to acquire the same kinds of development capabilities as the military or industry. Aircraft companies, for example, 

were not simply larger than they were before the war; they were now able to 

rapidly develop new technologies across large geographic and industrial spaces 

using knowledge that was both internally and externally generated. Crucially, 

aircraft companies were reaching out to technologies that were well beyond the 

boundaries defined by aeronautical science and engineering. Not until Sputnik 

would the NACA (and then NASA) be faced with similar developmental, 

cross-disciplinary, project-oriented challenges. Indeed, this would prove to 

be a major focus of NASA Headquarters in the early years of the Agency; by 

the end of the Apollo program, NASA would be known as one of the world’s 

leading innovators in the kind of systems management and engineering that 

 1. Roland, 
Chapter 2: NACA Research, 1945–58

27

underpinned large-scale, high-technology development.3 For the 1940s and 

early to mid-1950s, however, the NACA was still operating much as it had 

before World War II.

Second, the NACA after World War II was no longer the curious and atypical federal research program of the prewar years.4

 The end of World War II and 

the rise of the Cold War made scientific discovery and technological innovation 

federal mandates. The NACA was the big fish in a small pond before World 

War II, sharing its space mainly with universities and the odd industry-built 

wind tunnel. After the war, the NACA occupied a much smaller niche, not only 

within the universe of different disciplines such as atomic energy and electrical 

engineering, but also within aeronautics. Aircraft companies and their associated suppliers in the engine and electronics fields had become sophisticated 

R&D facilities in their own right. The NACA still had the most advanced 

wind tunnels and some of the brightest aeronautical researchers, but it was 

now one of numerous knowledge producers contributing to the advancement 

of aviation, military and commercial.5

 3. Stephen B. Johnson, 
28

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

The perceived success of strategic bombing and carrier aviation in World 

War II, as well as the consequent rise in the aircraft industry’s power and influence, put the NACA on a new political footing. Even as aviation finally received 

the validation its promoters had been seeking for over three decades, the NACA 

was unable to retain its former stature. The air arms of both the Army and 

Navy, of course, emerged from World War II with sufficient momentum that 

the country would authorize a separate air force in 1947 and orient naval 

operations around carrier groups rather than battleships. More importantly, 

the air arms not only increased their support for in-house aeronautical R&D 

but also nurtured new sources of scientific and technical advice that made for 

an increasingly crowded space in the field of aviation expertise. General Henry 

“Hap” Arnold’s efforts are notable in this regard. In 1944, Arnold formed his 

own Science Advisory Group (SAG) under the leadership of Caltech’s Theodore 

von Kármán; this would become the Science Advisory Board (SAB) in 1946 

(a group that functions to this day within the U.S. Air Force).6

 Arnold also 

instigated changes that gave industry a stronger voice in research leadership; 

in 1946, he called upon his friend Donald Douglas, president of Douglas 

Aircraft, to help consult on research matters for the Air Force, an effort that 

issue at the time (29 people), and other manufacturers were copying Boeing’s methods. Edwin 

Hartman to Director, NACA, 10 March 1952, “Subject: Visit to the Boeing Airplane Company, 

Seattle, February 18, 19, and 20, 1952,” Edwin Hartman Memorandums, Langley Research 

Center Historical Archive. Vic Peterson, a longtime Ames researcher, noted that while industry 

did have wind tunnels, they lagged behind the NACA’s capabilities, and they were generally 

much smaller (due to the cost of construction and power consumption). See Victor L. Peterson, 

interview by Robert G. Ferguson, tape recording, Los Altos, CA, 17 January 2005, copy located 

at the NASA Historical Reference Collection, NASA History Program Office, NASA Headquarters, 

Washington, DC (hereafter “HRC”).

 6. Under von Kármán and with the assistance of seed money from the Daniel Guggenheim Fund 

for the Promotion of Aeronautics, Caltech’s aerodynamics program was the NACA’s closest 

rival in the U.S. before World War II. On the SAG and SAB, see Thomas A. Sturm, The USAF 

Scientific Advisory Board: Its First Twenty Years, 1944–1964 (Washington, DC: U.S. Air Force 

[USAF] Historical Division Liaison Office, 1967). See also Jacob Neufeld, ed., Reflections on 

Research and Development in the United States Air Force: An Interview with General Bernard 

A. Schriever and Generals Samuel C. Phillips, Robert T. Marsh and James H. Doolittle, and Dr. 

Ivan A. Getting, conducted by Dr. Richard H. Kohn (Washington, DC: Center for Air Force History, 

1993). On von Kármán, see Michael H. Gorn, The Universal Man: Theodore von Kármán’s Life in 

Aeronautics (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1992); and Paul A. Hanle, Bringing 

Aerodynamics to America (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1982).
Chapter 2: NACA Research, 1945–58

29

would eventually become the RAND Corporation.7 Even within the NACA, 

these wider political shifts became reflected in the makeup of its committees. 

When the NACA was founded in 1915, it was done with a wary eye toward 

the influence of industry, which, in the tradition of the Progressive Era, was 

assumed to be corruptive. The NACA’s governance relied primarily on the 

advice of civil servants, academics, and scientifically minded members of the 

Army and Navy. Mobilization for WWII, however, made acceptable the close 

ties between government and industry (e.g., the rise of “dollar-a-year men,” 

industry leaders who worked on behalf of the government or military). With 

the NACA under pressure in Washington, DC, Chairman Jerome Hunsaker 

reached out to industry. The NACA created a high-level advisory group, the 

Industry Consulting Committee (ICC), composed of the leaders from the largest airframe and engine manufacturers. Among the ICC’s first actions was to 

recommend increased representation on the NACA Main Committee, which 

it got (increasing from 1 to 3 out of 15).8

In this context of both uncertainty and opportunity, the NACA set out to 

encourage greater support for aviation research and maintain a position of leadership. Unlike the situation after World War I, when the NACA was charged 

with bringing the United States to the forefront of aeronautical research, the 

United States after World War II held a clear technological edge over most other 

nations—if not in research, than at least in resources. At the same time, the war 

had exposed the degree to which the NACA had, at least to observers, failed to 

explore promising technologies such as jet propulsion, swept-wing aircraft (in 

spite of having made their own independent discoveries), and guided missiles.9

 7. Dik Alan Daso, 
30

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

In typical fashion, the NACA established the Special Committee on Post-War 

Aeronautical Research Policy and, in cooperation with the Army Air Forces, 

the Navy Bureau of Aeronautics, the Civil Aeronautics Commission, and the 

Industry Consulting Committee, drafted a policy statement in March 1946. In 

sentiments that would be echoed through the Cold War, the committee warned 

of the danger posed by losing international research supremacy: “The effects 

of accelerated enemy research and development in preparation for war helped 

to create an opportunity for aggression which was promptly exploited. This 

lesson is the most expensive we ever had to learn. We must make certain that 

we do not forget it.”10 As to the place of the NACA, the committee reiterated 

what had long been the division of labor among the NACA, the military, and 

industry: “Fundamental research in the aeronautical sciences is the principal 

objective of the NACA.”11 This formulation was meant to protect the military’s own aeronautical research interests while keeping the federal government 

from unnecessarily subsidizing (or competing with) private industry. It was a 

political expedient that allowed for a civilian agency to conduct technological 

research for the public good, but it was a formulation fraught with pitfalls. If 

the NACA strayed too close to the domain of private research, manufacturers or 

members of Congress might object. Yet if the NACA veered too far into areas of 

dubious practical application, again, manufacturers and members of Congress 

might object. As a public agency, the NACA was meant to create knowledge 

that was a public good, unbeholden to any private interest, and to operate at a 

level above and before the design process of the manufacturers. Yet the NACA, 

Congress, the military branches, and the manufacturers worried that public 

distribution of the NACA’s reports hindered industry’s ability to capture the 

country’s research investment and maintain American technological superiority. In spite of all the talk about the NACA’s conducting fundamental research, 

its studies ran the gamut from pure to applied research, and its patrons in the 

military and industry had a voracious appetite for all manner of investigations, 

fundamental or otherwise.12

Fundamental aeronautical research was not a mere rhetorical ploy, but a 

politically defined space for scientific and engineering activities. Certainly, 

the NACA sought to sit atop the research pyramid (by performing the most 

“Research Related to Variable Sweep Aircraft Development” (Langley Research Center, Hampton, 

VA: NASA TM-83121, May 1981).

 10. NACA, “National Aeronautics Research Policy,” 21 March 1946, folder 15861, NASA HRC.

 11. Ibid.

 12. For an example of the threat that the NACA posed to industry, see Dawson, Engines and 

Innovation, p. 81.
Chapter 2: NACA Research, 1945–58

31

basic research) and to coordinate the country’s research activities by sitting at 

the nexus of various scientific and engineering communities. Unfortunately, 

the NACA would have neither a lock on fundamental research nor a commanding position in the postwar environment. Indeed, no single organization 

would because resources and technological fronts multiplied and shifted. The 

full impact of the NACA’s diminished role is perhaps best understood in its 

contribution to the formation of air policy in the executive branch. Whereas 

the NACA was created in 1915 to serve as the consultative body for the government on matters aeronautical, President Harry S. Truman sidestepped the 

NACA in 1947 when he sought advice about postwar aviation. He called 

upon Thomas K. Finletter, an attorney who had served as Special Assistant to 

the Secretary of State from 1941 to 1944, to head the President’s Air Policy 

Commission (known widely as the Finletter Commission). No member of the 

NACA served on the commission, though they did testify, and in the critical field of research and development, the commission’s advisor was Grover 

Loening, a former aircraft manufacturer. The NACA was now one voice among 

many and, from the government’s perspective, one of a number of claimants 

for aviation research funds.13

The Finletter Commission’s report, Survival in the Air Age, placed aeronautical R&D front and center. It made clear that technological change in aviation 

was responsible for the nation’s new security vulnerabilities as well as a keystone 

of national defense. Like Paul Nitze’s NSC 68 and Vannevar Bush’s Science: the 

Endless Frontier, the commission’s report was a kind of Cold War manifesto, 

though it was less an influential document than a reflection of views held by 

aviation’s elite. Presciently, the commission anticipated a policy of nuclear 

deterrence by arguing for aeronautical capabilities sufficient to overwhelm 

any aggressor:

We also must have in being and ready for immediate action, a 

counteroffensive force built around a fleet of bombers, accompanying planes and long-range missiles which will serve notice on any 

nation which may think of attacking us that if it does, it will see 

its factories and cities destroyed and its war machine crushed. The 

 13.
32

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

strength of the counteroffensive force must be such that it will be 

able to make an aggressor pay a devastating price for attacking us.14

The Commission recommended that “military security must be based on air 

power.”15 This air power would rely not on simple numerical supremacy (as 

had often characterized pre–World War II debates about preparedness), but 

on technological advantages born of research and development.

The Finletter Commission restated the NACA’s titular role in the country’s 

R&D pipeline: the NACA would perform fundamental research while the 

Army, Navy, and manufacturers carried out development tasks. At the same 

time, however, the Commission indirectly recognized that aeronautics was 

moving into areas that were well outside the NACA’s traditional competence, 

including electronics, atomic energy, missiles, and jet propulsion. The NACA 

clearly occupied a precarious niche tied not so much to fundamental research 

(whatever that was), but to its relatively focused aerodynamic expertise and its 

collection of test instruments.16

Taken as a whole, the NACA began the postwar era with less political power 

than it had before, with an organization that was markedly less sophisticated 

than its competitors in the military and industry, and with a research focus that, 

relatively speaking, had become narrower. Though far from being ineffectual or 

doomed, the NACA was nonetheless increasingly fighting for its share rather 

than nobly carrying the torch of aeronautics for the nation as it had done in 

the 1920s and ’30s. Aviation’s place in both defense and commerce had been 

secured. Still, the NACA’s support was sound, resting not just on its highly 

respected tradition of research, but on the quick pace of technological development occurring in the aircraft industry and especially on the omnipresent 

threat of the Cold War. Regardless of how politics defined the NACA’s research 

boundaries and irrespective of ideological attitudes about federally funded 

research, the NACA and, later, NASA could expect continued patronage so 

long as the three pillars of industrial support, national security, and rapid 

technological change remained intact.

Laboratories and Leadership

Prior to becoming NASA, the NACA operated three laboratories and two flighttest areas. The oldest was the Langley Laboratory near Hampton, Virginia. 

Formally dedicated in 1920, Langley was the Committee’s only facility until 

14. Ibid., p. 20.

15. Ibid.

16. Ibid., pp. 8, 71–97.
Chapter 2: NACA Research, 1945–58

33

1940, and it remained the patriarch among the Laboratories for quite some 

time. At its pre-NASA height in 1952, Langley employed 3,557 people and, 

from 1920 to 1958, had constructed some 30 wind tunnels (of which about half 

were still operational in the late 1950s), 2 towing tanks, and various specialized 

laboratories. It occupied over 700 acres of land next to the Back River and shared 

some facilities, such as runways, with the adjoining Langley Air Force Base.17

The second laboratory to open was Ames Aeronautical Laboratory, next to 

the Navy’s Moffett Field in Sunnyvale, California. Ames was, at least in the 

beginning, a West Coast Langley, the two Labs having similar test equipment 

and research functions, especially during the war. A contingent of scientists 

and engineers from Langley moved to California to build and operate Ames. 

To some extent, Ames was a rearguard action meant to keep the NACA relevant to an industry that had shifted from the two principal East Coast aircraft manufacturing centers, Buffalo and Long Island, New York, to the West 

Coast.18 From 1945 to the late 1950s, Ames’s budget was usually less than half 

that of the Langley Lab’s, and it employed half as many personnel. Its facilities 

included 16 wind tunnels constructed from 1940 to 1956.19

The third laboratory was the Lewis Engine Lab, opened in 1942 on 200 acres 

of land outside Cleveland, Ohio, and next to the Cleveland Municipal Airport 

(now Cleveland Hopkins). It was in regional proximity to the Army Air Force’s 

Power Plants Laboratory in Dayton and relatively close to the nation’s aircraft 

engine industry. The dominant reciprocating engine companies were Wright 

(Paterson, New Jersey), Pratt & Whitney (East Hartford, Connecticut), and 

Allison (Indianapolis, Indiana). The major jet engine companies were General 

Electric in Lynn, Massachusetts, and Cincinnati, Ohio (1949); Westinghouse 

in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and Kansas City, Missouri; and Pratt. The Lewis 

Lab was a direct descendant of Langley’s Aircraft Engine Research Laboratory, 

begun in 1934. By the late 1950s, the lab was employing over 2,700 persons 

and its budget nearly rivaled Langley’s. Though Lewis had far fewer wind 

tunnels than Langley, propulsion research was nonetheless very expensive.20

 17.
34

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

Figure 2.1. NACA Appropriations, Actual Dollars

(Alex Roland, Model Research, table C-2, p. 475.) 

The spike in funding in 1950 was due to additional construction costs for new testing facilities.

The two test areas included Wallops Island (also known as the Pilotless 

Aircraft Research Facility) and the High Speed Flight Station (HSFS, also 

known as NACA Muroc and later renamed in honor of Hugh Dryden in 

1976). Wallops, on Virginia’s Atlantic shoreline, began operations in 1945 and 

took direction from Langley. The HSFS was located on the Muroc Dry Lake, 

northeast of Los Angeles, California. Both facilities were, by design, sufficiently 

remote that they could conduct flight experiments without compromising the 

safety of people and property. At Wallops, researchers launched rockets over 

the Atlantic Ocean; at the HSFS, test pilots could take advantage of the clear 

Southern California skies and the wide expanse of dry lakebed that afforded 

ample emergency landing opportunities. Additionally, the HSFS could conduct flight experiments in relative privacy. Funding for both Wallops and the 

HSFS was never large; by 1958, Wallops’s budget was $2.3 million and the 

HSFS’s budget was $2.6 million. As test facilities, they were usually completing 

projects that had begun at one of the laboratories (and thus were accounted 

for under separate budgets).21

All of the Laboratories operated with a minimum of centralized oversight. 

Not only did they benefit from a geographic distance from Washington, DC, 

 21.
Chapter 2: NACA Research, 1945–58

35

but the Laboratories also operated within an organizational structure that 

was, by the 1950s, becoming anachronistic. While the structure was hierarchical, it also incorporated layers of advisory committees made up of scientists and engineers. Truly, oversight depended not so much on administrative 

mechanisms, but on the character and initiative of its leadership. At the heart 

of the NACA was the Main Committee, initially a group of 12, which served 

as a board of directors. In the beginning, it was composed of representatives 

from the Army (2) and the Navy (2), the Secretary of the Smithsonian, 

the Chief of the Weather Bureau, the Director of the National Bureau of 

Standards, and five members from “private life.” The committee met at least 

semiannually and served primarily to provide long-range guidance, approve 

major research programs, and make key decisions about leadership positions. 

Day-to-day management fell upon the Executive Committee in Washington, 

DC, and the Engineers-in-Charge at the Laboratories. Personalities figured 

large in the NACA’s history. Two members of the Main Committee, who 

also chaired the Executive Committee, had an outsize influence on the quality and tone of the NACA: Joseph S. Ames and Jerome C. Hunsaker. Both 

men were highly regarded, and both were willing to stake their reputations 

standing up for the NACA.

Ames was a professor of physics at Johns Hopkins University. He served on 

the Main Committee from 1915 to 1939 (chairman from 1927 to 1939) and 

as chairman of the Executive Committee from 1920 to 1937. Ames became 

president of Johns Hopkins in 1929 but continued to commute once a week 

from Baltimore to Washington, DC.22 Ames was able to play the roles of 

both outsider and insider. Hunsaker, even before becoming chairman, was 

an instrumental figure in American aviation. A naval officer who was one of 

MIT’s first graduates in aeronautical engineering, he was a perennial advisor and sometime critic of the NACA under Ames. Hunsaker was head of 

the Aeronautical Engineering Department at MIT from 1936 to 1951, and, 

like Ames, he split his time between his university obligations and his duties 

at the NACA. He served as chairman of both the NACA and the Executive 

Committee from 1941 to 1956, replacing his MIT colleague, Vannevar Bush, 

who led the NACA briefly after Ames’s departure.23

 22.
36

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

The other three principal individuals at Headquarters were George W. 

Lewis, Hugh L. Dryden, and John F. Victory.24 Lewis came to the NACA in 

1919. He had graduated from Cornell with a master’s in mechanical engineering, worked as engineer-in-charge at a Philadelphia research foundation, 

and served as a member on an NACA technical subcommittee. Lewis began 

as executive officer and, within five years, became the director of aeronautical research, a position he held until 1947. George Lewis was not simply an 

influential leader; he was for much of the NACA’s history synonymous with 

the organization. He carried it through its formative years; he oversaw the 

organization during some of its most productive research; and he led the NACA 

through the difficult war years. His replacement, Hugh Dryden, came to the 

NACA after a prolific career at the National Bureau of Standards, where he 

headed the Aerodynamics section. A physicist educated under Joseph Ames at 

Johns Hopkins, Dryden was exceptionally smart. Lewis handpicked Dryden, 

and the latter served until the NACA became NASA. Dryden would be very 

influential in reformulating the NACA’s mission for the Space Age.

John F. Victory is worth mentioning in this abbreviated list because he served 

as the guiding administrative officer for much of the NACA’s history. Victory 

was a stickler for proper administrative procedure as well as an undaunted 

lobbyist for the organization. He nearly single-handedly kept Headquarters 

and the Laboratories up to date with their paperwork, budgets, and political 

obligations. The NACA was a highly regarded government agency not only 

because of the stature of its research, but because Victory could be trusted to 

return unspent appropriations to the Treasury. Such conscientiousness and professionalism attenuated but hardly eliminated outside demands for oversight 

and reform of the NACA’s nebulous technocracy.

As noted above and in NACA histories, the Laboratories benefited from 

little oversight and significant administrative distance from Washington, DC. 

This is not to say that the Laboratories operated with autonomy. What freedom 

they had they enjoyed because the personalities in Washington granted it to 

them. This is an important point, especially when considering developments in 

the NASA period when the Laboratories began to lose that precious autonomy. 

The potential for centralization had always existed; autonomy had never been 

a structural feature of the organization. Thus, changes at Headquarters could 

and would ultimately bring fundamental changes to the conduct of Laboratory 

research in the NASA years.

 24.
Chapter 2: NACA Research, 1945–58

37

In the NACA years, however, there would be remarkably few changes at 

the Laboratories. With promotions typically occurring from within the organization (and within the Laboratory), as well as long leadership tenures, the 

Labs enjoyed years of consistent administration. At Langley, electrical engineer Henry J. E. Reid became Engineer-in-Charge in 1926, and he ran the 

Laboratory until 1958 (his position later renamed simply Director). At Ames, 

Smith J. DeFrance, who was Langley’s Assistant Chief of Aerodynamics, became 

the Lab’s first Engineer-in-Charge and, likewise, remained at the helm until 

1965. The Lewis Laboratory had an administrative head, Edward R. Sharp, 

who managed the facility from 1942 until 1958. Abe Silverstein, also an aerodynamicist from Langley, effectively oversaw research at Lewis, first serving as 

the Chief of Research from 1950 to 1952 and then as Associate Director until 

1958. He became Lewis’s Director in 1961.

Research decisions were largely a matter for the Laboratories. While 

Headquarters had authority over the funding of research programs, it gave 

broad authority to the Labs to choose their own direction and, once granted 

appropriations, disburse their own funds. Writing of the pre–World War II 

era, Roland notes, “The headquarters was needed to secure funds, mend political fences, prevent duplication, and keep the Langley program in line with 

the needs of the NACA’s customers, especially the military services and the 

aircraft industry.”25 The Engineers-in-Charge cherished and protected their 

authority. At Langley, Henry Reid required that all outgoing communication 

go through his office.26 With the growth of the NACA during World War II 

and afterward, Headquarters was simply incapable (and unwilling) to control 

or manage research at the Labs. The level of decentralized decision-making was 

likely at its apex in the 1950s.

The NACA supplemented its formal hierarchy with a system of layered 

committees that advised on technical matters. Research oversight, such as the 

committees offered, was, in theory, distinct from political and administrative 

support. The principal committees that answered to the Main Committee 

focused on the areas of aerodynamics, power plants, and aircraft construction. 

There were additional committees of varying tenure. Perhaps the most notable 

was the Industry Consulting Committee that operated from 1945 to 1958; 

its emergence reflected the larger, postwar political shift noted above. At the 

next committee layer were the subcommittees, whose specialties ranged from 

radiator design to high-speed aerodynamics. Committees at all levels were 

meant to bring together the top experts in each particular realm. In 1948, just 

 25.
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

to pick one year, there were 78 persons serving on committees and 271 serving 

on subcommittees. Respectively, NACA staff represented 15 and 14 percent, 

military personnel represented 19 and 25 percent, and members from private 

industry represented 44 and 39 percent. The ratio of the three groups would 

change only slightly 10 years later, with industry increasing its membership 

to 50 and 44 percent.27

Whether establishing a standard, defining best practice, or deciding on the 

best course of research, the NACA committees and subcommittees operated 

in much the same fashion. The NACA sought to gather the brightest people 

from a particular field, and these individuals were to approach their respective problems as a technocracy united by a common goal. As with industry, 

the NACA’s committee structure was an organizational compromise, one that 

allowed it to balance the competing interests of the military branches, government agencies, and industry. By giving everyone a voice at the table, it was 

less threatening than a closed, hierarchically arranged research organization 

that pursued topics as it saw fit. With committees, the NACA could avoid 

stepping on toes and endangering its political support. Hand in hand with 

its “fundamental research” policy, the NACA’s structure and objectives were 

tailored for survival in its political niche.

While the committee structure was straightforward, its relationship to 

the NACA’s decision-making process was more ambiguous (or, alternatively, 

flexible). The NACA leadership did not require committee approval for 

new research programs. It was largely up to the directors and the Executive 

Committee to ask for advice when the organization truly required assistance 

or when committee decisions might provide some political advantage or cover. 

Thus, a progressive technocracy was married to a modest, personality-driven 

hierarchy. The loose coupling between the committees and the leadership also 

characterized the committees’ role in peer review. The formal products of the 

NACA’s Laboratories were reports. The oversight procedures instituted by 

George Lewis began with a review of the paper within the Laboratory, followed by reviews from the appropriate technical committee. It was largely the 

responsibility of the author or authors to make the requested changes in the 

research or the paper. Under Dryden, peer-review procedures were left up to 

the individual Laboratories.28

There are many good things to be said of the NACA’s leadership and structure. The consistency of operations meant that researchers had predictable 

 27.
Chapter 2: NACA Research, 1945–58

39

levels of support and could invest more of their time in research. Oversight, 

from the researcher’s perspective, tended to serve as a positive influence and was 

not tightly coupled to future funding and administrative procedures. Research 

output did influence one’s professional standing within the Laboratory; leadership positions, small and large, tended to go to insiders who had earned their 

peers’ respect. The Laboratories were thus highly competitive communities, 

but not because of any administrative checks on productivity. Research output 

was not closely metered, nor were budgets tightly administered. The Labs thus 

provided great freedom within an intellectually challenging environment.29

While in hindsight NACA researchers appeared to be largely unburdened by 

administrative chains, there was still a trend, even in the NACA days, toward 

greater oversight. By the mid-1950s, for example, the NACA was already feeling the effects of more widespread managerial innovations and had implemented a Management Control Information System (MCIS).30 Where George 

Lewis had eschewed the creation and publication of organizational charts, the 

1950s saw the slow encroachment of formalized and explicit administrative 

procedures.31 Congress, for its part, was encroaching on the NACA’s treasured 

isolation by beginning to demand annual budgets.32 Perhaps most importantly, 

as historian Alex Roland pointed out, the NACA’s committee-based structure 

was out of favor in the new era of federally funded science. Even as the NACA 

persisted in the 1940s and ’50s, it was going against the grain of large research 

programs managed according to contemporary organizational models.33

Tunnels, X-Planes, and Space

Adding to the embarrassment of meeting German jet fighter aircraft in the 

sky and learning of British achievements in jet engines during World War II, 

 29.
40

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

the NACA and the U.S. military were taken aback by Germany’s aerodynamic 

research infrastructure.34 To the teams of American scientists, engineers, and 

military personnel who gained early access to these facilities in the spring of 

1945, the sophistication and advanced state of German research were plainly 

evident despite the ruinous effects of war. In addition, Germany had plans for a 

next stage of aeronautical research involving very high-speed, high-power wind 

tunnels that anticipated the operating conditions of jet- and rocket-powered 

vehicles. Both the NACA and the Army Air Forces returned home with new 

ideas about where the U.S. needed to invest its research dollars.35

Crucially, the U.S. Army Air Forces (USAAF) drew up plans in 1945 for 

a competing research organization, which would become the Air Engineering 

Development Center (AEDC, later renamed the Arnold Engineering 

Development Center) in Tullahoma, Tennessee. The programmatic vision was 

laid out in Theodore von Kármán’s Where We Stand, delivered to Hap Arnold 

in August of 1945, and detailed further in the multivolume, multiauthor study 

Towards New Horizons. Hugh Dryden, incidentally, was both a contributor 

and an editor for these works, though this was before he entered the employ 

of the NACA. Von Kármán was explicit about the need for the service to have 

its own integrated R&D program:

Leadership in the development of these new weapons of the future 

can be assured only by uniting experts in aerodynamics, structural 

design, electronics, servomechanisms, gyros, control devices, propulsion, and warhead under one leadership, and providing them 

with facilities for laboratory and model shop production in their 

specialties and with facilities for field tests. Such a center must be 

adequately supported by the highest ranking military and civilian 

leaders and must be adequately financed, including the support 

 34.
Chapter 2: NACA Research, 1945–58

41

of related work on special aspects of various problems at other 

laboratories and the support of special industrial developments.36

Von Kármán supplied a willing Hap Arnold with a scientific rationale for 

a new air force based on R&D. The USAAF’s embrace of science and comprehensive weapons development threatened to marginalize the NACA’s role. 

To the NACA’s longstanding charge of performing fundamental research, the 

USAAF’s decision added a new, unofficial goal in the postwar era: pursuing 

research and facilities that strategically defended the NACA. The battle for 

the next generation of high-speed wind tunnels, as inspired by the German 

program, played out in what would become the Unitary Plan Wind Tunnel.

The NACA’s competing vision was its Supersonic Research Center. Jerome 

Hunsaker, anticipating that a postwar Congress would not fund duplicate 

programs in both the NACA and the military, called for coordination among 

the different parties. Under the leadership of Arthur E. Raymond, the Chief 

Engineer at Douglas Aircraft (a company with long ties to Hap Arnold), 

the NACA’s special panel on supersonic laboratory requirements defined a 

“unitary” plan that included both the NACA’s National Supersonic Research 

Center and the USAAF’s AEDC.Raymond’s panel merely unified everyone’s 

requests; it did little to divide responsibilities. After three years of political arm 

wrestling, the Raymond plan emerged as the Unitary Wind Tunnel Plan Act 

of 1949. The NACA was denied its Supersonic Research Center and, instead, 

allowed to build three high-speed wind tunnels that were to serve, officially, 

the needs of industry. The newly minted Air Force, however, received initial 

funding for its AEDC. As historian Alex Roland noted, the NACA emerged 

from this battle third behind industry and the military.37

It would be the mid-1950s before the Unitary Plan tunnels were built, calibrated, and ready for experiments. They would eventually prove quite productive, 

but NACA researchers did not wait to begin high-speed experimentation. In the 

absence of new, more capable tunnels, researchers pursued competing alternatives, 

most of which had begun at Langley during the war. Earlier problems associated 

 36.
42

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

with the compressibility of air at high speeds had pushed researchers to consider 

the special conditions of aircraft as they approached and moved through the speed 

of sound. Of course, wind tunnels were the first recourse for investigators, but as 

velocities approached the speed of sound, the tunnels became choked. Shock waves 

and turbulence filled the test chambers, leaving behind a mess of unusable data. 

At velocities well above the speed of sound, shock waves abated and data became 

meaningful again. Researchers were left with a lacuna in the transonic regime.

At Langley, attempts to crack the transonic problem went in five directions, generally speaking. John Stack and his group approached the problem 

by designing a transonic research aircraft. Robert Gilruth’s group used existing aircraft and merely placed aerodynamic shapes on the upper surface of an 

aircraft wing where local velocities approached and sometimes exceeded the 

speed of sound.38 Another group used drop tests of vehicles and shapes from 

high-altitude bombers. Yet another group, underneath John Crowly, began 

using rockets. This latter method initiated the NACA’s use of Wallops Island 

on the Virginia coast and was the beginning of the Pilotless Aircraft Research 

Division (PARD). Meanwhile, members of the wind tunnel research community continued to push and refine their own methods to better understand 

transonic and supersonic phenomena. Interestingly, these competing methodologies would remain extant, albeit under different people, for decades to come.

John Stack’s vision of a high-speed research aircraft was slow to mature, but 

it eventually resulted in a series of aircraft, the first being the Bell XS-1, the first 

piloted aircraft to exceed the speed of sound (in controlled, level flight), with 

Charles “Chuck” Yeager at the controls. This would be the first in a long series 

of experimental vehicles (hence the X) that would continue into the NASA 

years. Stack’s approach was not simply a successful technical alternative. It was 

a collaborative effort born of World War II and enabled by similar thinking 

within the Army Air Forces, notably Wright Field engineer Ezra Kotcher. The 

Army Air Forces and the Navy each procured high-speed research aircraft (the 

XS-1 in the case of the Army and the D-558 in the case of the Navy). Bell 

and Douglas designed and built the aircraft. The NACA provided technical 

design guidance and used the aircraft to explore the transonic regime. Though 

the aircraft would not begin flying until 1946 and 1947, respectively, the two 

programs established a division of labor among the participants and an infrastructure for exploiting experimental aircraft.39

 38.
Chapter 2: NACA Research, 1945–58

43

(NASA image EC95-43116-6)

Figure 2.2. The staff of NACA Muroc in 1947, posing in front of the Bell XS-1 and B-29 mother ship.

The key development in the emergence of the high-speed flight program 

was a willingness on the part of the military to fund the design and construction of aircraft that would never see service. While the military had a history 

of building unique prototypes, such as the Douglas XB-19 (a very large prewar 

bomber) or the Bell XP-59 (the service’s first jet aircraft), these earlier vehicles 

were funded with the expectation that they might evolve into production 

models. Although the XS-1 and D-558 programs were tinged with similar 

hopes (the D-558 especially), it soon became evident that these aircraft were 

esoteric research vehicles. Rather than building artifacts, the procurement process became an exercise in knowledge production. Not only did this legitimize, 

for the military, the category of experimental aircraft, but it took the military 

one step closer to the NACA’s mission of fundamental knowledge production. 

Likewise, by piggybacking on military procurement and assisting in the design 

and production of actual vehicles, the NACA was also blurring the lines of 

its mission.

The establishment of the NACA’s presence on the dry lakebeds of Muroc, 

California, began modestly with the arrival of a test pilot group and instrumentation experts from Langley. Langley had been flight-testing aircraft for years, 

examining new military aircraft, modifying existing aircraft, and, as mentioned 
44

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

above, using them to test airfoil shapes. Hand in hand with this, the Laboratory 

had developed a sophisticated instrumentation group that designed sensors 

and recording equipment. Both the Bell and Douglas test vehicles would fly 

with NACA instrumentation. By the time of Chuck Yeager’s sound-barrierbreaking flight of 14 October 1947, there were 27 NACA personnel on hand 

from Langley’s Flight Research and Instrument Research Divisions. In addition 

to instrumentation in the research aircraft, the NACA operated radar tracking 

and telemetry equipment. Yeager’s flight was part of an initial Air Force testing program (thus handing the new military branch bragging rights). NACA 

testing, performed by NACA pilots, followed, and on 10 March 1948, NACA 

pilot Herb Hoover took the XS-1 supersonic, becoming the first civilian pilot 

to break the sound barrier.

In contrast to the record-breaking flights of the Air Force, the NACA’s 

activities at Muroc emphasized methodical research (save Scott Crossfield’s 

flight past Mach 2 in a Douglas Skyrocket).40 Through the 1950s and a series of 

X aircraft, they examined the transonic aerodynamics issues that had prompted 

the development of the research airplane in the first place. They explored 

control and stability problems such as pitch-up and inertial coupling. They 

examined loading and vibration as well as the performance of a wide range of 

innovative configurations, including swept-wing, delta, variable sweep, and one 

vehicle with no horizontal stabilizer.41 They validated the importance of allmoving stabilizers, thin wing sections, and vortex generators; as speeds pushed 

past Mach 2, they began to examine the problem of aerodynamic heating.42

Very quickly, the operation at Muroc established its own momentum. In 

1947, still under the administrative control of Langley, the NACA renamed 

the group the Muroc Flight Test Unit. In 1948, Hugh Dryden formally placed 

control over research aircraft in the hands of Hartley A. Soulé at Headquarters. 

The Research Aircraft Program, as it was called, involved all of the Laboratories, 

but it concentrated most flight testing at Muroc. In 1949, the Muroc Unit 

became the High Speed Flight Research Station and earned its own budget. 

Finally, in 1954, it severed its relationship with Langley and became the High 

 40.
Chapter 2: NACA Research, 1945–58

45

(NASA image E-810) 

Figure 2.3. Multiple-exposure photo of a Bell Aircraft Corporation X-5 at the High Speed Flight Station 

in September of 1952. The NACA and U.S. Air Force used the X-5 to study variable sweep wings from 

1951 to 1955.

Speed Flight Station (HSFS), complete with its own administrative and support functions.43

The community of engineers, pilots, mathematicians, mechanics, and physicists at the HSFS grew into a highly skilled group. They became proficient 

at very dangerous operational tasks, such as rocket-plane fueling and airdrop 

launching. They learned to approach each test flight with meticulous attention to planning and safety. The HSFS also became an integral part of the Air 

Force’s flight-test operations. Muroc, renamed Edwards Air Force Base in 1950, 

became the official Air Force Flight Test Center in 1951. Not only did the 

NACA depend on the Air Force and Navy for the procurement of X-vehicles, 

but they also received many prototype fighter, bomber, and transport aircraft 

for their own testing purposes. In return, the military received the NACA’s 

constant support. Air Force test flights, for example, made use of the HSFS 

tracking and telemetry groups.

 43.
46

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

A measure of the strength of the HSFS is the fact that by the early 1950s, 

Langley engineers were well on the way to solving the original transonic wind 

tunnel problems that had prompted the concept of the research airplane in the 

first place. John Stack’s group was again prominent in this search, and among 

their accomplishments was the development of model supports that reduced 

aerodynamic interference. A new breakthrough came from Ray H. Wright, 

a Langley physicist who found out how to implement a slotted tunnel (i.e., 

removing portions of the tunnel wall in order to eliminate troublesome transonic shock waves). The idea was not new; Italian émigré Antonio Ferri had 

worked on the problem in 1944–45. John Stack’s group supported Wright’s 

calculations, and by 1947, a test throat was in place in the 16-Foot High 

Speed Tunnel. With encouraging results, Stack pushed for full conversion of 

two tunnels, and by October of 1950, the 8-Foot High Speed Tunnel (HST) 

was in operation.44

The transonic tunnels began producing useful data fairly quickly. In what 

became one of Langley’s signature discoveries, Richard T. Whitcomb came 

to the realization that large increases in transonic drag caused by wings could 

be offset by reducing an equivalent cross-sectional area in the fuselage. His 

breakthrough was in recognizing that the sharp increase in transonic drag 

occurred as a single shock wave that came from both the fuselage and the wing. 

Accordingly, his solution was to address how the entire aircraft generated this 

shock wave. He conducted the initial work in the 8-Foot HST and went on to 

develop a formal method of application by 1953. At the same time, Convair’s 

new delta-winged supersonic interceptor, the F-102, was unable to break the 

sound barrier in level flight. By applying Whitcomb’s method (the “transonic 

area rule”) to the aircraft and creating a narrow-waist fuselage, designers enabled 

the aircraft to slip through the sound barrier, even in a climb.45

During and after World War II, the Aircraft Engine Research Laboratory 

(renamed the Lewis Laboratory in 1948) moved to make up for what was considered the NACA’s most glaring failure (relative to Germany and England): 

 44.
Chapter 2: NACA Research, 1945–58

47

(NASA image EL-2000-00280)

Figure 2.4. Area Rule Tests in the 8-Foot High Speed Tunnel, March 1957. Note the slots in the side of 

the tunnel, a critical Langley innovation that permitted the study of the transonic region.

the lack of turbine jet and rocket propulsion research.46 The Lab built two 

supersonic tunnels late in the war. Work on rockets began without sanction 

from Headquarters after a member of the Laboratory, Walter Olsen, visited 

Caltech’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory (JPL) and saw the work performed by 

Frank Malina’s team. After the war, the Lab sought to distance itself from piston 

engine research. With the advent of the nuclear age, the Lab also developed 

plans for nuclear propulsion research, resulting in a joint laboratory with the 

Atomic Energy Commission, the Plum Brook facility, in the 1950s.47

 46.
48

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

(NASA image C-1955–37659)

Figure 2.5. Examination of a General Electric J-47 compressor section at the Lewis Lab in 1949.

The Lewis Lab established strengths in the aerodynamics and thermodynamics of turbine engines, fuels, and inlet/outlet behavior. It worked on practical matters such as icing and fire prevention. It added a Propulsions Systems 

Laboratory in 1952. In terms of jet engine research, the most valuable work 

took place in the Compressor Division. Focusing largely on axial flow engines, 

researchers attempted to find mathematical approaches that described compressor behavior (still a difficult task) and produced empirical engineering data 

that could be used by designers. High-altitude wind tunnels were especially 

important in this work. The Lewis Lab also concentrated on the problem of 

turbine blade cooling. As engineers sought higher engine speeds, which raised 

airflow temperature, they were pushing the limits of metallurgical capabilities. Lewis researchers conducted a wide range of tests on different solutions, 

including various materials, coolants, and design changes.48

Jet engine research also distinguished the Lewis Lab from the other Labs in 

its involvement with design and hardware issues. Though jet engines shared the 

 48.
Chapter 2: NACA Research, 1945–58

49

same theoretical and mathematical underpinnings as other aerodynamic structures, the fact that there were so many airfoils confined in a small space, many of 

them rotating and operating under very high temperatures, made the practical 

application of existing knowledge very difficult. As much as researchers sought 

to work first from theory, jet engines were so unpredictable and problematic 

that learning often began with the artifact. Lewis researchers got their hands 

dirty, becoming experts in component design on the way to understanding jet 

engine reliability and performance.49

The complexity of jet turbine aerodynamics, as well as the fact that each 

new turbine design represented a novel experiment, meant that the Lewis Lab 

had to work very closely with American manufacturers, dominated by General 

Electric, Westinghouse, Pratt & Whitney, and Curtiss-Wright. Much more so 

than Langley or Ames, Lewis’s attachment to manufacturer’s equipment made 

for a more restricted atmosphere. The protection of proprietary information 

was made policy in 1949.50

In rocketry, the Lewis Lab’s efforts were minor in comparison to the research 

being conducted by the Army, Navy, and Air Force. Much of Lewis’s work 

focused on propellants and was part of the Lab’s general fuels research program 

(including, for example, jet engine fuels).51 In spite of what would appear to 

be official resistance to rocket propulsion research at Lewis, as early as 1944, 

Jerome Hunsaker had proposed that the NACA move into guided missiles.52

Some of the most important work in rocketry actually took place at Langley. 

As noted above, researchers attempting to find their way out of the compressibility problem began using rockets to test aerodynamic shapes and models. 

In 1946, the Wallops launch facility formally became the Pilotless Aircraft 

Research Division (PARD). PARD did little to advance the NACA’s work on 

rocket propulsion, but it was an important element in both high-speed, highaltitude research and electronics (including guidance and telemetry).53

On the West Coast, researchers at Ames were beginning to distinguish themselves from Langley’s domination of aircraft-related work by pursuing more abstract 

and academic questions. Leading this charge was H. Julian “Harvey” Allen, a 

 49.
50

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

former Langley researcher who had moved to California to start Ames. Through 

the 1950s and 1960s, Allen came to symbolize the kind of creative theoretician 

that the Ames community valued. In 1951, Allen and Al Eggers developed the 

blunt-body theory, which outlined how blunt-shaped nose cones could dissipate 

the heat of reentry by creating a shock wave in advance of the nose cone.54 Such 

high-speed theoretical work was supported by new test instrumentation, notably 

Ames’s supersonic free-flight tunnel (which fired objects into a supersonic stream) 

and Langley’s hypersonic blowdown tunnels, which had begun operation in 1947.55

Between Sputnik and NASA

Prior to the launching of Sputnik on 4 October 1957, the NACA’s commitment 

to spaceflight and rocketry represented the periphery of aeronautical research. 

High-speed research at Dryden, which by the late 1950s was building to the X-15 

hypersonic program, had begun as an experiment into transonic and supersonic 

atmospheric vehicles. The work at Wallops Island was oriented largely toward 

aerodynamic experiments and the problems of guided missiles within the atmosphere. The work most closely associated with any future space program was, 

arguably, the theoretical and experimental work on reentry thermodynamics; 

and while as early as 1952, Robert Woods of Bell Aircraft urged the Committee 

on Aerodynamics to adopt the study of spaceflight, his proposal received only 

lukewarm approval. A review of the NACA’s standing committees in January 

1958 indicates the extent to which the organization was conceptually oriented 

toward the problems of atmospheric flight and of vehicles in particular:56

Standing Committees as of January 1958

•

•

•

•

•

•

Committee on Aerodynamics

Subcommittee on Fluid Mechanics

Subcommittee on High-Speed Aerodynamics

Subcommittee on Aerodynamic Stability and Control

Subcommittee on Automatic Stabilization and Control

Subcommittee on Internal Flow

 54.
Chapter 2: NACA Research, 1945–58

51

(NASA image A–23438)

Figure 2.6. H. Julian Allen stands at the observation window of the 8-by-7-foot test section of the 

Ames Unitary Plan Wind Tunnel, December 1957. A blunt shape, or body, sits inside the test section.
52

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

•

•

•

•

•

•

•

•

•

•

•

•

•

•

•

•

•

•

•

•

•

•

Subcommittee on Low-Speed Aerodynamics

Subcommittee on Seaplanes

Subcommittee on Helicopters

Committee on Power Plants for Aircraft

Subcommittee on Aircraft Fuels

Subcommittee on Combustion

Subcommittee on Lubrication and Wear

Subcommittee on Compressors and Turbines

Subcommittee on Engine Performance and Operation

Subcommittee on Power Plant Controls

Subcommittee on Power Plant Materials

Subcommittee on Rocket Engines

Committee on Aircraft Construction

Subcommittee on Aircraft Structures

Subcommittee on Aircraft Loads

Subcommittee on Vibration and Flutter

Subcommittee on Aircraft Structural Materials

Committee on Operating Problems

Subcommittee on Meteorological Problems

Subcommittee on Flight Safety

Subcommittee on Aircraft Noise

Industry Consulting Committee57

Unlike its earlier experience with the turbojet, the NACA’s reluctance to 

make spaceflight a priority did not reflect so much a lack of scientific creativity 

as an unwillingness to find political support for an area that was further afield 

from its traditional lines of research and one that was already claimed by the 

military. The Army, Navy, and Air Force each had their own missile and rocket 

programs; the NACA assisted these efforts but was in no position to intrude 

on such a highly contested area of weapons research.

From October 1957 to October of the following year, the NACA went 

from standing on the periphery to forming the backbone of a new organization for space and aeronautics, NASA. This was hardly a logical outcome, but, 

in the end, the NACA’s civilian status, not its expertise in space or rocketry, 

gave the organization a distinct advantage over the Air Force’s intercontinental 

ballistic missile (ICBM) program, over the Army’s Redstone Arsenal headed 

by Wernher von Braun, and over the Naval Research Laboratory’s Vanguard 

 57.
Chapter 2: NACA Research, 1945–58

53

program. This was, largely, a top-down decision, but it was aided by the NACA’s 

own strategic maneuvering.

Sputnik posed obvious challenges to the NACA’s leadership. The organization had been experimenting on the doorstep to space and so could plausibly 

claim that it should strengthen these efforts. Likewise, whatever organization 

did receive the space mandate could quite possibly spell trouble for the NACA, 

subsuming its high-speed, high-altitude research and competing with it for 

R&D funding, not to mention stealing the limelight. The NACA had been 

burned before; its loss of leadership during World War II in areas of strategic 

military importance came at the cost of the Agency’s reputation and may have 

encouraged the rise of competing functions within the Air Force.58 Surely, with 

the political winds of Sputnik so easy to read, any reluctance to embrace space 

held familiar dangers, whereas support for space research held risks only for 

those who believed that the NACA was exclusively about aviation.

Jimmy Doolittle, who had taken over the NACA chairmanship from 

Jerome Hunsaker, and Hugh Dryden, the Director, began considering the 

space question only after much of Washington had already begun to wonder 

whether Eisenhower was doing enough to answer the Soviet challenge. On 

Capitol Hill, Senator Lyndon Johnson had begun his Inquiry into Satellite and 

Missile Programs, daily hearings that continued into January 1958, and maintained a steady drumbeat about the country’s need to get into space quickly. 

Doolittle called a meeting in December at the Hotel Statler in Washington, 

DC, a month and a half after Sputnik, to discuss the question and to informally poll his researchers. Opinion was divided, but there was significant 

support from many to enter space, especially from the younger engineers and 

scientists. That same month, the agency also issued a report entitled “NACA 

Research into Space” that recast the organization’s research as space oriented. 

While the report did highlight areas that were truly applicable to space, it 

overstated the organization’s pre-Sputnik commitment to space. The effort, 

though somewhat disingenuous, was perhaps as much a rearguard action as 

it was an offensive maneuver.59

By January, however, the momentum was in the direction of making a 

full-fledged assault on space. On the 14th, the NACA issued a new report, “A 

National Research Program for Space Technology.” It advocated research in 

the following areas:

 58.
54

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

Space Mechanics

Space Environment

Energy Sources

Propulsion Systems

Vehicle Configuration and Structure

Materials

Launch, Rendezvous, Reentry, and Recovery

Communication, Navigation, and Guidance

Space Biology

Flight Simulation

Measurement and Observation Techniques

More importantly, the report laid out the NACA’s policy vision that the 

NACA would form the template and core of a civilian space science agency:

The pattern to be followed is that already developed by the NACA 

and the military services. The NACA is an organization in being, 

already engaged in research applicable to the problems of space 

flight and having a great many of the special aerodynamic, propulsion, and structures facilities required, and qualified to take prompt 

advantage of the technical training and interest of scientists competent to help in the research on space technology. The membership of 

the NACA and its broadly based technical subcommittees includes 

people from both military and civilian agencies of the government, 

and representative scientific and engineering members from private 

life, thus assuring full cooperation with the military services, the 

scientific community and industry.60

On 16 January, the NACA passed a resolution that stated that space was 

part of the NACA’s organic mission:

Whereas, In the opinion of the Committee, the broad authority 

in its organic Act includes the investigation of problems relating 

to flight in all its aspects, outside of, or within the earth’s atmosphere, of aircraft, missiles, satellites, and outer space projectiles 

and vehicles.61

 60.
Chapter 2: NACA Research, 1945–58

55

By the end of the month, Hugh Dryden was making public speeches on 

space policy and the role of the NACA: “In my opinion the goal of the [national 

space] program should be the development of manned satellites and the travel 

of man to the moon and nearby planets.”62

The rhetorical argument from the NACA was that the military space program, which no one legitimately questioned, would engulf scientific space 

activity. As Dryden noted, the NACA provided a convenient way to balance 

competing interests: “There is another solution to the problem of how best to 

administer the national space-technology program, one which clearly recognizes the essential duality of our goals—the prompt and full exploitation of the 

potentials of flight into space for both scientific and military purposes. Actually, 

this solution is old and well-tested.”63 Dryden’s vision was more restricted than 

what actually transpired, for he saw the NACA conducting scientific flights 

and, where called for, coordinating military, industry, and academic efforts.

Through the winter of 1958, the NACA built support for its plan. On 

10 February, it published a multipronged research proposal for the exploration of space entitled “A Program for Expansion of NACA Research in Space 

Flight Technology with Estimates of the Staff and Facilities Required.” In 

order to secure a position among the numerous competing space interests, 

the NACA established the Special Committee on Space Technology, which 

brought together experts primarily from outside the NACA. Only 3 of 16 

members came from inside: Bob Gilruth of Langley, Abe Silverstein of Lewis, 

and Harvey Allen from Ames. If nothing else, the committee gave the appearance of the NACA standing at the center of scientific decision-making.64 By 

March of 1958, the NACA had amended its standing committees to include 

missiles and spacecraft. For example, the Committee on Aerodynamics became 

 62.
56

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

the Committee on Aircraft, Missile, and Spacecraft Aerodynamics; the underlying subcommittees remained nominatively unchanged.65

It is possible that the NACA would have been pulled into a space agency 

with or without the organization’s lobbying. What is important to recognize, 

and what historians interested in the space story have not emphasized, is 

that Hugh Dryden, along with many of his aeronautics researchers, chose to 

take the NACA into space. For scientists and engineers at the time, the lines 

between atmospheric and space research were more blurred than they have 

since become. Space research was not necessarily a betrayal of one’s past work, 

but, for many, a logical progression into a challenging and related arena (that 

was soon to receive a significant increase in research funding). This ambiguity between the two efforts would characterize the work and careers of many 

aeronautics personnel for the next few decades.

 65.
57

Chapter 3: 

Creating NASA and 

the Space Race

In 1958, the Eisenhower administration decided to make the NACA the basis 

for a new national space agency. Seemingly, this is what Hugh Dryden and 

many of his researchers sought. In reality, the space program swallowed the 

NACA. Neither tragedy nor triumph, aeronautics was swept along on the 

coattails of the space program. Aeronautics, which for the past half century 

had symbolized cutting-edge research and daring technological exploits, was 

now lost in the roar of rockets and the allure of space exploration. Many 

aeronautics researchers took advantage of the opportunity posed by the transition to NASA, some jumping entirely into the new field, others moving back 

and forth across an often indeterminate boundary. Aeronautics, as a body of 

research, continued without significant disruption into the NASA era. While 

NASA managed large-scale research far differently than the NACA, notably 

in the weakening of the committee structure and in the increased reliance 

on contracting and project management, aeronautics research continued to 

rely on its relatively modest number of scientists and engineers at the four 

original Centers. Aeronautics funding, though a fraction of the space budget, 

grew slowly and continued to support what the NACA had formerly called 

“fundamental” research.

With space missions grabbing headlines and consuming the vast majority 

of NASA’s budget, aeronautics was no longer a prominent political target. 

Even within NASA, aeronautics’ visibility receded to the point that, by the 

early 1970s, Congress began to question whether the Agency was neglecting 

aeronautics. But even if aeronautics went unnoticed in the 1960s, it was not 

immune to NASA’s larger structural shifts. Aeronautics began as a researchbased bulwark in the face of a mission-oriented, publicity-driven organization.1

 1. NASA was, of course, pursuing scientific and technological ends, but it was publicity-driven for 
58

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

(NASA image A-41727-6-4)

Figure 3.1. A fine example of the implementation of contemporary program management techniques. 

Merrill Mead, chief of Ames’s Program and Resources Office, stands in a review room in the Ames 

headquarters building, October 1965.

A holdout from the NACA, its days were numbered. The transition toward 

mission-oriented aeronautical research began innocently as former aeronautics 

centers and researchers took on the project management of space missions and 

continued as Headquarters began to package aeronautical research as discrete, 

targeted, and closely managed projects. Over time, the original intention to 

maintain a sharp distinction between an operational space program and basic 

research began to give way to a belief that all of NASA should be run in the 

same fashion as the space program. Abetting this evolution was the porous 

boundary between aeronautics and space; on the one hand this gave researchers a wider range of topics to pursue, while on the other it opened the door for 

the spread of the space race’s program management tools.
Chapter 3: Creating NASA and the Space Race

59

At NASA’s inception, a number of aeronautical research programs lent themselves readily to the space program. Among them, the X-15 high-speed research 

aircraft represented both the climax of the NACA’s experimental aircraft program and an important reusable vehicle for exploring flight at the edge of space. 

Likewise, wind-tunnel testing straddled both aeronautical and space research. 

Some space vehicles, after all, still had to negotiate the atmosphere. To this 

end, NASA’s aeronautics researchers explored a number of reentry technologies, including lifting-body designs and deployable airfoils, such as the Rogallo 

wing. Such research attests to the eagerness of many aeronautical researchers to 

participate in the space program and a willingness to approach spaceflight as 

a natural evolution of atmospheric flight. More radically, the original Centers 

made moves toward owning pieces of the space exploration program.

Perhaps the best measure of the diminished importance of aeronautics to 

NASA’s leadership was the design of the American supersonic transport (SST) 

program. In July 1960, when the matter came before NASA Administrator 

T. Keith Glennan, he asked that NASA not be given charge of the program. 

Instead, the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA), established in 1958 and 

led by an eager administrator, took on the project.2 NASA provided research 

support to the FAA, but the space program was sufficiently demanding that 

NASA did not want the distraction of another major development program. 

The decision was entirely understandable even though NASA was the most 

logical and, arguably, most capable agency to lead the SST program. In what 

would become a recurring theme, the imperatives of the space program hobbled any significant top-level focus on, or commitment to, aeronautics.

The relationship between space and aeronautics has raised a persistent question over the years: whether aeronautics would have been better off going it 

alone. What is often forgotten is that even though the space program overwhelmed the NACA, the NACA model was under significant pressure to 

change in the late 1950s. It is quite possible that in becoming NASA, the 

NACA received a new lease and, for just a bit longer, could operate without 

burdensome oversight.

NACA to NASA: Riding a Tiger

Hugh Dryden’s proclaimed vision for the NACA as a space agency was far more 

modest than what resulted in late 1958. Dryden’s plan seemed to contemplate 

the least expensive and least offensive way to place the NACA at the center of 

 2. J. D. Hunley, ed. 
60

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

the nation’s civilian space program. It steered well clear of the military, leaving 

untouched those programs dedicated to national security, as well as the military’s investment in launch capability. As for civilian space science, it envisioned 

a large role for the National Science Foundation and the National Academies 

of Science. As in the NACA, Dryden’s plan situated research decisions in a 

technocracy of scientific committees. The one remaining piece for the NACA 

was coordination, making sure that civilian space research made its way onto 

NACA-contracted launch vehicles. Dryden argued against the creation of new 

research centers to design and build spacecraft, stating, “It would be possible 

for NASA to build the organization and the facilities for such space vehicle and 

motor design and construction. But again, such action would be very costly 

and much additional time would be required.”3

Eisenhower, and later President John F. Kennedy, did what Dryden and 

the NACA were too timid to suggest: the wholesale transfer of military launch 

vehicle programs to the new space agency. The process began in November 

1957, soon after Sputnik’s flight, when Eisenhower appointed James R. Killian, 

Jr., to be Special Assistant to the President for Science and Technology and created the President’s Science Advisory Committee (PSAC). Killian was president 

of MIT and previously had chaired Eisenhower’s Technological Capabilities 

Panel, which provided a roadmap for ICBM development and strategic reconnaissance technology (including military satellites). Even as Dryden’s publicity 

machine geared up, Killian and the PSAC were coming to the conclusion that 

the NACA was the best candidate for a new space agency (announced on 4 

February 1958). In spite of the NACA’s effort to recast its work as space oriented, 

it was understood that the NACA was not as prepared as the military to enter 

space. However, the NACA offered Eisenhower three distinct advantages: it was 

civilian, and so sent a message to the world that the United States’ intentions 

were peaceful; the NACA sidestepped interservice rivalry; and the NACA was 

politically weak, and thus would bend more easily to the administration’s designs 

on space than, say, the more obdurate and quarrelsome branches of the military.4

 3. Hugh Dryden, “A National Space Program for the United States,” 26 April 1958, reprinted in 
Chapter 3: Creating NASA and the Space Race

61

Dryden could count Killian and a number of the PSAC members as friends, 

but this did little to further Dryden’s plans. The new space agency was not 

to be an NACA with a space mission but a comprehensive space agency that 

enveloped the NACA. With the country already second in the publicity race 

with the Soviets, there was no time for the NACA to learn how to build its 

own launchers or to develop the kinds of program management skills that 

had become stock-in-trade elsewhere since World War II. The NACA would 

need more than just access to the military’s space resources—military programs 

would script the organization’s new mode of operation. NASA was to be a much 

larger organization that made use of extensive subcontracting arrangements and 

exchanged its committee structure for a hierarchy answering to the President.5

Eisenhower directed members of the PSAC, Bureau of the Budget, 

Rockefeller Commission on Government Organization, and NACA to draw 

up the necessary legislation. The NACA’s leadership fought for, and ultimately 

lost the battle over, the committee structure, over which there had been longstanding objections, though they were given the trivial concession of a toothless 

advisory board.6 In April 1958, Eisenhower sent the National Aeronautics and 

Space Act to Congress. The Act gave the military control over weapons systems 

and reconnaissance satellites, but the vast remainder went to the civilian space 

agency. Congress debated the bill from April until July, when Eisenhower and 

Lyndon Johnson met to resolve differences; the bill passed at the end of the 

month. The new agency came into being on 1 October 1958 with Eisenhower 

choosing T. Keith Glennan, president of Case Institute of Technology, as the 

Agency’s first Administrator. Hugh Dryden, considered a relic of the more 

conservative NACA, was the first Deputy Administrator.7

The irony of the NACA’s bold, opportunistic gamble for space is that aeronautics quickly disappeared. It is not that aeronautics research ceased, but 

that, on NASA’s first day of operation, aeronautics had vanished from the 

foreground. Space was NASA’s mandate. What was to become of aeronautics, 

and what were the great challenges facing this five-decade-old enterprise? As 

historian Alex Roland wrote in the last sentence of his history of the NACA, 

“...the NACA was laid to rest because it had accomplished what it set out to 

do.”8

 For the next decade, there would be many questions and debates about 

 5. Rosholt, 
62

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

NASA, but aeronautics would hardly register. Not until the end of the Apollo 

program would aeronautics reenter the fray, and even then, it could hardly be 

called an equal of the space program.

Within NASA, aeronautics did not constitute its own budgetary or research 

area but was initially grouped in the Office of Aeronautical and Space Research 

(OASP). The OASP took control of the existing four NACA Centers and 

was to operate as the basic research component of the Agency. The Office of 

Space Flight Development took in Goddard Space Flight Center in Beltsville, 

Maryland; JPL; the Wallops Flight Facility in Virginia; and Cape Canaveral, 

Florida (which later became Kennedy Space Center), and was to be the developmental and operational side for space activities. In early 1961, the OASP 

core became the Office of Advanced Research Programs, and later that year, 

after James Webb replaced Glennan as Administrator, it changed names 

again to become the Office of Advanced Research and Technology (OART). 

The 1961 reorganization placed all of the Centers underneath the Associate 

Administrator, but by late 1963, they were again attached to specific programs, 

and the original four Centers were back with OART. Elsewhere in NASA, the 

Centers at Huntsville and Houston, as well as Kennedy Space Center, operated under the Office of Manned Space Flight, while Wallops, Goddard, and 

JPL operated under the Office of Space Science and Applications. Like the 

aeronautics program, the latter Centers (which had robotic exploration and 

astronomy programs) were dwarfed by NASA’s human space program.9

The original intention behind the creation of OASP and OART was that 

these programs would serve as the basic research core for the rest of NASA and 

would perform only limited developmental work. P. M. Lovell, the Assistant to 

the Director of Aeronautical and Space Research argued that only the developmental centers should have defined research areas, and that “the mission of the 

research centers [Langley, Lewis, Ames, and the Flight Research Center] can 

only be defined in the broadest possible terms and that a statement of the current research being done will only be applicable for a very short period of time. 

For example, the mission of the research centers as to research may be defined 

 9. For comparative data on the human space program budget versus all other NASA initiatives, 
Chapter 3: Creating NASA and the Space Race

63

as merely to study the problems of flight within and outside the atmosphere.” 

The tenor of the time was that the Centers informed Headquarters, which 

made certain that there was no duplication of effort but did not control the 

research. Lovell also wrote, “[I]t should be realized by all NASA management 

personnel that the research of the research centers is quite different from the 

research of the development centers.”10

Briefly, Langley, Ames, Lewis, and the Flight Research Center (FRC) were 

known as the “Advanced Research Centers,” charged with “providing information required for the accomplishment of the Nation’s space and aeronautics goals 

not attainable with current knowledge.” The new goals included the following:

1. Provide a broad base of research which allows the development of 

technology necessary for manned and unmanned exploration of 

space, and for the advancement of aeronautical vehicles;

2. Generate new and advanced concepts for future space and aeronautical vehicles and their expected missions; and

3. Provide the entire NASA organization, the Department of Defense, 

and others with needed research assistance.11

The four Centers were given specific duties:

• 

• 

• 

• 

Langley: materials, structures, magnetogasdynamics, aerodynamic 

heating, guidance, and navigation.

Ames: hypersonic aerodynamics; orientation, stabilization, and control; and space environmental physics.

Lewis: advanced propulsion systems, power-generation systems, and 

basic materials research.

FRC: flight mechanics, operation and environment, and aerodynamic and structural effects.12

The initial division of labor between the research centers and the mission 

centers did not survive over the long term. Making this kind of organizational 

distinction simply did not work because it disregarded the degree to which 

“fundamental” research, as practiced by the NACA, relied on development 

work. Likewise, the “developmental” side of NASA relied on a great deal of 

its own experimental research. Additionally, between the prestige attached 

to basic research and the competition for resources, there was little incentive for programs outside of OART to willingly hand over experimental or 

10. P. M. Lovell to Mr. Rhode, “Comments on Material from Dr. Dryden,” 16 June 1959, OAST 

Correspondence 1959–1962, folder 18269, NASA HRC.

11. NASA, “Fiscal Year 1962 Estimates, Support of NASA Plant, Advanced Research Centers,” 

undated, OAST Correspondence 1959–1962, folder 18269, NASA HRC.

12. Ibid. (summarized, not directly quoted).
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

knowledge-producing activities. Over the long run, the failing distinction 

between basic and developmental work meant that OART and its centers had 

to compete on the basis of what they did rather than how they did it.

