Today was a really, really good day...

...one of the best I've had in a long while.

Why?!!!

For the first time in 21 years, I can legally drive without any glasses or corrective lenses whatever. When you're closing in on 68, that's a pretty nice feeling.

The Adventure - Continued

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In which further attempts at attending launchings in person eventually led to a new career.

(This is a follow on to Adventure of a Lifetime, which should be read first.)

Oh, and special thanks to one of my favorite science and science-fiction writers, to whom I also sent that email notice of that post. He can be as verbose as necessary to get a point across, but with a sniper's precision, he emailed to me a single word, "Indeed", which told me that he actually read as far as the line it most applied to ("We had dreams, then."), and by sending it suggested that my writing may not be beyond redemption. I've not given the name here, as he sent it to me in an email instead of making the comment on my blog, so name-dropping just doesn't seem appropriate. Thank you, Sir, for giving my ego much-needed nourishment. :-)


That old Rambler of mine made it back to Houston after the Apollo 16 trip, but didn't survive the summer. After a certain age, some cars reach the stage on maintenance where the best thing to do is take it to an auto salvage yard and accept what they will give you for its' junk value ($50.00 in that case) and hope they will throw in a ride home (they did).

So, the rest of 1972 was spent without a car (except when I could borrow one from a friend) and otherwise I depended on a bike. Fortunately, most of the time I lived in Houston in apartments that weren't too far from my job. But this meant I wouldn't be driving to Florida for the night launch of Apollo 17, scheduled for the night of 06 Dec 1972.

I was able to borrow a car often enough to experiment some more with night shots of refineries, especially gas flares at some of them.

When Apollo 16 lifted off, there were huge plumes of water vapor (mentioned in the previous post) flaring out both sides for almost a couple of city blocks. White, of course, and very reflective. The exhaust from the rocket was brilliant white and I hoped that it would reflect off of those plumes enough to illuminate the vehicle as it was rising. That's why I was experimenting more with those exposures.

No longer possessing a car, I made arrangements to rent one at Orlando, Florida (I also planned on checking out Disney World after the launch), and took the bus from Houston to there.

Why a bus???

Partly, because I'm cheap.

But this was 1972.

We still had a few nutcases hijacking airplanes to be flown to Cuba. I had no idea of what the viewing conditions for the launch would be like at Havana airport, and had no wish to learn.

So, $59.00 bought a bus ticket from Houston to Orlando.

I'd made plenty of long distant bus trips when I was in the USAF a decade before, and they were usually pretty miserable and tiring affairs. This time, it was an express bus as far as Tallahassee, very comfortable and I thought "WOW. This is so GREAT".

From Tallahassee to Orlando, things reverted back to the "good old days" I remembered so well, changing buses about four times, even going up to Valdosta, Georgia before finally heading south to Orlando, and every bit as enjoyable as my Air Force experiences.

Another difference between bus travel and air travel. Car rental places don't cluster around bus stations. Needed a taxi to even find the place. Collected the car and headed out to Titusville, about 50 miles east.

Tighter schedule this time. Went straight to the space center for the tour again, but this was only ONE day before the launch, so the tour bus did NOT take us near the pad as they had already begun fueling the rocket (see what I said in the previous post).

Afterwards, went to the Titusville beach, cutting things really close, and dove into the first rental lot I saw that was still accepting cars. Absolutely EVERYBODY was here for this one. (And why not?!!! It's been almost 38 years now, and NO ONE has gone back yet. And God only knows when anyone ever will. Or if it will be an American when that happens.)

So, once again I'm set up at the beach, camping out again, just not in my car. No chess game this time; if those kids are back, they could be anywhere. Just a lot of waiting, as it was last time. It's now late at night, on 06 Dec 1972, and the rocket and pad are a gleaming jewel, even from 12 miles away. Managed to get a number of good exposures through the 300mm lens, bracketing my initial estimates a couple of stops either way.

