tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57947725724388085592024-03-14T10:31:22.046-07:00Thoughts From Homer Hickam at SkyridgeThis is the blog of author Homer Hickam. Skyridge is his home in St. John, U.S. Virgin Islands rebuilt after the hurricanes of 2017Homer Hickamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10218229542457074434noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794772572438808559.post-48723268666772736792022-05-10T09:33:00.000-07:002022-05-10T09:33:35.413-07:00Let's Just Go To The Moon And Mine the Blame Thing<p> In 1960, when he asked me what I thought we should do in Space, I told Senator John F. Kennedy we "should just go to the moon and mine the blame thing."</p><p>My opinion has not changed.<br />
<br />
It is an opinion undoubtedly colored by the unique place I'm from, a town
called Coalwood in a state called West Virginia in a place called
Appalachia where it's difficult to get there, difficult to live there,
but has resources that must be shipped elsewhere in order to keep our
civilization humming along.<br />
<br />
</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzjoFXZCsGYCTKKvNvLnCmcdKP8lyRm79atRhZmCNiYrlI_kYF67B65teJGXbCN_gxniqJSgG0XfiIZIbe3GvylvQMfUdBOHIs5psaQJkaVKt9CSizN6MOkNux9Bv8eE0ybxzaWiTPriup/s1600/9thGradeMineTourCoalwood.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="504" data-original-width="913" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzjoFXZCsGYCTKKvNvLnCmcdKP8lyRm79atRhZmCNiYrlI_kYF67B65teJGXbCN_gxniqJSgG0XfiIZIbe3GvylvQMfUdBOHIs5psaQJkaVKt9CSizN6MOkNux9Bv8eE0ybxzaWiTPriup/s400/9thGradeMineTourCoalwood.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>That's me, third from the right kneeling. Just us 9th grade boys<br />after visiting the mine where our dads worked. They made money in a dangerous profession but</b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>raised their families, educated their kids, and sent us off to the unsuspecting</b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>world
where we did pretty darn well. Our dads were just like what miners on
the moon will be like, good, robust, hearty, and daggone smart.</b></i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
In other words, I'm from a place something like the moon.<br />
<br />
West Virginians came to the mountain state in the early 20th Century
attracted by the coal mining industry. It wasn't that they necessarily
liked mining coal. They came so as to make money and have a place where
they could raise their families. The work they did was nasty and
dangerous but they still did it and did it as long as they could. After
awhile, it became their way of life and they fell in love with the
mountains, hills, and valleys of the rugged land.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgohYYqaUxK_VVpBt29NWxALQTeQ_2kFcId4nB13ZO6Vj8m-NmZEcCmB8HjnxFasoDONUvnnNBkxcOX3h7hXUXGC9gQiRyYSlhC449rMiOcFSkTiYr6aDPdj9gxM9tfe1opR91znJeBUJwU/s1600/CoalwoodWayCover.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="304" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgohYYqaUxK_VVpBt29NWxALQTeQ_2kFcId4nB13ZO6Vj8m-NmZEcCmB8HjnxFasoDONUvnnNBkxcOX3h7hXUXGC9gQiRyYSlhC449rMiOcFSkTiYr6aDPdj9gxM9tfe1opR91znJeBUJwU/s320/CoalwoodWayCover.jpg" width="194" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>One of my memoirs about life in Coalwood.</b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>It was a New York Times</b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>best-seller.</b></i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Their way of life is the way I think life on the moon could and should evolve.<br />
<br />
<br />
Recently, I told Senator Ted Cruz and his Aviation and Space
Subcommittee that what I want out of the space program is "Coalwood on
the moon" and that I don't care two cents about who the next
professional astronaut is who goes there. What I care about is opening a
place where real people - plumbers, electricians, miners, construction
workers, and other so-called blue collar workers - can go work, make
money, and raise their families just like in the Coalwood where I grew
up. Go here to see exactly what I said:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xRbCkFYZpWk&feature=youtu.be&fbclid=IwAR1v9ls4FT3cJGXFBGYJu4XJ2IBbCa-ei1DAHFV-aN_a7fnT9uStwxCK6bg">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xRbCkFYZpWk&feature=youtu.be&fbclid=IwAR1v9ls4FT3cJGXFBGYJu4XJ2IBbCa-ei1DAHFV-aN_a7fnT9uStwxCK6bg</a><br />
<br />
The moon I describe in <a href="http://homerhickam.com/project/crater/">Crater</a>, <a href="http://homerhickam.com/project/crescent-a-helium-3-novel/">Crescent</a>, and <a href="http://homerhickam.com/project/helium-3-series/">The Lunar Rescue Company</a>
is a place where there are many Coalwoods, frontier mining towns
populated by a rugged people made even tougher and stronger by the land
in which they live.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAENxULwasycPmYr8Auqg-UrMTh-qgHJnNj5N-qEhfrjMVF3bUi_MmlC8HM58p1RX-KrH1tOLiMxkGrnM5fKRMg8wRibQO8G3Wz8vTsTXz_gKbUJQqX3OWgtzuhH7RhEI9PE1-xGoUuPHn/s1600/Helium3CraterSeriesCovers.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="541" data-original-width="1014" height="339" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAENxULwasycPmYr8Auqg-UrMTh-qgHJnNj5N-qEhfrjMVF3bUi_MmlC8HM58p1RX-KrH1tOLiMxkGrnM5fKRMg8wRibQO8G3Wz8vTsTXz_gKbUJQqX3OWgtzuhH7RhEI9PE1-xGoUuPHn/s640/Helium3CraterSeriesCovers.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>My "Crater" series of novels (aka Helium-3 series).</b></i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
So how does that happen? How does the moon go from being an exotic
fantastic locale where only brave astronauts dare to go to a place of
work for folks like those who raised their families in Coalwood? And why
would the taxpayers of the United States and our partners and allies
ever want to shell out even a dime to make that happen?<br />
<br />
<br />
It is because the moon qualifies as a reasonable place for the world to expand and gather resources.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRahrh43jV1P3K1bsrahqPLO8f-LAHp5lFF6fk41NX8Pvo9wNe2Ye6EhaG0D15gzUmtWbzLUCHxVR3hYzf4ErdqlXNGeK3rG8pFXKY8qlCwTYy76xdMKxzP5PdlxdQB67IM1OJDQC0oLi1/s1600/full_moon.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="742" data-original-width="806" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRahrh43jV1P3K1bsrahqPLO8f-LAHp5lFF6fk41NX8Pvo9wNe2Ye6EhaG0D15gzUmtWbzLUCHxVR3hYzf4ErdqlXNGeK3rG8pFXKY8qlCwTYy76xdMKxzP5PdlxdQB67IM1OJDQC0oLi1/s320/full_moon.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>Hi there. I'm Luna, your neighbor. I've got lots of good stuff for you<br />if you'll come and get it.</b></i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
And what are those resources on the moon that the people of lunar
Coalwoods will gather for us and send back? I'll give you the usual
list: Platinum, Helium, Helium-3, Thorium, etc. etc. and so forth but
remember beneath every crater is the shattered remains of an asteroid.
There's likely gold in them thar lunar hills and a lot else, too.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ_-5EVE6c8DF5CoGWYC-Zi1bD0_d74Tv5A39lMdVvNq9OS-8XYWaDikkL_omJFgq_OvxNg7I-BX4_agtUp8KukCVnHzHE8GpZX2jqsQydnfyWQqIsAM1wkQiEWsEHwddlQCyLgCTXplJn/s1600/BTTMCover.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1096" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ_-5EVE6c8DF5CoGWYC-Zi1bD0_d74Tv5A39lMdVvNq9OS-8XYWaDikkL_omJFgq_OvxNg7I-BX4_agtUp8KukCVnHzHE8GpZX2jqsQydnfyWQqIsAM1wkQiEWsEHwddlQCyLgCTXplJn/s320/BTTMCover.jpg" width="219" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: small;">Here's another best-seller I wrote. Vice President Pence<br />said it was one of his favorite books. It's a little outdated but<br />still has some great stuff in it about why we need to go back.<br />And it's got adventure. And thrills. And great characters.<br /> And sex in space, too (not that it has anything to do with anything else).</span></b></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
As to the "how," it's also pretty simple. We as a nation have done the
flags and footprints on the moon thing with Apollo Now, 50 years later,
we need an anchoring base on the moon from which other entities, whether
governmental or private, can come to, outfit themselves and then set
across the lunar plains, valleys, rilles, and hills to explore and then
build their roads and towns and start working and making money and
raising their families and sending resources back to a needy Earth.<br />
<br />
That's it. That's all our federal government has to do. Just build an
anchor up there, one staging area and then hold onto it long enough for
all others to follow and build up a lunar civilization based on
gathering resources.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw-VBa4F_nnlq2ygcR7rAxT-6g9xAEGpJagoAscGaFjyblyfowNgYNoRUbXj1blvtlKBOLcyyIVZ5uEFw17ZDdIXMHXZSSe0YEjapJefZYHQ0hMEL2hpeJ3JhpeKa32OdSsvv_0XkM49iX/s1600/16.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="880" data-original-width="677" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw-VBa4F_nnlq2ygcR7rAxT-6g9xAEGpJagoAscGaFjyblyfowNgYNoRUbXj1blvtlKBOLcyyIVZ5uEFw17ZDdIXMHXZSSe0YEjapJefZYHQ0hMEL2hpeJ3JhpeKa32OdSsvv_0XkM49iX/s400/16.jpg" width="307" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: small;">My clever little moon anchor as described in my 1993 (!) study for NASA</span></b></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><p>
<br />
<br />
I kind of mapped that anchor out in my 1993 study: <a href="https://homerhickamblog.blogspot.com/2019/03/1993-study-of-moon-laboratory-by-homer.html">https://homerhickamblog.blogspot.com/2019/03/1993-study-of-moon-laboratory-by-homer.html</a><br />
<br />
Will Americans come around to my vision?<br />
<br />
We shall see. Right now, NASA proclaims that it doesn't want to "get stuck on the moon."</p><p>It should be so lucky.<br />
<br />
- - Homer Hickam<br />
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</p>Homer Hickamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10218229542457074434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794772572438808559.post-56323356962061328952022-02-08T11:57:00.004-08:002022-02-08T14:20:33.298-08:00The illustrated "Don't Blow Yourself Up" - Cats<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiSRlApnZlvQ8qIhxtatK1vu0v6T9ts5rs2xDEJIcWxA250rkUy2OdX5cSeylvZOTF_vEoVjjQaLLN1se6C1PPMX89Xe0o3Py2sa6aO8kxi_MlhMLNACTKQMT0uSeVZl_TKQBeGuoe4NrCoUZAD14eChUKqPd-2Jh_VA79zdc5M8o6HJFC7FJVCdJCrDA=s2550" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target=""><img border="0" data-original-height="2550" data-original-width="1688" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiSRlApnZlvQ8qIhxtatK1vu0v6T9ts5rs2xDEJIcWxA250rkUy2OdX5cSeylvZOTF_vEoVjjQaLLN1se6C1PPMX89Xe0o3Py2sa6aO8kxi_MlhMLNACTKQMT0uSeVZl_TKQBeGuoe4NrCoUZAD14eChUKqPd-2Jh_VA79zdc5M8o6HJFC7FJVCdJCrDA=s320" width="212" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't Blow Yourself Up - To order click on cover<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><br /></p><p>Many readers have asked for photos to better illustrate my memoir, <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiSRlApnZlvQ8qIhxtatK1vu0v6T9ts5rs2xDEJIcWxA250rkUy2OdX5cSeylvZOTF_vEoVjjQaLLN1se6C1PPMX89Xe0o3Py2sa6aO8kxi_MlhMLNACTKQMT0uSeVZl_TKQBeGuoe4NrCoUZAD14eChUKqPd-2Jh_VA79zdc5M8o6HJFC7FJVCdJCrDA=s2550"><i>Don't Blow Yourself Up</i></a><i>: The Further Adventures and Travails of the Rocket Boy of October Sky</i>. Included in the stories are some beloved cats. Here they are.</p><p>TIKI and TECH - Siamese cat brothers who belonged to my parents and lived in Coalwood, WV during the time described in the memoir. </p><p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiEWYoDnGZtL3nlpkznkMGkaHW4Y7aLo5vyPgPbw2mdHe3iGjY5M6OIPcX2bddNwshSrS_Zp-JtnR9a4i7M_5of9Xetozqgqsqjv9HtE4i5zssZZorD_rBuiwAThHm6CukLGYQsY894hvzp1YKBxth4-XHmv3nEwZZWWdg1lclkclRCYfiErFQVRtLV6w=s2871" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2801" data-original-width="2871" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiEWYoDnGZtL3nlpkznkMGkaHW4Y7aLo5vyPgPbw2mdHe3iGjY5M6OIPcX2bddNwshSrS_Zp-JtnR9a4i7M_5of9Xetozqgqsqjv9HtE4i5zssZZorD_rBuiwAThHm6CukLGYQsY894hvzp1YKBxth4-XHmv3nEwZZWWdg1lclkclRCYfiErFQVRtLV6w=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Only known photo of one of the Siamese, either Tiki or Tech, displaying typical Siamese behavior of climbing up on things<br /></td></tr></tbody></table> <p></p><p>GATO - Homer got Gato along with his sister in Salt Lake City the summer of 1967 as a gift for a friend. She named him Nephi and the sister Amelia. Homer ended up with Nephi who was renamed Gato. Gato was a beloved friend who went everywhere with Homer. He died in Germany in 1981.