In the first few years of NASA, aeronautics began a subtle transition. On 

the one hand, research activities at the original Centers continued much as they 

had in the 1950s. They were, for the most part, under the same leadership. 

Researchers expected their work to continue as before, though with a new mandate that broadened the scope of their work. However, at Headquarters, the independence of the old Centers stood in contrast to the more centralized and highly 

coordinated human space program. Even though aeronautics was a lower priority, 

there was clear discomfort in not knowing exactly what the aeronautics people 

were doing. In the past, Headquarters had merely signed off on research topics 

and budgets sent from the Centers, a task that was both infrequent and minimally informative. Ira Abbot, the Director of the Advanced Research Programs 

Office in 1960, discussed with the Center Directors the need for more thorough 

reporting in order to coordinate research across the Agency. “The most serious 

deficiency of the [Administrator’s Progress Report] is that it does not present 

adequate information concerning the general research activities of the centers.”13

Unable to ascertain what was going on at the Centers, Abbot in particular 

and Headquarters in general had little ability to exercise the same kind of 

control exercised over the space program. Through NASA’s first few years, the 

Agency was playing catch-up with the aeronautical work at the Centers. In 

1960, NASA created the Research Program Analysis System (RPAS), with a 

first step being the cataloging of in-house and contracted research.14 The following year brought the OART reorganization, as well as a new Office of the 

Director of Technical Program Coordination. The latter was to coordinate 

OART’s research with the needs of the other directorates, make long-range 

plans for where OART’s research should go (through parametric studies of 

space systems), and coordinate communication between NASA groups, as 

well as NASA and outside agencies.15 At the same time, OART was broken 

 13.
Chapter 3: Creating NASA and the Space Race

65

into technical directorates: research (fluid physics, materials, electromagnetics, 

and applied magnetics), nuclear systems, propulsion and power generation, 

aeronautics, electronics and guidance, and space vehicles. Each of the technical directorates was to perform long- and short-range program planning, 

evaluate and recommend programs to the OART Director, establish technical guidelines and schedules, serve as the Headquarters point of contact for 

research persons at the Centers, monitor progress, formulate program budget 

guidelines, and evaluate personal performance.16 Finally, Headquarters created 

an Office of Program Review and Resources Management that would establish 

management control systems, program analysis, and facilities planning.17

Change at the Centers

For researchers at the Centers, the experience of becoming a space agency was 

mixed. For those who were only minimally engaged in space activities, the 

early years of NASA were traumatic. Historian James Hansen described widespread resentment and emotional resignation about the decline of aeronautics 

at Langley, leading most notably to the departure of one of Langley’s stars (and 

Director of Aeronautics) in 1962, John Stack.18 Some aeronautics researchers found themselves asked to manage space projects when they would have 

preferred to continue their aeronautical investigations.19 For others, space presented opportunities for entirely new research and career paths. Most certainly, 

Sputnik reoriented researchers toward space, and work that had been classified 

as aeronautics was reclassified as space related. For example, table 3.1 provides 

the budget for aeronautics within the OARP from 1955 to 1960. Aeronautics 

appears to suffer a decline from 89 percent of funding in 1955 to an estimated 

low of 27 percent in 1962. While Sputnik gave space research a considerable boost, some aeronautics research simply became space research. Langley 

engineer W. Hewitt Phillips writes that upon becoming NASA, “every group 

immediately considered how its knowledge and expertise could be applied to 

aid the space effort.”20

 16.
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

Table 3.1. Office of Advanced Research Programs Budget 

(S&E and R&D; not including C&E)

Fiscal Year Total OARP Total in Aeronautics Percent

1955 $54,240,000 $46,494,000 89

1956 $60,135,000 $50,513,000 84

1957 $64,176,500 $49,416,000 77

1958 $71,000,000 $44,730,000 63

1959 $77,750,000 $33,432,000 43

1960 $85,269,590 $27,286,000 32

1962 (estimated) $112,038,000 $30,021,000 27

Source: OARP budget table, prepared 13 January 1961, OAST Correspondence 1959–1962, folder 

18269, NASA HRC. 

Table 3.2. Distribution of Research Professionals, Office of Advanced Research 

Programs, 1960

Area Number Percent

Structures 199 9

Materials 197 9

Flight Mechanics 307 14

Hypersonic Aerodynamics 268 12

Nuclear Rockets 162 7

Chemical Rockets 238 11

Power Generation 32 1

Electrical Rockets 73 3

Instrumentation and Data Acquisition 88 4

Operation and Environment 184 8

Supersonic Aerodynamics 276 12

Air-Breathing Engines 89 4

Subsonic Aerodynamics 148 7

Total 2,261

Source: Director Advanced Research Projects to Director Business Administration, “FY 1962 Detailed 

Budget Submission,” 31 August 1960, OAST Correspondence 1959–1962, folder 18269, NASA HRC.

Table 3.3. Research Center Funding Allocation by Program

Aeronautics Program Percent

VTOL/STOL Aircraft 3.0

Subsonic Aircraft 1.4

Supersonic Aircraft 7.6

Hypersonic Aircraft 6.9

Non-Vehicle Oriented 1.1

Subtotal 20.0
Chapter 3: Creating NASA and the Space Race

67

Space Program Percent

Launch Vehicles 19.4

Manned Earth Satellites 22.5

Lunar and Interplanetary Vehicles 24.9

Unmanned Earth Satellites 6.2

Ballistic Missiles 1.7

Maneuverable Missiles 3.7

Non-Vehicle Oriented 1.6

Subtotal 80.0

Source: “Distribution of Research Center Budget,” 7 March 1961, OAST Correspondence 1959–1962, 

folder 18269, NASA HRC.

Table 3.4. Research Center Funding Allocation by Area

Area Percent

Hypersonic Aerodynamics 18.4

Supersonic Aerodynamics 12.2

Subsonic and Transonic Aerodynamics 9.8

Chemical Rocket Propulsion 9.5

Structures 8.0

Fluid Mechanics 7.7

Nuclear Rocket Propulsion 5.7

Space Environmental Physics 4.7

Materials 4.2

Guidance and Navigation 4.2

Material Applications 3.8

Data Acquisition and Transmission 3.6

Electrical Propulsion 2.7

Control and Stabilization 2.7

Electric Power Generation 1.5

Operating Problems 0.7

Air-Breathing Engine Propulsion 0.6

Source: “Research Center Effort By Area,” 7 March 1961, OAST Correspondence 1959–1962, folder 

18269, NASA HRC.

Table 3.3 shows an 80/20 split in funding between space and aeronautics 

activities at the OARP/OAST Centers in 1960. At the same time, table 3.4 

shows that the various subdisciplines of aerodynamics received over 40 percent 

of total funding. Additionally, aerodynamicists constituted a third of OARP’s 

research personnel (table 3.2). Some of the discrepancy arises from the fact 

that work in space launchers and vehicles involved a greater degree of outside 
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

subcontracting, so increased space funding did not translate into a proportional 

increase in NASA space research personnel. The mingling of aeronautics and 

space within the same organization and the porous boundaries between the 

activities did, however, allow the Centers some freedom in how they categorized their work.

Continuity in research was accompanied by continuity in leadership. At 

Ames, Smith DeFrance, who had been running the facility since 1940 and was 

himself a Langley veteran, continued to serve until 1965 as Center Director. 

H. Julian Allen, who had accompanied DeFrance from Langley, succeeded 

DeFrance. Not until 1969 did Ames bring in an outsider, Hans Mark. Both 

DeFrance and Allen managed to protect the laboratory, serving as gatekeepers 

between the Center and Headquarters. For researchers, the budgetary process 

and the politics of NASA were largely opaque. As Jack Boyd, a researcher and 

Associate Director at Ames noted, “As engineers, we never knew anything 

about dollars. We had no budgets; we just ran what we wanted to run, designed 

what we wanted to run, and Smitty [DeFrance] protected the boundaries of 

the Center completely.”21

Where some researchers felt threatened by the switch to NASA, many 

others embraced it.22 Scientists and engineers who had spent their lives working 

on aeronautical problems retooled for the new tasks. Vic Peterson, an Ames 

aerodynamicist, recalled, “A lot of us were interested in gravitating toward the 

space area.” For Peterson, this led him to begin thinking about how vehicles 

might fly elsewhere, such as Mars’s carbon dioxide––nitrogen atmosphere. 

This interest led to pumping carbon dioxide and nitrogen into the wind tunnels to perform tests. “So we were gung-ho about it, actually, and thought 

that we could have a little of both. We could have our aeronautics and apply 

it to flying in atmospheres of other planets.”23 Other individuals moved more 

squarely into space activities. Charlie Hall, who had been the Branch Chief in 

the Ames 6-by-6-Foot Wind Tunnel, eventually became the project manager 

for the Pioneer spacecraft program, which was run out of Ames.24

Just as individual researchers wandered afield of aeronautics, so did the 

Centers. Of the four original Centers, Lewis was the most aggressive in moving 

into space propulsion and power generation. By 1960, air-breathing engines 

 21.
Chapter 3: Creating NASA and the Space Race

69

accounted for a mere 7 percent of the Center’s work.25 For Lewis, the shift to 

space-related work represented a much less excruciating reorientation than for 

those engineers focused on aircraft. After Lewis, Ames took the greatest risks in 

branching out. In part, Ames was in danger of being neither fish nor fowl. It 

was not a space center, and Langley retained its preeminent position in aircraft 

and applied research. Langley had a structures laboratory that Ames lacked; 

Langley also continued to oversee the development of high-speed aircraft. Ames 

sought out space-related areas such as navigation and the life sciences. Harvey 

Allen encouraged DeFrance to move Ames into biology as the Center already 

had experience in human factors research.26 These efforts eventually led to a 

thriving astrobiology program. Ames also pursued flight biomedicine, which, 

along with its future thrust into computing, set it on a course to building a 

strong simulation program.27

Langley also sought to branch out beyond aeronautics. As queen bee of 

aeronautical research, it had the most at stake in the transition to NASA. 

Initially, Langley engineers such as Max Faget dominated the Space Task Group 

that would form the kernel of the NACA’s contribution to the space program. 

Unfortunately, Langley lost its early space group to the new space mission 

centers, such as Johnson and Marshall.

Even if aeronautics researchers did not avail themselves of the new opportunities presented in the NASA era, the tenor of existing research was beginning 

to change. The NACA had always been a knowledge producer, even in those 

instances where it found itself building an aircraft or rocket-plane. The end 

product was always a technical paper or advice distributed to the military or 

industry. In the NASA era, knowledge production gave way to the completion 

of big projects. The size of research expanded, and, increasingly, it involved 

teams of researchers working in conjunction with subcontractors. With big 

projects came big money and big management. This was in marked contrast 

 25.
70

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

to the lone researcher working on a topic of personal interest on bootstrapped 

wind tunnel time. With project management came more accountability for 

where money was spent, though salaries and infrastructure (such as wind tunnels) continued to be funded as recurring expenses rather than part of the 

research budget into the 1980s.

Subtler were the changes that began to occur with in-house publications and 

in-house presentations. Tradition was that researchers published their work in 

NACA technical memos, notes, and reports. When researchers gave presentations, it was common for branch chiefs and Center administrators to attend. 

With the dawn of NASA, in-house publications began to wane. Perhaps as 

part of the influence of new, academically oriented disciplines, as Jack Boyd 

speculated, aeronautics researchers sent their publications to external peerreviewed journals. Internal peer-review committees fell by the wayside, as did 

the leadership’s ability to stay abreast of all their researchers’ activities.28

X-15 on the Near Side of Space

The X-15 program began in the NACA years and continued through NASA’s 

first decade. A hypersonic rocket-plane, the X-15 was the apotheosis of the 

high-speed research plane approach that had begun in the 1940s with the 

XS-1. The X-15 was not the last of NASA’s experimental vehicles, but it was 

most certainly the end of the line of development that saw the open-ended 

construction of supersonic vehicles. The X-15 was meant to go fast and high, 

and whatever other fruit it bore was serendipitous.

The X-15 was arguably NASA’s last high-profile aeronautics program 

(insofar as the public was even aware of such research). The X-15 is, for 

example, the only NASA aircraft to occupy a place in the National Air and 

Space Museum’s Milestones of Flight Gallery (the Bell X-1 being an NACA 

aircraft). Certainly, the X-15 benefited from being a tangible artifact in a way 

that wind tunnel research is not, but as a daring experiment that took pilots 

higher and faster than ever before, it also shared in the astronaut mythology 

of the space program. Indeed, 5 of the 12 pilots who flew the three aircraft 

earned their astronaut wings. The X-15 was NASA’s last nonspace program 

to create American heroes. As an icon of American technological accomplishment and as a tribute to the cultural fascination with speed, the X-15’s 

symbolic status arguably trumps, at least from a historical perspective, the 

aircraft’s scientific value.

Prior to the creation of the X-15 program in 1954, the NACA had flown 

as fast as two times the speed of sound and had reached altitudes of up to 

28. Boyd interview.
Chapter 3: Creating NASA and the Space Race

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90,000 feet. With experiments already under way during the mid-1950s, pilots 

would pass Mach 3 and 120,000 feet. The NACA, military, and industry 

understood that going faster and higher entailed significant problems with 

aerodynamic heating, control, and pilot safety. Though temperatures at high 

altitudes are well below freezing, the simple action of air rubbing against the 

aircraft skin at high speed raises temperatures enough to potentially melt aluminum and soften most other available alloys. As early as 1951, researchers at 

North American Aviation’s Aerophysics Laboratory expressed concern about 

aerodynamic heating and asked that the NACA address the challenge.29 Such 

heating was not readily modeled in wind tunnels, which are better equipped 

to demonstrate streamlines, turbulence, and shock waves. High-speed flight 

went hand in hand with flying at higher altitudes, where the atmosphere was 

less dense. This, however, presented novel control problems because control 

surfaces had little to “push” against. Finally, the pilot required new pressurized 

clothing and safety devices in order to survive the extremes of temperature, 

pressure, and acceleration. For all practical purposes, these pilots would be 

short-duration astronauts.

With the momentum of the early X-vehicles, it is easy to see the X-15 as 

the next logical development. For the most part, it shared the same organizational features of earlier programs: this was a joint NACA–Air Force–Navy 

program in which the NACA did the brainwork, the Air Force funded and 

administered the program, and the Navy contributed the remaining costs. 

It would operate out of the Edwards Air Force Base (AFB)/NACA High 

Speed Flight Station area (though with a much expanded flight and tracking 

area due to the aircraft’s velocity). It would be an air-dropped rocket-plane 

manufactured by a private contractor. Where the X-15 defied expectations 

was its transition from a vision of hypersonic aircraft to a vision of reusable 

spacecraft. The X-15 did not merely span the NACA’s institutional shift to 

NASA, it pivoted between two very different research paradigms. Though 

the NACA had only lukewarm interest in space in the early 1950s, the X-15’s 

designers created a robust research platform that, among other things, had 

the ability to fly to extreme altitudes. In the wake of Sputnik, the X-15 

provided a way for the NACA to argue that it was, in fact, headed to space. 

Rolled out from North American’s factories on 15 October 1958, it was 

NASA’s first tangible spacecraft. Thus, against most people’s expectations, 

the rocket-plane’s flexibility allowed the X-15 to take on an entirely different 

29. Edwin Hartman to Director, NACA, 16 July 1951, “Visits to the North American Aerophysics 

Laboratory at Downey, California, 22 June and 3 July 1951,” Edwin Hartman Memorandums, 

Langley Research Center Historical Archive.
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

(NASA image GPN-2000-001272)

Figure 3.2. Scale model of an X-15 in the Langley 4-by-4-Foot Supersonic Pressure Tunnel in the 

early 1960s. The lines angling away from the model are shock waves.

meaning in the 1960s. Far from being a logical technical evolution, the X-15 

research program reflected NASA’s institutional bent and the nation’s broader 

Cold War struggle.

Hypersonic research had its promoters in the NACA as early as 1952, and 

there had been conceptual discussions of such an aircraft in wartime Germany. 

Not until 1954 did the idea receive an official blessing from the NACA, 

which invited proposals from the Centers.30 However, Langley was the likely 

 30.
Chapter 3: Creating NASA and the Space Race

73

candidate with its coterie of experienced rocket-plane alumni.31 John Becker 

headed Langley’s design team, a group that included Norris Dow, Maxim Faget, 

Thomas Toll, and James Whitten. In arriving at a hypersonic aircraft design, 

Becker’s team added a twist: not only would their aircraft fly fast, it could also 

fly at a very steep angle and thus pierce the edges of space. This latter element 

was hardly in keeping with the plane’s intent, but the NACA chose the Langley 

team and retained the feature.

By the end of 1954, the NACA had set out the X-15’s general design goals: 

the exploration of aerodynamic heating, stability, and control problems of 

hypersonic, high-altitude flight; physiological factors of hypersonic flight; and 

the potential for including an observer (a feature that fell by the wayside).32 In 

May 1955, Bell, Douglas, North American, and Republic submitted design 

proposals to the Air Force. By late summer, the NACA, Air Force, and Navy 

had selected North American as the preferred designer and manufacturer, and 

by late fall, contracts and funds were forthcoming. Though Becker’s group 

had defined many of the aircraft’s critical parameters, North American would 

have to solve many of the specific technical issues. For the next three years and 

under the leadership of former NACA research pilot Scott Crossfield, North 

American employees would work closely with their NACA counterparts. The 

company would also have recourse to the NACA’s hypersonic tunnels, the 

11-inch at Langley and Ames’s free-flight facility.

Where shock waves and the transonic regime were considered the major 

challenges of the Bell XS-1, aerodynamic heating was the major challenge of the 

X-15. The aircraft would routinely experience temperatures of 1,200 degrees 

Fahrenheit, though without accurate models for their hypersonic wind tunnels, 

Langley’s engineers had to design conservatively and anticipated temperatures 

of up to 2,000 degrees. They considered two approaches to keeping the aircraft from melting: insulating the structure with different layers of materials 

and building the outer shell of a material that simply absorbed the heat. They 

chose the latter and fabricated the outer structure of the aircraft with a nickel 

chromium alloy called Inconel X. For much of the inner structure, including 

the complex truss and corrugated sheet wings, the designers used titanium. 

Making the structure strong was less difficult than anticipating the results of 

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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

differential heating (e.g., the bottom of the vehicle was far hotter than the 

top), different rates of expansion (that led to distortions in the vehicle’s shape), 

and local hot spots (that resulted from any kind of airflow perturbation). 

Aerodynamic heating was also a function of the aircraft’s flight profile (e.g., the 

aircraft’s velocity, attitude, and air density). Designers had to make provisions 

for keeping the aircraft at the proper attitude and for slowing the vehicle as it 

reentered the atmosphere.

To solve the stability and control problems, designers had to tackle two 

distinct challenges: how to design control surfaces that operated at high speeds 

and how to design control systems that operated out of the atmosphere. To 

address the former, North American engineers made use of a large, all-moving 

wedge for the vertical tail, speed brakes at the rear of the aircraft, and differentially operated horizontal slabs (that eliminated the need for ailerons). For 

control above the atmosphere, designers placed small rockets and reaction jets 

in the nose and wings. The pilot had to switch between the two systems while 

in flight (using different joysticks) since coupling the aerodynamic surfaces and 

reaction jets would have required knowledge that the X-15 was attempting to 

learn (e.g., how to modulate both systems through an entire flight profile), 

as well as computer systems that were not yet up to the task. Only late in the 

X-15 program and with the last of three aircraft did NASA implement a control 

system that sought to automatically integrate the two systems.

The X-15 was very much a learning device for design and manufacturing. 

Systems that operated well at supersonic speeds and below 100,000 feet became 

faulty at lower pressures and higher temperatures. The NACA and North 

American had to invent solutions all along the way. Rollout of the first aircraft, 

as noted above, took place in October 1958. It was the rocket engine, however, that presented considerable delays. Interestingly, for all the novelty of the 

engine, the XLR99 built by Reaction Motors, propulsion was not considered 

one of the main goals of the program. This highlighted the importance that 

the NACA attached to aerodynamics, structures, and atmospheric flight over 

spaceflight. The XLR99 was fueled by liquid oxygen and anhydrous ammonia, 

and it was the first throttleable and restartable human-rated rocket engine. The 

engine would ultimately provide 57,000 pounds of thrust (for a vehicle that 

weighed only 30,000 pounds). It was 1959 before engines were available for 

initial testing.

A full five years after the NACA initiated the X-15 project, North American 

began its own test program to ensure that the vehicle met specifications. With 

Scott Crossfield at the controls and carried underneath the wing of an earlymodel B-52, the first drop test took place in June 1959, and the first powered test in September. North American handed over the first of the X-15s in 

February 1960. Though the X-15’s flights were usually under a dozen minutes, 
Chapter 3: Creating NASA and the Space Race

75

it traveled such long distances that NASA created a new test range. Called the 

“High Range,” it stretched from Utah to California and incorporated three 

radar and telemetry stations that could seamlessly follow each test. Early flights 

involved working out the bugs in the X-15’s novel systems, especially the rocket 

engine, controls systems, and auxiliary power unit. By 1961, X-15 pilots were 

beginning to make flights above Mach 4 and reaching skin temperatures of 

500 degrees Fahrenheit. By the end of the year, the pilots were reaching Mach 

6 and altitudes of over 200,000 feet.

Relative to the time it took to authorize, build, and deliver the X-15, NASA’s 

testing proceeded quickly. Author Dennis Jenkins writes that most of the X-15’s 

original research areas were generally examined by the end of 1961 (though 

research on these areas continued until 1967). As early as 1961, NASA and 

the Air Force began casting about for additional “follow-on” research. They 

eventually approved 46 additional projects ranging from space science experiments (such as ultraviolet stellar photography), to reconnaissance, to component tests (such as a hypersonic ramjet). Follow-on projects eventually made 

up the majority of all X-15 flights. With additional fuel in drop tanks and an 

ablative coating, the X-15A-2 reached Mach 6.70, the fastest that the X-15s 

would ever go. The highest altitude it would reach was 354,200 feet, 67 miles 

above Earth’s surface (almost 10 times higher than commercial jet altitudes). 

At a total program cost of $300 million (30 times the original estimate), the 

X-15 program achieved 199 powered flights and inspired over 760 technical 

documents and reports.33 The program suffered a number of mishaps, the most 

tragic being the loss of pilot Michael J. Adams, whose aircraft lost control after 

entering a high-speed spin. The program ended in 1968, the last flight taking 

place on 24 October. Proponents of further research, notably Langley’s John 

Becker, sought to modify the aircraft with a delta wing in order to create a 

hypersonic cruise research vehicle, but this was not to be.

The X-15’s technical impact is difficult to measure. Not only was the sixyear gestation period an interminably long time in a fast-changing field, but 

the aircraft itself overshot the performance regime of most other aircraft and 

missiles. Only three air-breathing aircraft have exceeded Mach 3 (the SR-71, 

XB-70, and MiG-25), and only a few ventured higher than 50,000 feet. The 

X-15 did have a valuable impact on the understanding of aerodynamic heating 

and helped validate wind tunnel methods for predicting such. More spacecraft 

than aircraft, the X-15 influenced the design and operations of reusable, winged 

spacecraft such as the Space Shuttle. Arguably, the greatest impact came from 

the least tangible areas, such as all the tacit learning that went into the design, 

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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

(NASA image ECN-2359)

Figure 3.3. X-24A, M2-F3, and HL-10 lifting bodies on the dry lakebed at the Flight Research Center. 

manufacture, and debugging of the aircraft. North American Aviation would 

later design and build the Mach 3 XB-70 as well as the Space Shuttle. NASA 

would take its experience with the High Range and create a global tracking 

and data relay system. Perhaps most important of all, the dual nature of the 

X-15 helped save the NACA from an Earth-bound end.

Lifting Bodies

Whereas the X-15 began its life as a high-speed aircraft and evolved into a highaltitude, space-touching rocket ship, NASA’s lifting-body research sought to 

create aircraft out of returning spacecraft. This was not a single program, but 

an evolution of ideas that crossed Center lines, became physical prototypes, 

and, eventually, earned the support of NASA Headquarters. Though NASA 

characterized the research as space related, the nature of the work was rooted 

firmly in the challenges of atmospheric flight. The question confronting scientists and engineers was how to create a flyable spacecraft, something that 

could ride atop a rocket, orbit Earth, survive reentry, and then return to land 

on an airstrip. While the researchers, most of them steeped in the study of 

aerodynamics, found this work to be a logical approach to spaceflight, it was 

also a way to make aerodynamics and the art of aircraft design relevant in an 
Chapter 3: Creating NASA and the Space Race

77

age of ballistic space capsules. The NASA Centers that most ardently promoted 

lifting-body research were, not surprisingly, the former NACA Centers that 

found themselves on the fringes of the nation’s space program.

To its champions, the appeal of a flyable spacecraft was self-evident. A lifting 

body could land at an airstrip, obviating the need for expensive and unpredictable ballistic reentries that ended underneath a parachute. There was also 

something disconcerting about ballistic reentry as it left heroic astronaut-pilots 

at the mercy of a flight engineer’s trajectory and a flotilla of rescue ships. As Dale 

Reed, a central figure in lifting-body history, noted, their unofficial motto was, 

“Don’t be rescued from outer space—fly back in style.”34 Lifting bodies would 

also, like airplanes, be able to fly again. It was taken as an article of faith that 

operating a spacecraft like an airplane was not only preferable, but also more 

economical and futuristic. NASA’s lifting-body proponents were hardly alone 

in seeking a reusable, flyable reentry vehicle. The Air Force had begun its own 

program, the X-20 Dyna-Soar, which sought to create a winged, piloted vehicle 

that could be launched on a rocket booster and sent on orbital missions.35 The 

idea of a winged spacecraft itself had been stock material in rocketry circles for 

decades, not only in the U.S., but Europe as well. As usual, NASA carried out 

studies on the X-20 on behalf of the military.36 The Air Force would eventually 

cancel Dyna-Soar, just as NASA would eventually cancel further lifting-body 

research; but these programs, which saw some amount of cross-fertilization 

and cooperation, would remain important subplots within American civil and 

military space programs. Of course, flyable reentry became a feature of the 

Space Shuttle, but it also persisted in on-again, off-again programs, such as 

the National Aero-Space Plane (NASP or X-30) in the 1980s and X-33 and 

Venturestar of the 1990s. As recently as 2005, the Air Force continued to lobby 

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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

for a flyable space-plane that could allow the United States to strike globally 

within a matter of minutes rather than days and weeks.37

As bold as the idea of the lifting body was, what distinguished this program 

from many other equally risky ideas was the degree to which it represented 

a grassroots initiative rather than top-down planning from Headquarters. In 

the early years of the research program, there was, in fact, no program. It was 

merely research championed by a small number of individuals and enabled 

by discretionary funding from the Centers, primarily the High Speed Flight 

Station, or, as it was renamed in 1959, the Flight Research Center. Eventually 

the research did gain attention and funding from Headquarters, but lifting 

bodies and reusable vehicles were not part of NASA’s initial space program, 

which had set its sights on going to the Moon as soon as possible. Lifting bodies 

appeared to be a promising area of research for the next generation of space 

vehicles, and so long as the aeronautical engineers wanted to explore the idea, 

Headquarters abided.

The intellectual genesis of the lifting body began at Ames with Harvey 

Allen’s work on blunt objects and their ability to shed heat during reentry. 

Allen, Al Eggers, Clarence Syvertson, George Edwards, and George Kenyon 

took these ideas further, exploring how to create a blunt-body shape that had 

useful lift.38 With lift, such a shape might be able to slow its descent enough to 

perform an airplane-style landing. Adding wings was one option, but doing so 

added weight and created surfaces that greatly disturbed airflow and elevated 

reentry temperatures. Eggers arrived at the idea of using a cone on its side with 

the top portion sliced off. The bottom portion would shed the heat of reentry 

while the upper would generate a small but useful amount of lift. The idea 

worked in the wind tunnel, but it remained a question as to whether such a 

shape could be controlled and landed.

The work at Ames stimulated engineers at both Langley and, more importantly, the FRC. Dale Reed, an aeronautical engineer who had been at Muroc 

since 1953, began his own small-scale investigations of lifting bodies in 1962. 

From paper models to radio-controlled balsa models, Reed grew fascinated by 

the idea. Drawing together a core of supporters, Reed gained the backing of 

FRC Director Paul Bikle and Eggers at Ames. Bikle provided funds to the group 

 37.
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while Eggers responded with wind tunnel time and advice. In four months, 

Reed’s group hand-built a lifting-body glider large enough to accommodate a 

single pilot. The most pressing problem they faced was controllability: in such 

an unconventional aircraft, what should the arrangement of control surfaces 

be, and how should the pilot use them? These questions would animate the 

lifting-body program.39

In March and April 1963, with an ingenuity characteristic of the FRC, 

Reed’s team began flying the M2-F1 by towing it aloft behind a Pontiac 

Catalina. In contrast to the FRC’s X-15 research, the lifting-body research 

looked like an overgrown hobby project. Despite its homespun origins, its 

supporters were both talented and dedicated. After testing the M2-F1 glider in 

Ames’s full-size, 40-by-80-foot tunnel, the group proceeded to higher altitudes 

using an R4-D tow-plane, the Navy version of the Douglas DC-3. For the next 

two years, the FRC group, using funds provided by Bikle, tested the M2-F1’s 

flight control characteristics. The last flight took place in August 1966. The 

M2-F1 gave NASA a baseline for understanding the aerodynamic, control, 

and piloting characteristics of one type of lifting-body design. Above all else, 

it convinced many skeptics of the viability of the idea and led to a full-fledged, 

Headquarters-sponsored program.40

Even as Reed and his team plugged away at the M2-F1’s research flights, 

other researchers at Langley and the Air Force were making parallel investigations. At Langley, a group led by Eugene Love had been examining various 

reentry configurations and had approached the problem differently than Reed’s 

FRC group. Langley’s engineers did not limit themselves to lifting-body shapes 

and examined winged vehicles as well. They arrived at a modified delta shape 

that was flat on the bottom and curved on the top, nearly the reverse of the FRC 

design. Rounding out the competition, the Air Force had been experimenting 

with its own scale lifting body, the SV-5, designed and built by Martin. The 

Air Force launched models of the SV-5 (as the X-23) atop Atlas boosters to 

test high-speed reentry. The SV-5/X-23 shape was, in NASA’s eyes, halfway 

between the FRC and Langley designs.41

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With Headquarters’ backing and now under the direction of the Office 

of Advanced Research and Technology, the FRC moved to build two “heavyweight” lifting bodies, the M2-F2 and the HL-10 (the Langley design). 

Northrop won the contract for the two vehicles in June 1964 and delivered 

them in 1965 and 1966, respectively, for the bargain price of $1.2 million each. 

This was partially the result of the FRC’s and Northrop’s eagerness to reduce 

bureaucracy and share resources (even when not contractually obligated to do 

so).42 The Air Force, meanwhile, also decided to build a piloted, low-speed 

(relative to the reentry models) version of its SV-5 that was to be named the 

X-24; so three different candidates headed for testing. In 1965, Bikle was able 

to fold the Air Force’s X-24 into a combined testing program that not only 

gave NASA access to the Martin design, but also provided launch support and 

rocket engines for all of the vehicles.

In spite of their differences, all three of the lifting bodies had similar operational designs. As they slowed from their orbital velocities and shed heat, they 

would need to follow a strict glide path to arrive at the landing strip with just 

the right amount of kinetic energy. Too much speed and they would overshoot 

their target. Too little speed and they would be unable to execute a critical lastsecond flare above the runway. The task was challenging, for not only were 

these inefficient gliders (with very low lift-over-drag ratios), but their controls 

were unconventional and potentially unstable. Like the X-15, the lifting bodies 

launched from an in-flight B-52. At first the tests were unpowered, but, as pilots 

and engineers gained confidence, the FRC installed XLR11 rocket engines for 

high-speed tests.

The first flight of the M2-F2 took place in 1966, and testing with the 

XLR11 rocket engine began the following year. The M2-F2’s shape and its 

early control surface configuration made it prone to Dutch rolls (a combined 

yawing/rolling motion). Pilot Bruce Peterson crashed the M2-F2 after his 

efforts to counter a Dutch roll prevented him from executing a proper landing. 

Northrop repaired and modified the vehicle (renamed the M2-F3), incorporating better lateral stability and additional reaction control jets. It returned to 

flight in 1970. The aircraft went supersonic under the hand of pilot Bill Dana 

in August 1971 and it would later achieve a top speed of Mach 1.613. The M2 

conducted a total of 43 flights from 1966 to 1972.43

USAF Lifting Reentry Program,” 20 May 1964, OAST Chron File, “OART Correspondence, May–

August 1964,” folder 18272, NASA HRC.

 42. Hallion, On the Frontier, p. 154.

 43. Reed, Wingless Flight, chap. 5. Individual flight data are available in Reed’s appendix.
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The HL-10, the Langley candidate, first flew in 1966 and showed significant 

lateral stability problems caused by flow separation on the vertical stabilizers. 

After Langley engineers studied the problem and modified the craft, it returned 

to flight two years later. The aircraft went supersonic in 1969 and reached a top 

speed the next year of Mach 1.86. The HL-10 completed a total of 37 flights.44

Interestingly, it was the Air Force’s X-24A that showed the most promise. 

Flying in 1969, it was the last of the craft to make it into the air. It reached 

supersonic speeds the following year and a maximum speed of Mach 1.6 in 

1971. It completed a total of 28 flights before the Air Force decided to radically modify the vehicle to include a double delta shape. The idea emanated 

from the Air Force’s Flight Dynamics Laboratory and changed the pudgy X-24 

into a sleek, triangular craft with an increased lift-to-drag ratio. This second 

version, the X-24B, flew from 1973 to 1975, reaching speeds of Mach 1.76 

and completing landings on a regular concrete runway.45

As the lifting-body tests drew to completion, NASA Headquarters refused 

to authorize any further continuation of the program. Dale Reed, working 

along similar lines to the Air Force, had been developing a high-lift-to-drag 

design named the Hyper III. This did not progress beyond an air-launched, 

remote-control scale model. To some extent, the success of the lifting-body 

program spelled its end. The FRC team had shown that a variety of unpowered 

shapes could be safely flown to a runway landing. Where there were problems 

in configuration and control, these could be hammered out through developmental testing and pilot training. Even though there were engineers who 

sought to pursue the technology further, there was no significant lifting-body 

constituency. NASA’s decision to pursue a reusable, unpowered winged shuttle 

(as opposed to a lifting body) after Apollo was both a repudiation and a validation of the lifting-body thesis.46

Against the background of NASA’s subsequent aeronautical research, the 

lifting-body program is especially noteworthy because it represented a more 

traditional, empirical, organic model of research. It was a small, bottom-up 

project that relied on the enthusiasm of Dale Reed, modest support from 

Center Director Bikle, and an iterative problem-solving process built on generous testing, including wind tunnel runs, remote-control tests, and piloted 

tests. The FRC was a safe harbor that allowed Dale Reed to pursue his own 

interests by fabricating and testing lightweight prototypes. Reed bootstrapped 

his project by drawing on a wide array of talent at the FRC; Reed’s limited 

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budget did not necessarily constrain his access to expertise and to building an 

integrated team. The lifting-body program was also very much in the character 

of the FRC. All of the original Centers had decentralized decision-making and 

homegrown projects, but the FRC was about flight testing. The approach was 

hardly dismissive of wind tunnel testing, but for FRC researchers, a problem 

was not truly solved until it proved itself in the skies above Muroc.

Familiar Speeds and Unfamiliar Roles: 

The Supersonic Transport

As noted above, NASA did not get, nor did its leadership want, the burden 

of the nation’s supersonic transport program.47 Going to the Moon was sufficiently taxing, though even if NASA had led the SST program, it is worth 

considering the novelty of the undertaking. Technically, the “upstream” highspeed research demanded by the SST was right up NASA’s alley. But this 

was a development project; NASA and its predecessor, the NACA, had never 

attempted to build a viable commercial aircraft. Despite NASA’s burgeoning 

project management skills, an SST project would draw the government much 

further into the commercial realm than ever before. The SST violated a longheld ideological boundary between public and private investment, becoming 

an example of both corporate subsidy and the practice of “picking winners.” 

What was the commercial case for an aircraft that private industry was unwilling to underwrite on its own? The SST’s ideological risks were as great as its 

technical hurdles. The government had proved willing to invest in “fundamental” research that could be generally appropriated by private industry: it 

had funded an aviation infrastructure made of airports and air traffic control; 

it had established regulatory agencies for the safe and efficient operation of air 

commerce; but it did not design commercial aircraft.

The SST was supposed to be different. To some, the aircraft was a cornerstone of future national competitiveness and international image. With the 

British and the French subsidizing the development of their own SST, the 

U.S. had (according to SST proponents) no choice but to respond. Then there 

was the aircraft’s symbolic importance. For a nation that so identified itself 

with technological superiority, especially in aviation and ever more so in the 

era of the Cold War, the SST, at least to a minority, was a matter of national 

destiny. In 1963, the SST moved forward, not under NASA, but under the 

FAA. Ultimately, the SST program unraveled as commercial support waned, 

environmental opposition waxed, and Congress fretted about costs. Congress 

47. Hansen has an excellent chapter on the history of the American SST in The Bird Is on the Wing, 

chap. 5.
Chapter 3: Creating NASA and the Space Race

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canceled funding for the SST in 1971.48 Significantly, the American SST did 

not become a grand cause for national embarrassment even as the Soviet Union 

and the Europeans fielded their own SSTs. For a nation that had planted its flag 

on the Moon, flying passengers at twice the speed of sound in a commercially 

unviable aircraft triggered little national angst.

The cancellation of the SST obscures the behind-the-scenes commitment 

to supersonic transports within American aviation. The SST, for a small 

faction, remains an aircraft that should have been, a tragic missing link in 

American technological progress. Even in the face of political, economic, and 

technical setbacks, this idealized technological trajectory has remained durable. The SST vision began, not surprisingly, in military circles. In the 1950s, 

the U.S. Air Force, for whom strategic bombing was a centerpiece, sought a 

bomber that could cruise at supersonic speeds at high altitudes, thus evading 

and penetrating enemy defenses.49 The first iteration of this was the Convair 

B-58, a large, four-engine, delta-wing jet designed to deliver nuclear weapons. Though the B-58 suffered from high fuel consumption, limited payload, 

and only supersonic dash capability, as opposed to a sustained cruise, the Air 

Force eventually fielded two B-58 bomber wings. The Air Force, predictably, 

sought a more capable replacement and began the development of the B-70, a 

Mach 3 design from North American Aviation. In 1959, Eisenhower, unconvinced of the worth and logic of the B-70, canceled the program. Although 

the Air Force maintained the development of the aircraft as an experimental 

program, this turn of events was ultimately the start of a long, slow death for 

large, supersonic aircraft. U.S. industrial policy, insofar as the country had a 

policy, existed to support military technological development. A commercial 

supersonic transport might have been a serendipitous byproduct of the military bomber program, just as earlier military jets forged a path for subsonic 

commercial transports. Lacking a bomber program, supersonic advocates 

had to figure out how to support a high-risk development program outside 

the military.50

Even though NASA did not take up the SST project in the 1960s, it was 

very much at the center of the supersonic movement. As noted in chapter 2, 

Langley researchers had been instrumental in providing design guidelines for 

supersonic aircraft. The B-58 was, in some respects, a scaled-up version of the 

Convair F-102, the aircraft that sported Richard Whitcomb’s Coke-bottle 

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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

area-rule fuselage. North American’s design for the B-70 borrowed heavily from 

research performed by Al Eggers at Ames, notably the idea that a supersonic aircraft could ride atop its own shock wave. Years before the start of the American 

SST program, in 1956, John Stack and his colleagues at Langley had begun 

looking at commercial SSTs. By 1960, they were vocal advocates of a NASA-led 

SST program and formed a Supersonic Transport Research Committee. Far 

from being dispassionate theorists and experimentalists responding passively 

to military and commercial requests, researchers like Stack strongly promoted 

specific technological trajectories.51

What Stack and his peers lacked was high-level political support, but here 

leaders in the newly formed FAA came to the rescue. Established the same year 

as NASA, the FAA began examining SSTs in 1959 and quickly developed ties 

to Langley’s cohort of SST champions. The FAA’s first administrator, Elwood 

Quesada, attempted, unsuccessfully, to sell the SST to a dubious Eisenhower. 

President Kennedy’s FAA administrator, Najeeb Halaby, had more luck. In 

1962, the FAA and NASA contracted to Boeing and Lockheed for exploratory 

studies on possible SST configurations, that is, potential wing-fuselage-engine 

arrangements and projected performance specifications. In 1963, Kennedy 

gave Halaby a very limited SST program that maintained funding for exploratory studies at NASA and the aircraft manufacturers. There can be little doubt 

that the Anglo-French announcement to pursue an SST in November 1962 

prodded the American response. In retrospect, it is evident that the American 

response was not at all symmetrical. Where Europe sought to keep its industry 

and prestige alive in the face of very real American market and technological 

domination of commercial jet transports, the Americans were merely hedging 

their bets, keeping the SST in play without fully committing to the technology 

or its commercialization.52

Through the 1960s, the FAA-led program examined a number of approaches. 

How fast and high should the aircraft fly? What markets should it serve (i.e., 

what distance and how many passengers)? What configuration represented 

the optimum balance of risk, economic return, and manufacturing cost? How 

would sonic booms curtail either the design or operation of the aircraft? In the 

end, many of the technical debates became moot. Studies by the Air Force and 

NASA, appropriately named Operation Little Boom and Operation Bongo, 

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suggested that the public was not at all enamored with regular supersonic 

booms.53 Not only did this limit the technology to transoceanic flights, but 

SSTs would have to fly the beginning and ending portions of their trips at 

inefficient subsonic speeds. Even more crippling were the economic projections. Despite initial enthusiasm and public proclamations of an SST future, 

airlines were not willing to commit themselves. Likewise, as the manufacturers 

delved deeper into the technical and economic details, they became increasingly unwilling to shoulder the aircraft’s risk. This was critical because one of 

the conditions of the Kennedy, and later Johnson, administration’s lukewarm 

support for SST was that industry share in the vehicle’s development costs. As 

historian Erik Conway notes, the environmental opposition that the SST faced 

in the early 1970s merely drove one more nail into the coffin.54

The technical challenges of the SST resulted in prolonged debates and not a 

small amount of testing. There were long-term fruits to this work even though 

the intended product never materialized. Of prime importance was the question of how to design an aircraft that operated efficiently across a number of 

very different flight regimes. Takeoff and landing took place at around 200 

miles an hour; climb-out and descent to landing would need to be at subsonic 

speeds; and cruise would be at supersonic speeds at an altitude of at least 40,000 

feet. An aircraft that performed well in one regime often performed poorly 

in the others. NASA’s engineers had many different ideas about the optimal 

configuration, but in 1963 they asked industry to evaluate four designs. Of 

these, three originated from Langley and one from Ames. Two of the designs 

were fixed-wing, and two were variable-geometry, also known as swing-wings. 

The Germans had toyed with the idea of swing-wings during World War II, 

and Bell had built an experimental vehicle (the X-5) that the NACA and the 

Air Force tested in the 1950s. A swing-wing could be angled forward (low 

sweep) for low speeds and angled backward (high sweep) for supersonic speeds. 

Unfortunately for the four NASA designs, industry found them wanting, at 

least against the specified performance criteria.55

The FAA, for its part, was already pushing ahead with its own plans, publishing in 1963 its request for SST proposals; Boeing, Lockheed, and North 

American all submitted designs. Boeing adopted a variable-geometry configuration; Lockheed chose a double delta, a tailless design incorporating a fixed 

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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

(NASA image A-37700)

Figure 3.4. A double-delta-winged SST model installed in the Ames 40-by-80-foot wind tunnel in 1966.

triangular wing; and North American chose a delta wing with a canard.56 NASA 

and the FAA evaluated the designs, and in 1966 the FAA named Boeing the 

winner. Though NASA’s researchers preferred their own configurations to those 

of industry, there was, to Boeing’s benefit, strong support from Langley for a 

variable-geometry solution.57 Boeing won the competition, but as the company 

refined the design and performed new tests and calculations, it found that the 

aircraft was becoming too heavy to meet the FAA’s specifications for range and 

payload. As the design evolved, problems multiplied. Boeing eventually gave 

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Chapter 3: Creating NASA and the Space Race

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up on the swing-wing design in favor of a slender, triangular wing, not unlike 

Lockheed’s losing entry.58

Configuration was one of many technical question marks hanging over the 

American SST. The propulsion system, for example, was equally experimental, 

as were solutions to the problem of aerodynamic friction. Though designers 

ultimately chose to build out of traditional aluminum alloys, operational temperature extremes meant that engineers had to redesign many systems created 

for subsonic jets. What boded ill for the SST, above all else, was the inability of 

Boeing to meet the FAA’s performance and cost specifications. Fortunately for 

the company, Congress voted to cancel the program before there was a chance 

to see whether the latest design was successful.59 As is discussed in the next 

chapter, the SST ran headlong into a burgeoning environmental movement, 

a popular and political shift that impacted not only supersonic transports, but 

NASA research as well.60 For NASA’s SST researchers who understood the 

shortcomings of Boeing’s SST, the cancellation of the program was a setback 

not just because the aircraft never flew, but because the budget for fundamental 

supersonic research collapsed as well.61

Subsonic Aerodynamics

One of the conundrums of NASA’s research is that although big, expensive 

projects like the X-15 grabbed headlines and became the public face of NASA’s 

aeronautical work, it was the smaller, less dramatic, less expensive research 

that was both more representative of the Centers’ work and, arguably, more 

critical to the growth of aeronautical knowledge. These relatively small technical reports had, and continue to have, a difficult time competing with risky, 

vehicle-centered projects. While much 1960s research continued to “push the 

envelope” of what was aerodynamically possible, such as hypersonics, work 

also continued on more pedestrian subsonic speeds. The best example of this 

work was the refinement of subsonic wing design at Langley. Most subsonic 

jet aircraft built today now employ an intellectual descendant of Langley’s 

wing designs.

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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

Although subsonic aerodynamics was perhaps the best understood of all 

flight regimes, the area retained special challenges and opportunities. The commercial jet industry, of course, eagerly sought improved designs. Industry also 

demanded that innovations balance improved flight efficiency with attendant 

manufacturing and operating costs. Unlike X-planes and many military aircraft, performance increases were tightly constrained by competitive airframe 

and airline markets. By their nature, new designs for commercial aircraft had 

to exhibit a level of safety and reliability unnecessary for advanced military aircraft. Finally, because of the low cost of manufacturing tubular fuselage sections 

of constant width (relative to highly optimized variable-diameter sections), 

aerodynamic advancements had to be found elsewhere, principally the wings.

There were important breakthroughs in the development of advanced subsonic wings, but there was no single solution because the problem took on 

many forms. It is not terribly difficult to design an airfoil (a two-dimensional 

cross section) that is perfectly optimized for a given altitude and speed. But 

aircraft must take off and land, cruise at different altitudes, maneuver, burn 

fuel as they fly (thus reducing their mass), and be designed for a variety of tasks. 

Neither theory nor one-off designs would satisfy industry. Langley researchers 

needed to provide a range of proven design options, as well as the tools necessary to create three-dimensional shapes. Truly, this kind of work was in the 

great tradition of the NACA’s earlier contributions to wing design, especially 

the NACA airfoils that allowed manufacturers to pick and choose designs as 

though from a catalog. What resulted, in the end, was a combination of evolved 

techniques developed by scores of researchers.

The cornerstone of subsonic wing development was what became known as 

the “supercritical wing,” though this too represented both a collection of design 

choices and methods for optimizing performance. Richard T. Whitcomb, who 

had established his reputation with his area-rule research in the 1950s, led a 

team of researchers in examining high-speed subsonic airfoils. Whitcomb’s 

own contribution was both his intuitive style of wind tunnel experimentation 

and his credibility. Amidst a number of competing research programs as well 

as inherent conservatism from industry, Whitcomb’s advocacy helped mobilize NASA engineers and attract commercial interest. At the time Whitcomb 

undertook this strand of research, the state of the art in subsonic wing design 

was an airfoil from the British National Physical Laboratory (NPL). Compared 

to previous airfoils, the British one had a flatter camber, which delayed and 

reduced the shock wave that formed on the top of the wing. Such shock waves 

added drag, known as wavedrag. NPL-derived airfoils would appear in jets 

designed in the late 1960s.

Whitcomb, who had grown disenchanted with the direction that the 

SST was taking, struck out to find a new research program. His inspiration 
Chapter 3: Creating NASA and the Space Race

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came after examining the performance of a vertical-takeoff wing from LingTemco-Vought. The engines forced air out of a slot on the upper surface of the 

wing with an effect similar to that of the NPL airfoil. From this, Whitcomb 

formed a research group to examine the problem of wavedrag on subsonic 

wings. The project lacked the prestige of supersonic and hypersonic work, 

but Whitcomb saw it as potentially more fruitful, and his boss, Laurence K. 

Loftin, gave him carte blanche. Whitcomb’s starting point was the realization 

that wavedrag propagated forward from the trailing edge. The NPL and LingTemco-Vought wings reduced the wavedrag because they delayed airflow separation. Whitcomb’s team began modifying airfoils, testing them in the 8-foot 

transonic, and analyzing schlieren images afterward to visualize the airflow.62

Because Whitcomb did not begin with a theory or mathematical model, his 

methods have been called cut-and-try. Whitcomb bridled at the description, 

for each change in the airfoil was guided by a deep understanding of what was 

occurring and how it might be solved. The first effective design incorporated 

a trailing-edge slot; air from underneath the wing would flow to the top and 

help maintain a smooth stream. The team dispensed with the slot because of 

its structural complexity and settled upon an airfoil with a blunt leading edge, 

a flattened upper camber, and an exaggerated camber underneath the trailing 

edge to compensate for the loss of camber on the top.63

The appellation “supercritical wing” is deceptive. It suggests a single, revolutionary idea when, in fact, it was a combination of incremental changes, 

none of which were entirely new to the field of aerodynamics. Further, the 

supercritical wing was not born of theory, but inspired and perfected through 

hands-on wind tunnel testing. What the name reflects, in part, was a second 

part of Langley’s research agenda. If the first part of any research was to mobilize support for an idea within the Lab, the second was to mobilize a winning 

idea outside the Lab. Here, Loftin not only suggested to Whitcomb that he 

give the airfoil a name but later called for the development of theoretical 

approaches to the supercritical airfoil that would allow designers to create such 

wings without Whitcomb’s intuitive wind tunnel methods. At the same time, 

Loftin pushed for flight tests to validate the airfoils. For the first test, Langley 

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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

(NASA image EC73-3468)

Figure 3.5. Whitcomb’s supercritical wing flown on a modified F-8 in 1973.

and North American Rockwell modified a Navy trainer, the T-2. Normally, 

the T-2 had a 12 percent–thick wing (i.e., the thickness was 12 percent of the 

mean chord, the average distance between the leading and trailing edges). 

With a supercritical airfoil, the T-2 could have a 17 percent thickness with 

the same performance as the standard wing. The next set of tests, initiated in 

1968, called for a joint FRC-Langley program using a Navy F-8 aircraft with 

a new, supercritical wing. From 1971 to 1973, the modified F-8 flew 86 tests, 

proving that the technology could allow for higher subsonic speeds and thus 

greater aerodynamic efficiency.64

The first applications of the technology appeared in military aircraft such 

as the General Dynamics F-111. For commercial aircraft, manufacturers chose 

to use the airfoil to reduce wing sweep, which itself is a design technique used 

to mitigate the rise of supersonic drag, creating lighter, more efficient wings. 

The first commercial application was in the Cessna Citation III business jet, 

introduced in 1982, and the first substantial use for large aircraft was in the 

Boeing 777, which first flew in 1994. More recently, the Airbus A380, the largest commercial passenger jet yet, uses supercritical technology to decrease wing 

sweep to 33.5 degrees. By contrast, the Boeing 747’s wing sweep, originally 

designed in the 1960s, is 37.5 degrees.65

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The Rogallo Wing

The Rogallo wing is a fascinating story that almost would be a side note to 

NASA’s history were it not for the remarkable path the technology took from 

a home project, to potential space race technology, to becoming the basis 

for an entire genre of personal aircraft. Francis Rogallo joined the Langley 

Laboratory in 1936 after earning a degree in aeronautical engineering from 

Stanford University. In the mid-1940s, Rogallo began to develop the idea of a 

flexible wing, something that could be made from cloth. According to his own 

account, the NACA was uninterested in the idea, so he pursued the idea in his 

spare time and with the help of his family. One of his critical innovations was 

that the shape of the wing could be maintained by a combination of the load 

and aerodynamic forces. Rogallo and his wife applied for a patent in 1948 and 

through the 1950s sought interest from industry. All they managed was to sell 

a few thousand toy kites based on the design.66

A technology in search of an application, the flexible wing found a potential use with the launch of Sputnik. Perhaps a lightweight flexible wing could 

be used to bring a returning spacecraft in for a landing, unfolding atop the 

capsule as it dropped through the atmosphere. Interest grew at Langley, and 

in 1958 the Lab established a Flexible-Wing Section. Rogallo’s team studied a 

number of different unstiffened and stiffened cloth wings. Most of the studies 

involved wind tunnel analysis, but the Flight Research Center tested a few of 

the designs. Using a conical wing stiffened with metal poles, the Paraglider 

Research Vehicle (Parasev) glider made hundreds of piloted flights from 1962 

to 1964, towed aloft either from the ground or by another aircraft. In 1965, 

NASA tested another conical wing, this one stiffened by inflatable tubes and 

carrying a Gemini-type capsule. The military also took an interest in the early 

1960s and experimented with a powered vehicle, the XV-8 for Flying Jeep (or 

Fleep), but NASA had by 1964 settled on recovering capsules with parachutes 

and ocean splashdowns, and funding for continued flexible-wing research soon 

came to a close.67 The Rogallo wing, however, did not fade into obscurity like 

so many other ingenious designs. Popular accounts inspired outsiders to design 

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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

their own flexible wings using the basic outlines of the Rogallo wing. These 

were the first modern hang gliders.68

NASA’s First Decade

Contrary to the jeremiads that predicted the death of aeronautics at the hands 

of the space program, aeronautics research persisted through the 1960s. The 

space program did steal the limelight and garnered the bulk of the Agency’s 

funding, but it also left aeronautics largely to its own devices, a beneficiary of 

benign neglect. In such an environment, Center management and laboratory 

practice of aeronautics at Langley, Ames, and the FRC remained much as they 

had in the latter years of the NACA. The Lewis Laboratory, as noted, devoted 

itself largely to the space program after 1958. Even as Headquarters mildly 

attempted to increase oversight throughout the 1960s, the Centers retained 

the ability to initiate experiments and allocate funding. The flip side to such 

freedom, however, was that aeronautics research was uncoordinated and lacking top-level leadership. The one project that might have served as a rallying 

cry, the SST, went to the FAA and became mired in politics and impossible 

economics. Aeronautics in the 1960s was very much propelled by the momentum of an earlier era. By the late 1960s, however, vestiges of the NACA way 

were truly coming to an end. Two developments brought this about: NASA 

Headquarters chose to replace the heads of Langley, Ames, and the FRC with 

outsiders; and, with Americans on the Moon and the Apollo program drawing to a close, NASA scrutinized, for the first time since 1958, its aeronautics programs. In doing so, it began exporting to aeronautics the managerial 

centralization and research programming that had been characteristic of the 

operational space program.

68. Stéphane Malbos and Noel Whittall, eds., And the World Could Fly: The Birth and Growth of Hang 

Gliding and Paragliding (Lausanne, Switzerland: Fédération Aéronautique Internationale, 2005). 

NASA’s 1976 issue of Spinoff noted that a California hang glider company was using a Rogallo 

wing design.
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Renovation and 

Revolution

At the beginning of the 1970s, NASA should have been riding high on the success 

of the Apollo program. In a decade, it had learned to take humans to the Moon 

and back and in so doing had become the paradigm of modern technological 

capability. For the United States, it was a fantastic Cold War triumph, but it 

was also a tremendously ironic accomplishment against a background of social 

discontent over the fruits of science, technology, and industry. Pollution, ecological damage, energy shortages, and the arms race framed a public discussion of 

technological progress amplified by an unpopular war in Vietnam, liberal youth 

expression, and unsettling economic competition from Asia. NASA was hardly 

complicit in these problems and societal tensions, but as one of the most visible 

agents of federally funded research, it risked being out of step with the public 

will. With the Stars and Stripes planted on the Moon, continued lunar missions 

merely threw salt on the wounds of the country’s more Earth-bound concerns.

Without a space race, NASA began casting about for a new purpose and a 

renewed sense of relevance.1

 NASA’s leaders considered transforming NASA 

into a “technology agency” that would assume “government-wide responsibility 

for the application of technology to national needs.”2 There was strong support from the White House for NASA to become more business-minded, to 

evaluate its technological resources from a commercial perspective.3

 This was a 

 1. The end of the space race spelled, in part, a reduced overall budget at the Agency. See James 
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

long way from the fractious debates of the NACA days about undue influence 

from private industry, and it shifted NASA’s charge away from doing basic or 

fundamental research.

Arguably, for the first time since the creation of NASA, the Agency began 

to pay attention to its aeronautics program. Aeronautics was practical and 

economically applicable in a way that astronauts and daring space exploits were 

not (or at least not obviously so to the public). Aeronautical research could 

also address public concerns about the environment and energy efficiency. 

Higher and faster was, at least as a headline, replaced with quieter, cleaner, and 

more economical. Congress and the White House encouraged Headquarters’ 

newfound interest in aviation. Aeronautics always had friends on the Hill, 

and the post-Apollo era provided an opportunity for supporters to charge that 

NASA had neglected aeronautics during the space race. The initial outlines 

for NASA’s civil aeronautics research emerged from a joint Department of 

Transportation–NASA study, the Civil Aviation Research and Development 

Policy Study (CARD). The CARD study provided NASA’s leadership, the 

White House, and Congress with an informed basis for supporting a modest 

expansion in the aeronautics budget.4

At Langley, Ames, and the Flight Research Center, the shift toward the 

pragmatic was less evident than it was in Washington, DC. While Lewis went 

through a post-Apollo upheaval, the other Centers retained their own technological momentum.5

 Quieter and cleaner did not spell the end of supersonic research or vertical takeoff and landing. This momentum derived from 

embedded skills and experimental equipment, as well as a certain amount of 

technological boosterism. Just as the human space program persisted in the 

face of cyclical public support, so too did a number of long-running themes 

in aeronautics. The success of these programs relied on researchers’ ability to 

cobble together sufficient political support, whether this was seed money from 

a Center Director or interest from the Pentagon and industry. The source of 

funding, project name, justification, and eventual application were, arguably, 

secondary to keeping the research going.

For all of Headquarters’ worries about public support and the contribution of NASA’s research to the public good (NASA began publishing the selfpromotional report, Spinoff, in 1976), researchers did not need to be told 

how to be innovative. Aeronautics’ leap into computers is illustrative of the 

 4. James C. Fletcher to George P. Shultz, 30 September 1971, James C. Fletcher Correspondence 
Chapter 4: Renovation and Revolution

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Centers’ initiative.6 The Ames Research Center, building on work initiated in 

the 1960s, made a bold move into computational fluid dynamics (CFD) as 

a way of modeling airflow digitally. Given the complexity of fluid dynamics, 

CFD was not an obvious or simple application of computers; CFD had more 

than its share of doubting Thomases. Ames researchers gambled and, after 

working through years of teething trouble, began to show that CFD could 

displace some wind tunnel work. Ames was not the only laboratory pursuing 

CFD; indeed, Langley competed in the area as well, and all of the Centers 

sought to use digital computing to revolutionize research and flight. For Ames, 

however, CFD offered an attempt to stake out a new field, to occupy a new 

niche. Competition among the Centers, not top-down programming, encouraged risk taking. Yet even though the Centers had this organic economy, so 

to speak, with built-in incentives for risk taking, the trend was toward taking 

these decisions out of the hands of the labs.

One of aeronautics’ major public projects of the 1970s was the Aircraft 

Energy Efficiency (ACEE) program. Viewed from the researcher’s perspective, 

the ACEE program was merely the repackaging of existing research strands 

under the banner of efficiency. Researchers were hardly calculating opportunists. They really did have a supply of genuinely useful ideas to combat the rise 

in fuel prices, but viewed from a managerial perspective, ACEE appeared to be 

a top-down call for answers to a pressing national concern, namely the supply 

of petroleum. In spite of the continuity in research, the ACEE program gave 

license to increased program control, not only from NASA Headquarters, but 

from Congress, too. Aeronautics was no longer operating underneath the radar, 

and it was no longer immune to the kind of political programming that had 

been part of the space program. The ACEE program also departed from what 

had been the NACA’s reluctance to fund (or appear to be funding) corporate 

R&D. While the NACA and NASA had a long history of contributing to the 

development stage of military projects, they took a more hands-off approach 

to assisting manufacturers with commercial products. The ACEE changed this 

and specifically funded (usually to a level of 90 percent) the design, manufacture, and testing of efficiency-related products by the manufacturers. Although 

there were good reasons for bringing the manufacturers on board (e.g., ease of 

 6. Nearly two decades later, a Congressional Budget Office report, commenting on the idea of 
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

technology transfer), that this methodology came at the request of Congress 

raised questions of patronage and corporate subsidy.

NASA’s renewed interest in aeronautics in the 1970s fundamentally did not alter 

aeronautics’ funding or its relationship to the space program. Where NASA’s space 

budget declined significantly as development of the Apollo hardware matured, 

aeronautics funding continued with modest increases (in real dollars); in constant 

dollars, funding tended to be flat in the early 1970s. There was, however, questioning from the Office of Management and Budget (OMB) about the federal 

government’s proper role in aeronautics research. OMB encouraged NASA to 

share more costs with industry, transfer functions to industry, and require that the 

armed services fully reimburse NASA for the work performed on military projects.7

As in the 1960s, aeronautics and space continued to have mutual interests. 

In the post-Apollo era, NASA moved to define a new space transportation 

system, one that evolved into the Space Shuttle.8 Here, earlier work in lifting 

bodies contributed to the Shuttle’s reentry design. For the 1970s, the second 

phase of the digital fly-by-wire program would adopt the Shuttle’s computer 

system and, in turn, make important contributions to the design and testing of 

the Shuttle’s mission-critical software. As aeronautics’ work on computational 

fluid dynamics matured, it became as important to the simulation of spacecraft 

reentry as it did to conventional flight. The Shuttle, by virtue of being a hypersonic glider, gave hope to some that the spacecraft would serve as a platform 

for aeronautical research. At a top-level meeting of OAST in 1972, managers 

wrote, “The [S]huttle carries the potential of being a stepping stone beyond 

the X-15 research airplane; a stepping stone to open new regimes of aerospace 

effectiveness supplementary to other hypersonic research airplanes.”9

The political-economic context for the Agency in the 1970s was dominated 

by the oil embargo, energy shortages, and growing environmental awareness. 

Another economic factor would have a deep impact on the nation’s airlines and, 

indirectly, NASA: in 1978, the Civil Aeronautics Board deregulated the airlines. 

Up to that point, 10 airlines controlled some 90 percent of the nation’s market with 

routes strictly apportioned. On thinly traveled routes, the government guaranteed 

 7. George M. Low to James C. Fletcher, “Discussions with Glenn Schleede,” 14 November 1974, 
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97

airlines a specific profit margin. The era of deregulation opened the door to new 

startups, especially low-fare airlines. Route structures changed dramatically as 

most airlines migrated to hub-and-spoke networks and reduced service to remote 

locales. The arrangement increased efficiencies but at the cost of fewer direct 

flights (and in some cases, no flights). Airlines shifted to smaller jet aircraft and 

increased flight frequencies in order to better compete. These moves exacerbated 

airspace congestion at the nation’s busiest airports. Deregulation greatly aided the 

rise of the regional turboprop and jet market segment, dominated by two foreign 

manufacturers, Embraer of Brazil and de Havilland/Bombardier of Canada.10

Reverberations from the Vietnam War dominated the military context for 

NASA. Rotorcraft were now central to the operation of ground forces, and the 

Army took the lead in fostering research on this front. In contrast to the U.S. 

