Archive for the 'Behind The Scenes' Category

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Preserving and Displaying the “Bat-Wing Ship” – August Update

This post is a follow up to Preserving and Displaying the “Bat-Wing Ship” published on June 24, 2011.

The Smithsonian Museum Conservation Institute (MCI) Conservators and National Air and Space Museum staff spent July and August continuing to investigate the Horten H IX V3 jet fighter for preservation and preparation for display.  Senior Conservator Melvin Wachowiak took the following detailed photographs on Tuesday, June 21, 2011.

Conservators are attempting to determine if the degradation of the plywood is caused by a failure of the adhesive or by biological deterioration of the wood.  Understanding the cause of the deterioration will guide their immediate and long-term preservation strategies.  One of the greatest challenges in this treatment will be in determining the most appropriate adhesive and finding effective methods of getting the adhesive to penetrate into deep areas of delamination. Photos 1 and 2 (seen below)—show 11 sheets of 5 cross-laminated plies each.

 

Horten

Photo 1. Artisans have built airplanes with plywood since well before World War I because crossing each layer, or ply, counters the weakness of a single sheet when bent with the grain rather than across the grain (Melvin Wachowiak /Smithsonian MCI photo).

 

 

Horten

Photo 2. (Melvin Wachowiak /Smithsonian MCI photo).

 

Horten Wing

A robust network of welded steel tubing frames the right outer edge of the H IX V3 center section. Behind the tubing lies a maze of plumbing for one of the Jumo 004 jet engines, the fuel system, and other equipment (Melvin Wachowiak /Smithsonian MCI photo).

 

Horten

German artisans formed the wood around the nose of the H IX center section using steam to make it soft and pliable, and then bending it to shape. Said Melvin Wachowiak , Senior Conservator, Smithsonian Museum Conservation Institute, "I am still impressed by the bending of the laminated plywood into a conical section without cracks. Nearly 70 years on! The degradation of the broken plys is more like a form of brown rot, but we will have to see what turns up (after further analysis)." (Melvin Wachowiak /Smithsonian MCI photo).

 

Horten

This photograph by Kenneth S. Kik shows the outer wing panels attached to the center section of the H IX V3 now in treatment at the Paul E. Garber Facility. (Photo credit: Mr. Kenneth S. Kik, 1950. Copyright unknown)

 

Russ Lee is a curator in the Aeronautics Division of the National Air and Space Museum, and Melvin Wachowiak is a Senior Conservator at the National Air and Space Museum.

 

“How the Shuttle Got Its Wings”

“How the Shuttle Got Its Wings” is a brand new interactive theater program the Museum is presenting this summer in the Moving Beyond Earth exhibition. We are fortunate that the Smithsonian family includes Discovery Theater, a theater group that focuses on young audiences. We approached them more than a year ago about creating a program highlighting the space shuttle program, especially for the Moving Beyond Earth stage.  The show finally debuted in mid-July and our timing couldn’t have been better. The successful mission of shuttle Atlantis several weeks ago closes the book on the space shuttle story. The topic has been all over the news and many of our visitors want to talk about it. The program is presented four times daily to enthusiastic audiences who want to reminisce about the shuttle era.

 

How the Shuttle Got its Wings

Actor Jennifer Joyner presents “How the Shuttle Got its Wings”

The 20-minute program starts with an excerpt from President Nixon’s 1972 speech announcing the development of “an entirely new type of space transportation system… it will revolutionize transportation into near space by routinizing it.” Routine, reusable, safe, and affordable… four words we repeat often in the program. Those were the goals for the shuttle. The story unfolds through the eyes of an aerospace engineer. We chose that character because the story is about the shuttle itself — its various components, its design, and its role.

The program is based heavily on the Moving Beyond Earth exhibition script (currently in development), which focuses on the space shuttle era. The second phase of the exhibition, opening in 2012, will feature fascinating models of what the shuttle could have looked like, a life-sized shuttle mid-deck that visitors can explore, and many objects flown in space and just recently de-accessioned by NASA.

 

How the Shuttle Got its Wings

Actor Calvin McCullough presents "How the Shuttle Got its Wings."

We worked with the Discovery Theater staff to ensure that the program is highly participatory. Younger ages enjoy helping to put pieces of a shuttle together and representing the different roles the shuttle has played over the years… delivery truck, space bus, service station, science laboratory, and international project. Older visitors enjoy remembering major accomplishments of each orbiter. The program ends with the question: Did the shuttle program meet the criteria set for it? Routine, reusable, safe, and affordable. The audience gets to vote. Our goal is to send audiences away thinking about this one-of-a-kind vehicle and its role in the history of American technology.

What do you think? Did the shuttle program meet the criteria?

The Museum continues to experiment with different ways to engage our visitors and educate people about our collections and research.  This experiment with theater has been well received.  If you haven’t seen the program, it runs daily through August 21 and then a few weekend dates after that. Check the website for times.

Tim Grove is Chief of Education for the National Air and Space Museum’s National Mall Building.

