Monthly Archives: August 2012

Neil, Flat Stanley, and Me

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I knew Neil Armstrong, not all that well, but for a very long time. I first met him in July 1972, when the Ohio Historical Society (OHS) opened the Neil Armstrong Museum in the astronaut’s hometown of Wapakoneta, Ohio. A 20-something director of education for the OHS, I had planned all of the exhibitions for that museum. I wrote my first short book, or long pamphlet, depending on your point of view, as part of the project: The Giant Leap: A Chronology of Ohio Aerospace events and Personalities (Columbus: Ohio Historical Society, 1971). Neil agreed to write the foreword for the book, an extraordinary honor for a budding historian. When my little book was published, the designer printed Neil’s signature at the end of the forward. Twenty years later, in 1991, Neil spent some time at the National Air and Space Museum working on his short-lived television series, First Flights. He was sitting in my office one day when I showed him a copy of the book, and asked him if he remembered writing the foreword. He said of course he did, picked it up and signed it beneath his printed signature, this at a time when he was no longer giving autographs. That is a souvenir I treasure.

I met Neil quite a few times over the years. In 2000 I even recruited him to membership on the First Flight Centennial Federal Advisory Board, an organization which I chaired that was involved in helping to plan the commemoration of the first flights of the Wright brothers a century before. It was one of my most important contributions to the success of the centennial effort. Neil was one of the most active members of the Board. The most private of men, he nevertheless made a great many media appearances in 2003, insuring that the public understood and appreciated the genius of the Wright brothers and the extent to which their invention had shaped the modern world.

Only once during the forty years that I knew him, did I presume to ask Neil for a personal favor. In the fall of 2010 the National Museum of Naval Aviation invited me to present a talk on the Wright brothers at its annual history symposium. Our grandson, a proud first grader, was involved in a “Flat Stanley” project. Each of the kids in his class colored a pasteboard cut-out of a character named “Flat Stanley,” who was then mailed to friends or relatives in another part of the country. Those kind folks were asked to take photos of Stanley at local scenic spots and send the cut-out character and the photos back to the student, along with a letter talking about the places he had visited. The kids used that information to create a poster and tell the class about Stanley’s travels.

Our grandson had sent his Flat Stanley to his uncle in Georgia, but as my wife and I were about to leave on a long driving trip through the South, Alex’s teacher asked us if we would take one of his classmate’s cut-out Stanley with us on our trip. The child responsible for this Stanley was the daughter of new South Asian immigrants and wanted to participate, but did not know whom to send her character to. So, off we went on a trip that would take Flat Stanley on a visit with family in Georgia, attendance at the Pensacola conference, and on to a wedding in south Florida.

Flat Stanley

Neil Armstrong, Tom Crouch, and Flat Stanley

When we arrived at Pensacola, I discovered that Neil was there, as well. We chatted at some length, and I thought about asking him to have his picture taken with Flat Stanley, but decided that I did not want to impose. At the end of the conference, as my wife and I were loading our luggage into the car parked outside the Visiting Officers Quarters, a familiar voice behind me said, “Tom, say hello to Wilbur and Orville for me!” On the spur of the moment I stuck my head in the car and asked Nancy to give me Flat Stanley and a camera. I tried my best to explain this fairly complex notion for a first grade project to Neil, and asked him if he would have his picture taken with Stanley and me. He did so, with grace and a huge smile. I just hope he remembers to say hello to Wilbur and Orville for me.

Tom D. Crouch is a senior curator in the Aeronautics Division of the National Air and Space Museum.

Remembering Neil Armstrong

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Astronaut Neil A. Armstrong inside the Lunar Module during the Apollo 11 lunar landing mission. NASA photo.

I first heard the sad news while having a late lunch with friends at a seafood restaurant on the water in Annapolis, Maryland. Neil Armstrong passed away today, August 25, 2012, from complications resulting from heart bypass surgery. He was 82 years old. We will all miss him, not just because he was the first human being in the history of the world to set foot on another body in the Solar System, but perhaps especially because of the honor and dignity with which he lived his life as that first Moon walker. He sought neither fame nor riches, and he was always more comfortable with a small group of friends rather than the limelight before millions. When he might have done anything he wished after his completion of the Apollo 11 Moon landing mission, Armstrong chose to teach aerospace engineering at the University of Cincinnati. Imagine having the first person to walk on the Moon as your engineering professor!