Air Force’s post-WWII gambit for its own R&D capabilities, the Army sought 

more modest capabilities and did so in close cooperation with NASA. In terms of 

fixed-wing aircraft, a battle was playing out in the Pentagon over what constituted 

the best fighter design. More traditional elements preferred large, twin-engine airsuperiority aircraft, while a renegade group advocated small, more highly maneuverable aircraft that traded size and complexity for agility.11

Coordination and Research Directions

Organizationally, the 1970s were consistent with the long-term trends of greater 

centralization and managerial control over research programs. At the Headquarters 

level, this is well represented by a somewhat wishful diagram penned for a 1971 

management council meeting (figure 4.1). It shows the Office of Advanced 

Research and Technology as a railroad locomotive and the four OART Centers 

(Langley, Ames, Lewis, and the FRC) as freight cars. In the “before” half, all of the 

cars are traveling in the same direction, seemingly flying through the air, but none 

hitched to another. In the “after” half, the OART locomotive pulls the Centers, all 

dutifully aligned, coupled, and on the same track. Such coordination was, at least 

for the 1970s, more hope than reality, but it does capture the desire to centralize 

 10.
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

(Administrative Panel, 16–17 September 

1971, Management Council Meeting file, 

OAST Chron File, folder 18271, NASA HRC)

Figure 4.1. This diagram, based on a drawing from a management council meeting, 16–17 September 

1971, depicts the Office of Advanced Research and Technology as a locomotive pulling the Centers. 

research underneath OART. Management council meetings, begun in the early 

’70s, were obviously one tool to this end. Of greater consequence, at least from 

a top-down perspective, was the increase in directed research with priorities set 

in Washington, DC. The environmental and energy-efficiency programs were 

emblematic of this trend. As noted in the previous chapter, the 1970s brought a 

new generation of leaders to the Centers. In the case of both Langley and Ames, 

these Center Directors were the first to come from outside the NACA/NASA 

ranks. Such new blood brought new energy and initiative, and in both cases the 

Directors made lasting and contentious changes.

The degree to which NASA sought to apply itself to contemporary social 

issues is nicely exemplified in a 1971 letter from OAST Associate Administrator 

Roy Jackson to the Department of Education, offering NASA’s assistance on 

“the solution of certain public sector problems.” He noted their research at one 

California high school that sought “to determine if school disorders could be 

reduced,” namely through an alarm system for teachers and “an automated student attendance counting system.”12 In a letter to the Associate Administrator 

for Space Science Applications, Jackson noted, “There has been considerable 

public interest generated during the past year concerning the extent to which our 

Aeronautics and Space resources are being used to help federal, state and municipal agencies.”13 At least at Headquarters, building bridges to other agencies was 

the order of the day. In conjunction with the National Science Foundation, 

 12.
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NASA agreed to evaluate “the extent to which aerospace-derived technology 

and capability can assist cities in meeting rising technology-related problems.”14

In 1972, the Office of Advanced Research and Technology changed its name 

to the Office of Aeronautics and Space Technology, a switch that was more 

rhetorical than substantive. It reflected, however, the Agency’s intention to 

cast itself as a problem solver rather than an ivory tower laboratory. Managers 

at Headquarters were certainly under pressure to see that NASA delivered 

goods to a wider audience. It could no longer be narrowly concerned with the 

competitiveness of American aeronautics and placing humans on the Moon. 

By 1974, the rhetorical shift in OAST’s mission was finally enunciated:

The NASA Aeronautics Research and Technology programs are 

directed at serving national needs by focusing on the objectives 

of developing technology to (1) reduce energy requirements and 

improve the performance and economy of aircraft, (2) reduce 

the undesirable environmental effects of aircraft such as noise 

and pollution, (3) improve safety and terminal area operations, 

(4) advance short-haul, short takeoff and landing, and vertical 

takeoff and landing system concepts, and (5) provide aeronautical 

technology support to the military.15

In spite of all the shuffling going on at Headquarters, the budget mix for 

aeronautics remained recognizable (see table 4.1).

Table 4.1. Aeronautical Manpower Distribution, FY 1972

Division Number Percent

Aero Propulsion 1,344 38.5

Aero Vehicles 1,151 32.7

Materials and Structures 344 9.8

Aeronautical Operating Systems 243 6.9

Advanced Technology Transport 192 5.2

Guidance, Control, and Information Systems 131 3.7

Aeronautical Life Sciences 55 1.7

STOL 50 1.5

Source: “Program Manpower Assessment Panel Report” (presented at the Management Council Meeting, 

16–18 September 1971), Management Council Meeting file, OAST Chron File, folder 18271, NASA HRC.

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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

Prior to the oil embargo, NASA’s emphasis on “environmental” problems 

focused primarily on noise reduction. The SST, of course, figured prominently 

in NASA’s 1960s-era noise reduction work, but the growth of commercial jet 

aviation in general (and the rise in airport traffic) prompted growing complaints from residents near airports.16 The oil embargo served as a catalyst for 

a larger rethinking of NASA’s relationship to the environment. By late 1973, at 

a Center Directors’ meeting with Administrator Fletcher, the group decided to 

establish a small group “to review and understand the results of existing studies of the total energy problem, and to identify those areas of energy related 

technology where NASA might make a significant contribution.” Thinking 

specifically about aeronautics, they decided to focus future advanced technology efforts on minimizing fuel consumption and to study what could be 

done with existing aircraft. More generally, the group considered the following 

“Super Problems”:

a. Greater support for the Defense Department

b. Nuclear waste disposal

c. Communications

d. Manufacturing in space

e. Global food supply

f. Depletion of our natural resources

g. Global environmental surveys and earth resources surveys

h. A plan to bring the world into equilibrium by the year 2050

i. A “whole planet approach” to solving the earth’s problems17

Another way to make NASA relevant was to strengthen ties to industry. 

The NACA had long partnered with industry through the NACA advisory 

committees and, less so, the annual meetings at the Centers. Such ties offered 

genuine opportunities for input from industry, as well as valuable public relations vehicles for an organization that had to be careful about how it lobbied 

Congress and the White House. During the space race, NASA did not have 

to think about currying anyone’s favor. Who had time to think about whether 

NASA was being sensitive to the needs of industry? So, in a sense, the postApollo NASA was getting a taste of what it had been like in the NACA years. 

James Fletcher, when he assumed the leadership of NASA in 1972, was encouraged by the White House to strengthen ties to industry by exploiting the advice 

16. James C. Fletcher to George P. Shultz, 30 September 1971, James C. Fletcher Correspondence 

1971, folder 4247, HRC.

17. Memorandum for the Record, “Center Directors’ Meeting, 10–11 December 1973, Cross Keys 

Inn, Columbia, MD,” 18 December 1973, James C. Fletcher Correspondence 1973, folder 4249, 

NASA HRC.
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of business leaders and by pursuing technological research that had commercial 

promise for American industry.18 With NASA’s funding under the axe and 

public support for the space program on the wane, reaching out to industry 

had obvious benefits. Edward Gray, the Assistant Administrator for Industry 

Affairs and Technology Utilization, summarized the value of such ties: “Our 

interest in [aerospace and non-aerospace] companies is to gain their support 

of NASA in the administration, with Congress, and with the U.S. public. To 

do this we will have to convince these companies that NASA program objectives, such as development of the shuttle, will benefit them.”19 Fletcher and his 

deputy, George Low, initiated a series of meetings away from Headquarters, 

doing the NACA one better by bringing non-aerospace companies into the 

fold. The feedback from these discussions was generally positive (at least from 

Edward Gray’s perspective), but industry was not always interested in a more 

commercially oriented Agency. At an October 1973 meeting held at JPL in 

California, Gray noted that “[a] NASA policy for early dissemination of technology having commercial value to domestic industry did not appear to be of 

great interest to this group,” and executives indicated that “[t]oo much emphasis on today’s nonaerospace problems will dry up the well of new technology 

being developed for the future.”20 The more substantive change in regards to 

industry, however, was not Fletcher’s road show, but awarding R&D contracts 

to companies for the purpose of applying NASA ideas. This evolved primarily 

in the ACEE program examined below.

By 1975, the distinction between science-oriented and mission-oriented 

Centers was all but gone as Headquarters sought to enact a blanket system for 

approving and allocating projects to the Centers. While project management 

remained at the Center level, program management resided at Headquarters. 

New projects, regardless of which Center might have proposed them, would 

go through the appropriate program’s Associate Administrator and then be 

approved by an Associate Administrator, the Associate Administrator for the 

Centers, the Deputy Administrator, and the Administrator. All major projects 

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required full plans and analyses with clearly defined work. All projects were to 

spell out the programmatic, managerial, resource, and schedule “implications.” 

All Centers were to retain some discretionary spending power and carry out 

some amount of science and “research and technology” in order to remain at 

the forefront and avoid “technological stagnation.” Further, the Centers were 

to become “centers of excellence,” a move intended to eliminate duplication 

of resources.21

Computational Fluid Dynamics

Computational fluid dynamics, or CFD, did not mark the first application 

of computers to aeronautical research. Through the 1960s, NASA’s Centers 

maintained computer facilities that assisted in the analysis of test data and, 

relative to CFD, less complex mathematical operations such as linear equations. 

As was typical for the era, these were usually centralized branches that served 

many projects, with personnel trained to code problems presented to them by 

the other branches.22 Test data, as from wind tunnels and flight testing, also 

benefited from electronic computers’ ability to sift through large amounts of 

data and reduce it to something meaningful. CFD, however, was a revolutionary jump, an attempt to model the behavior of fluids on a computer. Using a 

computer to replace a wind tunnel was hardly an intuitive step; fluid dynamics 

are so irreducibly complex that expecting a computer to compete with experimental apparatus took a leap of faith. One might argue that CFD proponents 

were acting irrationally, and, indeed, their early efforts were, on the face of 

it, not terribly successful. Still, the early work served to educate researchers 

about computational design, especially parallel processing. As computational 

power increased, CFD began to turn the corner and convince skeptics that it 

had a place in the lab. Langley, Lewis, and Ames all pursued aspects of CFD. 

The Ames narrative is of special interest because that Center represented the 

most contentious bid to use the technology. Competition among the Centers 

ensured the growth of competing approaches to the mathematical obstacles 

posed by CFD.

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The principal figure in CFD at Ames was Harvard Lomax, a Stanford graduate in mechanical engineering who joined the Center in 1944. He first worked 

in the 16-foot wind tunnel and then moved to the theoretical aerodynamics 

branch, where he honed his mathematical understanding of fluid dynamics. Lomax became convinced of the utility of electronic computers in 1959 

and shortly thereafter taught himself how to program. In the early 1960s, he 

showed how computers could be used to predict fluid flow. One of his standout 

projects was showing the behavior of blunt-body objects, providing a design 

tool that complemented H. Julian Allen’s earlier work. At a time when computers were commonly seen as adjuncts to wind tunnels and flight testing, Lomax 

was showing that they could produce valuable data all on their own. Lomax 

was not alone in his belief in CFD, nor was he the first either for the field in 

general or at Ames. Lomax was part of a gifted team that included Frank Fuller, 

Milton Van Dyke (who left for Stanford), and Max Heaslet, but Lomax often 

provided critical insights, and for this he rose within the theoretical branch.23

One factor behind CFD’s early support at Ames was strategic positioning 

within NASA. Ames, to reiterate, began as a West Coast Langley. Since World 

War II, however, Langley had retained its position as the preeminent Center for 

aviation-related aerodynamics. Ames risked duplicating Langley’s capabilities 

if it did not seek out new research possibilities. In 1969, Hans Mark arrived to 

head Ames, replacing H. Julian Allen. Mark was Ames’s first outside Director, 

and he did not have a background in aeronautics. As a physicist with expertise 

in nuclear science at MIT and the University of California, Berkeley, Mark was 

aware of the growing use of powerful computers in his own field. Indeed, Ames 

researchers would later argue that CFD was analogous to the experience of 

nuclear physics, where neutron transport mechanics and trajectory mechanics 

modeling reduced the role of live reactor research to merely validating computer modeling.24 Along with Dean R. Chapman, Mark decided that Ames was 

going to push CFD, a move that antagonized some researchers. Mark made 

Lomax head of a newly minted CFD branch (formerly the theoretical branch 

of the Thermo and Gas Dynamics Division). They began securing ever more 

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powerful computers, and, in 1970, Mark managed to acquire the Illiac IV, a 

supercomputer that sought high speeds through parallel processing.25

Up to the point of installing the Illiac IV, Ames had a succession of computers. The Center’s first computer was an electronic analog computer for icing 

research. The first digital computer was an IBM 650, used primarily for wind 

tunnel data reduction. It was also available for researchers to try out their own 

programs. Lomax ran his first programs on the 650. From there, Ames’s central computer facility installed an IBM 704, an IBM 7090, an IBM 7094, an 

IBM 360, and a CDC 7600. Lomax’s theoretical branch consumed as much 

as a third of the computing time of these machines in the early 1960s, so the 

branch argued forcefully for new and more powerful equipment.26 The Illiac IV 

represented a distinct acquisition, however. The Illiac IV was a joint University 

of Illinois and Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA) project 

begun in 1964. The custom-designed computer took years to build, and well 

before it was complete, student protests led the University of Illinois to seek a 

new location for the computer, as the students were suspicious of the DARPAfunded project. Hans Mark campaigned for and received the controversial 

system. It was finally installed in 1972, but it was another four years before 

it was operational. Illiac IV was revolutionary because it attempted to solve 

problems by using many processors in parallel. This, however, required new 

software to manage the problem, so Ames had to commit large numbers of 

researchers to creating novel programs. Though the computer is credited with 

accomplishing a number of firsts, such as modeling separated flows, its larger 

impact was on the skill base of the Ames CFD group. The Illiac IV took too 

long to build and too long to program, and it is remembered as a troubled 

system, but it helped educate the group about parallel programming (which 

would evolve into vector processing) and the importance of designing highperformance computing facilities that were easier to program and use.27

Computer processing power quickly advanced over the coming decade, but 

what enabled CFD were the insights that allowed researchers to program very 

complex mathematical operations. Lomax and his team had to contend with 

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two major constraints. First, they could only program problems that computers could solve. This meant learning to reduce differential equations (e.g., the 

fundamental Navier-Stokes equations that describe fluid dynamics) into algebraic approximations.28 Creating finite difference techniques that allowed for 

the simulation of transonic flows was one of the areas in which Harvey Lomax 

excelled. Second, they could only program problems that a computer could 

solve within a reasonable amount of time. This meant limiting the scope of 

the problem. One way they did this was to solve the problem only for a small 

number of points. They defined a three-dimensional grid, or matrix, within 

the fluid flow and placed their shape at the center. Ames aerodynamicist Vern 

Rossow recalled that they had learned some of these techniques from reading 

unclassified papers on nuclear simulation.29

In July 1973, the American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics 

held the First Computational Fluid Dynamics Conference in Palm Springs, 

California. The event signaled the growing currency of CFD in aerospace 

research and design. In 1975, Dean Chapman, Hans Mark, and Melvin Pirtle 

published an article in Astronautics and Aeronautics arguing that a major shift 

toward CFD was under way in their field in spite of contemporary limitations.30

Friction grew between staunch wind tunnel advocates and CFD’s champions. 

This was not entirely a question of whether CFD had merit. Over time, it 

became clear to most that CFD was a powerful tool, even if it could not model 

everything that a tunnel could. At Ames, the tension between CFD and tunnels 

was exacerbated by how CFD was being deployed. Although some wind tunnel 

aerodynamicists trained in CFD (some even rotating through Lomax’s lab) and 

might have envisioned a mixed lab (e.g., studying the transonic region using 

both a tunnel and a powerful computer), computing equipment was given 

primarily to the CFD camp. Management encouraged, in the words of Vern 

Rossow, a “combat attitude” between the two groups, though CFD’s advance 

always relied on deep cooperation with the tunnels in order to verify code. 

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Combined with a move toward subcontracted wind tunnel operations (rather 

than having them run by NASA technicians), the trend for wind tunnels was 

becoming all too clear.31 By the second half of the 1970s, Ames’s grand plans 

focused squarely on a followup to the Illiac IV, a computing center focused not 

on a specific machine but on the promise of providing advanced supercomputing capability to researchers nationwide.

Researchers at Langley also responded to the digital revolution. Like Ames, 

Langley had its own computing facilities and also pursued CFD. The Center 

had a Star 100 computer in the 1970s, which was Control Data Corporation’s 

first attempt at a vector-processing supercomputer, but Langley pursued CFD 

in a distinct manner, establishing computing branches as complements (rather 

than as rivals) to the tunnels. The Center set out in two organizational directions. In 1972, Langley established the Institute for Computer Applications 

to Science and Engineering (ICASE). ICASE, operated by the Universities 

Space Research Association (USRA), was more broadly conceived as a scientific computational center meant to encourage collaboration between NASA 

and academics.32 Unlike Ames, Langley did not focus on building hardware. 

Langley also established a number of CFD labs that tended to mirror the 

division of labor among the tunnels. They had CFD laboratories working in 

the transonic, high speed, and low speed regimes, as well as aeroelasticity. In 

the broad scheme of Langley’s research, CFD was positioned as a partner to 

the tunnels, not a replacement. Meanwhile, at ICASE, Langley and visiting 

researchers advanced alternative mathematical approaches for use in CFD. 

Some of the principal figures in this included Yousuff Hussaini, who was one 

of the directors at ICASE; David Gottlieb, a visiting ICASE researcher from 

Tel-Aviv University; Steven Orszag, a collaborator at MIT; and Thomas Zang, 

of Langley.33 In 1983, Ames followed Langley and established a USRA center, 

the Research Institute for Advanced Computer Science (RIACS), modeled 

on ICASE.34

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Digital Fly-By-Wire

In a conventional aircraft, mechanical linkages (cables and hydraulic lines) 

connect the pilot’s primary controls (e.g., the wheel/stick and pedals) to the 

control surfaces. Engineers can design the linkages to amplify a pilot’s strength 

through mechanical advantage or boost pumps, as well as dampen oscillations 

with springs and pistons. In a conventional aircraft, the pilot is, in every sense, 

flying the aircraft. Digital fly-by-wire (DFBW) aircraft, in contrast, use electrical signals to transmit a pilot’s inputs to the control surfaces and interpose 

a computer between the two. In a sense, the pilot no longer flies the aircraft; 

rather, the pilot gives roll, pitch, and yaw commands, and the computer decides 

which combination of control surface changes will achieve the desired result.35

The idea of fly-by-wire held a number of attractions for engineers. Aircraft 

designers could use the computer to actively make the aircraft stable rather 

than creating a passively stable aerodynamic structure; software replaces aluminum, if you will. A less stable structure may, at first glance, appear to be 

an undesirable trait, but it greatly expands the design envelope. The problem 

with unstable designs is that they are difficult, if not impossible, for humans 

to pilot; humans are limited in the number of inputs they can process in real 

time. Electronic computers are less constrained; they can process a larger 

quantity of sensor inputs than humans and transmit precise control signals 

every few milliseconds.

Thus, fly-by-wire offered the possibility that engineers could design shapes 

defined by their function and with less regard for their controllability. For 

combat aircraft, this meant new levels of maneuverability, as there is an inverse 

relationship between maneuverability and stability. For other aircraft, such 

as the lifting-body designs that the researchers at the Flight Research Center 

wrestled with through the 1960s, this meant that the most obstreperous and 

dangerous of vehicles could be tamed. For all aircraft, fly-by-wire meant that 

control surfaces could be reduced, optimized, and, in some cases, eliminated. 

With this development, designers could realize significant savings in weight 

and drag.

As attractive as the technology seemed, it also held the potential of being 

a kind of engineer’s fantasy. Cables and pulleys, if nothing else, were robust 

systems, and of all the qualities of a flight control system, robustness is perhaps 

the most important. A system can be heavy and unforgiving, but at the very 

least it has to work all the time. Regardless of fly-by-wire’s distinct advantages, 

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the key to the technology’s successful innovation (and adoption) was merely 

replicating the reliability of systems it replaced.

There is an element of technological determinism in the decision to pursue 

fly-by-wire at NASA. This was a technology that could only progress with the 

advent of electronic computers sufficiently small and reliable to operate in an 

aircraft. NASA was uniquely positioned in this respect because it had taken 

the lead in developing just such a computer for the Apollo Lunar Exploration 

Module. Thus, the time was ripe, and NASA aeronautical engineers enjoyed 

access to this new technology. On the other hand, the research was not necessarily a logical unfolding of technological change. The computers of the era 

were expensive and temperamental. By attempting to create a reliable system 

out of unreliable hardware, NASA was making a very difficult task for itself. 

Indeed, even with the more advanced computers of the second phase of the 

project, NASA found that merely keeping the computers in working order 

was a feat. Furthermore, NASA’s choice of a digital system was not necessarily 

the “right” one. The U.S. Air Force, simultaneously, was also examining flyby-wire systems but was doing so with analog systems (electrical equipment 

that operated by signal manipulation rather than the discrete on/off switches 

of a digital system). Finally, engineers could have chosen to implement digital 

control in a number of ways, but NASA’s researchers took a high-risk approach 

and applied it to the pilot’s primary controls. Indeed, the adoption of DFBW 

in commercial aircraft took a different route, first with widespread application 

of digital controls to jet engines and then to the pilot’s primary controls.

Engineers at the Flight Research Center initiated NASA’s DFBW program 

after casting about for a new project in the late 1960s. Led by Melvin E. Burke, 

Calvin R. Jarvis, Dwain A. Deets, and Kenneth J. Szalai, the group was already 

familiar with fly-by-wire technology. Over the previous decade, the FRC had 

experimented with reaction control systems for the X-15; partial fly-by-wire 

control in the lifting-body program; and the dangerous but challenging Lunar 

Landing Research Vehicle, a fly-by-wire contraption that let astronauts practice simulated Moon landings.36 The decision to pursue a digital system, and 

one that governed the pilot’s primary controls, was partly strategic and partly 

rhetorical. The U.S. Air Force was already funding its own fly-by-wire research, 

notably an F-4 Phantom refitted with a three-axis analog computer control. 

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There was no point in NASA’s attempting the same thing, and attempting 

anything less would have been too timid. NASA could carve out its own 

niche with digital, three-axis control and in doing so stake out the highest-risk 

position. More than strategy, if the FRC’s gambit proved successful, NASA 

would have demonstrated the capabilities of DFBW in its most demanding 

task. Thus, DFBW was not simply a technical choice, but one delimited by a 

competitive research environment and an often-skeptical aircraft industry. At 

its inception, it had to open Headquarters’ purse strings; and at its close, win 

the confidence of industry.37

Interestingly, the technical outlines of the program took shape only when 

two members of the FRC team, Melvin Burke and Calvin Jarvis, went to 

Headquarters and presented their idea to then–Deputy Associate Administrator 

Neil Armstrong. Armstrong suggested that they look at using the Apollo 

program’s digital computers and that they contact its designer, the Draper 

Laboratory. With funding approved, Burke’s team did just that. In a single 

move, the DFBW project had a computer and the support of one of the 

nation’s most technically competent communities. The DFBW project was not 

only piggy-backing off of a substantial Apollo-era investment but also had the 

advantage of the Draper Lab’s long involvement in military guidance systems, 

notably the Navy’s Polaris missile system. For the FRC, integrating and testing 

different pieces of equipment for this project meant integrating vastly different 

specialist communities.38

From the start, the DFBW project was designed as a series of phases. 

Officially, phase 1 was to give NASA experience in DFBW, show that “dissimilar redundancy” could work (i.e., the digital primary and analog backup), 

and show that the airplane could be controlled by a software program.39 Phase 1 

was not sufficient to prove that the technology was ready for commercial aircraft, but it was enough to create momentum for further research funding, and 

it established the Center’s competency in the technology. Subsequent research 

plans evolved with NASA’s budget, with the Agency’s overarching priorities, 

and with the knowledge gained from phase 1. In the project’s most ambitious 

plans, researchers such as Ken Szalai considered exploring the technology on a 

highly unstable aircraft, a goal that would only be realized in different projects 

in the 1980s. As it turned out, phase 2 emphasized system reliability with the 

use of redundant computers and adaptive flight controls.40

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Back at the FRC, the group acquired a set of ex-Navy F-8 aircraft, resurrected from the boneyard for a second life of experimentation. One of these 

F-8s would fly the Center’s supercritical airfoil experiments. For the DFBW 

program, technicians removed the F-8’s mechanical controls and set about 

replacing them with a digital system and an analog backup (thus, even the 

backup was fly-by-wire). Another F-8, the “Iron Bird,” also had its systems 

replaced with the same digital and analog electronics. Engineers used this 

grounded aircraft to validate hardware and software before testing it in the 

flight-ready F-8.41

As noted, the DFBW program’s major hurdle was creating a system as robust 

as conventionally controlled aircraft. They sought a reliability level of 99.99999 

percent (as opposed to a historical figure of 99.999565 for conventional, commercial aircraft).42 Some of this reliability would have to be in the hardware, such 

as using triply redundant actuators and the robust Apollo computer, but the true 

Achilles heel was the flight control software. It had to respond in a way that was 

predictable for the pilot, lest the pilot begin to overcorrect and make the situation 

worse.43 This had to be done in all three axes, each one requiring its own set of 

flight laws. Even assuming that the engineers had these laws described perfectly 

from the start, they had to write a program around the equations that would 

flawlessly process sensor inputs and consistently produce the expected output. 

The opportunities for error in such a complex undertaking were manifold.

Teams at both Draper and the FRC tackled the software problem. Jarvis, 

Deets, and Szalai wrote the software specifications for the different axes (pitch, 

roll, and yaw). Working with the FRC’s input, Draper’s software engineers built 

the flight control laws into the Apollo software. They retained some 60 percent 

of the original Apollo software, such as executive code and diagnostic tests. When 

they deemed a version of the software completed, Draper wrote the code into the 

Apollo computer’s core rope memory. The rope memory could not be rewritten, 

so both Draper and FRC teams checked and rechecked their work for errors.44

Buttressing the reliability of the complex software was a hardware design 

with built-in error checking and backups. The single Apollo computer gave its 

output to two digital-to-analog converters, the second one monitoring the first. 

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(NASA image E-24741)

Figure 4.2. Digital fly-by-wire electronics installed in Dryden’s F-8 aircraft, 1971.

If the computer detected a fault, or if the outputs did not agree, the system fell 

back on an analog control system. This procedure was not trivial because the 

analog system had to take immediate control of the aircraft without upsetting 

it. To manage this, the digital system constantly synchronized with the analog, 

giving the latter up-to-date sensor and stick information. At the far end of the 

process, the hydraulic actuators themselves had backup modes.45

Phase 1 testing lasted from May 1972 to November 1973. In addition to 

validating the technology, the F-8 flew with a side-stick attached to the backup 

control system. General Dynamics, at this time, was developing its YF-16, a 

highly maneuverable fighter prototype that used an analog fly-by-wire system. 

It was a good opportunity to use the F-8s as a test bed; after installing the 

prototype device, NASA flew the side-stick successfully on six test flights.46

In parallel with phase 1, Jarvis and his team (Burke had left for a position 

at Headquarters) began planning the follow-on research. A primary goal of 

phase 2 was the use of redundant, commercially available computers. This was 

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essential to proving that the technology was ready for commercial aircraft rather 

than a highly specialized design for research and military aircraft. Choosing a 

new computer, however, meant that the reliability work that was done for the 

Apollo computer (much of which was completed before the DFBW program 

began) would have to be repeated. This was new hardware in a new configuration using new software. Of course, phase 2 appropriated some of the earlier 

design principles and processes, but it was akin to starting from scratch. Indeed, 

these development hurdles contributed to phase 2’s lengthy run of 12 years.47

As in phase 1, the space side of NASA played a large role in phase 2. In the 

search for the best computer, NASA had a number of options recently available 

from commercial vendors. Cost, weight, volume, power consumption, and, 

most importantly, computational capability (speed and memory) differentiated 

the contenders, but in the end, the team decided to use the same computer 

as the forthcoming Space Shuttle. Managers from the Space Shuttle Program 

had taken an interest in the DFBW project since the Shuttle would be, like all 

previous spacecraft, fly-by-wire. Critically, however, the Shuttle would need 

to fly like a glider during reentry. Shuttle program managers extended an offer 

to the DFBW program: purchase the same IBM AP-101 computers and they 

would receive $1 million in funding from the Shuttle Program. This turned 

out to be a bargain for the space program.48

The FRC refitted the same F-8 aircraft with the IBM computers while Draper 

again performed its coding function. This time, Draper designed the system so 

that the three AP-101s synchronized with each other every few milliseconds, 

taking inputs, performing diagnostic tests, and sending outputs to the actuators. Researchers at Langley had an expanded role in phase 2; they contributed 

advanced control laws that, when turned on, optimized all of the control surfaces 

for a given pilot input. In essence, the pilot told the computer where to go, and 

the computer decided how best to use the available control surfaces in concert.49

Beyond validating the redundant computer system, phase 2 explored adaptive 

control, remote augmentation (i.e., using a computer on the ground to make 

changes in flight control parameters in flight), and experiments on the system’s 

robustness (e.g., learning how to safely reduce sensor inputs).50

The first flight in phase 2 took place in 1976, and over the course of the 

next nine years, the F-8 flew 211 flights. At its height, the FRC had some 

50 people working on the project, a large project for aeronautics, but a 

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comparatively small one for the space program.51 The Shuttle Program, which 

had vastly greater software requirements than the F-8, still benefited from the 

DFBW experience and code. Shuttle pilots flew the F-8 using the Shuttle’s 

backup flight software in 1977, while engineers worked on the problem of 

pilot-induced oscillations.52 Follow-on programs to the DFBW included the 

Digital Electronic Engine Controls (DEEC) program and Highly Integrated 

Digital Electronic Control (HIDEC) programs.53 Digital fly-by-wire found 

application in unusual shapes that are, by humans alone, impossible (or nearly 

impossible) to pilot. The stealth shapes of the B-2 bomber and the F-117 are 

made controllable by fly-by-wire, as was the highly unconventional forwardswept-wing aircraft, the NASA-USAF X-29.

Energy Efficiency

In 1973, OPEC, the Organization of the Petroleum Exporting Countries, 

began its oil embargo in retaliation for western support for Israel during the 

Yom Kippur War. Through the year and into 1974, the price of oil rose steeply, 

with substantial repercussions for the aviation industry. Airlines saw profit 

margins erode and faced jet fuel shortages while the economics for fuel-hungry 

aircraft like the Anglo-French Concorde became untenable without government subsidy. With assumptions about inexpensive jet fuel shattered, the logic 

underpinning aircraft and jet engine design shifted. At NASA, Albert Braslow, 

the assistant head for the Advanced Transport Technology Office, noted in late 

1974, “Fuel is now a design parameter.”54

Of course, energy efficiency was nothing new for NASA, or its predecessor, the NACA. Indeed, much of its earlier work could have been construed 

as one form or another of efficiency research since any increase in efficiency 

had immediate consequences for range, payload, and performance. For example, Whitcomb’s long-term study of drag reduction, whether at supersonic or 

subsonic speeds, was, in effect, efficiency research. So by the time of the oil 

embargo, NASA already had programs that were immediately applicable to the 

problem at hand. Researchers also knew what they would do to attack the issue; 

in 1974, Aviation Week & Space Technology reported that NASA’s near-term 

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(within one decade) solutions included “supercritical aerodynamics, composite 

materials, advanced propulsion and avionics and active controls.”55

In February 1975, George Low, NASA’s Deputy Administrator, directed Alan 

Lovelace, the Associate Administrator for Aeronautics and Space Technology, to 

initiate an aeronautical energy-conservation program. “Conservation of energy 

is a matter of high national importance,” he wrote.56 George Low was likely 

responding to requests from the Senate for NASA to do something about the 

oil shortage.57 Within a month, Lovelace had approval for an Advisory Board 

for Aircraft Fuel Conservation Technology composed of a NASA team and 

representatives from DOD, DOT, and the FAA.58 Low insisted that they were 

to “develop a program within existing NASA resources.” When it appeared that 

Lovelace’s group plans were becoming more expansive, Low noted that “...it 

was never my intention that the aircraft fuel conservation program be carried 

out on top of anything else we are doing in aeronautics.”59 Eventually, the 

Advisory Board arrived at a short list of options that, not surprisingly, echoed 

NASA’s earlier orientation:

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

Engine Component Improvement

Fuel Conservative Engine

Fuel Conservative Transport (aerodynamic design, active controls)

Turboprops

Laminar Flow Control

Composite Primary Structures60

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Laminar flow control had been mentioned a year earlier in the Aviation Week 

article. The only new addition was turboprops, and jet engine propulsion was 

divided into a near-term effort that would seek incremental improvements in 

engine components and a longer-term effort at new designs. NASA briefed the 

Senate Committee on Aeronautical and Space Sciences in September 1975.61

Planning continued through 1976 following the same research outline 

established by the Advisory Board, but with one significant change. Where 

George Low envisioned an effort operating within NASA’s existing programs, 

the Aircraft Energy Efficiency Program, as it came to be known, operated 

primarily through a set of subcontracts with the airframe and engine manufacturers. While the Senate committee encouraged NASA to work closely 

with industry (something that suggested the outright subsidy of corporate 

research), there were also pragmatic reasons for creating this arrangement. The 

program included some technologies that, so far as NASA was concerned, had 

already been validated in the laboratory, but industry was not yet convinced. 

Performing more laboratory work was not necessarily going to win over the 

private sector.62 By being paid to apply the technology to existing aircraft and 

test it operationally, the manufacturers would gain confidence while generating 

reliable cost/performance estimates. Moreover, especially in regard to the jet 

engine programs, NASA relied greatly on operational equipment for generating 

ideas about efficiency improvements. That is, laboratory work was not necessarily where NASA’s researchers would find their best answers.

By 1978, five years after the initial oil price shocks, the logic for the ACEE 

program had expanded: ACEE represented an answer to changing societal 

priorities and a defense against foreign aircraft manufacturers. Arguing that 

the aviation industry needed to get in step with widespread sentiment about 

technology, D. William Conner of Langley wrote in mid-1978 that “the industry must address the concerns of the users and the public. The traveler, for 

example is concerned with safety, cost, frequency of service, total trip time, 

and comfort. The public, however, is concerned with conservation of resources, 

minimization of environmental impact, and having a system to meet the needs 

of the entire country.”63 The Newport News Daily Press (which closely followed 

aviation developments at nearby Langley) reported that the ACEE “would 

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not only benefit when oil-based fuel becomes scarce, it could also halt or 

slow the threatened large-scale invasion of the world air transport market by 

foreign manufacturers and help stave off future massive trade deficits.... The 

[Airbus] aircraft is the first two-engine wide-bodied jet to fly commercially in 

the U.S.... The Airbus is deemed quieter, smaller and more fuel efficient than 

its U.S. competitors.”64

In the category of aerodynamics, NASA already had a technology ready 

to sell: Whitcomb’s supercritical wings. Whitcomb considered this research 

largely finished even by the time his experimental wings began flying on an F-8 

at the FRC. The ACEE program sought to encourage the use of the supercritical 

airfoils by creating computer models that would ease the design of such wings 

and expand the range of useful configurations. Following the supercritical 

airfoil work, Whitcomb investigated the problem of induced drag on wingtips 

where the air swirls off the end and back over the top of the wing. He proposed 

placing a couple of small vertical wings within this stream in order to convert 

the energy into a forward component, thus reducing drag. A longer wing would 

provide a similar benefit, but the additional moment (weight multiplied by 

the distance from the aircraft centerline) is greater than for a winglet of similar 

aerodynamic performance. Whitcomb’s team ran tests in the 8-Foot Transonic 

Pressure Tunnel from 1974 to 1976 and conducted flight tests on a converted 

KC-135 three years later. The ACEE program picked up winglets from the 

beginning; they were an attractive technology, in part because manufacturers 

could retrofit existing designs (whereas supercritical airfoils would have to 

wait for entirely new designs). NASA contracted with McDonnell Douglas 

to design, fabricate, and test a set of winglets on a leased Continental Airlines 

DC-10. Flight tests, interestingly, were conducted from the Douglas Long 

Beach facility rather than at NASA’s FRC.65

The ACEE program also encouraged the use of active controls (as earlier conceived in the DFBW program) that would allow the reduction in the 

size of control surfaces. ACEE even incorporated funding for the development of fault-tolerant computers to be used in active control systems.66 The 

three U.S. airframe manufacturers at the time (Boeing, McDonnell Douglas, 

and Lockheed) each received research contracts, beginning in 1977, with the 

is interesting to note that even as Conner urged the industry to be mindful of public sentiment, his 

article included images of an extremely large nuclear-powered cargo seaplane.

 64. Graves, “Research Focuses on Fuel Efficiency for Planes.”

 65. Chambers, Concept to Reality, pp. 35–44.

 66. Robert W. Leonard, “Airframes and Aerodynamics,” Astronautics and Aeronautics (July/August 

1978): 38–46.
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government reimbursing 90 percent of the manufacturers’ costs.67 Lockheed, 

for example, fit an L-1011 with active controls such that it could control its 

maneuvering load, suppress gusts, and suppress elastic bending.68

Laminar flow control (LFC) was another part of the aerodynamic portion of the ACEE. LFC was achieved by creating suction across the top of 

the airfoil (i.e., creating a vacuum system within the airfoil that drew air in 

through many small holes). An effective LFC system eliminates turbulence, 

which causes drag, and creates a smooth flow over the entire wing. From an 

aerodynamicist’s point of view, LFC was theoretically ideal, but it had significant mechanical drawbacks. In the early 1960s, the U.S. Air Force tested the 

idea on two Douglas Destroyers (X-21A program) and found that they could 

achieve laminar flow over three-quarters of the wing, but also that the vacuum 

holes clogged. The challenge for NASA was not to prove that LFC worked, 

but to find a mechanical system that kept the wing clean without, of course, 

adding too much weight and cost.69 Lockheed and McDonnell Douglas both 

produced LFC test articles.

Composite structures were not new to aircraft design, but the kinds of composites in which NASA was interested, carbon-fiber composites, were restricted 

to cutting-edge military aircraft where cost and safety were subordinate to performance. In similar fashion to the aerodynamic program, the ACEE project 

included funding for the testing of composite structures spread across Boeing, 

McDonnell Douglas, and Lockheed. They were each to build and test prototypes for primary and secondary structures. The primary structures included 

load-carrying stabilizers, and secondary structures included control surfaces. 

This effort attempted to familiarize the manufacturers with the fabrication of 

composites and gain real-world data on performance, maintenance, and cost. 

Langley also studied the durability of composites, especially in resisting UV 

damage, temperature, and moisture damage. As with the supercritical wing 

design programs, Langley examined different programs for assisting the manufacturers in the design of composite parts and subassemblies. Of particular concern to the program, however, was reducing manufacturing costs. This involved 

finding an appropriate balance between design simplicity and weight reduction. 

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Mechanization was considered an attractive means for achieving production 

cost reductions.70 During the program, the FAA certified different composite 

structures: a rudder in May 1976, an elevator in January 1980, and an aileron in 

September 1981. The manufacturers produced and flew a small sample of each, 

gaining valuable durability and maintenance data, including life-cycle costs.71

Lewis managed the propulsion portion of the ACEE program. Lewis’s contribution to the ACEE represented the Center’s return to air-breathing engines 

after having spent the 1960s devoted to spacecraft propulsion. With the end of 

Apollo, Lewis saw a devastating outflow of researchers. Air-breathing engine 

work was part of its bid to regain momentum. The advanced turboprop initiative began earlier in the decade and was the Lab’s highest-risk answer to the 

efficiency challenge. Unfortunately for Lewis, the idea was put on hold and 

did not become an active part of the ACEE program until the 1980s. In the 

meantime, Lewis worked on the two less risky approaches: engine component 

improvement and the energy-efficient engine.

The Engine Component Improvement (ECI) Program sought incremental 

gains in existing jet engines through operational performance analysis and inspection of component degradation. The Energy Efficient Engine Program sought 

to establish a baseline for a new generation of engines. As with the aerodynamics studies, NASA worked closely with the two major manufacturers: General 

Electric (GE) and Pratt & Whitney. In this case, however, the problem was not 

convincing the manufacturers to adopt a Lewis idea, but to learn from operational engines. The engines were the laboratories. NASA also brought in members 

of the airline industry in order to examine changes in parts, operations, and 

maintenance procedures. This was done to get information from the users and to 

examine the market feasibility of specific changes. The question was not always 

whether an engine could be made more efficient, but whether such a change 

would gain traction among the airlines.72 The ECI Program concluded in 1981.73

The second portion of the program sought to provide manufacturers with 

new technologies that would increase efficiency by target amounts. Specific 

fuel consumption was to drop 12 percent while direct operating costs were to 

drop 5 percent. Again, research contracts went to GE and Pratt & Whitney. 

This effort was to produce components, not a prototype engine, which was an 

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interesting distinction because building better components took the manufacturers a considerable distance toward new engines. The first set of contracts 

was let in early 1978 and covered $83.8 million for GE and $80.4 million for 

Pratt over five years. Both GE and Pratt received cost-reimbursement contracts that covered 90 percent of the research costs (with research performed 

at the manufacturers’ facilities).74 Ultimately, GE did produce a prototype, one 

with a 13.2 percent improvement in specific fuel consumption, though NASA 

expected further improvements in the manufacturers’ forthcoming designs. 

The program concluded in 1984.75

Most of the ACEE programs were ultimately successful in seeing the underlying technology used by manufacturers and airlines, though in some cases this 

took more time than NASA expected. Engine improvements filtered quickly 

into new designs, as did small increases in composite structures. The adoption 

of supercritical wings was spotty, at least until the 1990s, and large-scale composite use waited until the Boeing 787, which first flew in 2009. The Advanced 

Turboprop Project (covered in the following chapter), did not take hold.

For Headquarters, the ACEE was really the marquee aeronautics project 

of the decade. Despite the fact that it represented a fraction of the aeronautics budget, despite the fact that this program was cobbled together and 

included technologies that had already been proven by NASA researchers 

(as in the case of the supercritical wing), the ACEE was the project that the 

Agency talked about. In a March 1977 meeting with GE executives, NASA 

Administrator James Fletcher discussed a number of research initiatives and 

technological spinoffs, but the only one from aeronautics that he mentioned 

was the ACEE.76

Vertical/Short Takeoff and Landing

Vertical/short takeoff and landing (V/STOL) research encompasses a variety 

of technologies that attempt to eliminate or reduce the need for a traditional 

runway. Runways are not always where one wants them, so designers have 

long imagined ways in which aircraft could become airborne in a confined 

area. Helicopters, of course, answer the need for vertical takeoff and landing 

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and have been in practical operation since the late 1930s and in serial production since the 1940s with the Sikorsky R-4.77 Most helicopters, however, 

trade vertical maneuverability for speed and range because of the complex 

aerodynamic and structural difficulties that arise as a helicopter moves faster 

horizontally. The problem is that on one side of the helicopter the blades are 

advancing in the same direction as the helicopter, while on the other side they 

are retreating. Left unaccounted for, the advancing side generates much more 

lift than the retreating side to the point that the retreating side ultimately 

stalls. Hinging mechanisms adjust for this disparity in lift, but only up to a 

certain point. Added to this, most helicopter blades are relatively flexible, so 

at high horizontal speeds, the aerodynamic effects cause unstable loading and 

dangerous oscillations.78

There have been scores of imagined solutions to the V/STOL challenge, 

only a few of which have made it to the prototype stage.79 There is no easy categorization of these prototypes. Early attempts focused on creating pure VTOL 

aircraft, notable examples being the “tail-sitters” that emerged in the 1950s (the 

Ryan X-13, the Convair XFY-1, and the Lockheed XFV-1). These aircraft were 

oriented in a straight-up position at takeoff and landing but transitioned to 

level flight for cruise, at least in theory.80 There also has been a continuing series 

of attempts to make helicopters into better-performing cruise vehicles. The 

Sikorsky S-69, for example, employed rigid, contra-rotating blades, and the 

NASA X-wing (discussed later) sought to use a small, stoppable X-shaped rotor 

that would become a wing in horizontal flight.81 Another strand has been the 

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development of vehicles that reorient their thrust in order to transition between 

vertical and horizontal flight. The well-known Hawker Siddeley Harrier fits 

this description, as well as the tilt-rotor (discussed below) and a handful of 

prototypes, not all of which successfully managed the transition between the 

two flight regimes. Finally, there is the class of purely STOL aircraft, aircraft 

that appear conventional but employ a variety of techniques to increase lift 

and thus dramatically decrease takeoff and landing distances.

In spite of the very different solutions proposed to address the challenge of 

V/STOL flight, most of these vehicles share similar obstacles. Because these 

vehicles must carry equipment that operates across a wider spectrum of flight 

regimes, they are generally heavier than their conventional counterparts. 

Additionally, because of the dangers of asymmetric lift that might result from 

an engine failure, most of these vehicles incorporated complex gearing or ducting arrangements to provide redundancy. These precautions also add weight. 

Finally, all of the V/STOL vehicles were beset with special control issues, 

especially during the transition between vertical and horizontal flight and at 

slow speeds in which conventional controls (e.g., the vertical and horizontal 

stabilizers) have a reduced effect.82

The large number of different V/STOL programs in the United States 

would not have been possible without funding from the military. Table 4.2 

captures most of the vehicles built up to the 1970s. As can be seen, both 

Ames and Langley either cooperated with the military in vehicle testing or, 

at some point, received military test vehicles for their own research purposes. 

Langley was also involved in early testing of the Harrier’s ancestor, the Hawker 

Siddeley P-1127.83 As is obvious from the list of prototypes, the military had 

a strong interest in seeing a successful V/STOL aircraft, but successive designs 

presented intractable aerodynamic and control problems. The researchers at 

Langley and Ames grew increasingly familiar with these problems and, since 

the mid-1950s, had been conducting their own research in the area. Prior to 

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Table 4.2. U.S. V/STOL Research Aircraft, 1954–1971

Design Mftr. Type and Description

First 

Flight

Supporting 

Organization

XFY-1 Convair VTOL: Propeller tail sitter 1954 Navy

XFV-1 Lockheed VTOL: Propeller tail sitter 1954 Navy

XV-3 Bell Heli. V/STOL: Tilt-rotor 1955 Air Force (Ames)

X-13 Ryan V/STOL: Jet lift 1957 Air Force

VZ-2 Vertol V/STOL: Tilt-wing 1958 Army (Langley)

VZ-3 Ryan V/STOL: Deflected slipstream 1958 Army (Ames)

VZ-4 Doak V/STOL: Tilt-duct 1958 Army (Langley)

X-14 Bell Aero V/STOL: Jet lift 1958 Air Force (Ames)

VZ-9 Avro V/STOL: Peripheral jet lift 1959 Army, Air Force

C-134 Stroukoff STOL: Boundary layer control flap 1959 Air Force (Ames)

X-18 Hiller V/STOL: Tilt-wing 1960 Air Force

X-100 Curtiss-Wright V/STOL: Tilt-propeller 1960 Air Force

XV-1 McDonnell V/STOL: Compound helicopter 1960 Army

C-130B Lockheed STOL: Boundary layer control flap 1962 Air Force (Ames)

XV-4A Lockheed V/STOL: Augmented jet lift 1962 Army

XV-5A GE-Ryan V/STOL: Fan-in-wing 1964 Army

XV-9A Hughes V/STOL: Hot cycle rotor 1964 Army

XC-142 LTV V/STOL: Tilt-wing 1964 Air Force (Langley)

X-19 Curtiss-Wright V/STOL: Tilt-propeller 1965 Air Force

X-22 Bell Aero V/STOL: Tilt-duct 1967 Navy, Air Force, 

NASA

XV-5B GE-Ryan V/STOL: Fan-in-wing 1968 Ames

XV-4B Lockheed V/STOL: Jet lift 1969 Air Force

Source: William S. Aiken, Jr., to RX/Director, Advanced Concepts & Mission Division, “Experimental 

STOL and V/STOL Aircraft,” 13 August 1971, STOL, folder 11726, NASA HRC.

the 1970s, however, NASA had supported only one vehicle (the XV-5B), a 

rebuilt military prototype.84 By the late 1960s, two NASA programs began 

to emerge that would see the Agency take a more commanding role: the tilt 

rotor and STOL. It is worth noting that while technical innovations, such 

as lighter weight jet turbines, suggested to NASA researchers that V/STOL 

aircraft were now possible, external factors also appeared to favor the development of V/STOL: helicopter use in Vietnam and rising air traffic congestion 

on the Eastern seaboard.

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In the dense jungles of Vietnam, rotorcraft had become a revolutionary 

addition to modern warfare. Though employed in the Korean War, where they 

served a supporting role, helicopters became central to fighting in Southeast 

Asia. Bell’s UH-1 was the all-purpose transport vehicle of the Vietnam War, 

often equipped with door-mounted machine guns. Bell went further and 

created a slender gunship, the AH-1 Cobra, around the UH-1’s mechanical 

innards.85 In addition to Bell’s helicopters, both Sikorsky and Boeing (which 

had purchased the Vertol Corporation in 1960) were producing large military 

transport helicopters. In this context, the advantages of a practical tilt-rotor 

for medium-range troop transport were obvious.

Meanwhile, in the crowded northeast air corridor stretching from Boston 

to Washington, DC, FAA managers and airline executives began to grow concerned about the delays and costs incurred from airport traffic. Furthermore, 

the prospect of adding new airport capacity appeared remote. Communities 

were increasingly vocal about the rise in jet noise. STOL technology, which 

to this point had held little utility for commercial passenger aircraft, offered 

a theoretical solution. A parallel transportation system of STOL airports, or 

STOLports, and STOL flightpaths could reduce the traffic burden on conventional runways and flight patterns. The key to making STOL technology 

economical, therefore, was creating a new transportation system.

The Tilt-Rotor

A tilt-rotor aircraft takes off like a helicopter but flies like a fixed-wing aircraft. It does so by tilting two rotor blades placed at its wingtips. For takeoff 

and landing, the rotors are pointing upward; for level flight, the rotors tilt 

forward, becoming, in effect, oversized propellers. Because of the size of the 

rotors, the aircraft cannot land with them facing forward; the aircraft must 

transition back to being a helicopter first. The advantages of a tilt-rotor were 

evident as early as the 1930s and 1940s, when British and German inventors outlined the vehicle’s basic configuration. The idea was picked up in 

the United States by the Platt-LePage Company in the 1940s and actually 

put into operation by the Transcendental Aircraft Corporation, established 

by Mario A. Guerrieri and Robert L. Lichten. Their vehicle, the prototype 

 85.
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

Model 1G, flew test flights in 1954 and 1955 and was the first working 

example of a tilt-rotor.86

The Bell Aircraft Company, which since World War II had pursued leadingedge aeronautical technologies (such as high-speed experimental aircraft and 

helicopters), hired Robert Lichten to head up research on tilt-rotors. Not long 

thereafter, the U.S. Army and U.S. Air Force sought proposals for a convertiplane (a V/STOL aircraft). Bell submitted Lichten’s tilt-rotor design and won 

a contract for two prototypes named the Bell XV-3. The first flight of the XV-3 

took place in 1955, and tests quickly highlighted problems with the vehicle’s 

dynamic stability. In flight, the XV-3 would begin shaking; during a 1956 

test, the vibrations were so severe that the pilot blacked out. Searching for the 

cause of the shaking, Bell, the Army, and the Air Force took the XV-3 to Ames 

for testing. Thus began the NACA’s, and then NASA’s, long association with 

tilt-rotor technology.87

The particular arrangement of the tilt-rotor, it turns out, makes the vehicle 

susceptible to what is called aeroelastic instability. In simpler terms, small 

vibrations in the rotors can propagate through the engine, through the wingtip 

pylon, and on up the wing to the fuselage. All vehicles experience vibrations 

as loads vary, but in stable vehicles, these vibrations decrease as the energy 

travels through the structure. With the XV-3, the vibrations could grow to 

dangerous proportions. Beginning in 1957, Ames engineers began a year and 

a half of testing that included running the XV-3 in the large 40-by-80-foot 

wind tunnel. After making a number of modifications, many of them increasing the stiffness of the rotor-pylon-wing assembly, flight testing resumed in 

1958 with the XV-3 finally achieving full conversion from helicopter mode 

to airplane mode. After Bell delivered the tilt-rotor to the Air Force, and after 

the Air Force conducted its own tests at Edwards Air Force Base, the XV-3 

returned to Ames, where engineers could more closely examine its performance 

and complex aerodynamics. In 1968, Bell conducted another round of tests 

of the XV-3 in the Ames 40-by-80 to verify aeroelastic modeling (i.e., to see 

how actual vibrations agreed with predictions from Bell’s models). The tests 

went well until the XV-3 suffered a catastrophic structural failure, one linked 

in post-test analysis to metal fatigue.88

 86.
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In 1969, NASA and the U.S. Army agreed to jointly fund and operate two 

rotorcraft laboratories, one at Ames and one at Langley.89 In 1971, Ames created a V/STOL Project Office. This reflected the accumulation of past experience with V/STOL research, including some of the aforementioned prototype 

vehicles, and new work such as the augmentor wing.90 In 1971, the Army 

and NASA agreed to build a tilt-rotor proof-of-concept vehicle. Headquarters 

agreed to the tilt-rotor project only on the grounds that it receive Army backing and joint funding.91 The joint funding, the authors of the official tilt-rotor 

history argue, kept the project going in part because neither party wanted to 

be the first one to back out, though by 1978, in the face of growing costs, only 

timely funding from a third party, the Navy, kept the program rolling.92 In 

1972, Ames completed the institutional foundation for the tilt-rotor with a 

Tilt Rotor Research Aircraft Project Office. Indicative of the level of organizational control that had previously been the hallmark of NASA’s space projects, 

Headquarters now required “a Project Development Plan, a Risk Assessment, 

an Environmental Impact Statement, a Safety Plan, a Reliability and Quality 

Assurance (R&QA) Plan, and a Procurement Plan.”93

In 1972, NASA Ames gave contracts to Boeing and Bell for design studies 

of a new prototype tilt-rotor incorporating everything that had been learned 

to date. Grumman and Sikorsky also bid on the project. Boeing’s design was 

hingeless, meaning that it tilted only the proprotor, not the engine. Bell’s design 

rotated the proprotor and the engines. Boeing’s design cut costs by making 

use of a Mitsubishi MU-2J fuselage. Bell won the competition and was given 

a contract for two XV-15 vehicles with a target cost of $26.4 million.94

For the next five years, Bell tackled the design and fabrication of the prototypes and, as with previous research vehicles, worked with the researchers at 

Ames. Rockwell served as a subcontractor to Bell, building the fuselage and 

 89.
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

(NASA image ECN-13850)

Figure 4.3. The XV-15 tilt-rotor aloft for its first flight at Dryden in 1980.

empennage.95 The transmission proved to be one of the more difficult aspects 

of the vehicle. Not only did the transmission need to reduce the revolutions 

per minute, or rpm, for the proprotors, but the system was cross-linked with 

the opposite proprotor in case of an engine failure (the vehicle was designed to 

be highly fault tolerant). The transmission required many design and manufacturing changes for the sake of reliability.96

In May 1977, the XV-15 flew for the first time.97 Bell conducted the early 

flight testing at its test center at Arlington Municipal Airport in Texas. After 

wind tunnel tests, Bell conducted another round of flight tests that saw the 

full conversion to aircraft mode in July 1979. Testing moved to Dryden in late 

1980, where NASA accepted the vehicle from Bell and continued testing for 

the next year.98 Ames monitored all the flight tests, including those at Dryden. 

 95.
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The Project Office contracted with a Sunnyvale firm to create a digital test 

database that allowed engineers to sift through and query data. Ames made 

use of this database for other programs such as Black Hawk helicopter tests 

and the QSRA Jump-Strut Project.99

Since the tilt-rotor was so unconventional, NASA was testing some flight 

characteristics for the first time. For example, what would happen to the 

propr otors’ downwash when it reacted with the rest of the vehicle or when 

the XV-15 was in a hover? NASA also put closure on the phenomenon that 

had brought the XV-3 to Ames in the first place, aeroelasticity. To this end, 

engineers installed “excitation” actuators to induce oscillation and confirm that 

the vehicle properly damped the vibrations.100

After NASA and the Army concluded their initial tests, they returned one of 

the two XV-15 vehicles to Bell in 1981 under a bailment agreement (the government retained ownership while Bell was responsible for the vehicle and its 

operations).101 Meanwhile, NASA contracted with Boeing to design improved 

rotors that took advantage of better materials and offered higher performance. 

Ground testing and flight tests took place in 1987. In 1992, Bell crashed the 

vehicle it had under bailment and so took over the remaining XV-15 under 

a similar agreement.102 By the conclusion of the entire tilt-rotor research program in 1993, costs came to $50.4 million, with Bell investing $1.5 million.103

Finally, after decades of research on the tilt-rotor configuration, Bell and Boeing 

began manufacturing the V-22 Osprey for the Marine Corps and Air Force, 

with the test articles flying in 1989 and the first operational deployment taking 

place in Iraq in 2007.

STOL

STOL aircraft are conventional aircraft with unconventional lift capabilities. 

Unlike V/STOL aircraft, which can take off and land vertically (but use STOL 

to save fuel and increase payload), STOL aircraft need some amount of runway. 

Most runways are in the range of 8,000 feet long; a STOL aircraft can safely 

use a runway a fraction of that length down to about 1,000 feet long.104 The 

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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

technologies used to achieve STOL range from high-lift flaps and slats (devices 

the Centers had been studying since the NACA days) to power-lift arrangements in which propellers or jet engines directly contribute to the production 

of lift as opposed to merely providing forward thrust.

NASA’s STOL research entered into a highly active and visible phase in 

the 1970s. Some technical advances did make STOL more attractive, but this 

research phase coincided with a period of heightened interest in commercial 

STOL. Military aircraft have long had immediate use for STOL technology, 

and while the NASA program was principally motivated by the military, it 

began to envision and sell the research as a potential solution to crowded 

airports and flight routes, especially in the northeast corridor. Although the 

technology was hardly guaranteed, it attracted its share of proponents, mainly 

from the FAA and the airlines. In 1968, Joan Barriage, the FAA Program 

Manager for VTOL and STOL, made this unfortunate prophecy:

Some 40 years from now, historians charged with planning a 

Wright Centennial may well find themselves hard pressed to 

identify a more significant aeronautical breakthrough in 20th 

Century U.S. air transportation than instituting a STOL and 

VTOL system.105

The STOL and VTOL air transportation system never happened. The 

irony, insofar as NASA is concerned, is that despite a successful research program, STOL’s commercial application hinged on the creation of a new air 

system. Without STOLports, STOL aircraft would be operating from the 

same crowded airports as conventional aircraft, and they would do so at a 

higher cost. Creating a STOL system was no small matter, even with the large 

number of underutilized small airstrips that dot the country. A STOL system 

would have required new flight patterns and STOL-configured instrument 

landing systems. Most importantly, STOL aircraft would have had to overcome 

much of the same community opposition that had deterred the building of 

new conventional airports in the first place. Even if they could operate from 

smaller strips, they were still as loud as, and potentially louder than, conventional aircraft.106

105. Joan B. Barriage, “STOL and VTOL Air Transportation—From the Ground Up,” Astronautics 

and Aeronautics (September 1968): 44–52.

106. In testimony given to the House, NASA’s Acting Director for STOL Technology noted that 

there were about 400 airports within a 100-mile radius of New York City that could operate as 

STOL ports. Gerald G. Kayten, Acting Director, STOL Technology Office, OART, NASA, before 
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129

Oscar Bakke, the FAA Director of the Eastern Region, was an influential 

STOL proponent. He argued for STOL to serve New York City and organized, in 1966, a two-day exercise to supply the city using aircraft landing in 

small areas, including parks and waterfront piers. Part of the rationale for the 

exercise was to “demonstrate the capability of V/STOL...aircraft to provide 

air access...,” but it was also meant to spur municipal planners into building 

V/STOL facilities. Ben Darden, also of the FAA, followed in Bakke’s footsteps 

and advocated a STOLport on top of a New York building located next to the 

water. The City of New York went so far as to issue a request for a proposal 

(RFP) to study the idea in 1969.107

In late 1967, the Civil Aeronautics Board called for an investigation into the 

feasibility of establishing a northeast corridor V/STOL system.108 In 1968, the 

FAA began its own series of tests at its National Aviation Facilities Experimental 

Test Center (NAFEC) in Atlantic City, New Jersey, to examine the performance of STOL aircraft and develop federal standards for their approval and 

operation. The FAA tests showed that STOL aircraft could achieve a 10.5-

degree glide slope and that 6 to 9 degrees was practical (two to three times the 

normal glide slope).109 In the same year, LaGuardia airport opened a STOL 

runway. A mere 1,095 feet long, it did not have any instrument approach and 

so required visual flight rule conditions (i.e., clear skies).110

Eastern Airlines took advantage of the LaGuardia STOL runway and used 

a French-made Breguet 941 to study, without passengers, the possibility of 

the Committee on Science and Astronautics, House of Representatives, March 1971, “STOL 

Technology,” folder 11726, NASA HRC. See also Barriage, “STOL and VTOL Air Transportation—

From the Ground Up,” pp. 44–52. Robert W. Rummel, TWA vice president, projected in 1970 that 

first-generation STOL aircraft would have higher direct operating costs than a large supersonic 

jet. See “Applications Decision Is Key Hurdle for V/STOL,” Aviation Week & Space Technology (22 

June 1970): 144–150.

107. Federal Aviation Administration, Department of Transportation, “A Place to Land,” undated 

pamphlet describing November 1966 exercise in New York City, STOL, folder 11726, NASA 

HRC; Bruce H. Frisch, “Why New York Has No Stolport,” Aeronautics and Astronautics (December 

1970): 22–23; H. Watts Bagley, “STOL—Aviation’s Sleeping (?) Beauty,” Astronautics and 

Aeronautics (September 1968): 36–38.

108. Bruce Frisch, “Getting V/STOL Services Going,” Astronautics and Aeronautics (September 

1968): 40–43.

109. Bagley, “STOL—Aviation’s Sleeping (?) Beauty,” pp. 36–38.

110. Wilson Leach, “STOL Runway Opens at LaGuardia,” Business & Commercial Aviation 

(October 1968): 122–123.
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

a New York–Washington, DC, STOL route.111 Eastern did not implement 

commercial STOL service, but Scott Crossfield, the former NACA/NASA test 

pilot and subsequent vice president for research and development at Eastern 

Airlines, became an advocate for a government-sponsored STOL system. From 

Eastern’s perspective, he wrote in 1970, it would allow the airline to avoid the 

costs of air traffic congestion (which Eastern estimated at $1 million a week 

in nonproductive flying).112 Eastern was not alone in its desire for greater 

infrastructure investment. Najeeb E. Halaby, Pan American Airways’ president 

(after he left his post at the FAA), urged the creation of a STOLport built on 

piers over the Hudson River.113

NASA researchers echoed many of the same concerns about aviation traffic and the potential for STOL, though NASA’s comments tended to be more 

circumspect about the actual technical challenges.114 Bradford Wick of Ames 

and Richard Kuhn of Langley wrote in 1971 that although the original goal 

of V/STOL technology was to operate from downtown locations, probably 

using VTOL, STOL was a more likely development because of recent increases 

in airport congestion. STOLports would take much less space and thus “be 

easier to finance and develop” than traditional airports.115 Aviation Week & Space 

Technology, reporting on an Ames STOL conference in 1972, noted that Ames’s 

Dr. Leonard Roberts argued that commercial airport traffic would come to a head 

by the end of the 1970s and that STOL aircraft could help reduce the problem.116

NASA’s actual research on STOL technology long predated the late-1960sto-early-1970s enthusiasm for commercial STOL. Langley researched externally blown flaps, one of the few STOL technologies that has seen practical 

application, as early as the 1950s.117 From 1959 to 1967, Ames researchers 

111. “Can a STOL Go Commercial?” Business Week (7 September 1968).

112. A. Scott Crossfield, “Short-Haul STOL Concepts in Perspective,” Astronautics and 

Aeronautics (December 1970): 44–48.

113. Bagley, “STOL—Aviation’s Sleeping (?) Beauty,” pp. 36–38.

114. Compare, for example, NASA’s assessment of STOL with other promotional articles in the 

September 1968 issue of Astronautics and Aeronautics; NASA Langley Research Center, “VTOL 

and STOL Technology in Review,” Astronautics and Aeronautics (September 1968): 56–67.