Tuskegee Bird Flies North

During the past two years, it has been my privilege to work closely with the curatorial staff of the National Museum of African American History and Culture (NMAAHC) to locate an aircraft with a lineage tied directly to the Tuskegee Airmen. We were fortunate enough to accomplish the mission that will culminate in the acquisition of a PT-13 Stearman that flew at Moton Field, Alabama, during WW II—the home of the Tuskegee Airmen.

Most remarkable and amazing has been my opportunity to get to know the young couple that has restored the aircraft to flying condition and flown it to dozens of airshows around the country telling the Tuskegee Airmen’s story.

 

PT-13

Pilot Matt "Happy" Quy pilots this PT-13 Stearman during a recent airshow that included the Blue Angels.

This coming Sunday, 31 July, the pilot-owner Captain Matt “Happy” Quy (USAF) and the NMAAHC team will meet up at historic Moton Field near present day Tuskegee University to begin the final leg of a journey into American history. Matt has asked me to fly with him on this historic last leg of a journey that began for this Stearman way back in the early 1940s. As a retired U.S. Air Force pilot myself, I could not turn down such an adventure. While somewhat limited in “tweeting” skill, I will be sending updates and flight experiences into the tweet-o-sphere throughout the flight that is scheduled to arrive in the greater DC area sometime next Tuesday.

Check out #PT13 to keep pace with Matt and me as we slip some surly bonds of Earth in the skies above the eastern US this weekend.

 

PT-13 and P-51

The PT-13 Spirit of Tuskegee flying in formation with a vintage P-51 Mustang.

Dik Daso is a curator in the Aeronautics Division of the National Air and Space Museum.

The Sprit of ’76

This month we mark the 35th anniversary of the opening of the National Air and Space Museum building on July 1, 1976. To tell the truth, my memories of the months leading up to that moment are something of a blur. I reported to work at the Museum for the first time on February 4, 1974. As junior member of the Astronautics Department, my boss was Frederick C. Durant, III, an engineer and certified space cadet who had served as President of both the American Rocket Society and the International Astronautical Federation and was a key advisor to the U.S. military, intelligence, and civilian space-flight programs of the 1950s and ’60s. Fred had come to the museum in 1964 to lead it into the Space Age. Close to four decades later, he remains one of the best bosses I have ever had.

When I arrived at the National Air and Space Museum, Astro, as we called our department, consisted of just four curator/subject matter specialists and two support staff, shoe-horned into the northeast tower of the Arts and Industries Building, with a splendid view of the dumpster in the parking lot of the building (the target for empty soda cans tossed from the second story window on slow Friday afternoons) and the dust cloud rising from the construction site next door where the Hirshhorn Museum was being built. The space kept getting smaller as we added another curator and two more support staff by the time we moved into the office areas of the new building in the spring of 1975.

Smithsonian South Yard in 1974. The Arts and Industries building with "Rocket Row" along the west side is visible to the right. The white hut at center is the Air and Space Building, which was torn down after moving into the new National Air and Space Museum in 1976. Credit: Smithsonian Institution Archives

We were obviously focused on collecting objects and planning the galleries that would fill the new building on opening day. We got something of a head start while we were still at the A&I building – planning and producing a series of trial versions of exhibitions that would be included in the new building. If memory serves, these mini exhibits included: World War I Aviation, Exhibition Flight, Balloons and Airships, Life in the Universe, and Apollo to the Moon. While we were never able to “moth ball” these preview exhibitions and transfer them directly into the new setting, it did at least give us a real opportunity to develop the ideas and the general plan for what visitors would see on opening day.

The Lunar Module and the Wright 1909 Military Plane being prepared to be moved out of the North Hall of the Arts and Industries Building, August 1975. Credit: Smithsonian Institution Archives

Michael Collins, Command Module Pilot of Apollo 11, was the director of the museum, a fact in which all of us took genuine pride. At the same time there was never any doubt in our minds that Mike’s deputy, Mel Zisfien, was the guy looking over our shoulders. Mel managed the process of gallery development and watched over the team of curators, designers and fabricators who were creating the galleries. Suffice to say that Mel was both a big picture kind of guy, and a detail man who demanded to be kept up to the minute with regard to our progress, or lack of same. Looking back over the gulf of years what I most remember is the collection of incredibly bright, talented, and energetic — if sometime quirky and exasperating — people who populated the National Air and Space Museum staff in the months, weeks, and days leading up to the opening. It was a privilege to be included in their number.

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

35 Years at the National Air and Space Museum

When I began to work at the National Air and Space Museum in March 1975, I was the Museum’s sole reference librarian, having graduated from Catholic University of America with an M.S. in Library Science the previous year. I had only been working for a few weeks, when I was told that we’d be moving from our Arts and Industries Building location to a brand new facility down the street. My boss, a professional of some standing in the librarian community, knew her job well, but she didn’t know much about moving a library, so it was up to me and one of my stalwart colleagues, a guy named Bill Jackson, whom some old-timers will remember fondly, to figure out how to box everything up and move it less than a city block away.