Neil Alden Armstrong was born on August 5, 1930, on his grandparents’ farm near Wapakoneta, Ohio. His parents ­were Stephen and Viola Armstrong. Because Stephen Armstrong was an auditor for the state of Ohio, Neil grew up in sev­eral Ohio communities, including Warren, Jefferson, Ravenna, St. Marys, and Upper Sandusky, before the family settled in Wapakoneta. He developed an interest in flying at age 2 when his father took him to the National Air Races in Cleveland, Ohio. His interest intensified when he had his first air­plane ­ride in a Ford ­Tri-­Motor, a “Tin Goose,” in Warren, Ohio, at age 6. At age 15 Armstrong began learning to fly at an airport near Wapakoneta, working at various jobs to earn the money for his lessons. By age 16 he had his student pilot’s license; all before he could drive a car or had a high school diploma.

He then went to Purdue University to study aeronautical engineering, but in 1949 he went on active duty with the Navy, eventually becoming an aviator. In 1950 he was sent to Korea, where he flew 78 combat missions from the aircraft carrier USS Essex.

After mustering out of the Navy in 1952, Armstrong joined the National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics (NACA). His first assignment was at NACA’s Lewis Research Center near Cleveland, Ohio. For the next 17 years he worked as an engineer, pilot, astronaut, and administrator for NACA and its successor agency, the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA).

In the ­mid-­1950s Armstrong transferred to NASA’s Flight Research Center in Edwards, California, where he became a research pilot on many pioneering ­high-­speed ­aircraft—including the famous ­X-­15, which was capable of achieving a speed of 4,000 mph. He flew over 200 different models of aircraft, including jets, rockets, heli­cop­ters, and gliders. He also pursued graduate studies and received a M.S. degree in aerospace engineering from the University of Southern California.

Armstrong transferred to astronaut status in 1962, one of nine NASA astronauts in the second class to be chosen. On March 16, 1966, Armstrong flew his first space mission as commander of Gemini VIII with David Scott. During that mission Armstrong piloted the Gemini VIII spacecraft to a successful docking with an Agena target spacecraft already in orbit. Although the docking went smoothly and the two craft orbited together, they began to pitch and roll wildly. Armstrong was able to undock the Gemini and used the RCS system to regain control of his craft, but the astronauts had to make an emergency landing in the Pacific Ocean.

On Apollo 11, Armstrong flew with Michael Collins and Edwin E. “Buzz” Aldrin, Armstrong completed the first Moon landing on July 20, 1969. As commander of Apollo 11, Armstrong piloted the lunar module to a safe landing on the Moon’s surface. On 20 July 1969, at 10:56 p.m. EDT, Neil Armstrong stepped down onto the Moon and made his famous statement, “That’s one small step for [a] man, one giant leap for mankind.” Armstrong and Aldrin spent about two and ­one-­half hours walking on the Moon collecting samples, doing experiments, and taking photographs. On July 24,1969, the module carry­ing the three astronauts splashed down in the Pacific Ocean. ­They ­were picked up by the aircraft carrier USS Hornet.

No question, the Moon landing unified a nation divided by political, social, racial, and economic tensions for a brief moment in the summer of 1969. Virtually everyone old enough recalls where they were when Apollo 11 touched down on the lunar surface and Neil Armstrong said his immortal words, “Houston, Tranquility Base here, the Eagle has landed.” Millions, myself included, identified with Neil Armstrong as he reached the “magnificent desolation” of the Moon. One seven-year-old boy from San Juan, Puerto Rico, said of the first Moon landing: “I kept racing between the TV and the balcony and looking at the Moon to see if I could see them on the Moon”. His experiences proved typical; as a fifteen-year-old I sat with friends on the hood of a car on the night of July 20, 1969, looking at the Moon and listening to the astronauts on it. “One small step,” hardly; Neil Armstrong nailed it with the second phrase of his famous statement, “one giant leap for mankind”.