<br /></p><p><span> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhe0DJukS9j8YONSsGmwqaAxRxIsPmw9XpHenH1E9PUuJkN_JIp1EywJbQXUIDc_ZMTly3n0McR_zCBybzy7ihcUGWGfqqTKZRErnOWXf6zDjBvsNb1XyR9Redqb8xeIkNFNuXZ33vrFtONJRZMlGNHph4Q5CsU7UKF9nC0g7k93zKEYoj26leWhJ_WwA=s2327" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1949" data-original-width="2327" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhe0DJukS9j8YONSsGmwqaAxRxIsPmw9XpHenH1E9PUuJkN_JIp1EywJbQXUIDc_ZMTly3n0McR_zCBybzy7ihcUGWGfqqTKZRErnOWXf6zDjBvsNb1XyR9Redqb8xeIkNFNuXZ33vrFtONJRZMlGNHph4Q5CsU7UKF9nC0g7k93zKEYoj26leWhJ_WwA=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Young Gato at Dugway Proving Ground, Utah 1967</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhVQJJFpaMQN_rzfTH3SzGRiuTe04H4-VRUgMFK3ppRGh6jHGm0R3NVaOBiRhrdQshSinsm3bSUTl6Bd-U-rN5KyapK-h0JXQhFHhtP8x_1DhXPLDW5pIsE85uwO-5dh8UaL1Be74bt7yWAHbeW5HPv7UyDxFulCkoKNNqfO1aWBPatX_Hm-jvYXTdKYg=s4236" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3222" data-original-width="4236" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhVQJJFpaMQN_rzfTH3SzGRiuTe04H4-VRUgMFK3ppRGh6jHGm0R3NVaOBiRhrdQshSinsm3bSUTl6Bd-U-rN5KyapK-h0JXQhFHhtP8x_1DhXPLDW5pIsE85uwO-5dh8UaL1Be74bt7yWAHbeW5HPv7UyDxFulCkoKNNqfO1aWBPatX_Hm-jvYXTdKYg=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Young Gato outside on Dugway Proving Ground, Utah 1967<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhPYn4AENAy0iM2lXloFOd-_rnO02H7FtDyXEkMQh1TTzga2E356QeNOtlUhyw7RtTVFzO4tVd3WCwb6jkIoOpcYIwAbluI5E2ZGmspj7-jkalTNtd7GhxA73Nt5g86VaEcm9IausudFvAJbP29MPTskcDmq_w3gYgB0RbEtjkecA78AMyjLqClZKCzLQ=s2016" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhPYn4AENAy0iM2lXloFOd-_rnO02H7FtDyXEkMQh1TTzga2E356QeNOtlUhyw7RtTVFzO4tVd3WCwb6jkIoOpcYIwAbluI5E2ZGmspj7-jkalTNtd7GhxA73Nt5g86VaEcm9IausudFvAJbP29MPTskcDmq_w3gYgB0RbEtjkecA78AMyjLqClZKCzLQ=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">14 year old Gato, Germany, 1981<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p><p>BC - Technically not a cat, BC was known as a banana cat in Vietnam. BC lived with Homer at the Oasis, a firebase on the Cambodian border, in 1968, even through a battle during the Tet Offensive. Homer had to give BC away to a medic who was glad to have him.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEivGzYTYukRyqrbjhqNN21cDnuVdDSVMbaV3bYeeZfeZJWNbMH0KFvjpV2_wmJ2axSXLuWtWqW-CmO9sMx5Is0xMCLXpsb3Km8_bD7buwkDWcIp5vVySZ4hoNyFadqmBJc7c4H-EouzO-pxGvmA_KBhu4TJfY4cGgF7AOyZHZEN7BpECdiagdcV47DD9A=s3974" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3073" data-original-width="3974" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEivGzYTYukRyqrbjhqNN21cDnuVdDSVMbaV3bYeeZfeZJWNbMH0KFvjpV2_wmJ2axSXLuWtWqW-CmO9sMx5Is0xMCLXpsb3Km8_bD7buwkDWcIp5vVySZ4hoNyFadqmBJc7c4H-EouzO-pxGvmA_KBhu4TJfY4cGgF7AOyZHZEN7BpECdiagdcV47DD9A=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BC on a sandbag<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg2xxhgerNbPOP7Iiav2Vi7y6vH_EEm6BOS9wcvUaws6-wQXRCx_n2usCti1dXaHaMemrDKklQqQX-151yyHREDaFd8gkCz8SLx8-R1s0_YgR1CEHSeT0hZ2ORr8hG0KKOaW6iaYDZ0OoyIhcE52378IIfrc0lz9hcZmicvGfzkcKxc4ECZce4r2WC4og=s1020" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1012" data-original-width="1020" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg2xxhgerNbPOP7Iiav2Vi7y6vH_EEm6BOS9wcvUaws6-wQXRCx_n2usCti1dXaHaMemrDKklQqQX-151yyHREDaFd8gkCz8SLx8-R1s0_YgR1CEHSeT0hZ2ORr8hG0KKOaW6iaYDZ0OoyIhcE52378IIfrc0lz9hcZmicvGfzkcKxc4ECZce4r2WC4og=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Homer and BC at the Oasis, 1968<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p><p>PACO - Paco was Homer's cat from 1986 well into the 2000's. He was a special cat who shared his life with Homer and his wife Linda during most of Homer's NASA career.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiy2PTmtkEGoIW3WqkefdkcIYgUg0uSbZThtB9HHmAAH83Sx8TN3M4Oh-XDlKsqmVKfx2senW6Mv8H4U2rNpXF01REgrmlGdps4Cuuk3one2OSXOP_mW5P290NDiVny9hXRXKGviytYpnorLKHLCo8qhS8J1LKy4QWjTRkHuIthWlPNjpbgEXPx5SoNtA=s846" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="846" data-original-width="584" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiy2PTmtkEGoIW3WqkefdkcIYgUg0uSbZThtB9HHmAAH83Sx8TN3M4Oh-XDlKsqmVKfx2senW6Mv8H4U2rNpXF01REgrmlGdps4Cuuk3one2OSXOP_mW5P290NDiVny9hXRXKGviytYpnorLKHLCo8qhS8J1LKy4QWjTRkHuIthWlPNjpbgEXPx5SoNtA=s320" width="221" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paco after SL-J, the Japanese space mission for which Homer was the training manager. Gato is wearing a Ninja helmet given to him by the Japanese space agency after Paco saved the mission.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg7aGy1JPPk4TNUMFs5ALWKelt0t7xC8f9-vPe0IScAQWh9kRZnxW4ivxYG1Uqgx0uYYgMpMx3oYB_DS_q3uZU1me0cSyQAWVQ8I4Kqe9sQFN7JCBkj3PIyviDde1nqhggwtKKXwn4RpU97Bvuq8TBsiZ6hqIdp5zWp_1v_KcTrzvxOtuGqqyvgRBFA4w=s208" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="208" data-original-width="144" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg7aGy1JPPk4TNUMFs5ALWKelt0t7xC8f9-vPe0IScAQWh9kRZnxW4ivxYG1Uqgx0uYYgMpMx3oYB_DS_q3uZU1me0cSyQAWVQ8I4Kqe9sQFN7JCBkj3PIyviDde1nqhggwtKKXwn4RpU97Bvuq8TBsiZ6hqIdp5zWp_1v_KcTrzvxOtuGqqyvgRBFA4w" width="144" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paco on his favorite rock beside his house in Huntsville. He often waited there for Homer to come home from work</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgJNCoR-AZKET_-0ldX7BH5GPZvc99uSn3kOQUG28RFN1kG0fdHpSovznhXihrK6B8D42vGeF1tK6cYHS-f6LKE9S6Oi0Z-NF--vxROIxQiufuy3mCiDxqggQ1cQNVA-WDwdl66RwMYxMUfLxT652NfLykl4OP9sFv6Azul_ZPNS6vhIKTfdLI9zBw2OA=s2408" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1531" data-original-width="2408" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgJNCoR-AZKET_-0ldX7BH5GPZvc99uSn3kOQUG28RFN1kG0fdHpSovznhXihrK6B8D42vGeF1tK6cYHS-f6LKE9S6Oi0Z-NF--vxROIxQiufuy3mCiDxqggQ1cQNVA-WDwdl66RwMYxMUfLxT652NfLykl4OP9sFv6Azul_ZPNS6vhIKTfdLI9zBw2OA=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paco with Homer's novel Back to the Moon - He was a character in the novel<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p> <br /></p><br /><p><br /></p>Homer Hickamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10218229542457074434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794772572438808559.post-72170867773260429252022-01-27T14:56:00.001-08:002022-01-27T14:56:52.741-08:00The Purposeful Adventurer: The Illustrated memoir "Don't Blow Yourself Up"<p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Dont-Blow-Yourself-Up-Adventures/dp/1642938246/ref=sr_1_1?crid=3GWAUWCUPRR1E&keywords=homer+hickam&qid=1643233198&sprefix=homer+hickam%2Caps%2C86&sr=8-1" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="2550" data-original-width="1688" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJ51sho_opOXJPhyfoxPdon6BBYvaJqhhGfJ7tWfiKdXYDOe7AOah6RX41KhGRzRw9E68__l9Av8rKpN-nXA4D_36cJEoNlwEhNS-Vj52KDdHzmydqDSkycs1IrVdIfk3saftAD_w89vWNtm1StC2DEL77S4bMMiKU4nkYpTVRG1r7KUtq4VOPk1sOxw=s320" width="212" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Dont-Blow-Yourself-Up-Adventures/dp/1642938246/ref=sr_1_1?crid=3GWAUWCUPRR1E&keywords=homer+hickam&qid=1643233198&sprefix=homer+hickam%2Caps%2C86&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Cli</a><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Dont-Blow-Yourself-Up-Adventures/dp/1642938246/ref=sr_1_1?crid=3GWAUWCUPRR1E&keywords=homer+hickam&qid=1643233198&sprefix=homer+hickam%2Caps%2C86&sr=8-1" target="_blank">ck on cover to order Don't Blow Yourself Up</a></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p>"The Purposeful Adventurer" part of the new memoir <i>Don't Blow Yourself Up</i> covers Homer Hickam's adventures underseas including his diving on the World War II U-boats U-352 and U-85 discovered off North Carolina's Outer Banks. His primary dive companion on many of these dives was Army Captain Dave Todd.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhCHZesyRWp9y6HGa5qgckgTFTMGdgy8KRAOPTgkj2tonFDfkJzOBy-T7n6y7f7tYAE0X3am4o4FNo4dyO922Bdp2DUod3SvUfw1DTpOzgxPGWV0G3roXXDyoukV7wyvN5_28Mg47e0SsP1G5ALiKfvJLTH2HMNypp6TcjNngpIHEfNEDywmTr8zxD67w=s2620" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1782" data-original-width="2620" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhCHZesyRWp9y6HGa5qgckgTFTMGdgy8KRAOPTgkj2tonFDfkJzOBy-T7n6y7f7tYAE0X3am4o4FNo4dyO922Bdp2DUod3SvUfw1DTpOzgxPGWV0G3roXXDyoukV7wyvN5_28Mg47e0SsP1G5ALiKfvJLTH2HMNypp6TcjNngpIHEfNEDywmTr8zxD67w=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Diver Dave Todd inspects the U-352 tower. I had placed our scooter in the open hatch after exhausting its batteries<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEip91RApIOF-q7nxlc4D-Mqu73jNApcYdi9rja_jKFHS3SSEvyKaVwlL5crSKxC_jOFGto__V7nFTuvBz1p6XjjN-C2YMt1Q_TIZnRdiEo22MpyrKOuF5gI6MoBcCWjtygXBspVf3c87SjY_Id40yI9mtCIr1Vce-icOR0ezT6Yf7LoEtJYBpJ3rvL1FQ=s2643" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1688" data-original-width="2643" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEip91RApIOF-q7nxlc4D-Mqu73jNApcYdi9rja_jKFHS3SSEvyKaVwlL5crSKxC_jOFGto__V7nFTuvBz1p6XjjN-C2YMt1Q_TIZnRdiEo22MpyrKOuF5gI6MoBcCWjtygXBspVf3c87SjY_Id40yI9mtCIr1Vce-icOR0ezT6Yf7LoEtJYBpJ3rvL1FQ=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Diver Dave Todd inspects the hold of a World War II torpedoed freighter<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSS2QV5OB0JfG0iUd90WYT0hpzEPjqECGg8md4RB69cc3hvaoQDdu-UUjy90TRtC8xKaS7bwva_FVd3gTitToPajub3Hz2KZ6XS1mMPaGYVJsKhHSJrBGEqhM9t2PnfNEzroNLAPtXaQ2XVdU3NpeDR84jzGwvjJA2E6I6b3u-UOWUeqZFX2ucpErF-A=s2841" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1902" data-original-width="2841" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSS2QV5OB0JfG0iUd90WYT0hpzEPjqECGg8md4RB69cc3hvaoQDdu-UUjy90TRtC8xKaS7bwva_FVd3gTitToPajub3Hz2KZ6XS1mMPaGYVJsKhHSJrBGEqhM9t2PnfNEzroNLAPtXaQ2XVdU3NpeDR84jzGwvjJA2E6I6b3u-UOWUeqZFX2ucpErF-A=w328-h212" width="328" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Conning tower of the U-85 off Cape Hatteras<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjcY9Q2UD_p7vC1rSCXW_tHtSepG39XYea4kA42zOkvodvsuABept2e0IvVHcy7ejym7vZedPreyLEdZRgHmPKlT5RiIbWSZ7tXg1IXdvMTxauCeWLjbv8MznsFvS908sFcP4EHJPCC3qnalp_RMwOxaEEyjmGH3NhBo9zQ0j9RnfuC5HLbw3CGimB9HQ=s4320" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="4320" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjcY9Q2UD_p7vC1rSCXW_tHtSepG39XYea4kA42zOkvodvsuABept2e0IvVHcy7ejym7vZedPreyLEdZRgHmPKlT5RiIbWSZ7tXg1IXdvMTxauCeWLjbv8MznsFvS908sFcP4EHJPCC3qnalp_RMwOxaEEyjmGH3NhBo9zQ0j9RnfuC5HLbw3CGimB9HQ=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Homer Hickam and Dave Todd with scuba gear to dive World War II U-boats and other wrecks<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjkCJvDL7YLRHI3trOdzEA7Q7IbyhTpEzvSErsfT0x_aDJjIkT0F4eb3sQGYEK8w1zbDqSAM5dWsGTb0QP08Osiq1Z4OTy_O-01lCsykJ62lvoACWNfJWBkkGOpyGme3KkL7CKrPzl_xcnCZ_3iCSOg4vI4S1YjGqhmaVKMOZ_6K4fOi4emmj5f7bd2ow=s2016" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjkCJvDL7YLRHI3trOdzEA7Q7IbyhTpEzvSErsfT0x_aDJjIkT0F4eb3sQGYEK8w1zbDqSAM5dWsGTb0QP08Osiq1Z4OTy_O-01lCsykJ62lvoACWNfJWBkkGOpyGme3KkL7CKrPzl_xcnCZ_3iCSOg4vI4S1YjGqhmaVKMOZ_6K4fOi4emmj5f7bd2ow=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Divers Dave Todd and Homer Hickam<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>Homer's other diving adventures carried him to Isla de Guanaja in Honduras. His main companion for these dives was his girlfriend Linda Terry (LT). his good buddy Carl Spurlock often went along.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpf6bS3Ixd9AKbBbenczanhjuP1DiLAhbi2cyMI5-5ZS1dn1JGhCBZDG2Zo9WMrb2UnHVVs3z1rdPBY8edvDAa_SjXkA3JVi2eVIspg4aWcDabdCOII5LVtQwPbHBNFQMZXnosCdw_gjXbouaxndq6xCPnhb8XT25A4FLbdtyWZ_NrJOQGzZGebuouPg=s3430" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2314" data-original-width="3430" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpf6bS3Ixd9AKbBbenczanhjuP1DiLAhbi2cyMI5-5ZS1dn1JGhCBZDG2Zo9WMrb2UnHVVs3z1rdPBY8edvDAa_SjXkA3JVi2eVIspg4aWcDabdCOII5LVtQwPbHBNFQMZXnosCdw_gjXbouaxndq6xCPnhb8XT25A4FLbdtyWZ_NrJOQGzZGebuouPg=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Neysa Holland, Carl Spurlock, Homer Hickam, Linda Terry (LT) treasure hunting on Guanaja<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiUEBmXAFaQti1VtfqnZcyf2tb5HRQTV4EpeAjhV7qukuOOdsP2cj6-pvlMQ_FbBZGJ-NckysAzXkYpXffSHAjDgxqIg7YUM1u4itODJzbdDHlKU2pYPcP-ucVEMJ6q2mreviptxj8PRXXoy8pBRBRVM7Z6ngt2y2ilKEB0AXPNYrIO1ci9IK0S_8rX6Q=s506" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="341" data-original-width="506" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiUEBmXAFaQti1VtfqnZcyf2tb5HRQTV4EpeAjhV7qukuOOdsP2cj6-pvlMQ_FbBZGJ-NckysAzXkYpXffSHAjDgxqIg7YUM1u4itODJzbdDHlKU2pYPcP-ucVEMJ6q2mreviptxj8PRXXoy8pBRBRVM7Z6ngt2y2ilKEB0AXPNYrIO1ci9IK0S_8rX6Q=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Casa Sobre del Mar, our home away from home in Guanaja. It was built and owned by Ivey Garrett. Sadly, it was destroyed by Hurricane Mitch.