 

Arts and Industries

Rocket Row along the west side of the Arts and Industries Building before the National Air and Space Museum was built.

We wouldn’t open the new Museum to the public until the next year—July 1976, but the goal was to get everything into the newly-constructed building by end of summer 1975 so we could be fully operational for the official opening. That meant a lot of preparation—trying to figure out, in our case, how to pack books and other library materials, and label the containers so that we knew what we had at the other end. Another consideration was conservation. We were told that we had to attend a briefing given by Dr. Robert M. Organ, chief of the Conservation Analytical Laboratory, a predecessor of what is now the Museum Conservation Institute. I don’t remember much about the lecture, except the upshot, which was that we were to place in every box that was to be moved, a square of cotton gauze into which would be put a scoop of moth crystals (I’m not sure exactly how much); the gauze would then be tied with string. (It looked like a bizarre moth crystal wedding favor.) The moth crystals would prevent any live insects from being transported in the boxes that traveled from one place to the other. So before anything could actually be moved we had to prepare what seem liked hundreds—maybe even thousands—of these little containers of moth crystals.

 

The day was set in May 1975 for the production of the moth crystal packets. We had everybody involved, staff, interns, and whomever else we could corral into doing the odious—and odoriferous—task. We formed an assembly line; some people cut the gauze, some people put the crystals into the gauze squares, and some people collected the packets and placed them into large cardboard containers. The Arts and Industries Building wasn’t air conditioned, so we opened all the doors and windows and turned on two giant fans, but to no avail. The smell of moth crystals hung heavily in the air for what seemed like forever. It took us a couple of weeks, but we produced what we thought were enough of the packets so that one could be placed in every box to be moved. (Some of this process was done in a less-than-scientific way, so we may have missed some boxes.) We went home every evening reeking of moth crystals and were unable to get that smell out of our nostrils. I began to wonder why in the world I ever took the job.

 

An evening in July was chosen for the move. The movers were mostly college students hired by a local moving company who had little or no idea of what they were doing. We spent an entire summer’s night loading the boxes into the moving van, removing them at the other end, and hauling them up to the space in the west end of the building where the library would be. Around 10:00 pm, the moving boys decided they needed a beer break and dispersed to who knows where. At 10:30 or so, some of them hadn’t returned, but we couldn’t wait. We just went on without them. Somehow we managed to get everything transferred. By the time we opened the last of the boxes, sometime at the end of summer, we discovered that the moth crystals had evaporated!

 

National Air and Space Museum

The National Air and Space Museum being constructed ca. 1974. Opening its doors on July 1, 1976, the National Air and Space Museum quickly became the most popular museum in the world.

 

By October the library was up and running, and even though the Museum was still under construction and you couldn’t go anywhere outside the third floor without a hard hat, we were answering mail and telephone calls—no visitors yet, of course. The day of the opening came on July 1, 1976, and we had no idea of the horde of visitors who wanted to use the library (no appointments were necessary in those days). We were literally overrun, but it was a good feeling because after so much work, the place was a success. To this day, I can’t go near a moth crystal without thinking of my earliest days at the National Air and Space Museum.

 

dom

The author (second from left) shortly after he became a curator at the National Air and Space Muesum, at the September 1982 opening of the exhibition Black Wings: The American Black in Aviation. Other staff and volunteers who worked on the exhibition are from left to right Louis R. Purnell, Lou Lomax, Edna Owens, Von Hardesty, and Ted Robinson (Federal Aviation Administration).

 

 

 

 

Dominick A. Pisano is a curator in the Aeronautics Division of the National Air and Space Museum.

 

The Perils of Paper Airplanes

Visitors to the Museum’s How Things Fly gallery can try out more than 50 hands-on activities and participate in science demonstrations.  The gallery has more than 35 part-time high school and college age Explainers who help visitors interpret the exhibits and the science of flight.  When I trained to be an Explainer, I learned the basics: daily activities, expectations, etc. What I didn’t learn, however, was all the job hazards. Interacting with visitors and doing demonstrations sound pretty safe, right?

 

Paper Airplane Contest

A boy participates in a paper airplane contest in the Museum's "How Things Fly" gallery.

Not quite. Behind the multicolored propellers and paper airplane contests lurk hidden dangers.

A month after I started learning the Paper Airplane Contest, I presented the program for the first time. Visitors make their own airplanes and compete by flying their planes through a hoop from different distances. I thought I had contemplated everything that could go wrong. With hundreds of visitors participating in the contests each day, I assumed the odds of being hit by paper airplanes were high. I began the contest a little nervous, but everything went smoothly and that fateful impact never came. I congratulated the winner and packed up… relieved.  A couple of hours later as I headed to lunch, I squirted hand sanitizer into my palms and felt my hands stinging.  When I looked down there was an irritating paper cut. That was the beginning.

Over the next few weeks, I went home every day with my hands covered in paper cuts not realizing their source. Finally, it hit me. I was demonstrating how to make the folds of a paper airplane really crisp. With a flourish, I’d quickly run my nails along the line and would sometimes feel a sting on my wrist. Looking down, I would realize I was bleeding. Week after week, absorbed in excitement, I had slowly been covering my hands in paper cuts.