Since that euphoric event a lot has passed, the world has changed, and the future does not seem to hold quite the same possibilities as it once did. Yet, Neil Armstrong captured that sense of hopefulness so well until his last breath. He was an American hero, no doubt, but he was more. He lived a life of quiet grace, rarely embroiling himself in the day-to-day fights we see all around us even as he exemplified a unique merger of the “Right Stuff” with the self-reflection of a poet. Landing on the Moon was singular accomplishment, but not one to be remembered as an accomplishment of Neil Armstrong, as he so often said. It was the result of the labor of hundreds of thousands and the accomplishment of generation of humanity. Armstrong always recognized the honor he received from humanity in being allowed to participate in Apollo 11.

Armstrong would have agreed with legendary journalist Walter Cronkite, about the experience of reaching the Moon. “Yes, indeed, we are the lucky generation,” Cronkite wrote. In this era we “first broke our earthly bonds and ventured into space. From our descendants’ perches on other planets or distant space cities, they will look back at our achievement with wonder at our courage and audacity and with appreciation at our accomplishments, which assured the future in which they live.” When those descendents do look back on that era when humanity first journeyed beyond Earth, I’m sure they will also remember the contributions of an unassuming engineer and pilot from Ohio in advancing the exploration of the cosmos. The most fitting tribute I can offer at this time of recollection was the same said on more than one occasion in the space program: “Godspeed, Neil Armstrong.”

 

Roger D. Launius is a senior curator in the Division of Space History at the Smithsonian Institution’s National Air and Space Museum.

Tuskegee Red Lands at Air and Space!

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During World War II, a group of young, enthusiastic and skilled African American men pressed the limits of flight and the boundaries of racial inequality by becoming Army Air Forces pilots. Most of these pilots trained at Moton Field in Tuskegee, Alabama. One of the most popular and beautiful plants of that region is a fiery red Crape Myrtle. Like the Tuskegee Airmen, whose characteristic red-tailed aircraft became their trademark, this Crape Myrtle was named for the city of Tuskegee. In an ongoing effort by Smithsonian Gardens to link ornamental horticulture to the many themes and exhibitions that are part of the National Air and Space Museum, this emblematic tree now adorns the grounds of the world’s most visited air museum.

Native to Asia, Crape Myrtles are known for their delicate yet robust blooms, thick canopies of glossy green leaves, vibrant fall color, and flaking bark which is a unique and attractive feature during the winter months. Large and heavy flowers explode from June to September making the Crape Myrtle one of the most popular and visible trees on the Smithsonian campus. The northernmost Plant Hardiness boundary for this tree is Zone 7a, extending from Baltimore through southern Illinois. Crape Myrtles are adaptable to many climates and are drought resistant, growing best in well-drained soils and full sun. Most of the Crape Myrtles on display at the Smithsonian, like the ‘Tuskegee,’ are cultivars selected from the United States National Arboretum’s renowned plant breeding program located in Washington, DC.

tree

Smithsonian Gardens staff plant a ‘Tuskegee’ Crape Myrtle tree outside the National Air and Space Museum in Washington, DC.

The ‘Tuskegee’ Crape Myrtle tree (Lagerstroemia x ‘Tuskegee’), planted in May 2012 by Smithsonian Gardens staff at a National Air and Space Museum community horticulture education seminar, is located about 200 feet west of the Museum’s south entrance near the access ramp. It may seem a small gesture, but planting a tree to remember one of the most significant groups of WW II pilots and the social legacy that they represent to our nation is anything but trivial.

Spirt of Tuskegee

The “Spirit of Tuskegee” is on temporary display at the Udvar-Hazy Center until it is moved to the new National Museum of African American History and Culture where it will be placed on permanent display.