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjS6h8LkQbJC370OE_6LVM5Tx_ouyxlol2A_0nfjL_2mWJpA3qvmyvV24Bk6t-6eWn-l5bp5TmXjhSyLQJ2jfIs-S_NjqoC3Oucp1yM-qniI6CyZIy0Ou2bTyeAkNSnS8Fr41XwW_V3qwMgw37LbiUCwOio9N3n9Fum9MrV6EbNBPvUbPmZs7vJzKAfMQ=s3552" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3552" data-original-width="2233" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjS6h8LkQbJC370OE_6LVM5Tx_ouyxlol2A_0nfjL_2mWJpA3qvmyvV24Bk6t-6eWn-l5bp5TmXjhSyLQJ2jfIs-S_NjqoC3Oucp1yM-qniI6CyZIy0Ou2bTyeAkNSnS8Fr41XwW_V3qwMgw37LbiUCwOio9N3n9Fum9MrV6EbNBPvUbPmZs7vJzKAfMQ=s320" width="201" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A long climb but worth it - the waterfall in Guanaja</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhDYPnedsXx5B2BsbVpLS56Dgc2IOcRC3JfMNJulVrxyoGnSSUmwN4XIgRegpCN9iEcfWCTAbzVFJ8k__vAmoafllaMPz3Ej61efUFPqxW0xjhKWAxUMf6bOfH-alc5X8LGVC4ylD19HnDMI-VDqhU7RZbw_xRC4irvJ3b-zs3tbhM6X57J6P1VkvB2dw=s5832" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4687" data-original-width="5832" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhDYPnedsXx5B2BsbVpLS56Dgc2IOcRC3JfMNJulVrxyoGnSSUmwN4XIgRegpCN9iEcfWCTAbzVFJ8k__vAmoafllaMPz3Ej61efUFPqxW0xjhKWAxUMf6bOfH-alc5X8LGVC4ylD19HnDMI-VDqhU7RZbw_xRC4irvJ3b-zs3tbhM6X57J6P1VkvB2dw=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carl Spurlock, Linda Terry (LT), and Homer Hickam at the UAT<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEie4WSj8ofebKc3zUr1Uezrr_hxzIOmYtSvr7jKoKbBRu2kKNpFOp5asEXdiYs56UmwMzeIS4iTlllglRsLPzBFHE45xaVjsyAMT0JokdA0poXjlvRuYPp46d6nXPvTff06WiAc6tfQ-Wna_QbpMlpDgI-9kHHfcU_ATi8xqFalLMERy9KutIcflxD8ZA=s5988" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4059" data-original-width="5988" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEie4WSj8ofebKc3zUr1Uezrr_hxzIOmYtSvr7jKoKbBRu2kKNpFOp5asEXdiYs56UmwMzeIS4iTlllglRsLPzBFHE45xaVjsyAMT0JokdA0poXjlvRuYPp46d6nXPvTff06WiAc6tfQ-Wna_QbpMlpDgI-9kHHfcU_ATi8xqFalLMERy9KutIcflxD8ZA=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Linda took this shot of Homer Hickam looking up at black coral while visiting the Cochinos in Honduras<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZ1lQnxQ0cM2fVz4aDz8ds_2oJR8UxJCJuD16TvNQOx3dphYBwvi9cThZPZzchEsVl-3sPz1D78lVzzob8UYxr9snm9T56YQ6iqrD4-874cqkAAZnCJrH1MSk8f1w4Z_D8o4Ptrnyfs4NEI-fXitOJoz2ooY36LuBRJGNjH55WKaXxW9KG8tN5YlXzcg=s2016" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZ1lQnxQ0cM2fVz4aDz8ds_2oJR8UxJCJuD16TvNQOx3dphYBwvi9cThZPZzchEsVl-3sPz1D78lVzzob8UYxr9snm9T56YQ6iqrD4-874cqkAAZnCJrH1MSk8f1w4Z_D8o4Ptrnyfs4NEI-fXitOJoz2ooY36LuBRJGNjH55WKaXxW9KG8tN5YlXzcg=s320" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The slate used during Homer Hickam's emergency decompression in Guanaja<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgEgkZnb0Vfs6bx3xlXSnmKxu6rDmiCm_UVE_z67vJGZsk76tcDiQVdtipTKU4nL48EsiGAmAJkAB7n_0SOvp2QfzubUm7AWHjU7fEqhDgGr2nV-6d-QETCS6yXPEDZogQcsEOuFJgekKQCE4ow_nzHeRrhdy42_IyJQtTOcjoTEMo3f5_Pm5qjOGxdQA=s2016" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgEgkZnb0Vfs6bx3xlXSnmKxu6rDmiCm_UVE_z67vJGZsk76tcDiQVdtipTKU4nL48EsiGAmAJkAB7n_0SOvp2QfzubUm7AWHjU7fEqhDgGr2nV-6d-QETCS6yXPEDZogQcsEOuFJgekKQCE4ow_nzHeRrhdy42_IyJQtTOcjoTEMo3f5_Pm5qjOGxdQA=s320" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The back of the slate used during the emergency decompression<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgjFO_s3zVkPsRetopsLw1i1GXqvsoE1q3bMBuR00MJz7rLu-1tcMXBvv0lGStv34FJzOigwFGibKOgmw8WrZcCIkFI0uoxZynRvSLSy7pOh2xpdSqy1csn3MohBPt4srblpgwBZ88fIssdspFx4tC5UG4QNKy7Dj-0D9p4CI5JWKCySAZXqgnibu20A=s3487" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2287" data-original-width="3487" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgjFO_s3zVkPsRetopsLw1i1GXqvsoE1q3bMBuR00MJz7rLu-1tcMXBvv0lGStv34FJzOigwFGibKOgmw8WrZcCIkFI0uoxZynRvSLSy7pOh2xpdSqy1csn3MohBPt4srblpgwBZ88fIssdspFx4tC5UG4QNKy7Dj-0D9p4CI5JWKCySAZXqgnibu20A=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A view of Homer Hickam's beach on Guanaja, Honduras.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgkEKN6qwThWl1LMwcjrosjHCP-XgZQdlnonuKVufIMSQ7eaXLCZTAJnAbL1N6ZNc7NDX6ekbUj_pVWIRwTEJGZ3sCuq5ZgFf6K9NN4gAxszmhOXe0xCtyX7ZsqQnWyxXAkfkMXrYqb3F_uq4xr0al4KxTeJ-Vy-Bsg_bMe2a9HFFIlMN42aYXEZROZfg=s3486" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2329" data-original-width="3486" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgkEKN6qwThWl1LMwcjrosjHCP-XgZQdlnonuKVufIMSQ7eaXLCZTAJnAbL1N6ZNc7NDX6ekbUj_pVWIRwTEJGZ3sCuq5ZgFf6K9NN4gAxszmhOXe0xCtyX7ZsqQnWyxXAkfkMXrYqb3F_uq4xr0al4KxTeJ-Vy-Bsg_bMe2a9HFFIlMN42aYXEZROZfg=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our wonderful divemaster in Guanaja - Gilbert Wood<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Homer Hickamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10218229542457074434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794772572438808559.post-814721755717263032021-12-31T12:45:00.002-08:002022-01-01T09:11:50.997-08:00NASA Man: The illustrated Don't Blow Yourself Up<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Dont-Blow-Yourself-Up-Adventures-ebook/dp/B09DQB6M8T/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1639460311&sr=8-1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1356" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZLoMBmLdCg5tqmUggc_yZKRR7tIQEF8LZiqMEFtUZdJZ1Ij4f9oIM7PDkUaeIAAiuOLJvh5FMYe951H--G1XAJmTYbW9yH1PrmQRlJWfliXsGDLBLB3izjFe2Na7X-JyaWr0nAORms127wEwi8dSGxMt3kSvap7MBzOsoAmMXSQbUIij_BEvduUtGrw=s320" width="212" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p> </p><p>After requests from readers for more illustrations in my new memoir <a href="http://www.homerhickam.com">Don't Blow Yourself Up</a>, I am writing a series of blogs with photos and maps. This one covers Part 4 of the memoir titled NASA MAN which includes my career with NASA from 1981 to 1998.</p><p>I was hired by NASA while I was still in Germany working for the Army in Grafenwoehr, the big training base in Bavaria that is used to train combat units. My job was to manage the work needed to keep the base operational. NASA wanted me to come and help the Spacelab Program Office keep track its many work orders and inventory by computerizing the system.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh6dFSfOZtW6nmdU3K9l_6RmwHlDoDlzmSZHcOgiGY0-MqrtTHgjNM2Ib_bWzLypAtK0f-HRhV6EoQNer8vxdO_PNrDP2kgWVPZqhPtoTrnameH2o7InzmIEGWZnWVUyr4qCmj8cGVsUPhEuwlj0R9QHK4UoDs14oyI2vjb0sxYXdyMuQkDIzo4_BVS7A=s608" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="436" data-original-width="608" height="363" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh6dFSfOZtW6nmdU3K9l_6RmwHlDoDlzmSZHcOgiGY0-MqrtTHgjNM2Ib_bWzLypAtK0f-HRhV6EoQNer8vxdO_PNrDP2kgWVPZqhPtoTrnameH2o7InzmIEGWZnWVUyr4qCmj8cGVsUPhEuwlj0R9QHK4UoDs14oyI2vjb0sxYXdyMuQkDIzo4_BVS7A=w507-h363" width="507" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spacelab rested in the cargo bay with a connecting tunnel.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>This I did until the Challenger disaster. I was in Japan negotiating with their space agency for a Spacelab mission when Challenger and her crew were lost. I returned and worked on the solid rocket motor redesign for awhile, then asked to transfer to the Mission Operations Lab and became a payload crew training manager. I also worked in NASA's Neutral Buoyancy Simulator as a diver helping astronauts to work underwater on various space missions. Water provided buoyancy and simulated microgravity.</p><p><br /> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgg7jXYP8SW056jqvWgms1IvqceP-8hiBVEooh0yWbHZtpZ6R1fXJ7mF3FUk7oTOEYCn4puya8WgCOETEA4ZaAoXiikec-cS_oKLAYqsp3s8yJua5KzBTHCYk-ER3BQ7thDD50wmjQuAiIqFXAdHZlz4EZpMhFXwFbAPTdEFpmNuafs4cl2_aGaNQPug=s1082" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1082" data-original-width="909" height="451" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgg7jXYP8SW056jqvWgms1IvqceP-8hiBVEooh0yWbHZtpZ6R1fXJ7mF3FUk7oTOEYCn4puya8WgCOETEA4ZaAoXiikec-cS_oKLAYqsp3s8yJua5KzBTHCYk-ER3BQ7thDD50wmjQuAiIqFXAdHZlz4EZpMhFXwFbAPTdEFpmNuafs4cl2_aGaNQPug=w380-h451" width="380" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Homer Hickam in orange wet suit working with astronaut in Neutral Buoyancy Simulator</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p> During this time, I volunteered to design and manage the construction of a small neutral buoyancy tank at Space Camp in Huntsville. We called it the Underwater Astronaut Trainer (UAT). I also designed a suit that students could wear underwater just like real astronauts. With my company Deep Space, we trained Space Camp/Academy students in the evening.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh-E3XNUnkozXk1eh3vSY7EYsbDclycSsHB2rtXK0qWaguX1VfW-mCTsOx0G01OKNP3oz7qNzZsJA7D5C7hRAhG53OF14RmpYoQUT9BZNGNVv_MElas3INAv-mVJN_32Q4NBU1SvMW11gwQlF_Y7ua4kDcYWtennCY3E6ChEeH4Z__TErIR1487H32ymw=s679" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="679" data-original-width="547" height="527" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh-E3XNUnkozXk1eh3vSY7EYsbDclycSsHB2rtXK0qWaguX1VfW-mCTsOx0G01OKNP3oz7qNzZsJA7D5C7hRAhG53OF14RmpYoQUT9BZNGNVv_MElas3INAv-mVJN_32Q4NBU1SvMW11gwQlF_Y7ua4kDcYWtennCY3E6ChEeH4Z__TErIR1487H32ymw=w425-h527" width="425" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Linda Terry and student in the UAT suit around 1989. I am top left. Linda is LT in the memoir. We were married a decade later.<br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg-brshNw4rMyFbXfc0GaLsDxqYnnJu7RhGs9gC3vTrNjGIoDP2a_l6CWGb1u4hFKrAluvrty6tpKLAEJMxYqaYzvxWreHShIvMcTZISXZjNFZIm8EVOIbTXWbeXjtj5u1vk3xlwWqnIn0J47whOBsM4MRoYO0TLQK22FB0aFwgD1_fL1d3UcRKb-_dIA=s2231" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1715" data-original-width="2231" height="393" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg-brshNw4rMyFbXfc0GaLsDxqYnnJu7RhGs9gC3vTrNjGIoDP2a_l6CWGb1u4hFKrAluvrty6tpKLAEJMxYqaYzvxWreHShIvMcTZISXZjNFZIm8EVOIbTXWbeXjtj5u1vk3xlwWqnIn0J47whOBsM4MRoYO0TLQK22FB0aFwgD1_fL1d3UcRKb-_dIA=w511-h393" width="511" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the UAT suit<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhBoWmiDCt6tCbJnmQ36WL5fgrkOCp0WcehsPjgyMubEjkW6FXmelSDFRCUcy0Ziz5a4tmSOr-w_y6VjuolpaBSE5-gaDgscqO2fWppCnDGEDK5E3x0JIc6RybqzLlXbOYHqYJrHwHfXu_AjhhiVFt-hb5sYdW2RdQhj0vX9ZWGIzWL8Fe_i_bIQy3SMw=s1814" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1814" data-original-width="1435" height="436" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhBoWmiDCt6tCbJnmQ36WL5fgrkOCp0WcehsPjgyMubEjkW6FXmelSDFRCUcy0Ziz5a4tmSOr-w_y6VjuolpaBSE5-gaDgscqO2fWppCnDGEDK5E3x0JIc6RybqzLlXbOYHqYJrHwHfXu_AjhhiVFt-hb5sYdW2RdQhj0vX9ZWGIzWL8Fe_i_bIQy3SMw=w345-h436" width="345" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I also went up to New York and trained David Letterman to scuba dive and work in the UAT helmet for a show that unfortunately never happened<br /></td></tr></tbody></table> <p></p><p>In 1989, I was assigned to Japan to help train the first Japanese astronauts. This began many adventures there and I met many wonderful Japanese trainers, engineers, and astronauts</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiEXwEAB056_KzeG9bIeIIwC8SQBJrGqVNlYIcmN-avFZq4R8Jt8knmdOoE362XFCff_xFopziDSX7IiR1ddT3edTZ1pgKL0CwRr2owNOyCpd0mo747BT1IiK4Lj0bjv4ijNDBcNTXPSqXVyolM_2xQrQVEUFvwRp5R9f9KpRazQo_BFrXXdSXGSaUoFw=s5946" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4746" data-original-width="5946" height="371" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiEXwEAB056_KzeG9bIeIIwC8SQBJrGqVNlYIcmN-avFZq4R8Jt8knmdOoE362XFCff_xFopziDSX7IiR1ddT3edTZ1pgKL0CwRr2owNOyCpd0mo747BT1IiK4Lj0bjv4ijNDBcNTXPSqXVyolM_2xQrQVEUFvwRp5R9f9KpRazQo_BFrXXdSXGSaUoFw=w466-h371" width="466" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Takao Doi, Momoru Mohri, Homer Hickam, Stan Koszelak, Chiaki Mukai</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhEfgK673NDtkZy4n4SnbwuVLY4t8DqcUN0t8ocqE_E3HepyuNmPeRCGnbQfyuR4Ti3Yey9KY0-_xzUWG9DKHIGNKN37rGxdwI6wQtllGy2AYS19K5Qr_7fqFe1eUWlcT3t69w7w9PO0p0MevGpT7rA5TVHmCer8BmurlXoO4Ob94Q18B5p57WAOZmZQQ=s2574" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1543" data-original-width="2574" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhEfgK673NDtkZy4n4SnbwuVLY4t8DqcUN0t8ocqE_E3HepyuNmPeRCGnbQfyuR4Ti3Yey9KY0-_xzUWG9DKHIGNKN37rGxdwI6wQtllGy2AYS19K5Qr_7fqFe1eUWlcT3t69w7w9PO0p0MevGpT7rA5TVHmCer8BmurlXoO4Ob94Q18B5p57WAOZmZQQ=w454-h272" width="454" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spacelab-Japan Training Team. I'm 3rd from left 2nd row.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table> <p></p><p>After Spacelab-Japan flew in 1992, I worked on the Hubble Space Telescope repair mission in the Neutral Buoyancy Simulator. To prepare for the astronauts to train, some of us engineers went underwater in the Extravehicular Mobility Unit (EMU) suit to work out the procedures. It was the first use of Nitrox, a mixed gas that some feared would cause the "suited subject" to catch on fire. To make sure it was OK, we volunteered to go into the suit.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhOFu6pMXKMlh3lFxV9QDUp6MEp4Zypm8kxAixl2xe1adgEIPeGm5_Qm08sk0Pud3LLWbVZ04psZkFvWjTQcmtkitqU5AxMK6NLYG_fynfEfpBCZPnhPfgP6RDQfUIsM6UKmlJiFcOW5ujfgYq7JZkwCfOk-Ap0OlsJ9JjzUwGn3S40iz0Sb9t0vhzXlg=s2801" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2801" data-original-width="1857" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhOFu6pMXKMlh3lFxV9QDUp6MEp4Zypm8kxAixl2xe1adgEIPeGm5_Qm08sk0Pud3LLWbVZ04psZkFvWjTQcmtkitqU5AxMK6NLYG_fynfEfpBCZPnhPfgP6RDQfUIsM6UKmlJiFcOW5ujfgYq7JZkwCfOk-Ap0OlsJ9JjzUwGn3S40iz0Sb9t0vhzXlg=w297-h448" width="297" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Homer Hickam in the EMU suit working the HST repair procedures<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>After SL-J and HST, I wrote a Tech Study on how the USA could go back to the Moon. NASA had no interest in going and engineers were restricted from helping me but I did it, anyway, by disguising it as a study of the South Pole Station. This study is still on the books and available to the managers and engineers as we finally go back to Luna (let's hope that remains true).<br />
<br />
</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw-VBa4F_nnlq2ygcR7rAxT-6g9xAEGpJagoAscGaFjyblyfowNgYNoRUbXj1blvtlKBOLcyyIVZ5uEFw17ZDdIXMHXZSSe0YEjapJefZYHQ0hMEL2hpeJ3JhpeKa32OdSsvv_0XkM49iX/s1600/16.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="880" data-original-width="677" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw-VBa4F_nnlq2ygcR7rAxT-6g9xAEGpJagoAscGaFjyblyfowNgYNoRUbXj1blvtlKBOLcyyIVZ5uEFw17ZDdIXMHXZSSe0YEjapJefZYHQ0hMEL2hpeJ3JhpeKa32OdSsvv_0XkM49iX/s400/16.jpg" width="307" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: small;">My clever little moon anchor as described in my 1993 (!) study for NASA</span></b></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
My study can be seen