 

Paper Airplane Contest

Lauren Rice, an Explainer in the "How Things Fly" gallery, demonstrates how to make a paper airplane.

If you’ve never seen one of the demonstrations at the National Air and Space Museum you haven’t witnessed how easy it is to get caught up in the fun.  Even though we may do the same contest several times a day, each experience is different. I once had a family who attended every contest I held for three days in a row and by the end of the week, the son knew the program as well as I did. Another first-time paper airplane maker was so excited by his experience that his parents jokingly called me their son’s “First Flight Instructor.”

We want our visitors to have fun and enjoy their time at the Museum and hopefully learn a little science. Our ultimate goal is to encourage the learning experience beyond the visit.  Sometimes this goal can be difficult and full of hidden dangers, but I don’t mind.  I really enjoy my job!  I have, however, trained myself to hold the paper just a little farther from my wrists and pay closer attention when I fold my lines. I rarely get paper cuts anymore.  If only I had the same luck with the paper airplane collisions. Remember, aim for the hoop, not the Explainer!

Lauren Rice is an Explainer at the National Air and Space Museum and a student at American University.

The Intern Perspective

When I went in for my interview at the National Air and Space Museum, I learned that I would be helping plan a family day. Not just any family day – this was a one-time event celebrating the 150th anniversary of the Union Balloon Corps.

The Union, what?

Staff wanted to inflate a massive balloon on the National Mall, invite Civil War reenactors to set up camp, offer hands-on activities inside the Museum, and partner with other museums and historic sites to make this program happen.

I felt energized by their vision and wanted to be part of this project. I had never heard of the Union Balloon Corps and wanted to learn about this seemingly incongruous cross-section of content areas.

I left the interview and decided that there were three reasons (in no particular order) I wanted this internship:

1. To learn

I wanted to learn about the Union Balloon Corps: The last time I studied Civil War history was in high school. Since then I’ve visited Gettysburg battlefield, other Civil War-related museums and sites, and read random news articles about the topic.

This aspect of the Civil War was new and intriguing. I dove into books, websites, blogs and forums. Who was this guy Thaddeus Lowe who founded the Balloon Corps? How did the balloons NOT get shot down?

I kept reading and researching until I formed a baseline knowledge of the subject – I’m no Tom Crouch (senior curator in the Museum’s Aeronautics Division) to be sure, but I felt I had enough information under my belt to start planning.

2. To be challenged

This event was going to be a challenge. Not only was the content new to me, I had never participated in an event that serves up to, potentially, 30,000 people. How do I create a fun, educational and meaningful experience for so many people?

I embraced this challenge as I watched the family day department plan other amazing events that impacted thousands of people at a time.

I even had a chance to pilot a binocular making activity that pays homage to Thaddeus Lowe’s binoculars we have in our collection.

 

Emily Koteki

Kids make binoculars at a craft table at the National Mall building.

3. To be better able to plan dynamic, innovative family days

I observed quickly that family days at the Museum went beyond telescopes and solar systems. They included African storytellers, Nepalese dancers, the Chromatics, kite makers and many other unique connections between the arts and space.

After observing and being part of these events, I learned about taking risks and really being creative in programming and partnerships.

I’ve tried to apply these lessons as I planned this upcoming family day. We hope to see you there!

View the full schedule of events.

Emily Kotecki is a family day programs intern at the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum, and a graduate student at George Washington University studying Museum Education. She is helping to plan this event and can’t wait to see it come to fruition.

 

 

 

Getting “Enterprise” Ready for Prime Time

Early on the morning of March 1, 2004, a small band of preservation specialists consisting of Anne McCombs, Steve Kautner, and Ed Mautner walked into the James S. McDonnell Space Hangar at the Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center.  There was but a single artifact in that huge hangar — OV-101, Space Shuttle Test Vehicle, Enterprise.  The hangar was scheduled to open to the public on October 20, 2004. We had eight  months to clean the exterior and interior; repair and repaint damage to the faux tiles that covered the nose, belly, vertical stabilizer, and rudder; then strip and repaint the center fuselage and payload bay doors.  There we stood with buckets of water, gallon jugs of Amway LOC, which was recommended by NASA and their contractor United Space Alliance (USA), boxes of cotton rags, and a few ladders that would only elevate us 3-3.5 meters (10-12 feet) above the ground.  The size and scope of our task was truly daunting as Enterprise was 37 meters (122 feet) long with a wingspan of 24 meters (78 feet) and a vertical stabilizer that topped out at nearly 18 meters (60 feet) above the floor.

Space Shuttle Enterprise

The Space Shuttle "Enterprise" was the first spacecraft to be moved into the Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center's James S. McDonnell Space Hangar in 2004.