115. Bradford H. Wick and Richard E. Kuhn, “Turbofan STOL Research at NASA,” Astronautics 

and Aeronautics (May 1971): 32–50.

116. Richard G. O’Lone, “Noise Main Challenge in STOL Research,” Aviation Week & Space 

Technology (30 October 1972): 16–17.

117. John P. Campbell and Joseph L. Johnson, Jr., “Wind-Tunnel Investigation of an ExternalFlow Jet Augmented Slotted Flap Suitable for Application to Airplanes with Pod-Mounted Jet 

Engines,” NACA Technical Note 3898, 1956.
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(NASA image AC73-2101)

Figure 4.4. A de Havilland Buffalo modified with an augmentor wing and turbofans performs a short 

takeoff in 1973. 

performed STOL experiments using boundary layer control on two aircraft: a 

YC-134A and an NC-130B.118 In 1971, Ames began testing a North American 

Rockwell OV-10A with a rotating-cylinder flap. This device was, literally, a 

long, rotating cylinder just forward of the wing flap and aileron. Hydraulically 

driven, the cylinder maintained the boundary layer over the wing, thus allowing for lower maneuvering speeds and reduced runway distances.119

The most influential STOL work, however, came from two projects, the 

augmentor wing and the Quiet Short-Haul Research Aircraft (QSRA). The first 

project grew out of a 1965 collaboration with de Havilland, a Canadian firm, 

and the Defence Research Board of Canada. The Canadians had been researching a concept called the augmentor wing since 1961. An augmentor wing takes 

jet engine bleed air and channels it through ducts to the wing’s trailing edge 

and flaps. Combined with the action of blowing air over the wing’s flaps, the 

system increases lift and provides a margin of safety in case of an engine failure 

 118.
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

through cross-ducting the bleed air. Following joint studies using NASA’s wind 

tunnels, NASA renewed the joint venture in 1970, this time with the Canadian 

Department of Industry, Trade, and Commerce (CDITC). NASA and the 

CDITC retrofitted a de Havilland Buffalo aircraft with two Rolls-Royce Spey 

turbofans.120 The Augmentor Wing Jet STOL Research Aircraft (AWJSRA), 

as it was named, began test flights in 1972. The AWJSRA was the world’s first 

jet STOL aircraft, managing takeoffs and landings in less than 1,000 feet of 

runway. After validating the augmentor wing and the aircraft’s controllability, Ames engineers went on to add digital guidance controls and automatic 

approach and landing equipment.121

Following the AWJSRA, Ames sought to test a new STOL design that would 

be more efficient and quiet. As early as 1968, Langley staffers had identified 

noise as a new, key issue in the development of commercial STOL. They wrote, 

“Noise certainly presents one of the more critical problems for the VTOL and 

STOL aircraft. Up to this point in their development, the primary emphasis has 

been on performance, with little or no attention to achieving acceptable noise 

levels.... [T]here will need to be trade-offs between performance and noise.”122

The Center’s first run at funding for this line of work envisioned a combined quiet 

STOL (QUESTOL) and quiet jet (QCSEE) program. Funding for this, however, 

was canceled in 1972 as a cost-cutting measure because the White House believed 

that NASA could do the same research on two STOL aircraft that were already 

under way in the Air Force’s Advanced Medium STOL Transport (AMST) program. Boeing received a contract to build the YC-14 and McDonnell Douglas a 

contract for the YC-15. Although both of these aircraft eventually flew, neither 

was designed for “quiet” commercial operation.123

120. Wick and Kuhn, “Turbofan STOL Research at NASA,” pp. 32–50; Deckert and Franklin, 

Powered-Lift Aircraft Technology, p. 4. The Canadians actually held the patent on the augmentor 

wing; see William S. Aiken, Jr., to RD-T/Deputy Associate Administrator—Technology, “Extension 

of Joint Agreement with Canada on Augmentor Wing Research,” 31 March 1972, STOL, folder 

11736, NASA HRC.

121. Borchers et al., Flight Research at Ames, p. 51. On noise, “Community acceptance is essential 

to viability of an operational STOL system. The quiet propulsion retrofit will provide the test bed for 

public acceptance and for establishment of noise certification standards.” Gerald G. Kayten, Acting 

Director, STOL Technology Office, OART, NASA, before the Committee on Science and Astronautics, 

House of Representatives, March 1971, “STOL Technology,” folder 11726, NASA HRC.

122. NASA Langley Research Center, “VTOL and STOL Technology in Review,” pp. 56–67.

123. Representative Ken Hechler et al., telegram to Vice President Spiro Agnew, 13 December 

1972, STOL, folder 11726, NASA HRC; James C. Fletcher to John L. McLucas, 20 September 
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133

Despite this setback, Ames eventually received funding for a more modest 

quiet STOL program called the Quiet Short-haul Research Aircraft (QSRA). 

For this design, Ames contracted with Boeing to build a new wing for the de 

Havilland Buffalo. Instead of channeling the air internally, the QSRA’s four 

engines were mounted to blow over the top of the wing (i.e., “upper surface 

blowing”). Flight testing began in 1978. The QSRA had very good performance, with a perceived noise level lower than for comparable conventional 

aircraft. In 1980, with Navy support, pilots performed takeoffs and landings 

on the deck of the aircraft carrier USS Kitty Hawk.124

As noted, the greatest obstacle for commercial STOL aircraft was not the 

technology, but the infrastructure. Without a comprehensive STOL system 

in place, STOL jets made little economic sense for the airlines. One company, 

however, did pursue the technology: de Havilland Aircraft of Canada. The 

firm, which would eventually become part of snowmobile maker Bombardier, 

built STOL technology into its Dash-7 aircraft, a four-engine turboprop produced in low numbers from the 1970s to the late 1980s. Instead of flying into 

STOLports and reducing aviation congestion, the Dash-7 was most at home 

in rugged flying conditions such as small, high-altitude airstrips.125 Powered lift 

technology saw application in the McDonnell Douglas C-17 transport (now 

the Boeing C-17). Here again, this was an aircraft designed for rugged airstrips 

rather than crowded urban corridors.126

NASA STOL research was, ultimately, successful insofar as the programs 

achieved their stated goals. The technology was appropriate and readily 

adapted to military aircraft and niche vehicles traveling into rugged airstrips. 

Commercial STOL was another matter. Expectations about commercial STOL 

certainly helped enable programs like the QSRA, but it is also true that NASA, 

especially Ames, was committed to STOL as a Center specialty, regardless of 

end use. Ultimately, one of the factors that weighed against commercial STOL 

(beyond the major obstacle of adding infrastructure) was that aviation gridlock 

did not occur, at least not in the 1970s.127

1973, STOL, folder 11726, NASA HRC; James C. Fletcher to John L. McLucas, 2 August 1973, 

STOL, folder 11726, NASA HRC.

124. Borchers et al., Flight Research at Ames, p. 52; Muenger, Searching the Horizon, pp. 269–271.

125. Ken Botwright, “Stalled STOL Is Taking Off in Canadian Turbo-Prop Job,” Washington Post, 

21 January 1973, STOL, folder 11726, NASA HRC.

126. Deckert and Franklin, Powered-Lift Aircraft Technology, pp. 1–3.

127. There are numerous explanations for why aviation congestion has not resulted in the 

predicted gridlock. Among the shifts that have occurred since the early 1970s are airline 
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

The Rise and Consolidation of Rotorcraft Research

The year 1969 saw the creation of joint Army-NASA rotorcraft laboratories 

at both Ames and Langley. These laboratories were never large by NASA standards, but the Army’s participation lent itself to the creation of a stable, longterm community of rotorcraft-focused scientists and engineers. The Army’s 

demand for a strong R&D base for helicopters, an outgrowth of the rise of 

helicopters in Army operations, gave scientists and engineers a well-defined 

research scope. Interestingly, the unique problems faced by rotorcraft researchers also gave this work a distinct, insular character.128

Two physical factors made, and continue to make, rotorcraft very difficult 

to model. The first problem is that rotor blades experience vast changes in lift 

as the helicopter moves forward. The advancing blade is traveling at the sum of 

the blade’s rotational velocity plus the forward velocity of the helicopter. The 

retreating blade is traveling at the sum of the forward velocity of the helicopter 

less the rotational velocity of the blade. In one rotation, a blade can approach 

the limits of compressibility on one side and then stall on the other side. The 

second problem is that rotor blades move through their own wake. To model 

this requires knowing how turbulence propagates long after a blade has passed. 

For both these reasons, rotorcraft research has maintained a strong reliance on 

wind tunnel testing, especially large and full-scale testing.

With access to the massive 40-by-80-foot wind tunnel, the Army Aeronautical 

Research Laboratory (as it was initially named) at Ames was well equipped. The 

fact that the large tunnel operated at low subsonic speeds did nothing to hinder 

rotorcraft work; helicopters travel at low subsonic speeds anyway. The NACA 

first used the tunnel for rotorcraft research in 1953. In addition to the 40-by-80, 

Ames made use of the 7-by-10-foot subsonic tunnel.129 At Langley, rotorcraft 

researchers worked closely with the Transonic Dynamics Tunnel (TDT), a tunnel 

that dated from 1938 but had been updated in the 1950s with a slotted throat to 

allow research in the transonic regime. The TDT’s first helicopter research was in 

1963. One of Langley’s areas of expertise was aeroelasticity and aerostructures. 

To this end, the TDT came to be an important tool in understanding rotorcraft 

deregulation, which resulted in dramatically altered route structures; changes in airline load factors; and continuing optimization of the FAA’s air traffic control.

128. Wayne Johnson, telephone interview by Robert G. Ferguson, 30 May 2007, NASA HRC; 

William Warmbrodt, telephone interview by Robert G. Ferguson, 14 May 2007, NASA HRC; Chee 

Tung, telephone interview by Robert G. Ferguson, 20 April 2007, NASA HRC.

129. William Warmbrodt, Charles A. Smith, and Wayne Johnson, “Rotorcraft Research Testing 

in the National Full-Scale Aerodynamics Complex at NASA Ames Research Center” (NASA 

TM-86687, May 1985).
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135

aeroelasticity (that is, the flutter and loads in rotor systems).130 In addition to 

the aeroelastic challenges of tilt-rotors, new technologies such as hingeless rotors 

and bearingless rotors required that researchers develop more comprehensive 

methodologies and models for aeroelasticity.131

NASA consolidated the Ames and Langley rotorcraft activities at Ames in 

1978. This was certainly a blow to Langley as the Center had a long and rich 

tradition of rotorcraft work.132 All of the Langley flight-test vehicles went to 

Ames, as did a small number of researchers. Interestingly, Langley continued 

to perform rotorcraft research; the Army’s lab did not close, and specialized 

tunnels like the TDT, as well as the 14-by-22-foot tunnel, continued to do 

essential rotorcraft testing on behalf of the Army and the Ames group. The 

decision to consolidate at Ames was in line with the division of labor that had 

been forming during the decade.133

Terminal Configured Vehicle

The Terminal Configured Vehicle (TCV) Program was Langley’s marquee program for conducting research on avionics and flight procedures in commercial 

aircraft. The program coalesced in the early 1970s and reflected a belief that 

the time was ripe for exploiting emerging electronic and digital instruments 

in the cockpit. Researchers argued that new avionics and routines could ease 

airport congestion, make commercial aircraft safer, and reduce noise. Another 

timely selling point was that reducing terminal area congestion naturally led to 

greater fuel efficiency. To do all of this in a meaningful way, Langley’s researchers sought a flying laboratory, one in which they could test whole cockpit 

systems safely, all the while monitoring the performance of the pilots. For the 

TCV, Langley purchased Boeing’s first 737, a test aircraft that would have been 

too expensive for Boeing to overhaul for commercial service. Boeing, instead, 

130. William T. Yeager, Jr., and Raymond G. Kvaternik, “A Historical Overview of Aeroelasticity 

Branch and Transonic Dynamics Tunnel Contributions to Rotorcraft Technology and 

Development” (NASA TM-2001-211054, ARL-TR-2564, August 2001).

131. Robert A. Ormiston, William G. Warmbrodt, Dewey H. Hodges, and David A. Peters, “Survey 

of Army/NASA Rotorcraft Aeroelastic Stability Research” (NASA TM-101026, October 1988).

132. A summary of many of the major rotorcraft programs can be found in W. J. Snyder, 

“Rotorcraft Flight Research with Emphasis on Rotor Systems,” in NASA/Army Rotorcraft 

Technology, vol. 3, Systems Integration, Research Aircraft, and Industry, NASA Conference 

Publication 2495, pp. 1234–1273.

133. Wayne Johnson interview.
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(NASA image EL-1996-0082)

Figure 4.5. Cutaway of Langley’s Terminal Configured Vehicle showing the second cockpit and 

research equipment. 

renovated the aircraft for the TCV program and, through the 1970s, assisted 

with NASA’s avionics experiments.134

The name “Terminal Configured Vehicle” came about because the problems 

it sought to address were with the terminal area (landing) with a special concern 

for safe and efficient operation during periods of congestion and poor weather. 

An early program document noted that terminal operations accounted for 

“more than half of all fatal accidents.” Langley’s program was careful to emphasize that it complemented FAA and Department of Transportation research 

into new air traffic control systems and procedures. NASA’s purview was the 

“airborne portion of the system.”135

Part of the impetus for acquisition of the 737 was that Boeing had been 

working on advanced avionics for the SST when Congress canceled the 

134. “Program Plan for Terminal Configured Vehicle” (NASA TM-1082227, 1 December 1973); 

Lane E. Wallace, Airborne Trailblazer: Two Decades with NASA Langley’s 737 Flying Laboratory

(Washington, DC: NASA SP-4216, 1994).

135. “Program Plan for Terminal Configured Vehicle” (NASA TM-1082227, 1 December 

1973). NASA and the DOT/FAA signed a memorandum regarding their respective roles and 

cooperative efforts.
Chapter 4: Renovation and Revolution

137

program in 1971. Langley’s plans to deploy a flying avionics laboratory gave 

Boeing an opportunity to cooperate with NASA on the flight testing of the 

SST’s digital electronic displays. When Boeing renovated the 737, it created 

a second, aft cockpit that contained the new avionics. It was wired such that 

control could be transferred between the cockpits, while researchers and test 

equipment occupied the remaining passenger space.136 The TCV became part 

of a much larger development and test network that comprised ground facilities 

at Langley and a flight-test range at Wallops Island. Among the ground facilities used by the TCV program were a TCV simulator (a copy of the TCV’s aft 

cockpit), a visual motion simulator, a terminal area air traffic model for simulating air traffic control operating environments, and the Experimental Avionics 

System Integration Laboratory. Wallops had a specially equipped airfield with 

an acoustic noise range as well as a laser and radar tracking system. Together, 

the Langley and Wallops facilities allowed for development and testing to begin 

on the ground, flight testing to take place at Wallops, and then data analysis 

to occur back at Langley.137

At the outset, the broad program goals of the TCV were to develop systems 

and procedures for zero-visibility landings, increased airport throughput (i.e., 

more landings per hour), reduced cockpit workload, and reduced environmental impact.138What this came down to in terms of specific investigations was 

a wide range of technologies and operating procedures, especially those concerned with the display of information in the cockpit. The TCV’s aft cockpit 

came equipped with two new and important instruments: the electronic attitude director indicator (EADI) and an electronic horizontal situation indicator 

(EHSI). The former was much like an electronic version of a typical attitude 

indicator (i.e., an artificial horizon), while the latter was much like a moving 

map display. While these would become commonplace in commercial aircraft 

beginning in the 1980s, the TCV’s versions were special because they could 

be customized to show additional information or to portray it in a different 

manner. Two examples serve to show the versatility of the system.

With traditional avionics, a pilot performs an instrument landing by watching two needles on the artificial horizon: one is the glide slope, the other the 

localizer. As the needles move up or down, or left or right, the pilot makes 

adjustments in order to keep the aircraft on a proper descent to the runway. 

These same indicators were represented on the TCV’s EADI, but Langley’s 

136. Wallace, Airborne Trailblazer, pp. 12–13.

137. “Terminal Configured Vehicle Program: Test Facilities Guide” (Langley Research Center: 

NASA SP-435, January 1980).

138. “Program Plan for Terminal Configured Vehicle” (NASA TM-1082227, 1 December 1973).
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

researchers thought there might be a better way. They chose to superimpose a 

simple graphical image of a runway, in perspective, on the EADI. The image 

would move left or right, for example, depending on whether the aircraft was 

to the right or left of the runway centerline. This all seems eminently simple 

now, but it was groundbreaking at the time. The pilots reported that having 

the runway integrated onto the display gave them a better understanding of 

their position, and they were able to track the localizer beacon consistently.139

A second example is the use of the EADI to display traffic information. Langley 

conducted this work in conjunction with the FAA near the end of the decade. 

Researchers superimposed a map of simulated traffic around the aircraft on 

the EADI while pilots flew approaches and responded to traffic as it neared 

them. Researchers sought to learn what information the pilots needed most 

and how to encode this on the map. For example, researchers found that 

pilots were most interested in altitude coding (i.e., symbols showing whether 

the traffic was above or below).140 While the TCV conducted a wide range 

of studies, most were very similar to these examples insofar as they made use 

of the aircraft’s highly flexible digital displays and sought to evaluate both 

pilot performance and opinion. As much as NASA attempted to delineate its 

own work by focusing on the airborne part, much of the research necessarily 

involved coordination with the FAA.

The TCV, eventually renamed the Transport Systems Research Vehicle, 

continued serving Langley into the 1990s. It performed testing for the FAA’s 

microwave landing system. It tested global positioning navigation systems. It 

explored the dangers of wind shear. When the aircraft was finally nearing the 

end of its useful life, NASA cast about and purchased a Boeing 757 in 1994, 

calling it the Airborne Research Integrated Experiments Station (ARIES). The 

ARIES program anticipated building an aft cockpit similar to that on the 737, 

but budget constrains prevented this.141

139. S. A. Morello, C. E. Knox, and G. G. Steinmetz, “Flight-Test Evaluation of Two Electronic 

Display Formats for Approach to Landing Under Instrument Conditions” (Langley Research 

Center: NASA TP-1085, 1 December 1977).

140. T. S. Abbot, G. C. Moen, L. H. Person, Jr., G. L. Keyser, Jr., K. R. Yenni, and J. F. Garren, Jr., 

“Early Flight Test Experience with Cockpit Displayed Traffic Information (CDTI)” (Langley Research 

Center: NASA TM-80221, 1 February 1980).

141. Michael S. Wusk, “ARIES: NASA Langley’s Airborne Research Facility” (AIAA Aircraft 

Technology Integration and Operations Forum, Los Angeles, CA, 1–3 October 2002).
Chapter 4: Renovation and Revolution

139

Conclusion

The 1970s proved highly productive for NASA’s aeronautics research community. Arguably, much of this was the result of seeds sown in earlier decades. 

One may choose to draw attention to the continuities in research—to point 

out, for example, the slow evolution of computational capability that eventually became a full-blown computational fluid dynamics program—but the 

inconsistencies are there as well. NASA’s aeronautics in the 1970s appears 

more responsive to societal needs and more programmatically organized. The 

original distinctions made in 1958 between mission-oriented Centers and 

research-oriented Centers blurred in the 1970s. Even the research-oriented 

Centers were positioning themselves to address specific areas of technological application, seeking support for packaged research programs and creating 

centers of excellence meant to generate constant levels of support (regardless of 

the specific yearly research activity). Taking one step further back, aeronautics 

weathered the post-Apollo malaise. Though the Agency suffered very large 

funding cutbacks early in the decade, the impact was primarily on the space 

program. For the most part, the difficult shift from Apollo to the Space Shuttle 

did not lead to similar discontinuities in aeronautics.

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Chapter 5: 

Cold War Revival and 

Ideological Muddle

Like most institutions, NASA has had an organizational momentum that 

resisted political and social change. As its experience in the 1970s with energy 

efficiency showed, the Agency grew adept at bridging the political and the 

scientific sides of its house. President Ronald Reagan, however, ushered in 

a new and paradoxical era for federally funded civilian research. On the one 

hand, Reagan inveighed against “big government,” and at his back was an 

emboldened group of free-market-oriented economists who were ideologically 

opposed to federally funded civilian research. On the other hand, Reagan’s two 

terms brought greatly increased levels of funding for new weapons systems 

and, in his second term, specific funding for a large-scale civilian aeronautics 

project, the National Aero-Space Plane (NASP). Over the short term, the 

ideological objections took a back seat to an invigorated Cold War funded by 

deficit spending. The pipeline of new aircraft, some of them designed and built 

in complete secrecy (i.e., “black” programs) helped keep NASA busy through 

the decade. Over the long term, the ideological objections to federally funded 

civilian research would only grow stronger.

While aeronautics received a fraction of NASA’s entire budget, it was among 

the most vulnerable to the Agency’s ideological critics. Unlike the human space 

program, which had no market counterpart, aeronautics research was deeply 

tied to private industry.1 One of the ironies of the Reagan-era intention to 

curtail the applied side of aeronautical R&D and focus on basic research and 

military R&D is that only a decade earlier, NASA had bent over backwards to 

show that it was relevant and applied. The 1970s-era programs that emphasized 

technology transfer and directly funded industrial R&D programs (such as 

parts of the ACEE program) invited concern over corporate subsidy and market 

 1. The absence of commercial investment in space (beyond communications satellites) led to the 
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

interference. The Agency was being whipsawed. More troubling from the perspective of the researchers at the Centers was the battle over aeronautics being 

waged among the Office of Management and Budget, the Office of Science 

and Technology Policy, Congress, and influential groups such as the National 

Research Council’s Aeronautics and Space Engineering Board (ASEB). This 

was a far cry from the days in which the Centers established their research 

direction and then sought budgetary approval from Headquarters. Now, even 

Headquarters appeared to be losing its seat at the table.

The administrative distance between Headquarters and the Centers also 

grew through the decade. Whereas Centers had reported directly to the NASA 

Administrator, starting in 1981 they reported to the Associate Administrator 

of the appropriate program office, which in the case of aeronautics was the 

Office of Aeronautics and Space Technology (OAST).2 This administrative 

distance is important when one considers the role that Center Directors traditionally had as advocates for Center-derived research programs. The picture becomes even more complicated through the 1980s: even as the Centers 

become further removed from the Administrator and Associate Administrator, 

there is a multiplication of other offices at Headquarters, each one diverting 

the Administrator’s attention.

In 1984, OAST itself underwent reorganization. Since 1972, OAST had had 

three primary divisions: Aerospace (which oversaw basic research programs), 

Aeronautical Systems (which oversaw specific vehicle and system programs), and 

Space Systems (which, similarly, oversaw specific space vehicles and systems). 

There were also managerial and institutional divisions, an energy systems division (eliminated in 1983), and the individual Center hierarchies. With the 1984 

reorganization, the Aerospace Division saw its disciplines elevated and divided 

into their own divisions: Aerodynamics; Information Sciences and Human 

Factors; Materials and Structures; Propulsion, Power and Energy; and Flight 

Projects. Vehicle and system programs remained under either the Aeronautics 

or Space Directorate.3

At the Centers, the disciplinary jostling that had been taking place over the 

previous two decades between Ames and Langley had finally reached some measure of stability. Ames had solidified its positions in supercomputing and the 

related area of flight simulation, insofar as it was highly computational. Ames 

had also acquired the short-haul and rotorcraft programs and had established 

diversified, non-aeronautics programs in the astrophysical and biological science programs. Langley’s focus, meanwhile, contracted to long-haul fixed-wing 

 2. Ibid., pp. 388–389.
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aircraft and expertise in aerodynamics, materials and structures, guidance and 

control, and environmental quality.4

 The Dryden Flight Research Center lost 

its status as a full-fledged Center in 1981 when it was placed underneath 

Ames, while Ames was asked to transfer most of its own flight-test activities to 

Dryden. Renamed the Ames-Dryden Flight Research Facility, Dryden would 

eventually regain its status (and old name) in 1994. This was part of a larger 

effort to streamline and consolidate NASA facilities. NASA Goddard similarly 

took over the Wallops Flight Facility.5

The Centers undertook a number of important renovations of test facilities 

during the 1980s. Many of the wind tunnels built in the 1940s and 1950s were 

becoming quite dated. At Ames, the 12-Foot Pressure Wind Tunnel as well 

as the 40-by-80-Foot Wind Tunnel underwent renovations. The latter added 

an open circuit section that increased the size of the tunnel to 80 by 120 feet. 

Lewis renovated its Unitary Plan Tunnel, while Langley opened its National 

Transonic Facility (NTF). The NTF, planned in the 1970s, represented one 

of the largest jumps in Reynolds number capability since the 1950s.6

 Many of 

NASA’s older tunnels continued to put in good service, but they did not always 

provide accurate simulations, especially in the notoriously complex transonic 

region. Both the U.S. Air Force and NASA pursued plans for high–Reynolds 

number transonic tunnels in 1973–74, but as costs grew, their plans merged 

into the NTF. Technically, the NTF represented the state of the art in cryogenic 

transonic tunnels. It was designed to operate either with ambient air or pumped 

full of nitrogen in order to achieve full-scale Reynolds numbers.7

 4. Ibid., p. 404.
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

The 1980s witnessed a shift in tunnel operation, with increased use of 

contractors for both daily operations and renovations. For example, outside 

contractors performed the expansion of the 40-by-80-foot Ames tunnel to 

accommodate the 80-by-120-foot open circuit. Since the days of the NACA, 

in-house technicians had operated, calibrated, designed, and modified the 

Agency’s wind tunnels. From the researchers’ perspective, in-house staff gave 

the tunnels a kind of laboratory memory, people who knew the ins and outs 

of a tunnel, as well as test methods. Langley’s slotted transonic tunnel innovation would hardly be conceivable without such an intimate understanding 

of the tunnel’s characteristics. Certainly, outsourcing sought to reduce costs 

by reducing the number of technical personnel (such as shop workers who 

fabricated models). From 1979 to 1988, the number of NASA technical workers (which would have included wind tunnel technicians) decreased Agencywide from 3,306 to 2,372. Conversely, the number of contractors increased 

in the same time period from 19,952 to 29,401. Within aeronautics, Ames 

and Lewis retained most of their technical support personnel, while Langley 

dropped from 1,056 to 909.8

 Tied to administrative changes that called for 

close accounting of tunnel time (i.e., no more free tunnel time for unfunded 

projects), the administrative layers between researchers and access to their 

experimental apparatus grew.

The market context for aeronautics research in the 1980s saw two shifts: 

one was the consequence of the Carter administration’s decision to deregulate the airlines, and the second was the realization that European airframe 

manufacturer Airbus was a potent competitor. Deregulation allowed airlines 

to drastically alter their route structures. The old trunk lines swapped many of 

their point-to-point flights in favor of hub-and-spoke route networks. Airlines 

dropped service to unprofitable cities while increasing the frequency of service 

to competitive markets. The result was an increase in traffic at the hubs as well 

as an increase in the number of smaller jets. Where the early 1970s had seen 

the development of medium-range, wide-body aircraft such as the DC-10 

and L-1011, deregulation favored smaller aircraft such as the Airbus A320 

and the Boeing 737, as well as a raft of regional feeder aircraft (both jet and 

turboprop). Increased competition lowered ticket prices and led to numerous 

bankruptcies. The storied lines of Pan Am and Eastern Airlines both suffered 

in the 1980s and closed early in the next decade. Unable to rely on steady 

income from dedicated, regulated routes, American airlines moved into an 

era of greater financial insecurity. They sought new ways to cut costs, from 

reducing crew levels (Boeing eliminated the flight engineer from its Boeing 

 8. Rumerman, 
Chapter 5: Cold War Revival and Ideological Muddle

145

767 wide body) to building fleets that simplified maintenance and training 

(e.g., by purchasing only one type or family of aircraft). Airlines attempted to 

shift their fleets to more economical twin-engine aircraft, and the FAA assisted 

through Extended Twin-engine Operating Performance Standards (ETOPS), 

which allowed proven equipment and operators to fly greater distances from 

emergency landing sites. The long-term impact of deregulation for NASA was 

largely the challenge posed by a more crowded airspace, a concern that, as we 

have seen, began in the late 1960s.9

Ironically, deregulation conveniently meshed with Airbus’s growth plans. 

The efficient A320 reached the market in time to feed a growing demand for 

twin-engine narrow bodies. While Airbus’s earlier aircraft, the A300 and A310, 

were finally becoming viable product lines, the A320 was a smash hit. Airbus’s 

growing market share came at the expense of American companies, notably 

McDonnell Douglas and Lockheed (Lockheed built its last commercial jet 

in 1983). The competitive threat from Airbus served as a rhetorical tool in 

Washington, DC, where it was mentioned not only as a reason for continued 

aeronautical R&D, but also as an example of the fruits of European industrial 

investment. The argument went that if Washington refused to respond to the 

European Union’s (EU’s) support for aviation, then the logical outcome would 

be the continued deterioration of a treasured American industry.10

The Office of Science and Technology Policy (OSTP), in its 1982 

“Aeronautical Research and Technology Report,” highlighted the threats posed 

by both Airbus and the Soviet Union.11 In 1987, the OSTP reiterated its concern 

 9. Roger E. Bilstein, 
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

over foreign competition, noting that “the Committee believes that the depth 

of foreign aeronautical resolve and the concerted national effort required to 

preserve American competitiveness are still largely underestimated.”12 Despite 

the emphasis on both military and commercial threats, the major thrust of 

aeronautical development in the decade was new military capabilities. The 

National Aero-Space Plane appeared to be a large-scale commercial project, 

but this was a fairly thin veneer. In fact, executive-level concern for commercial 

aviation appears to have had little impact on NASA’s research programs. By 

way of contrast, the concern about noise, pollution, and energy efficiency in 

the Nixon and Carter presidencies was met with vigorous research packages. 

In the end, the actual research conducted by NASA in the 1980s reflected continued funding of traditional strands of research, as well as consistent funding 

of experimental military technologies. What is particularly intriguing about 

the top-level policy decisions is that they did little to change the direction of 

technical development. Though NASA’s aeronautics research continued to be 

wide-ranging, many of the major leaps came from enabling technologies that 

had been conceived in the 1960s and developed in the 1970s. The impact of 

digital electronics was the most thorough, making possible radical aircraft 

configurations, redefining the design and testing process, and providing new 

tools for aircraft and airspace control. Similarly, NASA would harvest the fruits 

of its work in composites, laminar flow, and supercritical airfoils.

Numerical Aerodynamic Simulation

Until Ames acquired the Illiac IV, Harvard Lomax’s CFD branch had been 

using commercially available computers, mostly from IBM, and writing their 

own top-level code. The Illiac IV was a departure because it took Ames into 

the business of piecing together a complex supercomputer. Not only did the 

researchers have to write code, they had to bring the machine through the 

development process; in essence, the Ames group was drawn into the problems 

of both software and hardware design. Though the Illiac IV’s equipment was in 

place in 1972, it was a few more years before the CFD branch had the software 

to make the machine operate. As noted in the previous chapter, the Illiac IV 

did accomplish new types of aerodynamic modeling, but more than anything 

else, it served as a training ground for the Ames researchers.

Even as the Illiac IV was coming on line, it was clear that advances in 

integrated circuits and memory were such that CFD would soon benefit 

 12.
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147

from having more advanced equipment. So in spite of having established 

branches in CFD and applied CFD at Ames, one of the keys to remaining 

on the forefront was obviously staying on the leading edge of computing 

equipment. This had been the case with wind tunnels; the NACA and NASA 

had continually sought to refresh their test equipment. The challenge was 

more acute for computing equipment, however, due to the field’s faster pace 

of technological change. A wind tunnel could have a life of a few decades, 

especially if it received periodic upgrades, but a computer system was old in 

less than a decade. In 1975, even before the Illiac IV was fully operational, 

Victor Peterson, Bill Ballhaus, and Dean Chapman “dreamed up” a following 

act, the Navier-Stokes Processing Facility.13

By the end of the 1970s, CFD could model inviscid flows around simple 

objects. (An inviscid flow is one in which fluid has no viscosity.) Companies 

were beginning to use CFD codes to model their aircraft wings, Boeing on 

its 757 and Airbus on its A310. Airbus’s efforts in CFD were noted as a competitive threat to American industrial CFD efforts. What remained was the 

much more demanding modeling of flow around complex objects and the 

modeling of viscous/turbulent flows. The Navier-Stokes Processing Facility 

Project (named after the fundamental equations that describe fluid dynamics) was to have a computing capability “three to four orders of magnitude” 

greater than the Illiac IV. One obvious lesson from the Illiac IV was that future 

computers needed to strike a balance between being advanced (esoteric devices 

that were developmentally challenging) and useful to researchers carrying out 

simulations. The Navier-Stokes computer was to be “user oriented and easy 

to program.” Additionally, program managers had to be careful about building a machine that was too experimental; “development risk had to be low.” 

The hardware portion of the facility was to be contracted out, while Ames’s 

researchers would address the computer’s compiler and programming. NASA 

endorsed the project, in principle, and its name became the Computational 

Aerodynamic Design Facility.14

Ames issued requests for proposals (RFPs) in 1976 and awarded initial 

design contracts to Burroughs and the Control Data Corporation. The name 

changed again to the Numerical Aerodynamic Simulation (NAS) facility in 

1977. The Ames group also began building a larger coalition to support the 

project, visiting the large airframe manufacturers to brief them on the project 

 13.
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

and get feedback. NASA Headquarters also became interested in expanding 

the project’s scope so that it could also serve non-aeronautical purposes. The 

Agency considered, for example, the possibility of using the NAS for climate 

modeling. By 1978, the Ames team began to consider a more capable computer, one that could both model the “performance of relatively complete 

aircraft configurations” and examine the physics of turbulence. As specifications and potential users multiplied, Ames established a User Steering Group 

that included representatives from industry, academia, and other government 

agencies. Ostensibly there to provide feedback, the Users Group also added 

to the NAS’s inertia.15

The NAS’s planning in the late 1970s and early 1980s occurred just as supercomputers emerged as a topical item. Seymour Cray, the computer designer 

who had been behind Control Data Corporation’s (CDC’s) fastest computers 

(and before that at Engineering Research Associates), had formed his own 

company and was producing the Cray-1. It was, depending on the metric used, 

about as fast as the Illiac IV and much more reliable. Ames bought a Cray-1, 

as did other government agencies and a number of aircraft manufacturers. 

Cray was becoming a household word. Japan added heat to these developments by subsidizing multiple supercomputer programs in an effort to take 

the world lead. After making substantial inroads into the American automobile 

market, Japan’s threat to do the same for supercomputing was taken seriously 

in Washington, DC. NASA did not lose the opportunity to highlight the 

role of the NAS in keeping the United States competitive. Soviet advances in 

supercomputing added a Cold War element, although it was generally believed 

that the Soviets remained years behind.16

In the midst of this, it was becoming clear that the technology for the 

NAS computer did not yet exist, though it was “theoretically sound.” The 

computer itself was becoming an R&D project. Ames established a Project 

Office in 1979, and Headquarters reclassified the computer as an R&D project 

rather than a simple facilities project. This was a computer so complex that 

researchers considered having a system that would simulate the computer. As 

the list of potential users grew, there was the question of how a machine narrowly designed around parallel processing might serve more general computing 

needs. The parallel processing architecture required researchers to compose 

their problem as discrete mathematical threads that could be handled simultaneously by multiple processors. This worked for aerodynamics and some other 

 15.
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areas that used iterative functions (such as computational chemistry), but it 

raised questions about how many scientists would and could actually use it.17

Finally, the initial Burroughs and CDC plans fell through when both companies reported that they could not meet the system requirements for the 

proposed price of $100 million. At the same time, commercially available 

supercomputers such as the Cray were within an order of magnitude of the 

initial NAS specifications. Rather than scrap the project, the NAS group reformulated their plans: “It became clear that a more reasonable approach was to 

build a system that was consistent with computer company commercial lines 

and flexible enough to use the best high speed computer available.” The group 

explained that “when NAS was proposed it was intended to leap from the 

industry, but they did not anticipate how rapidly the industry would move. 

NASA didn’t want to incur a high cost for an obsolete system.”18 The NAS 

became machine-independent, defined only by the promise of having the most 

advanced supercomputing capability commercially available.19

By 1983, the Ames group had proposed purchasing a single-processor 

Cray-2 that was to be operational by 1986. The plans were approved early in the 

year, and the NAS received funding in 1984. The Cray-2 was finally operational 

in March of 1987, billed as the most powerful supercomputer in the world at 

the time at 250 Mflops.20 It was accessible from 27 remote locations and cost 

under $100 million. Designed to be scaled up over time, the system made use of 

Silicon Graphics, Inc. (SGI), workstations. SGI, a nearby computer company, 

was the most visible Silicon Valley beneficiary of Ames’s computer research; 

the two organizations would work closely for the next decade, especially in 

the area of computer visualization.21 By 1988, the NAS was installing an even 

faster Cray Y-MP. Operational in 1989, it offered sustained speeds of one billion calculations per second, thus finally meeting the original specifications 

set nearly a decade and a half earlier. By this time, however, the researchers’ 

 17.
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

appetite for computational power had grown, and they were planning for one 

trillion calculations per second before the year 2000.22

The acquisition of the Illiac IV in 1972 appeared to be a coup for Ames, but 

it was ultimately a mixed blessing. As early as 1977, Sy Syvertson wrote that 

“our years of difficult learning experience with the Illiac IV parallel processor, 

and our experience in developing efficient software for parallel processing will 

be invaluable in carrying NAS Facility into successful operation.”23 One of 

the legacies of the Illiac IV was an inclination toward inherently risky experimental computing hardware rather than commercially available equipment. 

Ames wanted to be one or two steps ahead of everyone else, but that meant 

developing new computer hardware faster than the marketplace. It was not 

until 1983, after initial design studies and a significant amount of campaigning, 

that the NAS group abandoned the custom-built approach. In the meantime, 

other laboratories and companies were populating their computing facilities 

with Cray supercomputers. Indeed, by 1986, Lewis had its own Cray X-MP, 

a machine that was almost as fast as the forthcoming Cray-2 at Ames.24 The 

custom-built approach appears, in hindsight, as an expensive and protracted 

diversion, despite its merits as a learning tool in the 1970s. Ultimately, what 

distinguished the Ames CFD efforts was not its equipment (which, increasingly, many labs began to replicate) but the core of theorists, mathematicians, 

and fluid dynamicists who turned out innovative CFD solutions regardless of 

the vicissitudes of the NAS.

Unconventional Wings: The AD-1, RSRA, and AFTI-MAW

From December 1979 to August 1982, a strange jet aircraft took flight from 

Dryden with a wing that pivoted about its center. At takeoff, the aircraft’s wing 

was perpendicular to the fuselage, but at altitude, the pilot rotated the wing 

such that the right-hand side swept forward and the left-hand side swept backward. This was the AD-1, the world’s first and, to date, only piloted oblique 

wing aircraft. In spite of the aircraft’s unusual appearance, Robert T. Jones, the 

Ames aerodynamicist who had nurtured the concept of oblique wings, saw the 

configuration as a viable supersonic commercial aircraft. This did not come to 

pass, and although Jones retired from NASA in 1981, he continued to advocate 

22. NASA News, “World’s Fastest Supercomputer Installed at NASA,” press release no. 88-152, 10 

November 1988, folder 8738, NASA HRC.

23. C. A. Syvertson to Dr. Alan M. Lovelace, 12 October 1977, OAST Chron Files, “NASF,” folder 

18274, NASA HRC.

24. NASA News, “New Super Computer Supports Key NASA Projects,” press release no. 86-74, 11 

June 1986, folder 8738, NASA HRC.
Chapter 5: Cold War Revival and Ideological Muddle

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oblique wings, including oblique flying wings. More recently, DARPA renewed 

interest in the technology with a $10 million Northrop Grumman design study 

of supersonic oblique wings.25

The oblique wing concept originally emerged in World War II in an unrealized German experimental design, the Blohm & Voss P.202. Researchers at 

Langley briefly experimented with the idea in 1946 using a small, electrically 

controlled free-flight model.26 It was Jones who ultimately nurtured the concept, initially playing with the idea theoretically in the 1950s. Over time, he 

took the idea more seriously and, by the 1970s, believed that it was a practical 

possibility that had significant advantages over competing designs.27 The closest existing configuration was the variable sweep wing, or swing wing, which 

angled both wings backward. Swing wings, like those on the General Dynamics 

F-111 or North American Rockwell B-1, by virtue of their ability to move from 

a straight-wing to a swept-wing configuration, sought good performance at 

both low and high speeds. Unfortunately, variable sweep came at great cost. The 

wings required heavy hinges and actuators. Moreover, swing wings changed the 

aircraft’s center of gravity and aerodynamic center as the wings swept back; the 

required trimming added drag. The oblique wing offered a simpler structure, 

a simpler and lighter pivoting mechanism, and less need for fore and aft trimming.28 The engineering challenges of oblique wings, however, were patently 

obvious. Special attention would need to be paid to the control of the aircraft 

as well as the aeroelastic performance of the forward-swept wing.

Jones’s group at Ames began wind tunnel and flight testing in earnest in the 

1970s. Initial results showed that oblique wings were a viable configuration 

for transonic and low-supersonic speeds.29 In the wake of the SST cancella-

 25.
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

tion, Jones saw the oblique wing as a candidate for reviving the development 

of high-speed commercial transports and championed it as such.30 The canceled SST was a swing-wing design before weight problems pushed Boeing to 

revert to a fixed-wing configuration.31 The oblique wing held out the hope of 

providing a variable sweep wing without the swing wing’s weight problems. 

Additionally, model tests showed that oblique wings generated lower wave 

drag at transonic speeds. The configuration received additional support from 

a NASA-sponsored design analysis performed by Boeing from 1972 to 1973, 

in which the company examined various high-transonic configurations up 

to Mach 1.2. In this speed range, sonic booms refract in the atmosphere and 

do not reach the ground, thus circumventing one of the factors that doomed 

the original SST. Boeing compared five different designs: a fixed swept wing, 

a variable sweep wing, a delta wing, an oblique wing (“yawed” in Boeing parlance) with twin fuselages, and an oblique wing with a single fuselage. Boeing’s 

engineers concluded that only the single-fuselage yawed-wing design could 

achieve Mach 1.2 and meet future noise restrictions.32

Throughout the 1970s, the Ames group pushed forward with a varied set of 

oblique-wing studies. They made wind tunnel studies of an F-8 equipped with 

an oblique wing; the F-8 was the same aircraft used for the supercritical airfoil 

studies.33 Calculations of the configuration’s noise showed that it produced 

less sonic boom overpressure than swing wings.34 By mid-decade, Ames had 

fielded the Oblique Wing Remotely Piloted Research Aircraft. The aircraft flew 

three times in 1976 and exhibited the ability to pivot its wing to a 45-degree 

angle.35 Meanwhile, under contract to NASA, Boeing continued to refine its 

 30.
Chapter 5: Cold War Revival and Ideological Muddle

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(NASA image ECN-15846)

Figure 5.1. AD-1 exhibits its full 60-degree wing sweep in flight. 

oblique-wing transonic transport design, narrowing design and performance 

parameters. The oblique-wing arrangement presented some challenges in terms 

of where to locate the engines and the landing gear since these could not be 

attached to the wing without pivoting them as well. In 1977, Boeing presented 

NASA with a final configuration.36

The Boeing report provided important design inputs to what would become 

the AD-1, a small, low-speed, low-cost, piloted experimental vehicle. The AD 

stood for Ames-Dryden. The aircraft had a wingspan of just over 32 feet and 

could pivot its wings 60 degrees from perpendicular. Similar to Boeing’s recommended design, the AD-1’s engines and landing gear were mounted on short 

fuselage extensions just aft of the wing pivot. The Ames Industrial Corporation 

of Bohemia, New York, manufactured the aircraft for $240,000. From 1979 to 

1982, the aircraft made 79 flights from Dryden. Although the aircraft was not 

designed to fly faster than 170 miles per hour, it was able to vary its wing sweep 

in flight and provide valuable test data on aerodynamic and control issues.37

 36.
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

The results of the AD-1 investigation generated interest among researchers, 

but there were no following acts. There was an Oblique Wing Research Program 

in the mid-1980s that planned to fit an oblique wing to one of Dryden’s F-8 

aircraft for a first flight in 1991, but this never panned out.38 The idea did not 

wholly disappear, however. In the late 1980s, R. T. Jones was instrumental in 

reviving an earlier version of his oblique-wing ideas, namely, an oblique flying 

wing. There would be no fuselage in such an aircraft. Crew and passengers were to 

sit inside the wing, and the engines would pivot with the wing’s sweep. The public 

unveiling of the Northrop B-2 flying wing in 1988 made an oblique version that 

much more conceivable.39 Ames continued to support basic work on the idea 

through the 1990s, performing conceptual design studies in conjunction with 

Stanford University, subcontracting studies to Boeing and McDonnell Douglas, 

and performing wind tunnel analysis in the Ames 9-by-7-Foot Supersonic Wind 

Tunnel. These tests showed that the hoped-for cruise performance was not as 

good as expected and that there was insufficient basis for estimating the weight of 

the aircraft, a necessary step in determining the economic viability of the idea.40

A decade later, DARPA resumed the effort, awarding Northrop Grumman a 

contract to study the technology and begin preliminary design work on a supersonic, tailless, oblique flying wing.41

NASA fielded another unusual research aircraft in the 1980s, the Rotor 

Systems Research Aircraft (RSRA). The RSRA had strong similarities to the 

March 1985); Robert E. Curry and Alex G. Sim, “In-Flight Total Forces, Moments, and Static 

Aeroelastic Characteristics of an Oblique-Wing Research Airplane” (Ames Research Center, 

Dryden Flight Research Facility, Edwards, CA: NASA TP-2224, October 1984).

 38. Glenn B. Gilyard, “The Oblique-Wing Research Aircraft: A Test Bed for Unsteady Aerodynamic 

and Aeroelastic Research,” in Transonic Unsteady Aerodynamics and Aeroelasticity, part 2 (symposium held in Hampton, VA, 20–22 May 1987; Langley Research Center, Hampton, VA: NASA 

Conference Publication 3022, 1989).

 39. Alexander J. M. Van der Velden, “Conceptual Final Paper on the Preliminary Design of an Oblique 

Flying Wing SST” (NASA CR-182879, December 1987); Alexander J. M. Van der Velden, “The 

Conceptual Design of a Mach 2 Oblique Flying Wing Supersonic Transport” (Ames Research 

Center, Moffett Field, CA: NASA CR-177529, May 1989).

 40. Thomas L. Galloway et al., “Large Capacity Oblique All-Wing Transport Aircraft,” in Transport 

Beyond 2000: Engineering Design for the Future (workshop held 26–28 September 1995; 

Langley Research Center, Hampton, VA: NASA Conference Publication 10184), pp. 461–489.

 41. DARPA, “DARPA Begins Unique Oblique Flying Wing Program,” news release, 17 March 2006; 

Michael J. Hirschberg, David M. Hart, and Thomas J. Beutner, “A Summary of a Half-Century of 

Oblique Wing Research” (45th AIAA Aerospace Sciences Meeting and Exhibit, Reno, NV, 8–11 

January 2007).
Chapter 5: Cold War Revival and Ideological Muddle

155

XV-15 tilt-rotor in terms of research focus and organizational foundations. 

The vehicle was intended to serve as a kind of flying laboratory for different 

technical approaches, but it was, like the XV-15, attempting to bridge the 

gap between helicopters and winged aircraft. Organizationally, the RSRA was 

a joint Army-NASA project, initially operated out of Langley beginning in 

1970. Sikorsky built two RSRAs and delivered them to Langley in 1979. The 

two vehicles were soon transferred to Ames as the Center became the lead for 

rotorcraft and power-lift research.42

The initial impetus for the RSRA was to have a flying rotorcraft laboratory. 

This goal grew out of the difficulty of accurately predicting the performance 

of new rotor technologies without actually flight-testing them. It had been 

the case in rotor design that manufacturers usually had to modify helicopter 

airframes for each rotor variant. The RSRA was designed to accept different 

rotors and serve as a “flying wind tunnel,” providing capabilities that even 

a wind tunnel could not (e.g., high-g maneuvers). One of the features of 

the RSRA was that it could operate in three different modes: pure helicopter 

mode, compound mode with lift shared by rotors and a fixed wing, and solely 

as a fixed-wing aircraft. This last mode existed primarily for safety reasons 

should the pilots need to jettison their rotors in the event of an emergency.43

Mechanically, the most important feature of the RSRA was an “active-isolator” 

rotor balance system that isolated rotor vibrations and measured rotor forces 

and moments. This was the element that made the RSRA truly a flying laboratory. As with most sensitive laboratory measurement devices, the RSRA had to 

be carefully calibrated.44 Unfortunately for the RSRA, the vehicle took many 

years to fine-tune (for both technical and budgetary reasons), and even as late 

as 1986, only one of the vehicles had reached “near-operational” status.45

The second RSRA became subsumed by what was called the X-wing experiment. In the early 1980s, DARPA, NASA, and the Navy became interested 

in the possibility of a vehicle that would take off like a helicopter and then 

42. David D. Few, “A Perspective on 15 Years of Proof-of-Concept Aircraft Development and Flight 

Research at Ames-Moffett by the Rotorcraft and Powered-Lift Flight Projects Division, 1970–

1985” (Ames Research Center, Moffett Field, CA: NASA Reference Publication 1187, 1987); 

Rumerman, NASA Historical Data Book, vol. 6, pp. 205–208.

43. W. D. Painter and R. E. Erickson, “Rotor Systems Research Aircraft Airplane Configuration 

Flight-Test Results” Ames Research Center, Dryden Flight Research Facility, Edwards, CA: NASA 

TM-85911, 1984).

44. C. W. Acee, Jr., “Final Report on the Static Calibration of the RSRA Active-Isolator Rotor Balance 

System” (Ames Research Center, Moffett Field, CA: NASA TM-88211, 1987).

45. Few, “A Perspective on 15 Years.”
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

transition to horizontal flight by stopping an X-shaped rotor. The rotor blades 

had a symmetrical airfoil and generated both lift and directional control by 

blowing engine exhaust through leading and trailing edge slots in the blade. 

The idea worked when tested in the Ames 40-by-80-foot tunnel using a scale 

rotor. Sikorsky modified the RSRA to accept the X-wing rotor and delivered the 

vehicle in 1986 to Ames-Dryden. The X-wing made it as far as taxi tests before 

the program was canceled entirely in 1988 due to rising costs and complexity.46

The Advanced Fighter Technology Integration (AFTI) program was a joint 

program that included Dryden and the U.S. Air Force. The program’s first 

aircraft was an F-111 swing-wing aircraft, which was used in the 1970s for 

transonic supercritical wing studies but modified with a wing that could change 

shape. Rather than a simple arrangement of leading-edge slats and trailing-edge 

flaps, the Mission Adaptive Wing (MAW), as it was called, created a smooth 

but alterable camber using rotary actuators and flexible fiberglass skins. Boeing 

designed and built the wing beginning in 1979, and the MAW first flew in 

October 1985. The first phase of testing employed manual control of the 

wing; the second phase saw the addition of computers that would automatically adjust camber. In total, the aircraft flew for 145 hours of testing, with 

the final flight in 1988. The MAW increased the F-111’s range and maneuverability. The MAW’s proponents at Dryden and Boeing argued that the variable 

camber system was no heavier than a traditional flap and slat system. Further, 

they argued that because the entire works were enclosed within the fiberglass 

panels, the wing would require less maintenance than traditional exposed flap 

and slat systems.47

Advanced Turboprop Project

The Advanced Turboprop Project (ATP) became a part of the Aircraft Energy 

Efficiency Program (covered in the previous chapter), even though it predated 

the ACEE by a number of years. In fact, the ATP was one of Lewis’s first postApollo bids to return to air-breathing engines. In this respect, ATP was a key 

technology for reinvigorating the Ohio laboratory, but the ATP had a long gestation period. Even after it moved into the testing phase in the 1980s, it failed 

to move beyond the experimental stage. Historians Mark Bowles and Virginia 

Dawson have argued that fuel price variations were critical to the technology’s 

46. Ibid.; Rumerman, NASA Historical Data Book, vol. 6, pp. 205–208.

47. John W. Smith, Wilton P. Lock, and Gordon A. Payne, “Variable-Camber Systems Integration 

and Operational Performance of the AFTI/F-111 Mission Adaptive Wing” (Edwards, CA: NASA 

TM-4370, 1992); Scott E. Parks (Major, U.S. Air Force), “Pilot Report: AFTI F-111” (Air Command 

and Staff College, Report Number 88-2050).
Chapter 5: Cold War Revival and Ideological Muddle

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adoption, that ATP was born in an era of high fuel prices and then stagnated 

when prices dropped.48 Certainly fuel prices were a significant factor, but the 

ATP represented a risky new technology that could not be implemented in an 

incremental fashion. In the case of composite aircraft materials, for example, 

airlines slowly introduced the materials over a period of three decades, gradually increasing the percentage of composites to the point that Boeing’s 787 is 

mostly composite. To adopt the ATP would be to assume a large and discrete 

risk. Additionally, the ATP was competing against the highly refined (and 

known) technical context of jet engines. So while the ATP did show worthwhile 

efficiency gains in experimental testing, the commercial risks were daunting.

The ATP project sought to create a turboprop that could compete against 

subsonic jet engines. The idea was to take the core of a jet engine and, rather 

than have a high-bypass fan section (the blades that one sees when looking 

at the front of a modern jet engine), instead turn a large propeller with wide, 

swept blades. It was these swept blades that provided the initial inspiration for 

the project. In the early 1970s, Lewis engineer Daniel Mikkelson found that 

one solution to the problem of propeller blade compressibility was to sweep 

the blades.49 Compressibility was one of the classic problems of propellers 

and a principal reason for the search for an alternative means of propulsion 

in the 1930s and ’40s. As propeller blades spin faster and faster, the tips reach 

transonic speeds, encountering steep increases in drag as well as harmful turbulence. Sweeping the blades accomplishes the same thing that sweep does for 

wings: it delays the onset of these effects. This encouraged Lewis engineers to 

consider whether such a propeller could be used not just as a replacement for 

existing turboprop propellers, but as part of an engine that could reach speeds 

comparable to those attained by existing jet engines.

While the ATP project formed part of the original set of ACEE proposals 

made by NASA to Congress, the turboprop program did not receive funding 

initially.50 In lieu of support from Congress and Headquarters, the Center gave 

provisional funding to measure the efficiency of a scale model in a wind tunnel. 

With these results as proof of the concept’s promise, the Lewis group won 

funding in 1978. For the Lewis researchers, the ATP was their first experience 

48. Mark D. Bowles and Virginia P. Dawson, “The Advanced Turboprop Project: Radical Innovation in 

a Conservative Environment,” chap. 14 in From Engineering Science to Big Science: The NACA 

and NASA Collier Trophy Research Project Winners, ed. Pamela E. Mack (Washington, DC: NASA 

SP-4219, 1998).

49. Ibid.

50. NASA News, “Senate Group Briefed on Aircraft Fuel-Saving Effort,” release no. 75-252, 10 

September 1975, folder 18273, NASA HRC.
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

managing a large program that drew together the other Centers and industrial subcontractors, which included Pratt & Whitney, Allison, and Hamilton 

Standard. The initial phase of the project examined four problems: propeller 

design, noise, installation (how to attach such an engine to an airframe), and 

drive systems (how to attach the propeller to the modified jet engine core). 

By 1981, Hamilton Standard (a longtime propeller manufacturer) won the 

contract to design a composite propeller (renamed a propfan). The following 

year, General Electric began its own research on an alternative propfan (eventually called the GE-36, an unducted fan), one that eliminated the need for a 

gearbox by running the propeller blades straight off a low-speed turbine stage. 

Headquarters directed the Lewis group to cooperate with GE.51

In 1986, GE had completed its unducted fan prototype and begun flight 

tests. At the same time, Hamilton Standard was finally delivering its 9-footdiameter prototype. Lacking a tunnel large and fast enough for testing in the 

United States, NASA took the propfan to Europe, to the ONERA facility in 

Modane, France. Next, researchers mated the propeller to an Allison engine 

and gearbox and performed ground tests in California. Finally, in 1987, they 

installed the system on one wing of a Gulfstream II (a twin-engine business 

aircraft) and proved that the system delivered the 20 to 30 percent fuel savings 

that Lewis engineers had promised more than a decade earlier. Unfortunately 

for Pratt & Whitney, both Boeing and McDonnell Douglas were more interested in the GE engine and were making preliminary plans to manufacture 

aircraft using the GE-36. These were to be the Boeing 7J7 and McDonnell’s 

MD-91X/92X/94X and were to enter service in the early 1990s. McDonnell 

Douglas went so far as to test the unducted fan on an MD-80. Very quickly, 

however, the manufacturers canceled all such plans.52

For their efforts, the team from Lewis and their industrial partners won 

the Collier Trophy in 1987, an award given for “significant achievement in 

the advancement of aviation.” Although it was the simpler General Electric 

design that the airframe manufacturers planned to install, the GE-36 was most 

certainly inspired by the work that began at Lewis in the early 1970s. Propfans 

came within a whisker of actually being adopted; they were shelved not just 

by falling fuel prices, but also a market context that pitted the new propfan 

designs against the forthcoming Airbus A320. The A320 was an advanced, flyby-wire narrow-body design with efficient conventional jet engines. It gave the 

airlines good efficiency without entailing the unknown risks of propfans (e.g., 

actual life-cycle costs, noise). Boeing and McDonnell Douglas responded to 

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the A320 with similarly efficient versions of traditional configurations. Perhaps 

the strongest beneficiary of the ATP project was Hamilton Standard (now 

Hamilton Sundstrand), which went on to design and market swept composite propellers for conventional turboprop engines. One of the questions that 

the parallel GE-36 development raises is whether the ATP project was well 

suited to building a working prototype, especially given the inevitable bureaucratic delays in funding that often attend low-priority government projects. 

Conversely, how important was NASA’s role in stimulating GE’s research in 

the first place? Pratt & Whitney, for its part, took the technology in a different 

direction. In the 1990s, it pursued, with assistance from NASA, the Advanced 

Ducted Propulsor, the Advanced Technology Fan Integrator, and finally the 

geared turbofan (GTF), this last one being the most descriptive.53 The GTF 

connected the low-pressure turbine shaft to a set of sun and planet gears that 

were then connected to enclosed fan blades. This reduced the rotational speed 

of the fan blades, and, although the gearbox added weight and complexity, it 

allowed engineers to optimize both turbine and fan speeds (similar to the ATP). 

Designed to provide ATP-like efficiency gains, it did so in an incremental 

fashion and without the noise and vibration concerns inherent in the ATP. 

As of the writing of this book, Pratt & Whitney was offering the GTF as the 

PW1000G for the narrow-body commercial transport market.54

Maneuverability and the Flight-Test Revival

In the 1980s, NASA and the Department of Defense reinvigorated experimental flight testing at a pace reminiscent of the heyday of the X-vehicles in the 

1950s. This renaissance was partly the result of increased defense funding under 

President Reagan, but it also had its roots in a larger shift within airpower strategy 

and tactics. To review, the 1950s experimental program emphasized speed above 

all else and culminated in the X-15, a Mach 6 rocket plane. Within the military, 

the focus on speed reached a crescendo with the SR-71 (a Mach 3 reconnaissance 

aircraft), the XB-70 (a prototype Mach 3 bomber), and the F-104 (a minimalist fighter design that emphasized supersonic performance). What the services, 

and especially the U.S. Air Force, realized, however, was that speed alone could 

 53.
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

not overcome growing battlefield threats from improved radar and missiles and 

that there remained an important role for aircraft that could engage the enemy 

close in, i.e., in a dogfight. In the realm of strategic bombing, the province of 

the U.S. Air Force, high altitude and speed were no longer sufficient to keep the 

bombers out of the range of ground-to-air missiles. Instead, it became desirable 

to hide the aircraft from detection, such as through terrain-hugging flightpaths 

and stealth technologies. The North American Rockwell B-1 bomber, which 

President Carter canceled and President Reagan revived, was a transitional aircraft in this respect: although it was originally designed for Mach 2 flights, 

changes in enemy capabilities and doctrine (not to mention cost) resulted in an 

aircraft designed primarily for subsonic attack at nap-of-the-Earth altitudes.55

The Lockheed F-117 stealth fighter and the Northrop B-2 stealth bomber both 

ignored high speed in favor of low observable technologies. For fighter aircraft, 

the experience of Vietnam illustrated the importance of aircraft maneuverability. 

The first example of this new emphasis was the General Dynamics F-16, developed in the 1970s as part of the Lightweight Fighter Program. By no means a 

slow aircraft, the F-16 gave pilots the ability to make high-G turns and thus 

maintain a tactical edge over enemy aircraft.56

From the late 1970s onward, NASA and the Department of Defense began 

a series of experimental flight tests that examined different aspects of highmaneuverability flight.57 NASA’s contribution was, as in earlier decades, the considerable scientific and engineering expertise necessary for framing test problems 

and analyzing results. Conversely, DOD established the primary research objectives and provided necessary funding. Technically, the maneuverability programs 

picked up and built on a number of strands of research that NASA had investigated in the 1970s. Among the most important was the use of digital flight 

control; most of these vehicles could not fly without computer mediation. The 

vehicles often used multiple control surfaces, which had to be adjusted, in concert, 

in fractions of a second. In this, Dryden had the most experience after its work 

with digital fly-by-wire, but the other Centers also were well represented. Ames 

and Langley supported the work with wind tunnel research. Langley assisted in 

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Chapter 5: Cold War Revival and Ideological Muddle

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aerodynamic and structural studies. Lewis brought to bear its understanding of 

jet engines and thrust vectoring, a technique that proved to be one of the most 

effective over the long run. Something that is, perhaps, not immediately clear 

from this second wave of experimental vehicles is that they represented a concerted 

effort to model unusual configurations and unusual maneuvers. Each vehicle 

was certainly an attempt to do something new, but behind the vehicles and their 

technical accomplishments, NASA researchers were developing modeling and 

testing techniques (i.e., wind tunnel and CFD) that would be generally applicable 

and useful for the design of future aircraft. An excellent example of this was the 

High Alpha Technology Program, begun in 1986, which correlated the modeling 

and flight testing of high-angle-of-attack research across Centers and vehicles. So 

while the test aircraft of this era were varied in their objectives, methodologies, 

and funding, behind them were consistent communities of researchers extracting 

long-term lessons about highly maneuverable vehicles.58

HiMAT/Remotely Piloted Research Vehicle

The Remotely Piloted Research Vehicle (RPRV) was a project that grew out 

of the clever use of remote control hobby aircraft at Dryden in the 1960s. 

Dale Reed, who championed lifting-body experiments, had bootstrapped 

his research through small-scale testing, including the use of remote control 

aircraft that he borrowed from his own hobbies. Using an oversized remote 

control hobby model, Reed carried scale lifting-body models to altitude and 

dropped them as gliders, in essence mimicking the piloted drop tests that 

had been standard practice at Dryden since the early rocket-plane experiments. By the late 1960s, Reed began exploring whether test pilots could fly 

experimental aircraft remotely using instruments, as opposed to the hobbyist 

practice of flying the model while looking skyward from the ground. Dale 

put the technology to work in his Hyper III lifting body (a Langley-derived 

design) that, on a single flight in 1969, was dropped from a helicopter and 

taken through its test flight by a pilot on the ground. For Reed and his colleagues, remote control and remote piloting offered an inexpensive way to vet 

designs and build momentum for further support. As the lifting-body experiments drew to a close, remote piloting appeared to be, in itself, a promising 

technique.59 Dale Reed’s group then outfitted the Center’s Piper PA-30 Twin 

58. See, for example, the proceedings of NASA’s Fourth High Alpha Conference, NASA CP-10143, 

NASA Dryden Flight Research Center, 12–14 July 1994.

