The Unbroken Chain

Chapter 13 - Into the desert...

Within a week of the ASTP launch, hundreds of Rockwell employees had their pink slips in hand. I think union people got a couple of weeks notice before they were laid off, but most engineering personnel were handled differently. We were put on what they called open transfer. This meant that you could spend the next month exploring the subsidiaries of the company for employment.

In my case, open transfer offered very limited options. Hernia had been doing well on the experimental treatment, but could not leave the area. On some of my trips to Downey, I had already investigated the possibility of having her treatment continued in California. All of my inquiries, however, turned up negative. The only way she could stay in the program was to stay where she was.

For Tom O’Malley, this was actually a welcomed situation. Friends told me that he had mentioned that, after all of these years, he could finally get rid of me. It was during this period that I ran into an old friend, Jules Bergman.

Bergman, ABC television’s space program commentator, was a very highly respected journalist. Most people think of Walter Cronkite when they think of NASA coverage, but to be honest, he never seemed quite that sharp. He was a real talent when it came to delivery, but most of his reporting was actually generated by staff researchers. Bergman, on the other hand, had been heavily involved in all aspects of the space program from the earliest days. He had participated in many major tests and had even joined the astronauts in some of their training. I respected him very much and considered him to be the most knowledgeable reporter in the business.

Jules asked me what I was going to be working on next and I had to tell him that I would be laid off. He was astonished.

“You mean with all your years of experience, they’re just going to let you go?”

He did not really believe it until I showed him my open transfer form.

“That just doesn’t seem right,” he told me. “Hang on while I go make a phone call.”

In a few minutes he was back.

“Okay, I just called our bureau. You need to hurry on home because they are flying a crew down here to interview you this afternoon.” Very surprised, I called the wife and told her to get the place straightened up and that I was on my way home for the interview. Sure enough, at 5:30 in the afternoon, two station wagons showed up at the house with seven people and loads of camera equipment inside. For the next hour, they shot five hundred feet of film and interviewed me about my prior work and what my next job would be. With nothing to lose, I gave them the account of the wife’s experimental cancer treatment and my pending end of service with Rockwell. The next day, the story hit the national evening broadcast, focusing in on my termination from Rockwell.

Suddenly my career was big news. Within an hour, I had a telephone call from Charlie Murphy. On the behalf of Rockwell, he wanted to offer me a job in Palmdale, California working on the new Shuttle test-bed. The only hitch was that the job offer would only be held open for twenty-four hours. I had just one day to make the decision.

Now I was convinced that this was actually a very clever little ploy from Mr. Tom O’Malley. He knew that Henna could not leave the Cape because of her ongoing treatment. So when I was forced to turn down the offer, Rockwell could say that it had been my choice to leave the company.

The family and I spent the entire evening in deliberations. It appeared that the job assignment would only last one year. With that experience, we hoped 1 could return to the Cape as NASA and Rockwell geared up there for the Shuttle program. It would be tough to be separated for that length of time, but it would allow us to keep our family plans intact. By now, injections had been replaced by oral medication - forty pills every Sunday morning - and we determined that Henna and the kids could make do without me. I am pretty sure a particular Rockwell vice president was not too happy when I called Charlie Murphy the next morning to accept the position. I later heard through the grapevine that O’Malley stated I would only come back to Florida over his dead body.

It took only a few days to make the arrangements for the transfer and I flew out to California to set up my living quarters. I found a nice little apartment in Lancaster and signed the one-year lease. Back in Florida, I said my good-byes at KSC and packed my Datsun station wagon for the five day journey.

The drive from Merritt Island to Palmdale was quite long but proceeded uneventfully. The apartment I had rented was partially furnished so moving in only required the unpacking of the car.

The Palmdale facility where I reported for work consisted of one large hangar adjacent to the Palmdale airport. The airport was primarily an Air Force installation, but also serviced general aviation traffic. A good number of Lockheed and Air Force people worked with us. My first boss out there, Hank Kuznicki, was the manager for orbiter test preparations. He assigned me the job of establishing a flow plan defining the data gathering and systems test requirements. I have to say that Hank was one of the most dedicated and qualified managers I ever reported to. A real pleasure to work for.

