Today we continue the series
in which award-winning nonfiction authors discuss the joys and challenges of
the research process with an essay by John Rocco. Thank you, John.
When
I was writing and sketching the first draft of my book How We Got to the Moon: The
People, Technology, and Daring Feats of Science Behind Humanity’s Greatest
Adventure, one of my biggest concerns was having a clear understanding
of everything I was putting in my book. I knew if I couldn’t understand
something, I would never be able to explain it.
Sure,
there is plenty of documentation in books and online about the Apollo program
and all the machines and technology that went into landing a human on the Moon,
but even with my background in engineering and science, some of that information
went way over my head.
I
was working on a section of the book about the Life Support System inside the
Lunar Module (LM), and for the life of me, I couldn’t understand how this
machine worked. I knew that the Life Support System was built at a company
called Hamilton Standard in Windsor Locks, CT, and I thought if I could find
someone who worked there, I might be able to track down someone who could
explain it to me.
After about an hour of scanning the Internet, I came across an article about an engineer,
nicknamed Dr. Flush, who had designed the first space toilet for the Space Shuttle
while working at Hamilton Standard.
The article went onto to talk about how
since retiring, Don Rethke, aka Dr. Flush, would visit schools and talk to kids about the space program. Most surprisingly, at the end of the article it listed
his phone number and email address.
Buzzing
with excitement, I tentatively dialed his number. When he answered, I
immediately explained the project I was working on and asked if he knew anyone
that might have worked on the Life Support System.
“You’re
speaking with him,” he said. “I was involved in developing all the Life Support
Systems for Apollo. In fact, I’m a docent at the New England Air Museum, and we
have one of the actual LM Life Support Systems here I can show you.”
I
couldn’t believe it. I knew that the Museum was about a two-hour drive from my
home, I asked, “What would be a good day for me to come by?”
“How
about tomorrow?” Don said.
“Done!”
I replied.
The
next day I showed up, and Don patiently walked me through all the inner
workings of LM Life Support System. Then he asked me if I wanted to see an
Apollo space suit.
“An actual Apollo space suit?” I was dumbfounded. I thought all the Apollo
spacesuits were housed at the Smithsonian Museum in Washington, D.C. Don took me into a back room, and there on a
special hanger is one of Apollo 15 astronaut James Irwin’s space suits. The
real deal.
I spent the next half hour inspecting the suit, inside and out. Looking closely
at the stitching, the gloves, the boots, and even the bubble helmet. I was in space nerd heaven.
After
that Don invited me back to his house and within the hour, I was standing
slack-jawed in front of his dining room table, which was covered with items
from the Apollo era—food pouches, urine collection bags, liquid cooling
garments, and even one of the gold-coated helmet visors.
“Come
help me with this.” Don said, with half his body ducked into the front hall
coat closet. Together we pulled out a large wooden crate that must have weighed
almost a hundred pounds. He opened the box and I shouted, “Holy mackerel,
that’s a PLSS. How do you have a PLSS in your coat closet?”
“Because I helped design it,” Don responded, as he pointed out the different tanks and
tubes on what is commonly referred to as the Apollo backpack—Portable Life
Support System (PLSS)—for the astronauts when they walked on the Moon.
That
night, driving home, I vowed I would start calling more people who were
involved in the Apollo program. Within a couple months, I had met with more
than two-dozen Apollo engineers who were experts on everything from space suits
to software. One engineer gave my family a special tour of Kennedy Space
Center. Another invited me to a NASA luncheon for all the women who worked on
Apollo.
I
heard stories that had never been written about. Whenever I had a question
about any particular system, I had an expert I could call up and ask. I owe
them all a debt of gratitude because, without their help and their stories, my
book would only be a shadow of what it became.
And
it all started with a phone call to a “Dr. Flush”.
John Rocco is
a #1 New York Times bestselling author and illustrator of many
acclaimed books for children, including Blackout, recipient
of the Caldecott Honor and How We Got to The Moon, recipient
of the Sibert Honor and longlisted for the National Book Award. Rocco lives
with his family and pets in an old house in Rhode Island. Find out more at
roccoart.com.
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