here: <a href="https://homerhickamblog.blogspot.com/2019/03/1993-study-of-moon-laboratory-by-homer.html">https://homerhickamblog.blogspot.com/2019/03/1993-study-of-moon-laboratory-by-homer.html</a><p> </p><p>I also got to meet a very special person and give her a tour of the Spacelab module in our Payload Crew Training Complex. Hello Olivia!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh3yXMLRivjZdBwa1IHsZzdgikavvqdQ6X2evHivijopIRcgZk2_EebyJBAdKfKrvCJVfS_PVocq5yrfH9KwLGVjutk3KQ5C5MAjircvXwwPkeH1DWTLp-pPi-eUI9RMtPsd84FBTLt3TSFasCd8JTo99EaX8y6-qd_1TEKdjDGZxhS4HBH2Op_nYB_MQ=s2306" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2306" data-original-width="1956" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh3yXMLRivjZdBwa1IHsZzdgikavvqdQ6X2evHivijopIRcgZk2_EebyJBAdKfKrvCJVfS_PVocq5yrfH9KwLGVjutk3KQ5C5MAjircvXwwPkeH1DWTLp-pPi-eUI9RMtPsd84FBTLt3TSFasCd8JTo99EaX8y6-qd_1TEKdjDGZxhS4HBH2Op_nYB_MQ=s320" width="271" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Olivia Newton-John and Homer Hickam<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Afterwards, I was assigned to the International Space Station as the payload training manager. I was one of a team of NASA managers and engineers sent to negotiate with the Russians to figure out how we were going to build the station and train the cosmonauts and astronauts.</p><p></p><p>I had an interesting time in Moscow and the environs and made many friends </p><p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhwWoLOWFLOjsmJm60Y0yyfAeh5aby4WBIiz0V5QRUcertsSrw_NpsJapDig99x3ycF-eje-F9Oi6XvPhWYY-HYkZVKZJQmFUPkDsthVlSHoqUzHzHPG0H9UihMudhCyU-3lSTgg7TttwdUBj-qTNw---bPLq1MhTP9UcT7p7ag_PxNJsKLc9xbVA8Tbg=s4980" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3667" data-original-width="4980" height="322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhwWoLOWFLOjsmJm60Y0yyfAeh5aby4WBIiz0V5QRUcertsSrw_NpsJapDig99x3ycF-eje-F9Oi6XvPhWYY-HYkZVKZJQmFUPkDsthVlSHoqUzHzHPG0H9UihMudhCyU-3lSTgg7TttwdUBj-qTNw---bPLq1MhTP9UcT7p7ag_PxNJsKLc9xbVA8Tbg=w437-h322" width="437" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With a replica of Sputnik 1 and shaking hands with a cosmonaut<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>In 1998, I retired from NASA. I had 30 years of federal service and it was time to let younger folks take over. I also had a new writing career!<br /></p>Homer Hickamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10218229542457074434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794772572438808559.post-32080619092152771642021-11-30T16:25:00.000-08:002021-11-30T16:25:02.447-08:00Homer Hickam Vietnam Service Area - Photos/Maps to Accompany Memoir: Don't Blow Yourself Up<div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.homerhickam.com" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1356" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipULDFkN8sU-0IXem0wBjQKthYBlyDYKwmgUjsxD0ov78yNN3WDOH-MArqtCR972b29VIoUfTVH5EYMo1fj1hVuzPyMKz0XcNpnvBCqAcRYUW0fhcOzhP63wf-41F74ggfthnCXK3ayvwt/s320/HiFidelityDBYUCover.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: left;">This blog presents maps and photos to accompany the portions of Homer Hickam's memoir Don't Blow Yourself Up that cover his service in Vietnam.</p><p style="text-align: left;"> </p><p style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqjJ0X0OZ62TBh29GpjNMxZNqko7ixXdwhBE2g7igDxdgkawsuY3B7MW2apYUBwN_ELqCGpoATir-4hcbvWMgVxJgcjRui9z_zbzWbTD5H7nlVCgAvkx2UV7L-v31bniwbAKeAFfCkUPrI/s920/VietnamGoogleMaps.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="664" data-original-width="920" height="497" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqjJ0X0OZ62TBh29GpjNMxZNqko7ixXdwhBE2g7igDxdgkawsuY3B7MW2apYUBwN_ELqCGpoATir-4hcbvWMgVxJgcjRui9z_zbzWbTD5H7nlVCgAvkx2UV7L-v31bniwbAKeAFfCkUPrI/w688-h497/VietnamGoogleMaps.jpeg" width="688" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Google Earth Map of Vietnam today. It is considered part of Southeast Asia</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p><p style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU2WvxA98ZF2Yn9918zNN0cM4KS2oQCcXSdPGtnmMiC6pLsaXcM2Wy0mfJbSVG2fsYAHMlnOEYNbux6gWgJOt4Eb2uj86qQtBcQinoheGyYr15c_JD8o-H-feLc0o8Nzy-uGrDKzxIQhNu/s902/CorpsAreasVietnamWar.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="902" data-original-width="718" height="700" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU2WvxA98ZF2Yn9918zNN0cM4KS2oQCcXSdPGtnmMiC6pLsaXcM2Wy0mfJbSVG2fsYAHMlnOEYNbux6gWgJOt4Eb2uj86qQtBcQinoheGyYr15c_JD8o-H-feLc0o8Nzy-uGrDKzxIQhNu/w558-h700/CorpsAreasVietnamWar.jpeg" width="558" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">South Vietnam (aka The Republic of Vietnam) was divided into four areas by US forces during the Vietnam war. II Corps comprised the area known as the Central Highlands, a very mountainous, heavily forested region. Hickam served entirely in II Corps. While he was in Vietnam, the 4th Infantry Div. and the First Cavalry Div. were the two largest American army forces in the region, the 4th with headquarters near Pleiku, the 1st with headquarters near An Khe.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2LhJd_-0Gti87glrB1bUpEA9m2862gQR038RaZ1Py3qdo06XgeWVd9E5QocdvPdFQ2c1VUcl28hhBMFuLn3Tfn7rR8p3NG8-6k68zWU1rk3arnmgEmJmELNUkQaLWPPAkFFh0E7sxcT6E/s801/MidSVNH3served.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="801" data-original-width="659" height="789" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2LhJd_-0Gti87glrB1bUpEA9m2862gQR038RaZ1Py3qdo06XgeWVd9E5QocdvPdFQ2c1VUcl28hhBMFuLn3Tfn7rR8p3NG8-6k68zWU1rk3arnmgEmJmELNUkQaLWPPAkFFh0E7sxcT6E/w648-h789/MidSVNH3served.jpeg" width="648" /></a></td></tr><tr align="justify"><td class="tr-caption">If you look below the large word SOUTH on this map, you will see the coastal city of Qui Nhon. This was a staging area for the US Army during the war and supplies were carried westward by truck convoys to American and South Vietnamese forces. Look westward from Quih Nhon (to the left) and you'll see Pleiku, the capital of the Central Highlands area. Follow the road north from Pleiku and you'll see the town of Kontum. Keep going and you'll see Dak To. Follow the road south from Pleiku, you'll see the town of Ban Me Thuot. Follow the road west out of Pleiku, you'll see the Cambodian border. Nearby was the Oasis Firebase. Follow the road east from Pleiku, you'll see the Mang Yang Pass. Nearby was Blackhawk Firebase. These were the primary locations Hickam served in the Vietnam War. Hickam flew into Cam Ranh Bay, a giant American base on the sea. In this map, at bottom left, it is designated Ganh Rai Bay.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEighmoU0xLpH-AzAAqz8QUB1qfDKbuDt0NpWcfkAGaGy_W_Wplbu342BZn9GewhASz_tl7Y97GBLFx-PFeQ_sYudAfba9KhyphenhyphenWT2y2UZHjLlKd8kjYZ1zx9Y7YFRUfgEaGTyzvAt_oFVPg5m/s943/SVNmapH3served.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="943" data-original-width="586" height="882" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEighmoU0xLpH-AzAAqz8QUB1qfDKbuDt0NpWcfkAGaGy_W_Wplbu342BZn9GewhASz_tl7Y97GBLFx-PFeQ_sYudAfba9KhyphenhyphenWT2y2UZHjLlKd8kjYZ1zx9Y7YFRUfgEaGTyzvAt_oFVPg5m/w548-h882/SVNmapH3served.jpeg" width="548" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> This is a closer look at the area from Kontum in the north to Ban Me Thuot to the south where Hickam served. Except for brief air hops in and out, he did not serve in or near Saigon.<br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <br /></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4KpGfCr74HKvF049Tsbmd-T9QZhM2fqghn7J2zz41uYZo1ew2cl36dKhDDU3SQJRc9F0Jouw_wMoZWBA81UIuojY6ODhrKbXDn6pByipVnTpQnUwyhgh9S-RT_IWILmgMv-6sdXfu6iW1/s988/DragonMountainGoogleMaps.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="846" data-original-width="988" height="492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4KpGfCr74HKvF049Tsbmd-T9QZhM2fqghn7J2zz41uYZo1ew2cl36dKhDDU3SQJRc9F0Jouw_wMoZWBA81UIuojY6ODhrKbXDn6pByipVnTpQnUwyhgh9S-RT_IWILmgMv-6sdXfu6iW1/w576-h492/DragonMountainGoogleMaps.jpeg" width="576" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a GoogleMaps map of the Central Highlands of Vietnam with "Dragon Mountain" shown. This was near the location of Camp Enari, the base camp of the 4th Infantry Division.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEwYmtax-Aqzckknc7G2zDpA3NW6lYAMuSr18kPkNMERV0iwvysSSgxmqNy668kAFVufLHTQJZ2PncStN3FQLgolSzPr4I7jTwpQ9ORpmtoVz89B30g6vW2KMsO0sXSIlWuF9duHEVgqM4/s2016/PhotoRickTerrellCampEnari1967.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="547" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEwYmtax-Aqzckknc7G2zDpA3NW6lYAMuSr18kPkNMERV0iwvysSSgxmqNy668kAFVufLHTQJZ2PncStN3FQLgolSzPr4I7jTwpQ9ORpmtoVz89B30g6vW2KMsO0sXSIlWuF9duHEVgqM4/w410-h547/PhotoRickTerrellCampEnari1967.JPG" width="410" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Artillery Lieutenant Rick Terrell, Texas A&M graduate who taught Hickam how to call in artillery on the flight over to Vietnam</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ9Y58T7WlggeSP5dPs9Qmf9sb56GOl6Awy-WY_mFhWIxAHnO3-pHqL82iFDDamFIiRyI6CziaxvhPC2xBABomsQQ2SHNNlmsUl0NCZPJRMDDA_N5HxCJXqlRv7DVEu3FaQHOB4dgKesSk/s736/NickJarrettVNvietnam.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="736" data-original-width="717" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ9Y58T7WlggeSP5dPs9Qmf9sb56GOl6Awy-WY_mFhWIxAHnO3-pHqL82iFDDamFIiRyI6CziaxvhPC2xBABomsQQ2SHNNlmsUl0NCZPJRMDDA_N5HxCJXqlRv7DVEu3FaQHOB4dgKesSk/w415-h426/NickJarrettVNvietnam.jpeg" width="415" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lieutenant Nick Jarrett at the Oasis. Nick taught Hickam how to lead his men.<br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvJwHBOMdRAxv3I-rurDq5ezMv1sp21mBHpdqU6zyoABTaHqjqFqcZSYMma3Hn1jtojxgZaAkrbVBmDJS2tU9CvOWjEYmkblHg970DAo3r83GBEE9_j4DzUe0DCm8aFr_ihc9_Xdc6rgwk/s1114/H3flakvestOasis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1072" data-original-width="1114" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvJwHBOMdRAxv3I-rurDq5ezMv1sp21mBHpdqU6zyoABTaHqjqFqcZSYMma3Hn1jtojxgZaAkrbVBmDJS2tU9CvOWjEYmkblHg970DAo3r83GBEE9_j4DzUe0DCm8aFr_ihc9_Xdc6rgwk/w407-h392/H3flakvestOasis.jpg" width="407" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Homer Hickam after a day on the road in Vietnam</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; 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text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYbyc28cD0AkFABIuIRj0aCDpOz_FxK3Y7lDeku9kysBF7MObreybr2bTADsRD8WGaBgFGivdL1N_JTjNHyDbXlmcgNlx6LH0WHs4PvKms2zyIKE3ZJL4mGFcFE66XXytHMPWrzUdF3UFL/s2048/H3BCBananaCat.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1988" data-original-width="2048" height="402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYbyc28cD0AkFABIuIRj0aCDpOz_FxK3Y7lDeku9kysBF7MObreybr2bTADsRD8WGaBgFGivdL1N_JTjNHyDbXlmcgNlx6LH0WHs4PvKms2zyIKE3ZJL4mGFcFE66XXytHMPWrzUdF3UFL/w414-h402/H3BCBananaCat.jpeg" width="414" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hickam with his banana cat he named BC</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc-Lo_K6l8ftDvFUucZ-ZoUXiAvim2yp1H3ePoK5UlEFxhQabCpDELFYEFjsPt2t6Lts1y5hEpjtf0AAfzHaAoNB1tj9P4h_KjLR4Dw2BCYM6g4kMRNi8toKH3itO0-u3zGgohXKnWfP2d/s2048/MudLakeBMTVNVietnam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1531" data-original-width="2048" height="344" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc-Lo_K6l8ftDvFUucZ-ZoUXiAvim2yp1H3ePoK5UlEFxhQabCpDELFYEFjsPt2t6Lts1y5hEpjtf0AAfzHaAoNB1tj9P4h_KjLR4Dw2BCYM6g4kMRNi8toKH3itO0-u3zGgohXKnWfP2d/w461-h344/MudLakeBMTVNVietnam.jpg" width="461" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Muddy lake of a work area at BMT that had to be drained one way or the other</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPqlTEqxfioTXBp1grFuQh15ZT3FUE0pbn7UWq13Sh5e9fGVJAEk8pw6UAhjWXG9zV-T2FTylWGaSoijpSR4H1s9aLADdS8es0PHePDWU7tDMS5oroP7kkjo74UxzNF0ATzNd-hFAkk7qF/s1054/H3BMTVietNam2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1034" data-original-width="1054" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPqlTEqxfioTXBp1grFuQh15ZT3FUE0pbn7UWq13Sh5e9fGVJAEk8pw6UAhjWXG9zV-T2FTylWGaSoijpSR4H1s9aLADdS8es0PHePDWU7tDMS5oroP7kkjo74UxzNF0ATzNd-hFAkk7qF/w440-h432/H3BMTVietNam2.jpg" width="440" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hickam at shot-up gas station in Ban Me Thuot</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Homer Hickamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10218229542457074434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794772572438808559.post-78810923070858717132021-11-26T16:23:00.021-08:002021-11-27T09:19:46.595-08:00The Illustrated Don't Blow Yourself Up Part 1: Everybody's Favorite Cadet<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.homerhickam.com" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1356" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgElH5XdObPjK5UQgM8Ie6vCg4i5_6PW_d1QxDzg64jKZsYNwnn6rLr_w1tIjKFFe_ZAlS3YiPcvTeqemZX25zBnOPZqqPAt-lYISmkrmV0nSiXfW1ech29CxfbqLFUtlFTFxrkHnADNX58/s320/HiFidelityDBYUCover.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>Now that my memoir Don't Blow Yourself Up: The Further Adventures and Travails of the Rocket Boy of October Sky has been published, I've gotten a number of requests or wishes that there would have been more photos, maps, etc. so that some of the events and places might be better understood and enjoyed.<br /></p><p>Since I like to please my readers, I am happy to comply with at least a blog that will help illustrate the memoir. This is being done quickly so please forgive the quality of the photos. Let's start at the beginning of the memoir and that's Part 1, Everybody's Favorite Cadet. </p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBeHf6FDt7RTcVFwFKxajYudjKxek5BU4_8KriwpUvxCmYdAUhbBRNlKedFqWYzmuWoKOyuR8ngCGf-AVtDYFL9r6DhL3cverFBzrwcCTt5WY41p7rg4GKKgjkrR40B3J_xRCIVHZuW7An/s750/Everbody%2527sFavoriteCadetDBYUcontents.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="441" data-original-width="750" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBeHf6FDt7RTcVFwFKxajYudjKxek5BU4_8KriwpUvxCmYdAUhbBRNlKedFqWYzmuWoKOyuR8ngCGf-AVtDYFL9r6DhL3cverFBzrwcCTt5WY41p7rg4GKKgjkrR40B3J_xRCIVHZuW7An/w500-h295/Everbody%2527sFavoriteCadetDBYUcontents.jpeg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Part 1 of DBYU<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p> </p><p>This part covers my college years and especially the building of the
famous iconic cannon Skipper. Sadly, when I began to research the memoir, it quickly became evident that
there is little photographic evidence of the old girl but I'll do what I
