Toilet Training

What is the first question most people ask about spaceflight?  “How do you go to the bathroom in space?” It’s a puzzlement.

The Education staff has decided to seize a teachable moment.  The new Moving Beyond Earth exhibition will feature a full-scale reproduction space shuttle mid-deck, the shuttle’s living quarters. Visitors will be able to open some of the lockers, look out the portal for a heavenly view, and yes, see a reproduction space toilet, or WCS (waste containment system).

 

space toilet

Staff from Guard Lee show staff from the Museum how astronauts use a space toilet.

This past week we unpacked the toilet and had training. Why training? Because we plan to roll it out, turn it on, and present short educational programs. We’re expecting  a lot of interest. We know you’re curious.

toilet

Guard Lee staff with the space toilet, or waste containment system.

When we move a lever, the vacuum turns on. In space, astronauts rely on air to do what water does on Earth. Waste is sucked away, compacted, and dried. Of course the whole process is much more complicated than here in Earth. The feet straps (or bar for a standing man) are very important, as are the thigh bars for those sitting. Some models even come with seat belts!  Astronauts do not want to float away while doing their business.

There are male and female funnels, hoses of different sizes, and a can for paper trash. Remember, no flushing takes place. Ensuring a proper seal is crucial and astronauts practice on a toilet with a camera in Houston to perfect their position.

The company that built our WCS cared a great deal about accuracy, down to the NASA logo clearly emblazoned on the side.

And, in case you were wondering, our space shuttle curator Valerie Neal made sure that Space Shuttle Discovery, coming in April to the Museum’s Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center, will be as authentic inside as possible. She asked that the real WCS be re-installed.

Tim Grove is Chief of Education for the Museum in Washington, DC.

Remembering Wernher von Braun on his 100th Birthday

Today is the 100th anniversary of the birth of Wernher von Braun (March 23, 1912-June 16, 1977), one of the most famous rocketeers and advocates of spaceflight that ever lived. Accordingly, it is an appropriate time to reflect on his remarkable life and career. A longstanding “space cadet,” von Braun was an early member of the “Verein fur Raumschiffahrt” (Society for Spaceship Travel, or VfR). Although spaceflight aficionados and technicians had organized at other times and in other places, the VfR emerged soon after its founding on July 5, 1927 as a leading group that both advocated for spaceflight and worked to build rockets. Growing up in the VfR, Wernher von Braun became the quintessential and movingly eloquent advocate for the dream of spaceflight and a leading architect of its technical development.

 

Wernher von Braun

Photo of Marshall Space Flight Center (MSFC) Director Dr. Wernher von Braun at his desk with rocket models on his desk. Dr. von Braun served as Marshall's first director from 1960 until his transfer to NASA Headquarters in 1970.

He achieved a new stage for his efforts in 1932 when the German army hired the charismatic and politically astute Wernher von Braun, then only 20 years old, to work in its military rocket program. While he was the first VfR member to go to work for the German military, he was far from the last. Under his direction, of course, Nazi Germany developed the V-2 ballistic missile in the early 1940s.

Von Braun’s motivations for this move, with the hindsight of Hitler’s rise to power in Germany and the devastation and terror of World War II, have been questioned and criticized. Under von Braun’s technical direction, with political oversight provided by General Walter Dornberger, Germany developed the V‑2 rocket, the first true ballistic missile. The brainchild of Wernher von Braun’s rocket team operating at a secret laboratory at Peenemunde on the Baltic coast, this rocket was the immediate antecedent of many of those used in the U.S. space program. A liquid propellant missile rising 46 feet in height and weighing 27,000 pounds at launch, the V‑2, called the A-4 by the Germans involved in the project, flew at speeds in excess of 3,500 miles per hour and delivered a 2,200 pound warhead 500 miles away.

V-2

Two months before the Nazis came to power in 1933, physics student Wernher von Braun went to work on rocket weapons for the German army. Von Braun's establishment made a breakthrough to large-scale rocket engineering. It created the world's first operational ballistic missile: the V-2.