Uh-oh! Clouds have been forming. The lift-off, scheduled for early evening, has been put on hold (countdown stopped) because of some rain and lightning aways off. This would really suck if the whole thing has to be rescheduled for the next launch window (by which time I would have to be on my way back). I cannot even imagine what the astronauts inside must feel.

We've now crept past midnight, into Pearl Harbor Day, and the countdown has resumed. A little over half an hour past midnight Apollo 17 fires up, and my head is bobbing between the viewfinder and looking with naked eye as this magnificent creature rises on a pillar of dazzling white fire that is NOT as bright as day (let's not get ridiculous here) but is bright enough for me read newspaper headlines from that source 12 miles away.

As I'd hoped, that light reflecting off of those water vapor plumes lights up the entire 30-story vehicle beautifully. The worrisome clouds have gone and the rocket can be followed unimaginably far, a brilliant star just going on forever. (Speaking metaphorically, of course; by the time it went to the second stage, it was effectively out of sight to the naked eye.)

Leaving the site, I wondered wistfully if I would ever get a chance to witness something like that again. At that time, I never thought to wonder if I would even live long enough to see another man go to the moon.

After returning the car, I flew back to Houston ($79.00 for Delta from Orlando; only $20.00 more than the bus); I've got my wish and seen it, so who cares if I make an unscheduled visit to Havana? :-)

In 1975, I revisited the Cape and Titusville, to watch the liftoff of the Apollo-Soyuz mission. Not nearly as spectacular; it using the far smaller Saturn 1B launcher instead of the mighty Saturn V.

The career changer mentioned in the first line finally happened as result of the next launch I wanted to witness, and came about in this random way.

I left the Air Force early, but honorably, and had no contact with any of my former buddies there until 1975 (I think) when, in a department store here in Houston, a man stepping off the escalator behind me asked, "Excuse me.  Aren't you Paul *******?".

I was trying to remember if he was an architect client of ours when it hit me that he had addressed me by a last name I hadn't used in nine years (another story, probably never to be revealed). He was one of the bunch I had been with, and was now living just north of Houston and working as an exploration geophysicist for Shell Oil Company.

I got back together with him and his family. That was a bit of a miracle. Have you ever run into someone that you knew from long ago, only to find so much has changed that you no longer have anything in common anymore?

A couple of years later he and his family moved up to central Michigan, where he joined a seismic exploration company there. Another couple of years and he's broken off from them and started his own company (also seismic exploration).

In the meantime, several things have been going on. I'd been an electrical draftsman, evolved into an electrical designer (almost an engineer, but sans license and seal) and had been doing the same thing for almost two decades.

Into our engineering world arrived a micro-computer, in 1981, primarily for use by our secretary as a word-processor (A lot of her work was typing up engineering specifications, usually from existing boiler-plates; this made her job enormously easier.) and an HVAC (Heating, Ventilation and Air Conditioning) program in Basic, that never worked properly.

But, it had a professional grade level of Basic included, and I had found me a new plaything. Soon I was teaching myself programming on it, and making programs to handle some of the calculations required in my work.

Hang on. we're really getting there. I promise.

I had made several trips to Michigan, to visit my friend, and we had talked several times about the possibility of me moving up there to join him. After nearly 20 years of drawing circles and home runs, one gets ready for something new. (Any reader who has done electrical drafting, design and/or engineering knows what I'm speaking of. As for the rest: Nyah, nan nan nan nyah! :-)

In September of 1983, one of the Space Shuttles was scheduled to go up at night. I could afford it, had plenty of vacation time available, and decided, "Let's do it!".

This time, it didn't go so well. When it was time to get rolling, I was asked to not go; our sometimes crazy work schedules had piled up too much (and this wasn't the first time by a long shot. Their recurrences was one of the reasons I had so much vacation time built up; I'd had several vacations aborted this way). So, I didn't go.

Watching the lift-off, on TV at home instead of the Titusville beach, I'd HAD it! I was feeling "G*D D*MM*T! I'm not the only one there!". After the lift-off, I made a long distance call to my friend in Michigan and told him that if he still thought I could do something up there, I was definitely interested.