can.</p><p>One question that has arisen is why did I go to Virginia Tech (often called VPI in those days) and not West Virginia University? Mostly, it was because that's where my mother wanted me to go. This was because (1) my brother was already there on a football scholarship and it was simpler for her to keep track of her boys if they were both at the same place, (2) VPI had a really good engineering school, and (3) Blacksburg was a lot closer to Coalwood than Morgantown. Although I don't have maps of that era, here are a couple from today that still illustrates that situation:</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUCRb6eIPCF5EjFbP72t9R-iJLUuU6f4KGSVeDPhS5B9-VEDUtgwElKuuF_-T0mMZs6iYcs6jV-MgxlMYWfoC7rK-14UhgnRsZlbGxnnj4IB7hYAe18J9DbkQZcSBN4J_EHMGvfHztZGEK/s1088/2CoalwoodtoBlacksburg.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="566" data-original-width="1088" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUCRb6eIPCF5EjFbP72t9R-iJLUuU6f4KGSVeDPhS5B9-VEDUtgwElKuuF_-T0mMZs6iYcs6jV-MgxlMYWfoC7rK-14UhgnRsZlbGxnnj4IB7hYAe18J9DbkQZcSBN4J_EHMGvfHztZGEK/w585-h303/2CoalwoodtoBlacksburg.jpeg" width="585" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coalwood to Blacksburg</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6O9Vn1-5z5I_ntyXBM2gzeyo2IoEq4o9ejQE0mV9cehvyuLJoIw2x7LDEI0UTf4AoKV7f76wFwe37KT2x_RktJSKDOzZ1t2JdXCwfitEh2shuJGJ1pK0gFDdG8LK5OKWeWLnwdig8iy0f/s855/CoalwoodtoMorgantown.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="718" data-original-width="855" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6O9Vn1-5z5I_ntyXBM2gzeyo2IoEq4o9ejQE0mV9cehvyuLJoIw2x7LDEI0UTf4AoKV7f76wFwe37KT2x_RktJSKDOzZ1t2JdXCwfitEh2shuJGJ1pK0gFDdG8LK5OKWeWLnwdig8iy0f/w568-h478/CoalwoodtoMorgantown.jpeg" width="568" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coalwood to Morgantown<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>In 1960, the trip from Coalwood to Morgantown was even longer, often involving an overnight. There were no Interstates back then!</p><p>VPI was then almost exclusively a men's military college and most students were in its Cadet Corps (unless you were a veteran or, like my brother Jim, could opt out because he was a scholarship athlete).</p><p>The first year at VPI, I was one of hundreds of freshmen or, as they were called, Rats. We underwent some harsh discipline which, along with the tough academics, weeded out a lot of us.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVtIc-mUzVylF4q4_rnb-Rx1dUX7_M6LJuqIeN3RpngW4TwMe_t0fgWVNvPBzoxng6N0qBoHrx9x_EARRXOBq1oBL_o6UMk8zzZihv8pm3dZN63SevfpRWp1l3Gr4hccSd2dZL1ZRooCqW/s2016/RatsBracedUp.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="355" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVtIc-mUzVylF4q4_rnb-Rx1dUX7_M6LJuqIeN3RpngW4TwMe_t0fgWVNvPBzoxng6N0qBoHrx9x_EARRXOBq1oBL_o6UMk8zzZihv8pm3dZN63SevfpRWp1l3Gr4hccSd2dZL1ZRooCqW/w474-h355/RatsBracedUp.jpg" width="474" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo taken from the 1963 VT Yearbook Bugle</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>However, after a rough start which included getting more demerits than any cadet in my class, I began to fit in well and actually started to like it, enough that I became the self-proclaimed Everybody's Favorite Cadet.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA93qz81hyphenhyphenoG64KUuigyA1Cw4Fc9WLa8EPEBZ75Jc74chfcnDplB9v5xPyVneq7g1d-9jzYI12uI4T_F5zuYcqPGi5F6FOmzhXjlTOaMiTW8OABqj40O9DUogb_njGKDeAGHmZs3oyiNYL/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="554" data-original-width="857" height="347" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA93qz81hyphenhyphenoG64KUuigyA1Cw4Fc9WLa8EPEBZ75Jc74chfcnDplB9v5xPyVneq7g1d-9jzYI12uI4T_F5zuYcqPGi5F6FOmzhXjlTOaMiTW8OABqj40O9DUogb_njGKDeAGHmZs3oyiNYL/w537-h347/VTCC+cadet+formation+vpi.jpeg" width="537" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Virginia Tech Corps of Cadets formation, 1962</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKQ3M59XohmtyeaRL8MS-1aK9e4MkkF4PEHtiP2kgAXZdQexNYl4OHU1XYSZBD4FrKm5GAqfZ9RzT64LQ3izrrKiU3ElvR7dN1u7DsjGXlSDWHMUxdpH5ex3y5AlaKXvbmn-MvFu-ylj_f/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="568" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKQ3M59XohmtyeaRL8MS-1aK9e4MkkF4PEHtiP2kgAXZdQexNYl4OHU1XYSZBD4FrKm5GAqfZ9RzT64LQ3izrrKiU3ElvR7dN1u7DsjGXlSDWHMUxdpH5ex3y5AlaKXvbmn-MvFu-ylj_f/w426-h568/CadetCorporalHickamVPI.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cadet Hickam, Sophomore year</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></td></tr></tbody></table><br />I saw little of my brother during our years there but I was still proud of his first-string status on the football team.<br /><br /><p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioRTef1Fz8IyHOiZnqEseHOp7EAz_ChdJr0GNr8fP6eaU9KRHzqjsbHyMUwec33YOqput0vOtK9Cj4s3nQmzpAi7FL7G65E83OLwThuvwPe8gpsJaUzRpE2i-gajLajdnMSLQa2R1kiMp9/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="374" height="489" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioRTef1Fz8IyHOiZnqEseHOp7EAz_ChdJr0GNr8fP6eaU9KRHzqjsbHyMUwec33YOqput0vOtK9Cj4s3nQmzpAi7FL7G65E83OLwThuvwPe8gpsJaUzRpE2i-gajLajdnMSLQa2R1kiMp9/w408-h489/JimHickamVPIfootball.jpeg" width="408" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brother Jim at VTech<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>I was a member of Squadron A, class of '64, and we became as close as brothers. Even today, we still are. Here is a photo of us at that time.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqW2dGCPv598KZoCCWRkdE5_ovCS7ASlowMfNGmtZjISm2Loe6-9iOsIYHf8ZdEmLFE9tyIsJTtgvnZTcw_2Q5xsL3FKw2CnR-ABZpichqMxnHVTSxMCTyy-cEvdCxthR8Op3elczi8DS-/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="380" data-original-width="420" height="397" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqW2dGCPv598KZoCCWRkdE5_ovCS7ASlowMfNGmtZjISm2Loe6-9iOsIYHf8ZdEmLFE9tyIsJTtgvnZTcw_2Q5xsL3FKw2CnR-ABZpichqMxnHVTSxMCTyy-cEvdCxthR8Op3elczi8DS-/w439-h397/ASquadronClassof64.jpg" width="439" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's me upper right with George Fox (fellow cannon builder) causing trouble as always.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p></p><p> </p><p>One of the big events for our Corps was the annual Thanksgiving game against the Virginia Military Institute (VMI) It was called the Military Classic of the South and was a very big deal.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ998kSyjuHHQn4pFd2C3FWF_8XThuIprMoVUy6YyBfLA7mClFzHdULQz2avR6mWInj9PiFGlEpHHR0JZlVOovNhOGkRWCzKad9QaQuQAzFXTTLr-_HrdYBijFrlPtLb1xiWuVKRb0LLTr/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="685" data-original-width="925" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ998kSyjuHHQn4pFd2C3FWF_8XThuIprMoVUy6YyBfLA7mClFzHdULQz2avR6mWInj9PiFGlEpHHR0JZlVOovNhOGkRWCzKad9QaQuQAzFXTTLr-_HrdYBijFrlPtLb1xiWuVKRb0LLTr/w466-h345/A+Squadron+Thanksgiving+1962+Roanoke.jpeg" width="466" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Squadron marching through Roanoke for the big game<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>VMI had a small game cannon they called Little John. They would fire it and then chant "Where's your cannon?" We didn't like that much so three of us decided to do something about it. Ultimately, even though we had no support from the University at all, and were often actively opposed by the Administration, Butch (Ben) Harper, George Fox, and I conceived, designed, and built our own cannon. We named it Skipper after our assassinated young President JFK, skipper of a PT-boat during WWII. </p><p><br /></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFZ4erzmnVYWv0hyphenhyphenDe8gGTkCQPps8_rgCB42A8hThqkissbioEJgeWVfuDmVOcUq6erTxwQLiYi4ntY8kLPY2IECrUC4Ky4guhmMXgSwVzO__GT1xowPvTDIrtXk2CH6STXb4cqFdF2A9I/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="239" data-original-width="199" height="523" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFZ4erzmnVYWv0hyphenhyphenDe8gGTkCQPps8_rgCB42A8hThqkissbioEJgeWVfuDmVOcUq6erTxwQLiYi4ntY8kLPY2IECrUC4Ky4guhmMXgSwVzO__GT1xowPvTDIrtXk2CH6STXb4cqFdF2A9I/w436-h523/H3Skipper_1.jpg" width="436" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The only known photo (copied from The Roanoke Times) of Skipper the day of the big game in 1963. That's me with my back turned, probably because we were still unauthorized.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p><br />Skipper was a huge success. We fired it and chanted "Here's our cannon!"</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNn0MHriY95YvUrddYsDRf6CeTqpehpxPIai1DZe7ZN_UXya4XsZV1q-sPyeamOJEAMI6Nf6jyWeHm3pBEW4IBeFunejX0vsfW2SUIzh54fgHsg5RaMlf8EtcgZ3bxzHRWkpw4JwMpeWUW/s1657/H3VPI64.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1657" data-original-width="1311" height="463" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNn0MHriY95YvUrddYsDRf6CeTqpehpxPIai1DZe7ZN_UXya4XsZV1q-sPyeamOJEAMI6Nf6jyWeHm3pBEW4IBeFunejX0vsfW2SUIzh54fgHsg5RaMlf8EtcgZ3bxzHRWkpw4JwMpeWUW/w366-h463/H3VPI64.jpg" width="366" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cadet 1st Lieutenant "Flash" Hickam, Senior Year</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p><p></p><p>Here's some more information and photos of the Skipper story <br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLfDa7klzfsd7g4r-YI3O2Zpc5eJcDL6YjzzpsgHoMNwTk61cqQf_XsD0jyOKrkdoB3EBIbDHLMxzoYm7MlPkHBVcp0YLCgSTXOuMGsdaEoTmU0EwqFIBC4Ske8pV4l7NgdnB61XCbikSM/s1101/1SkipperTradition.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="851" data-original-width="1101" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLfDa7klzfsd7g4r-YI3O2Zpc5eJcDL6YjzzpsgHoMNwTk61cqQf_XsD0jyOKrkdoB3EBIbDHLMxzoYm7MlPkHBVcp0YLCgSTXOuMGsdaEoTmU0EwqFIBC4Ske8pV4l7NgdnB61XCbikSM/w608-h470/1SkipperTradition.jpeg" width="608" /></a></div><br /> <br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd9wZ67tj6mKyWg-S9r1Jtk_xw2i89rSSqwaxZH6UefLUDu5_kvbcBBan6t0eUc36Ohq_1y17_xpRfUArwt5F4OE65L02bjkHo_N6vfGIESxzP67hIOkLYDGTxiEabCnwlh4IDVgbV8DeP/s1101/2SkipperStory.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="847" data-original-width="1101" height="492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd9wZ67tj6mKyWg-S9r1Jtk_xw2i89rSSqwaxZH6UefLUDu5_kvbcBBan6t0eUc36Ohq_1y17_xpRfUArwt5F4OE65L02bjkHo_N6vfGIESxzP67hIOkLYDGTxiEabCnwlh4IDVgbV8DeP/w640-h492/2SkipperStory.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Skipper has gone on to become an icon at Virginia Tech. Butch, George (now deceased), and I have returned many times to celebrate it with today's marvelous young cadets. There's even a special Skipper crew now, designated by the red stripes on their pants. Butch and I returned on Veteran's Day, 2021, to celebrate our old Skipper and the new one that still roars at games and special events on the Virginia Tech campus.<br /></p><p> </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV8_geGvlBjTPli2OuTEg2kwemxFVTHfH0Y1R4G5qa1c03XrauzrxZrcyPxCYq4NegqbdZP3GhE1pr3UNpMCnqSVMErnkKI_LhzZrX0DQLMLNDOh_2sCs8x5HSgOJumEiOQD3tQTd11HLZ/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="371" data-original-width="501" height="344" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV8_geGvlBjTPli2OuTEg2kwemxFVTHfH0Y1R4G5qa1c03XrauzrxZrcyPxCYq4NegqbdZP3GhE1pr3UNpMCnqSVMErnkKI_LhzZrX0DQLMLNDOh_2sCs8x5HSgOJumEiOQD3tQTd11HLZ/w464-h344/OriginalSkipperCrewButchH3Nov2021.jpeg" width="464" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Butch Harper and I with the original Skipper and the Skipper crew<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWM7AVxv_2pPSH2FFqL6Jnq9r4KIiXYgYk6ZWSwXrQS21SJzCG8JpASx4l21pmSXHBgVc2m9eIPsfsF_Ccs68NWtiW0hoZ12XfBzxu9ugIiyo1akDLoLN5c7iIBUj2ht-mE8wki6quNIjL/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="648" data-original-width="864" height="449" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWM7AVxv_2pPSH2FFqL6Jnq9r4KIiXYgYk6ZWSwXrQS21SJzCG8JpASx4l21pmSXHBgVc2m9eIPsfsF_Ccs68NWtiW0hoZ12XfBzxu9ugIiyo1akDLoLN5c7iIBUj2ht-mE8wki6quNIjL/w598-h449/H3SkipperCrewMay2021+copy.jpg" width="598" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me with the present-day Skipper and its crew in May, 2021. I donated my sabre (it has my name inscribed on it) to the crew and it is carried by its commander.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />To order my new memoir, please go here and click on the appropriate link! www.homerhickam.com<br /><p></p><p><br /></p>Homer Hickamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10218229542457074434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794772572438808559.post-4205412826890620512021-10-04T12:54:00.009-07:002021-11-26T16:37:44.923-08:00Don't Blow Yourself Up: The writing of a memoir<p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Miss Harper Lee famously refused to write a sequel to her <i>To Kill a Mockingbird</i> because (and I'm paraphrasing here) she didn't want to screw up her masterpiece. After she was too addled by age to stop it, one did sort of come out but it was quickly (and thankfully) forgotten. She would have been glad about that.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">When I pass, I know very well that despite writing many books, my literary contribution will be centered around <a href="https://homerhickam.com/project/rocket-boys/"><i>Rocket Boys</i></a>, a memoir that resulted in a movie they titled <i>October Sky</i>. With that in mind, I somewhat emulate Miss Lee in her opinion although I've already written two books that are set in Coalwood, the home of the <i>Rocket Boys</i> memoir, one an "equal" titled <a href="https://homerhickam.com/project/the-coalwood-way/"><i>The Coalwood Way</i></a> (which takes place right in the middle of the Rocket Boys story and includes them in all their rocket-building glory) and the other <a href="https://homerhickam.com/project/sky-of-stone/"><i>Sky of Stone</i></a>, set in Coalwood a year after the boys built their last rocket. I also wrote sort of a prequel, such being the novel <a href="https://homerhickam.com/project/carrying-albert-home/"><i>Carrying Albert Home</i></a>, and one a post 9/11 inspirational piece set primarily in Coalwood titled <a href="https://homerhickam.com/project/we-are-not-afraid/"><i>We Are Not Afraid</i></a>.