First flown in October 1942, it was employed against targets in Europe beginning in September 1944, and by the end of the war 1,155 had been fired against England and another 1,675 had been launched against Antwerp and other continental targets. The guidance system for these missiles was imperfect and many did not reach their targets, but they struck without warning and there was no defense against them. As a result the V-2s had a terror factor far beyond their capabilities.

With the V-2, on the morning of September 8, 1944, the world changed in ways that happen only rarely. After an enormous investment by Hitler’s Germany, more than a decade of research and development (R&D), the deaths of thousands of concentration camp laborers (with many more to come), and allied fears that led to an air strike on von Braun’s rocket R&D facility at Peenemünde, the V-2 changed the nature of warfare. After some false starts, at 8:40 a.m. on this date the first V-2 of the rocket campaign lifted off toward Paris. It exploded at high altitude and never reached the allied lines around Paris, an indication of the experimental nature of this complex new technology. Two hours later, however, a second rocket struck the Paris suburb of Charentonneau à Maison-Alfort, killing six people and injuring 36 others. All of them were non-combatants. This was the first ballistic missile attack in history, and it signaled a new age of warfare in which billions of dollars would be expended to strike enemies with missiles as well as to detect, deter, and defend against ballistic missiles.

Nazi Germany’s astounding success in developing a ballistic missile while the other combatants had not done so was no accident, and it was in no small measure the result of personalities involved in the research. Before 1941 the United States had led the world in rocket technology, chiefly because of the work of Robert H. Goddard. But he failed to gain the support of either other scientists or the U.S. government. On the other hand, the energetic von Braun courted his scientific colleagues and those in the German government. No similar level of salesmanship took place in any other nation. Popular and top-level support was therefore lacking, and von Braun was able to capitalize on this with its V-2 development during the war.

Advocates of spaceflight have tended to lionize individuals associated with this effort, not so much because of the V-2’s rather negative history as a potential weapon of mass destruction but because of what it meant for space exploration in the 1950s and 1960s. This has prompted a celebration of the von Braun’s team’s role in the development of American rocketry and space exploration even as it minimized the wartime cooperation of von Braun and his “rocket team” with the Nazi regime in Germany. Both have been distortions of the historical record. Even today, few Americans realize that von Braun had been a member of the Nazi party and an officer in the SS and that the V-2 was constructed using forced labor from concentration camps who were worked to death. The result has been both a whitewashing of the less savory aspects of the careers of the German rocketeers and an overemphasis on their influence in American rocketry.

explorer

Dr. William H. Pickering, Dr. James A. Van Allen, and Dr. Wernher von Braun (left to right) hoist a model of Explorer I and the final stage after the launching on Jan. 31, 1958. Explorer I, the first U.S. earth satellite was launched by a Jupiter-C with U.S. earth - IGY scientific experiments of Dr. James A. Van Allen, which discovered the radiation belt around the earth.

Wernher von Braun was a stunningly successful advocate for space exploration and has appropriately been celebrated for those efforts. But because he was also willing to build a ballistic missile for Hitler’s Germany, with all of connotations that implied in the devastation and terror of World War II, many of his ideals have also been appropriately questioned. For some he was a visionary who foresaw the potential of human spaceflight, but for others he was little more than an arms merchant who developed brutal weapons of mass destruction. In reality, he seems to have been something of both. In the 1960s, as the United States was involved in a race with Soviet Union to see who could land a human on the Moon first, political humorist Tom Lehrer wrote a song about von Braun‘s pragmatic approach to serving whoever would let him build rockets regardless of their purpose. “Don’t say that he’s hypocritical, say rather that he’s apolitical,” Lehrer wrote. “‘Once the rockets are up, who cares where they come down? That’s not my department,’ says Wernher von Braun.” Lehrer’s biting satire captured well the von Braun’s divided legacy.

Roger Launius is a senior curator in the Space History Division of the National Air and Space Museum.