Enterprise was originally planned to be an orbiter but was never fully outfitted for spaceflight.  In 1977, it served first as a test vehicle atop a modified 747 in a series of drop and glide tests from about 7,620 meters (25,000 feet).  When its primary test programs ended in 1979, it languished and its appearance began to deteriorate.  In 1983 it was refurbished with a fresh coat of paint and new markings for the 1983 Paris Air Show and the 1984 World’s Fair in New Orleans.  NASA transferred Enterprise to the National Air and Space Museum in 1985 where it was stored outdoors for two years and in a non-climate-controlled hangar for 17 years. During this time it became dirty and its paint continued to deteriorate.  After it came to the Museum, Enterprise continued to be a test bed for NASA. They performed launch vibration tests, facility test checks, arresting barrier, and emergency crew egress tests.  These last tests scarred the paint on the forward fuselage and payload bay doors.   Our job was to restore it to its  former pristine appearance.

 

Space Shuttle Enterprise

Space Shuttle "Enterprise" flew into Washington Dulles International Airport on November 16, 1985 atop a modified Boeing 747 carrier aircraft. Using cranes, the "Enterprise" was removed from the top of the 747 and lowered to the tarmac at Dulles on November 17. On December 6 the National Aeronautic and Space Administration transferred title of the "Enterprise" to the National Air and Space Museum at a black tie gala at the airport.

The ladders made the decision of where to start easy — hit the low hanging fruit — landing gear, wheel wells, and the belly.   As the month progressed we received high lift equipment which gave access to most of the top portions of Enterprise. We also received an additional member, Tony Carp, to clean and repair the vertical stabilizer and rudder. Tony also coordinated the removal of the OMS (Orbital Maneuvering System) pods, which were sent back to the Paul E. Garber Preservation, Restoration and Storage Facility for restoration.  Once finished with the exterior, we cleaned the cockpit, payload bay, and aft power plant bay.

Our next task was to scrape and sand off the deteriorated paint on the center fuselage and payload bay doors, an area measuring over 372 square meters (4,000 square feet). We did this from scaffolding erected on June 17th.  This structure enclosed and bridged Enterprise, allowing us to safely reach all of the upper areas. With the clock ticking, additional members were allocated on August 9th to do the final sanding, scraping, and paint prep, which we finished on September 2nd.

 

Space Shuttle Enterprise

The Space Shuttle "Enterprise" surrounded by scaffolding that allowed our collections specialists to safely reach all the upper areas of the spacecraft.

Our donated aerospace paint and primer arrived September 17.  Due to the space hangar’s filtration system and health and safety concerns we had to use rollers and apply the paint between 5:30 p.m. and 6:00 a.m.  PPG-DeSoto, the paint donor, provided an additive that “flowed” the rolled-on paint to give a smooth, sprayed-on appearance.  We finished the prep, priming, and white top coat in the wee hours of September 29.  The scaffolding came down the next day and we were left with just our original team of four plus two part-time volunteers to remove masking; do final clean-up and equipment stowage; touch up many of the polyurethane foam faux tiles; and restore the markings, “United States,” NASA “Worm” logo, and the name Enterprise on the forward payload bay doors.

 

paint

Preservation specialists, Tony Carp (top left) and Bob Weihrauch (bottom right), paint the Space Shuttle "Enterprise" as part of its restoration in 2004.

Long before work began, several curatorial decisions were made. First, Enterprise did not need a full restoration.  It was structurally intact and had no signs of serious corrosion.  So it would be cleaned, signs of corrosion or deterioration noted, and deteriorated paint and markings would be replaced.  The second decision was to return it to its appearance in 1985. To achieve this we carefully traced all of the markings before paint removal began.  When we had sanded through the top layer of paint we discovered earlier markings similar to those of 1985, but with slightly different shape, location, and color shades.  We traced and made notes of these for future reference.  Once repainted, we retraced the markings in pencil then hand-painted them as had been done originally.  While doing this a contract crew was assembling the barriers around Enterprise in preparation for the “Grand Opening” just days away.  We finished clean-up and detailing on October 18, 2004.

While we never let our eyes slip from our target date, there were interesting diversions that made a challenging project pretty enjoyable.  We were tasked to assist NASA and USA in several of their planned visits to inspect or work on Enterprise.  One day, Col. Joe Engle, one of Enterprise’s command test pilots, came to visit his old craft, inquire about our work, and congratulate us on our efforts.  Another highlight was a visit from Col. Pamela Melroy, USAF.  Col. Melroy was an Air Force test pilot and would become a two-mission space shuttle pilot (STS-92 and 112), and mission commander (STS-120). We met her while she was still a member of the Shuttle Columbia accident investigation team. We escorted her through Enterprise and she also expressed pleasure with our efforts.