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">But a true sequel? Even though many readers of <i>Rocket Boys</i> wanted to know what happened to that boy after the last great rocket of the Big Creek Missile Agency and asked how it was he came to work for NASA and did some other things like getting caught up in the war in Vietnam, I resisted writing a sequel just like Miss Lee and for just about the same reason. However, things change. During this past year, sequestered by a virus running wild throughout the world, it came to me that maybe it was finally time to write it if I ever was. And so I did.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">To explain how I approached the work, here's the Introduction in the book which, after some contemplation and pretty much driving my publisher crazy with proposals for what the title should be, we finally settled on <a href="https://homerhickam.com/project/dont-blow-yourself-up/"><i>Don't Blow Yourself Up: The Further True Adventures and Travails of the Rocket Boy of October Sky</i></a>.</span></span><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://homerhickam.com/project/dont-blow-yourself-up/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="680" data-original-width="450" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBtUFEikxH8sOF_RNfi502Xyrqbaf4ySyzrtict_w_tx8TRx4QAQAjeN106Hb-Z-nv__dSOj0Q8TomA64YpuwWaR1jNWMkqD73do7sYbqnoQRgj7prfkq7gIzmSDjlx630iI4xdB5SE4QV/s320/Dont+Blow+Yourself+Up_cover_v5+copy.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>------------------------------------------------------------ <br /></p><p> <span class="hotkey-layer"><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 30px; left: 299.447px; padding: 0px; top: 405.538px; transform: scaleX(1.15172);">Introduction</span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 59.2257px; left: 147.335px; padding: 0px; top: 488.436px;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="hotkey-layer"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="hotkey-layer"><span style="font-family: serif; left: 147.335px; padding: 0px; top: 488.436px;"></span></span></span><span class="hotkey-layer"><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 59.2257px; left: 147.335px; padding: 0px; top: 488.436px;">I</span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 167.057px; padding: 0px; top: 499.009px; transform: scaleX(0.95539);">f you’re reading this, likely you’ve also read about my adven</span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 613.87px; padding: 0px; top: 499.009px;"></span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 167.057px; padding: 0px; top: 523.926px; transform: scaleX(0.901924);">tures as a young rocket builder in the little mining town of </span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 149.999px; padding: 0px; top: 548.843px; transform: scaleX(0.96453);">Coalwood, West Virginia. I wrote about that in a memoir called </span><i><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 149.999px; padding: 0px; top: 573.759px; transform: scaleX(0.835239);">Rocket Boys</span></i><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 232.27px; padding: 0px; top: 573.759px; transform: scaleX(0.964114);"> (which was made into the marvelous movie </span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 563.861px; padding: 0px; top: 573.759px; transform: scaleX(0.914957);">October </span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 149.999px; padding: 0px; top: 598.676px; transform: scaleX(0.83648);">Sky</span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 174.455px; padding: 0px; top: 598.676px; transform: scaleX(0.991258);">) and then followed it with two sequels, </span><i><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 480.06px; padding: 0px; top: 598.676px; transform: scaleX(0.915987);">The Coalwood Way</span></i><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 149.999px; padding: 0px; top: 623.593px; transform: scaleX(1.00247);"> and </span><i><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 182.545px; padding: 0px; top: 623.593px; transform: scaleX(0.865615);">Sky of Stone</span></i><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 268.065px; padding: 0px; top: 623.593px; transform: scaleX(0.981488);">, both set in my hometown.</span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 179.994px; padding: 0px; top: 648.509px; transform: scaleX(0.886016);">But there was a bit more to my life than I wrote about in </span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 150.004px; padding: 0px; top: 673.426px; transform: scaleX(0.947413);">those books. After Coalwood, I went to a tough engineering mil</span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 613.9px; padding: 0px; top: 673.426px;"></span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 150.004px; padding: 0px; top: 698.343px; transform: scaleX(0.972604);">itary school where I famously built a cannon, and then I fought </span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 150.004px; padding: 0px; top: 723.259px; transform: scaleX(0.936769);">in a war, and then became a scuba instructor, dived on some deep </span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 150.004px; padding: 0px; top: 748.176px; transform: scaleX(0.958295);">shipwrecks, and unraveled the history of a giant battle along the </span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 150.004px; padding: 0px; top: 773.093px; transform: scaleX(0.976373);">American coasts. Along the way I worked for NASA, and then </span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 150.004px; padding: 0px; top: 798.009px; transform: scaleX(0.899632);">I wrote a famous book, had a movie made that was based on </span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 150.004px; padding: 0px; top: 822.926px; transform: scaleX(1.00145);">it, and did some other things. More importantly, I had a lot of </span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 150.004px; padding: 0px; top: 847.843px; transform: scaleX(0.934553);">great friends during all of it. And a few enemies, too. Such things </span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 150.004px; padding: 0px; top: 872.759px; transform: scaleX(0.964456);">happen in a long life.</span></span></p><p><span class="hotkey-layer"><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 150.004px; padding: 0px; top: 872.759px; transform: scaleX(0.964456);"> </span></span><span class="hotkey-layer"><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 160px; padding: 0px; top: 157.988px; transform: scaleX(0.97937);">After enough people asked me when I was going to do it, I </span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 130.004px; padding: 0px; top: 182.905px; transform: scaleX(0.954749);">decided to sit down and write about some of the things that hap</span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 593.876px; padding: 0px; top: 182.905px;"></span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 130.004px; padding: 0px; top: 207.822px; transform: scaleX(0.969403);">pened in those years after I was a Rocket Boy in West Virginia. </span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 130.004px; padding: 0px; top: 232.738px; transform: scaleX(0.969616);">This memoir is the result. There isn’t room to write it all down, </span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 130.004px; padding: 0px; top: 257.655px; transform: scaleX(0.974278);">but maybe I can hit some highlights up through the time </span><i><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 553.896px; padding: 0px; top: 257.655px; transform: scaleX(0.860473);">Rocket </span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 130.004px; padding: 0px; top: 282.572px; transform: scaleX(0.792552);">Boys</span></i><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 161.265px; padding: 0px; top: 282.572px; transform: scaleX(0.994769);"> was written and </span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 291.547px; padding: 0px; top: 282.572px; transform: scaleX(0.895472);">October Sky</span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 377.963px; padding: 0px; top: 282.572px; transform: scaleX(0.975913);"> was made, a stretch of nearly </span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 130.004px; padding: 0px; top: 307.488px; transform: scaleX(0.95402);">forty years. A lot has happened since, but endings are as import</span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 593.876px; padding: 0px; top: 307.488px;"></span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 130.004px; padding: 0px; top: 332.405px; transform: scaleX(0.964403);">ant as beginnings. When I teach writing, I tell my aspiring writ</span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 593.876px; padding: 0px; top: 332.405px;"></span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 130.004px; padding: 0px; top: 357.322px; transform: scaleX(0.946561);">ers, especially ones interested in writing memoirs, to think about </span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 130.004px; padding: 0px; top: 382.238px; transform: scaleX(0.95405);">where they’re going before they go there. If you just write down </span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 407.155px; transform: scaleX(0.977023);">everything that happened without running a thread through the </span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 432.072px; transform: scaleX(0.971536);">piece that ties it up at the end, you may not ever figure out how </span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 456.988px; transform: scaleX(0.916407);">to get there or when you’re done. There’s also a Bible proverb I’ve </span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 481.905px; transform: scaleX(0.965847);">always admired that says, “<i>It is the glory of God to hide a thing </i></span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 506.822px; transform: scaleX(0.95819);"><i>but the honor of kings to search it out.</i>” What I think that means </span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 531.738px; transform: scaleX(0.959287);">is our Creator didn’t just hand us all the answers but left it up to </span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 556.655px; transform: scaleX(0.970435);">us to seek out what is true and real.</span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 159.996px; padding: 0px; top: 581.572px; transform: scaleX(0.954729);">That’s what this book is mostly about, stories about times in </span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 606.488px; transform: scaleX(0.954838);">my life when I’ve learned truths about myself or other people or </span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 631.405px; transform: scaleX(0.954866);">even the world that I think my readers might like to think about. </span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 656.322px; transform: scaleX(0.963403);">Or, almost as important, those times that caused smiles or tears. </span><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 681.238px; transform: scaleX(0.947419);">I hope you enjoy my choices.</span></span></p><p><span class="hotkey-layer"><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 681.238px; transform: scaleX(0.947419);">----------------------------------------------------</span></span></p><p><span class="hotkey-layer" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: serif; left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 681.238px; transform: scaleX(0.947419);"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span>It was after I'd finished the memoir that I wrote the Introduction and was therefore easy at that point to say "hope you enjoy my choices." But it wasn't easy when I started. After all, there were 60 years worth of life after that last Coalwood rocket. How to choose what to tell and what to leave out?</span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span><span class="hotkey-layer"><span style="left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 681.238px; transform: scaleX(0.947419);">My first choice was to simply cut out twenty years, those being the last I've led. The reason for that was after I wrote <i>Rocket Boys</i> and the movie was made, my life changed. It wasn't better or worse, just different, because I was pinned on a board like a butterfly of a distinct and rare genus, <i>Authorus Who-us Wrotus Thatus Bookus Aboutus thoseus RocketBoyus</i>. It colored nearly everything I did from that moment on which was fine but it also meant what happened before and after were distinct. After making the decision where to stop, such being the year 2000, it was time to consider both the beginning as well as the ending of the work to allow them, in some manner, to touch.<br /></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span><span class="hotkey-layer"><span style="left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 681.238px; transform: scaleX(0.947419);">An important, perhaps critical part of writing is thinking about what you're going to write before you write it. On this foundation, to salve my conscience during idleness, I have spent many hours happily thinking about thinking about what I'm going to write. This inevitably leads me to think about everything else until, to my happy surprise, in the midst of some reverie about nothing to do with writing, out pops a tiny seed of an idea that I consider, turn this way and that and then, if it seems to have promise, plant through my fingers onto a keyboard to see if it will grow. It doesn't always but sometimes it does, enough for this writer to raise a garden of words that turns into a book. There's been nineteen of them so far, including this latest one, so my approach must at least work in some fashion.