59. Hallion, On the Frontier, pp. 210–216 and appendix E (table 2); Dwain A. Deets, V. Michael 

DeAngelis, and David P. Lux, “HiMAT Flight Program: Test Results and Program Assessment 

Overview” (Dryden Flight Research Facility, Edwards, CA: NASA TM-86725, 1986).
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

Comanche with the necessary instrumentation for remote piloting. Initially 

using a safety pilot riding in the aircraft, the group eventually flew the plane 

entirely by remote from takeoff to landing. Concurrently with the work on 

the Piper, Reed’s group collaborated with the Air Force in writing a proposal 

to test the spin characteristics of the forthcoming F-15 fighter aircraft using a 

scale, remotely piloted vehicle. It was approved in 1972, and Dryden flew two 

3/8 scale models air-dropped from B-52s.60

The Dryden group succeeded in getting approval for a large-scale RPRV 

project mid-decade, jointly supported by NASA and the Air Force Flight 

Dynamics Laboratory at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base. The Highly 

Maneuverable Aircraft Technology, or HiMAT, was a scale, jet-powered aircraft that explored high-g maneuvers. North American Rockwell (the successor to North American Aviation) won the contract in 1979 to build two 

HiMAT vehicles. Flight testing began in 1979 and continued into early 1983 

for a total of 26 flights. The HiMAT was dropped by a B-52 and landed on 

the dry lakebed on skids. It had a canard configuration, and the rear wings 

incorporated winglets. HiMAT succeeded in flying extremely tight turns 

with very high g-forces, enabled by what was called “relaxed static stability,” or to put it another way, the company had designed a vehicle that was 

highly unstable, yet entirely controllable. Strong yet lightweight fiberglass 

and graphite materials (making up some 30 percent of the vehicle), as well 

as a digital fly-by-wire control system, allowed the HiMATs to remain intact 

and under control through maneuvers that were simply impossible in other 

high-performance aircraft of the time.61

In comparison to the General Dynamics F-16 aircraft, the HiMAT could 

fly high-speed turns in about half the radius. The HiMAT design also validated the use of composites and the canard arrangement. Both would become 

part of another high-maneuverability program, the X-29. As for the RPRV 

capability, remote piloting has become an important research option, and 

not just at Dryden. The reduced cost and risks associated with RPRV flights 

have allowed NASA to squeeze more out of its budget. The HiMAT also 

contributed a new test procedure that could be used for both piloted and 

unpiloted vehicles: a flight-test maneuver autopilot. This was a Teledyne 

Ryan Aeronautical autopilot that essentially took the test pilot out of the 

 60.
Chapter 5: Cold War Revival and Ideological Muddle

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(NASA image ECN-14284)

Figure 5.2. The HiMAT remotely piloted vehicle attached to its B-52 mother ship prior to airdrop. 

loop. Researchers could program a particular flight sequence and repeat or 

modify the test as necessary.62

Advanced Fighter Technology Integration/F-16

The AFTI program’s second aircraft was an F-16 modified with advanced sensors, avionics, and flight control capabilities. In these tests, researchers used the 

aircraft’s digital flight controls to optimize control laws for specific missions 

(e.g., air-to-air combat, air-to-ground attack). Engineers decoupled the flight 

controls and recombined them digitally such that the aircraft handled better 

than the production version. This kind of flight control would become even 

more important in future generations of high-performance aircraft. The program also included the testing of voice commands, the first time this had been 

done in developmental testing in a fighter aircraft. They achieved an overall 

voice recognition rate of 78 percent.63

 62.
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

X-29 Forward-Swept Wing

The X-29 Forward-Swept Wing aircraft flew from 1984 to 1992. Like the HiMAT, 

it originated in the 1970s, born of the same interest in high-maneuverability 

fighter aircraft. Like HiMAT, the X-29 would explore an unusual and highly 

unstable configuration. Advanced composite structural design and digital flight 

control would likewise be critical enabling technologies. The X-29 was a joint 

DARPA–Air Force Flight Dynamics Laboratory project, but NASA was in charge 

of flight testing at Dryden. DARPA and the Air Force issued their RFP in 1977 

and awarded Grumman the contract for two test vehicles in 1981.64

The X-29 was a jet aircraft with a canard configuration, the main wings 

sweeping forward at a 30-degree angle. Forward sweep was an old idea; 

Germany, in fact, had flown forward-swept prototypes in World War II. 

Forward sweep causes the airstream to flow in, toward the fuselage (the opposite 

of a swept-back wing). This meant that at extremely high angles of attack, when 

a traditional wing would lose controllability, the forward-swept wing retains 

airflow over the ailerons and thus remains controllable. The tradeoff is that 

the arrangement makes the aircraft highly unstable and the wings experience 

higher-than-usual bending and twisting loads. The X-29 used a digital fly-bywire system to make the aircraft flyable. A computer managed the aircraft’s 

unconventional control surfaces, which, in addition to a rudder, included 

full-motion canards (i.e., the entire canard rotated), flaperons (combined flap/

ailerons located on the trailing edge of the main wing), and strake flaps (horizontal flaps located astride the rear fuselage). The digital fly-by-wire used all 

of the control surfaces in a coordinated fashion and did so far faster than a 

human ever could have. The X-29’s forward-swept wing was specially designed 

to resist high aerodynamic forces. Engineers at Langley tested the X-29 design 

in the 16-Foot Transonic Tunnel in order to model the wings’ aeroelasticity 

(i.e., how the wings bent, or would attempt to bend, under anticipated aerodynamic loads). With these data, Grumman crafted a wing from hundreds of 

carbon-Kevlar composite layers. The result was a lightweight wing that could 

bend and yet remain structurally and aerodynamically sound.65

September–1 October 1983, NASA TM-84920); Stephen D. Ishmael, Victoria A. Regenie, and 

Dale A. Mackall, “Design Implications From AFTI/F-16 Flight Test” (Ames Research Center, 

Moffett Field, CA: NASA TM-86026, 1984).

 64. “NASA Facts: The X-29” (Dryden Flight Research Center, Edwards, CA: FS-2003-08-008-DFRC), 

available online at http://www.nasa.gov/centers/dryden/pdf/120266main_FS-008-DFRC.pdf.

 65. Joseph R. Chambers, Partners in Freedom: Contributions of the Langley Research Center to 

U.S. Military Aircraft of the 1990’s (Washington, DC: NASA SP-2000-4519, 2000), p. 110; 

Rumerman, NASA Historical Data Book, vol. 6, pp. 217–220; “NASA Facts: The X-29.”
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(NASA image EC89-0127-2)

Figure 5.3. X-29 aircraft no. 2 takes off from Edwards Air Force Base in 1989. 

The first phase of flight testing covered design validation and performance, 

while the second phase examined high-angle-of-attack maneuverability. In 

the early 1990s, the Air Force fitted the second aircraft with jet nozzles in the 

nose in order to test an alternate method for controlling the aircraft at high 

angles of attack. In total, the two X-29s completed 422 research flights. At 

the most basic level, the X-29 proved that the enabling technologies, namely 

digital fly-by-wire and advanced composite construction, were up to the task. 

The design was controllable, and the wings retained their structural and aerodynamic integrity. This was an important validation of research that NASA 

had conducted into both technologies in the prior decade. Furthermore, flight 

testing showed that the X-29 could be flown at extreme angles of attack and 

remain controllable, just as had been hoped. It was fully controllable up to 45 

degrees angle of attack (meaning that if the aircraft was moving in a horizontal 

direction, the nose could be pointed up at a 45-degree angle). It retained some 

controllability up to 67 degrees. One of the anticipated gains was a significant 

decrease in aerodynamic drag. The aircraft’s wings were thin and employed a 

fine supercritical airfoil. Also, a dynamic stability system manipulated control 

surfaces such that both the canards and wing generated lift. Unfortunately, 

flight tests did not demonstrate the expected levels of drag reduction.66

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F-18 High Alpha Research Vehicle (HARV)

NASA was not sitting on the sidelines through the X-29 program. Fighter aircraft design was of special interest to researchers at Langley, which had its own 

High Alpha Technology Program (HATP) office. Drawing on the strengths 

of all four aeronautics Centers, HATP engineers modified an existing fighter 

jet and flight-tested it from 1987 to September 1996. NASA’s High Alpha 

Research Vehicle, or HARV, was stable up to 70 degrees angle of attack, and 

could be rolled at up to 65 degrees. This was a remarkable accomplishment, 

proving the utility of an innovative technique, thrust vectoring.67

Langley’s HATP office opened in 1985, one year after the X-29 program 

began its own flight tests. Whereas the X-29 program relied on a radically new 

aircraft configuration, NASA’s researchers chose to modify an existing aircraft. 

They acquired a preproduction McDonnell Douglas F-18, an aircraft that was 

already very capable in its own right, as it could fly to a 55-degree angle of 

attack. Dryden personnel rebuilt and instrumented the aircraft. The first phase 

of the program, which saw 101 flights from 1987 to 1989, was one of data 

collection. NASA researchers learned how to measure aerodynamic flows in 

this unusual flight regime. The second phase saw the addition of thrust vectoring, that is, six paddle-like devices (three for each of the aircraft’s two engines) 

that could redirect exhaust. This was a highly complex modification requiring 

multidisciplinary expertise. As with the HiMAT and X-29, the F-18 required 

special flight control computers and software tailored to the aircraft’s unique 

control mechanisms. The pilot would not have special controls for thrust vectoring; rather, the paddles needed to respond to the pilot’s traditional inputs. 

Adding a new level of sophistication, the paddles allowed for three-dimensional 

thrust vectoring. They could be used to control yaw as well as pitch.68

Phase 2 testing ran from 1991 to 1993 and covered 193 flights. It was at 

this point that NASA’s test pilots were achieving 70-degree angles of attack 

and the ability to roll at 65 degrees. By way of contrast, the unmodified F-18 

would have been difficult to roll beyond a 35-degree angle of attack. The last 

test phase ran from 1995 to 1996 and saw the addition of movable nose strakes. 

Not unlike the jet nozzles used in the last set of X-29 tests, the nose strakes 

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sought to control the vortices that flowed off the nose. The strakes themselves 

were hinged flaps that, when deployed, flipped into the airstream curling about 

the nose. Through 109 flights, test pilots examined different ways of employing the strakes alone and in conjunction with thrust vectoring. As before, the 

aircraft’s control laws had to be well understood and programmed into the 

flight computer so that the operation of the various devices was automatic.69

X-31 Enhanced Fighter Maneuverability Demonstrator

The Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, which had jointly sponsored 

the X-29, returned with one more experimental vehicle in the early 1990s. 

The X-31 Enhanced Fighter Maneuverability Demonstrator, or EFM, flew 

from 1992 to 1995. In addition to participation from the U.S. Air Force, U.S. 

Navy, and NASA, the Federal Republic of Germany joined as an international 

partner on this project. Rockwell and Deutsch Aerospace designed and constructed two prototype jet aircraft; their primary distinguishing feature was 

thrust vectoring using a three-paddle design similar to that of NASA’s HARV. 

One new feature of these paddles was their construction: whereas the HARV 

used a high-temperature alloy, Inconel, the X-31 used “carbon-carbon,” a specially designed carbon fiber that could withstand high-temperature jet engine 

exhaust. The aircraft also incorporated canards similar to those on the X-29.70

At Dryden, NASA test pilots and engineers worked alongside their counterparts from the military and from Germany. As the team expanded the envelope 

of operations (i.e., increased the angle of attack), they encountered various 

control difficulties, including yawing and lurching. With each problem, the 

team modified the aircraft and pushed forward. Eventually, they exhibited 

controlled flight to 70-degree angles of attack, including rolling the aircraft 

at the same angle, and showed that the aircraft could use this capability to 

outmaneuver conventional fighter aircraft in simulated battles.71

X-36 Tailless Fighter Agility Research Aircraft

The X-36, although a 1990s project, is appropriately placed in the line of experimental vehicles that began with the HiMAT. Sponsored by NASA’s Office 

 69.
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

of Aero-Space Technology and McDonnell Douglas (purchased by Boeing 

during the program), the X-36 began as a collaboration between Ames and 

McDonnell Douglas. The X-36 was, like the HiMAT, a remotely piloted scale 

aircraft, but unlike the air-dropped HiMAT, the X-36 could take off under 

its own power. NASA flew the McDonnell Douglas–built aircraft 31 times in 

1997, experimenting with and validating the tailless design. As with all the 

prior high-maneuverability vehicles, this was an unstable design that required 

digital flight control. By the mid-1990s, however, digital fly-by-wire was sufficiently mature that NASA and Boeing could make use of some commercially 

available components. This was a far cry from the time they invested in building the original digital fly-by-wire equipment in the 1970s. Interestingly, the 

Air Force Research Lab conducted a follow-on program that studied the use 

of adaptive controls, a kind of software that could reconfigure itself in order 

to compensate for failed or damaged controls. In essence, the software was 

creating new flight control laws on the fly.72

The National Aero-Space Plane and the Orient Express

The National Aero-Space Plane was an ungainly product of political circumstance and technological boosterism. NASP was an attempt to build a hypersonic, single-stage-to-orbit vehicle (a.k.a. the X-30), but for a brief period, it 

was also associated with an attempt to create a high-speed commercial transport 

called the Orient Express. Before the NASP program, the Department of 

Defense had been conducting research on hypersonic vehicles under a confidential project called “Copper Canyon.” NASP, initiated in December 1985, 

represented phase 2 of this research. Parallel to the DOD’s earlier research, 

NASA had its own interest in both supersonic and hypersonic research. There 

was a cohort of researchers who firmly believed in the viability of an Americandesigned and -built supersonic transport. Langley engineers also had conducted experiments and limited design studies of various hypersonic engines. 

By the late 1970s, John Becker, John Henry, and Robert Jones supported a 

scramjet design that integrated the fuselage and engine into a single package. 

Supersonic work was, for a period, conducted as part of the Supersonic Cruise 

Aircraft Research program. Funding was summarily ended and transferred to 

the human space program in 1981 in what appeared to be a preview of future 

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169

cuts to federally funded civilian R&D. NASP helped revive NASA’s work on 

supersonic and hypersonic vehicles.73

NASP also answered NASA’s critics who maintained that the Agency lacked 

a long-range, risk-taking vision akin to that of the Apollo era. While this had 

been the modus operandi in the human space program, aeronautics had long 

been a research organization with no specific programmatic goals. True, aeronautics did carry out research that sought specific ends, such as specified gains 

in engine efficiency, but aeronautics (and the whole of OAST for that matter) 

was not supposed to be program oriented, at least not as envisioned at the 

beginning of NASA. By the 1980s, however, the critique of NASA’s vision, or 

lack thereof, was taking greater hold. A committee that reported to the White 

House Office of Science and Technology Policy concluded similarly that NASA 

needed to reinvigorate itself. The committee recommended three radical goals, 

among them an air-breathing hypersonic space-plane.74

President Reagan’s science advisor, George Keyworth, aware of both the 

DOD and NASA hypersonic programs, promoted the idea of a unified effort. 

The technology appeared feasible; it would give NASA’s aeronautics a decisive 

vision and would solve the problem of limited access to space, one of the 

stumbling blocks in Reagan’s Strategic Defense Initiative.75 Reagan kicked off 

the NASP program in his 1986 State of the Union Address:

And we are going forward with research on a new Orient Express 

that could, by the end of the next decade, take off from Dulles 

Airport, accelerate up to 25 times the speed of sound, attaining 

low Earth orbit or flying to Tokyo within 2 hours. And the same 

technology transforming our lives can solve the greatest problem 

of the 20th century. A security shield can one day render nuclear 

weapons obsolete and free mankind from the prison of nuclear 

terror. America met one historic challenge and went to the Moon. 

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Now America must meet another: to make our strategic defense 

real for all the citizens of planet Earth.76

The announcement involved a small sleight of hand: while Reagan did link 

NASP to the Strategic Defense Initiative, the vision of NASP was of a commercial vehicle. The appellation “Orient Express” successfully distracted viewers 

from the program’s underlying military objectives.77

Just how serious the White House was about the commercial vision of the 

Orient Express is doubtful, and not just because this would have represented 

an ideologically repellent act of picking a winner. (According to free-market 

dogma, markets provide the most efficient mechanism for choosing among 

technologies.) The problem with the Orient Express was that the craft would 

have spent most of its time either accelerating or decelerating, an inefficient 

and, for passengers, uncomfortable proposition. Additionally, the vehicle’s 

liquid hydrogen fuel would have required costly installations. NASP was a 

spacecraft; it entailed technologies and operations quite distant from what 

commercial airlines might consider feasible. As recounted in the following 

chapter, NASP did give a boost to Langley’s supersonic commercial aircraft 

efforts, lending political support for an eventual High Speed Civil Transport 

and the High Speed Research program.78

DOD, of course, was undeterred by the lack of a commercial application of 

a hypersonic vehicle. From 1986 to 1993, DOD spent over $1.2 billion on the 

project. NASA spent nearly $400 million. The initial set of technologies that 

the NASP program envisioned were hydrogen-fueled supersonic ramjet engines 

(scramjets), new lightweight and heat-resistant materials, an integrated engine/

airframe, and the use of slush hydrogen (ice/liquid mixture) for cooling and 

fuel. The program quickly ran into numerous technical obstacles. The major 

subcontractors determined that the original specifications were unfeasible and 

technically unsubstantiated.79 Overall, the NASP program objectives also went 

through a number of changes, initially focusing on an experimental vehicle, 

then an operational vehicle with a large payload in 1988, and finally a research 

program in 1989. The U.S. General Accounting Office (GAO), in a 1992 

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Table 5.1. NASP Appropriations, 1986 to 1993, Dollars in Millions

1986 1987 1988 1989 1990 1991 1992 1993 Total

DOD 45 110 183 231 194 163 200 150 1,276

NASA 16 62 71 89 60 95 5 0 398

Total 61 172 254 320 254 258 205 150 1,674

Source: U.S. General Accounting Office, Report to Congressional Requesters, “National Aero-Space 

Plane: Restructuring Future Research and Development Efforts” (GAO/NSIAD-93-71, #148140, 

December 1992), table 1.1, p. 15.

report to Congress on NASP, noted, “The NASP Program’s 7-year history has 

been characterized by turmoil, changes in focus, and unmet expectations.”80

Though NASP funding ceased in the early 1990s, the idea of a single-stageto-orbit vehicle continued elsewhere in the form of the DCX and the X-33. No 

one confused these latter vehicles with commercial jet transportation.

Icing and Wind Shear

Perhaps the farthest one could get from the big-budget, high-risk, top-down 

approach of NASP was NASA’s work on icing and wind shear. These were classic nuts-and-bolts research projects that successfully addressed pressing aviation concerns. Like NASA’s energy-efficiency and noise-reduction programs 

of the 1970s, icing and wind-shear research were emblematic of the Agency’s 

responsiveness to public outcries in the 1980s. The Agency had long addressed 

safety problems, and these particular dangers came to the fore through highly 

publicized tragedies.

The first accident that grabbed the public’s attention was an Air Florida 

737 taking off from National Airport in January 1982. Wing and engine icing 

caused the aircraft to lose lift and control on climb-out; the aircraft plunged 

into the Potomac River and the 14th Street Bridge. Of the 79 persons on board, 

74 died. Television footage of rescuers braving the icy waters of the Potomac 

riveted the nation. Subsequent accidents reinforced the danger of icing: in 

1985, a DC-8 carrying U.S. service members crashed on takeoff, taking the 

lives of 256 people; and in 1987, a DC-9 crashed on takeoff, killing all 28 on 

board. Both aircraft lost lift and controllability due to icing.81

Icing research at the NACA dated to 1928 at Langley. The first icing 

wind tunnel was a refrigerated device with a paltry 6-inch cross section. Icing 

80. U.S. GAO, “National Aero-Space Plane,” pp. 4, 16–17.

81. William M. Leary, “We Freeze to Please”: A History of NASA’s Icing Research Tunnel and the 

Quest for Flight Safety (Washington, DC: NASA SP-4226, 2002), pp. 81–82, 107.
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

research moved from Langley to the new Aircraft Engine Research Laboratory, 

or Lewis Lab, during World War II. There, a much larger 6-by-9-foot refrigerated tunnel would be the centerpiece of the NACA’s icing research for the 

coming decades.82 In the early years of NASA, the Agency did not put much 

emphasis on icing research, but because of continued interest from industry, 

the Lewis Icing Research Tunnel (IRT) remained in operation. By the 1980s, 

the old IRT was feeling its age, and so from 1986 to 1988, NASA closed the 

tunnel for renovation.83

By the time the tunnel reopened, it was available to work on the causes 

behind the ice-related commercial aircraft crashes. Most of these tragedies had 

in common the use of deicing fluids. Boeing and the Association of European 

Airlines (AEA) had been examining the effectiveness of these agents for a 

number of years; when the IRT reopened in 1988, it also began to evaluate the 

fluids. Researchers needed to understand how the fluids worked at different 

temperatures and under different weather conditions, as well as how long the 

fluids lasted before they needed to be reapplied. Finally, in November 1992, 

the FAA was able to issue new deicing guidelines based on the body of research 

conducted by Boeing, the AEA, and NASA. Concurrently, the Lewis Lab 

sponsored the development of computer codes to mathematically model ice 

formation. Developed initially at the University of Dayton by Professor James 

K. Luers, the codes (eventually dubbed LEWICE) were refined and validated 

by Lewis researchers. LEWICE, like the computational fluid dynamics codes 

developed elsewhere at NASA in the 1970s and 1980s, became an important 

and very cost-effective tool for industry.84

Public concern over wind shear began with the August 1985 crash of a Delta 

L-1011 on approach to landing at Dallas–Ft. Worth airport. A highly localized 

weather system shifted wind directions so violently that the wide-body jet lost 

airspeed and crashed. Of the 163 persons on board, 137 perished. Of course, 

wind shear was not a new natural phenomenon. It had periodically claimed 

aircraft and lives. What was unusual was the public’s awareness. As with icing, 

there had been prior work on wind-shear detection. In the 1970s, the FAA 

studied the problem and installed the Low Level Windshear Alert System 

(LLWAS) at major airports. LLWAS compared wind velocity at different points 

on the ground around the airport. Significant differences triggered a windshear alert. Unfortunately for the Delta crash, the LLWAS system installed at 

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Dallas–Ft. Worth gave its warning only after the crash.85 Popular and political 

concern led to the creation of the National Integrated Wind Shear Plan in 

1986. The FAA-managed program sought to develop new radar systems that 

could detect wind shear (namely, the Doppler weather radar), an airborne 

detection system, and improved communication and training. The airborne 

system was NASA’s contribution to the program.86

NASA Langley oversaw the wind-shear research using the 737 airborne 

laboratory, the Transport Systems Research Vehicle (TSRV). This was a logical platform, for as a commercial-type aircraft, it would bring NASA closer 

to approximating actual conditions. It also would help shorten the development of commercially available applications. Furthermore, the TSRV was 

an appropriate base for the kind of systems engineering that stretched from 

manufacturers to NASA to the FAA. The engineers and pilots who worked 

with the TSRV understood that they were finding solutions in the integration 

of multiple expert groups and technologies. For wind shear, Langley examined 

three different types of forward-looking detection systems: microwave Doppler 

radar, Doppler light detecting and ranging (LIDAR), and passive infrared radiometry. The first two measured the Doppler shift of energy reflected off water 

particles; the third looked for temperature shifts that might signal a microburst 

of bad weather.87 Langley researchers refined the systems and worked with the 

manufacturers to make them more reliable and integrated into cockpit and 

air traffic control procedures. In the summers of 1991 and 1992, Langley 

crews flew the detector-equipped TSRV through actual microbursts detected 

by ground-based Doppler radar. In the end, both Doppler radar and LIDAR 

were able to detect microbursts early enough to allow pilots to take action. 

The radar systems were more effective, however, and within a fairly short time, 

avionics manufacturers had equipment ready for commercial operations.88

Conclusion

From a purely technical perspective, the lesson that stands out from this decade 

of research is the degree to which a small number of revolutionary technologies enabled a whole set of new applications. Digital computers, composite 

materials, and advanced aerodynamics were making possible aircraft such as the 

X-29. Forward-swept wings had been tried before, indeed, long before, but now 

85. Lane E. Wallace, Airborne Trailblazer: Two Decades with NASA Langley’s 737 Flying Laboratory

(Washington, DC: NASA, 1994), pp. 58–59.

86. Ibid., pp. 60–61.

87. Ibid., pp. 63–64.

88. Ibid., pp. 65–73.
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

could be flown successfully. Thus, NASA’s fundamental research in the 1960s 

and 1970s helped set in motion an entirely new set of capabilities. Cold War 

funding sped the development of highly unstable yet maneuverable aircraft, 

but this was a technical and tactical trend that was already well under way. A 

fourth fundamental technology, stealth, was arguably the most revolutionary 

of the aeronautical developments in the 1980s, but that narrative will have to 

wait for a day when historians have open access to those records.

NASP was illustrative of the kind of ideological battle taking place in 

Washington, far away from the labs. A White House that, in its heart, did 

not believe in big government was initiating a large-scale technology development program. NASP drew support from those who believed in supersonic 

and hypersonic flight, as well as wonks who believed that NASA’s aeronautics 

program, like the space program, suffered from a lack of Apollo-like goals. 

Cobbled together without the kind of technological underpinnings that made 

the ACEE program a nearly automatic success in the 1970s and without the 

kind of money that would be required to see it through, NASP was truly a 

high-risk endeavor, politically and technically. NASP did fund high-speed 

research and so was not necessarily a net loss from the researchers’ standpoint, 

but it came at the cost of increased politicization and a shift toward more topdown research management.
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Chapter 6: 

The Icarus Decade

Before funding came crashing down at the close of the 1990s, aeronautics 

would enjoy one last upswing. Its budget would approach $1 billion in 1994; 

it would be running two of its largest programs ever, the Advanced Subsonic 

Technology (AST) Program, which peaked at $173 million in 1997, and the 

High Speed Research (HSR) Program, which reached its zenith the following 

year at nearly a quarter of a billion dollars. By 2000, both programs would 

no longer exist and the aeronautics budget would fall to just $600 million. 

Adjusted for inflation, this was a 45 percent drop in funding over seven years. 

At first glance, there are obvious geopolitical and industrial shifts that presaged 

aeronautics’ difficulties, but this was more than just the same agency caught in 

difficult circumstances. Aeronautics had, with AST and HSR, placed the bulk 

of its widely dispersed research into two baskets. As a funding strategy and as 

an organizing principle, it was unsustainable. Even as aeronautics’ budget was 

on the rise, so were expenditures for the International Space Station and Space 

Shuttle. In the competition for program dollars, AST and HSR would not win 

out over the space program. In the end, the mid-decade surge in aeronautics 

funding belied increasingly fragile political and Agency support.

The end of the Cold War was the most fundamental shift in the history of 

NASA’s aeronautics program. Viewed from the present, it may be difficult to 

grasp the importance of the USSR’s aeronautics and military programs as an 

overwhelming justification for NASA’s own research. However, when it came 

to aeronautical R&D, questions about the proper federal role in R&D or commercial utility were trumped by the more primal goal of ensuring an unassailable 

technological advantage over the Soviet Union. Not all of NASA’s aeronautics 

work was military-related, of course, but many areas had wide applicability 

(e.g., basic wind tunnel research) and so benefited from this logic. The Soviet 

Union’s collapse brought discussion of a peace dividend through a reduction in 

security-related expenditures. Directly, NASA had to explain why aeronautics 

research was still essential despite a clear and growing technological gap between 

the United States and any potential enemy on the horizon. Indirectly, NASA’s 

aeronautics programs were beginning to see fewer military development programs. Without a security imperative, justifications for NASA fell more heavily 

on commerce, thus inviting questions about the appropriate role of the federal 
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

government in commercially oriented R&D. The drop in military programs 

also had a colossal impact on NASA’s industrial partners, triggering a wave of 

consolidation that left the field with half as many players as in the 1980s and, 

in like fashion, reducing the breadth of lobbying on NASA’s behalf.1

Even as the pipeline for new fighters and bombers slowed to a trickle, the 

environment for nurturing commercial development became more complicated. 

In the area of large commercial aircraft, Airbus was no longer a governmentsubsidized anomaly feeding off the scraps of Boeing, Lockheed, and McDonnell 

Douglas. Airbus was gaining significant market share and finally had a product 

that was selling briskly. Its A320 narrow-body aircraft with an efficient wing and 

digital fly-by-wire controls put U.S. airframe manufacturers on the defensive. 

From 1979 to 1989, the American share of the world civilian aerospace market 

had declined from 76 percent to 58 percent, while the European share had risen 

from 22 percent to 37 percent.2

 By 1992, American concern over Airbus and 

the launch aid it received from European member companies led to a bilateral 

accord between the European Union (EU) and the United States. European 

governments were limited to financing 33 percent of development costs, aid 

that was to be repaid with interest if the aircraft made money. The Europeans, 

for their part, demanded and received an upper limit to the amount of R&D 

aid that could come from the U.S. government (set at 3 percent of the industry’s 

large commercial aircraft turnover).3 Thus, at a time when American aircraft 

manufacturers were threatened by foreign competition on the one hand and 

reduced military expenditures on the other, the United States could not appear 

hypocritical about corporate subsidy. NASA’s commercially oriented R&D ran 

the risk of undermining the United States’ opposition to European launch 

 1. Lockheed purchased General Dynamics’ military aircraft division in 1993. In 1994, Northrop pur
Chapter 6: The Icarus Decade

177

aid. Furthermore, as the commercial aircraft industry consolidated (Lockheed 

did not produce another commercial aircraft after the L-1011, and Boeing 

purchased McDonnell Douglas in 1997), there remained only one domestic 

beneficiary of NASA’s research on large commercial aircraft. Short of limiting 

work to safety issues, propulsion, small aircraft, military research, and air traffic 

control, doing something for the good of the industry really meant doing something for the good of Boeing. Although the 1992 bilateral accord held until the 

next decade, there could be little question that any attack on EU subsidies would 

invite a similar scrutiny of the U.S. government’s various R&D programs. This 

is exactly what came to pass in the following decade when, as Airbus attained 

a majority of the large commercial aircraft market, President George W. Bush’s 

administration chose to press the issue.4

In spite of what were sea changes to the macro-political and economic 

environment for aeronautics, the impact on NASA initially was muted by a 

favorable attitude toward federal R&D (and science funding in general) under 

President William Jefferson Clinton, as well as a robust economy for part of 

the decade. Indeed, the Clinton White House specifically saw federal R&D as 

a necessary input to the health of the private sector.5

 With regard to support 

for the country’s commercial aircraft manufacturers, Clinton was initially very 

 4. The U.S. filed its dispute (a procedure that begins with a “request for consultations”) with the 
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

critical of the bilateral agreement and argued that the United States needed 

to match Europe’s industrial support. After meeting with industry representatives, the President chose to overlook the issue of subsidies. NASA’s aeronautics 

funding reached its highest point the following year (figure 6.1).6

Another of Clinton’s early decisions, however, had long-term ramifications 

for the aeronautics budget: continuing to build the Space Station. Survival of 

the Space Station, a program that dated to the Reagan presidency, was hardly 

assured when Clinton assumed office. Clinton did agree to a leaner, “costeffective design” and, in his budget proposal, gave NASA $2.1 billion of the 

$2.3 billion that it requested for the Station.7

 The Space Station would, not 

surprisingly, suffer cost overruns, a trajectory that put it on a collision course 

with aeronautics’ growing appetite. 

Against the broad trends in politics and markets in the 1990s, changes 

were also afoot in how NASA operated. Dan Goldin, appointed to the post 

of Administrator by George H. W. Bush in 1992, sought to make NASA 

more efficient and businesslike. Goldin’s own career had taken him through 

NASA, where he was once an engineer at Lewis in the early 1960s, to TRW 

Aeronautical Systems, where he was vice president and general manager of the 

Space Technology Group. “Faster, better, cheaper,” became the Agency’s unofficial (and borrowed) motto, and though Goldin’s primary concern was space, 

the organizational changes were widespread.8

 Among Goldin’s reforms were a 

greater reliance on subcontracting to the private sector, implementation of strategic management methodologies, and a preference for what were perceived as 

lower-cost (yet technically advanced) technologies.9 Goldin, specifically chosen 

by Vice President Dan Quayle to shake things up, came to symbolize drastic 

change at NASA, although his key efforts sometimes reflected wider movements within the federal government. For example, both the Clinton White 

House and Republican fiscal conservatives championed a more responsive, 

 6. Gwen Ifill, “Clinton to Fight Foreign Subsidies,” 
Chapter 6: The Icarus Decade

179

Figure 6.1. Aeronautics Program Budget, 1990–2000. 

(Figures provided by the Office of Aerospace Technology, NASA.) 

slimmed-down bureaucracy with emphasis on increased public-private partnerships and modern business methods, such as total quality control.10 The 

problem of the faster, better, cheaper approach was that while this might have 

been an entirely appropriate response to large, bureaucratic space programs, 

the aeronautics branch had a long history of being smaller and cheaper (though 

not necessarily faster). Beyond NASP, aeronautics did not have the budgetary 

wherewithal to create large, ongoing programs. Ironically, aeronautics programs in the Goldin era became larger and more expensive.

Goldin’s “strategic management” was an organizational framework for 

establishing long-term priorities (and consequently budgetary goals), as well 

as benchmarks for evaluating progress. The Agency reorganized itself around 

the concept of “Enterprise Management,” i.e., Headquarters and four to five 

Enterprise groups (depending on the timeframe): Mission to Planet Earth, 

Aeronautics, Human Exploration & Development of Space, and Space 

Science.11 Consistent with the organizational evolution that had been in the 

works over the prior decades, the strategic management reorganization further centralized research administration. The NASA Administrator was now 

10. Butrica, Single Stage to Orbit, pp. 150–151, 172–174.

11. NASA, Strategic Management Handbook, October 1996.
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

ensconced within a planning apparatus, surrounded by top-level planning 

committees with soft organizational links to the Centers (e.g., Center Directors 

served on the Senior Management Council, which was an advisory body to 

the Executive Council and Administrator). At the Enterprise Management 

level, the Enterprise Associate Administrators were the “customer interface” for 

NASA. The Enterprise areas were NASA’s “primary business areas for implementing NASA’s mission and serving customers.”12

Piled on top of Goldin’s business-minded reforms was a dose of new congressionally mandated oversight. The Government Performance Results Act of 

1993 (GPRA), seeking to root out “waste and inefficiency in Federal programs,” 

imposed a new system of performance accounting.13 For NASA, GPRA meant 

that research programs had to establish performance benchmarks at the outset 

(extending a minimum of five years into the future) and report on the degree 

to which such benchmarks had been achieved. The Office of Management 

and Budget would administer GPRA compliance. In the context of scientific 

and technological research, where subjects are studied precisely because they 

are unknown, GPRA perversely asked NASA to specify and meet outcomes 

that could not be predicted. Truly, the contrast with the early days of NASA 

could not be greater. Where branch managers and Center Directors once evaluated the performance of their in-house research programs, OMB and NASA 

Headquarters now evaluated research efficacy by using data from “objective, 

quantifiable, and measurable” goals. It not only added to the costs of research 

administration at Headquarters, but it required a significant amount of upfront planning and continued reporting paperwork on the part of researchers.

Complicating the picture of NASA policy-making, President Clinton added 

a new voice when he established the National Science and Technology Council 

(NSTC) as part of the President’s Office of Science and Technology Policy in 

1993. While the NSTC may have had the effect of burying space policy deeper 

within the White House administration, it created another forum for discussing aeronautics R&D policy.14 In 1994, the NSTC created a Committee on 

Transportation R&D.15 This committee resembled the original NACA main 

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committee established in 1915 in that it created a small, high-level committee to 

advise the executive branch. It differed in that it was not restricted to aviation, 

it was not heavily weighted by defense interests, and it did not have representation from the private sector. Still, it gave NASA’s aeronautics policy the kind of 

standing high-level platform that it had lacked since at least the institution of 

NASA. The Committee would issue its first set of recommendations in 1997 

(“Transportation Science and Technology Strategy”), and two more reports in 

1999 (“Transportation Strategic Research Plan” and “Transportation Science 

and Technology Strategy”). Aside from the specific recommendations, what is 

distinctive is the emphasis placed on “users, industry, and other stakeholders” in 

defining national goals, as well as the use of “partnership initiatives” to pursue 

R&D.16 Users, industry, and stakeholders were to identify the most pressing 

projects, and the programs were to be implemented as public-private initiatives 

that would guide and carry out the R&D. The NSTC’s recommendations fit 

squarely with the Administration’s broader goal of “reinventing government.”

Aeronautics’ Big Programs

The most unusual feature of the aeronautics programs in the 1990s was the 

move to concentrate most of the nonbase funding into two major programs: 

AST and HSR.

Packaged programs, like AST and HSR, were not new. The Aircraft Energy 

Efficiency Program (ACEE) had, in the 1970s, ushered in the strategy of cobbling smaller programs together in order to address pressing national needs. 

In looking at separate programs, Congress might not have recognized that 

NASA was, in fact, doing something about energy efficiency, but AST and 

HSR took the idea much further, becoming umbrella programs for nearly 

everything aeronautics related. As table 6.1 shows, by 1996, AST, HSR, and 

the Numerical Aerodynamic Simulation program were the only three major 

the Department of Commerce (1), the Department of Transportation (4, including the Chair), 

OMB (1), the EPA (1), the Department of Energy (1), NSF (1), the Department of Defense (1), 

NASA (1, the Vice-Chair), and OSTP (1, White House Co-Chair). See also National Science and 

Technology Council, Committee on Technology, Subcommittee on Transportation R&D, “National 

Transportation Science and Technology Strategy,” April 1999.

16. The mandate of the subcommittee was to “ensure that Federal investment in transportation R&D 

is (1) coordinated to ensure efficient use of Federal funds aimed at this mission; (2) focused on 

projects identified by users, industry, and other stakeholders as being the most critical to achieving success in agencies’ missions; and (3) limited to areas where it is clear that major public 

benefits can only be achieved through cost-shared Federal research.” OSTP “Transportation 

Science and Technology Strategy,” p. iii.
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Table 6.1. Primary Aeronautics Budgets at NASA, 1990–2000 (millions of dollars)

1990 1991 1992 1993 1994 1995 1996 1997 1998 1999 2000

AST (Advanced Subsonic Technology) 5.0 12.4 89.3 125.8 169.8 173.6 144.4 89.6

HSR (High-Speed Research) 24.5 44.0 76.4 117.0 197.2 221.3 233.3 243.1 245.0 180.7

NAS (Numerical Aerodynamic Simulation)

41.8 44.1 45.4 47.9 48.1 46.2 48.1 38.6

Rotorcraft 3.6 5.1 4.9 7.0

HPAST (High Performance Aircraft Systems Technology)

9.7 10.5 10.7 12.1

AdvProp (Advanced Propulsion System Technology)

13.1 15.0 15.2 16.9

MatStruct (Materials and Structural Systems Technology)

28.1 39.9 37.5 36.6 25.7 24.3

AeroSP (Aerospace Plane Technology)

59.0 95.0 4.1 20.0

HypSonic (Hypersonic Program) 33.1 26.0

AvSafety (Aviation Safety) 64.3UEET (Ultra-Efficient Engine Technology)

68.3

AvSyCap (Aviation Systems Capacity) 56.7 53.9 62.9

QuietAc (Quiet Aircraft Technology) 18.3

R&TBase (Research and Technology Base)

321.8 336.4 343.3 451.5 420.3 354.3 430.6 404.2 428.3 424.1 405.8

Source: Figures provided by the Office of Aerospace Technology, NASA.
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programs beyond base funding. Six other major programs had their funding 

eliminated, although what actually happened in many cases is that HSR and 

AST (primarily the latter) picked up elements of the old programs. Rotorcraft, 

for example, gained funding for civil tilt-rotors from AST’s short-haul aircraft 

program. This new gambit also differed from the ACEE in that it did not 

address a pressing national problem, such as an energy shortage, and did not 

have easily identifiable end products. To be sure, the two programs did have 

concrete goals that they sought to meet, such as a 30-decibel reduction in perceived commercial aircraft noise, but as large packages, the collective impact 

did not present a unified image. Rather, the effort was diffuse, and as AST 

accrued new programs along the way and as HSR’s timeline began to stretch 

out into the next millennium, these appeared to have no certain end point.

Advanced Subsonic Technology

The Advanced Subsonic Technology program had a gestation period of nearly 

a decade before NASA and OMB decided to fund it. Since 1983, NASA’s 

aeronautics leadership had repeatedly asked for an expanded subsonic research 

program aimed at advancing the state of commercial aircraft. On the face of it, 

this should have been an easy sell; the subsonic category was the entire commercial market. If NASA was to help maintain the country’s technological leadership, surely this segment demanded significant attention. Conspiring against 

the subsonic program were a few factors. The 1980s budget environment was 

particularly hostile to precisely this kind of federally funded research. Fiscal 

conservatives saw this as research that private industry should be conducting 

on its own and with its own funds. Others believed that NASA researchers 

needed to take greater risks, to address technological areas that the market had 

difficulty addressing on its own (e.g., supersonic research). Subsonic research, 

especially approaches that sought incremental improvements to the state of the 

art, had little revolutionary appeal. To put it more simply, AST was not the kind 

of research that fired the imagination. In 1990, the Aeronautics Directorate 

put together a $642 million program that stretched over five years, only to see 

it reduced by Headquarters and OMB to $120 million with only $17 million 

actually being allocated.17

The major factor behind AST’s acceptance was the Clinton administration’s 

and President Clinton’s own desire to see NASA do more for the commercial 

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aircraft industry. Clinton was mindful of the jobs that were being lost as 

McDonnell Douglas ceded more and more market share to Airbus. As old 

as AST was, it seemed tailor-made for the Clinton administration.18 AST’s 

ramp-up began slowly with $5 million budgeted in 1992 for aging aircraft 

research and fly-by-light/power-by-wire. The latter was an innovative approach 

to controlling aircraft systems with fiber-optic signaling and using electrical 

power in lieu of hydraulic systems.19 The same two programs continued into 

1993. The sea change came in 1994 with the introduction of eight new areas: 

noise reduction, terminal area productivity, integrated wing design, propulsion, short-haul aircraft, technology integration and environmental impact, 

environmental research aircraft and remote sensor technology, and composites. 

In 1999, the program was restructured into five areas: safety, environment, 

economics, reduced seat cost, and aviation systems capacity. By 2000, AST 

had been, in name and in much of the research it funded, eliminated.20 The 

breadth of AST research precludes a comprehensive investigation here; two 

programs, composite materials research and noise research, will illustrate the 

character of the AST program.

Composites

Composite material research had long been a part of materials research at 

Langley. Composites were, as noted earlier, part of the ACEE program of the 

1970s; work continued under the Advance Composite Technology (ACT) 

Program in the late 1980s. Prior to being incorporated into AST in 1996, the 

ACT program was funded to a level of between $10 and $30 million per year 

starting in 1989. Since the 1970s, composites had made large inroads into aircraft designs, their strength and lightness well proven by the early 1990s. One 

of the major impediments to more extensive use, however, was the high cost 

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of manufacture. Reducing these costs through innovative fabrication methods 

was the prime focus of the ACT and AST composites study. NASA and its 

industrial partner, McDonnell Douglas (Boeing after the 1997 merger), chose 

to investigate a stitched, resin film infusion (S/RFI) composite wing. Instead 

of mechanical fasteners, such as rivets, the wing would be produced by stitching dry pieces of carbon fiber together, infusing the assembly with resin, and 

hardening the entire structure in an autoclave. S/RFI was ambitious, as was 

the decision to build an entire wing. The goal of the program was to create a 

wing that was 25 percent lighter, 20 percent less expensive to produce, and 4 

percent less expensive to maintain.21

Langley oversaw the project, a large portion of which was subcontracted to 

McDonnell Douglas and carried out at company facilities in Long Beach and 

St. Louis (what Boeing would eventually call the Phantom Works Divisions). 

Structural testing would take place at Langley’s labs. The wing that Langley 

and the Phantom Works engineers chose was a modified MD-90 wing (the 

MD-90 was a derivative of the Douglas DC-9). This saved them the trouble 

of designing an entirely new wing, but, more importantly, gave them a set of 

performance/cost benchmarks for judging the advantages of the S/RFI process. 

Phantom Works made some changes in the wing to accommodate manufacturing limitations but also took advantage of the new material’s greater stiffness, 

creating a more slender and higher performance wing.22

The fabrication of the wing involved a large, specially designed and built, 

computer-controlled stitching machine. This was the third purpose-built 

stitching machine procured by NASA for the ACT program. Known as the 

Advanced Stitching Machine (ASM), it was a joint project of the Ingersoll 

Milling Machine Company and Pathe Technologies. ASM was an evolved 

design and incorporated lessons learned about needle design, sewing thread 

construction, and the handling of preformed materials.23

The Phantom Works team built a semispan composite test section and 

delivered it to Langley for structural analysis.24 The team also built scores of 

“Design Development Test Articles,” much smaller subassemblies that could 

be individually tested for various structural performance parameters (e.g., 

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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

strength, durability, or damage tolerance).25 The team performed tests on the 

materials to understand how the resin flowed, how the fabric became saturated, 

and how it all cured under different production conditions. Additionally, the 

team evaluated the amount of savings in terms of reduced fasteners (an indirect 

measure of actual fabrication costs).26 The finished product actually achieved 

a weight reduction of over 29 percent.27 Extrapolating from learning curves, 

the program estimated a cost savings of 19.6 percent on the S/RFI wing box.28

Structurally, the wing passed all of its tests and made it to 97 percent of its 2.5-g 

“design ultimate load” in the last, wing-up-bending test to failure.29 From 1989 

to 1997, expenditures on composite research, of which the ACT program was 

the primary component, topped $200 million.30 There was consideration of a 

follow-on composite fuselage manufacturing program, but Boeing ultimately 

performed this research in-house with its own funds.31

Noise Reduction

Like the composite research, the AST noise program was part of a long line 

of noise-reduction research stretching back to the 1960s. Unlike the stitchedwing research, the noise program employed a shotgun approach to finding 

potential solutions. The program’s goal was to achieve a 30-EPNdB (effective 

perceived noise level in decibels) reduction relative to the state of the art in 

1992. Because no single technology would achieve this, the results would 

have to be pieced together through an assortment of technical and operational 

tricks. NASA conducted the program jointly with the FAA and partnered 

with four engine manufacturers: General Electric and Pratt & Whitney for 

large engines and Honeywell and Rolls-Royce for smaller engines. Langley 

oversaw the program and performed airframe analyses and scale testing of 

noise-reduction devices. The Glenn Research Center, formerly Lewis, conducted engine noise-reduction tests and furthered computational methods 

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for predicting noise impact. Ames focused on computer analyses of airframe 

noise and carried out scale tests of devices.32

The program sought noise reduction in four areas: engines, nacelles and 

liners, the airframe, and community measures. Approximately 75 percent of 

the AST noise-reduction resources were focused on propulsion, the principal 

source of noise. Propulsion noise has evolved over the years with the growth of 

high-bypass turbojet engines. With these engines, most of the airflow comes 

from the large, slow-moving fan blades rather than the turbine core. Jet engines 

have grown quieter simply because the bypass air provides a smoother exhaust 

transition for the very turbulent gases of the engine core. As noise from the 

core has been reduced, noise from the fan has increased. Low-bypass engines 

have a distinct low-frequency rumble or roar, while high-bypass engines have 

higher-pitched whines. The remaining noise arises from the airframe, especially 

wing flaps and landing gear, as they are extended into the airstream during 

takeoff and landing.33

For airframe noise, researchers studied porous flaps and a cove filler for 

the leading-edge slat.34 For engine noise suppression, they examined the use 

of scarf inlets, in which the lower portion of the inlet juts forward to bounce 

noise skyward, and better nacelle liners. Herschel-Quincke tubes were used 

to create tones that would passively suppress engine noise.35 They tested the 

use of active noise control (creating out-of-phase sound waves), a technique 

they abandoned partway through the program. They looked at using different 

shapes on the engine stators (the nonmoving blades within the engine) and fan 

blades. They examined chevrons on the engine nozzles, where the air exhausts 

and mixes with outside air.36

Overall, the program had mixed success in meeting noise targets for all the 

engine/airframe combinations. Of the five configurations, one exceeded the 

program goal (30 EPNdB); two met the minimum goal (21 EPNdB); one 

fell just shy of the minimum; and one, the smallest engine, fell well short. 

As had been the case in noise reduction dating to the 1970s, the largest gains 

came simply from adopting the latest engines, which had higher bypass ratios. 

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This is why the smallest engine combination showed the least improvement.37

Regardless of the actual benchmark results (which likely had greater significance to Headquarters than industry), joint industry-NASA research resumed 

in 2000 with the Quiet Technology Demonstrator (QTD) program. QTD 

tested a Boeing 777 with a Rolls-Royce Trent 800 engine incorporating nacelle 

and nozzle modifications. These tests, like the original AST tests, yielded significant noise reductions.38 A second project, QTD2, partnered NASA, Boeing, 

General Electric, and the Goodrich Corporation. QTD2 used a GE90 (the 

class used in the AST research) with modified nacelles and nozzles. The landing 

gear included fairings to reduce airframe noise.39 Some of these technologies 

were to see their operational use on the Boeing 787.40

High-Speed Research

HSR as a program idea dated to the 1980s, although its technical roots stretched 

back to the original SST program of the 1960s. It was another attempt at 

designing an American supersonic commercial aircraft, albeit one that overcame the environmental and economic roadblocks that led to the cancellation 

of earlier work. Within NASA, and especially at Langley, support for supersonic 

commercial aircraft had never gone away. There was always a contingent hoping 

to revive American efforts. A window opened in the early 1980s when an advisory committee to the White House’s Office of Science and Technology Policy 

called on NASA to take a bolder approach to the nation’s aeronautics future.41

NASA’s Aeronautics Directorate initiated a series of design studies, calling on 

McDonnell Douglas and Boeing to examine the feasibility of a commercially 

viable high-speed civil transport (HSCT). Simultaneously, Reagan’s DARPAinspired NASP came at NASA from another angle. NASP lent momentum to 

the civil transport, though NASA’s engineers did not give much credence to a 

hypersonic commercial passenger vehicle. Nevertheless, all speed ranges above 

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(NASA image EL-1998-00237)

Figure 6.2. High Speed Research model in Langley’s 14-by-22-foot tunnel, 1995.

Mach 1 were on the table. Ultimately, the contractors and Langley’s own group 

all concluded that a supersonic aircraft traveling between Mach 2 and Mach 

3.2 was viable and could enter service around the turn of the century, as long 

as the environmental problems could be solved. Of these, there were three: 

airport noise, sonic booms, and atmospheric ozone depletion.42

Congress and the White House green-lighted HSR for fiscal year 1990, 

letting NASA proceed with an initial phase that examined whether researchers could overcome the environmental roadblocks. The airport noise problem 

arose because the best engines for supersonic speeds were low-bypass turbofans. 

Without remediation, the hot, high-speed exhaust mixed turbulently with 

the cool outside air. General Electric and Pratt & Whitney, the two engine 

manufacturers, explored different ways to more smoothly mix the exhaust with 

the outside air. Another team looked at different engine designs, searching for 

one that did not have such hot, fast exhaust in the first place. In the end, they 

decided that a “mixed flow” turbine with a mixed nozzle would achieve the 

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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

noise reductions required.43 On the matter of sonic booms, the researchers took 

two approaches, hoping to find out what level of boom was acceptable to the 

public (none) and how much the boom could be reduced. The outcome of this 

was that the sonic boom problem was not solved (i.e., even after technical mitigation, people still perceived the booms as too loud). However, the economic 

viability of a purely over-water HSCT (where sonic booms would be heard 

only by marine animals and ocean liners) meant that HSCT could continue.44

Finally, on the question of damage to the ozone, the teams used a combination 

of atmospheric measurements, databases and predictive models, and tests of 

engine combustors to determine that an ozone-neutral HSCT was possible.45

With a sufficient level of technical confidence achieved in phase 1, NASA 

began lobbying for the riskier and costlier phase 2, which sought to develop 

the key technologies that would make the HSCT possible. Making the phase 2 

budget more palatable was an agreement from the industrial partners to help 

fund the research. This not only reduced NASA’s costs but was also a litmus 

test for confidence in the project; industry was putting its money where its 

mouth was. Phase 2 moved forward in 1993, receiving support from industry, 

Goldin, and OMB.46 The main technological sticking points tended to be in 

materials, which, for both the airframe and the engines, needed to be both 

lightweight and able to withstand very high temperatures. The program did 

a broad search of lightweight, high-temperature-compatible materials for the 

airframe and settled on a composite called PETI-5. The engines and the nozzles 

likewise required special attention in design and materials, especially the combustors. Thrust, weight, emissions, and operational durability all had to hit 

their targets, or the aircraft would not make money.47 Although Langley, Lewis 

(now Glenn), and the industrial partners were making real progress chipping 

away at the technical issues, they were not keeping to their schedule. The timeline for entry into production was stretching out into the future. More time 

and more money would be needed than originally were planned for phase 2. 

Complicating the program was the likelihood that noise restrictions would be 

stricter by the time the HSCT entered service, an ominous turn for a technol-

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ogy that was using every means possible to meet existing regulations. Boeing, 

considering the noise issue and concerns about engine performance figures, lost 

enthusiasm for the project. Additionally, top-level support at NASA began to 

wane as the Space Station consumed more of the Agency’s focus and budget. 

Not long thereafter, in 1998, HSR came to a close.48

Following the 1990s, there was a very modest revival of supersonic research, 

this time for a business jet-sized aircraft that would serve a very exclusive 

market segment. Of particular importance would be the sonic boom abatement 

measures. Beyond this, the large commercial manufacturers made no plans for 

supersonic transports. Boeing briefly entertained a sleek aircraft it called the 

“Sonic Cruiser,” but this would have flown only in the high subsonic range.

UH-60 Airloads

The UH-60 Airloads program, a rotorcraft project jointly funded by NASA 

and the U.S. Army, was in terms of funding almost trivial compared to the vast 

AST and HSR programs. It turned out to be one of the two most important 

rotorcraft programs of the NASA era, the other being the XV-15 tilt-rotor.49

Where the tilt-rotor attacked the developmental problems of a creating a practical vehicle, the Airloads program was a fundamental baseline study that produced a new and valuable performance dataset. The Airloads data would be 

at the heart of a whole new generation of rotorcraft research, especially more 

accurate CFD models of blade and helicopter performance. Despite the subsequent importance of the project, it lost funding even before it had begun data 

collection. It was a victim of both a prolonged gestation period and external 

budget pressures.

The original vision in the early 1980s was to conduct a battery of flight 

tests, wind tunnel tests, scale-model tests, and flutter tests across a variety 

of rotors. Called the “Modern Technology Rotors Program,” its researchers 

planned to generate new performance data, updating work that had been 

done two decades earlier with older generations of helicopter blades. The best 

known of the earlier studies was work done by James Scheiman at Langley on 

an H-34 rotor system in mid-1960s. The H-34 rotor was also tested in the 

Ames 40-by-80-foot tunnel, providing additional data for cross-referencing. 

The H-34, however, was not a modern helicopter and was hardly cutting-edge 

when Scheiman ran his tests. The H-34 first flew in the mid-1950s and was 

powered by a radial piston engine. The Modern Technology Rotors Program 

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(NASA image AC93-0010-34)

 Figure 6.3. Sikorsky UH-60 Airloads helicopter flying above Ames Laboratory, 1993.

would not only use rotorcraft with much newer blades but would benefit from 

advanced instrumentation. The Sikorsky UH-60A, the new workhorse for the 

military, became the program’s first test subject.50

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In 1985, NASA and the Army contracted with Sikorsky for a special set of 

UH-60A blades. One blade would have 242 pressure transducers to measure 

the air pressure around the blade’s airfoil, and the other would have strain 

gauges and accelerometers. It was 1988 before Sikorsky delivered the blades. 

Unfortunately, it took the researchers and technicians at Ames another four 

years before they had a working helicopter. The problem was integrating all the 

spinning instrumentation and reliably collecting the data as they came in from 

the sensors. By the close of 1992, the Ames team finally had a working Rotating 

Data Acquisition System, so flight testing was set for the following summer. 

In May 1993, the program lost its funding, but with the fiscal year ending 30 

September, there was still time to squeeze in some flight testing covering four 

program flight objectives. Scrounging for funds elsewhere, NASA was able to 

support continued flights through February 1994, covering an additional 26 

test objectives. In total, the program yielded some 36 gigabytes of test data (a 

vast quantity at the time).51

The Airloads program was a far cry from what had been envisioned originally. Instead of seven or more rotorcraft, it ended up with one. Instead of a 

battery of tests (flight tests, wind tunnel, etc.), the program ended up with 

only flight-test data, but the data were, according to the researchers, pure 

gold. Combined with maturing CFD capabilities, the data took on even 

greater importance, for they could be used to refine and validate predictive 

codes.52 Funding for the program came entirely out of the base rotorcraft 

budget and, over the life of the program, was estimated to be on the order 

of $10 million.53

In spite of the eventual success of the Airloads program, rotorcraft research 

took a grave turn in the following decade. NASA decided to discontinue support for all rotorcraft activities for fiscal year 2002, and the Agency closed 

the critical 40-by-80-by-120-foot wind tunnel in 2003. Aeronautics was 

certainly under immense budgetary pressure, but rotorcraft lacked sufficient 

Department of the Army and NASA, Ames Research Center, Moffett Field, CA, 17–19 March 

1987, NASA CP-2495), pp. 1234–1273.

 51. Although 36 gigabytes is not large by contemporary standards, it was a large dataset at the time 

and required special hardware for storage. Bousman, “UH-60A”; Warmbrodt interview.

 52. In the words of rotorcraft researcher Wayne Johnson, “UH-60 Airloads program...is now considered a premier database and is driving the CFD development throughout the U.S.” See Wayne 

Johnson interview. The Airloads program data are described in William G. Bousman, “UH-60A 

Airloads Program,” Occasional Note 1999–2002, 3 May 1999, ARC.

 53. Warmbrodt interview.
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

political support at Headquarters.54 NASA also might have been hoping that 

the Department of Defense would take up the slack. By 2004, a National 

Research Council committee, invited by NASA to evaluate the Agency’s 

aeronautics program, made the reconstitution of rotorcraft research 1 of 12 

top-level recommendations.55 In 2006, NASA did just that, and to the good 

fortune of the rotorcraft programs, the U.S. Air Force took over the operation 

of the 40-by-80-by-120-foot wind tunnel with a 25-year lease beginning in 

2006.56 The following year, NASA and the Department of the Army penned a 

new memorandum of understanding regarding aeronautics, thus reconfirming 

NASA’s partnership in rotorcraft research.57

General Aviation, Small Turbines, and SATS

NASA has had a long association with the general aviation (GA) segment of 

the commercial aircraft market. General aviation refers to nonmilitary, nonscheduled aircraft flights. It comprises both commercial and noncommercial 

activities and is, for many of the nation’s smaller community airports, their 

primary activity. Although an important economic activity, general aviation 

has been of tertiary importance behind national defense and scheduled commercial travel. Because larger aircraft are already studied under NASA’s military 

and subsonic research programs, GA-specific research has focused on smaller 

aircraft, i.e., business jets to personal aircraft.

The GA market encompasses a number of loosely related segments. The light 

aircraft category, which grew significantly in the post–World War II decades, 

includes small single- and twin-engine models such as Cessna, Piper, and Beech 

aircraft. A dedicated business aircraft market grew in the late 1950s and early 

1960s with Grumman’s Gulfstream division, North American’s Sabreliner, 

and Learjet leading the way. There are niche markets as well, such as bush 

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(NASA image L-74-2499)

Figure 6.4. A general aviation airframe hangs, awaiting a crash landing, in Langley’s massive Impact 

Dynamics Research Facility in 1979.

pilots and crop-dusters. Finally, a home-built market has advanced since the 

1970s, relying heavily on kit-built designs.58 Reflecting this diverse makeup, 

the main political voices of GA have included the small aircraft manufacturers, the National Business Aviation Association, the Airline Owners and Pilots 

Association, and the Experimental Aircraft Association.

Much of NASA’s research associated with general aviation has typically been 

applied rather than fundamental. A good example is Langley’s GA crash testing 

performed over a 30-year period beginning in the 1970s. Such testing examined the survivability of existing aircraft, the verification of predictive computer 

models, the performance of new materials, and new design techniques. At 

the center of these tests was the Impact Dynamics Research Facility (IDRF), 

a 240-foot-high gantry built in the 1960s as part of a lunar lander simulator. 

After the Apollo program, Langley reconfigured the gantry to allow for controlled crashes of small fixed-wing aircraft and helicopters. The initial program, 

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the General Aviation Aircraft Crash Test Program, was a cooperative effort that 

brought together NASA, the FAA (as the regulatory body for aircraft certification and safety procedures), and manufacturers. Starting in 1974 and lasting 

a decade, the program crashed 33 full-scale aircraft. As with the wind tunnels, 

researchers compared actual crash results with computational simulations, thus 

refining mathematical means for predicting structural performance. The facility 

saw occasional use after this initial program, with an additional eight full-scale 

crash tests completed by the time of the IDRF’s closure in 2003.59

Another post-Apollo effort was Lewis’s investigations of general aviation 

propulsion, notably small turbines. Lewis focused on space propulsion in 

the 1960s, so this was a return to atmospheric propulsion in the same vein 

as the advanced turboprop work discussed in chapter 5. Lewis oversaw the 

General Aviation Turbine Engine (GATE) program and the Quiet, Clean 

General Aviation Turbofan (QCGAT) program. The GATE program sought 

to address the dearth of small turbines (and small turbine research at NASA) 

in the GA size range, that is, 1,000 shaft horsepower and below. The program 

underwrote independent paper studies at four companies: Garrett AiResearch, 

Detroit Diesel Allison, Teledyne CAE, and Williams Research. The participants 

paid special attention to ways in which small turbines could be produced 

more economically. All of the participants chose turboprops as the preferred 

configuration, although each employed different means for reducing costs. 

Williams, for example, designed the engine (especially the turbine blades) to 

experience low loads and predicted that this would allow them to use lowercost components and manufacturing processes. QCGAT sought to apply the 

lessons learned from NASA large jet turbine programs (i.e., QCSEE) to small 

turbines. AiResearch and Avco Lycoming both delivered test engines to Lewis 

in 1979. The QCGAT program used existing engine cores, thus reducing 

cost but also reducing the potential for dramatically smaller engines. The two 

engines met all of the noise goals, most of the emissions goals, and some of 

the performance goals.60

In the early 1980s, the market for light aircraft (i.e., primarily piston-engine 

models) crashed. Sales peaked in 1978 and 1979 (just as GATE and QCGAT 

were under way) with over 17,000 shipments each year and then dropped 

precipitously. By 1983, GA shipments were below 3,000; the industry reached 

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bottom in 1992 at 899 shipments. The impact on the light aircraft industry 

was predictably dramatic. Cessna ceased production of piston-engine aircraft 

in 1986. Beech closed factories. Piper declared bankruptcy in 1991. Numerous 

other manufacturers, such as Bellanca, Fairchild, and Rockwell, fell by the 

wayside or departed the field. Cessna and Beech survived, in part, because they 

were no longer independent companies; Raytheon purchased Beech in 1980, 

and General Dynamics purchased Cessna in 1985 (and subsequently sold it 

to another conglomerate, Textron, in 1992). Both manufacturers shifted their 

product lines toward the growing business jet market.61

There were a number of causes for the market collapse. Some observers 

pointed to a lack of innovation by traditional GA manufacturers or to the 

indirect effects of airline deregulation. The manufacturers pointed their fingers squarely at the rising cost of aviation litigation. Not only were aviation 

lawsuits on the rise through the 1970s, but general aviation aircraft also had 

long lifespans. Manufacturers were finding themselves the target of lawsuits 

for aircraft produced decades earlier, and, with each passing year, the burden 

only increased. Liability insurance had become a significant fraction of each 

new aircraft sold, sometimes doubling the cost. Furthermore, these new aircraft 

had to compete against a vibrant used-aircraft market.

As traditional manufacturers receded from the market, home-built designs 

surged. The home-built market benefited not simply from its do-it-yourself 

character, but also from FAA rules that reduced upfront and operating costs as 

long as owners built at least 51 percent of the aircraft. Aircraft sold as kits and 

assembled by owner-builders did not require that manufacturers carry liability insurance. Further, the FAA allowed home-builders to perform their own 

maintenance. On top of the cost advantages, the home-built sector was strongly 

experimental, with designers such as Burt Rutan pushing novel materials (composites) and configurations (canards) that gave vitality to the home-built segment. By comparison, the traditional light aircraft manufacturers focused on 

incremental improvements to tried-and-true designs and fabrication methods.