This version of the Shuttle, called OV-101, was never destined for a flight in space. It would contain dummy engines and would only be used to test the approach and landing characteristics of the craft. While an operational Space Shuttle would blast into space under rocket power, it would reenter the atmosphere and glide to a landing at either Edwards Air Force Base or the new Shuttle Landing Facility on Merritt Island. Leaving Earth as a spaceship, it would return as an unpowered aircraft. Our job was to build the test vehicle and prepare it for upcoming flight tests over the California desert.

When I first saw OV-101, it was little more than a fuselage with a tall vertical tail. It reminded me of a gigantic cruise missile, white on top and black below. The cargo bay doors which would later form the orbiter’s upper surface had yet to be installed and the wings were still under construction at a Grumman facility. In a separate bay in the hangar, wing test sections were undergoing dynamic stress testing. One thing that immediately struck me about the crew compartment was its size. Even this early in development it was obvious that it was going to dwarf the cabin size of an Apollo spacecraft. Broken up into two different levels, it would contain nearly 2,500 cubic feet of space. If you consider that a mid-sized bedroom probably contains only about 1,400 cubic feet, you get an idea of the volume available to the crew.

I got set up in an office in the hangar and immediately became quite busy. My first task was to study the Shuttle systems and to become familiar with the manufacturing people and their needs. I had to fully understand both ends of the job since I would be scheduling and integrating many of the efforts. As intricate as the Shuttle was, it was necessary to correlate construction issues with the subsequent testing requirements. It was a very big job.

Soon after arriving in Palmdale, I was thrilled to hear that Tom Stafford, now an Air Force general, had taken over the command at Edwards. He and I had long been close friends and I was happy to have the chance to work with him again, even if only indirectly. It was not long before he contacted me with an invitation to tour the base and have lunch with him.

The first thing he said when I arrived in his office on the appointed day was, “Don’t say a word about the flagpoles.” When I had driven through the main gate at Edwards, I had already noticed the lack of an American flag.

Stafford went on. “I’ve already made arrangements to have flagpoles installed at each of the seven entrances.” He well remembered the story of my pressuring the Air Force to erect a flagpole at Cape Canaveral many years earlier. I think he really liked the fact that I had bucked the system and really pushed to get it accomplished.

The job of acquiring and installing the flagpoles fell on a Colonel Brown. This worked into another interesting story. Evidently, Col. Brown assigned the job of locating seven flagpoles to a staff sergeant. Scrounging seems to be a talent shared by many Air Force sergeants and this guy was no exception. With a little bit of effort, he was successful in locating the poles and got them loaded up onto a flatbed trick. The sergeant was anxious to show his success to the colonel and had the truck driven straight over to his boss’ residence. As they were backing in, they smashed directly into the colonel’s brand new staff car. A few months later during a visit to Edwards I met Col. Brown. All he could do was to look at me with contempt and say, “You and your damned flagpoles!”

As happy as I was to see Tom in charge at Edwards, I had some concerns about how he would transition from national celebrity status back to conventional military life. One day when we were having lunch together, I saw a good example of his people skills. He had suggested that we go to lunch in the enlisted men’s mess so we entered the cafeteria and took up places in line. Several times they offered to serve us at the table, but Tom always refused. We served our own trays and went looking for a place to sit. We saw a table with a couple of free chairs and worked over to it. Several men looked up as the commanding general approached them.

“Do you mind if we sit with you gentlemen?” Stafford asked in a friendly voice.

“Oh, no sir!” came the somewhat nervous reply.

The men scrambled around trying to look more straightened up and military like. Tom quickly put them at ease and made it clear that he did not want to be an imposition. The guys liked that and calmed down a bit. As we ate, small talk meandered from one topic to the next. Tom asked me to tell a few funny stories from the Cape and everyone seemed to enjoy them. Now that the general had them loosened up, he skillfully steered the conversation back toward work.

“If you could change one thing out here at Edwards, what would that be?” he asked.

The enlisted men looked around at each other, not quite sure if they should say anything. With a little more prodding, one fellow spoke up.

“Everything out here is brown. The buildings are brown, the hangars are brown, and the ground is brown. It’s depressing. We’d really like it if we could gel some color in this place.” Tom was a little surprised at what the man had come up with. He was right, though. Nearly every building on the base was painted the same earth-tone brown. Actually, it really was quite boring.

“Well, you know most of the place was repainted just a couple of years ago. I don’t think I could justify doing it again this soon.” He paused for a second. “I’ll tell you what. If I was to get you paint for the barracks, would you guys be willing to supply the labor?” Faces at the table glanced around at each other and a few nods were scored.