The Enterprise project was grand in scope; interesting and exciting every day; and very rewarding in terms of personal gratification.  Our small crew worked without a budget, and with limited resources, personnel, and time.  For so many reasons, I recall looking forward to getting in to work on it every day.  It was an exciting environment that literally put us on a stage where the visitors were always viewing us from barriers at the front of the hangar and from the hangar overlook.  And when the scaffolding was assembled, there was the ever-present element of danger.  Everyday, several times a day, we had to free climb 9-12 meters (30-40 feet) straight up the rungs to the platforms next to or over the shuttle.  Once on top, we could attach our safety harness tethers to the scaffold structure. In eight months we had only one injury.  One of our members slipped off the top of the payload bay doors.  Due to the harness and tether, he suffered only a banged knee.  Our constant discussions about safety and the use of fall protection certainly paid dividends.

 

Enterprise

The Space Shuttle "Enterprise," before and after its restoration.

During our days working on Enterprise we received several recurring questions about it from docents and visitors: is it real and did it go into space?  What does it look like inside and will the Museum let visitors walk through it?  Well, it is quite “real.”  It was the first shuttle of the first batch or “block” of three and with the demise of Challenger and Columbia, it is the sole survivor of that block.  Discovery, Atlantis, and Endeavour constitute the second block of shuttles.  However, as Enterprise was never fully fitted-out to be an orbiter, the payload bay is a maze of structure and framework that poses too many hazards to permit public entry.  The cockpit, bare of instrumentation, is very small and it would be difficult to route the more than one million visitors who might wish to enter it each year. Furthermore, the National Air and Space Museum has not in the past opened accessioned aircraft or spacecraft for public entry due to preservation concerns.  For all of these reasons the Museum decided not to permit access into Enterprise.

 

crew

Left to right: Steve Kautner, Dave Wilson, Bob McLean (background), Ed Mautner (foreground), Bob Weihrauch, Will Lee, Anne Mccombs.

 

Space Shuttle Enterprise

The Space Shuttle "Enterprise" is the centerpiece of the James S. McDonnell Space Hangar of the National Air and Space Museum's Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center

On the morning of October 19, 2004, members of the press began to arrive to photograph, video, and write about the opening of the John S. McDonnell Space Hangar and its most prominent artifact, the Space Shuttle Enterprise. The public got its first glimpse the following day.  The space hangar and Enterprise were received with praise and excitement by NASA and Museum staff, the media, and the visiting public.  In addition, our small team received one of the two prestigious Peer Awards presented by the Museum for 2004.  Was it a rewarding project? You bet.

Ed Mautner is a preservation specialist in the Collections Division of the National Air and Space Museum.

Another Journey for John Glenn’s Ansco Camera

Nearly 50 years ago, John Glenn purchased a camera at a drug store that served as the first astronomical experiment performed by a human in space. That three-orbit voyage for Glenn included two cameras, one the Ansco he purchased and the other a Leica supplied by NASA. The flight not only kicked off decades of orbital experiences for U.S. astronauts, but also science experiments, observations, and thousands of rolls of film and digital files created through hand-held photography. The results of those experiments and the photos taken are what people left on Earth use even today to understand human spaceflight.

Recently, I had the opportunity to accompany the Secretary of the Smithsonian, Wayne Clough, to Congress for his testimony to the House Appropriations subcommittee on Interior and Environment, and Related Agencies. As part of the testimony, I presented John Glenn’s Ansco camera as one example of the artifacts we use at the National Air and Space Museum to talk about the 50th anniversary of the first human spaceflight. I was even given time to relate the full story of this camera to the Subcommittee members, which was a real honor. For me, this is a key artifact in the story I am working on for my PhD dissertation at George Mason University, making the experience invaluable. For the camera, it was one perhaps final journey on top of those three historic orbits in Friendship 7.

 

Ansco Camera

John Glenn's Ansco camera in front of "Friendship 7"

 

As a curator, two things make this camera an interesting artifact to study and interpret for our exhibits and in my dissertation. First, as John Glenn relates the story of this time in his autobiography and elsewhere, NASA had trouble figuring out how an astronaut could use a camera in space. Few cameras on the market in the early 1960s were simple enough to use on Earth to make them easy to use in microgravity. Glenn found this Ansco at a Cocoa Beach drug store where he had stopped after a haircut to grab a few things. The Ansco Autoset (actually a Minolta Hi-Matic, repackaged by the New York-based Ansco Company) had automatic exposure settings, so Glenn would not need to change the f-stops on the camera during an already busy mission plan. To make the camera usable with his bulky astronaut gloves, engineers flipped the camera upside down so they could attach a pistol grip and special buttons to control the shutter and film advance. They even moved the eyepiece to the bottom (now the top) of the camera so Glenn could target the constellation Orion for the spectrographic ultraviolet photography he was to perform. In this case, we see how in the early days of NASA, astronauts developed a very personal role in their missions, and also how innovative and creative solutions became for making what we think of as basic tasks easy to do in space.

The other fascinating part of this artifact’s story is how confused it became over the 50 years since it flew. Little is said by Senator Glenn about the Leica camera he also used in space, which actually captured the standard 35mm images we see in books and newspapers. It was not modified as much, with only a larger eyepiece put on top to make it easier to use with his spacesuit visor down. Yet in newspaper stories, books, magazines, and even our own artifact records at the Museum, it seemed people easily interchanged the cameras for each other in the story of photography on Friendship 7. Curator Michael Neufeld nailed this down once and for all with his essay in our book After Sputnik, when he showed how the Ansco camera has a special prism lens attached for the ultraviolet photography, while the Leica has a standard 50mm lens on it.