Visitors can view artifacts from the Tuskegee Airmen in the Barron Hilton Pioneers of Flight gallery at the National Air and Space Museum and will also have an opportunity to view related exhibits at the National Museum of African American History and Culture when it opens on the National Mall near the Washington Monument in 2015. Included in the planned exhibits will be a PT-13 Stearman called the Spirit of Tuskegee flown in training by the Tuskegee Airmen at Moton Field during World War II. The Tuskegee Stearman is currently on display at the National Air and Space Museum’s Udvar-Hazy Center located in Chantilly, Virginia.

Dik Daso is curator of Modern Military Aircraft in the Aeronautics Division of the National Air and Space Museum

Brett McNish is a Supervisory Horticulturist with Smithsonian Gardens

Let’s just hope it fits…

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It takes a lot of people and effort to bring an exhibition from idea to reality. By the time I joined the exhibition team, Time and Navigation had been in development for over five years. The exhibit script was already written; the artifacts and images for display were already selected; the major features of the gallery were already imagined; the video content and interactive elements were identified. My mission as the exhibit designer was fairly simple and straight-forward: to transform the team’s words and ideas into a plan for a meaningful and accessible exhibition made of materials and space. There was only one problem—trying to make it all fit.

 

Exhibit Concept

Early Concept Sketch of the Submarine and Transit Satellite.

 

Here is a summary of the exhibit elements as they existed when I joined the team:

  1. 226 pages of exhibit text
  2. 7 major thematic sections containing 23 subunits
  3. Nearly 200 artifacts ranging in length from 1 inch (a chip-scale atomic clock) to 36 feet (a small airplane)
  4. 5 immersive environments
  5. 16 videos
  6. 13 interactive exhibits

 

And herein lies the problem: The gallery that will house all these elements is only 5,000 square feet. While this may seem like a lot, this space starts to look a lot smaller once you put an airplane, a car, and three satellites into it. Once these major artifacts are accounted for, there are still immersive environments to build that set the exhibition stage: the aft portion of a circa 1830 ship, part of a Cold War era submarine, a Quonset hut. And these only represent the primary experiences in 7 of the 23 content units, so there is a lot more stuff that still needs to fit.

Ordinarily, a design problem of this nature would demand a highly creative process—thinking outside the box, so to speak. But in this case, I embraced a different approach. I embarked on the year-and-a-half long phase of my design career that I now refer to as “Thinking Inside the Box.”

 

Exhibit Sketch

Section thru Gallery showing ship, Winnie Mae, Stanley the car, and Mariner 10

 

You see, most of the remaining objects for display are what can be classified as “black boxes.” To the curators and other people who know a thing or two about time and navigation, these boxes represent important moments in history or important developments in technology or have some other remarkable significance. But to me, the designer, they are the giant beige box, the small brown box, the gigantic tube of tin foil, or the cute little army green inner-tube robot that looks like a cartoon character.

It is my job to present these objects beautifully and lovingly so visitors can see them as the curators do. So I design attractive glass boxes (display cases) to house them and accommodate their various and particular needs (climate, security, light levels, etc.) Each “black box,” whether a cube, cylinder, or more complex shape, has to be measured and drawn and placed in a case layout with its associated label and sit on its own special piece of furniture (its mount). We test each case layout by gathering all the objects and labels for the case and placing them in their theoretical locations in their imaginary glass box. I modify the display case size and design as needed and then move on to the next case design. Meanwhile, our cabinet makers, mount makers, graphic designers, and graphic producers start making the components that we hope will all come together perfectly in the gallery when we start installing objects in the cases this winter.

 

Exhibit Summary

Exhibit Summary Plan


This methodology works great, except when it doesn’t. You see, not all the objects are currently in our collection. For example, we have plans to display the NIST-7, a 10′-6″ atomic clock that just arrived from Boulder, Colorado. This “black box” is actually a long, shiny, metallic cylinder mounted on a long rectangular box that at some point in its history lost its covering. I have not been able to personally verify the object’s dimensions because it is just being uncrated today. Even though the folks from the National Institute of Standards and Timekeeping did provide me with measurements, the most basic rule of exhibit design is VERIFY ALL DIMENSIONS! However, we could not wait to have all the objects in hand before completing the design and commencing the year-long construction process. So I went ahead and designed the NIST-7 display case (and several others), which was built and placed in the gallery a month ago. The case is 11′-6″ long, 5′-10″ tall, and 2′ deep—definitely large enough to display several humans, and hopefully a perfect fit for the NIST-7. I will know for certain very soon.