As I noted above, he had started his own company. He was farming out the data to a data-processing company, was not real impressed with the results, and decided to set up his own data-processing center.

In early 1984, he called back and asked me if I would come up and manage it for him.

And so, because of what amounts to a hissy fit over not being able to go to that night shuttle launch, I was soon on my way to Michigan, a new career, and a whole new future.

(Damn little of my life has ever been carefully planned; most of the time I seem to drift up on whatever shoals the current takes me to and I go on from there. The career change noted above is the closest thing to careful planning, and it resulted from an impulse; the only planning involved was that, when I left the engineering company, at least I knew where I was going and what I would be trying to do. Most of my odyssey has been far more random and capricious. I'm seriously considering a post on the utterly random and unpredictable events that have led me to where I am today.)

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Adventure of a Lifetime

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38 years ago today, on April 16, 1972, the penultimate manned moon mission (Apollo 16) was launched.

In early 1972 (February, I think) I saw an article in the Houston Chronicle noting that the Apollo series of manned moon exploration missions (originally scheduled to go up to number 20) would be cut off at 17 (due to budget cuts and declining interest).

Apollo 17 would lift off on December 6, 1972, and it would go at night!!!

I decided right then that "I've GOT to see that!".

I noticed that Apollo 16 was scheduled for April 16th, two months away. I decided to aim for that one also, in case something happened to prevent Apollo 17.

At that time, I was an electrical draftsman, earning the princely sum of around $5.00 an hour (prices were much cheaper then) and possessed a 1964 Rambler that had over 100,000 miles on it and was on its' last legs. So, number one concern was whether I could even nurse it from Houston to the Cape and back.

I also wanted to get some good photos (now, sadly gone forever; that's another story), so I strained my credit at Sears (that was the only card I had besides a gas card; this was before VISA and MasterCard began flooding the market with unsolicited credit cards), and bought a Ricoh Singlex 35mm camera and a 300mm telephoto lens.

Among the shots I wanted to get would be night shots, not only of 17's launch itself, but also of the vehicles on their pads, lit up at night.

For that, I would need very fast film (the fastest color films at that time being color slide films such as Kodak High-Speed Ektachrome at 160 ASA and GAF 500 at 500 ASA).

Having seen, on TV, what they looked like at night, I roamed the outskirts of Pasadena to get shots of the refineries which were similarly lit in places, taking dozens of carefully documented exposures to see what would work best.

That resulted in GAF being taken out of consideration because it was so grainy as to be almost unusable, and so sensitive to exposure levels that you had to be within 1/2 stop for the result to be any good at all. On the other hand, Kodak's High-Speed Ektachrome delivered usable images even when two full stops away from correct exposure. That's what I went with.

A stop at Household Finance (pre VISA and MasterCard, remember; at least in MY case) provided a modest amount that I hoped would be sufficient (it wasn't, as things turned out).

I had enough vacation time available for this (and also for the December trip) so off I went.

That worn-out Rambler was doing Ok until, when approaching New Orleans, the engine started threatening to cut out and I could hear that pulsing hissing sound that announces a blown cylinder head gasket. By the time I found a place where I would consider stopping, I had made it to Bay St Louis, Mississippi where I pulled into a motel for the night. I would determine, the next morning, if that was the end of the line.

Next day, I got a recommendation from the motel operator for a mechanic who came over and checked it, agreed with my diagnosis, and said he could fix it for $75.00 (1972, remember. At that time, the cheap, crappy, but clean apartment I was living in went for $75.00/month).

This was more than I had figured on, so I phoned my boss and asked him if he would advance me the amount and wire the money to where I was. He did, the repairs were made, and I was on my way again (after being afraid that I would have to give up, abandon the car and the whole trip, and take the bus home).

In the early days of space launches, most onlookers (not among the select that watched from stands at the space center) viewed them from Cocoa Beach. As they progressed from Mercury thru Gemini and then to Apollo, new launch pads were built further north on Merritt Island. Launch Pads 39A and 39B are so far north on that island, the nearest city to watch them from is Titusville.