 

Leica Camera

Leica camera used by John Glenn on his Mercury flight

 

This experience with the Ansco camera on Capitol Hill was a truly unique day in my career, and I owe a special thanks to Samantha Snell from our Collections Division for managing the safe transport and handling of the camera. Also, to Malcolm Collum, our head conservator, for the fantastically built traveling case, and Derrick Fiedler of our Exhibits Production division for another perfect display stand. I am grateful for the opportunity to share the story of one of our priceless and unique artifacts we are entrusted by the American people to preserve and interpret.

Jennifer Levasseur is a museum specialist in the Space History Division of the National Air and Space Museum, and is responsible curator for the Museum’s collection of space cameras and early human spaceflight astronaut equipment.

 

Collecting Popular Culture

From April 20 to April 23, curators from the Aeronautics Division and the Space History Division attended the 2011 National Conference of the Popular Culture Association/American Culture Association (PCA/ACA) in San Antonio, Texas. Tom Crouch of the Aeronautics Division organized a session on museum collecting and collectors titled “Collecting the Popular Culture of Flight at the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum,” and the participants presented papers on collections that we curate. Tom spoke about the Balloonomania Collection of balloon-related furniture and furnishings; Alex Spencer of the Aeronautics Division talked about the Mother Tusch Collection, which contains many significant personal artifacts of military aviation; Margaret Weitekamp of the Space History Division discussed the O’Harro Collection of space memorabilia and popular culture; and I talked about the Stanley King Collection of Lindbergh memorabilia and popular culture.

 

Balloonomania

This colorful early 19th-century ceramic plate, part of the Museum's Balloonomania Collection, depicts the 1804 ascension in Paris of Joseph Louis Gay-Lussac and Jean-Baptiste Biot in an early scientific investigation of the Earth’s atmosphere.

This PCA/ACA meeting was one of the largest academic conferences I had ever attended, and a far cry from the small, homey gatherings of the organization I went to in the mid to late 1980s in Charleston and St. Louis. The 2011 meeting sessions usually began at 8:00 am and went on until very late in the evening every day, occupied conference rooms in two major San Antonio hotels, and covered a wealth of areas from “Adaptation (Film, TV, Literature & Electronic Gaming)” to “World War I & II.” In between were panels on such things as “Fat Studies,” “Grateful Dead,” the “Vampire in Literature,” and the perhaps more prosaic “Visual Arts in the West.” Our session fell into the “Collecting and Collectibles” area.

PCA began in the early 1970s as a reaction to what was perceived to be the elitism of the American Studies Association in favor of traditional American literature, and its disregard for new forms of expression such as material culture, popular music, movies, and comics. In 1979, the PCA began to partner with the American Culture Association and sponsored the first PCA/ACA Conference at Michigan State University. A number of people were involved in the formation of PCA/ACA, but Professors Ray Browne of Bowling Green State University and Russell Nye of Michigan State were the primary movers and shakers for the idea that popular culture deserved academic recognition as a topic of study. The PCA/ACA now has seven regional organizations, and is affiliated with four international popular culture organizations in Australia/New Zealand, East Asia, Canada, and Europe. Both organizations publish journals: The Journal of Popular Culture and The Journal of American Culture.

In museum circles, popular culture suffered the same fate as it did in academia. It was caught up in the “high culture” versus “low culture” debate, originated by literary critic Dwight Macdonald and others, in which high culture—classical art and literature, classical music, ballet, theater, etc.—was thought to be more worth considering than low culture—popular literature, movies, popular music, comics, etc. At the Smithsonian’s Museum of History and Technology (the predecessor of the Museum of American History), the story is told of how many curators were not in favor of collecting American political memorabilia because they considered it “junk.” I dare say this was true in other Smithsonian museums, including the National Air and Space Museum. Ironically, the Museum had been collecting “popular culture” for years, but calling it something else. In 1974, for example, the Museum accepted a donation from Paramount Pictures of the original Starship Enterprise model from the television program Star Trek. In the 1990s, the Museum did two major popular culture exhibitions, Star Trek (1992), and Star Wars: The Magic of Myth (1997), which were immensely well-liked and full of intellectual content, but looked on somewhat disapprovingly in some quarters of the Museum. But just as academic fashion changes over time, so did museum consideration of popular culture as a worthy topic of collecting, research, and exhibition. Now Margaret Weitekamp holds a curatorial title that indicates she is responsible for collecting social and cultural artifacts; i.e., popular culture.

 

Starship Enterprise Model

This 3.4 meter (11-foot) model of the fictional Starship "Enterprise" from the weekly television series "Star Trek" was donated to the National Air and Space Museum in 1974 by Paramount Pictures. To illustrate how popular culture can often impinge on real life, the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) was persuaded by a write-in campaign to change the name of the spaces shuttle full-scale test vehicle on display at the Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center from "Constitution" to "Enterprise."