“Sure. Yes sir, we’d be happy to do that,” the airman replied.

“Okay then. Report to my office at 10:00 a.m. on Monday and we’ll pick out the colors.”

It was the masterful touch of good manager and a natural leader. General Stafford had entered the room, an unknown quantity, and had shown himself to be approachable and interested in the men’s concerns. When we left, I am sure these men felt a more important part of things. Such are the ways that true loyalty is developed.

A KSC engineering team had designed the mate/demate facility at Edwards. This was a huge structure that would lift the entire Shuttle up into the air and then deposit it on top of the Boeing 747 carrier aircraft. The 747, or SCA as it was more commonly called, would be used to ferry the orbiter'around as well as to carry it aloft for the ALT tests. There was one major problem right off the bat. The facility had two, large, moving arms. Whoever designed it had gotten the calculations all wrong. Enlarged counterweights made from concrete-packed sewer pipe had to be installed to keep the arms properly balanced. This was the first of the visible major screw-ups.

Back at Palmdale, construction on OV-101 continued at a slow but steady pace. Much press attention was given to the new space-plane and its radical, futuristic shape became a common theme in magazine and newspaper illustrations. The orbiter was to be named Constitution, after a famous Navy ship. The public, however, had a different idea.

The television show Star Trek had been very popular back in the 1960's.

It ran for several seasons and developed a huge following. Even by 1975 when the show was only seen in re-runs, its fans remained almost cult-like in keeping its memory alive. A massive letter-writing campaign was started, its goal, to have OV-101 ’s name changed to Enterprise, the mythical starship from the series. The point of attack was no less than the White House itself. It was the type of thing > that seemed almost humorous and surely destined to be ignored. But it was not. NASA Headquarters got the word and the Shuttle was dutifully renamed as the public had requested.

By the spring of 1976,1 was reporting to Rockwell’s director at Palmdale I. L. Smith. He had heard much about me from Tom O’Malley but took his time sizing me up. He wanted to come to his own conclusions. Mr. Smith and 1 got along extremely well and he assigned me to flight crew safety, a function I had been much involved with for many years at the Cape. There was some concern that the construction effort was falling behind schedule. My job was to ensure that safety issues were not jeopardized in the rush.

Unlike the operational versions of the Shuttle, the Enterprise would have ejection seats for the two crewmen. They were specially modified seats from an SR-71 high altitude reconnaissance aircraft. These were systems for which we were well familiar, but a good deal of caution had to be exercised when dealing with them. The three-man crew of the shuttle earner aircraft, the SCA, also needed a means of egress during an inflight emergency. For them, a round chute was constructed aft of the flight deck. In case of severe trouble, the crew could scramble back to the duct and slide out the bottom of the aircraft for parachute rides back to Earth. When released, the orbiter would only clear the SCA’s rudder by about ten feet. In spite of all the assurances that this was adequate, the ejection seats and escape chute made us feel a bit more comfortable with the situation.

Many of the factory workers were not well-versed in the issues of hybrid aircraft. They were stowing objects in cubbyholes or crevices in the orbiter which could become a problem in flight. Being one of the few people there with firsthand experience in spaceflight operations, I had to constantly keep on top of the construction efforts.

One common problem that appeared in long, drawn ont projects began to show up in Palmdale. Declining morale. I was well familiar with it from my many years in Florida. I met with I. L. Smith to propose a solution. Astronaut visits had always seemed like a sure fire morale booster and I suggested we have an open house the last Friday afternoon of each month. Here, the workers could invite their families out and show them what they were doing. I felt sure that Deke Slayton would be willing to supply an astronaut for these occasions and, indeed, he was happy to do so.

The open house days were a big hit and spirits quickly picked up. Each month a different astronaut would be scheduled to visit and the employees eagerly awaited the events. Our guest astronauts were very gracious. They spent plenty of time meeting people and discussing their experiences in NASA. They were terrific motivators. We had very few ground rules. About the only thing we had to restrict was autograph requests. It seemed like whenever an astronaut got started with that, he would immediately be swamped by people shoving pieces of paper in his face. Everything else would grind to a halt as minor chaos took over. To keep some semblance of organization, we allowed people who wanted an autograph to sign up on a list. Then, after the astronaut returned to Houston, he would sign a bunch of pictures and return them to me for distribution.

