Perhaps the highlight of our life
occurred in April 1981. Rockwell was
organizing a giant celebration with VIP guests for the first Shuttle flight at Cape
Canaveral—now renamed the Kennedy
Space Center. Vikki and I were invited to attend thanks to
our good friend Charlie Feltz, president of Rockwell Space Division and son of
a German emigrant who came to America
and became a Texas rancher. After
growing up as a cowboy, Charlie began an engineering career in the 1940s at
North American working on the P-51 Mustang.
He later was chief engineer on the X-15 manned rocket plane that flew at
a record speed of Mach 6.7 and laid the foundation for Rockwell’s Apollo and
Space Shuttle programs. Charlie was responsible for the design of coatings and
tiles that provided protection from blazing heat as the X-15 soared through the
Earth’s atmosphere—a key technology that we prayed would now keep our Shuttle
astronauts safe as they returned from orbit.
He also pioneered manufacturing methods for titanium subsystems designed
to operate in zero gravity, now reflected in Sundstrand’s APU that would
provide the hydraulic power to control the orbiter’s flight. Charlie was a great engineer and aerospace
executive, 25 years my senior, yet he always treated me with respect and I was very honored to be his business associate and friend.
Vikki and I proudly represented
Sundstrand at the Shuttle's inaugural launch, seated among a group of VIP
guests on stands as close to the launch pad as it was safe to be. The DC9-sized orbiter named Columbia
was mounted to the belly of an external tank loaded with over 1.6 million
pounds of cryogenic hydrogen and oxygen.
On each side of the tank was a solid-propellant rocket booster. This imposing 4.5 million-pound Space
Transportation System stood silently as a 184-foot silhouette against the
morning sky while John Young and Robert Crippen, seated in the orbiter cockpit,
methodically proceeded through the countdown sequence. The orbiter’s cavernous cargo bay, designed
to transport several spacecraft simultaneously into orbit, was loaded with
10,825 pounds of instrumentation for its first flight—STS-1.
Suddenly, exhaust vapor from
Sundstrand’s three orbiter APUs and four booster HPUs was seen moments before
ignition of the three Rocketdyne orbiter engines. Six seconds later—seemingly an eternity—the
two booster rockets fired, and with over 6 million pounds of thrust, STS-1
slowly ascended amid a deafening, rumbling roar. It took another six seconds for STS-1 to
clear the top of the lightning mast on the fixed service structure, and then
almost immediately, the shuttle began to pitch over onto its back—just as it
was designed to do. Sixty-one seconds
later, STS-1 reached supersonic speeds and was 3.5 miles downrange. After another 60 seconds, explosive charges
simultaneously split the six bolts that held the two solid rocket boosters to
the external fuel tank and the spent boosters separated from the tank and were
jettisoned, parachuting to the ocean for recovery 30 miles downrange.
By now, Columbia
was traveling at 2,901 mph and had reached an altitude of 73.6 miles. Six-and-one-half minutes later, the orbiter
engines were shut down and the empty external tank was dropped into the Indian
Ocean after Columbia had accelerated to an incredible 16,694 mph—four times
faster than any previous manned winged craft. Less than two minutes later, Columbia’s
orbital maneuvering subsystem (OMS) fired and placed the vehicle in an
egg-shaped orbit with an apogee of 150 miles, but by now Columbia
was out of sight.
All of STS-1's 2.5 million parts
seemed to have worked perfectly, and everyone at the Kennedy
Space Center
was delirious—this clearly being the most exciting 11 minutes of my life. If only Bob Field could have been there to
see it! Columbia
remained in space for almost 54 hours and completed 36 orbits while three
additional OMS burns circularized its path at an altitude of 172 miles, flying
at 17,318 mph and rounding the Earth every 90 minutes. The 60-foot payload-bay doors were opened
most of this time to expose radiator panels to the darkness of space and
thereby to dispel excess heat from the orbiter.
Meanwhile, Young and Crippen performed various flight-test objectives,
slept and ate.
Vikki and I flew back to Los
Angeles after a grand party that evening, and were waiting with our Rockwell
friends on the Rogers Dry Lake bed at Edwards Air Force Base when Columbia
initiated its final OMS burn and began its de-orbit over the Indian Ocean. Everything appeared to be going well, but the
moment of truth was during re-entry through the Earth’s atmosphere. No one, including Sy Rubenstein, Rockwell
Space Shuttle Program Manager, and Dick Schwartz, Rockwell Shuttle Orbiter
Division General Manager, was certain that the orbiter would survive its fiery
re-entry.
Rubenstein was the son of Jewish
immigrant parents who had escaped from Poland
shortly before the Holocaust. He joined
the Shuttle program in January 1973 as director of avionics systems
engineering, and in 1978, he became VP of engineering for the orbiter with a
primary challenge of completing the development of its heat-protection
system. Previous spacecraft were
thermally protected during re-entry using ablative insulation, but STS-1 would
be the first re-entry of a vehicle protected with reusable silicone tiles. The orbiter was covered with over 30,000 of
these tiles, designed to insulate its structure from temperatures beyond 2,700° F
expected to be generated by air friction as the spac