I reached Titusville on April 14 (two days before launch) and went over to the space center to take the tour. The tour took us to within 1/2 a mile of the rocket, sitting on the launch tower and pad. Something over 30 stories tall is quite a sight that close.

They hadn't begun fueling it yet, otherwise we never would have been anywhere near that close to it. The two pads are a bit over three miles from each other, and also at least that far from the Vehicle Assembly Building and the Mission* Launch Control Building.

There's a reason for that. Fully fueled, the Saturn V launch vehicle contains more than 3000 tons of fuel and oxidizer, packing a lot more energy than the same amount of TNT, but with not quite the shattering effect ("brisance" is the word, I think) of that much explosive. Nevertheless, it can make one hell of a bang if it goes off; hence the separation. The Russians are believed to have had such an incident, taking out a major portion of their launch complex, with quite a few casualties, a few weeks before Apollo 11 lifted off on its' historic mission in July 1969.

I had this insane notion that, after touring the space center, I would head up north to Daytona Beach or even Jacksonville, rest up in a motel, and then come back down on launch day.

BUT, with two days to go, it looked as if half the population of Florida was already crowding U.S Highway 1 alongside Titusville. Figuring that if I stuck to my original plan I wouldn't even get near the place on launch day, I dove into one of the places on the Titusville beach that were renting spaces for cars, knowing I would just have to camp there.

So, there I was on the beach on the Indian River (separating Titusville from Merritt Island), looking at what I came to see from a distance of a bit over twelve miles.

At that distance the curvature of the Earth would have cut off a portion, except for the fact that the launch pad is placed on top of a ramp that rises about four stories and the pad itself probably adds another 10 feet or so, making the whole thing visible.

Hold your thumb and forefinger over each other, a few millimeters (or 1/8th of an inch) apart, at arms length and imagine a skinny white splinter held vertically between them. That's what a Saturn V looks like at that distance to the naked eye. A pair of 7x50 binoculars, or a 300mm telephoto lens, does a decent job of showing it.

Now, nothing much to do except wait. A couple of kids from the car next to me set up a chess game and managed to teach some of it to me. Never got all that good at it; I'm mostly a tactical person, who can react very inventively to new situations, but the key word is "react", meaning I'm dead meat for a good strategist.

Finally, mid-day, April 16, 1972.

Apollo 16 fires up, huge white plumes flaring almost a couple of hundred yards to each side. They are almost pure steam; there is a deluge system that dumps God knows how many tons of water onto the lower pad at the moment of ignition, to prevent the rockets exhaust from scouring it away. The feeling of pure naked power is overwhelming, and we haven't even heard anything yet. It takes a full minute for the sound to reach you, and it's a low-pitched rumble that is felt as well as heard. That rumble continues until it is long out of sight.

Something I will remember until the day I die.

We had dreams, then.

(And, YES. I'm aware that I have not even touched on Apollo 17.)

Addendum - 09 May 2010 - When I originally wrote this, I believed that water deluge system was meant to protect the lower launch pad from the scouring effects of the rocket's exhaust at liftoff.  I've since learned that it is actually a sound suppression system to protect the entire structure from the effects of very intense sound pressure (Up to 235 decibels at liftoff; supposedly lethal at close range, but I've yet to search out more definite info on this.).

Addendum - 07 Dec 2010 - Six days after writing this post, I followed it up with The Adventure - Continued  (about Apollo 17 and beyond). This addenda is just the inclusion of the link.

* = Correction 11 Jan 2011 - That was the Launch Control Building.  Mission Control is at the Johnson Space Center, in Clear Lake, Texas -- now part of Houston.

Addendum - 19 Feb 2011 - This is ten months after I originally wrote this post. Now, suddenly my site meter shows hits from all over the world, with no referring link, as if someone found it moderately interesting and alerted others by email.

If you've read this far, I would love to know what brought you to this post.
A comment or email would be welcome.

Thanks. :-)

Addendum - 23 Feb 2011 - A commenter noted that it was a comment of mine on the Internet Movie Data Base's page on the upcoming (April 22, 2011) Apollo 18  that triggered the explosion of hits on this post.