 

NIST case


Several of my colleagues in the NIST-7 display case after it has been placed in the rough opening of the unfinished wall.


Since I started on the exhibition, we have distilled the script into a sharper, more concise narrative. We have taken out some objects and added others that better tell our story. We have omitted one environment and embellished others. All this has made the exhibition stronger and more focused. Now I watch and wait, as all my best laid plans are constructed and installed, just hoping that the exhibition comes together as I imagined it. And hoping that it all fits.

 

Heidi Eitel is an exhibit designer at the National Air and Space Museum.

 

Packing for Spaceflight

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Museum staffers are busy outfitting our new shuttle middeck for spaceflight. No, not the actual crew compartment of Discovery, now on display at the Museum’s Udvar-Hazy Center in Virginia. This middeck is a reproduction recently installed in the Moving Beyond Earth gallery at the National Air and Space Museum in Washington, DC.

middeck

View into the middeck reproduction as if entering from the shuttle payload bay

The middeck is an immersive feature that brings “living and working in space” to life. Visitors are invited into the middeck to see and feel for themselves the room that shuttle crews occupied during much of their time in orbit. Without the benefit of weightlessness to permit use of the overhead volume, it is easy, and surprising, to see what close quarters a seven-person crew shared.

The Museum is actively engaged in acquiring from NASA a variety of crew equipment—hundreds of small artifacts—typically used on shuttle missions. We are displaying many of these items in the middeck lockers where they would be stowed during flight. Visitors are welcome to open the lockers to see what is inside, safely installed behind glass. The contents range from ordinary (toothpaste and toothbrush) to extraordinary (gold and silver commemorative coins) flown-in-space items.

middeck lockers

Bank of lockers to be filled with crew equipment and other artifacts

To date, lockers have been loaded with some of the normal “stuff” of life in space—food, a portable computer and microcassette recorder, a digital camera and lenses.  Still to come: clothing, personal hygiene supplies, in-flight maintenance tools, experiment equipment, checklists, more cameras, and some shuttle housekeeping supplies. Some lockers ask tempting questions to encourage opening: What movie star is on board? (Buzz Lightyear!) Is soda fizzy in space? (Check out the modified Coke and Pepsi cans tried on the shuttle.) What’s for dinner? (Can you identify these processed foods?)

Besides the lockers, a reproduction shuttle toilet is perched just where it should be in orbit but can be wheeled out for a demonstration. Coming soon, we will add a sleep restraint, exercise cycle, and galley in their appropriate locations and other paraphernalia from shuttle missions, including the IMAX camera.

Apart from the pleasure of outfitting the middeck to give visitors insight into life in orbit, staff have paid careful attention to the actual middeck layout and sought to match locker locations to a real shuttle mission. We have selected items that suggest the full range of crew activities in orbit. Each item chosen for display undergoes an incoming inspection and condition report by our conservators, careful documentation and temporary storage by our collections managers, measurement and trial layout by the combined curatorial-exhibit design-collections care team, design and fabrication of a custom-mount to display it properly and securely without damage, and finally transport and installation into the designated locker. At the same time the artifacts are moving through this process, the exhibit team is drafting, designing, fit-checking, revising, and producing the labels that appear on or inside the locker doors. The team for the middeck project alone numbers about 20 people.

The Space Shuttle era has come to an end with the retirement of the orbiters, but the practical realities of living and working in space will be accessible for some time through the Moving Beyond Earth exhibition and especially the shuttle middeck. The next time you visit the Museum in Washington, DC, stop by and explore the middeck, all packed up for spaceflight. You may find some surprises there.

Valerie Neal is a curator in the Space History Division of the National Air and Space Museum. She is space shuttle curator and co-lead curator for the Moving Beyond Earth exhibition.