Prior to one of the open houses, I got a special request from a lady. She was one of our inspection supervisors and had an eight year old son who was very much enamored with spaceflight and aviation. If it flew, he was interested. Her request was really pretty simple. Would it be possible for her son to see one of the T-38 Talon jets that the astronauts flew? I was happy to tell her that I thought it could be arranged. There was just one little glitch, though. She told me that her son was blind. This was obviously going to be a totally new challenge, but I was determined to go through with my promise.

My oldest daughter, Norma, had some experience working with handicapped children, so I called her for advice. Her suggestion was very simple. Blind people “see” primarily through their hands. Sense of touch replaces vision in creating three-dimensional images in their brains.

“Take him around the airplane and let him feel everything,” she said. “But don’t ever ask him if he feels something. Ask him if he sees it.” Okay, that made sense to me. Joe Engle was scheduled to be at the open house so I cleared it with him and we were set to go. On the Friday afternoon, the lady and her son appeared at the hangar and 1 walked them out to the flightline. In talking to the little boy, I was surprised to hear how much he already knew about jets. I mean this skinny little kid knew all sorts of details on basic aerodynamics and jet operations. When we arrived at the T-38,1 picked him up so that he could feel the sharp nose. “This is the front of the jet. The sharp point pokes the hole through the air as it flies. Can you see that?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah,” he said with a tone of excitement in his voice. “I can see it!"

“Alright, let’s work our way on around,” I continued.

We walked around the side of the jet, the little boy dragging his hands over the smooth skin of the fuselage. When we got to the air intakes on the side. I explained that this was where air entered the engines. He understood completely. By tracing the lines of the aircraft, he could visualize the airflow around the nose, into the intakes, and over the wing roots. It was very inspirational to watch him as the shape of the jet coalesced in his mind. We followed the outline of the aircraft around the wing and to the control surfaces on the trailing edge. He felt the aileron and understood how it moved to make the airplane roll. At the tail, we examined the elevators, rudder, and engine exhaust ports. When our round trip was completed, I handed the boy up to Joe Engle. Joe sat him in the cockpit and showed him how the control stick worked and let him feel all the switches and gages. We were both fascinated by how much the kid already knew.

After spending a good long time in the cockpit, Joe handed our young guest back down and 1 returned him to his mother. When she took his hand, her other hand covered her mouth as she broke down in tears. It was such a wonderful moment that I have to admit I wasn’t far from tears myself. Many times since then, I have been asked about some of the most memorable tours I gave during my career. I always recall this one as my favorite. It was such a small thing that we did, but it meant so much to that boy and his mother. It will forever remain my favorite.

And while on the subject of Joe Engle, another little story comes to mind. Joe was preparing to depart Palmdale for a flight to Houston where he lived. He was an avid hunter and had recently bagged a big horn sheep. The head with the giant horns was mounted and ready to hang on Ms wall. The only catch was how-in the heck could he take the thing back in his T-38? He approached me with the dilemma and I measured it carefully. If we were careful, it looked like we could squeeze it into the back seat. I just had to make sure that it did not interfere with any of the flight controls or the ejection seat mechanism.

With the help of a couple of technicians, we got the trophy strapped down securely inside the cockpit. The funny thing was that when Joe got in, it looked really strange. There in the front was the pilot, but behind him was a large animal head with even larger horns. Joe was happy with the arrangement though, and the next morning, took off for Houston. I waited about four hours, then called Johnson Space Center to see how the trip had been. When he answered on the other end I asked if everything had gone okay.

“Well, sort of,” he answered.

That sounded ominous so I pressed him for more of the story.

“The head stayed beautifully in place,” he continued. “But when I stopped to refuel, the guy driving the fuel truck took one look at the sheep’s head and drove right into a ditch.” One of the few problems we had as a result of the open house events involved the departure of the astronauts back to Houston. Since the events would go well into the evenings, the astronauts would plan on flying out in their T-38s the following morning. Unfortunately, airport ground operations were controlled by a union and they refused to work on Saturday mornings. I discussed the problem with George Abbey at JSC. As an FAA licensed airframe and power-plant mechanic, I could personally handle the fueling and starting of the jets. Abbey thought that was a fine idea and agreed to furnish an APU (auxiliary power unit) that was needed to get the jet engines fired up. It was just one more little problem that was solved using common sense and at no great sacrifice to anyone.