 

 

Assessing the Spin-offs of Spaceflight

Our lives are enhanced by technologies developed through the research and development supported by the necessities of spaceflight. NASA has documented since 1976 more than 1,300 technologies that have benefited U.S. citizens, improved our quality of life, and helped to advance the nation’s economic welfare.

Of course, much has been made over the years of what NASA calls “spin-offs,” commercial products that had at least some of their origins as a result of spaceflight-related research. Most years the agency puts out a book describing some of the most spectacular, and they range from laser angioplasty to body imaging for medical diagnostics to imaging and data analysis technology. Spin-offs were not Tang and Teflon, neither of which was actually developed for the Apollo program.

NASA has spent a lot of time and trouble trying to track these benefits of the space program in an effort to justify its existence. With the caveat that technology transfer is an exceptionally complex subject that is almost impossible to track properly, these various studies show much about the prospect of technological lagniappe from the U.S. effort to access and operate in space.

Whether good or bad, no amount of cost-benefit analysis, which the spin-off argument essentially makes, can sustain NASA’s historic level of funding. More interesting, and ultimately more useful, would be to explore in depth several key technologies used in spaceflight and trace whatever attributes might have found their way into other sectors. The point, of course, is that the past did not have to develop in the way that it did, and that there is evidence to suggest that the space program pushed technological development in certain paths that might have not been followed otherwise.

More useful, I would assert is a counterfactual question. How would your life today be different if we did not fly in space? There can be no fully satisfactory answer to that question. One person’s vision is another’s belly laugh. But perhaps we can begin with the elimination of instantaneous global telecommunications. Imagine no Internet, no easy international calling, no direct television, no up-to-the-minute sporting events or news from other parts of the world, no skyping to friends worldwide, and the list goes on and on.

The results of these investments in space technology are everywhere around us. It was in no small measure from government investment in miniature electronics technologies in the 1960s and 1970s that the many devices we use today, such as smartphones, sprang. It is from government investment in computing and telecommunications technology that the Internet emerged. It was from government R&D that our space-based system of navigation—the Global Positioning System, or GPS — has made reading a paper map obsolete. These are only a few examples among thousands that might be offered.

 

GPS

The Global Positioning System requires at least 24 satellites to be fully operational and provide global coverage. Satellites are placed in four orbital planes. The GPS satellite orbit at half the distance to geosynchronous orbit, thereby taking 12 hours to complete each orbit.

How our lives would be different had we never engaged in spaceflight from what they are at present cannot really be determined, but it is obvious that they would be quite different. Think of the many high technology capabilities we enjoy—starting with biomedical diagnostics and related technologies and ending with telecommunications breakthroughs—that might well have followed different courses and perhaps have lagged beyond their present breakneck pace as a result. Some of us might well think that a positive development, though I doubt most would want to go back to typewriters, problematic global communication, and the manner in which we lived our lives before the space age. Despite the nostalgia for bygone eras before the information and technology revolution—found in such popular television shows as Mad Men and Pan Am—I believe few would like to return to that time. I certainly wouldn’t.

 

geostationary

This image depicts the geostationary equatorial orbit in which most communications and weather satellites are located.

What might the future hold? Without question, the U.S. is at a critical juncture regarding the long-term health of its science and technology. Knowledge is critical to maintaining America’s competitive edge in the world. It is only possible to maintain our leading edge by increasing investment in a comprehensive R&D program. I look forward to seeing that take place in the near future.

Roger D. Launius is a senior curator in the Space History Division of the National Air and Space Museum.

Space Shuttle: The End of An Era

I had my first glimpse of the end of the shuttle era in April, three months before Atlantis touched down from the final shuttle mission. Discovery had just completed its last flight, and I had an opportunity to visit Orbiter Processing Facility (OPF) Bay 3, which for years had been Discovery’s home for between-mission servicing. Discovery did not return to Bay 3 after STS-133, moving instead into Bay 1 for post-flight work.