<br /></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span><span class="hotkey-layer"><span style="left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 681.238px; transform: scaleX(0.947419);">The seed that came to me after thinking and not thinking about this memoir was the moment I left for college with my mother seeing me off from our back yard that led to an alley and then a long road over many mountains and years. Considering that, I recalled that almost exactly forty years later, I found myself back at that yard with my mother during a celebration of <i>Rocket Boys/October Sky</i> with the governor of the entire state of West Virginia and lots of friends and fans in attendance. Those events, I decided, were the bookends of the story. All I had to do was fill in all that happened between. But—wait—<u><i>all</i></u>?</span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span><span class="hotkey-layer"><span style="left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 681.238px; transform: scaleX(0.947419);"><i><u>All</u> </i>was not possible nor even wise. What was needed was a good story well told, one that would cause the reader to want to turn the page to see what was going to happen next. More decisions were therefore needed, decisions that required more thinking that led to . . . well, same story as above, to seeds planted that became words fashioned into stories of people and places and events across those chosen decades.</span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span><span class="hotkey-layer"><span style="left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 681.238px; transform: scaleX(0.947419);">In the end, I decided to divide the story of my post-Rocket Boys years into five parts that had distinct story arcs and time frames.</span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span><span class="hotkey-layer"><span style="left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 681.238px; transform: scaleX(0.947419);">The five parts begin with these titles and photographs:</span></span></span></span></p><p><a href="https://homerhickam.com/project/dont-blow-yourself-up/"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><b><span class="hotkey-layer"><span style="font-family: serif; left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 681.238px; transform: scaleX(0.947419);">Part 1 - Everybody's Favorite Cadet</span></span></b></i></span></a></p><p><i><b><span class="hotkey-layer"><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 681.238px; transform: scaleX(0.947419);"></span></span></b></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglFeqRySIFHfcmzDbtYoimDjJHHv7PPjFMUolLYnyJ_sIC1jqMKV6rh8_qIz0-WCl950h1tyMHheHYUwe-NhjZMnTD9v6wBasmW1GCiAi24MnQPobL_NQqkfB3E0cRX6LlxGhkeYH1KCoQ/s1657/2H3VPI64.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1657" data-original-width="1311" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglFeqRySIFHfcmzDbtYoimDjJHHv7PPjFMUolLYnyJ_sIC1jqMKV6rh8_qIz0-WCl950h1tyMHheHYUwe-NhjZMnTD9v6wBasmW1GCiAi24MnQPobL_NQqkfB3E0cRX6LlxGhkeYH1KCoQ/s320/2H3VPI64.jpg" width="253" /> </a></b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b> </b></i></div><i><b><span class="hotkey-layer"><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 681.238px; transform: scaleX(0.947419);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div></span></span></b></i><a href="https://homerhickam.com/project/dont-blow-yourself-up/"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><i>Part 2 - American Soldier</i></b></span></a><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><i></i></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1rCIYGoQcdvhGr9XjdauKDr-FbYFI4pmFNl361LkiNCuzzYD6gYCkWvK-n_aNPJapLocRKw7AQgAU0MKLh4oU3e7Z2bPTL4jBUCvkn9FKSNgiKfsw5Gpqx016c3eL-4_030iJd98eF45a/s2048/H3APCHiDefVN.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1447" data-original-width="2048" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1rCIYGoQcdvhGr9XjdauKDr-FbYFI4pmFNl361LkiNCuzzYD6gYCkWvK-n_aNPJapLocRKw7AQgAU0MKLh4oU3e7Z2bPTL4jBUCvkn9FKSNgiKfsw5Gpqx016c3eL-4_030iJd98eF45a/s320/H3APCHiDefVN.jpeg" width="320" /></a></i></b></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><i><br /> </i></b></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span><br /><i><b><span class="hotkey-layer"><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 681.238px; transform: scaleX(0.947419);"> <span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://homerhickam.com/project/dont-blow-yourself-up/">Part 3 - The Purposeful Adventurer</a></span></span></span></b></i></p><p><i><b><span class="hotkey-layer"></span></b></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb5ulIpzN67Zg4k7C9IyT2MrYaCloDzuDYFZ3yGYk7VWIL9CIT1mn-qzmqfVT6lMpi1oFKGDbpRPNJN70GOIg8mhhg31BQZdgYpxApINsa3gHnlqeEe0pdlvdIdG8hutLhuhx4jeuRu5dw/s1155/H3redcapSantaBarbaraB%2526W.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="851" data-original-width="1155" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb5ulIpzN67Zg4k7C9IyT2MrYaCloDzuDYFZ3yGYk7VWIL9CIT1mn-qzmqfVT6lMpi1oFKGDbpRPNJN70GOIg8mhhg31BQZdgYpxApINsa3gHnlqeEe0pdlvdIdG8hutLhuhx4jeuRu5dw/s320/H3redcapSantaBarbaraB%2526W.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></i></div><i><b><br /><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 681.238px; transform: scaleX(0.947419);"></span></b></i><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://homerhickam.com/project/dont-blow-yourself-up/"><i><b><span class="hotkey-layer"><span style="font-family: serif; left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 681.238px; transform: scaleX(0.947419);">Part 4 - NASA Man</span></span></b></i></a></span></p><p><i><b><span class="hotkey-layer"></span></b></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCDeLlmuazxfJ3qXtTmLL8KworpgvUToKjS1K2qlYcDKtvnf9Ng88ZPyq99NBjKN-nhu5DJjtXVIz-S_9er2heJBMj2009QPEAjlhFQ_5OY7ggcXCFKEuLQ3ISgibzpmCdzoF1UEs0Wcwv/s1321/2SkylabsuitH3B%2526W.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1321" data-original-width="1170" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCDeLlmuazxfJ3qXtTmLL8KworpgvUToKjS1K2qlYcDKtvnf9Ng88ZPyq99NBjKN-nhu5DJjtXVIz-S_9er2heJBMj2009QPEAjlhFQ_5OY7ggcXCFKEuLQ3ISgibzpmCdzoF1UEs0Wcwv/s320/2SkylabsuitH3B%2526W.jpeg" width="283" /></a></b></i></div><i><b><br /><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 681.238px; transform: scaleX(0.947419);"><br /></span></b></i><p></p><p><span class="hotkey-layer"><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 681.238px; transform: scaleX(0.947419);"> <span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://homerhickam.com/project/dont-blow-yourself-up/"><b><i>Part 5 - That Author Feller</i></b></a></span></span></span></p><p><span class="hotkey-layer"><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 681.238px; transform: scaleX(0.947419);"><b><i></i></b></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLet3u810R9u8NEAIhDgF9T-R6K5_bHPXr1dUj4YhRt3LhdZKJVADRg8FD97iBjqWXuySZR6SR7ToXY-9jYmRxkQ97VkPi8gyO3u0r92AqO1SS4CXYhLNhW7MfGrCFFJTRlo4v1O0nq3yd/s2048/DonHowardH3B%2526W.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1609" data-original-width="2048" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLet3u810R9u8NEAIhDgF9T-R6K5_bHPXr1dUj4YhRt3LhdZKJVADRg8FD97iBjqWXuySZR6SR7ToXY-9jYmRxkQ97VkPi8gyO3u0r92AqO1SS4CXYhLNhW7MfGrCFFJTRlo4v1O0nq3yd/s320/DonHowardH3B%2526W.jpg" width="320" /></a></i></b></div><b><i><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></i></b><p></p><p><span class="hotkey-layer"><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 19.1667px; left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 681.238px; transform: scaleX(0.947419);"><b><i><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></i></b><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span>As I write this, it's the first week of October, 2021. During the count-down to the book publication (the 26th of October), I'll blog over the next several weeks about each of those five parts, how I approached them and some of the decisions made. Whether you're interested in writing a memoir yourself or simply the writing process or just wonder about the back story of the work, I hope you'll come along with me during the book's journey.</span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span><span class="hotkey-layer"><span style="left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 681.238px; transform: scaleX(0.947419);"><b><i> - - Homer Hickam</i></b></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span><span class="hotkey-layer"><span style="left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 681.238px; transform: scaleX(0.947419);"><b><i> <a href="http://www.homerhickam.com">www.homerhickam.com<br /></a></i></b></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="hotkey-layer"><span style="left: 130px; padding: 0px; top: 681.238px; transform: scaleX(0.947419);"> </span></span></span></span></p>Homer Hickamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10218229542457074434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794772572438808559.post-7784009198496324382021-08-18T13:35:00.037-07:002021-08-20T16:39:32.820-07:00Some Thoughts for our Afghanistan War Veterans<p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A
few weeks after the 1968 Tet Offensive, I sat in the ruins of an old French
Foreign Legion barracks on a rusty folding chair I'd found somewhere and
contemplated the two dozen or so white rocks that served as tombstones in a rat
graveyard. After a hazardous thunder run from Pleiku that had mostly turned
into a miserable, painful crawl, the armored cav unit I was with had been
ordered to set up shop in the bleached and crumbling concrete ruins only to
discover they were overrun with giant rats. With no choice, the situation being
either them or us, we went on the offensive with our entrenching tools. So far,
we had been victorious against the rat brigade but not against the North
Vietnamese Army. Other than some remnants left behind to occasionally drop a
mortar round or a rocket on top of us, the NVA had given us the slip across the
Cambodian border beyond which, to our everlasting frustration, we were not
allowed to pursue.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
pondering of the rat cemetery was interrupted when someone who had a radio
turned its volume up and, all of a sudden, Nancy Sinatra stopped singing about her
boots awalkin' and who should come on but our esteemed and wonderful President
Lyndon Baines Johnson who blathered on until at last he reached the part that
caused a lusty cheer to rise up from the American troops all around me. Ol' LBJ
was not going to run again. He'd given up. My thought was, "Well, what do
you know? They beat us." And they had, too. It took a few more years for
it all to come crashing down but when your commander-in-chief cuts and runs,
you have to know you're in a war that's not going to turn out well. No matter, we
whistled and clapped when he said he was as good as gone. By then, after all
the crap we'd gone through, we had come to detest him that much.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Last
year, I spent a good part of my time writing a memoir titled <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Don't Blow Yourself Up</i> (DBYU). One of my
comments on writing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Rocket Boys</i> is
that in the process of writing it, I got a million dollars of psychotherapy I
don't even know I needed. Well, what do you know? I got another million's worth
writing this one, too, and part of that was dragging my brain back through the
Vietnam era. For some reason, I've got one of those memories that can put
myself right back into a situation decades ago and walk myself through it day
by day, sometimes hour by hour. For a memoir writer, that's a blessing. For a
normal person, however, I suspect it's a curse. Luckily, nobody ever accused me of
being entirely normal.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.homerhickam.com" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="680" data-original-width="450" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYDkWS4Gwl8D965m_P6gW1ZT7fP3cBqIgfD1o41PCRsTofUrHxklAtG9BKt8tq24sEThhRMomyKVmlCFRwcyA4717oxYTA8-HVbDjmMkNikDpidtQHWlG_nwOO2Bihoqw8QjTErdp-dqYS/s320/Dont+Blow+Yourself+Up_cover_v5.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> Besides recalling Vietnam and all the madness I witnessed or was part of in my year there</span>, I also again accepted I was a veteran of a conflict where we won every
battle but lost the war and a lot of good Americans died or were maimed for no good result. Writing about that made fresh the sting and still does. And now, almost unbelievably, we have
bumbled our way to the same result in yet another war. Many if not most of our veterans of that war are hurting because they are left to wonder what all that hard,
bloody work, all that time and sacrifice, was about. In this, your Vietnam War brethren can certainly relate and maybe offer some helpful thoughts. At the end of
the part in DBYU where I came home from Vietnam, I wrote this:</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="hotkey-layer"><span style="font-size: 13pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">After hooking a ride on a Chinook to Cam