With the Enterprise starting to take its final shape, we moved into a different series of tests. In one test, a flight crew was to be inside the cabin, hatch closed and fully pressurized. I positioned a couple of technicians at the forward windows with ten pound sledge hammers as a safety precaution. Some VIPs from Downey were down to observe the test and immediately asked me why I had those men there with sledge hammers. I explained that if we had an emergency and were unable to open the hatch for whatever reason, these guys would be instructed to smash the windows in and help pull the crewmen out.

One of the gentlemen looked at me in honor. “Don’t you realize that those windows cost tens of thousands of dollars apiece?” His concern sort of surprised me. “The windows may be worth tens of thousands of dollars, but what is the life of an astronaut worth to you?”

He did not have an answer for that. Mr. Jeffs, Rockwell’s president, spoke up. “You do seem to have unique ways of getting things accomplished.”

I explained my long standing concerns about being prepared for any contingency. In a crisis, there probably would not be time to start planning and looking for tools to do the job. That was precisely the mistake that had been made when the Apollo 1 fire had killed three astronauts.

Planned approach speeds for the Shuttle would exceed 200 knots. Compare that with the 70 knot speed at which a light single engine aircraft crosses the runway threshold. A Shuttle would be screaming in for its landings. It would come in steep, fast, and hard. Now was the time to consider our options for emergency crew extraction, not at the time of a crash landing.

By the time Enterprise was ready to be rolled out of the hangar, it was late in the summer of 1976.1 had already finished my first year at Palmdale, and I made the decision to stay on a bit longer to work in the flight test phase. The public rollout was a huge affair and the press was very much interested in giving it coverage. The main stars from the Star Trek series were scheduled to be in attendance and three great looking models from Los Angeles were hired to help enhance the scenery. My boss, Mr. Smith, asked me to take charge of handling the expected aircraft traffic. After counting noses, I realized that we would have thirty-four aircraft flying in with senators, congressmen, generals, and corporate executives of all types. So, I got to work laying out the parking plans for all the VIP aircraft that were scheduled to show up.

Immediately, one Air Force captain began giving me a lot of static. As far as he was concerned, his general was supposed to be parked in the number one position, right next to the gate. When I told him that I did not think it would happen, he made it clear that his general would be very unhappy. My response was that I did not work for his general. Probably not the most diplomatic reply 1 could have given. Anyway, the number one slot ended up going to Rockwell’s president, Mr. Jeffs. He proudly taxied up in his Beech Bonanza.

One of the VIPs who showed up and especially impressed me was Senator Barry Goldwater. He was somewhat frail at the time, but his mind was sharp as a tack. He had long been a pilot and was very well versed in aviation and the Shuttle program. 1 really enjoyed spending some time with him.

Thousands of people were present for the festivities and everyone seemed very excited. An Apollo command module was on display outside the hangar door and information booths were scattered all about. At the end of a very successful day, we rolled the orbiter back into the hangar to begin preparations for its move to Edwards.

Right before the Shuttle left Palmdale, I was asked to give one final VIP tour. It was for some pop singer and I was not all that enthused about it. I had not kept up with popular music and had no idea who this guy was. Just another wild gyration person as far as I was concerned. But an order is an order, so I met the man as planned and delivered him to the hangar.

The musician was very pleasant and was surprisingly knowledgeable about spaceflight. Apparently he was a pilot and had been a longtime fan of the space program. He was very intelligent and, to my surprise, we hit it off really well. We went over the orbiter in great detail. 1 think we spent nearly two hours in the cockpit alone. It was very refreshing to spend time with a visitor who under stood the program and knew the right questions to ask. When the tour was over he was extremely appreciative. As we prepared to say our good-byes, I asked if he would mind autographing a picture for my two teenaged daughters. I figured that would get me at least a month of good behavior from them.

“I don’t have anything with me, but if you’ll give me the address, I’ll be glad to have the studio send them a couple of pictures when I get back.”

I wrote down our home address in Merritt Island, passed it to him, and shook his hand in gratitude. It probably wasn’t a week later when I got a telephone call from home. My daughters were ecstatic. They had each gotten an autographed picture in the mail from John Denver. Indeed, for the next few years, whenever he put out a new record album, we always got an advance copy sent from his studio. A fine man and one entertainer who I was very happy to have spent time with.

As final preparations were being made to truck Enterprise out to the Dryden Flight Research Center at Edwards, I was in the process of transferring my own operations to the desert air base. Construction was already beginning on the Shuttle Columbia and for a period of several months, I was frequently going back and forth between the two locations.