Although even the PCA/ACA disputes the definition of the term, preferring to create subject areas of academic interest, I do think there is some agreement that popular culture is influenced by industries that disseminate cultural material, for example, the film, television, and publishing industries, as well as the news media. It could even be described as not merely a cumulative product of those industries, but the result of a continuing interaction between them and the people of the society that consume the products. Popular culture is also a way to approach American consumer culture; i.e., the culture that surrounds American commerce, esp. advertising, marketing, merchandising, and the media, and its influence on American society. But even such definitions do not go far enough in my estimation.

However one wants to define it, there are a number of ways to rationalize collecting popular culture in a museum. In the case of the Stanley King Collection, the objects are a way of understanding the consumer tastes of Americans and to making sense of the idea of celebrity. The King Collection also tells us how dominant cultural images like aviation and personalities like Charles A. Lindbergh were used to sell all manner of goods. Lindbergh endorsed very few products, and those were related directly to aviation. Either he didn’t know or didn’t care that someone was making money from his celebrity. In our era, however, celebrities tend to keep a tight rein on their images or “brand,” and infringement is likely to prompt a lawsuit. Nevertheless, a good deal of popular culture merchandise that is unlicensed and unauthorized manages to find its way to the market place.

 

"Spirit of St. Louis" Toys

Four objects from the Stanley King Collection. Clockwise from bottom left: metal roll toy likeness of the "Spirit of St. Louis" with figure; windup metal toy "Spirit" with a New York-Paris map on wing; glass candy container in the shape of an airplane; puzzle game that depicts the flight paths of Lindbergh and his competitors for the Orteig Prize—Richard Byrd and Clarence Chamberlin.

The O’Harro Collection is somewhat different from the King Collection, even though it too consists of commercially-produced materials. Jules Verne’s De La Terra á la Lune (From the Earth to the Moon) is said to have stirred visionaries of modern rocketry like Tsiolkovski, Oberth, and Goddard. Similarly, space science fiction heroes of the 1930s, represented in the O’Harro Collection by Buck Rogers and Flash Gordon, stimulated American youth, and provided a glimpse at how space travel was imagined in the days before we had the technology to explore the Moon and distant planets. For a later era, the popular culture of the Star Trek television series (1966 to 1969) and the Star Wars trilogy (1977, 1980, 1983) indicates that space science fiction capitalized on the public interest in space travel prompted by the advent of the U.S. space program and the 1969 landing on the Moon.

 

Ray Guns

Four toy ray guns from the Museum's space popular culture collection illustrate how varied the colors, shapes, and designs of imagined space toys can be.

The Balloonomania Collection and the Mother Tusch Collection are rather different from the consumer-oriented popular culture of the King and O’Harro collections. The Balloonomania Collection of 18th century furniture and furnishings was in a sense both a popular and preindustrial commercial response to the advent of balloon flight, and the first glimpse of the Earth from above the planet. The Mother Tusch Collection represents the personal crusade of a woman who thought of herself as a mother image to hundreds of military aviators during and after World War I, and of the pilots’ response in giving her personal items in gratitude for her many kindnesses.

 

Mother Tusch

Mary E. “Mother” Tusch is shown here shortly before her collection was sent to Washington in 1947. She is surrounded by the aviation memorabilia that she avidly collected, especially the personal items given to her by the many military pilots who trained at the U.S. School of Military Aeronautics at the University of California at Berkeley campus during WWI. These objects, now in the Museum's collection, were meant to show the aviators’ gratitude for her maternal concern for them, hence the name “Mother” Tusch.

Further historical investigation of commercially-produced popular culture is necessary before we have a complete picture. Some questions to consider: who are the manufacturers of these products? Is there a relationship between the poplar objects of aviation and spaceflight and other collectibles that represent a dominant cultural image? Were these items advertised, if so, how were they advertised? What were the conditions of the workers who produced these items? Are these or similar types of materials being manufactured today?

The Museum does not have a collections fund to purchase items like these, which are likely to be found in the hands of collectors. Thus, subsequent acquisition of popular culture objects depends largely on the generosity of people like Michael O’Harro and Stanley King. Both curatorial divisions, however, have clearly-articulated collecting plans that specify what types of popular culture the Museum wishes to collect. The Aeronautics Division, for example, is especially interested in obtaining consumer items such as toys, games, household furnishings, apparel, and other collectibles that relate to aviation, especially for the interwar years, World War II, and the 1950s, and of more recent vintage, toys like action figures of pilots from the Vietnam War era to the present day, dolls or action figures that represent women in aviation, and electronic media like arcade games and flight simulation games for personal computers. The Space History Division is especially interested in acquiring scarce or rare items from early space science fiction, toys, games, lunch boxes, and other collectibles, electronic media like arcade games, computer games, and console games, and cultural objects from the early Project Mercury/Gemini/Apollo eras.

Dominick A. Pisano is a curator in the Aeronautics Division of the National Air and Space Museum