It was not until the 1990s that the government moved to address the problems of the GA industry. Congress passed, and President Clinton signed, the 

General Aviation Revitalization Act (GARA) in 1994, which protected manufacturers from liability for aircraft older than 18 years. After GARA, Cessna 

reentered the piston-aircraft market. The delivery of piston aircraft accelerated, 

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but it did not approach the levels reached two decades prior.62 The FAA also 

worked to stimulate the GA market, planning in the 1990s for a new category of aircraft and pilot licensing called, respectively, the Light Sport Aircraft 

category and the Sport Pilot Certificate. Released in 2004, these programs 

attempted to simplify regulations and encourage the manufacture of a new 

class of cost-sensitive aircraft and the growth of a new generation of pilots.63

NASA, for its part, reorganized and reenergized its GA research. The centerpiece of the 1990s was the Advanced General Aviation Transport Experiments 

(AGATE) program. AGATE sought to provide technologies meant to accompany the GA renaissance. Under AGATE, Langley expanded the crash-test 

program to include new aircraft, some of them composite designs, some of 

them from newer manufacturers that had begun as kit-aircraft businesses.64

Lewis, as part of its role in AGATE, reprised its small turbine support with 

a General Aviation Propulsion (GAP) program. Through the 1980s, Williams 

Research, now Williams International, continued work on small turbines and 

found a successful design in its FJ44 engine. Cessna used the Williams engine 

in its expanding line of economical business jets. Under GAP, Lewis sponsored 

a four-year program at Williams to produce an even smaller turbine, one appropriate for a four- to six-person aircraft. The result was the FJX-2. Williams 

attempted to nurture interest in the engine by demonstrating smaller turbines 

in prototype jets, dubbed V-Jets. The V-Jet II, in fact, was an all-composite 

aircraft designed and built by Burt Rutan’s Scaled Composites.65

From all of this sprang a new category of aircraft, the very light jet, or VLJ. 

In 1998, a new company called Eclipse Aviation opened. The company’s business plan was to take the V-Jet II and, through lean manufacturing techniques, 

produce the design in high numbers and at low cost. The company hoped to 

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create a new group of small aircraft owners who flew their own VLJs, and they 

also sought to spur the rise of VLJ air taxi services.66 A number of competing 

manufacturers entered, or attempted to enter, the same market space over the 

next decade, including Adam Aircraft Industries with its A700, Cessna with 

its Model 510 Mustang, and Piper with its Piperjet.67 Williams’s FJ33 engine 

found competition from Pratt & Whitney, which brought its small turbofan to 

the market early the following century. The VLJ market, unfortunately, existed 

in large part on credit that was financing both the new manufacturers and the 

air taxi operations. When the market for VLJs did not grow as fast as anticipated, and when the credit markets seized in 2008, only established operations 

remained standing. Both Eclipse and Adam Aircraft entered bankruptcy, as did 

some VLJ air taxi operations.68

The VLJ market, if not as large as hoped, became an established category in 

no small measure because of the developmental engine efforts of NASA. NASA 

partnered well and nurtured the technology in step with the manufacturers, but 

NASA researchers also began to cast about for ways in which to make flying 

more accessible. General aviation’s popularity and usage was limited in part by 

the cost of owning or renting an aircraft, as well as the high training requirements and safety concerns. As the AGATE program drew to a close in 2001, 

Langley’s general aviation researchers began a successor program that focused 

on creating system-level technologies to make flying small aircraft easier and 

safer. This was the Small Aircraft Transportation System, or SATS.69

As a program, SATS adopted what had worked well under AGATE, 

namely, the close partnering with industry, universities, and trade associations. 

Partnering had numerous advantages. Technically, it eased the two-way flow 

of information between researchers in industry and NASA. This was especially 

important for a developmental project that sought to stimulate innovation 

among the manufacturers. Further, there were political advantages since bringing many companies on board across a wide geographic area naturally increased 

(but did not assure) the program’s political backing. With SATS, Langley and 

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the National Consortium for Aviation Mobility established six laboratories in 

the central and eastern United States.70

At a general level, the intention of SATS was to help create a system of 

“personalized air travel,” one that took advantage of the country’s thousands of 

general aviation airports in suburban and rural areas. If the AGATE program 

had, among other things, helped create low-cost jets that seated as many people 

as a family car, the SATS program sought to reduce the barriers that discouraged wide use of such aircraft. Congress and the White House had done their 

part in reducing manufacturer’s liability. NASA and manufacturers had come 

out with advanced new aircraft that were safer and, arguably, more affordable 

than earlier models. SATS took on the next challenge: making flying as casual 

and easy as hopping in a car. SATS ran from 2001 to 2006, and it focused on 

four areas. First, SATS searched for ways for people to use the many GA airports that lacked traditional navigational aids (e.g., instrument landing systems 

or ILS, radar, and control towers) in conditions of low visibility. Researchers 

sought a standard to allow operations down to a 200-foot ceiling and half a 

mile of visibility. Second, they sought to increase the number of aircraft that 

could simultaneously use such airports. During periods when instrument flight 

rules were in effect, such airports were restricted to one aircraft movement 

(e.g., landing) at a time, greatly decreasing throughput. Third, SATS examined 

ways to make flying easier and safer for less proficient pilots. Finally, SATS 

researchers sought to make this new system integrate seamlessly within the 

existing airspace system.71

Fortunately for SATS, a new navigational technology was coming online 

that gave aircraft more accurate positioning information, something that would 

be critical for landing at airports without ILS equipment. In 2003, the FAA 

began operation of the GPS Wide Area Augmentation System (WAAS), which 

measures variations in GPS transmissions and sends deviation correction messages to GPS-WAAS–enabled receivers. For SATS, researchers took these navigational data and fed them into a terrain database that could be presented to 

the pilot as part of a synthetic vision system. The synthetic system could also 

portray airborne traffic. On top of this, the researchers installed a low-light, 

infrared camera that would provide an actual image of the landing strip as it 

came into view. Synthetic and actual imagery were thus overlaid.72

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In order to make simultaneous use of the non-instrumented airport during 

ILS conditions, the SATS researchers again turned to newly available technology that greatly reduced the cost of implementation. Automatic dependent 

surveillance-broadcast (ADS-B), which had been in the works for many years 

and which the FAA would begin to deploy in 2009, was a system in which 

aircraft continuously broadcast their state vector (position and velocity) as a 

data message. The SATS solution was to install a small computer at the airport 

(known as a Self-Controlled Area) that would accept a request to land and use 

ADS-B data to sequence traffic automatically. Data links between the computer 

and the small aircraft would send the appropriate navigational directions.73 As 

for easing pilot workload and increasing safety, one of the key technologies on 

which researchers worked was a “highway in the sky.” Whereas pilots traditionally take their navigational cues from a number of instruments, the SATS 

system integrated the information and presented it as a series of graphics (e.g., 

rectangles) on a head-up display.74

Taken as a whole, AGATE and SATS represent a unique attempt to strongly 

influence a particular market segment. True, the SST (and subsequent highspeed efforts) as well as the STOL programs sought to create new classes of 

commercial operation, but AGATE and SATS differed in that they succeeded 

in nurturing a new class of aircraft, spurred by long-running support for small 

turbines (dating to the 1970s). Even though NASA’s STOL programs proved 

the validity of various technologies, the SATS program went further than 

similar STOL efforts in the design and operation of new air traffic control 

arrangements, something that was once considered largely an FAA domain. 

This was, certainly, a reflection of NASA’s more recent push into air traffic 

control research generally. When combined with the FAA’s regulatory changes 

and Congress’s limits on manufacturer’s liability, this was a remarkable, multifaceted government effort to support an industry.

Conclusion

The grandiose nature of AST and HSR, along with their collapse, makes it difficult to view the decade as anything but deeply troubled. It was as if aeronautics 

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finally got what it wanted: good funding increases, strong political support, 

and outsize programs to match the rest of NASA. This level of support proved 

shallow, and when push came to shove, aeronautics fell spectacularly. The cost 

to the Agency was not merely the demise of two oversize programs, but the loss 

of continuity in healthy research communities. Finally, the rotorcraft program’s 

loss of funding for the Airloads research (and the later elimination of rotorcraft 

funding altogether) illustrated the kind of capricious budget tragedy that could 

strike productive programs.

The decade’s funding woes should not color our evaluation of the technical 

accomplishments. The carbon-stitched wing, in spite of not being adopted by 

the aircraft manufacturers, did work. While we may view cynically the close 

relationship and subsidized capital investment at McDonnell Douglas, NASA 

was operating exactly as its leadership intended: in close coordination with, 

and at the service of, its customers. The quiet engine research returned useful 

techniques that saw their way into the next generation of jet engines and 

prompted follow-on research in the next decade. Finally, the UH60 Airloads 

program showed that there was still critical fundamental research to be done.
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Caught in Irons

If there were ever a point at which the future of NASA’s aeronautics research 

appeared in doubt, the turn of the millennium was it. Aeronautics had a difficult time of it in the 1990s: drastic funding cuts imperiled the health of research 

programs while NASA’s raison d’être was undercut by the end of the Cold War. 

At least NASA had, in the Clinton White House, a proponent of federally 

funded research. The incoming President, however, had no such inclination. 

President George W. Bush’s administration held that in the absence of market 

discipline, government was vulnerable to waste, fraud, and abuse. Federally 

supported R&D, specifically, was found to suffer from vague goals, insufficient performance monitoring, uncontrolled program growth, and unnecessary 

competition with and/or subsidization of private R&D.1 Greatly complicating 

an already tight Agency budget, President Bush called in January 2004 for the 

country to return to the Moon by 2020 as a stepping-stone to sending humans 

to Mars.2

 The buildup to the Mars mission was to be accomplished in parallel 

with a resumption of Shuttle flights (grounded after the February 2003 loss 

of Space Shuttle Columbia) and the completion of the International Space 

Station, all within a budget that increased only slightly faster than inflation.

Within the Agency, leadership changed hands in 2001 when Sean O’Keefe 

replaced Dan Goldin as Administrator, and again in 2005, when Dr. Michael 

Griffin replaced O’Keefe. A seemingly constant top-level restructuring of the 

focus of the aeronautics mission followed the termination of the High Speed 

Research and Advanced Subsonic Technology programs. From the late 1990s to 

2005, Headquarters promulgated new Agency goals for itself and aeronautics. 

These goals were well meant, but with each shift and funding realignment came 

the impression that the Agency’s aeronautics mission had become unmoored. 

What was a scientist or engineer to make of goalposts that moved every two or 

 1. Office of Management and Budget, Executive Office of the President, “The President’s 
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three years, especially when a research project could take substantially longer 

to design, fund, and execute?

To understand these program shifts, it is worthwhile to review Dan Goldin’s 

tenure. In a March 1997 speech to the Aero Club of Washington, Goldin gave 

the Aeronautics and Space Transportation Enterprise his Three Pillars of Success 

and 10 goals. The Pillars were Global Civil Aviation, Revolutionary Technology 

Leaps, and Access to Space. The 10 goals, 8 of which related to aeronautics, 

were reportedly given to him by the aeronautics enterprise. Certainly meant to 

inspire, the goals were so optimistic that, in hindsight, they strike an outlandish tone. For example: the national airspace system was to triple its capacity 

in 10 years; aircraft accidents were to be reduced by a factor of five within 10 

years; the cost of air travel was to be reduced by 25 percent within 10 years 

and 50 percent in 25 years; and travel time on transpacific and transatlantic 

flights was to be reduced by half within 25 years with no cost increase.3 At 

about the same time, the Aeronautics Technology Enterprise merged with the 

Space Technology Enterprise to form the Aeronautics and Space Transportation 

Technology Enterprise. The new structure took on Goldin’s Three Pillars as its 

mission statement and stressed that “Although we do not know in advance how 

to achieve the goals and objectives, the development of investment strategies 

is issue driven.”4

 Aeronautics, thus, was being organized top-down around a 

set of aggressive technical goals.

For 1999, the Enterprise changed names again to become the Aero-Space 

Technology Enterprise (simplified to Aerospace the following year). In 2000, 

the Three Pillars were replaced with 4 goals and 11 objectives. The goals were 

to revolutionize aviation, advance space transportation, pioneer technology 

innovation, and commercialize technology. These goals persisted into the 

2001 Aerospace Technology Enterprise strategic plan.5 The next year, with the 

Agency now under Sean O’Keefe and operating in a post-9/11 environment, 

 3. NASA, 
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205

aeronautics received its own blueprint with four focus points: digital airspace, 

revolutionary vehicles, security and safety, and state-of-the-art educated workforce. Aeronautics was split further into three areas: aviation safety and security, 

airspace systems, and vehicle systems. Also in 2002, NASA promulgated three 

broad themes with 10 goals. The first theme echoed the rhetoric of national 

security concerns, but on a larger scale: “Understand and Protect Our Home 

Planet.” Of the 10 goals, 3 applied to aeronautics:

• 

• 

• 

Enable a safer, more secure, efficient, and environmentally friendly air 

transportation system

Create a more secure world and improve the quality of life by investing in technologies and collaborating with other agencies, industry, 

and academia

Enable revolutionary new capabilities through new technology

Lest anyone find him- or herself confused by the shifting goals, the 2002 

Annual Progress Report for the Enterprise provided a chart that mapped the 

old 2002 Enterprise goals and objectives with the 2003 Agency goals and objectives. The author’s note says, “In most cases, there is a direct correlation between 

the 2002 and 2003 goals and objectives, though in some cases assignments have 

changed and the new relationship is less clear.”6 By the time the 2003 Aerospace 

Technology Enterprise Strategy was published, aeronautics research areas had 

been carefully mapped onto the Agency’s goal/objective matrix. While it was 

apparent that aeronautics was supporting aspects of the Agency’s most recent 

vision, it is not at all apparent that the vision was guiding aeronautics R&D 

decisions. Indeed, there appeared to be a distinct disconnect.7

The constant institutional realignments had a destabilizing effect that did 

not go unnoticed outside the Agency. In 2003, the National Research Council 

(NRC) published an evaluation of aeronautics’ Pioneering Revolutionary 

Technology (PRT) program done by the NRC’s Aeronautics and Space 

Engineering Board. The NRC noted:

Changes in priority, organization, and funding will always occur 

and should be expected in a dynamic research program. However, 

the PRT program has undergone frequent and sometimes disruptive 

See also NASA Aerospace Technology Enterprise, Annual Progress Report, “Turning Goals into 

Reality” (NP-2002-04-287-HQ, 2001).

6. NASA, “Aeronautics Blueprint—Toward a Bold New Era of Aviation” (Washington, DC: NASA 

NP-2002-04-283-HQ, 2002); NASA Aerospace Technology Enterprise, Annual Progress Report 

2002 (Washington, DC: NASA NP-2003-06-306-HQ, 2003).

7. NASA Aerospace Technology Enterprise Strategy (Washington, DC: NASA NP-2003-01-298-HQ).
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restructuring and reorganization. Some of these changes appeared 

to be a destructive force rather than a natural reallocation of 

resources as part of research progress and maturation.... The 

committee recognizes that certain time spans are imposed by the 

Office of Management and Budget. However, the OMB constraints apply 5-year time horizons, whereas the past incarnations of the PRT program experienced reorganization at 1- and 

2-year intervals. Even during the course of this 12-month review, 

portions of the PRT program were renamed and other portions 

reorganized in significant ways.8

With the appointment of Michael Griffin as NASA Administrator in 2005, 

aeronautics underwent a thorough reorganization. One of Griffin’s major 

changes was to greatly curtail the use of visionary goals as organizational 

planning tools. NASA’s strategic goals were simplified and made concrete 

(e.g., “Strategic Goal 1: Fly the Shuttle as safely as possible until its retirement, not later than 2010”). There was no mapping exercise tracing prior 

goals to new goals. Aeronautics was given its own organizational standing as 

the Aeronautics Research Mission Directorate (ARMD), one of four directorates within the Agency. The plan noted, “In recent years, the emphasis on 

transferring technologies to end-users shifted NASA’s focus from long-term, 

high-risk, cutting-edge research to short-term technologies and ‘point solutions’ to complex challenges.”9

 ARMD was given four objectives:

• 

• 

• 

• 

Reestablish NASA’s commitment to mastery of core aeronautics 

competencies in subsonic (rotary and fixed-wing), supersonic, and 

hypersonic flight

Preserve the Agency’s research facilities as national assets

Focus research in areas that are appropriate to NASA’s unique 

capabilities

Directly address the needs of the Next Generation Air 

Transportation System

While aeronautics retained its Airspace Systems program and the Aviation 

Safety and Security program became simply Aviation Safety, Vehicle Systems 

was refashioned into the Fundamental Aeronautics program. A new program, 

 8. National Research Council, Committee for the Review of NASA’s Pioneering Revolutionary 
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Aeronautics Test, was established with the sole purpose of supporting the 

Directorate’s research infrastructure.10

Griffin’s Agency reorganization, which ostensibly was done following 

President Bush’s 2004 “Vision for U.S. Space Exploration,” sought to reverse 

a number of trends that had begun under Goldin.11 Instead of a businesslike, 

customer- and issue-oriented enterprise, aeronautics at its heart was to support fundamental research in four regimes (subsonic fixed, subsonic rotary, 

supersonic, and hypersonic). This was a 180-degree shift since it emphasized 

the need to support particular fields of research, regardless of the problem at 

hand. The organization also thinned the ranks of management and, along with 

giving aeronautics its own directorate, elevated the program within the Agency. 

One trend that did not substantially change was the decreasing budgetary 

commitment to aeronautics.

The inherent advantage of Griffin’s approach was that research programs 

did not necessarily need to be realigned every time political winds shifted, 

nor was an institutional commitment to fundamental research susceptible 

to the same risks that plagued the high-profile technology programs of the 

1990s. Certainly, fundamental research programs could undertake high-risk 

endeavors, but that was distinct from an organizational structure that tied 

itself to revolutionary goals. The flip side of organizing around fundamental research, however, was the lack of programmatic appeal, especially when 

measured against the exploits of the space program. The lack of an Apollo-like 

mission to rally the Agency was exactly the charge leveled decades earlier. 

Fortunately, Griffin’s reorganization of aeronautics was assisted by an executive 

order from President Bush establishing a National Aeronautics Research and 

Development Policy in December 2006. (The reorganization had taken place 

at the beginning of the year.) Ever since President Carter, there had been an 

explicit space policy with periodic updates from subsequent administrations.12

The aeronautics R&D policy was a step toward placing aeronautics on a similar footing, just as Griffin had given aeronautics its own mission directorate. 

The executive order stated that the OSTP’s National Science and Technology 

Council was to write the policy document in order to guide R&D through the 

year 2020. With Griffin’s administration strongly represented on the policy 

committee, it was no surprise that the Council’s ultimate document buttressed 

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the organizational changes that Griffin and ARMD Associate Administrator 

Lisa Porter had already enacted.13

Earmarks

One of the more pernicious developments in the long-term history of NASA’s 

budget (and the federal budget in general) was the growth of congressional 

earmarks. Earmarks gave members of Congress the ability to allocate portions of the budget for specific projects and contractors. The more generous 

view of earmarks was that this was the outcome of a democratic process; a 

more skeptical view took earmarks as a form of pork, a political dividend for 

members of Congress and their constituents.14 Though earmarks tended to 

be small relative to both the aeronautics and Agency-wide budgets, earmarks 

effectively reduced the Agency’s budget, as most earmarks were unfunded, a 

zero-sum gain. In an organization with a history of bootstrapping innovative 

ideas through frugal grassroots support, even modest earmarks could have a 

profoundly negative impact.15

Earmarks were a rarity at NASA until the mid-1990s. NASA’s Inspector 

General noted that in the 1997 fiscal budget, there were only six earmarks, 

but by 2006, the number would be 199. In the same period, the budget outlay 

for earmarks would grow from under $100 million per year to $568 million. 

Looking specifically at the aeronautics budget, of the $884 million provided 

in FY 2006 (under full-cost accounting), there were 17 earmarks totaling 

$97.5 million, or more than 11 percent of the Aeronautics budget.16 What 

earmarks represented, more than anything else, was a new and remarkable 

degree of politicization of research funding. Specific research choices were 

now being made at a level higher than even the NASA Headquarters management. While some earmarks paralleled existing work at the Centers, some did 

not. Regardless, earmarks took Centers out of the loop, leaving them in some 

cases with unsolicited (and not competitively bid) research proposals. Center 

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attempts to challenge earmarks by actually vetting the content and quality of 

the proposals proved unsuccessful.17

An instructive example of the kind of work that earmarks supported was 

the DP-2 V/STOL aircraft designed by the duPont Aerospace Company (no 

relation to the Du Pont chemical company). Since the early 1970s, Anthony 

duPont, the president of the company, had been interested in developing a fixedwing transport aircraft that could take off vertically by redirecting the thrust of 

two nose-mounted turbojet engines. His DP-2 was designed to carry nearly 50 

troops. DuPont approached the U.S. Navy in 1986 and DARPA in 1990; both 

organizations found significant problems with the design and the enterprise. 

He was already well known in aeronautics circles as one of the advocates of the 

single-stage-to-orbit concept that had inspired the National Aero-Space Plane. 

Congressional earmarks routed funding to duPont Aerospace over the objections of DARPA. From 1988 to 2003, earmarks provided some $63 million to 

the project, some $7 million of which came from NASA in 2002–03.18

Part of what made the DP-2 earmark remarkable was that Congress appeared 

to bypass an existing community of V/STOL researchers. There was little 

attempt to genuinely incorporate NASA’s R&D capabilities into the project.19

From 2003 to 2006, duPont Aerospace tested a smaller-scale version of the 

DP-2 called the DP-1. In size and configuration, the DP-1 bore a resemblance 

to the first jet VTOL built in the United States, the Bell X-14. The X-14 first 

flew in 1953 and was operated at Ames until 1981. Both the X-14 and DP-1 

buried two jet engines in the nose and redirected the thrust downward for 

VTOL operations.20 Congress eventually ended funding for the DP-1/DP-2 

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in 2007, when political control shifted. In March of 2010, the House voted 

to ban earmarks to corporations.21 Only time would tell whether this was a 

historical high-water mark for the politicization of research decision-making 

or merely a pause in a long-term trend.

Blended Wing Body

In 2007 at Dryden, NASA and Boeing researchers saw the fruits of more 

than a decade of research and campaigning go aloft in the form of the X-48B 

remotely piloted vehicle. The X-48B was a blended wing body (BWB) aircraft, 

a design hatched in the 1980s in the private sector and nurtured with financial 

and research assistance from NASA. Blended wing body designs are just that: 

aircraft in which the body and wing are not distinct structures, but shaped such 

that the body is a part of the wing and, thus, producing lift. A BWB design 

offers a number of possible advantages. When the fuselage is incorporated into 

the wing, the fuselage weighs less and creates less drag. With the wing taking 

up a larger area, wing loading may be reduced. Jack Northrop of the United 

States and Walter and Reimar Horton of Germany took this line of thinking 

to its logical conclusion in the 1940s by eliminating the fuselage entirely and 

building flying wings. A flying wing represents a design tradeoff, however, 

incurring difficulties with control, useful volume, ground handling, and wave 

drag at high speeds (unless it is an oblique flying wing). The BWB is a compromise between an all-wing structure and a segregated tube-and-wing structure.

NASA’s involvement with BWB designs actually dated to the NACA period 

and the wind tunnel studies of simple, supersonic BWB designs. Supersonic 

BWB investigations continued into the 1960s with the search for viable supersonic transport configurations and have continued since.22 It was not until 

the 1980s, however, that the idea of a subsonic BWB was taken seriously. 

Tilt Nacelle V/STOL Aircraft” (Ames Research Center, Moffett Field, CA: NASA TM-86785, June 

1986). On the wider body of V/STOL research, see W. P. Nelms and S. B. Anderson, “V/STOL 

Concepts in the United States—Past, Present and Future” (Ames Research Center, Moffett Field, 

CA: NASA TM-85938, April 1984).

 21. Eric Lichtblau, “Leaders in House Block Earmarks to Corporations,” New York Times (10 March 2010).

 22. See, for example, George H. Holdaway and Jack A. Mellenthin, “Investigation at Mach Numbers 

of 0.20 to 3.50 of Blended Wing-Body Combinations of Sonic Design with Diamond, Delta, and 

Arrow Plan forms” (Ames Research Center, Moffett Field, CA: NASA TM-X-372, August 1960); 

William C. Sleeman, Jr., and A. Warner Robins, “Low-Speed Investigation of the Aerodynamic 

Characteristics of a Variable-Sweep Supersonic Transport Configuration Having a Blended 

Wing and Body” (Langley Research Center, Hampton, VA: NASA TM-X-619, 15 June 1967); 

and A. Warner Robins, Milton Lamb, and David S. Miller, “Aerodynamic Characteristics at Mach 
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211

It was at McDonnell Douglas in Long Beach, California, where engineers 

developed subsonic BWB designs for use in tactical military transports. NASA 

touched on this work when, from 1984 to 1985, Lewis Research Center contracted with the Long Beach group to study the application of propfans to 

their blended wing body tactical transport designs. Lewis was well into the 

Advanced Turboprop Project at the time.23 In 1988, Robert H. Liebeck, a 

member of the McDonnell Douglas team that had worked on the Lewis contract, was inspired by Langley senior scientist Dennis M. Bushnell to consider 

the future of long-haul transportation. “Is there an aerodynamic renaissance 

for the long-haul transport?” Bushnell asked. Liebeck and his team took up 

the question and began considering the possibility of a large, long-range BWB 

for commercial service.24

Liebeck’s team in Long Beach made an initial stab at a conceptual design 

that consisted of parallel tubular passenger compartments, so as to maintain 

pressurization at altitude, enclosed within a BWB shape. The initial calculations showed that a BWB design would, compared to a conventional design, 

be lighter, have a higher lift-to-drag ratio, and be more fuel-efficient. On this 

basis, NASA Langley contracted with Liebeck’s group in 1993 to manage a 

feasibility study that included Langley, Lewis, and three universities. This was 

done under the Advanced Concepts for Aeronautics Program (ACP). The 

starting parameters were for an aircraft that could carry 800 people 7,000 

nautical miles. Liebeck’s group dispensed with the tubular arrangement of the 

first design in favor of a center-body box with a combined skin-pressure vessel 

made of a carbon fiber sandwich. The researchers mounted the engines in the 

trailing edge with intakes drawing air from the top of the BWB structure. They 

tested scale models in Langley’s NTF and 14-by-22-foot tunnel, validating 

their CFD models. Stanford University built a 6 percent scale model in order 

to test low-speed characteristics. The study, completed in 1998, indicated that 

the BWB, compared to a conventional aircraft, would burn 27 percent less fuel, 

weigh 15 percent less, and have a 13 percent reduction in operating costs.25

Numbers of 1.5, 1.8, and 2.0 of a Blended Wing-Body Configuration With and Without Integral 

Canards” (Langley Research Center, Hampton, VA: NASA TP-1427, May 1979).

 23. F. C. Newton, R. H. Liebeck, G. H. Mitchell, A. Mooiweer, M. M. Platte, T. L. Toogood, and R. A. 

Wright, Douglas Aircraft Company, “Multiple Application Propfan Study (MAPS) Advanced Tactical 

Transport” (Cleveland, OH: NASA CR-175003, 23 March 1989).

 24. R. H. Liebeck, “Design of the Blended Wing Body Subsonic Transport,” Journal of Aircraft 41, no. 

1 (January–February 2004): 10–25.

 25. Ibid., pp. 10–25; Robert H. Liebeck, Mark A. Page, and Blaine K. Rawdon, “Evolution of 

the Revolutionary Blended-Wing Body” (presentation at the “Transportation Beyond 2000: 
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

It is important to note that this first stage of research was taking place at 

a time when the major aircraft manufacturers were casting about for designs 

in the “very large aircraft” (VLA) category. For the past three decades, the 

Boeing 747 had been the standard-bearer, a long-range aircraft that could 

accommodate approximately 420 persons in a typical three-class configuration. 

Although Boeing had revised the aircraft three times since the original, the 

aircraft no longer represented the most advanced aerodynamics, materials, or 

flight systems. McDonnell Douglas, prior to its decision to merge with Boeing, 

seriously considered and studied a large twin-deck configuration. The BWB 

was, obviously, a more radical design alternative, but it would have addressed 

the same market category. Airbus was especially interested in an aircraft as large 

as, or larger than, the 747 because Boeing was unopposed in that segment. A 

new VLA would round out Airbus’s line and give the company, and Europe, 

new prestige. For a brief period of time, Boeing and Airbus conducted VLA 

studies jointly, the idea being that the market segment was too small for two 

competing aircraft. Eventually, Airbus decided to go it alone, designing and 

building the A380. Boeing pressed ahead with alternative studies, including 

the previously mentioned Sonic Cruiser, and the BWB research it inherited 

from McDonnell Douglas.

The ACP research was one of a number of investigations into the BWB at 

Langley. The Aeronautics Systems Analysis Division under Joseph Chambers 

was a strong proponent of expanded BWB investigations. The division’s own 

design analysis indicated very attractive gains in efficiency, and those data 

would be reinforced by the ACP results. In 1996, Langley and industry partners approached NASA’s leadership and made a pitch for a piloted, 26 percent 

scale experimental vehicle at a cost of $130 million. This was not approved.26

Meanwhile, in Long Beach, the 3-year NASA-industry study prompted Boeing 

(which had merged with McDonnell Douglas) to sponsor its own BWB design 

study. This particular study began with an aircraft that had to fit within the 

standard large aircraft parking space (an 80-meter square box). The passenger 

count was 478 people in a three-class configuration. The researchers redesigned the shape using proprietary Boeing software and optimized it for easier 

manufacture. They also placed the engines on pods above the trailing edge, 

reducing the technical risks associated with resolving the flush-mounted inlet 

flows of the earlier design. The results of this study showed that the Boeing 

BWB had a 37 percent decrease in fuel consumption compared to a planned 

Engineering Design for the Future” workshop, Langley Research Center, Hampton, VA, 26–28 

September 1995); Chambers, Innovation in Flight, pp. 80–81.

 26. Chambers, Innovation in Flight, pp. 79, 83.
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(NASA image EL-2000-00540)

Figure 7.1. Blended wing body model in the Langley 14-by-22-foot wind tunnel.

version of the Airbus A380. Additionally, the Boeing group had worked out 

a number of critical manufacturing details related to the complex center box 

pressure section.27

At Langley, there was a flurry of cross-disciplinary investigations on BWB 

questions. Since the vehicle represented such a departure from conventional 

design, Langley’s scientists and engineers could not make quick assumptions 

about vehicle performance. They tested the aerodynamics, stability and control, spin, and noise characteristics. They analyzed BWB composite structural 

design, engine placement and design, and design methodologies. Toward the 

end of the decade, Langley’s leadership made another attempt at finding toplevel support for a BWB vehicle program. This time, however, the BWB was 

bundled into a new programmatic idea, Revolutionary Concepts (RevCon). 

RevCon was to be a series of 4-year design, fabrication, and test cycles covering a variety of revolutionary ideas. In 2000, the BWB became one of the first 

RevCon projects.28

 27.
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

(NASA image ED-07-0192-08)

Figure 7.2. X-48B scale model undergoing tests at Dryden in 2007.

The RevCon iteration of the BWB was a combined NASA-Boeing effort to 

produce and fly a low-speed, 14 percent scale, remotely piloted model. It was 

first called the BWB-LSV (low-speed vehicle) but later designated X-48A. The 

shape was based on Boeing’s latest design iteration, the 478-person model. The 

X-48A was to have an impressive wingspan of 35 feet and be powered by three 

small turbojets. In-house construction began at Langley and was to be completed in 2002, with test flights scheduled in 2004. Unfortunately, the X-48A 

did not progress far before institutional and technical obstacles brought a halt 

to further work. The craft’s designers were having difficulty with the vehicle’s 

flight control system; while at Headquarters, aeronautics was, as noted earlier, 

rewriting its funding priorities.29

Langley was able to keep the program alive by shifting to a smaller 8.5 percent scale design and contracting fabrication of two models out to Cranfield 

Aerospace of the United Kingdom. With the Griffin reorganization, the BWB 

research became part of NASA’s Fundamental Aeronautics subsonic fixed-wing 

 29.
Chapter 7: Caught in Irons

215

effort. Langley researchers flew the first, unpowered model in the Full-Scale 

Tunnel. In July 2007, the powered model, the X-48B, flew from Dryden. 

Boeing and Langley were thus able to cross-validate flight-test, wind tunnel, 

and CFD data.30 In addition to the flight tests, which understandably garnered 

the bulk of the public’s attention, other researchers, often in conjunction with 

partners at universities and industry, examined a range of challenges associated 

with the BWB. Langley’s structural researchers sought to find solutions to the 

noncylindrical fuselage, a shell structure that would be significantly different in 

manufacture and performance than traditional airframes.31 Langley conducted 

studies into the acoustic advantages of the BWB. Both Langley and Glenn 

examined the placement, aerodynamics, and design of the BWB’s propulsion.32

The Integrated Scramjet

In 2004, NASA flew an unpiloted scramjet-powered aircraft, first at Mach 6.8 

and then at Mach 9.8. This was the culmination of more than four decades of 

scramjet research based at Langley. Langley had begun exploring the technology in the 1960s, when Lewis Research Center, the logical place for such work, 

was preoccupied with the space program. Langley’s expertise and scramjet 

infrastructure grew such that by the turn of the century, it would have five test 

facilities at its disposal, allowing them to explore scramjet performance from 

Mach 3.5 to Mach 19.33

 30.
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

Scramjets have long been a kind of “holy grail” of propulsion. They are 

jet engines, of sorts, but are more properly thought of as an alternative to 

rocket propulsion. Traditional jet engines operate at subsonic and supersonic 

speeds (up to the Mach 3 range in practice) and compress incoming air using 

fans (compressed air, as in a piston internal combustion engine, increases the 

oxidizer-to-fuel ratio). Ramjet engines do away with the compressor blades 

and use a vehicle’s existing forward motion to compress the air. Obviously, a 

ramjet cannot operate from a dead stop and so must be paired with another 

initial propulsion system, such as a turbojet or rocket, or be able to convert 

from one type of engine to another in what is called a multi- or combinedcycle engine. The U.S. military conducted successful ramjet tests in the 1950s 

using the unpiloted X-7 vehicle series, reaching top speeds in excess of Mach 

4. Ramjets saw operational deployment with the BOMARC and Talos missile 

systems.34 The difference between ramjets and scramjets is the speed of the air 

inside the combustion chamber: in ramjets, the incoming air is reduced to 

subsonic speeds, whereas in scramjets, the air is moving at supersonic speeds. 

The ramjet is technically simpler, but the process of slowing the incoming air 

creates both pressure and heat; around Mach 6, the generated heat becomes a 

practical barrier. Scramjet combustion chambers operate at lower temperatures, 

but they are considerably more complex to design because of the challenge of 

reliably controlling the flow of supersonic air and igniting the fuel-air mixture. 

The theoretical advantage of the ramjet and scramjet, relative to rockets, is that 

they use atmospheric air as an oxidizer; rockets must carry their own supply. 

As a propulsion system, the scramjet has typically been envisioned as part of a 

combined-cycle engine to create an air-breathing orbital vehicle (e.g., by combining a rocket and scramjet) or as a hypersonic airplane (e.g., by combining 

a turbojet and scramjet).35

Though scramjets have long had proponents in the technical community, 

institutional support (from both NASA and the military) has waxed and 

waned over the decades. The history of scramjets is very much a tale of alluring 

Lecture 4]). On the early roots of the Langley scramjet research, see Douglas L. Dwoyer, telephone interview by Robert G. Ferguson, 16 June 2007, NASA HRC.

 34. Jenkins et al., American X-Vehicles; R. Stechman and R. Allen, “History of Ramjet Propulsion 

Development at the Marquardt Company—1944 to 1970” (41st AIAA/ASME/SAE/ASEE Joint 

Propulsion Conference and Exhibit, Tucson, AZ, 10–13 July 2005 [AIAA 2005–3538]); Paul J. 

Waltrup, Michael E. White, Frederick Zarlingo, and Edward S. Gravlin, “History of Ramjet and 

Scramjet Propulsion Development for U.S. Navy Missiles,” Johns Hopkins APL Technical Digest 

18, no. 2 (1997): 234–243.

 35. Kumar et al., “Research in Hypersonic Airbreathing Propulsion,” pp. 2–3.
Chapter 7: Caught in Irons

217

theoretical possibilities, daunting technical challenges, and unstable political 

support. NASA’s first scramjet program was the 1960s-era Hypersonic Research 

Engine (HRE), intended for testing on the X-15 rocket-plane. The HRE did 

not fly, but two models were tested in the Langley 8-Foot High Temperature 

Tunnel and the Plum Brook Hypersonic Test Facility.36

One of the early concerns of researchers was whether a scramjet would be 

able to overcome its own drag. Inspired by the results of the HRE experiments, 

Langley engineers began examining integrating the scramjet engine with the 

vehicle fuselage in order to reduce the overall drag. The vehicle’s shape would 

form part of the inlet and nozzle, effectively making the fuselage functionally indistinguishable from the engine. This configuration became part of the 

DARPA Copper Canyon project and the subsequent multiagency National 

Aero-Space Plane program. (See chapter 5.) NASP, which ran from 1984 to 

1995, was to employ a multicycle engine. This engine research was centered at 

Langley and saw the development of a concept demonstration engine (CDE), 

measuring 10 by 16 by 142 inches. Langley engineers ran the CDE successfully 

in the 8-Foot High Temperature Tunnel at Mach 6.8.37

As NASP began drawing down, Langley engineers sought to continue 

scramjet research by proposing a very modest development and test program.38

Whereas the NASP program sought to build an actual, full-size vehicle, the 

Langley proposal envisioned a remotely piloted scale model, carried aloft by 

a B-52 and boosted to the proper speed and altitude by a commercial rocket. 

Named the X-43A Hyper-X, the craft would do what had never been done 

before: flight-test a fuselage-integrated scramjet and validate design models. 

The proposal, approved by NASA Headquarters in 1996, initially called for 

four tests: one at Mach 5, one at Mach 7, and two at Mach 10. A year later, 

the plans included only three flights: two at Mach 7 and one at Mach 10.39

The X-43A vehicle was, relative to many of the scramjet plans that preceded it, exceedingly small, measuring only 12 feet long and 5 feet wide. 

It incorporated the integrated fuselage-engine design that Langley engineers 

 36.
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had advocated 20 years earlier and took the shape of a lifting body. Its only 

appendages were two horizontal and two vertical stabilizers. The winning bid 

to build three vehicles, which were to be flown once and not recovered, went 

to MicroCraft of Tullahoma, Tennessee, over the much larger and more experienced rival, McDonnell Douglas. McDonnell Douglas, in fact, had performed 

earlier scramjet engine research under contract. The DF-9 project, as it was 

known, was a progenitor of the Langley Hyper-X engine that would fly on 

the X-43A.40

The X-43A faced many design challenges. At such high velocities, the craft 

would be subject to brutal conditions, both in terms of heating (caused by 

aerodynamic friction) and control (a situation exacerbated by a rocket boostseparation sequence). The vehicle would require special heat-resistant materials, as well as methods for cooling internal systems. Because the engine was 

integrated into the fuselage, there was close coupling in the design of different 

systems (i.e., changes in one system had complex knock-on effects for other 

systems). The X-43A faced significant engineering challenges in the design and 

operation of the rocket boost system. Engineers chose to use a commercial 

rocket, the Orbital Sciences Pegasus booster. The Pegasus, a winged rocket 

air-dropped from a B-52, would follow a shallow ascent trajectory designed to 

place the X-43A within a narrow speed and altitude window, at which point 

the X-43A would separate from the booster and, if all went as planned, open 

its scramjet engine doors, add hydrogen, and ignite the fuel-air mixture. The 

integration of all these different flight elements fell on teams at Langley and 

Dryden, with the latter charged with integrating and testing the various systems 

before the flight test.41

Unfortunately, the first flight in June 2001 went awry as the X-43A/booster 

combination spun out of control shortly after launch. Range operators detonated the booster, the scramjet never having had the opportunity to run. A 

subsequent investigation determined that there were modeling errors in the 

design of the control system. When the booster behaved in an unexpected 

manner after air-drop, the control system was unable to effectively respond.42

Nearly three years later, after recalculating aerodynamic loads and making 

changes to the control system, the second of the three vehicles was ready for 

a new attack on the Mach 7 target. On 27 March 2004, after a successful airdrop, the X-43A separated from the Pegasus booster at Mach 6.95. With drag 

 40.
Chapter 7: Caught in Irons

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Figure 7.3. CFD image of the X-43 at 

Mach 7. Note the level of integration 

between the engine and the vehicle.

(NASA image ED97-43968-1)

slowing the vehicle down precipitously, the X-43 only had a few seconds to 

stabilize, open the scramjet’s inlet, and inject and ignite gaseous hydrogen. The 

burn lasted 10 seconds, and the vehicle reached a top speed of Mach 6.83. It 

was a successful test, with the vehicle generating more thrust than drag. The 

following November, the Hyper-X program launched its last vehicle. The craft 

separated from the Pegasus at Mach 9.74 and nearly 110,000 feet; after ignition, it reached a speed of Mach 9.68.43

As the X-43A designation implies, there were follow-on designs (i.e., X-43B, 

X-43C) that were meant to test combined-cycle engines, as well as different 

fuels. The program came to an abrupt end shortly after the November flight, 

however. Indeed, researchers had expected funding to continue until at least 

March 2005, but it ran out within weeks, before the team even had time to analyze and publish their results.44 While NASA’s Aeronautics Directorate maintained a hypersonics project within its Fundamental Aeronautics Program, the 

Air Force Research Laboratory’s Hypersonic Technology Office took effective 

lead of scramjet vehicles and funded the development of a Boeing–Pratt & 

Whitney hydrocarbon-fueled scramjet designed to fly at Mach 6–7 (designated 

the X-51). NASA remained an important participant in this research.45

43. Ibid., pp. 231–235, 273.

44. Ibid., pp. 281–282.

45. Richard R. Kazmar, “Airbreathing Hypersonic Propulsion at Pratt & Whitney—Overview” (AIAA/

CIRA 13th International Space Planes and Hypersonics Systems and Technology Conference, 
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

Next Generation Air Transportation System

In December 2003, President Bush signed into law the Century of Aviation 

Reauthorization Act. Among its provisions was the implementation of a Next 

Generation Air Transportation System (NGATS) to be coordinated out of 

a Joint Planning and Development Office within the FAA. NGATS goals 

were to design a new air traffic management system that increased system 

efficiency and safety. NGATS was to take advantage of new technological 

developments, especially new computing and communications technologies, 

while building on the nation’s existing (and much more antiquated) air traffic control system. The senior policy committee of the Joint Office included 

representatives from the FAA, NASA, DOD, Homeland Security, Commerce, 

and the OSTP. Additionally, NGATS was to make extensive use of input 

from airlines and equipment providers. All of this was very much a reflection 

of the difficulties encountered in past attempts to upgrade aspects of the air 

transportation system.46

Since 1958, the nation’s air traffic control (ATC) system had been under 

the Federal Aviation Administration (originally named the Federal Aviation 

Agency). The system of airports and airways relied in large part on control 

methodologies that dated to the World War II era, namely ground-based controllers equipped with radar who provided clearance and assigned routes, via 

radio, to pilots. The pilots, for their part, navigated via a system of radio 

beacons and inertial reference devices and were able to descend and land by 

instruments tuned to the airport’s instrument landing system.47 Airlines added 

Capua, Italy, 16–20 May 2005 [AIAA 2005–3256]). One indicator of the technology’s potential 

military utility is that the X-43A engine performance data were always classified.

 46. Vision 100—Century of Aviation Reauthorization Act, H.R. 2115, 108th Cong., passed 12 

December 2003. See also FAA, Joint Planning and Development Office, “Next Generation Air 

Transportation System Integrated Plan,” December 2004.

 47. The addition of radar, strictly speaking, was considered to be the second generation of air traffic 

control. The development of ATC radar dated to World War II but was implemented widely in civil 

aviation in the 1950s. The third-generation ATC system, implemented in the late 1960s and 

early 1970s, included small amounts of automation for the controller, as well as the automatic 

broadcast of aircraft data to ATC centers. On the early design of air traffic control, see Radio 

Technical Commission for Aeronautics, Special Committee SC31, “Air Traffic Control” (Paper 

27-48/DO-12, 12 May 1943); U.S. Department of Transportation, “Report of the DOT Air Traffic 

Control Advisory Committee,” vol. 1, December 1969; Federal Aviation Agency, System Research 

and Development Service, “Design for the National Airspace Utilization System: Summary of 

First Edition,” September 1962; and Erik M. Conway, Blind Landings: Low-Visibility Operations in 

American Aviation, 1918–1958 (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2006).
Chapter 7: Caught in Irons

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their own managerial layer with operations centers that dispatched flights and 

filed flight plans. The control and utilization of the airspace was (and remains) 

a complex human-machine system with responsibility divided among pilots, 

controllers, and airlines using matched ground-aircraft technical systems.48

Airspace crowding emerged as a public issue in the 1960s, with the chief problem being congestion in the terminal area (i.e., aircraft landings). Recognizing 

that ATC was becoming overburdened, the newly minted Department of 

Transportation formed the Air Traffic Control Advisory Committee in 1968. 

The committee, numbering nearly 150 persons, was charged with recommending an ATC system for the 1980s and beyond. The committee’s report, known 

familiarly to those in the field as the Alexander Report, argued for increased 

automatic communication and control methods.49 NASA had two high-profile 

programs aimed, directly and indirectly, at solving the problem of congestion; 

both addressed the issue from the vehicle side. At Ames, the short takeoff and 

landing (STOL) program sought to develop aircraft that could operate out of 

smaller fields, thus alleviating pressure on conventional runways. Researchers 

at Langley initiated the Terminal Configured Vehicle (TCV) Program, which 

sought new avionics and flight procedures that would increase safety and productivity.50 The dark horse, however, was a less well-known effort led by Dr. 

Heinz Erzberger at Ames. Erzberger’s work, ultimately, would be the seed for 

NASA’s airspace systems focus three decades later.

Erzberger, who was familiar with the Alexander Report’s conclusions, 

decided to approach the problem as a mathematical puzzle to find, analytically, a way to automate the greatest bottleneck in the ATC system. Erzberger’s 

solution was not a piece of equipment, but an algorithm, a way of calculating 

where an aircraft should be in its approach as a function of time. Erzberger 

termed this “four-dimensional guidance,” and the feature that distinguished it 

from subsequent competing efforts was its time-based sequencing (the fourth 

dimension). Initially conceived as a program that could be run from a computer 

in an aircraft, it also could form part of an automated ATC system, where target 

landing slots drove the algorithm’s time parameters.51 For the 1970s, however, 

Ames researchers quietly tested the 4D landing trajectory algorithm under the 

cover of Ames’s STOL research (called the STOLAND project); Erzberger and 

 48.
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

his colleagues were fearful of treading on the FAA’s ATC-oriented research, as 

well as Langley’s purview over conventional takeoff and landing.52

For a period, Erzberger left 4D work to create algorithms for flight management systems (on-board computers that, for example, optimize flight profiles 

to minimize fuel consumption). He returned to the work in the 1980s, this 

time arguing for the direct use of 4D algorithms for software in air traffic 

control.53 To test and improve this software, however, Erzberger reasoned that 

he needed live data from one of the FAA’s terminal radar approach controls 

(TRACONs). This would not be easy to acquire, especially since Erzberger 

was encroaching on the FAA’s territory. Indeed, this took place at about the 

same time that the FAA was carrying out a raft of system upgrades. Two of the 

most high-profile, and most expensive, included the Advanced Airspace System 

(AAS) and the Microwave Landing System (MLS). AAS was a multibilliondollar program begun in 1983 to replace many of the ATC computers and, in 

the process, consolidate facilities and automate many controller functions.54

MLS was meant to replace the less accurate, World War II–era ILS system. 

Initial work began in the 1970s, and the FAA anticipated installation at all of 

the country’s international airports by 1998.55 Additionally, the FAA had been 

supporting a significant research effort into automated traffic control. From 

1976 to 1990, the MITRE Corporation had, under contract, been developing 

an Automated En Route Air Traffic Control (AERA) program.56

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Chapter 7: Caught in Irons

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Erzberger finally received approval for the live FAA data feeds in the late 

1980s and began developing the Center-TRACON Automated System 

(CTAS). CTAS was as much a research methodology as it was a prototype. 

Researchers performed simulations at Ames in an ATC simulator that integrated data from the TRACONs at Denver and Forth Worth, as well as piloted 

simulators at Ames and Langley. The tools were more sophisticated versions of 

the algorithms described above. One tool, the Traffic Management Advisor, 

assigned runways and landing sequences and times. Another, the Descent 

Advisor, told aircraft cruising at altitude when to begin their descents to the 

landing pattern. And lastly, the Final Approach Spacing Tool did just that, 

telling controllers how to space aircraft for final approach. The CTAS program 

began field-testing this software suite at the Denver TRACON in the fall of 

1995 and at the Fort Worth TRACON in the summer of 1996. Interestingly, 

the tests at Fort Worth were so well received that the controllers, the National 

Air Traffic Controller Association, and the Air Transportation Association 

asked that the FAA and NASA keep the prototype system in place until the 

FAA actually upgraded the system with the same capability.57

The FAA’s own efforts at modernization, however, were not going so well. 

The Advanced Airspace System was well over budget and behind schedule. 

The 1988 cost estimate of $4.3 billion had grown to $5.9 billion by 1993. The 

GAO testified to Congress that the FAA had been overly ambitious in its plans. 

Even the FAA’s own AAS Task Force estimated that if the program were left 

to run its course, it would end up costing $6.5 to $7.3 billion, with much of 

the increase coming from software development. Ultimately, the FAA greatly 

reduced the scope of the AAS implementation, curtailing the more advanced 

automation functions that it was supposed to deliver. By 1996, the AAS effort 

was considered a fiasco, with about half a billion dollars spent on software that 

would not be used.58 For different reasons, the Microwave Landing System 

Automated Airspace Concept” (4th USA/Europe Air Traffic Management R&D Seminar, Santa Fe, 

NM, 3–7 December 2001).

57. Dallas G. Denery and Heinz Erzberger, “The Center-TRACON Automation System: Simulation and 

Field Testing” (NASA TM-110366, August 1995); S. M. Green and R. Vivona, “Field Evaluation 

of Descent Advisor Trajectory Prediction Accuracy” (AIAA Guidance, Navigation, and Control 

Conference, July 1996 [AIAA 96-3764]); H. N. Swenson, T. Hoang, S. Engelland, D. Vincent, 

T. Sanders, B. Sanford, and K. Heere, “Design and Operational Evaluation of the Traffic 

Management Advisor at the Fort Worth Air Route Traffic Control Center” (1st USA/Europe Air 

Traffic Management R&D Seminar, Saclay, France, June 1997).

58. Matthew L. Wald, “Flight to Nowhere: A Special Report; Ambitious Update of Air Navigation Becomes 

a Fiasco,” New York Times (29 January 1996); U.S. GAO, “Advanced Automation System.”
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also never saw full implementation, and by 1994, the FAA had canceled the 

two-and-a-half-decadelong project.59 MLS, unlike AAS, worked, but it had 

never earned the full support of the airlines, who were not keen to install new 

navigational equipment costing $250,000 per aircraft. The knockout blow 

came from Global Positioning System (GPS) technology developed by the 

Department of Defense. GPS had strong advantages over MLS: it was already 

deployed by the time MLS was beginning operational use, and GPS provided 

navigational data throughout a flight, not just during the landing. Airlines 

willingly installed GPS equipment to help increase the accuracy of aircraft 

inertial navigation systems. Interestingly, although NASA had assisted the FAA 

in testing and demonstrating MLS systems, NASA also flight-tested early GPS 

equipment, helping to show that this was a potential alternative to MLS.60

Against this background, NASA’s very-small-scale foray into ATC was 

something of a miracle. CTAS worked and, up to that point, the FAA’s major 

contribution had been TRACON data feeds. Following the initial set of CTAS 

software tools, NASA’s researchers expanded their reach, designing programs 

that assisted in en route and departure control. Such programs continually 

monitored and optimized aircraft routes in order to increase efficiency and 

safety. These too were tested in the field using the CTAS methodology.61 CTAS 

design/test methodology would lead to more advanced airspace simulation 

systems designed specifically to test new air traffic management technologies.62

Through the 1990s, this work was carried out under the umbrella of the 

Advanced Air Transportation Technologies (AATT) program.63 By the end 

of the 1990s, NASA’s management had grown increasingly fond of the ATC 

research, elevating it higher and higher within the Agency’s mission focus. It 

 59.
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did not hurt that this technology was a public good and so did not run afoul 

of the more ideological objections to federally funded research. By 2005, as 

noted above, airspace systems research had become one of the four main areas 

of the Aeronautics Research Mission Directorate, an amazing rise for an effort 

that began as an algorithm that could have been written on a chalkboard three 

decades earlier.

Still, by the turn of the century, the nation’s airspace remained a hodgepodge 

of old and new technology and practices. The difficulty in bringing change 

to the air traffic control system was very much a reflection of the technical 

and organizational complexity of the system. Erzberger and coauthor Leonard 

Tobias nicely captured the pitfalls awaiting ATC modernization in a 1986 

paper (well before the turmoil of the FAA’s AAS):

At first, problems in ATC automation often do not appear to be 

more difficult than typical aircraft guidance and control problems 

that have been successfully solved. But then, after some promising 

initial successes, unforeseen problems surface and reach unmanageable complexity as more and more practical constraints are 

included, leading to the eventual abandonment of the effort.64

As antiquated as the FAA’s air traffic control system was, it was also extremely 

flexible. Human controllers might not be as efficient as computers, but they 

could recognize and handle a large variety of nonstandard conditions. Herein 

lay an important advantage in the CTAS approach; using live data feeds, the 

NASA researchers gained an intimate picture of the complexity of ATC operations. Each lesson they learned became a new twist in the CTAS algorithms.65

As of the writing of this book, NGATS is very much a work in progress. Designed to reduce the development risks that befell the AAS program, 

NGATS has a long period of evaluation and testing, with constant input from 

the stakeholders. The research and validation phase of numerous subprograms 

is to continue to 2020, with staged, concurrent transition phases leading to 

implementation by the year 2025. The ultimate goal is to provide a threefold increase in airspace use. An example of the institutional and technical 

revolution imagined by NGATS is the switch from sector-based control to 

trajectory-based control. As noted above, pilots receive clearances from controllers, but these controllers are responsible for only a portion of the airspace 

 64.
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

(a sector). Through a single flight, airline pilots will receive clearances from 10 

to 20 different controllers, each operating his or her own sector. Not only is 

this unwieldy from the pilot’s perspective, but the system is poorly structured 

to take advantage of the efficiencies that a computer-managed airspace can 

provide. Sectors, fixed routes, and waypoints, fundamental elements of the 

traditional human-based system, are unnecessary in a trajectory-based system. 

The computer, for example, has the ability to do away with fixed routes and 

waypoints and adjust the aircraft’s trajectory as conditions merit, a method 

conceptually known as a dynamic airspace.66 Still, any dramatic changes to air 

traffic control will have to be done, as Erzberger came to realize, in conjunction 

with the existing ATC system and its human controllers. There is no such thing 

as replacing human operations without first integrating the new procedures 

into human operations.

Conclusion

Given the speed with which Washington and NASA’s leadership promulgated 

Agency goals and policies, it is tempting to argue that this is only so much gloss, 

that the underlying research persisted regardless. Certainly, considering the 

lengthy development periods of the three conceptual developments examined 

in this chapter, R&D seems relatively immune to political fortunes. Scramjets, 

blended wing bodies, and 4D ATC algorithms survived multiple decades. Yet, 

under closer examination, it is clear that Agency realignments did buffet and 

threaten work at the Centers. The BWB case illustrates how Center researchers responded to (indeed, embraced) calls for greater customer outreach and 

revolutionary technologies. Langley’s RevCon seemed to combine aspects of 

the 1990s faster, better, cheaper approach with an emphasis on revolutionary 

thinking. BWB advocates assumed the language of revolution and jockeyed to 

keep programs funded. Their efforts did not lead to consistent political support, and time after time, researchers scaled down the scope of their research 

to fit smaller and smaller budgets. The history of scramjet research, played out 

over an even longer period, mirrored the BWB’s battles over shifting top-level 

political and technical goals while also finding tenuous success in an abbreviated, small-scale test program.

 66.
Chapter 7: Caught in Irons

227

Aeronautics’ realignments reflected substantial uncertainties within 

Headquarters about optimal funding and R&D management, but it was also 

part of a trend that saw programmatic control drifting away from the Centers. 

There were efforts from Headquarters to reverse this (e.g., through the establishment of lead Centers), but it was still the case that battles over program 

definition were being fought in Washington, DC. The growth of congressional earmarks was but one manifestation of the increased politicization of 

NASA’s budget. As NASA enters its sixth decade, the question for aeronautics 

is whether the latest reorganization will provide researchers with long-term 

stability for laboratory-led research.

Bucking this trend was the good fortune enjoyed by air traffic control 

research. To some extent, this growing area benefited from astute technical 

choices made decades ago; 4D algorithms provided an elegant basis for practical ATC tools. ATC research also benefited from airspace congestion that was 

only getting worse, but the key innovation that broke down barriers between 

the FAA and NASA was the CTAS methodology. With a modest investment 

(relative to earlier FAA-sponsored R&D), the Ames ATC team created an 

unobtrusive method for testing and refining its 4D algorithms. One might 

think of CTAS as a kind of wind tunnel for ATC research, though what the 

live TRACON data feeds really provided was clinical data. Ames researchers 

learned how ATC was truly done. Ames’s 4D algorithms might have ended 

up as just another failure in the history of ATC automation, but instead, field 

trials exceeded expectations. With this, a dark horse area of research gained 

political stature within NASA and legitimized NASA’s participation in what 

was once the sole purview of the FAA.

One last observation concerns the origins of conceptual developments. All 

three of the concepts in this chapter were, one could argue, outsider developments. Langley, not NASA’s propulsion laboratory, was the center for scramjet research. The 4D ATC algorithms emerged at NASA (and were initially 

buried within STOL research) rather than at the FAA and its contractors. The 

subsonic blended wing body emerged with a contractor and was taken up by 

NASA’s laboratories. Contemplated with other developments highlighted in 

this book, such emerging technologies by outsiders are not unusual. In light 

of the emphasis paid to Agency and programmatic goals, to budgetary realignments and organizational juggling, to stated research strengths and focal points, 

it is clear that innovative thinking defied institutional attempts to predict, 

measure, and harness it.

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Chapter 8: 

Conclusion

Upon reaching the conclusion of a survey on over 50 years of aeronautical 

research, one might expect a tally of the Agency’s accomplishments. This is 

problematic, if not unsatisfying. The economy of this narrative has forced us 

to jump from one project to the next, leaping past stretches of research, past 

individuals and communities, past accomplishments that are as worthy as the 

ones I have chosen to include. To reduce this narrative’s assemblage further 

into a kind of bumper-sticker encomium undermines our grasp of history’s 

complexity and texture. Instead, it is more fruitful to reassess some of the major 

topics posed at the start: the impact of the space program, the evolution of the 

laboratories, political control and the resiliency of the scientists and engineers, 

and, lastly, why NASA does aeronautics research at all.

On the Impact of the Space Program

One of the questions that this book first posed was what kind of impact the 

space program had upon aeronautics research. The most basic question is 

whether aeronautics would have been better off going it alone, rather than 

becoming subsumed into a much larger space-centric agency. In all likelihood, 

the narrative suggests, in the absence of Sputnik or a combined space agency, 

a national aeronautics research program would have persisted, at least to the 

1990s. The Cold War was sufficient motivation for the nation to continue 

funding a broad, multicenter aeronautical research program. The fact that the 

Soviet Union developed its own research programs guaranteed an American 

response. Whether aeronautics would have survived is a different question from 

whether it would have been better off. This, however, is a hypothetical question that the narrative cannot answer. What we can identify are the qualitative 

changes wrought by partnership with the space program.

The first is the opportunity for aeronautics researchers to work on spacerelated topics and transfer to the space program. For many scientists, engineers, 

and managers, especially in the nascent days of NASA, the space program 

greatly energized the Centers. True, there were individuals who were threatened 

by the transition, who worried that aeronautics would be lost, but the space 

program took along many prominent aeronautical researchers, especially at 

Langley, which was the early institutional base for space planning. Even those 
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NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

researchers who did not make the transition had the freedom to explore areas 

that bridged the two worlds. There were continuing research synergies in a 

number of fields, such as lifting-body vehicles, hypersonic flight, scramjets, and 

digital flight control. In a combined agency, support for such efforts naturally 

would have been easier to gain and communication more fluid among the 

various aeronautics and space teams.

The second broad development was the administrative influence from the 

space program. Here one must be careful not to ascribe to the space program 

institutional changes that were occurring across the federal government 

(e.g., the 1993 Government Performance Results Act). Increased budgetary 

control and, with that, increased centralization over planning and management were long-term trends in the evolution of the federal government. 

Where the space program had a more salient impact was on priority and 

strategy. The human space program has always been the center of NASA’s 

mission, and even though the Agency has many other programs, human 

space is really why the Agency exists. It not only consumes the lion’s share 

of the budget, it is also the spiritual core of the Agency. It is not going out 

on a limb to say that the NASA Administrator’s primary job has always been 

the planning and execution of the human space program. In this light, it is 

not surprising that aeronautics has not always enjoyed the close attention 

of NASA’s leadership. This is a structural tension that, though addressed 

most recently in the Griffin reorganization, will continue to exist so long 

as the human space program requires the bulk of the Agency’s financial 

and managerial resources. There is a flip side to the low priority assigned to 

aeronautics. For at least the first decade, there was fairly little meddling from 

Headquarters in the structure and content of the research at the Centers 

(save that Lewis transitioned to space-based propulsion problems). Longtime NASA researchers fondly remember those days as a period of greater 

local control over funding decisions.

As for strategy, the space program created a strong precedent for missionoriented programs that, at least at the organizational level, pulled the Agency 

away from unquestioned support for fundamental research. Recall that at the 

beginning of NASA’s existence, aeronautics was supposed to be part of a core 

research program distinguished by the fact that it was not performing missions. By 1986 and the Space Shuttle Challenger disaster, pundits and NASA 

leadership alike were wondering whether NASA had lost its way and musing 

that perhaps it needed to be reenergized with bold, new missions. Aeronautics 

was not immune to these leadership shifts and so, by the 1990s, had its own 

visionary goals more befitting a massively financed and centrally executed space 

program than the kind of laboratory-based work to which it was accustomed. 

Here again, the most recent reorganization sought to blunt these trends.
Chapter 8: Conclusion

231

On Laboratory Evolution

At the beginning of this book, I mentioned the question of technological progress and the tension between technology as a social process and technology as 

a kind of logical unfolding predicated on available knowledge, resources, and 

physical constraints. It is useful to return to this question in thinking about 

NASA’s scientific and technological narrative. I illuminated one side of this 

argument in the discussion of digital electronics as an enabling technology. 

Digital fly-by-wire was a stepping-stone for a new era in unstable experimental 

aircraft. The other side of the argument is ably illuminated by the trajectories 

of the various Centers. Far from following a logical script, the Centers grew in 

ways that could not have been anticipated or centrally coordinated.

The arrangement of the four Centers was largely a product of World War 

II, created to increase laboratory capacity, better serve far-flung industrial 

and military patrons, and, in the case of the Muroc facility, take advantage 

of prime testing conditions. Over the long term, these communities formed 

distinct identities and approaches. What at times has been considered an 

Achilles heel of having multiple Centers, i.e., the duplication of research 

infrastructure, actually contributed to alternative pathways. In the absence of 

this socially constructed arrangement, we would likely be telling a very different narrative. Cases from Ames and Dryden best illustrate the divergence 

in research trajectories.