In January, 1977, Enterprise was hoisted onto a huge flatbed trailer. I was told it had ninety wheels to hold up the mammoth payload. The drive from Palmdale to Dryden was thirty six miles and all along the route, telephone poles and road signs were taken down to accommodate the very wide load. People followed along in procession with the orbiter. It looked like a huge parade and national news covered it every inch of the way.

Upon arrival at Edwards, the Shuttle first went to its hangar for checkout of the cooling and flight control systems. Then on to the mate/demate facility where it was lifted into the air. The Shuttle Carrier Aircraft was a Boeing 747-100 purchased from American Airlines. It had been specially converted to handle its new duties. Hard-points for Shuttle attachment hardware were built into the upper section of the fuselage and vertical fins were attached to the two ends of the tail’s horizontal stabilizer. Inside, the passenger cabin was essentially gutted and special instrumentation for use by flight crews and engineers to monitor the orbiter was added. Flying the SCA would be NASA pilots “Fitz” Fulton and Tom McMurtry. Vic Horton rounded out the crew as flight engineer. Fulton was used to flying big iron and had made quite a reputation for himself as the world's premier big airplane test pilot. After sixteen years of Air Force flight test, he retired from the military only to stay on at Edwards to fly for NASA.

The tests that were planned were not merely to evaluate the Shuttle, but also to evaluate the SCA. It would be used in the future whenever an orbiter had to be ferried somewhere. Tints, it was a complex and important link in the new chain we were creating. The first phase of testing, primarily faced with determining the mated orbiter and SCS flight characteristics, began in February.

During Phase One testing, no crewman would be aboard the Shuttle at all. The first trials were low speed taxi runs. With no problems seen, the next trials were high speed taxi runs. It was at this point that a significant amount of vibration was noted. A hydraulic damper containing an 1,800 pound weight was mounted in the 747 to help cancel the vibrations.

After the completion of the taxi trials, a series of “captive-inert” flights took place. In this series, the SCA would fly to altitude carrying the unmanned orbiter. The first flight lasted a little over two hours and reached an altitude of 16,000 feet. Since a good bit of buffeting was expected - the tail of the orbiter bristled with a ragged collection of exhaust bells - an aerodynamic fairing was fitted on Enterprise \s rear. Referred to as the “tail-cone” it would later be used on all ferry flights.

Quite a bit more coordination was needed during this phase of testing. In addition to the SCA/orbiter combination, we also had chase planes involved. There were many other test activities going on at Edwards and careful scheduling was required. Test flights looked similar to rocket launches. We had a control center at the hangar resembling some of the early firing rooms at the Cape. Our “convoy van” which accompanied the SCA/orbiter to the flight-line had full communications facilities and kept us in touch with our aircraft, the control center, and the Air Force test center. Each test was a major affair with many integrated activities.

A total of five captive-inert tests were made and everyone seemed happy with the flight characteristics of the mated pair. The next step was to get two astronauts on board with all flight control and telemetry systems active. The control surfaces were operated by hydraulic power that was generated by auxiliary power units. Hydrazine was used as the fuel to create the required 3,000 psi of pressure. The hydraulic system was relatively safe, but when hydrazine is decomposed, it breaks down into ammonia and water vapor. Thus, once the APUs were started, strong ammonia fumes would drift over into adjacent Air Force hangars and office buildings. We got plenty of complaints from that. It would definitely clear your sinuses.

To monitor the test flights, we used our convoy van. It was thoroughly decked out with radios and a full complement of instruments. Part of the preflight checkout involved testing the orbiter’s control surfaces for proper movement. The only problem was that neither the Shuttle crew nor the SCA crew could see the rear areas. So, 1 would get out of the van with a gas mask on and talk to the astronauts as they went through the checks. Markings painted on the trailing edges of the tail and wings allowed me to confirm the movements that the astronauts reported from the cockpit. Following each landing and before the crews could exit their aircraft, I would emerge from the van once again, primarily to check for hypergolic leaks.

Beginning in June, the astronauts flew in the Enterprise for the first time in the “captive-active” tests. In this series, the orbiter remained mated to the carrier, but all systems were live and monitored. The first flight was piloted by my old Apollo 13 friend, Fred Haise, and Gordon Fullerton. Ten days later, Joe Engle and Dick Truly repeated the flight, which was followed roughly a month later by a final captive-active test.