Cool!

If I'm going to get so many visitors, I hope that among them will be someone who can confirm (or refute) my "supposedly lethal  at close range" comment (about the sound of the liftoff) I made in the addendum about the sound suppression system.

Would  be very curious to know, and to know how close.

Addendum - 29 Jun 2011 - This post is once again getting a lot of hits.  Contrary to my 16 Apr 2011 comment below, the release date for Apollo 18  has been moved up to Friday, 02 Sep 2011.   I guessing that is the source of the traffic.  (See There is a REASON why ... )
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On selling out our friends and allies

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Just recently, after spending months snubbing our best friends and allies (Israel in particular, but others as well), Obama announced, to friends and enemies alike, new policies on the use (or NON use) of weapons in our nuclear arsenal that practically screamed to people depending on us for their protection, "Hey, not OUR problem!!!".

Shortly after Obama's election, I posted this comment on many blogs...
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On Election Day, the Ace of Spades website posted a picture of two Iraqi women, with purple-stained fingers showing they had voted in an election.

It was a "Get Out The Vote" message, noting that whatever inconveniences YOU may experience by voting, "These women literally risked their lives to vote".

My first reaction was, "And THE ONE can hardly wait to sell them out".

Obama’s rhetoric on Iraq, and comments about Israel, showed a casual willingness to sell out allies when convenient.

A commenter asked, “Who appointed us to be their guardians? Why is it America’s job to make sure they are safe?”

Perhaps we'd rather not have the entire world as a nuclear-armed camp, figuring that the more countries with these things, the more risk that some will eventually be used.

Our alliances with these countries ain’t out of the goodness of our heart, but for our own best interests. Sell one out, and I’ll bet you the others will sure take notice.

The commenter seemed to be saying, “To hell with them; let them take care of themselves!”

Ok!  But, they might do exactly that, and we might be less than thrilled with the results.

If countries under threat (Taiwan, South Korea, Japan) think that our word is no longer any good, they’ll almost certainly feel the need for nuclear arms as the only real deterrent to someone like China. And note, those countries ALL have the necessary economic, industrial and technical wherewithal to go nuclear. All they need do is make the decision.

Others, in the Middle East, will want them to deter Iran. How about Saudi Arabia and Egypt? Maybe Libya decides that abandoning their efforts was a mistake. THOSE countries may lack the technology, but they can certainly afford to finance it.

It could just go on and on.

THAT could be a very likely consequence of us deciding to just disengage ourselves from these countries.

We’ve tried, for a long time, to convince others that they didn’t need them, because WE would provide the nuclear umbrella.

When they figure they can’t count on us, the whole thing unravels.

If the commenter gets his wish, and they DO take care of themselves, it could get real interesting for us as well.

As we also reside on the same planet, I think it almost impossible we would remain unaffected.

So, standing up for our allies is not just a nice thing to do; it makes the hardest kind of common sense.

Simply put, we protect others in order to protect ourselves.

Abandoning them, selling them out, would be an unbelievably short-sighted (as in STUPID) thing to do, and would hurt us more in the long run. No one would trust an agreement with us; and why should they, given such a record?

Instead of being worth a damn, our word would only be noise.

And that would be tragic, because WE set its' value, by our actions.
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Sadly, I see absolutely nothing in that comment that needs amending. Especially the paragraph about the Middle East, now that he seems determined that a nuclear-armed Iran would be no big deal.

:(

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Rethinking Recall

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My previous post had two questions above the fold, the first of which probably caused many of you to react, "Good Lord! He's lost it. He's gone completely over the edge.", and as a result never even notice the second question (let alone actually open the post and read it).

That second question was "Can individual states enact measures to allow recall of their U. S. Congressional reps and senators?".

That part of the post asked if we could do it.

This post concerns itself with should we do it.

Thinking the Unthinkable

(Apologies to Hermann Kahn, who used that title for a study of thermonuclear warfare)

Two serious questions for consideration: (Relocated below the fold, so the first wont completely turn you off before even reading the rest of it.)