Even prior to the NASA era, Ames and Langley had taken on different 

characteristics, very much the result of the influence of their lead scientists 

and engineers. In the 1960s and 1970s, Ames leaders made explicit moves to 

differentiate the Center’s work from Langley’s. Ames’s infrastructure mirrored 

many of the capabilities of Langley, and with Langley as the historic Center 

for aeronautics, Ames appeared particularly vulnerable to budget cuts. Ames 

sought out alternative projects and methodologies; the most obvious of these 

was its wager on computational fluid dynamics. Competing head-to-head with 

Langley for wind tunnel research was not only a zero-sum game, it was one 

that Langley was likely to win over the long term. Ames chose to pursue CFD 

not only because the time seemed right for the technology, but also because 

it was a potential institutional lifesaver. Langley also pursued CFD, but it did 

not attach itself to the same vision of supercomputing as Ames. In the end, 

this proved a fruitful rivalry.

Dryden illustrates a more subtle form of differentiation. On its face, Dryden 

was created as a simple flight-test facility. As such, Dryden was originally an 

adjunct to Langley and Ames, the last link in a chain of experimentation. 

Instead, Dryden became a research facility in its own right, and rather than 

competing with Ames and Langley by duplicating infrastructure, its researchers 

considered how they could turn a dry-lakebed flight-test facility into a primary 
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research tool. Dryden personnel began dreaming up their own research projects. Lacking wind tunnels, they sought help from their peers at Langley and 

Ames. Lacking deep pockets, they explored cost-effective methods for getting 

their ideas aloft, notably scale models and remotely piloted vehicles. The liftingbody program of the 1960s is remarkable both for its technical achievements 

and as a project bootstrapped from hand-built glider models. The Dryden 

approach was frugal and had the advantage of returning actual flight data.

Having multiple research centers has been one of NASA’s underappreciated 

strengths. Despite recurring efforts to rein in and coordinate Center operations, the duplication of infrastructure (and the occasional threat to eliminate 

it) has had a serendipitous effect on output. Differentiation became a matter of 

survival. More fundamentally, competition among multiple Centers gave rise 

to alternative methodologies. It was not that Centers decided to divide up the 

research pie (which they certainly did do), but that they spurned conventional 

wisdom in order to establish new niches.

Political Control and Resilient Scientists and Engineers

Looking more closely at the content of laboratory research over the years, we 

see an amazing resiliency in communities and fields of research. In some cases, 

their persistence defies aviation’s technological trends, not to mention uncertain policy support and periods of on-again, off-again funding. Research into 

supersonic commercial aircraft, for example, has continued doggedly in spite 

of dim market prospects that have been evident since the United States canceled its own SST in 1971. There is in any field, of course, an instinct for selfpreservation, but the complexity of aerodynamic phenomena also ensures that 

there is no shortage of questions that might be asked. So even though the aerodynamic understanding of current subsonic commercial aircraft has reached 

a high level of maturity, and even though the market has reached closure on 

these designs (i.e., that they should be conventional tube-and-wing structures), 

there is still plenty of unexplored territory in unconventional designs like the 

blended wing body or oblique wings. Regardless of these concepts’ ultimate 

fate, such investigations inform our fundamental understanding of physical 

phenomena and technical performance.

To outsiders, the enthusiasm for the unproven and out-of-fashion may seem 

an example of waste, fraud, and abuse within the federal government. Should 

not NASA be pursuing ideas that have realizable, practical ends, militarily or 

commercially? Would not the Agency be more efficient if it could carefully 

choose which ideas to support, weeding out the impractical, the fanciful, and 

the poor performers? Put more succinctly, shouldn’t research funding mirror 

sociotechnological cycles? The historical record suggests that this is not such 

an easy proposition. There is, first of all, the problem of trying to predict with 
Chapter 8: Conclusion

233

any reasonable level of accuracy where society and its technologies will be a 

decade or more in the future. Second, there is the problem of creating and 

implementing roadmaps. The strategy gyrations of the late 1990s and early 

2000s are testament to the difficulty of creating meaningful goals within a 

highly politicized context. Third, there is the problem that research projects are 

not disembodied commodities that can be chosen at will. NASA is ultimately 

supporting what is supposed to be a community of top-notch researchers, and 

even the best of these will have ideas that do not pan out. Richard Whitcomb, 

one of the Agency’s most famous aerodynamicists, proposed and refined the 

idea of area-ruled fuselages for commercial transports. However, at the speeds 

that commercial aircraft operate, this was both unnecessary and impractical 

(given the manufacturing costs of fabricating non-uniform fuselage sections). 

Who in the 1960s would have been sufficiently prescient to tell Whitcomb 

which of his projects he should pursue? Furthermore, fruitful ideas do not 

necessarily materialize when and where the Agency chooses. Heinz Erzberger’s 

work on air traffic control algorithms in the 1970s, strictly speaking, should 

have been conducted at the FAA first and Langley second (where conventional 

takeoff and landing research took place), and Ames perhaps not at all. Was 

Ames’s management correct to shoehorn the project into the short takeoff and 

landing program, or should they have shelved the idea because it did not quite 

fit the Center’s prescribed mission? This is no trifle, as air traffic control research 

at Ames is now a major component of the Agency’s aeronautics program.

Budget pressures and government reforms of the last two decades have 

pushed NASA (and other federal research agencies) to spend more time controlling and monitoring research performance. The irony of this is that there 

is scant evidence indicating any link between contemporary performance measures and ultimate societal impact.1

 The information that can be gleaned is 

about project execution. To give an example, the UH-60 Airloads program 

had its funding cut after a set of lengthy delays. In the interval, between losing 

funding and actually running out of money, the program attempted to perform 

as many research flights as possible with their dwindling budget. Interestingly, 

the limited Airloads data has been a boon to NASA and its partners in industry. 

Thus, it is entirely possible for a project to have poor performance measures and 

still have a large, beneficial impact down the road. In the absence of a crystal 

ball, the trend toward accountability will either have to muddle forward or 

yield to some realization that innovation is capricious.

 1. On this question of linking performance indicators to societal impact, see U.S. General 
234

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

Why Aeronautics?

With NASA now over 50 years old, aeronautics appears to have survived a 

decadelong existential crisis. I say “appears” because funding continues on a 

downward trend and because there is no guarantee that future Administrators, 

legislatures, and Presidents will value things similarly. Though measures have 

been taken by both the NASA leadership and the White House to make aeronautics a long-term priority, the fact remains that the Cold War is still over. 

In the absence of imminent threats to American air superiority, the logic for 

continued research comes from commerce and the public good. Commercial 

support, as noted, has become a sensitive topic given trade disputes with the 

EU over government subsidies. Still, Europe’s aviation industry and its research 

support pose a competitive threat that is likely to prop up political support for 

NASA’s aeronautics programs. Further out on the horizon, China’s expanding 

aviation industry and growing national R&D capability may do the same.

Aeronautics’ survival lay in a wealth of unanswered questions and an institutional ability to master new fields. Underlying this has been a durable, grassroots enthusiasm for doing esoteric research and solving puzzles. In spite of 

top-level vision statements, aeronautics’ much smaller undertaking has been 

largely self-motivated. Taken with the Agency’s experimental facilities, the 

system remains a prized national resource. While aeronautics funding continues to flirt with lower and lower levels of budgetary support, there is likely 

great reluctance to find out the true cost of doing without the First A.
235

Appendix: 

Aeronautics Budget

Any long-run graph of NASA’s aeronautics funding must be viewed with care 

and skepticism. Budget categories for aeronautics have changed, especially 

over the last two decades. What NASA defined as aeronautics one year could 

become something else the next. Accounting methods also changed, the most 

dramatic being the transition to full-cost accounting in 2004.

Figure 1 shows R&D and total funding (including R&D, facilities construction and maintenance, and research and program management). The 

R&D figures (e.g., what is allocated to specific research projects) are the most 

difficult to derive and rely on a number of sources. The R&D line jumps dramatically, of course, with the transition to full-cost accounting, approaching 

the total allocation for aeronautics. The 2004 President’s Budget lists the 2003 

Aeronautics Technology budget at $1.006 billion and gives $599 million as 

the pre-full-cost accounting budget, a 67 percent increase. Figure 2 shows this 

information in 2008 adjusted dollars.

Figure 3 shows NASA’s aeronautics authorization against NASA’s total 

authorization. The data begin at 1962 because aeronautics was not broken 

out of the Agency’s numbers prior to that year. Figure 4 shows the data in 

2008 adjusted dollars.
236

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

Figure 1. NASA Aeronautics Budget, 1959–2008

Figure 2. NASA Aeronautics Budget, 1959–2008, FY 2008 Dollars
Appendix: Aeronautics Budget

237

Figure 3. NASA Aeronautics and Agency Budget Authorization, 1962–2008

Figure 4. NASA Aeronautics and Agency Budget Authorization, 1962–2008, 

FY 2008 Dollars
238

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

Notes

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

NASA’s accounting codes were under development from 1959 to 

1963.

In 1976, the fiscal year changed from 1 July–30 June to 1 

October–30 September. The three-month “transition quarter” is 

denoted as “TQ.”

Aeronautics restructuring in the late 1990s and early 2000s makes it 

difficult to define a consistent R&D budget. To this end, the graph 

relies significantly on data supplied directly to the author from the 

Aeronautics Research Mission Directorate.

The spike in R&D funding in 2004 derives primarily from the 

change to full-cost accounting. 

The inflation factors for fiscal year 2008 are taken from Aeronautics 

and Space Report of the President, Fiscal Year 2008 Activities, 

Appendix D-1B.

Sources

Total aeronautics expenditures and authorization, as well as Agency expenditures and authorization, derive from the Report to the Congress from the 

President of the United States, United States Aeronautics and Space Activities, 

later titled Aeronautics and Space Report of the President, 1959 to 2008 inclusive. 

The aeronautics R&D funding data are derived from many sources, including 

the following: 

1959–68

NASA Historical Data Book series (NASA SP-4012): Jane Van Nimmen and 

Leonard C. Bruno with Robert L. Rosholt, NASA Historical Data Book, vol. 

1, NASA Resources 1958–1968 (Washington, DC: NASA SP-4012, 1988), 

table 4-22.

1969

Data supplied to the author by Cindy Brumfield, Deputy Director, Resources 

Management Division, Aeronautics Research Mission Directorate. These data 

included long-run R&D numbers, annotated congressional budget data from 

1988 to 1997, and annotated President’s budget data from 1998 to 2003.

1970–78

Ihor Gawdiak with Helen Fedor, NASA Historical Data Book, vol. 4, NASA 

Resources 1969–78 (Washington, DC: NASA SP-4012, 1994), table 4-22.
Appendix: Aeronautics Budget

239

1979–88

Judy A. Rumerman, NASA Historical Data Book, vol. 6, NASA Space Applications, 

Aeronautics and Space Research and Technology, Tracking and Data Acquisition/

Support Operations, Commercial Programs, and Resources 1979–88 (Washington, 

DC: NASA SP-4012, 2000), table 8-12.

1989–2003

Data supplied to the author by Cindy Brumfield, Deputy Director, Resources 

Management Division, Aeronautics Research Mission Directorate. These data 

included long-run R&D numbers, annotated congressional budget data from 

1988 to 1997, and annotated President’s budget data from 1998 to 2003.

2004–10

NASA annual budgets and strategic plans.

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Iliff, Kenneth W., and Curtis L. Peebles. From Runway to Orbit: Reflections of 

a NASA Engineer. NASA SP-2004-4109, 2004.

Chertok, Boris. Rockets and People, Volume I. NASA SP-2005-4110, 2005.

Chertok, Boris. Rockets and People: Creating a Rocket Industry, Volume II. 

NASA SP-2006-4110, 2006.

Chertok, Boris. Rockets and People: Hot Days of the Cold War, Volume III. 

NASA SP-2009-4110, 2009.

Chertok, Boris. Rockets and People: The Moon Race, Volume IV. NASA 

SP-2011-4110, 2011.

Laufer, Alexander, Todd Post, and Edward Hoffman. Shared Voyage: 

Learning and Unlearning from Remarkable Projects. NASA SP-2005-4111, 

2005.

Dawson, Virginia P., and Mark D. Bowles. Realizing the Dream of Flight: 

Biographical Essays in Honor of the Centennial of Flight, 1903–2003. 

NASA SP-2005-4112, 2005.

Mudgway, Douglas J. William H. Pickering: America’s Deep Space Pioneer. 

NASA SP-2008-4113, 2008.

Wright, Rebecca, Sandra Johnson, and Steven J. Dick. NASA at 50: 

Interviews with NASA’s Senior Leadership. NASA SP-2012-4114, 2012. 
246

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

Project Histories, NASA SP-4200:

Swenson, Loyd S., Jr., James M. Grimwood, and Charles C. Alexander. This 

New Ocean: A History of Project Mercury. NASA SP-4201, 1966; rep. ed. 

1999.

Green, Constance McLaughlin, and Milton Lomask. Vanguard: A History. 

NASA SP-4202, 1970; rep. ed. Smithsonian Institution Press, 1971.

Hacker, Barton C., and James M. Grimwood. On the Shoulders of Titans: A 

History of Project Gemini. NASA SP-4203, 1977; rep. ed. 2002.

Benson, Charles D., and William Barnaby Faherty. Moonport: A History of 

Apollo Launch Facilities and Operations. NASA SP-4204, 1978.

Brooks, Courtney G., James M. Grimwood, and Loyd S. Swenson, Jr. 

Chariots for Apollo: A History of Manned Lunar Spacecraft. NASA SP-4205, 

1979.

Bilstein, Roger E. Stages to Saturn: A Technological History of the Apollo/

Saturn Launch Vehicles. NASA SP-4206, 1980 and 1996.

No SP-4207.

Compton, W. David, and Charles D. Benson. Living and Working in Space: 

A History of Skylab. NASA SP-4208, 1983.

Ezell, Edward Clinton, and Linda Neuman Ezell. The Partnership: A History 

of the Apollo-Soyuz Test Project. NASA SP-4209, 1978.

Hall, R. Cargill. Lunar Impact: A History of Project Ranger. NASA SP-4210, 

1977.

Newell, Homer E. Beyond the Atmosphere: Early Years of Space Science. NASA 

SP-4211, 1980.

Ezell, Edward Clinton, and Linda Neuman Ezell. On Mars: Exploration of 

the Red Planet, 1958–1978. NASA SP-4212, 1984.

Pitts, John A. The Human Factor: Biomedicine in the Manned Space Program 

to 1980. NASA SP-4213, 1985.
The NASA History Series

247

Compton, W. David. Where No Man Has Gone Before: A History of Apollo 

Lunar Exploration Missions. NASA SP-4214, 1989.

Naugle, John E. First Among Equals: The Selection of NASA Space Science 

Experiments. NASA SP-4215, 1991.

Wallace, Lane E. Airborne Trailblazer: Two Decades with NASA Langley’s 737 

Flying Laboratory. NASA SP-4216, 1994.

Butrica, Andrew J., ed. Beyond the Ionosphere: Fifty Years of Satellite 

Communications. NASA SP-4217, 1997.

Butrica, Andrew J. To See the Unseen: A History of Planetary Radar Astronomy. 

NASA SP-4218, 1996.

Mack, Pamela E., ed. From Engineering Science to Big Science: The NACA and 

NASA Collier Trophy Research Project Winners. NASA SP-4219, 1998.

Reed, R. Dale. Wingless Flight: The Lifting Body Story. NASA SP-4220, 1998.

Heppenheimer, T. A. The Space Shuttle Decision: NASA’s Search for a Reusable 

Space Vehicle. NASA SP-4221, 1999.

Hunley, J. D., ed. Toward Mach 2: The Douglas D-558 Program. NASA 

SP-4222, 1999.

Swanson, Glen E., ed. “Before This Decade Is Out...” Personal Reflections on 

the Apollo Program. NASA SP-4223, 1999.

Tomayko, James E. Computers Take Flight: A History of NASA’s Pioneering 

Digital Fly-By-Wire Project. NASA SP-4224, 2000.

Morgan, Clay. Shuttle-Mir: The United States and Russia Share History’s 

Highest Stage. NASA SP-2001-4225, 2001.

Leary, William M. “We Freeze to Please”: A History of NASA’s Icing Research 

Tunnel and the Quest for Safety. NASA SP-2002-4226, 2002.

Mudgway, Douglas J. Uplink-Downlink: A History of the Deep Space Network, 

1957–1997. NASA SP-2001-4227, 2001.
248

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

No SP-4228 or SP-4229.

Dawson, Virginia P., and Mark D. Bowles. Taming Liquid Hydrogen: The 

Centaur Upper Stage Rocket, 1958–2002. NASA SP-2004-4230, 2004.

Meltzer, Michael. Mission to Jupiter: A History of the Galileo Project. NASA 

SP-2007-4231, 2007.

Heppenheimer, T. A. Facing the Heat Barrier: A History of Hypersonics. 

NASA SP-2007-4232, 2007.

Tsiao, Sunny. “Read You Loud and Clear!” The Story of NASA’s Spaceflight 

Tracking and Data Network. NASA SP-2007-4233, 2007.

Meltzer, Michael. When Biospheres Collide: A History of NASA’s Planetary 

Protection Programs. NASA SP-2011-4234, 2011.

Center Histories, NASA SP-4300:

Rosenthal, Alfred. Venture into Space: Early Years of Goddard Space Flight 

Center. NASA SP-4301, 1985.

Hartman, Edwin P. Adventures in Research: A History of Ames Research Center, 

1940–1965. NASA SP-4302, 1970.

Hallion, Richard P. On the Frontier: Flight Research at Dryden, 1946–1981. 

NASA SP-4303, 1984.

Muenger, Elizabeth A. Searching the Horizon: A History of Ames Research 

Center, 1940–1976. NASA SP-4304, 1985.

Hansen, James R. Engineer in Charge: A History of the Langley Aeronautical 

Laboratory, 1917–1958. NASA SP-4305, 1987.

Dawson, Virginia P. Engines and Innovation: Lewis Laboratory and American 

Propulsion Technology. NASA SP-4306, 1991.

Dethloff, Henry C. “Suddenly Tomorrow Came...”: A History of the Johnson 

Space Center, 1957–1990. NASA SP-4307, 1993.

Hansen, James R. Spaceflight Revolution: NASA Langley Research Center from 

Sputnik to Apollo. NASA SP-4308, 1995.
The NASA History Series

249

Wallace, Lane E. Flights of Discovery: An Illustrated History of the Dryden 

Flight Research Center. NASA SP-4309, 1996.

Herring, Mack R. Way Station to Space: A History of the John C. Stennis Space 

Center. NASA SP-4310, 1997.

Wallace, Harold D., Jr. Wallops Station and the Creation of an American Space 

Program. NASA SP-4311, 1997.

Wallace, Lane E. Dreams, Hopes, Realities. NASA’s Goddard Space Flight 

Center: The First Forty Years. NASA SP-4312, 1999.

Dunar, Andrew J., and Stephen P. Waring. Power to Explore: A History of 

Marshall Space Flight Center, 1960–1990. NASA SP-4313, 1999.

Bugos, Glenn E. Atmosphere of Freedom: Sixty Years at the NASA Ames 

Research Center. NASA SP-2000-4314, 2000.

No SP-4315.

Schultz, James. Crafting Flight: Aircraft Pioneers and the Contributions of the 

Men and Women of NASA Langley Research Center. NASA SP-2003-4316, 

2003.

Bowles, Mark D. Science in Flux: NASA’s Nuclear Program at Plum Brook 

Station, 1955–2005. NASA SP-2006-4317, 2006.

Wallace, Lane E. Flights of Discovery: An Illustrated History of the Dryden 

Flight Research Center. NASA SP-2007-4318, 2007. Revised version of 

NASA SP-4309.

Arrighi, Robert S. Revolutionary Atmosphere: The Story of the Altitude Wind 

Tunnel and the Space Power Chambers. NASA SP-2010-4319, 2010.

Bugos, Glenn E. Atmosphere of Freedom: Seventy Years at the NASA Ames 

Research Center. NASA SP-2010-4314, 2010. Revised Version of NASA 

SP-2000-4314.

General Histories, NASA SP-4400:

Corliss, William R. NASA Sounding Rockets, 1958–1968: A Historical 

Summary. NASA SP-4401, 1971.
250

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

Wells, Helen T., Susan H. Whiteley, and Carrie Karegeannes. Origins of 

NASA Names. NASA SP-4402, 1976.

Anderson, Frank W., Jr. Orders of Magnitude: A History of NACA and NASA, 

1915–1980. NASA SP-4403, 1981.

Sloop, John L. Liquid Hydrogen as a Propulsion Fuel, 1945–1959. NASA 

SP-4404, 1978.

Roland, Alex. A Spacefaring People: Perspectives on Early Spaceflight. NASA 

SP-4405, 1985.

Bilstein, Roger E. Orders of Magnitude: A History of the NACA and NASA, 

1915–1990. NASA SP-4406, 1989.

Logsdon, John M., ed., with Linda J. Lear, Jannelle Warren Findley, Ray 

A. Williamson, and Dwayne A. Day. Exploring the Unknown: Selected 

Documents in the History of the U.S. Civil Space Program, Volume I: 

Organizing for Exploration. NASA SP-4407, 1995.

Logsdon, John M., ed., with Dwayne A. Day and Roger D. Launius. 

Exploring the Unknown: Selected Documents in the History of the U.S. Civil 

Space Program, Volume II: External Relationships. NASA SP-4407, 1996.

Logsdon, John M., ed., with Roger D. Launius, David H. Onkst, and 

Stephen J. Garber. Exploring the Unknown: Selected Documents in the 

History of the U.S. Civil Space Program, Volume III: Using Space. NASA 

SP-4407, 1998.

Logsdon, John M., ed., with Ray A. Williamson, Roger D. Launius, Russell 

J. Acker, Stephen J. Garber, and Jonathan L. Friedman. Exploring the 

Unknown: Selected Documents in the History of the U.S. Civil Space 

Program, Volume IV: Accessing Space. NASA SP-4407, 1999.

Logsdon, John M., ed., with Amy Paige Snyder, Roger D. Launius, Stephen 

J. Garber, and Regan Anne Newport. Exploring the Unknown: Selected 

Documents in the History of the U.S. Civil Space Program, Volume V: 

Exploring the Cosmos. NASA SP-2001-4407, 2001.

Logsdon, John M., ed., with Stephen J. Garber, Roger D. Launius, and Ray 

A. Williamson. Exploring the Unknown: Selected Documents in the History 
The NASA History Series

251

of the U.S. Civil Space Program, Volume VI: Space and Earth Science. 

NASA SP-2004-4407, 2004.

Logsdon, John M., ed., with Roger D. Launius. Exploring the Unknown: 

Selected Documents in the History of the U.S. Civil Space Program, Volume 

VII: Human Spaceflight: Projects Mercury, Gemini, and Apollo. NASA 

SP-2008-4407, 2008.

Siddiqi, Asif A., Challenge to Apollo: The Soviet Union and the Space Race, 

1945–1974. NASA SP-2000-4408, 2000.

Hansen, James R., ed. The Wind and Beyond: Journey into the History of 

Aerodynamics in America, Volume 1: The Ascent of the Airplane. NASA 

SP-2003-4409, 2003.

Hansen, James R., ed. The Wind and Beyond: Journey into the History of 

Aerodynamics in America, Volume 2: Reinventing the Airplane. NASA 

SP-2007-4409, 2007.

Hogan, Thor. Mars Wars: The Rise and Fall of the Space Exploration Initiative. 

NASA SP-2007-4410, 2007. Vakoch, Douglas A., ed. Psychology of 

Space Exploration: Contemporary Research in Historical Perspective. NASA 

SP-2011-4411, 2011. 

Monographs in Aerospace History, NASA SP-4500:

Launius, Roger D., and Aaron K. Gillette, comps. Toward a History of the 

Space Shuttle: An Annotated Bibliography. Monographs in Aerospace 

History, No. 1, 1992.

Launius, Roger D., and J. D. Hunley, comps. An Annotated Bibliography of 

the Apollo Program. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 2, 1994.

Launius, Roger D. Apollo: A Retrospective Analysis. Monographs in Aerospace 

History, No. 3, 1994.

Hansen, James R. Enchanted Rendezvous: John C. Houbolt and the Genesis of 

the Lunar-Orbit Rendezvous Concept. Monographs in Aerospace History, 

No. 4, 1995.

Gorn, Michael H. Hugh L. Dryden’s Career in Aviation and Space. 

Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 5, 1996.
252

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

Powers, Sheryll Goecke. Women in Flight Research at NASA Dryden Flight 

Research Center from 1946 to 1995. Monographs in Aerospace History, 

No. 6, 1997.

Portree, David S. F., and Robert C. Trevino. Walking to Olympus: An EVA 

Chronology. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 7, 1997.

Logsdon, John M., moderator. Legislative Origins of the National Aeronautics 

and Space Act of 1958: Proceedings of an Oral History Workshop. 

Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 8, 1998.

Rumerman, Judy A., comp. U.S. Human Spaceflight: A Record of 

Achievement, 1961–1998. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 9, 

1998.

Portree, David S. F. NASA’s Origins and the Dawn of the Space Age. 

Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 10, 1998.

Logsdon, John M. Together in Orbit: The Origins of International Cooperation 

in the Space Station. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 11, 1998.

Phillips, W. Hewitt. Journey in Aeronautical Research: A Career at NASA 

Langley Research Center. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 12, 1998.

Braslow, Albert L. A History of Suction-Type Laminar-Flow Control with 

Emphasis on Flight Research. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 13, 

1999.

Logsdon, John M., moderator. Managing the Moon Program: Lessons Learned 

from Apollo. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 14, 1999.

Perminov, V. G. The Difficult Road to Mars: A Brief History of Mars 

Exploration in the Soviet Union. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 

15, 1999.

Tucker, Tom. Touchdown: The Development of Propulsion Controlled Aircraft 

at NASA Dryden. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 16, 1999.

Maisel, Martin, Demo J. Giulanetti, and Daniel C. Dugan. The History 

of the XV-15 Tilt Rotor Research Aircraft: From Concept to Flight. 

Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 17, 2000. NASA SP-2000-4517.
The NASA History Series

253

Jenkins, Dennis R. Hypersonics Before the Shuttle: A Concise History of the 

X-15 Research Airplane. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 18, 2000. 

NASA SP-2000-4518.

Chambers, Joseph R. Partners in Freedom: Contributions of the Langley 

Research Center to U.S. Military Aircraft of the 1990s. Monographs in 

Aerospace History, No. 19, 2000. NASA SP-2000-4519.

Waltman, Gene L. Black Magic and Gremlins: Analog Flight Simulations at 

NASA’s Flight Research Center. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 20, 

2000. NASA SP-2000-4520.

Portree, David S. F. Humans to Mars: Fifty Years of Mission Planning, 

1950–2000. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 21, 2001. NASA 

SP-2001-4521.

Thompson, Milton O., with J. D. Hunley. Flight Research: Problems 

Encountered and What They Should Teach Us. Monographs in Aerospace 

History, No. 22, 2001. NASA SP-2001-4522.

Tucker, Tom. The Eclipse Project. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 23, 

2001. NASA SP-2001-4523.

Siddiqi, Asif A. Deep Space Chronicle: A Chronology of Deep Space and 

Planetary Probes, 1958–2000. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 24, 

2002. NASA SP-2002-4524.

Merlin, Peter W. Mach 3+: NASA/USAF YF-12 Flight Research, 1969–1979. 

Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 25, 2001. NASA SP-2001-4525.

Anderson, Seth B. Memoirs of an Aeronautical Engineer: Flight Tests at Ames 

Research Center: 1940–1970. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 26, 

2002. NASA SP-2002-4526.

Renstrom, Arthur G. Wilbur and Orville Wright: A Bibliography 

Commemorating the One-Hundredth Anniversary of the First Powered 

Flight on December 17, 1903. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 27, 

2002. NASA SP-2002-4527.

No monograph 28.
254

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

Chambers, Joseph R. Concept to Reality: Contributions of the NASA Langley 

Research Center to U.S. Civil Aircraft of the 1990s. Monographs in 

Aerospace History, No. 29, 2003. NASA SP-2003-4529.

Peebles, Curtis, ed. The Spoken Word: Recollections of Dryden History, The 

Early Years. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 30, 2003. NASA 

SP-2003-4530.

Jenkins, Dennis R., Tony Landis, and Jay Miller. American X-Vehicles: An 

Inventory—X-1 to X-50. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 31, 

2003. NASA SP-2003-4531.

Renstrom, Arthur G. Wilbur and Orville Wright: A Chronology 

Commemorating the One-Hundredth Anniversary of the First Powered 

Flight on December 17, 1903. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 32, 

2003. NASA SP-2003-4532.

Bowles, Mark D., and Robert S. Arrighi. NASA’s Nuclear Frontier: The Plum 

Brook Research Reactor. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 33, 2004. 

NASA SP-2004-4533.

Wallace, Lane, and Christian Gelzer. Nose Up: High Angle-of-Attack and 

Thrust Vectoring Research at NASA Dryden, 1979–2001. Monographs in 

Aerospace History, No. 34, 2009. NASA SP-2009-4534.

Matranga, Gene J., C. Wayne Ottinger, Calvin R. Jarvis, and D. Christian 

Gelzer. Unconventional, Contrary, and Ugly: The Lunar Landing Research 

Vehicle. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 35, 2006. NASA 

SP-2004-4535.

McCurdy, Howard E. Low-Cost Innovation in Spaceflight: The History of 

the Near Earth Asteroid Rendezvous (NEAR) Mission. Monographs in 

Aerospace History, No. 36, 2005. NASA SP-2005-4536.

Seamans, Robert C., Jr. Project Apollo: The Tough Decisions. Monographs in 

Aerospace History, No. 37, 2005. NASA SP-2005-4537.

Lambright, W. Henry. NASA and the Environment: The Case of Ozone 

Depletion. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 38, 2005. NASA 

SP-2005-4538.
The NASA History Series

255

Chambers, Joseph R. Innovation in Flight: Research of the NASA Langley 

Research Center on Revolutionary Advanced Concepts for Aeronautics. 

Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 39, 2005. NASA SP-2005-4539.

Phillips, W. Hewitt. Journey into Space Research: Continuation of a Career at 

NASA Langley Research Center. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 

40, 2005. NASA SP-2005-4540.

Rumerman, Judy A., Chris Gamble, and Gabriel Okolski, comps. U.S. 

Human Spaceflight: A Record of Achievement, 1961–2006. Monographs in 

Aerospace History, No. 41, 2007. NASA SP-2007-4541.

Peebles, Curtis. The Spoken Word: Recollections of Dryden History Beyond 

the Sky. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 42, 2011. NASA 

SP-2011-4542.

Dick, Steven J., Stephen J. Garber, and Jane H. Odom. Research in NASA 

History. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 43, 2009. NASA 

SP-2009-4543.

Merlin, Peter W. Ikhana: Unmanned Aircraft System Western States Fire 

Missions. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 44, 2009. NASA 

SP-2009-4544.

Fisher, Steven C., and Shamim A. Rahman. Remembering the Giants: Apollo 

Rocket Propulsion Development. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 

45, 2009. NASA SP-2009-4545.

Gelzer, Christian. Fairing Well: From Shoebox to Bat Truck and Beyond, 

Aerodynamic Truck Research at NASA’s Dryden Flight Research Center. 

Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 46, 2011. NASA SP-2011-4546. 

Arrighi, Robert. Pursuit of Power: NASA’s Propulsion Systems Laboratory 

No. 1 and 2. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 48, 2012. NASA 

SP-2012-4548.

Goodrich, Malinda K., Alice R. Buchalter, and Patrick M. Miller, comps. 

Toward a History of the Space Shuttle: An Annotated Bibliography, Part 2 

(1992–2011). Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 49, 2012. NASA 

SP-2012-4549.
256

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

Electronic Media, NASA SP-4600:

Remembering Apollo 11: The 30th Anniversary Data Archive CD-ROM. 

NASA SP-4601, 1999.

Remembering Apollo 11: The 35th Anniversary Data Archive CD-ROM. 

NASA SP-2004-4601, 2004. This is an update of the 1999 edition.

The Mission Transcript Collection: U.S. Human Spaceflight Missions from 

Mercury Redstone 3 to Apollo 17. NASA SP-2000-4602, 2001.

Shuttle-Mir: The United States and Russia Share History’s Highest Stage. NASA 

SP-2001-4603, 2002.

U.S. Centennial of Flight Commission Presents Born of Dreams—Inspired by 

Freedom. NASA SP-2004-4604, 2004.

Of Ashes and Atoms: A Documentary on the NASA Plum Brook Reactor Facility. 

NASA SP-2005-4605, 2005.

Taming Liquid Hydrogen: The Centaur Upper Stage Rocket Interactive 

CD-ROM. NASA SP-2004-4606, 2004.

Fueling Space Exploration: The History of NASA’s Rocket Engine Test Facility 

DVD. NASA SP-2005-4607, 2005.

Altitude Wind Tunnel at NASA Glenn Research Center: An Interactive History 

CD-ROM. NASA SP-2008-4608, 2008.

A Tunnel Through Time: The History of NASA’s Altitude Wind Tunnel. NASA 

SP-2010-4609, 2010.

Conference Proceedings, NASA SP-4700:

Dick, Steven J., and Keith Cowing, eds. Risk and Exploration: Earth, Sea and 

the Stars. NASA SP-2005-4701, 2005.

Dick, Steven J., and Roger D. Launius. Critical Issues in the History of 

Spaceflight. NASA SP-2006-4702, 2006.

Dick, Steven J., ed. Remembering the Space Age: Proceedings of the 50th 

Anniversary Conference. NASA SP-2008-4703, 2008.
The NASA History Series

257

Dick, Steven J., ed. NASA’s First 50 Years: Historical Perspectives. NASA 

SP-2010-4704, 2010.

Societal Impact, NASA SP-4800:

Dick, Steven J., and Roger D. Launius. Societal Impact of Spaceflight. NASA 

SP-2007-4801, 2007.

Dick, Steven J., and Mark L. Lupisella. Cosmos and Culture: Cultural 

Evolution in a Cosmic Context. NASA SP-2009-4802, 2009.

259

Index

Numbers in bold indicate pages with photos and tables.

7J7 aircraft, 158

737 aircraft, 144

737 Transport Systems Research Vehicle (TSRV, 

Terminal Configured Vehicle, TCV), 135–38, 

136, 173, 221

747 aircraft, 90, 212

757 Airborne Research Integrated Experiments 

Station (ARIES), 138

757 aircraft, 147

767 aircraft, 144–45

777 aircraft, 90

777 Quiet Technology Demonstrator (QTD) 

program, 188

787 aircraft, 119, 157, 184n19, 188

941 aircraft, 121n83, 129–30

A

A300 aircraft, 145

A310 aircraft, 145, 147

A320 aircraft, 144, 145, 158–59, 176

A380 aircraft, 90, 212, 213

Abbot, Ira, 64

academia

aeronautics research and research facilities 

in, 2, 5, 28, 28n6

industry support for research at, 6

Access to Space Pillar, 204

accidents, decrease in, 204

acoustics research, 4, 215

active controls, 114, 116–17

active noise control, 187

AD-1 oblique-wing aircraft, 23, 150–54, 153

Adam Aircraft Industries, 199

Adams, Michael J., 75

adaptive controls, 112, 168

Advance Composite Technology (ACT) program, 

184–86, 186n30

Advanced Airspace System (AAS), 222, 222n54, 

223–24, 225

Advanced Air Transportation Technologies 

(AATT) program, 224

Advanced Concepts for Aeronautics Program 

(ACP), 211, 212

Advanced Ducted Propulsor, 159

Advanced Fighter Technology Integration (AFTI) 

program, 156, 163

Advanced General Aviation Transport 

Experiments (AGATE) program, 21, 198, 199, 

200, 201

Advanced Medium STOL Transport (AMST) 

program, 132

Advanced Propulsion System Technology 

(AdvProp), 182

Advanced Research and Technology, Office 

of (OART), 62–65, 97–99, 98. See also

Aeronautics and Space Technology, Office of 

(OAST)

Advanced Stitching Machine (ASM), 185

Advanced Subsonic Technology (AST) Program

aeronautics research programs packaged 

into, 14, 17–18, 23, 175, 181, 183
260

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

composite materials research, 184–86, 

185n22, 186n30

environmental research aircraft and remote 

sensor technology research, 184

focus of research, 183–88

funding for, 14, 17–18, 23, 175, 177n4, 

181–83, 182, 184

goals of, 183

integrated wing design, 184

noise-reduction research, 183, 184, 

186–88, 202

propulsion research, 184

restructuring of, 184

short-haul aircraft, 184

technology integration and environmental 

impact research, 184

terminal area productivity, 184

termination of, 184, 201–2, 203

Advanced Technology Fan Integrator, 159

Advanced Transport Technology Office, 113

Advanced Turboprop Project (ATP), 23, 119, 

156–59, 211

Aero Club of Washington speech, 204

aerodynamics

computational fluid dynamics (CFD) and 

simulation of aerodynamic flow, 4

direction and pace of research, 19, 19n37

Langley research on, 63, 87–90, 103, 143, 

160–61

personnel assignments, 66

speed, altitude, and aerodynamic heating, 

70, 73–74, 75

subsonic flight research, 87–90

transonic flight research, 9–10, 9–10n22

aeroelastic behavior

rotorcraft aeroelasticity, 134–35

tilt-rotor aircraft instability, 124, 127

X-29 Forward-Swept Wing aircraft, 164

X-planes and understanding of, 22

Aeronautical and Space Research, Office of 

(OASP), 62. See also Advanced Research and 

Technology, Office of (OART); Aeronautics and 

Space Technology, Office of (OAST)

aeronautics and aeronautical research

beginning of NASA involvement in, 4–7, 4n5

competition and collegiality between 

communities, 2, 17–18, 102, 232

continuity of research, 202

contributions to by NASA, 1–4, 11

decisions about and control over projects, 

12, 34–35, 36, 38–39, 39n29, 64–65, 

97–102, 227, 229–30

decline in, feelings about, 65

developmental research, 63–64

direction and pace of research, wind tunnel 

influence on, 19–20, 19n37

direction of research and project 

management, 26–27, 34–35, 36, 38–39, 

39n29, 57–59, 62–70, 92, 97–102, 227, 

229–30

discoveries and innovations, logical 

sequence of, 8, 29, 29–30n9, 231

discoveries and innovations, narrative of, 

8–15, 9n20, 9–10n22, 11n25

distribution of research output, 177n4

engineering management exercise, research 

as, 17

evolution of technology and, 7, 7n16

facilities for, 3, 3n3

focus of and creation of NASA, 10, 57–70, 

229–33

focus of and unique structure for at NASA, 

2–3

foreign government programs for, 2, 3, 3n4, 

20

fundamental research and Fundamental 

Aeronautics program, 30–31, 32, 38, 57, 

63–64, 206, 207, 214–15, 230

government support for, 2–7, 4n5, 11, 14

impact of, 2–4

industry programs for, 2, 6, 28–29, 32

management of, 21–22, 23
Index

261

methodologies for, 2, 2n2, 17, 18, 19–21, 

20n40

military applications for, 1–4, 28–29, 45, 

95, 146, 175–76

military programs for, 2, 28, 32, 40–41, 

42–44, 44n40

mission and goals of, 1, 14–15, 20–21, 

93–97, 169, 174, 229–30, 232–34

mission and goals of, shifting of, 23, 203–8, 

226–27

NSTC and status of, 180–81

practical and public focus of projects, 

94–96, 98–99, 100–101, 115–16, 139, 

232–33

program focus of research, 169, 207

reinvention and reinvigoration of, 14, 

20–21, 23, 169

relationship between space program and, 

16–18, 57–59, 57n1, 65, 92, 94, 96

scale and size of research projects, 2, 16

space program support from, 4, 22, 59, 

229–30

spinoff benefits of, 94–95, 95n6

support for and direction of aeronautics 

research, 94, 201–2

university programs for, 2

Aeronautics and Space Engineering Board 

(ASEB), National Research Council, 142

Aeronautics and Space Technology, Office of 

(OAST)

direction of research and project 

management, 97–102

leadership and structural organization of 

Centers and, 142

mission and goals of, 99

mission and goals of research, 169

name change from Office of Advanced 

Research and Technology, 99

reorganization of, 142

Shuttle and hypersonic aeronautical 

research, 96

Aeronautics and Space Transportation 

Technology Enterprise, 204

Aeronautics Research Mission Directorate 

(ARMD), 206–8

Aeronautics Technology Enterprise, 204

Aeronautics Test program, 206–7

aerospace industry, government support for and 

intervention in, 6

Aerospace Plane Technology (AeroSP) program, 

182

Aero-Space Technology, Office of, 168

Aerospace Technology Enterprise/Aero-Space 

Technology Enterprise, 204–5

agricultural experiment stations, 5

AH-1 Cobra, 123

Airborne Research Integrated Experiments 

Station (ARIES), 138

Airbus

CFD efforts, 147

commercial aircraft market share, 145, 177

competitive threat from, 23, 144, 145–46, 

145n10, 147, 176, 176n3, 184

competitive threat from aircraft, 115–16

VLA studies with Boeing, 212

Airbus A300 aircraft, 145

Airbus A310 aircraft, 145, 147

Airbus A320 aircraft, 144, 145, 158–59, 176

Airbus A380 aircraft, 90, 212, 213

aircraft

CFD and design and development of, 4

development of, national support for, 5, 6

environmental research aircraft and remote 

sensor technology research, 184

evolution of design and technology, 7, 7n16

forward-swept-wing aircraft, 22, 162, 

164–65, 165, 166, 173–74

fuel-efficiency research, 12

quiet jet (QCSEE) program, 132, 196

unstable vehicles and automatic flight control, 

8, 12, 13, 22, 107, 113, 160, 162, 174

See also X-planes
262

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

Aircraft Energy Efficiency Program (ACEE)

active controls, 114, 116–17

Advanced Turboprop Project as part of, 119, 

156, 157

commercially oriented research of, 95–96, 

115

composite materials research, 114, 

117–18, 119

contract awards, 101

Energy Efficient Engine Program, 114, 

118–19

Engine Component Improvement (ECI) 

Program, 118

fuel conservation technology, 114, 114n57

goals and focus of research, 12, 95–96, 

113–19, 183

laminar flow control, 114, 115, 117

practical and public focus of projects, 

115–16

propulsion programs, 114, 118–19

smaller programs packaged into, 95, 

113–19, 181

success of, 119, 174

winglet design and testing, 113, 116

Aircraft Engine Research Laboratory, 33, 

46–47, 172. See also Glenn Research 

Center/Lewis Research Center/Lewis Engine 

Laboratory

Aircraft Fuel Conservation Technology, Advisory 

Board for, 114

aircraft parking space, 212

Air Engineering Development Center 

(AEDC, later renamed Arnold Engineering 

Development Center), 40–41

Air Florida 737 flight, 171

Air Force/Army Air Forces, U.S.

Advanced Fighter Technology Integration 

(AFTI) program, 156

Advanced Medium STOL Transport (AMST) 

program, 132

airpower strategy and tactics, 31–32, 

159–61

establishment of, 8, 28

flyable spaceplane, lobbying for, 77–78

fly-by-wire systems, 108–9

lifting-body program, 79

missile research programs, 52–53

NACA battle with over wind tunnels, 19

relationship between NACA and, 45

research and research facilities, 5, 9, 

40–41, 42–44, 44n40

rocketry research program, 52

rotorcraft program, 194

scramjet research, 217n38, 219, 

219–20n45

supersonic bombers and transports, 83, 

83n49

tilt-rotor aircraft, 127

V/STOL aircraft, 122, 124

wind tunnel, 40-by-80-by-120-foot, 194

X-15 program, 71, 73

X-20 Dyna-Soar program, 77, 77n36

X-24/X-24A/X-24B lifting body, 76, 80, 81

X-31 EFM, 167

Air Force Flight Dynamics Laboratory, WrightPatterson Air Force Base, 81, 162, 164

Air Force Research Laboratory, Hypersonic 

Technology Office, 219

airframe noise, 187, 188

airlines, deregulation of, 96–97, 97n10, 133–

34n127, 144–45

Air Policy Commission, President’s (Finletter 

Commission), 31–32, 31n13

airpower strategy and tactics, 31–32, 159–61

airspace management

airline deregulation and airspace 

congestion, 97

airspace systems program, 204, 205, 206

Ames research on, 15, 221–26, 227, 233

four-dimensional (4D) guidance, 221–22, 

226, 227
Index

263

gridlock, 133, 133–34n127

human-machine system and control 

methodologies for, 220–21

national airspace system capacity increase, 

204

STOL aircraft and airspace congestion, 12, 

22, 122, 123, 128–29n106, 128–30, 

221

Air Traffic Control Advisory Committee, 

Department of Transportation, 221

air traffic control system

Advanced Airspace System (AAS), 222, 

222n54, 223–24, 225

Center-TRACON Automated System (CTAS), 

223, 224, 225, 227

Descent Advisor, 223

Final Approach Spacing Tool, 223

flexibility of, 225

instrument flight rules and instrument 

landing system, 200–201, 220, 220n47, 

222

Microwave Landing System (MIL), 222, 

223–24

Next Generation Air Transportation System 

(NGATS), 220–26

renovation of, 4

research on, 23, 233

SATS program and instrument flight rules, 

200–201

second-generation system, 220, 220n47

STOL aircraft and air traffic control system 

design and operation, 201, 221

terminal radar approach controls 

(TRACONs), 222, 223, 227

third-generation system, 220n47

Traffic Management Advisor, 223

Alexander Report, 221

Allen, H. Julian “Harvey,” 49–50

blunt-body research, 49–50, 51, 78, 103

Center Director role, 68, 103

focus of research at Ames, 69

Special Committee on Space Technology 

role, 55, 55n64

Allison and Detroit Diesel Allison engines, 33, 

158, 196

altitude

aerodynamic heating and high altitudes, 70, 

73–74, 75

high-altitude, high-speed flight research, 

9–10, 9–10n22, 159–60

X-15 record, 75

American Institute of Aeronautics and 

Astronautics, 105

Ames, Joseph, 35, 36

Ames-Dryden Flight Research Facility, 143

Ames Industrial Corporation, 153

Ames Research Center/Ames Aeronautical 

Laboratory

airspace management research, 15, 221–

26, 227, 233

astrobiology research, 15

branch system and structural organization 

of, 15–16

CFD development and research, 12, 13, 15, 

95, 102–6, 146–50, 231

direction of research and project 

management, 97–102

establishment of, 33

flight simulation research, 15

focus of research at, 12–13, 15–16, 22, 

33, 49–50, 63, 69, 69nn26–27, 92, 94, 

103–4, 142–43, 231

human factors research, 15, 69

leadership continuity, 68

leadership from outside, 68, 92, 98, 103

lifting-body program, 78–79

maneuverability programs research support 

from, 160

mission and goals of, 62–65

National Full-Scale Aerodynamics Complex, 

13
264

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

Numerical Aerodynamic Simulation (NAS) 

facility, 13, 23, 146–50, 181–83, 182

oblique-wing aircraft, 23, 150–54, 153

personnel at, 33, 144

Pressure Wind Tunnel, 12-Foot, 143

rotorcraft program at, 15, 134–35, 142

SST program role, 85

STOL research (STOLAND project), 13, 

130–33, 221–22, 227, 233

subsonic tunnel, 7-by-10, 134

supercomputers at, 12, 23, 103–4, 

104n27, 106, 142, 146–50

supersonic free-flight tunnel, 50n55

Supersonic Wind Tunnel, 9-by-7-Foot, 154

tilt-rotor research, 124–27

UH-60 Airloads program, 191–94, 192, 

193nn51–52, 202, 209n18, 233

Unitary Plan Wind Tunnel, 51

V/STOL research, 121, 122

wind tunnel, 40-by-80-by-120-foot, 79, 

124, 134, 143, 144, 156, 191, 193, 194

wind tunnel facilities at, 12, 15, 33, 232

X-14 VTOL aircraft, 209

X-36 Tailless Fighter Agility Research 

Aircraft, 167–68

angle of attack

F-18 High Alpha Research Vehicle (HARV), 

166–67

High Alpha Technology Program, 161

X-29 maneuverability, 165

X-31 Enhanced Fighter Maneuverability 

Demonstrator (EFM), 167

Apollo program

bold spirit of, 14, 169, 174

digital computer and software, 108, 109, 

110–11, 112

drawdown of, 12, 22

end of and aeronautics research, 62

Lunar Exploration Module, 108

lunar lander simulator, 195, 195

Lunar Landing Research Vehicle, 108

rallying of Agency around, 207

success of, 93

Appold, Norman C., 55n64

Arc-Heated Scramjet Test Facility, 215–16n33

arc jet tunnels, 20n40

area-rule fuselage research, 46, 47, 83–84, 233

Armstrong, Neil, 109

Army, U.S.

helicopter use by, 122–23, 123n85, 134

missile research programs, 52–53

research and research facilities, 4–5, 5n6, 32

rocketry research program, 52

rotorcraft program, 15, 97, 134–35, 194

Rotor Systems Research Aircraft (RSRA), 

154–56

UH-60 Airloads program, 191–94, 192, 

193nn51–52, 202, 209n18, 233

V/STOL aircraft, 122, 124, 125, 125n92

Army Aeronautical Research Laboratory, 134, 

135

Arnold, Henry “Hap,” 28, 40–41

Arnold Engineering Development Center (AEDC, 

originally named Air Engineering Development 

Center), 40–41

Association of European Airlines (AEA), 172

astrobiology research, 15, 69, 69n26

atmospheric ozone depletion research, 189, 

190

atomic (nuclear) weapons, focus of research 

on, 9

Atomic Energy Commission, 47

Augmentor Wing Jet STOL Research Aircraft 

(AWJSRA), 131–32, 131, 132n120, 133

Automated En Route Air Traffic Control (AERA) 

program, 222

automatic dependent surveillance-broadcast 

(ADS-B) system, 201

autopilot, 162–63

Avco Lycoming/Lycoming, 159n54, 196

aviation

aeronautics research to support, 1–4
Index

265

cultural and national symbolism of, 6–7, 

7n15

evolution of technology, 7, 7n16

museum dedicated to, 7

postwar aviation commission and 

recommendations, 31–32, 31n13

aviation litigation costs, 197, 201

Aviation Safety (AvSafety) Program/aviation 

safety and security program, 177n4, 182, 

204, 205, 206

Aviation Systems Capacity (AvSyCap) program, 

182

avionics, focus of research on, 18

Avro VZ-9 V/STOL aircraft, 122

B

B-1 swing-wing aircraft, 151, 160, 160n55

B-2 stealth bomber, 113, 154, 160

B-29 mother ship launch aircraft, 43

B-52 mother ship launch aircraft, 74, 80, 162, 

163, 217, 218

B-58 bomber, 83–84

B-70 bomber, 83–84

Bakke, Oscar, 129

Ballhaus, Bill, 147

ballistic reentry, 77

ballooning activities, 4n5

Barriage, Joan, 128

Becker, John, 46n44, 73, 75, 168

Beech aircraft, 194, 197

Belgium, 3n4

Bell AH-1 Cobra, 123

Bell Aircraft Company tilt-rotor aircraft, 122, 

124–27

Bellanca aircraft, 197

Bell Boeing V-22 Osprey aircraft, 127

Bell UH-1 helicopter, 123

Bell X-1 aircraft, 10, 70

Bell X-5 aircraft, 45, 85

Bell X-14 V/STOL aircraft, 122, 209

Bell X-22 V/STOL aircraft, 122

Bell XS-1 aircraft, 42–44, 43, 70, 73

Bell XV-3 V/STOL aircraft, 122, 124, 127

Bell XV-15 tilt-rotor aircraft, 125, 125n94, 

126–27, 126, 155, 191

Bikle, Paul, 78–79, 80, 81

biology research, 15, 69, 69n26

biomedicine research, 69

Black Hawk helicopters, 127

blended wing body (BWB) aircraft, 23, 210–15, 

213, 214, 226, 232

Blohm & Voss P.202 aircraft, 151

blunt-body research, 50, 51, 78, 103

Bode, Hendrik W., 55n64

Boeing

active controls research, 116–17

aircraft in response to A320 aircraft, 

158–59

BWB designs, 210–15, 213, 214, 226

composite materials research, 117–18, 

185–86

GE-36 engine use by, 158

government support for R&D by, 177, 

177n4

helicopter production, 123

high-speed civil transport program, 188–91

icing and deicing fluids research, 172

merger with McDonnell Douglas, 168, 

176n1, 177, 212

Mission Adaptive Wing (MAW), 156

noise-reduction research and QTD program, 

188

North American Aviation purchase by, 176n1

oblique-wing (yawed-wing) research, 

152–53, 154

Phantom Works Divisions, 185–86

research and technology development by, 

27–28n5

Rockwell space and defense businesses 

purchase by, 176n1
266

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

SST program role, 84, 85–87, 87n59

support for academic research by, 6

tilt-rotor aircraft, 125, 127

VLA studies with Airbus, 212

Boeing 7J7 aircraft, 158

Boeing 737 aircraft, 144

Boeing 737 Transport Systems Research Vehicle 

(TSRV, Terminal Configured Vehicle, TCV), 

135–38, 136, 173, 221

Boeing 747 aircraft, 90, 212

Boeing 757 Airborne Research Integrated 

Experiments Station (ARIES), 138

Boeing 757 aircraft, 147

Boeing 767 aircraft, 144–45

Boeing 777 aircraft, 90

Boeing 777 Quiet Technology Demonstrator 

(QTD) program, 188

Boeing 787 aircraft, 119, 157, 184n19, 188

Boeing C-17 (McDonnell Douglas C-17) 

transport, 133

Boeing Sonic Cruiser, 191, 212

Boeing X-48B blended wing body (BWB) 

aircraft, 209, 213–15, 214, 226

Boeing X-51 scramjet, 219

Boeing YC-14 STOL aircraft, 132

BOMARC missile system, 216

Bongo, Operation, 84–85

Boyd, Jack, 68, 70

Braslow, Albert, 113

Breguet 941 aircraft, 121n83, 129–30

budgets and funding

accountability and control over decisions 

about, 14, 16, 23, 92, 227, 233

ACT program, 184, 186

aeronautics goals and realignment of 

funding, 203–4

aeronautics research funding, 2, 14–15, 

16–18, 21–22, 57, 65–68, 66, 67, 94, 

96, 99, 99, 178, 178n6, 179, 181–83, 

182, 201–2, 235–38, 236, 237

AST program, 14, 17–18, 23, 175, 177n4, 

181–83, 182, 184

ATP funding, 157–58

Congressional support for funding, 

17–18n34, 23

decrease in aeronautics research budget, 

23, 139, 175, 203, 234

DP-2 V/STOL aircraft, 209–10, 

209nn18–19

earmarks, 208–10, 208n14, 227

faster, better, cheaper approach and, 

178–80, 226

federal funding for commercially oriented 

research, 27, 27n4, 82, 95–96, 100–

101, 141–42, 168–69, 174, 175–78, 

178n6, 183–84, 202

federally funded research, criticism of, 22, 

141–42, 168–69

federally funded research, limitations on, 

203

federally funded research, support for, 

177–79, 178n6, 203

HSR program, 14, 17–18, 23, 175, 181–

83, 182, 190

large-project management and funding, 14, 

17–18, 17–18n34, 23, 26–27, 57–59, 

62–70, 92, 230

military prototypes funding, 23

mission-oriented side of NASA and, 17

NACA appropriations, 34

NASP funding, 170–71, 174

performance accounting and oversight of 

programs, 180

Reagan administration and, 141

research side of NASA and, 17

rotorcraft program funding, 182, 183, 202

space program funding, 16–18, 65–68, 66, 

67, 139

space race end and NASA budget, 93n1

Space Shuttle program funding, 175

Space Station funding, 175, 178, 191
Index

267

tilt-rotor aircraft, 125, 125n92, 125n94, 

127, 183

UH-60 Airloads program, 193, 202, 209n18

X-plane funding, 23

Buffalo Augmentor Wing Jet STOL Research 

Aircraft (AWJSRA), 131–32, 131, 132n120, 

133

Burke, Melvin E., 108, 109

Burroughs, 147, 149

Bush, Vannevar, 35

Bush administration and George H. W. Bush, 

178

Bush administration and George W. Bush, 177, 

203, 207, 220

Bushnell, Dennis M., 211

business jets, 191, 194, 197, 198–99

BWB-LSV aircraft, 212. See also Boeing X-48B 

blended wing body (BWB) aircraft

C

C-17 transport, 133

C-130B STOL aircraft, 122

C-134 STOL aircraft, 122

California Institute of Technology (Caltech), 6, 

28, 28n6, 47

Calspan, 6

Canadian STOL aircraft research, 131–32, 

132n120

Cape Canaveral/Kennedy Space Center, 62

carbon-carbon, 167

Carter administration and Jimmy Carter, 144, 

146, 160, 207

Center-TRACON Automated System (CTAS), 

223, 224, 225, 227

Central Aerohydrodynamic Institute (Tsentralniy 

Aerogidrodinamicheskiy Institut, TsAGI), 3n4

Century of Aviation Reauthorization Act, 220

Cessna aircraft, 90, 194, 197, 199, 199n67

CFD. See computational fluid dynamics (CFD)

Chambers, Joseph, 212

Chapman, Dean R., 103, 105, 147

Civil Aeronautics Board, 96–97

Civil Aviation Research and Development Policy 

Study (CARD), 94

Civil War, 4n5

Clauser, Milton U., 55n64

Clinton administration and William Jefferson 

Clinton, 177–79, 178n6, 183–84, 197, 203

cockpit equipment

digital equipment, 12

display of information, 137–38

highway in the sky and head-up display, 

201

Cold War

end of and aeronautics research, 14, 16, 

23, 203, 234

focus of research and, 9, 22, 174

Soviet military capabilities development, 

concerns about, 9, 13, 175, 229

Collier Trophy, 158

Combustion-Heated Scramjet Test Facility, 

215–16n33

Commerce, Department of, 180–81n15, 220

commercial aviation. See industry and 

commercial aviation

Commercial Programs, Office of (NASA), 141n1

committee and subcommittee structure, 35, 

37–38, 39, 50, 52, 55–56

composite materials research, 14, 114, 117–

18, 119, 146, 184–86, 185n22, 186n30

Computational Aerodynamic Design Facility, 

147. See also Numerical Aerodynamic 

Simulation (NAS) facility (Ames)

computational fluid dynamics (CFD)

aerodynamic flow simulation with, 4

aircraft design and development with use 

of, 4

Ames research on, 12, 13, 15, 95, 102–6, 

146–50, 231

branch system and research on, 16
268

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

correlation and validation of results, 211, 

215

development of, 2, 4, 8, 12, 13, 20

development of testing technologies for, 

105, 160–61

Glenn/Lewis research on, 102

Langley research on, 95, 102, 106, 231

UH-60 Airloads database and development 

of, 193, 193n52

use of in research, 2, 22

wind tunnel research competition from, 4, 

12, 13, 20, 95, 105–6

Computational Fluid Dynamics Conference, 

First, 105

computers and software

adaptive controls, 168

Ames supercomputers, 12, 23, 103–4, 

104n27, 106, 142, 146–50

Apollo digital computer and software, 108, 

109, 110–11, 112

cockpit equipment, digital, 12

commercially available computers for digital 

fly-by-wire system, 111–12

custom-built equipment, 150

digital computers and NASA uses for, 12, 

22, 23, 94–95, 102–6, 146

NASTRAN (NASA Structural Analysis) 

program, 12

Numerical Aerodynamic Simulation facility 

(Ames), 13, 23, 146–50, 181–83, 182

personnel for coding mathematical 

operations for, 102, 102n22

Space Shuttle digital computer and 

software, 96, 112, 113

Concorde, 11, 82–83, 113

Congress, U.S.

accountability and control over budget 

decisions, 23

ACEE and commercially oriented research, 

96, 115

aeronautics research, battle over, 142

ATP funding, 157–58

earmarks, 208–10, 208n14, 227

environmental concerns and aeronautics 

research programs, 12

funding for research, 17–18n34, 23

NASA creation, 10

performance accounting and oversight of 

programs, 180

SST program support, 82–83

support for and direction of aeronautics 

research, 10, 17–18, 17–18n34

Conner, William, 115, 115–16n63

Continental Airlines DC-10 aircraft, 116

contractors and outsourcing, 106, 144

Control Data Corporation (CDC), 106, 147, 148, 

149

Control Data Corporation (CDC) 7600 computer, 

104

control laws, digital flight controls to optimize, 

110, 112, 163, 167

control surfaces

active controls, 114, 116–17

control laws for pilot input for, 112

dynamic stability system, 165

maneuverability program aircraft use of, 

160

mechanical linkages to flight control system 

to, 107

X-15 aircraft, 74

X-29 Forward-Swept Wing aircraft, 162, 

165

Convair B-58 bomber, 83–84

Convair F-102 delta-wing interceptor, 46, 

83–84

Convair XFY-1 VTOL aircraft, 120, 122

Copper Canyon project, 168, 217

Cornell Aeronautical Laboratory, 6

Corson, Dale R., 55n64

cost of air travel, reduction in, 204

Cranfield Aerospace, 214
Index

269

crash testing and crash survivability research, 4, 

195–96, 195, 198

Cray, Seymour, 148

Cray-1 supercomputer, 148

Cray-2 supercomputer, 149, 149n20, 150

Cray X-MP supercomputer, 150

Cray Y-MP supercomputer, 149

Crossfield, Scott, 44, 73, 74, 130

Curtiss-Wright

Buffalo lab, 6

jet engine research by, 49

Curtiss-Wright X-19 V/STOL aircraft, 122

Curtiss-Wright X-100 V/STOL aircraft, 122

Czech Republic, 3n4

D

D-558 Skyrocket, 42–44, 44n40

Dana, Bill, 80

Darden, Ben, 129

Dash-7 aircraft, 133

DC-8 aircraft, 171

DC-9 (McDonnell Douglas MD-90) wing, 185, 

185n22

DC-9 aircraft, 171

DC-10 aircraft, 116, 144

Deets, Dwain A., 108, 110

Defence Science and Technology Laboratory, 3n4

Defense, Department of (DOD)

Aircraft Fuel Conservation Technology, 

Advisory Board for, 114

airpower strategy and tactics, 31–32, 

159–61

Committee on Transportation R&D, 

180–81n15

GPS development, 224

NASP program, 168–71

NGATS project, 220

rotorcraft program, 194

X-plane development, 13

Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency 

(DARPA)

Copper Canyon project, 168, 217

Illiac IV supercomputer project, 104

NASP program, 188

oblique flying wing research, 151, 154

V/STOL aircraft, 209

X-29 Forward-Swept Wing aircraft, 164

X-31 EFM, 167

X-wing experiment, 155–56

DeFrance, Smith, 68, 69

de Havilland/Bombardier aircraft, 97, 133

de Havilland Buffalo Augmentor Wing Jet STOL 

Research Aircraft (AWJSRA), 131–32, 131, 

132n120, 133

de Havilland Dash-7 aircraft, 133

deicing fluids and icing research, 4, 23, 104, 

171–72

Delta L-1011 flight, 172

delta wing, 86, 86

Dempsey, James R., 55n64

Descent Advisor, 223

Design Development Test Articles, 185–86

Destroyers X-21A program, 117

Detroit Diesel Allison and Allison engines, 33, 

158, 196

Deutsch Aerospace X-31 Enhanced Fighter 

Maneuverability Demonstrator (EFM), 167

Deutsches Zentrum für Luft- und Raumfahrt 

(DLR), 3n4

developmental research, 63–64

DF-9 project, 218

Digital Electronic Engine Controls (DEEC) 

program, 113

digital fly-by-wire system development, 4, 8, 

12, 13, 22, 107–13, 160, 231. See also flight 

control systems

Direct-Connect Supersonic Combustion Test 

Facility, 215–16n33

DO3 aircraft, 121n83

Doak VZ-4 V/STOL aircraft, 122
270

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

Doolittle, Jimmy, 53

Doppler radar, 173

Douglas, Donald, 28

Douglas Aircraft

focus of research by NACA, 20

support for academic research by, 6

Douglas D-558 Skyrocket, 42–44, 44n40

Douglas DC-3 (R4-D tow-plane), 79

Douglas DC-8 aircraft, 171

Douglas DC-9 (McDonnell Douglas MD-90) 

wing, 185, 185n22

Douglas DC-9 aircraft, 171

Douglas DC-10 aircraft, 116, 144

Douglas X-21A Destroyers program, 117

Douglas XB-19 aircraft, 43

Dow, Norris, 73

DP-1 VTOL aircraft, 209–10

DP-2 V/STOL aircraft, 209–10, 209nn18–19

drag

area-rule fuselage research, 46, 47, 83–84, 

233

research on, 4

shock waves and wavedrag, 88–89

Draper Laboratory, 109, 110, 112

Dryden, Hugh

background and expertise of, 36

Center named in honor of, 34

Finletter Commission testimony, 31n13

Mach 2 flight record, 44n40

politics and NASA, 60n4

Research Aircraft Program, 44

space agency focus of NASA, 53, 56, 57, 

59–61

space policy speeches, 55

Dryden Flight Research Center/Flight Research 

Center/High Speed Flight Station

Advanced Fighter Technology Integration 

(AFTI) program, 156

Ames-Dryden Flight Research Facility, 143

blended wing body (BWB) aircraft, 210, 214, 

215, 226

branch system and structural organization 

of, 15–16

digital fly-by-wire system development, 

107–13

direction of research and project 

management, 97–102

dry-lakebed flight research facility, 10, 15, 

231–32

F-18 High Alpha Research Vehicle (HARV), 

166–67

flight control system development at, 4, 12, 

13, 160

focus of research at, 15–16, 20, 34, 45, 45, 

63, 92, 94, 143, 231–32

leadership from outside, 92

lifting-body program, 78–82

Mission Adaptive Wing (MAW), 156

mission and goals of, 62–65

naming and renaming of, 34, 44–45, 78, 

143

power-by-wire research, 184n19

remote control aircraft model research, 161

Remotely Piloted Research Vehicle (RPRV), 

161–62

scramjet research, 218

tilt-rotor research, 126–27, 126

transonic flight research, 43–46, 43, 44n40

X-plane development role, 13

duPont, Anthony, 209

duPont Aerospace Company, 209

duPont DP-1 VTOL aircraft, 209–10

duPont DP-2 V/STOL aircraft, 209–10, 

209nn18–19

Dyna-Soar program, 77, 77n36

E

earmarks, 208–10, 208n14, 227

Eastern Airlines, 129–30

Eclipse Aviation, 198–99, 199n67
Index

271

economics

airline deregulation, 96–97, 97n10, 144–45

economic effects of aeronautics research, 1

large-project funding support, 17–18n34

spinoff benefits of research, 94–95, 95n6

support for research and, 8

Edwards, George, 78

Edwards Air Force Base, 45

Eggers, Al, 50, 78–79, 84

Eisenhower administration and Dwight D. 