Phase Two tests got underway in August with the first free flight of Enterprise under the command of Fred Haise. The mated pair flew to an altitude of 28,000 feet and Fitz Fulton pushed the SCA into a shallow dive. When the preordained speed registered, Freddo fired the three explosive bolts which held the orbiter mated to the 747, and the two split apart. The SCA turned down and left while the orbiter turned up and right. I could barely make out the two aircraft with my eyes, but the radio reported the clean separation.

The maximum sink rate for the gliding orbiter was about 12,000 feet per minute so it was really coming down fast. I watched them make their heading alignment circle as they lined up for the runway 17. At touchdown minus 15 seconds Gordon Fullerton hit the landing gear deploy lever allowing the gear to drop down. The profile called for the gear to be down and locked by touchdown minus 8 seconds. If it was not, the co-pilot had one other switch which fired pyrotechnics which, hopefully, would complete the deployment. I gritted my teeth those last fifteen seconds and only released my breath when the tires touched the runway with a puff of smoke and the orbiter rolled safely to a stop.

Haise and Fullerton were very pleased with the handling of the orbiter. It had shown itself to be smooth and responsive, with a very positive landing flair. This free flight and the next three scheduled ones were made with the tail-cone on. Undoubtedly, this clean configuration helped in the handling.

The next free flight, crewed by Engle and Truly, had to be postponed when a tropical storm flooded the entire dry lakebed. It was the middle of September before the flight was made and the crew reported the same smooth handling that Haise and Fullerton had noted. A week later, Haise and Fullerton brought Enterprise back down again and the decision was made that a forth tail-cone-on flight would not be needed.

As much as I liked Joe Engle, he had this little problem of always having to make just one more phone call to Houston before a flight. Always just one more. I finally told him that we ought to install a pay phone in the cockpit for him. Well, sure enough, I got hold of the rotary dialer from an old telephone and mounted it on the control stick cover. I’ll never forget the look on his face when the two of us crawled into the cockpit one day and he saw it.

There was one complaint that I kept getting from the four astronauts. We had come up with some yellow rubber booties for them to wear whenever they went to board the vehicle. They were needed in order to keep the desert sand out of the orbiter. Anyway, the crewmen decided that these looked like yellow dud feet and they didn’t make a very good impression on television. So, the next day. we put a cartoon on the schedule. It showed Truly and Engle walking out to the Shuttle, stark naked except for the helmets they carried. In the caption, Dick asked Joe, “Do you think the world will see the real us now?” One morning as I was going about my business, Mr. Jeffs came walking around the apron with Pete Conrad in tow. My old buddy did not know that I had been transferred to Edwards.

When Pete saw me he yelled out, “Hey, what are you doing here?”

I walked over to say hello.

After we shook hands, Pete turned to the Rockwell chief and asked.

“What in the hell did you hire this guy for? He used to give us all sorts of trouble back at the Cape.” Mr. Jeffs smiled. “Well that might be a problem then. Maybe we should get rid of him.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t pay too much attention, Mr. Jeffs,” I said. “He used to be an astronaut but look what he is doing now - peddling DC-1 Os for McDonnell Douglas. He’s just a glorified used car salesman.” Pete laughed loudly and aimed a string of his choicest expletives at me.

I made a lot of new friends out at Edwards. One person who stands out particularly was a photographer named Jim Long. He had done a good deal of photography at the Cape, but I saw more of him at Edwards. He had lenses so long that it took a separate tripod to support them. Jim’s pictures were frequently featured in Aviation Week as well as in other magazines. He was a real artist. I well remember some of the pictures he took of the models hired for the Palmdale rollout. One in particular was very popular. It showed a piece of the environmental control system, displayed next to one of the beautiful girls. When people looked at that one, it was easy to see from their eyes that they weren’t looking at the piece of space hardware.

I worked with Jim a number of times, helping him to find different angles and getting his gear set up. He had a beautiful knack for photographing aircraft and was my kind of man - a real perfectionist. Jim was a great guy and a real pleasure to work with.

On a lot of weekends, I would make the two hour drive into Los Angeles to take in a movie. CB radios were a big fad back then and I used to kill some time playing with one in my car. One evening on the way back to Edwards I was chatting with some guy. After a while he asked me what my handle was.

“Colonel Klink,” 1 told him.

“Wow. You must have studied him really well because you do a damn good job of imitating him.”