Servicing home of Discovery

Servicing home of Discovery

 

badge board

Badge Board, normally filled with badges of workers on duty in the Orbiter Processing Facility

I noticed the difference immediately. The empty slots on the badge board on the wall leading to the entrance signaled that no one was at work inside. The check-in desk was vacant, with only a few papers strewn about. The central space normally filled by Discovery and three stories of surrounding work platforms was an empty cavern. With work stands and protective pads stowed to the side, tool boxes closed and locked, computers idled, the hangar and its warren of work areas normally humming with activity stood eerily silent. OPF3 felt suddenly abandoned.  It reminded me of Pompeii.

 

Idled orbiter servicing bay

Idled orbiter servicing bay

Closed buildings and the wrenching loss of employees who spent most of their careers working on the space shuttle are perhaps the most poignant signs of the end of an era that changed the character of spaceflight. The space shuttle made spaceflight seem a more routine, normal part of our nation’s activity. It enabled the United States and its partner nations to make near-Earth orbit a home and workplace.

To fulfill its variety of missions, the versatile space shuttle required crews with more skills and abilities than piloting, thus opening opportunities for scientists, engineers, women, and people of color to join a demographically more diverse astronaut corps. The space shuttle democratized and internationalized human spaceflight. It enabled the growth of new disciplines in microgravity science—biological and physical sciences that explored the fundamental nature of anything in an environment without the dominant influence of gravity.

The last three missions flown in 2011 prompted much commentary about the legacy of the shuttle era. No doubt the evaluation will continue for some time. But in the empty Orbiter Processing Facility, I spotted one authentic assessment scrawled on a whiteboard, probably by someone soon to be out of work:   “Goodbye people. It’s been awesome!”

 

Whiteboard

“Goodbye people. It’s been awesome!”

Valerie Neal is the space shuttle curator in the Space History Division of the National Air and Space Museum.

The Last Space Shuttle Mission

I was thrilled to be a part of the NASA Tweetup for STS-135 July 7 and 8 at Kennedy Space Center. It was exciting — and almost surreal — to be there for the end of the space program that my generation grew up with. We weren’t around for the Moon landings, but we all remember the first time the space shuttle “took off like a rocket and landed like a plane.”

Space Shuttle Atlantis

July 8, 2011: "Atlantis" launches for the last time on mission STS-135. Photo credit: Dane Penland, National Air and Space Museum.

NASA holds “tweetups”  — gatherings of people who use the social networking site Twitter — as part of their outreach strategy to raise awareness for the agency’s programs. It is a great opportunity to meet 150 people who care deeply about the space program, are eager to help spread the word and especially want to share the excitement of space exploration.

On July 8 we got to the press site before sunrise and anxiously waited, along with hundreds of reporters from all over the world, to hear if Atlantis was “go for launch.” Most people were not optimistic.  And then the sky cleared and we hardly had time to realize that this was it: the final launch was about to happen and we were there to see it. As if in a movie, there even was the additional excitement of countdown stopping a few seconds before launch.

I took many pictures and tweeted as much as I could, but no words or images can convey the launch experience: the blinding light, the noise so loud you feel it in your chest and the incredible pride that we were able to build a rocket that can take humans safely to space!

STS-135

"Atlantis" races toward space. Photo credit: Isabel Lara, National Air and Space Museum.

It was a bittersweet moment, the program is ending and we’re all waiting to hear what comes next. We are fortunate here at the Museum, because we will be a part of the orbiters’ next mission: to inspire future generations of space explorers. When Discovery comes to the Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center next year it isn’t really retiring; it’s changing careers, from space explorer to science educator.

I was incredibly lucky to have a front-row seat to this historic event. I was surprised by how people reacted to my tweets, the questions they asked and how happy they were to share the experience with me. The best reply came from my friend @VaneGill11: I felt as if I was reading a paragraph of history being written sentence by sentence.

Isabel Lara is the media relations manager in the Office of Communications at the National Air and Space Museum.