Eisenhower, 10, 57, 60–61, 83, 84

electronic attitude director indicator (EADI), 

137–38

electronic horizontal situation indicator (EHSI), 

137–38

Embraer aircraft, 97, 199n67

energy and environmental concerns

aeronautics research and solutions for, 12, 

22, 94, 96, 98, 100

environmental research aircraft and remote 

sensor technology research, 184

existing research programs on, 12, 22, 

113–19

fuel conservation technology, 114, 114n57

fuel prices and ACEE program, 113–19

fuel prices and Advanced Turboprop Project 

(ATP), 119, 156–57, 158

Langley research on, 13, 143

oil embargo and shortage, 12, 13, 96, 100, 

113–14, 115–16

technology integration and environmental 

impact research, 184

whole-planet approach to solving, 100

See also Aircraft Energy Efficiency Program 

(ACEE)

Energy Efficient Engine Program, 114, 118–19

engineering management exercise, research 

as, 17

engines

Advanced Ducted Propulsor, 159

Advanced Technology Fan Integrator, 159

Advanced Turboprop Project (ATP), 23, 119, 

156–59, 211

air-breathing propulsion research, 12, 

68–69, 156

augmentor wing, 131–32, 131, 132n120, 

133

Energy Efficient Engine Program, 114, 

118–19

Engine Component Improvement (ECI) 

Program, 118

fan blades and noise, 187

geared turbofans (GTFs), 159, 159nn53–54

general aviation aircraft engines, 196, 198, 

199

Glenn/Lewis research on, 15, 20, 68–69, 

161, 196

high-bypass engines, 157, 187–88, 

190n43

integrated scramjet research, 217–19, 

219

jet engine characteristics and operation, 

216

jet engine development and focus of 

research, 9, 15, 29, 29–30n9, 46–49, 48

jet engines and noise, 187

low-bypass engines, 187, 189

mixed-flow turbofan engines, 189–90, 

190n43

noise-reduction research, 14, 100, 183, 

184, 186–88, 189–91, 202

propeller blade compressibility, 157

propeller turbine research, 15

propfan research, 158

ramjet characteristics and operation, 216

research on, 4

scramjet research, 13, 15, 23, 168, 215–

16n33, 215–19, 217n38, 219–20n45, 

219, 226

turbine research, focus on, 20, 46–49

UEET program, 182

England. See Great Britain
272

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

Enterprise Management concept, 179–80, 

204–5

Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), 

Committee on Transportation R&D, 

180–81n15

Erzberger, Heinz, 221–26, 233

Europe/European Union

aeronautics research and research facilities 

in, 3, 3n4

aircraft development and aviation research, 

national support for, 5, 6, 11, 82–83, 176, 

234

competitive threat from aircraft industry in, 

23, 115–16, 144, 145–46, 145n10, 147, 

176, 176n3, 184, 234

icing and deicing fluids research, 172

U.S.-EU bilateral agreement about aircraft 

development, 176–78, 176n3, 177n4, 

234

European Transonic Wind Tunnel, 3n4

exobiology research, 69

experimental vehicles. See X-planes

Extended Twin-engine Operating Performance 

Standards (ETOPS), 145

F

F-4 Phantom aircraft, 108–9

F-8 aircraft

digital fly-by-wire system research, 110–11, 

111, 112–13

Iron Bird aircraft, 110

oblique wing research, 152, 154

supercritical airfoil and wing design 

research, 90, 90n64, 90, 116, 152

F-15 fighter aircraft, 162

F-16 fighter aircraft, 160, 162, 163

F-18 High Alpha Research Vehicle (HARV), 

166–67

F-102 delta-wing interceptor, 46, 83–84

F-104 fighter aircraft, 159

F-111 swing-wing aircraft, 90, 151, 156

F-117 fighter aircraft, 113, 160

Faget, Maxim “Max,” 69, 73

Fairchild aircraft, 197

faster, better, cheaper motto, 178–79, 178n8, 226

Federal Aviation Administration/Federal Aviation 

Agency (FAA)

Aircraft Fuel Conservation Technology, 

Advisory Board for, 114

air traffic control and Next Generation Air 

Transportation System (NGATS), 220–26, 

227

air traffic control system research, 233

automatic dependent surveillance-broadcast 

(ADS-B) system, 201

composite materials certification, 118

crash testing and crash survivability 

research, 196

deicing guidelines, 172

Extended Twin-engine Operating 

Performance Standards (ETOPS), 145

general aviation aircraft and pilot licensing 

categories, 198

GPS-WAAS, 200

home-built aircraft, 197

instrument landings and cockpit information, 

138

Joint Planning and Development Office, 220

noise-reduction research, 186

SATS program and instrument flight rules, 201

SST program role, 11, 59, 82–87, 92

STOL and VTOL aircraft, 128–29

Terminal Configured Vehicle (TCV, later 

renamed Transport Systems Research 

Vehicle, TSRV), 136, 136n135

wind-shear research and systems, 172–73

federally funded research

commercially oriented research, 27, 27n4, 

82, 95–96, 100–101, 141–42, 168–69, 

174, 175–78, 178n6, 183–84, 202
Index

273

criticism of, 22, 141–42, 168–69

limitations on, 203

support for, 177–79, 178n6, 203

Ferri, Antonio, 46

fiber-optic signaling, 184, 184n19

fighter aircraft

Advanced Fighter Technology Integration 

(AFTI) program, 156, 163

advances in technologies for, 14

best designs, characteristics of, 97

Lightweight Fighter Program, 160

stealth technologies, 160

Final Approach Spacing Tool, 223

Finletter, Thomas K., 31

Finletter Commission (President’s Air Policy 

Commission), 31–32, 31n13

fixed-wing aircraft

Fundamental Aeronautics research, 207, 

214–15

Langley research on, 13, 142–43

FJ33 engine, 199

FJX-2 engine, 198

Fletcher, James, 100–101, 101n20, 119

flight control systems

active controls, 114, 116–17

adaptive controls, 112, 168

commercially available computers for, 

111–12

control laws, digital flight controls to 

optimize, 110, 112, 163, 167

deadband region, 110n43

digital fly-by-wire system development, 4, 8, 

12, 13, 22, 107–13, 160, 231

Dryden research on, 4, 12, 13, 160

F-18 HARV flight control system, 166

fly-by-wire, definition and concept of, 107, 

107n35

HiMAT and digital fly-by-wire system, 162

mechanical linkages in conventional 

systems, 107

pilot movements and predictability of 

response, 110, 110n43

power-by-wire system, 184, 184n19

reliability goals, 110

Shuttle computer, software, and digital flyby-wire system, 96, 112, 113

unstable vehicles and automatic control, 8, 

12, 13, 22, 107, 113, 160, 162, 174

voice commands, 163

X-15 aircraft, 74

X-29 and digital fly-by-wire system, 164

X-36 and digital fly-by-wire system, 168

flight mechanics, operation, and environment, 

63, 66

Flight Research Center. See Dryden Flight 

Research Center/Flight Research Center/High 

Speed Flight Station

flight testing

autopilot, 162–63

correlation and validation of testing results, 

161, 215

Dryden research on, 20

F-18 HARV, 166–67

facilities for, 3, 3n3, 9

focus of research on, 10, 18

HiMAT remotely piloted vehicle, 162–63, 

163

oblique-wing aircraft, 151, 152, 153, 153

as starting point of investigations, 10

use of in research, 2

X-29 Forward-Swept Wing aircraft, 165, 165

X-plane development, 13

X-planes and flight-test research, 10

flying wings, 210

forward-swept-wing aircraft, 22, 113, 162, 

164–65, 165, 173–74

four-dimensional (4D) guidance, 221–22, 226, 

227

France

aeronautics research and research facilities 

in, 3n4, 158
274

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

aircraft development and aviation research, 

national support for, 5

Concorde program, 82–83, 84, 84n51, 113

V/STOL research, 121n83

fuel prices

ACEE program and, 113–19

Advanced Turboprop Project (ATP), 119, 

156–57, 158

fuel conservation technology, 114, 114n57

oil embargo and shortage, 12, 13, 96, 100, 

113–14, 115–16

Fuller, Frank, 103

fundamental research and Fundamental 

Aeronautics program, 30–31, 32, 38, 57, 

63–64, 206, 207, 214–15, 230

funding. See budgets and funding

G

Garrett AiResearch, 159n54, 196

GE-36 unducted fan engine, 158, 159

GE90 engine, 188

geared turbofans (GTFs), 159, 159nn53–54

General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade 

(U.S.-EU bilateral agreement about aircraft 

development), 176–78, 176n3, 177n4, 234

general aviation

AGATE program, 21, 198, 199, 200, 201

automatic dependent surveillance-broadcast 

(ADS-B) system, 201

categories of aircraft, 194–95

collapse of market, 196–97

crash testing and crash survivability 

research, 195–96, 195, 198

focus of research on, 23, 194–201

GATE program, 196

GPS-WAAS, 200

home-built aircraft, 195, 197

instrument flight rules and landing aircraft, 

200–201

liability insurance, 197

litigation costs, 197, 201

new categories of aircraft, 198–99, 

199n67, 201

pilot licensing requirements, 198

propulsion research, 196, 198, 199

QCGAT program, 196

SATS program, 21, 199–201

stimulation of market, 197–98

General Aviation Aircraft Crash Test Program, 

195–96, 195, 198

general aviation airports, 200–201

General Aviation Propulsion (GAP) program, 198

General Aviation Revitalization Act (GARA, 

1994), 197–98

General Aviation Turbine Engine (GATE) program, 

196

General Dynamics

Cessna purchase by, 197

Lockheed purchase of, 176n1

General Dynamics F-16 fighter aircraft, 160, 

162, 163

General Dynamics F-111 swing-wing aircraft, 

90, 151, 156

General Dynamics YF-16 fighter aircraft, 111

General Electric

Energy Efficient Engine Program, 118–19

Engine Component Improvement (ECI) 

Program, 118

GE-36 unducted fan engine, 158, 159

GE90 engine, 188

J-47 engine, 48

jet engine research by, 49

location of, 33

noise-reduction research, 186, 188, 

189–90

propfan research, 158

General Electric–Ryan XV-5A V/STOL aircraft, 

122

General Electric–Ryan XV-5B V/STOL aircraft, 

122
Index

275

Germany

aeronautics research and research facilities 

in, 3n4, 29–30n9, 39–40, 40n35, 46

aircraft development and aviation research, 

national support for, 5

engine and rocketry research by, 20, 46–47

flying wings, 210

forward-swept-wing aircraft, 164

oblique-wing aircraft, 151

swing-wing designs, 85

tilt-rotor aircraft, 123

V/STOL research, 121n83

X-31 EFM, 167

Gilruth, Robert, 42, 55, 55n64

Glennan, T. Keith, 59, 61

Glenn Research Center/Lewis Research Center/

Lewis Engine Laboratory

ACEE propulsion programs, 114, 118–19

Advanced Turboprop Project, 23, 156–59, 

211

AGATE program, 198

blended wing body (BWB) aircraft, 211, 215

branch system and structural organization 

of, 15–16

CFD research, 102

Collier Trophy award, 158

creation of engine laboratory, 20

direction of research and project 

management, 97–102

establishment of, 33

focus of research at, 12, 15–16, 33, 46–49, 

48, 63, 68–69, 92, 161, 215

GATE program, 196

general aviation research at, 196, 198

high-speed civil transport program, 190

icing research, 172

Icing Research Tunnel, 172

maneuverability programs research support 

from, 161

mission and goals of, 62–65

naming and renaming of, 15, 46

noise-reduction research, 186–87

personnel at, 33, 144

power-by-wire research, 184n19

QCGAT program, 196

supercomputers at, 150

Unitary Plan Wind Tunnel, 143

wind tunnel facilities, 33

Global Civil Aviation Pillar, 204

Global Positioning System (GPS)

development and capabilities of, 224

GPS Wide Area Augmentation System (GPSWAAS), 200

Goddard Space Flight Center, 62, 143

Goldin, Daniel, 14, 23, 178–80, 190, 203, 204, 

207

Goodrich Corporation noise-reduction research 

and QTD program, 188

Gottlieb, David, 106

Government Performance Results Act (GPRA, 

1993), 180, 230

governments, foreign

aeronautics research by, 2, 3, 3n4

Gray, Edward, 101

Great Britain

aeronautics research and research facilities 

in, 3n4, 29–30n9, 39, 46

aircraft development and aviation research, 

national support for, 5

Concorde program, 82–83, 84, 84n51, 113

engine and rocketry research by, 20, 46–47

National Physical Laboratory, 88–89

swing-wing design, 86n57

tilt-rotor aircraft, 123

Griffin, Michael, 15, 23, 203, 206–8, 230

Gromov Flight Research Institute, 3n4

Grumman, Gulfstream division, 194

Grumman Aerospace, Northrop purchase of, 

176n1

Grumman X-29 Forward-Swept Wing aircraft, 

22, 113, 162, 164–65, 165, 166, 173–74

Guerrieri, Mario A., 123–24
276

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

Guggenheim Fund for the Promotion of 

Aeronautics, 5

guidance and control research, 13, 63, 143

guided missiles, 29, 29–30n9

Gulfstream division, Grumman, 194

Gulfstream II aircraft, 158

H

H-34 rotor system, 191

Halaby, Najeeb E., 84, 130

Hall, Charlie, 68

Hamilton Sundstrand/Hamilton Standard, 158, 

159

Harrier aircraft, 121

Hatch Act (1897), 5

Hawker Siddeley Harrier aircraft, 121

Hawker Siddeley P-1127 aircraft, 121, 121n83

Heaslet, Max, 103

helicopters

Army use of, 122–23, 123n85, 134

characteristics of, 119–20

as mother ship launch aircraft, 161

Vietnam War and use of, 122–23

See also rotorcraft program

Henry, John, 168

Herschel-Quincke tubes, 187

High Alpha Research Vehicle (HARV), 166–67

High Alpha Technology Program, 161

Highly Integrated Digital Electronic Control 

(HIDEC) program, 113

Highly Maneuverable Aircraft Technology 

(HiMAT) remotely piloted vehicle, 161–63, 

163

High Performance Aircraft Systems Technology 

(HPAST), 182

High Performance Computing and 

Communications Program, 177n4

High Range test range, 75, 76

High Speed Civil Transport, 170

high-speed civil transport (HSCT), 188–91, 189

High Speed Flight Station. See Dryden Flight 

Research Center/Flight Research Center/High 

Speed Flight Station

High Speed Ground Transportation Test Center 

(Transportation Technology Center), 5n7

High Speed Research (HSR) Program

aeronautics research programs packaged 

into, 14, 17–18, 23, 175, 181, 183

airport noise research, 189–91

atmospheric ozone depletion, 189, 190

focus of research, 188–91

funding for, 14, 17–18, 23, 175, 181–83, 

182, 190

General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade and, 

177n4

goals of, 183

industry involvement in funding, 190

sonic boom research, 189, 190, 191

SST program relationship to, 188

support for, 170

termination of, 191, 201–2, 203

Hiller X-18 V/STOL aircraft, 122

HiMAT (Highly Maneuverable Aircraft 

Technology) remotely piloted vehicle, 161–63, 

163

HL-10 lifting body, 76, 79–80n41, 80, 81

Hoffman, S. K., 55n64

home-built aircraft, 195, 197

Homeland Security, Department of, 220

Honeywell

geared turbofans (GTFs), 159n54

noise-reduction research, 186

Hoover, Herb, 44

Horton, Reimer, 210

Horton, Walter, 210

Hughes XV-9A V/STOL aircraft, 122

human factors research, 15, 69

Hunsaker, Jerome, 29, 31n13, 35, 41, 49, 53

Hussaini, Yousuff, 106

Hyatt, Abraham, 55n64
Index

277

Hyper III lifting body, 81, 161

hypersonic blowdown tunnel, 50, 50n55

hypersonic flight

aerodynamic heating and high speeds and 

altitudes, 70, 73–74, 75

Ames research on, 63

Fundamental Aeronautics program, 207

Langley research on, 72–73

NASP program, 13, 168–71, 188

personnel assignments, 66

scramjet research for, 13, 15, 168, 215–

16n33, 215–19, 217n38, 219–20n45, 

219, 226

Shuttle and aeronautical research, 96

See also X-15 aircraft

Hypersonic Program (HypSonic), 182

Hypersonic Pulse Facility shock-expansion tube/

tunnel, 215–16n33

Hypersonic Research Engine (HRE), 217

I

IBM 360 computer, 104

IBM 650 computer, 104

IBM 704 computer, 104

IBM 7090 computer, 104

IBM 7094 computer, 104

IBM AP-101 computer, 112

icing and deicing fluids research, 4, 23, 104, 

171–72

Icing Research Tunnel, 172

Illiac IV supercomputer, 104, 104n27, 106, 

146–47, 148, 150

Impact Dynamics Research Facility (IDRF, 

Langley), 195–96, 195, 198

Inconel, 167

Inconel X, 73

industry and commercial aviation

aeronautics research and research facilities, 

2, 6, 28–29, 32

aeronautics research to support, 1–4, 11, 

175–76

competitive threat from European aircraft 

industry, 23, 115–16, 144, 145–46, 

145n10, 147, 176, 176n3, 184, 234

consolidation of corporations, 176, 176n1, 

177

cooperative research within, 6

cost of air travel, reduction in, 204

energy and environmental concerns and 

aeronautics research, 12

European share of aerospace market, 145, 

176

federal funding for commercially oriented 

research, 27, 27n4, 82, 95–96, 100–

101, 141–42, 168–69, 174, 175–78, 

178n6, 183–84, 202

Global Civil Aviation Pillar, 204

government support for, 11, 11n25, 141–

42, 175–78, 202

growth and profitability of, 8–9, 9n20

lobbying by, 176

new classes of commercial operation, 201

research and technology development by, 

26, 27, 27–28n5

research relationship between NASA and, 

18–19, 19n36, 26–32, 82, 93–94, 

95–96, 100–101, 101n20, 115

SATS program collaboration, 21

travel time, decrease in, 204

U.S.-EU bilateral agreement about aircraft 

development, 176–78, 176n3, 177n4, 

234

U.S. share of aerospace market, 176

VLA design, 212–13

wind tunnel facilities built by, 18

Industry Consulting Committee (ICC), 29, 30, 37

Ingersoll Milling Machine Company, 185

Institute for Computer Applications to Science 

and Engineering (ICASE), 106
278

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

instrument flight rules and instrument landing 

system, 200–201, 220, 220n47, 222

instrument landings and cockpit information, 

137–38

intercontinental ballistic missile (ICBM) program, 

52

International Space Station, 13, 14, 175, 178, 

191, 203

Italy, 3n4

J

J-47 engine, 48

Jackson, Roy, 98

Japan, 148

Jarvis, Calvin R., 108, 109, 110, 111

Jet Propulsion Laboratory (JPL), 47, 62

Johnson, Lyndon, 53, 61, 85

Johnson Space Center, 69

Jones, Robert T., 150–52, 154, 168

Jump-Strut Project, 127

K

Kennedy administration and John F. Kennedy, 

60, 84, 85

Kennedy Space Center/Cape Canaveral, 62

Kenyon, George, 78

Keyworth, George, 169

Killian, James R., Jr., 60–61

Korean War, 123

Kotcher, Ezra, 42

Kuhn, Richard, 130

L

L-1011 aircraft, 117, 142, 172, 177

laboratories. See NASA Centers/NACA laboratories

laminar flow control, 114, 115, 117, 146

land grant colleges, 5

landing gear noise, 187

Langley, Samuel P., 4n5

Langley Air Force Base, 33

Langley Research Center/Langley Laboratory

AGATE program, 198, 199

Arc-Heated Scramjet Test Facility, 

215–16n33

blended wing body (BWB) aircraft, 211–15

branch system and structural organization 

of, 15–16

cockpit equipment, digital, 12

Combustion-Heated Scramjet Test Facility, 

215–16n33

composite materials research, 184–86

computer and CFD research at, 95, 102, 

106, 231

digital fly-by-wire system research, 112

Direct-Connect Supersonic Combustion Test 

Facility, 215–16n33

direction of research and project 

management, 97–102

establishment of, 32

focus of research at, 12–13, 15–16, 22, 

32–33, 43–44, 63, 69, 92, 94, 103, 

142–43, 160–61, 229–30, 231

Full-Scale Tunnel, 215

High Alpha Technology Program role, 166

high-speed civil transport program, 188–91, 

189

Hyper III lifting body, 161

Hypersonic Pulse Facility shock-expansion 

tube/tunnel, 215–16n33

icing research, 171–72

Impact Dynamics Research Facility and 

crash testing and crash survivability 

research, 195–96, 195, 198

leadership from outside, 92, 98

lifting-body program, 78, 79, 80
Index

279

maneuverability programs research support 

from, 160–61

mission and goals of, 62–65

NASTRAN development, 12

noise-reduction research, 186–88

personnel at, 33, 144

power-by-wire research, 184n19

reputation of, 8

Rogallo wing/flexible wing research, 91–92, 

92n68

rotorcraft program at, 134–35, 191

Rotor Systems Research Aircraft (RSRA), 

154–56

SATS program, 199–201

scramjet research, 13, 15, 168, 215–

16n33, 215–19, 217n38, 219–20n45, 

219, 226

space program support from, 10

SST program role, 85–86, 86n57

STOL research, 130–33

subsonic aerodynamics research, 87–90

supercritical airfoil and wing design 

research, 3–4, 11, 88–90, 90n64, 90, 

115n62, 116, 119, 152

supersonic flight research, 170

transonic flight research, 10, 42–44, 46

Transport Systems Research Vehicle (TSRV, 

Terminal Configured Vehicle, TCV), 135–

38, 136, 173, 221

V/STOL research, 121, 122

wind-shear research, 173

winglet design and testing, 11, 116

X-48B BWB aircraft, 209, 213–15, 214, 

226

X-plane development role, 13

Langley Research Center/Langley Laboratory 

wind tunnel facilities

4-by-4-Foot Supersonic Pressure Tunnel, 72

8-Foot High Speed Tunnel, 46, 47

8-Foot High Temperature Tunnel, 215–

16n33, 217

8-Foot Transonic Pressure Tunnel, 89, 116

14-by-22-foot wind tunnel, 189, 211

16-Foot High Speed Tunnel, 46

16-Foot Transonic Tunnel, 164

hypersonic blowdown tunnel, 50, 50n55

National Transonic Facility, 13, 143, 211

research in, 12, 15, 33, 41–42, 232

Transonic Dynamics Tunnel, 134–35

large-project management and funding, 14, 

17–18, 17–18n34, 23, 26–27, 57–59, 

62–70, 92, 230

Learjet, 194

Leonard, Robert W., 114n57

LEWICE codes, 172

Lewis, George W., 36, 39

Lewis Research Center/Lewis Laboratory. See

Glenn Research Center/Lewis Research 

Center/Lewis Engine Laboratory

Lichten, Robert L., 123–24

Liebeck, Robert H., 211

lifting-body program

Air Force research on, 79

Ames research on, 78–79

Dryden research on, 78–82

flyable reentry vehicle development, 10, 22, 

59, 76–82, 96

HL-10 lifting body, 76, 79–80n41, 80, 81

Hyper III lifting body, 81, 161

Langley research on, 78, 79, 80

M2-F1 lifting body, 79

M2-F2 lifting body, 80

M2-F3 lifting body, 76, 80

remote control aircraft model research, 

78–79, 80, 161, 232

SV-5/X-23 lifting body, 79, 79–80n41

X-24/X-24A/X-24B lifting body, 76, 80, 81

light detecting and ranging (LIDAR) detection 

system, 173

Lightweight Fighter Program, 160

Ling-Temco-Vought aircraft, 89

litigation costs, aviation, 197, 201
280

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

Little Boom, Operation, 84–85

Lockheed

active controls research, 116–17

commercial aircraft production, 145, 177

composite materials research, 117–18

General Dynamics purchase by, 176n1

laminar flow control research, 117

SST program role, 84, 85–86

Lockheed C-130B STOL aircraft, 122

Lockheed F-117 fighter aircraft, 113, 160

Lockheed L-1011 aircraft, 117, 144, 172, 177

Lockheed XFV-1 VTOL aircraft, 120, 122

Lockheed XV-4A V/STOL aircraft, 122

Lockheed XV-4B V/STOL aircraft, 122

Loening, Grover, 31

Loftin, Laurence K., 89

Lomax, Harvard, 103–5

long-haul transports, 211

Love, Eugene, 79

Lovelace, Alan, 114

Lovelace, W. Randolph, 55n64

Lovell, P. M., 62

Low, George, 101, 114, 115

Low Level Windshear Alert System (LLWAS), 

172–73

LTV XC-142 V/STOL aircraft, 122

Luers, James K., 172

Lycoming/Avco Lycoming, 159n54, 196

M

M2-F1 lifting body, 79

M2-F2 lifting body, 80

M2-F3 lifting body, 76, 80

Mach, Ernst, 9–10n22

Mach number, 9–10n22

Main Committee, 35, 37

Malina, Frank, 47

Management and Budget, Office of (OMB)

aeronautics research, battle over, 142

aeronautics research, government role in, 

96

AST program funding, 183

Committee on Transportation R&D, 

180–81n15

GPRA administration, 180

HSR program funding, 190

PRT program goals, 206

Shultz as director, 94n4

Management Control Information System 

(MCIS), 39

maneuverability

airpower strategy and tactics, 159–60

development of technologies for, 13, 22, 

159–61

unstable vehicles and automatic control, 8, 

12, 13, 22, 107, 113, 160, 162, 174

Manned Space Flight, Office of, 62

Marine Corps, U.S., 127

Mark, Hans, 68, 103–4, 105

Mars, space transportation system to take 

humans to, 14, 203

Marshall Space Center, 69

Martin SV-5/X-23 lifting body, 79, 79–80n41

materials

aerodynamic heating and high speeds and 

altitudes, 70, 73–74, 75

branch system and research on, 16

composite materials research, 14, 114, 

117–18, 119, 146, 184–86, 185n22, 

186n30

composite materials use in commercial 

airliners, 157

Design Development Test Articles, 185–86

focus of research on, 20

funding for research, 184, 186

Glenn/Lewis research on, 63

HSCT PETI-5 composite materials, 190

hypersonic flight and, 70, 73–74

jet engine research and, 48

Langley research on, 13, 63, 143, 184–86
Index

281

MatStruct program funding, 182

NASP program research, 13, 22

personnel assignments, 66

stitched, resin film infusion (S/RFI) 

composite wing, 185–86, 185n22, 202

X-29 composite construction, 164, 165

Materials and Structural Systems Technology 

(MatStruct), 182

McDonnell Douglas

active controls research, 116–17

aircraft in response to A320 aircraft, 

158–59

BWB designs, 211

commercial aircraft market share and loss 

of jobs at, 145, 184

composite materials research, 117–18, 

185–86

GE-36 engine use by, 158

high-speed civil transport program, 188–91

laminar flow control research, 117

merger with Boeing, 168, 176n1, 177, 212

oblique-wing research, 154

scramjet research, 218

VLA design, 212

winglet design and testing, 116

McDonnell Douglas C-17 (Boeing C-17) 

transport, 133

McDonnell Douglas F-18 High Alpha Research 

Vehicle (HARV), 166–67

McDonnell Douglas MD-80 aircraft, 158

McDonnell Douglas MD-90 (Douglas DC-9) 

wing, 185, 185n22

McDonnell Douglas MD-91X/92X/94X aircraft, 

158

McDonnell Douglas X-36 Tailless Fighter Agility 

Research Aircraft, 167–68

McDonnell Douglas YC-15 STOL aircraft, 132

McDonnell XV-1 V/STOL aircraft, 122

Mead, Merrill, 58

MicroCraft, 218, 218n40

microwave Doppler radar, 173

Microwave Landing System (MIL), 222, 223–24

MiG-25 aircraft, 75

Mikkelson, Daniel, 157

military services

aeronautics research by, 2, 28, 32, 40–41, 

42–44, 44n40

aeronautics research to support, 1–4, 

28–29, 45, 95, 146, 175–76

ballooning activities, 4n5

Cold War and aeronautics research to 

support, 9, 13, 14, 16, 22, 23, 203, 234

missile research programs, 9, 29, 29–30n9, 

52–53

NASP applications, 13, 22, 146

national security and airpower strategy and 

tactics, 31–32, 159–61

relationship between NACA and, 26–32, 

26n2, 45

research and research facilities, 4–5, 5n6

rocketry research program, 52

status of role of aviation, 8

STOL aircraft for, 128

Vietnam War and aircraft development, 97, 

122–23

See also Air Force/Army Air Forces, U.S.; 

Army, U.S.; Navy, U.S.

missile research programs, 9, 29, 29–30n9, 

52–53

Mission Adaptive Wing (MAW), 156

MITRE Corporation, 222

Mitsubishi MU-2J fuselage, 125

model aircraft testing

B-29 mother ship launch aircraft, 43

B-52 mother ship launch aircraft, 74, 80, 

162, 163, 217, 218

BWB designs, 211, 212, 213, 214–15, 214

correlation and validation of testing results, 

161

Dryden research with, 20

helicopter mother ship launch aircraft, 161

lifting-body research, 78–79, 80, 161, 232
282

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

remote control aircraft model research, 20, 

78–79, 80, 161–63, 168, 232

X-43A Hyper-X vehicle, 217–19, 219

Modern Technology Rotors Program, 191–92

Moon

space transportation system to take humans 

back to, 14, 203

See also Apollo program

Morrill Act (1862), 5

MU-2J fuselage, 125

Muroc dry lakebeds, 10, 43–44, 43. See 

also Dryden Flight Research Center/Flight 

Research Center/High Speed Flight Station

N

nacelles and nacelle liners, 187, 188

NASA Centers/NACA laboratories

Advanced Research Centers, 63

advantages of multiple Centers, 232

branch system and hierarchies in, 16

centers of excellence focus, 102, 139

competition between and creation of new 

research programs, 17–18, 20–21, 95, 

102, 232

contractors and outsourcing, 106, 144

direction of research and project 

management, 26–27, 34–35, 36, 38–39, 

39n29, 57–59, 62–70, 92, 97–102, 227, 

229–30

earmarks, 208–10, 227

Engineer-in-Charge/Directors of, 16

focus of research at, 15–16, 22, 32–35, 

59, 142–43, 229–33

leadership and structural organization of, 

15–16, 21–22, 25–26, 34–39, 62–70, 

142–43, 230

leadership continuity, 68

leadership from outside, 68, 92, 98, 103

mission and goals of, 62–65

mission-oriented Centers, 57–59, 101–2, 

139

personnel at, 33, 66, 144

research communities, sociotechnical order, 

and institutional momentum attached to, 

19

science-oriented/research-oriented Centers, 

57–59, 101–2, 139

NASA Headquarters

leadership and structural organization of 

Centers and, 15–16, 25–26, 62–70, 142, 

230

research projects, decisions about and 

control over, 12, 34–35, 36, 38–39, 

39n29, 64–65, 97–102, 229–30

NASP. See National Aero-Space Plane (NASP)

NASTRAN (NASA Structural Analysis) program, 

12

Nationaal Lucht- en Ruimtevaartlaboratorium 

(NLR), 3n4

National Academies of Science, 60

National Aeronautics and Space Act, 61

National Aeronautics and Space Administration 

(NASA)/National Advisory Committee for 

Aeronautics (NACA)

aeronautics contributions by, 1–4, 11

Air Force battle with over wind tunnels, 19

beginning of aeronautics research 

involvement, 4–7, 4n5

bold spirit of, 13–14

branch system and structural organization of 

Centers, 15–16

civilian management and peaceful intentions 

of, 52–53, 60

committee and subcommittee structure, 35, 

37–38, 39, 50, 52, 55–56

creation of NACA, 4, 8

creation of NASA and transition from NACA, 

10, 57–70, 229–30

discoveries and innovations, narrative of, 

8–15, 9n20, 9–10n22, 11n25
Index

283

distribution of research output, 177n4

Goldin and management changes at, 

178–80, 203–4, 207

Griffin and management changes at, 

206–8, 230

leadership and structural organization, 

15–16, 23, 25–26, 34–39, 62–70, 

203–8, 230

mission and goals of, 20–21, 54, 229–30, 

232–34

mission and goals of, shifting of, 23, 203–8, 

226–27

mission-oriented side of, 17, 101–2

pooled research infrastructure, 2–3, 6

postwar NACA, 26–32

public good, contributions to the, 94–96, 

98–99, 100–101, 115–16, 139

relationship between military services and, 

26–32, 26n2, 45

relevance of, 12, 22, 93–97

research relationship between industry 

and, 18–19, 19n36, 26–32, 82, 93–94, 

95–96, 100–101, 101n20, 115

research side of, 17

social discontent and relevance of NASA, 93

space agency focus of, 10–11, 50, 52–56

Super Problems, focus on, 100

V/STOL aircraft, 125

National Aeronautics Research and 

Development Policy, 207

National Aero-Space Plane (NASP)

concept and goals of, 13–14, 22, 77, 

168–71, 174, 188

engine for, 217

funding for, 170–71, 174

military applications for, 13, 22, 146

Orient Express name for, 13, 168, 169–70

support for, 174, 209

National Aviation Facilities Experimental Test 

Center (NAFEC), 129

National Bureau of Standards, 4–5

National Consortium for Aviation Mobility, 200

National Full-Scale Aerodynamics Complex 

(Ames), 13

National Integrated Wind Shear Plan, 173

National Mall museums, 7, 7n14

National Physical Laboratory (NPL, Great 

Britain), 88–89

National Policy on the Commercial Use of 

Space, 141n1

National Research Council (NRC), 142, 205–6

National Science and Technology Council 

(NSTC), 180–81, 180–81nn15–16, 207–8

National Science Foundation, 60, 98–99, 

180–81n15

national security and airpower strategy and 

tactics, 31–32, 159–61

National Supersonic Research Center, 41

National Transonic Facility (NTF, Langley), 13, 

143, 211

Naval Observatory, 4–5

Naval Research Laboratory, 52–53

Navier-Stokes equations, 105, 105n28

Navier-Stokes Processing Facility, 147. See 

also Numerical Aerodynamic Simulation (NAS) 

facility (Ames)

navigation research, 63

Navy, U.S.

aircraft carrier importance to, 8, 28

missile research programs, 52–53

relationship between NACA and, 45

research and research facilities, 4–5, 5n6, 

32, 42–44

rocketry research program, 52

V/STOL aircraft, 122, 209

X-15 program, 71, 73

X-31 EFM, 167

X-wing experiment, 155–56

NC-130B STOL aircraft, 131

Netherlands, 3n4

Next Generation Air Transportation System 

(NGATS), 220–26
284

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

Nixon administration and Richard M. Nixon, 

146

noise research

airframe noise, 187

engine noise research, 14, 100, 183, 184, 

186–88, 189–91, 202

sonic boom research, 84–85, 152, 189, 

190, 191

Nored, Donald, 118n72

North American Aviation

Astrophysics Laboratory, 70

Boeing purchase of, 176n1

Sabreliner aircraft, 194

SST program role, 85–86

North American B-70 bomber, 83–84

North American OV-10A aircraft, 121n83

North American Rockwell B-1 swing-wing 

aircraft, 151, 160, 160n55

North American Rockwell HiMAT aircraft, 

162–63, 163

North American Rockwell OV-10A STOL aircraft, 

131

North American Rockwell T-2 trainer aircraft, 90

North American X-15 aircraft, 10, 22, 59, 

70–76, 72, 108, 159, 217

North American XB-70 aircraft, 75, 76, 159

Northrop, Grumman Aerospace purchase by, 

176n1

Northrop, Jack, 210

Northrop B-2 stealth bomber, 113, 154, 160

Northrop Grumman oblique flying wing 

research, 151, 154

Northrop HL-10 lifting body, 76, 79–80n41, 

80, 81

Northrop M2-F2 lifting body, 80

Northrop M2-F3 lifting body, 76, 80

nose strakes, 166–67

nuclear (atomic) weapons, focus of research 

on, 9

nuclear deterrence policy, 31

nuclear physics, 103

nuclear propulsion research, 47

Numerical Aerodynamic Simulation (NAS) facility 

(Ames), 13, 23, 146–50, 181–83, 182

O

oblique flying wings, 151, 154

oblique-wing aircraft, 23, 150–54, 153, 232

Oblique Wing Remotely Piloted Research 

Aircraft, 152

Oblique Wing Research program, 154

Office National d’Études et de Recherches 

Aérospatiales (ONERA), 3n4, 158

oil embargo and shortage, 12, 13, 96, 100, 

113–14, 115–16. See also energy and 

environmental concerns

O’Keefe, Sean, 203, 204–5

Olsen, Walter, 47

Orbital Sciences Pegasus booster rocket, 218, 

219

Organization of the Petroleum Exporting 

Countries (OPEC), 113

orientation, stabilization, and control research, 

63

Orszag, Steven, 106

OV-10A STOL aircraft, 131

ozone depletion research, 189, 190

P

P.202 aircraft, 151

P-1127 aircraft, 121, 121n83

PA-30 Twin Comanche, 161–62

Paraglider Research Vehicle (Parasev), 91

partnership initiatives to pursue R&D, 181

passive infrared radiometry, 173

Patent Waiver Program, 177n4

Pathe Technologies, 185

Pegasus booster rocket, 218, 219
Index

285

performance data collection and dataset 

development, 191–93, 193nn51–52, 233

Peterson, Bruce, 80

Peterson, Peter George, 93n3

Peterson, Victor, 27–28n5, 68, 125n92, 147

PETI-5 composite materials, 190

Phillips, W. Hewitt, 39n29, 65

Pickering, William H., 55n64

Pilotless Aircraft Research Facility (Wallops 

Flight Facility), 34, 42, 49, 50, 62, 137, 143

Pioneering Revolutionary Technology (PRT) 

program, 205–6

Pioneer spacecraft program, 68

Piper aircraft, 194, 197, 199

Piper PA-30 Twin Comanche, 161–62

Pirtle, Melvin, 105

Platt-LePage Company, 123

Plum Brook facility, 47

Plum Brook Hypersonic Test Facility, 217

Polaris missile system, 109

politics

aeronautics research and environmental 

concerns, 12

airline deregulation, 96–97, 97n10, 144–45

federally funded research, criticism of, 22, 

141–42, 168–69

federally funded research, limitations on, 203

federally funded research, support for, 

177–79, 178n6, 203

limited industrial intervention, 11

postwar NACA research and, 25, 32

resiliency of scientists and engineers and, 

232–33

support for and direction of aeronautics 

research, 2, 8, 10, 15, 17–18, 17–18n34, 

201–2

Porter, Lisa, 208

power-by-wire system, 184, 184n19

practical and public focus of projects, 94–96, 

98–99, 100–101, 115–16, 139, 232–33

Pratt & Whitney

Advanced Ducted Propulsor, 159

Advanced Technology Fan Integrator, 159

Advanced Turboprop Project, 158, 159

Energy Efficient Engine Program, 118–19

Engine Component Improvement (ECI) 

Program, 118

geared turbofans (GTFs), 159, 159nn53–54

jet engine research by, 49

location of, 33

noise-reduction research, 186, 189–90

PW1000G engine, 159

X-51 scramjet, 219

presentations and publications, 70

Program Review and Resources Management, 

Office of, 65

propulsion

AdvProp program funding, 182

air-breathing propulsion research, 12, 

68–69, 156

AST program research, 184

Glenn/Lewis research on, 15, 20, 63, 

68–69, 196

NASP program research, 22

nuclear propulsion research, 47

personnel assignments, 66

space program propulsion research, 15

See also engines

Propulsion Systems Laboratory, 48

publications and presentations, 70

Q

QinetiQ, 3n4

Quayle, Dan, 178

Quesada, Elwood, 84

Quiet, Clean General Aviation Turbofan (QCGAT) 

program, 196

Quiet Aircraft Technology (QuietAC) Program, 

177n4, 182
286

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

quiet jet (QCSEE) program, 132, 196

Quiet Short-Haul Research Aircraft (QSRA), 127, 

131–32, 133

quiet STOL (QUESTOL) program, 132

Quiet Technology Demonstrator (QTD) program, 

188

R

R4-D tow-plane (Douglas DC-3), 79

radar, 220n47

RAND Corporation, 29

Raymond, Arthur E., 41

Raytheon, 197

Reaction Motors XLR11 rocket engines, 80

Reaction Motors XLR99 engines, 74

Reagan administration and Ronald Reagan, 13, 

22, 141, 159, 160, 169–70, 178

Redstone Arsenal, 52

Reed, Dale

lifting-body research, 78–79, 81–82

reentry systems and technology 

development, 77

remote control aircraft model research, 

78–79, 161

Remotely Piloted Research Vehicle (RPRV), 

161–62

reentry systems and technology

ballistic reentry, 77

development of, 4

lifting-body program to create, 10, 22, 59, 

76–82, 96

Rogallo wing design for, 91

Remotely Piloted Research Vehicle (RPRV), 

161–62

remote sensor technology and environmental 

research aircraft research, 184

Research & Technology Base (R&TBase) 

Program, 177n4, 182

Research Aircraft Program, 44

Research Institute for Advanced Computer 

Science (RIACS), 106

Research Program Analysis System (RPAS), 64

Revolutionary Concepts (RevCon) projects, 

212–13, 226

Revolutionary Technology Pillar, 204

Reynolds number, 143, 143n6

Ridenour, Louis N., Jr., 55n64

Roberts, Leonard, 130

rocket-plane research, 10

rocketry

facilities for research, 9

focus of research on, 9, 10, 20, 46–47, 49, 

50, 52

personnel assignments, 66

Rockwell

Boeing purchase of space and defense 

businesses of, 176n1

general aviation aircraft, 197

tilt-rotor aircraft, 125–26

Rockwell X-31 Enhanced Fighter 

Maneuverability Demonstrator (EFM), 167

Rogallo, Francis, 91–92

Rogallo wing, 59, 91–92, 92n68

Roland, Alex, 19n37

Rolls-Royce

noise-reduction research, 186, 188

Spey turbofans, 132

Trent 800 engine, 188

Rossow, Vern, 60n4, 105n28

Rotating Data Acquisition System, 193

rotorcraft program

active-isolator rotor balance system, 155

aeroelastic behavior, 134–35

Ames research on, 15, 134–35, 142

Army program for, 15, 97, 134–35, 194

challenges of development and testing, 

134–35

funding for, 182, 183, 202

Langley research on, 134–35, 191
Index

287

Modern Technology Rotors Program, 

191–92

performance data collection and dataset 

development, 191–93, 193nn51–52, 233

research to support, 207

Rotor Systems Research Aircraft (RSRA), 

154–56

termination and reinstatement of NASA 

support for, 193–94

UH-60 Airloads program, 191–94, 192, 

193nn51–52, 202, 209n18, 233

X-wing experiment, 155–56

Rotor Systems Research Aircraft (RSRA), 

154–56

Russia/Soviet Union

aeronautics research and research facilities 

in, 3, 3n4

aircraft development and aviation research, 

national support for, 6

aircraft industry in, competitive threat from, 

145–46

military capabilities development, concerns 

about, 9, 13, 175, 229

Soviet collapse and peace dividend, 175

Sputnik, 10, 25, 50, 53, 57n1, 60, 65, 229

SST program, 83

supercomputer development, 148

Rutan, Burt, 197, 198

Ryan VZ-3 V/STOL aircraft, 122

Ryan X-13 V/STOL aircraft, 120, 122

S

safety, branch system and research on, 16

Sandy Hook Proving Ground, 5n6

Scaled Composites, 198

Scheiman, James, 191

Science Advisory Board (SAB), 28

Science and Technology Policy, White House 

Office of (OSTP), 180, 188, 207–8, 220

aeronautics research, battle over, 142

aeronautics research, reinvigoration of, 169

Committee on Transportation R&D, 

180–81n15

European aircraft industry, competitive 

threat from, 145–46

scramjet research, 13, 23, 215–16n33, 215–

19, 217n38, 219–20n45, 219, 226

semiconductors, advances in, 8

shock tunnels

Hypersonic Pulse Facility shock-expansion 

tube/tunnel, 215–16n33

space program research in, 20n40

shock waves

blunt-body theory and, 50

wavedrag and, 88–89

short-haul aircraft

Ames research on, 15, 142

AST program research, 184

funding for, 183

Quiet Short-Haul Research Aircraft (QSRA), 

127, 131–32, 133

See also rotorcraft program

short takeoff and landing (STOL) aircraft

Advanced Medium STOL Transport (AMST) 

program, 132

airspace congestion and, 12, 22, 122, 123, 

128–29n106, 128–30, 221

air traffic control system design and 

operation, 201, 221

Ames research on, 13, 130–33, 221–22, 

227, 233

concept and characteristics of, 121, 127–

30, 127n104

development and testing of, 127–33

new classes of commercial operation, 201

noise and, 132, 132n121

Quiet Short-Haul Research Aircraft (QSRA), 

127, 131–32, 133

quiet STOL (QUESTOL) program, 132

Shultz, George, 94n4
288

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

Sikorsky helicopter production, 123

Sikorsky R-4 helicopter, 120

Sikorsky Rotor Systems Research Aircraft 

(RSRA), 154–56

Sikorsky S-69 helicopter, 120, 120n81

Sikorsky UH-60 Airloads program, 23, 191–94, 

192, 193nn51–52, 202, 209n18, 233

Silicon Graphics, Inc. (SGI), 149

Silverstein, Abe, 55, 55n64

simulation

Ames research on, 15, 69, 69n27, 142

branch system and research on, 16

slotted (transonic) wind tunnels, 18, 46, 47, 

134–35

Small Aircraft Transportation System (SATS) 

program, 21, 199–201

sonic boom research, 84–85, 152, 189, 190, 

191

Sonic Cruiser, 191

Soulé, Hartley A., 44

Soviet Union. See Russia/Soviet Union

space environmental physics research, 63

space policy, 55, 207

space program and spaceflight research

Access to Space Pillar, 204

aeronautics research to support, 4, 22, 59, 

229–30

commercial investment in, 141, 141n1

creation of NASA and focus of research on, 

57–70, 229–33

cultural and national symbolism of, 7, 7n15

end of the space race, 93, 93n1

focus on to respond to Sputnik launch, 

10–11, 50, 52–56

Langley research to support, 10, 229–30

methodologies for research, 20, 20n40

mission-oriented research for, 1, 230

museum dedicated to, 7

program focus of research, 207

propulsion research to support, 15

relationship between aeronautics research 

and, 16–18, 57–59, 57n1, 65, 92, 94, 96

scale of research, 2

Space Science and Applications, Office of, 62

Space Shuttle program

computer, software, and digital fly-by-wire 

system, 96, 112, 113

development of, 96

funding for, 175

hypersonic aeronautical research with, 96

leadership and program management 

concerns, 13

lifting-body program and Shuttle reentry 

design, 10, 22, 59, 96

resumption of Shuttle flights, 203

Space Shuttle Challenger explosion, 13, 230

Space Shuttle Columbia loss during reentry, 

14, 203

Space Station, 13, 14, 175, 178, 191, 203

Space Technology Enterprise, 204

Special Committee on Post-War Aeronautics 

Research Policy, 30

Special Committee on Space Technology, 55, 

55n64

speed

aerodynamic heating and high speeds, 70, 

73–74, 75

high-speed, high-altitude flight research, 

9–10, 9–10n22, 159–60

speed of sound, 9–10, 9–10n22

Spinoff, 94

Sputnik, 10, 25, 50, 53, 57n1, 60, 65, 229

SR-71 aircraft, 75, 159

Stack, John, 42, 46, 65, 84, 84n51

Stanford University

BWB design testing, 211

oblique-wing research, 154

Star 100 computer, 106

stealth technologies

access to information about, 174

airpower strategy and tactics and, 160
Index

289

development of, 13, 22, 160n57

Stever, H. Guyford, 55n64

stitched, resin film infusion (S/RFI) composite 

wing, 185–86, 185n22, 202

strakes, nose, 166–67

Strategic Defense Initiative, 169–70

Stroukoff C-134 STOL aircraft, 122

structures

aerodynamic heating and high speeds and 

altitudes, 70, 73–74, 75

BWB designs, 215

focus of research on, 18, 20

Langley research on, 13, 63, 143, 160–61

MatStruct program funding, 182

personnel assignments, 66

subsonic flight

aerodynamics research, 87–90

BWB designs, 210–15, 213, 214, 226

fixed-wing research, 207, 214–15

Fundamental Aeronautics program, 207, 

214–15

personnel assignments, 66

wing design for, 11, 22, 87–90

supercritical airfoil and wing design research, 

3–4, 11, 88–90, 90n64, 90, 115n62, 116, 

119, 146, 152

Supersonic Cruise Aircraft Research program, 

168

supersonic flight

bombers and transports, Air Force interest 

in, 83, 83n49

BWB designs, 210

commercial aircraft for, 170, 188

Fundamental Aeronautics program, 207

oblique-wing commercial transport, 152

personnel assignments, 66

research on, 94

Supersonic Research Center, 41

Supersonic Transport (SST)

cancellation of, 82–83, 87, 151–52

concept and goals of, 82–87, 86

FAA role in, 11, 59, 82–87, 92

HSR program relationship to, 188

NASA role in, 11, 17, 22, 59, 82–87, 92

new classes of commercial operation, 201

support for, 11, 82–83, 84, 232

swing-wing design, 85–87, 86n57, 151–52

SV-5/X-23 lifting body, 79, 79–80n41

Sweden, 3n4

swept-wing aircraft, 29, 29–30n9. See also

forward-swept-wing aircraft

swing-wing designs, 151, 152

Switzerland, 3n4

Syvertson, Clarence “Sy,” 78, 150

Szalai, Kenneth J. “Ken,” 108, 109, 110

T

T-2 trainer aircraft, 90

tail-sitter aircraft, 120, 122

Talos missile system, 216

technology

direction of technical development, 146, 

173–74

discoveries and innovations, logical 

sequence of, 8, 29, 29–30n9, 231

evolution of design and technology, 7, 7n16

industry research and development of, 26, 

27, 27–28n5

Revolutionary Technology Pillar, 204

technology agency, NASA as, 93–94

technology integration and environmental 

impact research, 184

Teledyne CAE, 196

Teledyne Ryan Aeronautical autopilot, 162–63

terminal area productivity, 184

Terminal Configured Vehicle (TCV, Transport 

Systems Research Vehicle, TSRV), 135–38, 

136, 173, 221

terminal radar approach controls (TRACONs), 

222, 223, 227
290

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

Textron, 197

theoretical work, 15, 16, 18, 89, 103–4. See 

also computational fluid dynamics (CFD)

Three Pillars of Success speech, 204

thrust vectoring, 161, 166, 167

tilt-rotor aircraft

aeroelastic instability, 124, 127

Ames research on, 124

concept and characteristics of, 123

costs and funding for, 125, 125n92, 

125n94, 127, 183

development and testing of, 4, 22, 123–27

XV-15 tilt-rotor aircraft, 125, 125n94, 

126–27, 126, 155, 191

titanium, 73

Tobias, Leonard, 225

Toll, Thomas, 73 Traffic Management Advisor, 

223

Transcendental Aircraft Corporation Model 1G 

tilt-rotor aircraft, 123–24

transonic (slotted) wind tunnels, 18, 46, 47, 

134–35

Transonic Dynamics Tunnel (TDT, Langley), 

134–35

transonic flight

area-rule fuselage research, 46, 47, 83–84, 

233

Dryden research on, 43–46, 43, 44n40

Langley research on, 10, 42–44, 46

research on aerodynamic behaviors during, 

9–10, 9–10n22

wind tunnel research, 10, 42, 46, 47

Transportation, Department of

Aircraft Fuel Conservation Technology, 

Advisory Board for, 114

Air Traffic Control Advisory Committee, 221

Civil Aviation Research and Development 

Policy Study (CARD), 94

Committee on Transportation R&D, 

180–81n15

rail technology research, 5n7

Terminal Configured Vehicle (TCV, Transport 

Systems Research Vehicle, TSRV), 136, 

136n135

Transportation R&D, Committee on, 180–81, 

180–81nn15–16

Transportation Technology Center (High Speed 

Ground Transportation Test Center), 5n7

Transport Systems Research Vehicle (TSRV, 

Terminal Configured Vehicle, TCV), 135–38, 

136, 173, 221

travel time, decrease in, 204

Truman administration and Harry S. Truman, 31

Tsentralniy Aerogidrodinamicheskiy Institut 

(TsAGI, Central Aerohydrodynamic Institute), 

3n4

U

UH-1 helicopter, 123

UH-60 Airloads program, 23, 191–94, 192, 

193nn51–52, 202, 209n18, 233

Ultra-Efficient Engine Technology (UEET) 

program, 182

Unitary Plan Wind Tunnel, 19, 41, 51, 143

Unitary Wind Tunnel Plan Act (1949), 41

United Kingdom. See Great Britain

United States

commercial aviation, government support 

for, 11, 11n25, 141–42, 175–78

cultural and national symbolism of aviation 

and spaceflight, 6–7, 7n15

government laboratories and research, 2–7, 

4n5, 5nn6–7, 11, 14

social discontent and relevance of NASA, 93

See also federally funded research

Universities Space Research Association (USRA), 

106

University of Dayton, 172

University of Illinois, 104

University of Washington, 6
Index

291

V

V-22 Osprey aircraft, 127

Van Allen, James A., 55n64

Van Dyke, Milton, 103

Vanguard program, 52–53

Variable Density Wind Tunnel, 18

variable sweep wing designs, 45, 151, 152

vehicle systems program, 205, 206

vertical/short takeoff and landing (V/STOL) 

aircraft

Ames research on, 13

concept and characteristics of, 119–23

development of and research on, 22, 94, 

122–23

DP-1 VTOL aircraft, 209–10

DP-2 V/STOL aircraft, 209–10, 

209nn18–19

types of, 120–22, 120n79, 122, 209

VTOL aircraft, 122, 130, 209–10, 

209–10n20

See also short takeoff and landing (STOL) 

aircraft; tilt-rotor aircraft

Vertol Corporation, 123

Vertol VZ-2 V/STOL aircraft, 122

very large aircraft (VLA) design, 212–13

very light jet (VLJ), 198–99, 199n67

vibration research, 4

Victory, John F., 31n13, 36

Vietnam War, 97, 122–23

“Vision for U.S. Space Exploration,” 207

V-Jet II aircraft, 198–99

von Braun, Wernher, 55n64

von Kármán, Theodore, 28, 28n6, 40–41, 

40n35

VZ-2 V/STOL aircraft, 122

VZ-3 V/STOL aircraft, 122

VZ-4 V/STOL aircraft, 122

VZ-9 V/STOL aircraft, 122

W

Wallops Flight Facility/Pilotless Aircraft Research 

Facility (Wallops Island), 34, 42, 49, 50, 62, 

137, 143

Washington Navy Yard, 5n6

Watertown Arsenal, 5n6

Westinghouse engines, 33

Whitcomb, Richard

area-rule fuselage research, 46, 47, 83–84, 

233

focus of research by, 233

supercritical airfoil and wing design 

research, 3–4, 11, 88–90, 90n64, 90, 

115n62, 116, 119, 146, 152

winglet design and testing, 11, 113, 116

Whitten, James, 73

Wick, Bradford, 130

Williams International/Williams Research, 196, 

198, 199

wind-shear research, 23, 171, 172–73

wind tunnel facilities

Air Force battle with NACA over, 19

Ames 7-by-10-foot subsonic tunnel, 134

Ames 9-by-7-Foot Supersonic Wind Tunnel, 

154

Ames 12-Foot Pressure Wind Tunnel, 143

Ames 40-by-80-by-120-foot tunnel, 79, 

124, 134, 143, 144, 156, 191, 193, 194

Ames facilities, 12, 15, 33, 232

Ames supersonic free-flight tunnel, 50n55

contractor use of, 106, 144

cooperative facility built by industry partners, 

6

cost to construct and staff, 18–19

German facilities, 40, 40n35

Glenn/Lewis facilities, 33

industry and corporate facilities, 18, 27, 

27–28n5

innovation in design of, 18
292

NASA’s First A: Aeronautics from 1958 to 2008

Langley 4-by-4-Foot Supersonic Pressure 

Tunnel, 72

Langley 8-Foot High Speed Tunnel, 46, 47

Langley 8-Foot High Temperature Tunnel, 

215–16n33, 217

Langley 8-Foot Transonic Pressure Tunnel, 

89, 116

Langley 14-by-22-foot tunnel, 189, 211

Langley 16-Foot High Speed Tunnel, 46

Langley 16-Foot Transonic Tunnel, 164

Langley facilities, 12, 15, 33, 41–42, 232

Langley Full-Scale Tunnel, 215

Langley hypersonic blowdown tunnel, 50, 

50n55

NACA facilities, 27, 27–28n5

National Full-Scale Aerodynamics Complex 

(Ames), 13

National Transonic Facility (Langley), 13, 

143, 211

operations at, 143

public good benefits from, 18–19

renovation of, 143

research communities, sociotechnical order, 

and institutional momentum attached to, 

19

transonic (slotted) wind tunnels, 18, 46, 47, 

134–35

Transonic Dynamics Tunnel (Langley), 

134–35

Unitary Plan Wind Tunnel, 19, 41, 51, 143

Variable Density Wind Tunnel, 18

viability of, 14–15

wind tunnel research

benefits and importance of, 18

CFD as competitor with and complement to, 

4, 12, 13, 20, 95, 105–6

close accounting of tunnel time, 144

concept and description of, 2, 2n2

correlation and validation of testing results, 

211, 215

correlation between mathematical and 

theoretical explorations and, 18

development of testing technologies for, 

160–61

influence on pace and direction of research, 

19–20, 19n37

lifting-body research, 79

oblique-wing research, 154

reliability of, 18

transonic regime research, 10, 42, 46, 47

X-plane development, 13

wings

augmentor wing, 131–32, 131, 132n120, 

133

delta wing, 86, 86

forward-swept wings, 22, 162, 164–65, 

165, 166, 173–74

integrated wing design, 184

Mission Adaptive Wing (MAW), 156

noise from, 187

oblique-wing designs, 23, 150–54, 153

Rogallo wing/flexible wing research, 91–92, 

92n68

shock waves and wavedrag, 88–89

stitched, resin film infusion (S/RFI) 

composite wing, 185–86, 185n22, 202

subsonic wing design, 22, 177n4

supercritical airfoil and wing design 

research, 3–4, 11, 88–90, 90n64, 90, 

115n62, 116, 119, 146, 152

swing-wing designs, 85–87, 86n57, 151, 

152

variable sweep wing designs, 45, 151, 152

winglet design and testing, 11, 113, 116

Wood, Robert, 50

World Trade Organization, 177n4

World War II

aeronautics research and research facilities 

created following, 5, 21, 25

cooperative facility built by industry partners 

during, 6
Index

293

military aviation importance during and after, 

8, 9n20

postwar aviation commission and 

recommendations, 31–32, 31n13

postwar NACA, 26–32

Wright engines, 33

Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, Air Force Flight 

Dynamics Laboratory, 81, 162, 164

Wright, Ray H., 46

X

X-1 aircraft, 10, 70

X-5 aircraft, 45, 85

X-7 aircraft series, 216

X-13 V/STOL aircraft, 120, 122

X-14 V/STOL aircraft, 122, 209

X-15 aircraft, 10, 22, 59, 70–76, 72, 108, 159, 

217

X-18 V/STOL aircraft, 122

X-19 V/STOL aircraft, 122

X-20 Dyna-Soar program, 77, 77n36

X-21A Destroyers program, 117

X-22 V/STOL aircraft, 122

X-23/SV-5 lifting body, 79, 79–80n41

X-24/X-24A/X-24B lifting body, 76, 80, 81

X-29 Forward-Swept Wing aircraft, 22, 113, 

162, 164–65, 165, 166, 173–74

X-30 aircraft. See National Aero-Space Plane 

(NASP)

X-31 Enhanced Fighter Maneuverability 

Demonstrator (EFM), 167

X-33 aircraft, 77, 171

X-36 Tailless Fighter Agility Research Aircraft, 

167–68

X-43A Hyper-X vehicle, 217–19, 219

X-48B blended wing body (BWB) aircraft, 209, 

213–15, 214, 226

X-51 scramjet, 219

X-100 V/STOL aircraft, 122

XB-19 aircraft, 43

XB-70 aircraft, 75, 76, 159

XC-142 V/STOL aircraft, 122

XFV-1 VTOL aircraft, 120, 122

XFY-1 VTOL aircraft, 120, 122

XLR11 rocket engines, 80

XLR99 engines, 74

X-planes

development of, 10, 22

funding for, 23

transonic flight research with, 44

unstable vehicles and automatic flight 

control, 13, 22

XS-1 aircraft, 42–44, 43, 70, 73

XV-1 V/STOL aircraft, 122

XV-3 V/STOL aircraft, 122, 124, 127

XV-4A V/STOL aircraft, 122

XV-4B V/STOL aircraft, 122

XV-5A V/STOL aircraft, 122

XV-5B aircraft, 122

XV-5B V/STOL aircraft, 122

XV-8 Flying Jeep (Fleep), 91

XV-9A V/STOL aircraft, 122

XV-15 tilt-rotor aircraft, 125, 125n94, 126–27, 

126, 155, 191

X-wing experiment, 120, 120n81, 155–56

Y

YC-14 STOL aircraft, 132

YC-15 STOL aircraft, 132

YC-134A STOL aircraft, 131

Yeager, Charles “Chuck,” 10, 42, 44

YF-16 fighter aircraft, 111

Z

Zang, Thomas, 106