The “cone off’ flights were going to be the real test. That was the configuration that an actual orbiter would be in when returning from space. By removing the tail-cone, we knew that there would be a significant increase in drag. In fact, the drag would be doubled! The “cone on” descents had taken about five minutes during the previous tests. We weren’t quite sure what to expect with the cone off.

In October, Joe and Dick rode the orbiter up to an altitude of 23,000 feet and prepared for the release. There had been some increased buffeting on the ride up, but nothing that was unmanageable. The SCA nosed down into its profile dive and the airspeed built up. At 245 knots Engle pushed the separation button and Enterprise was flying free, its first time in the orbital reentry configuration. The exposed engine exhausts added substantial drag and the orbiter screamed down toward the dry lakebed. Joe, the classic stick and rudder man, was in his element and jockeyed the lumbering orbiter onto final approach. His touchdown was perfect and certainly one that he was proud of. The entire time of the flight was only two and a half minutes! When Dick and Joe emerged from the hatch, they wore huge grins. On their heads they had donned old World War I leather flying helmets.

For the next flight, we had a special VIP guest - Prince Charles of England. He was treated to a real show. Freddo came hauling ass in on final and smacked the orbiter in pretty good, trying to hit the touchdown mark. Several bounces later he was safely in the rollout and I was soon out there checking over the vehicle. Everything seemed to be in good shape and I was relieved to see that there were no blown tires. We hooked up the tug and towed Enterprise back to the hangar. As we slowly rolled across the dry lakebed, something caught my attention. There on the ground, a red carpet had been laid out with a white link fence around it. And right there in the middle of the desert sat Prince Charles, having his afternoon tea and crumpets. I would not have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes.

Joe Engle and 1 had an ongoing battle with bets. There was some question raised at one point about how close the mate/demate structure was to the cabin hatch. Joe made the statement that the gap was so big he could fall right through it. I could not let that go and I told him I did not believe it. We ended up betting a six pack of beer on it. The next thing I know, there are Joe and Dick out on the structure and Joe is climbing around the thing, trying to squeeze through the gap. He managed to do it and demanded payment.

But, being the sore loser that I am, I don’t pay up too easily. I looked for just the right opportunity. My chance occurred when I found out that Joe was going to be flying back to Houston with George Abbey in the back seat. George was the operations director and that placed him pretty high up the ladder. I asked Joe how his boss was with pranks. “Oh, yeah, he’s great,” Engle said. “He loves a good joke.” He didn’t realize that my joke was not going to be on George.

Alright, so here we go. When the two men were in the cockpit putting on their helmets, Joe found a string attached to his. He started pulling it up and discovered a can of beer attached. He reeled it in further and more cans appeared.

“Do you normally drink beer while you fly?” George asked him.

All flustered, Joe replied that it was something Guenter had done. He looked around and saw me standing by the wing. “Here, go and take your damn beer!”

I walked over and told him there was only one problem. We were on an Ah Force base and no one was allowed to possess alcoholic beverages. I could not take them. He climbed back out of the airplane deposited them in a flight bag, all the while muttering that I had embarrassed him in front of George.

I just looked at him. “Sorry about that. Gotcha!”

As the ALT program wound down, I began looking for a way to get transferred back to KSC. But there was one little problem. Joe Cuzzupoli, our vice president, told me that O’Malley did not want to take me back. There was nothing he could do. 1 was effectively stranded. Mr. Cuzzupoli suggested that if I knew someone who could pull strings, now was probably the time to do it.

I took a chance and gave Tom Stafford a call. By this time he knew all about my wife and the situation with Tom O’Malley. No problem, he said. Did I want him to call Mr. Jeffs, the president, or would it be better for him to go straight to the chairman of the board? I indicated that Mr. Jeffs would probably be sufficient, so Tom agreed to give it a shot. Before I knew it, I had my transfer back to Merritt Island.

Now the story I got was from secretaries, so it is hearsay, but I suspect it is probably pretty accurate. O’Malley had gotten a call from Jeffs and evidently took the call on his speakerphone which was a mistake.

“Tom,” Mr. Jeffs is purported to have said, “I will say this one time and one time only. As of this afternoon you will offer Mr. Wendt a transfer back to KSC at his same level, and you will agree to pay his moving expenses. And that is the last thing that I intend to discuss with you on this subject.”

After hanging up the phone, O’Malley came unglued. He was storming around the office, cussing up a blue streak. “That son of a bitch did it to me again! He did it to me again!”

It was fine with me, though. All I wanted to do was to go home.