Ranh Bay, I climbed aboard a passenger jet, a gold Braniff, and sat down where
they told me to sit down and flew to McChord Air Force Base and then was bused
to Fort Lewis, Washington, there to process and move on to wherever life took
me next. The flight back was nothing like the boisterous flight over. The men inside
sat quietly, spent. For my part, I looked down on the clouds over the Pacific
Ocean and dully watched them slide by. The next day, as I walked through the
airport in uniform, a young woman in tie-dye and bell bottoms spotted me,
hissed something, and gave me the finger while applying the F word in my
direction. I didn’t care. My whole life was in front of me and what I did with
it was up to me. She was on her own.</i></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And
that was the point. I had done my duty. What anybody
else thought about it or me didn't matter. If I was going to have a good life,
I would have to make it so and the girl in the airport who thought herself superior to me and the others home from the war would have to do so as well. I wonder which of us had the better result. Yet, I also wrote this in the next chapter:</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="hotkey-layer"><span style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 39.5pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">If </i></span></span><span class="hotkey-layer"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 13pt; line-height: 150%;">you’d asked me how I was doing during
the decade after I came back from Vietnam, I would have wondered why you were
asking and would’ve probably said, “Well, I’m doing fine,” which would have
been a total lie even though I didn’t know it. Looking back now, I realize I
was actually completely and totally messed up and there’s not much else I can
add to that except it’s so.</span></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When
Saigon fell in 1975, I was in San Diego going through the open water work that
would lead to gaining my scuba instructor's rating. By then, it was seven
years after I'd sat in that rat graveyard and realized the war was probably going to
end just like it did. Since then, there had been a lot of positive things that had happened
in my life. I'd lived in Puerto Rico, I had a good job with the Army Missile
Command in Huntsville, I had managed some success with free-lance writing, and
I was starting to do all the diving and research that would ultimately lead to
my first book <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Torpedo Junction</i>. In other words, I had found positive things to do and be passionate about, things that allowed me to put Vietnam firmly in my rear view mirror. But
wars fought tend to stick with those who fight them and can come out in the
form of doubt and uncertainty. With that in mind, I would like to offer this advice to
our new veterans of a war fought well by its troops and lost poorly by its
leaders:</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">• It's OK to grieve for not only those who
died or were maimed but for your own time lost, the brutality you observed, and
the coarsening of your life's experience.</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">• It's OK to talk about the war's result to
anyone you think might understand, to get it off your chest, to express your
resentment of the leadership that allowed it to happen, and to rage a little
against the unfairness of it.</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>•
It's OK to be proud of what you accomplished, for how you served, and with whom
you served, and for the good things you learned that will make you a better
person, a more productive citizen to your country, and a leader within your
family and community.</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>•
It's OK to look at your country and the world through the clear eyes of someone
who has suffered failure through no fault of your own but now has the strength
and determination of a survivor.</b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>AND</u>: <br /></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>•
It's OK to respect the enemy who won. You don't have to like them or what they
stand for but<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>they showed up on
the battlefield and were tenacious. That deserves respect, however grudging.<br /></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>BUT</u>: <br /></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>•
It's <u>not OK</u> to let the war take over your mind and affect your
outlook on the rest of your life. That is the most dangerous thing you can do.</b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>AND</u>: <br /></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>• Don't let the people who lost the war continue to lead. Get involved. Serve in political office. And, this time, let your mantra be: <u>Never Again</u>. <br /></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
wrote in DBYU:</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span class="hotkey-layer"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">After an invitation from the International
Institute of Education in 2008, we traveled to Vietnam to speak to students about
furthering their education. Remarkably and coincidentally, it turned out that
the Vietnamese version of <u>Rocket Boys</u> was published the same time we
were there. After traveling so far, I felt it necessary to go back to the old
battlefields in the Central Highlands to recall those days with such brave
men. There was hardly anything I recognized there, but I was so glad to see the
country at peace. Everywhere we went, we were treated with overwhelming love
and hospitality.</i></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When
we were in Hanoi, I was invited to meet with Vietnamese writers and it turned
out most of them were veterans of the North Vietnamese Army. Although I didn't much want to talk about it, they did and I finally gave in. Over several hours
of sharing, we realized there was much we had in common, that we were, as one
of them said, "like chess pieces they moved around and swept off the board
any time they chose." Their leadership had often failed them, too, and, just as with most American Vietnam vets, they were wary of their own government and not a little bitter.<br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Finally,
one of them asked me, "What did you think of us?"</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>At that question, they all leaned forward on the other side of the table and I could tell this was gravely important to them. I
gave it some careful thought and then said, "We thought you were very
good. Very, very good." And they were, too.<br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That
answer earned me some smiles. They liked me saying that they were good soldiers a lot. But I didn't ask them what they thought of us because I didn't
care. We were American soldiers and no matter how bad our leaders were, we were still good. Very, very good.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span> </span>And no matter how bad our leaders are now, that's still true.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span> </span>Hang onto that.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span> </span>And have a great life. You deserve it.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><a href="http://www.homerhickam.com" target="_blank">http://www.homerhickam.com</a><br /></p>
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{page:Section1;}</style></p>Homer Hickamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10218229542457074434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794772572438808559.post-1672715161204888912021-07-09T13:14:00.010-07:002021-11-26T20:09:46.574-08:00The Day I Became an Astronaut<p>Although there are times in our lives that stand out clearly, none could possibly be clearer than the day one becomes an Astronaut, to officially fly into space where the curvature of the Earth is visible and the great sphere of our blue and white and brown planet spins serenely below while we risk all to touch the face of God (which He/She may or may not appreciate but He/She gave us the tools so hey).
For me (and my wife Linda), that day was in 1999. During all my years of building and blowing up rockets, and working for NASA and training those folks who flew in the Space Shuttle (so-called), I had always hoped somehow and some day to become an Astronaut but, no, I had been so unfairly unable to reach my dream of space because the NASA Astronaut Office, with its snotty, elite, coal miner's son - phobic attitude, refused to pick me to join their astronaut program. True, I hadn't applied to be an astronaut with them, and I had awful grades at the Virginia Tech engineering school (in my defense, over 80% of my fellow students there in the 1960's were in the bottom half of our class), and I had terrible vision (20/400 in both eyes but I had good knees and legs and stuff), and a couple of the astronauts I knew kept trying to get me fired (because of offenses I may or may not have performed with and against them depending on your/their/my point of view) but otherwise it was entirely NASA's fault and tendency to want what they considered "the best" for their "Astronaut" program rather than folks like, well, "me." </p><p> But then it came as Kismet deemed it must that I became an Astronaut! My great opportunity to become one was - wait for it - all David Letterman's fault! While I was attending the Venice Film Festival (that would be Venice like in Italy, not California, ahem), and hanging out with Laura Dern and Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman, I was asked to come on David's show because he loved the book <i>Rocket Boys</i> and the movie <i>October Sky</i> and I also taught him how to scuba dive in 1989 (which is in my new memoir out this October, 2021, titled "<a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1642938246/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i23"><u><i>Don't Blow Yourself Up</i></u></a>," plug, plug), but it had to be the very next day and there I was in Venice boating around with Chris Cooper and a bunch of Universal Studio execs, and they said OH MY GOD HOMER YOU HAVE TO GET TO NEW YORK TO BE ON THE LETTERMAN SHOW SO WE CAN SELL OCTOBER SKY! So I said, oh so casually, "I guess I could get there if, you know, ha ha, I took the Concorde." And the Universal Studio pukes said, and I quote "OK!"</p><p>Linda just rolled her eyes. "I can't believe you pulled that one off, Hickam," she said and then gave it a little thought. "Yes, I do," she said in a somewhat unhappy tone. We were supposed to have coffee with Nicole whats-her-name the next morning and now we'd have to miss it. I don't know but I think Linda liked hanging around with Nicole more than blasting off into space, I swan.</p><p> So the next thing I knew we were in Paris preparing for our journey to the stars. To gird ourselves for the flight, we were placed in a special holding room they called the "Concorde Lounge" and there fed us a variety of exotic foods and drinks while the countdown clock ticked down. From our vantage point, we could see our spacecraft with strange fumes emanating from a variety of its orifices—or it might have been the morning fog, I forget—while its ground crews went over every component to insure it might hold together during lift-off or, as as some of the other astronauts in the "lounge" called with a nod toward history, "take-off."</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYe66pTFa-Icth3AFHI2juEiZxdOE_x8l8DhYuYVxEpuDpos3PCiU8YOzVN4_7ORAUpIEUwwct41KGIcQDETE7eM9CV6GsuHp4FZeTGkg5yfPPquOpigwvnqBOFVdI8ne2xGK3xmfpGjzB/s479/Concorde+Spacecraft.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="288" data-original-width="479" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYe66pTFa-Icth3AFHI2juEiZxdOE_x8l8DhYuYVxEpuDpos3PCiU8YOzVN4_7ORAUpIEUwwct41KGIcQDETE7eM9CV6GsuHp4FZeTGkg5yfPPquOpigwvnqBOFVdI8ne2xGK3xmfpGjzB/w400-h240/Concorde+Spacecraft.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Concorde Spacecraft<br /></td></tr></tbody></table> <p></p><p>The moment finally came to don our flight suits (mine was a specially designed Hawaiian shirt and black jeans with jogging shoes) and then we made the famous "Astronaut walk" that required us to grin and wave to whatever journalists might appear which we did like professionals. Future Astronaut Linda (still complaining about missing breakfast with Nicole) and future Astronaut I (happy boy) filed on board through the specially-designed "ramp" and entered the long, narrow tube only eight and a half feet wide (an NBA basketball player could touch both sides, it was that small), that served as the "capsule" for our lunge skyward.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEineGJ18UPDvB-WZIdaEYa_Uhf3TlLyJFgWy1R1Bgj-eD9AdurRGjXV0C232b0Oru5T5b6eFVZIQpEH1SoT7Rgp-GsvHxTl0HFeBVWFf4vCvrHXUxq3uJjAbAwg9g4CZAIkyjjo8N-4IXRX/s435/Concorde+Interior.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="293" data-original-width="435" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEineGJ18UPDvB-WZIdaEYa_Uhf3TlLyJFgWy1R1Bgj-eD9AdurRGjXV0C232b0Oru5T5b6eFVZIQpEH1SoT7Rgp-GsvHxTl0HFeBVWFf4vCvrHXUxq3uJjAbAwg9g4CZAIkyjjo8N-4IXRX/w400-h270/Concorde+Interior.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside Our Spacecraft Interior<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p><p> To offer at least some protection to my fellow soon come-astronaut Linda, I took the seat closest to the porthole (quaintly called a "window"), which was so tiny that I could cover it with two hands (but didn't as it had obviously recently been cleaned).
Suddenly, and without warning, a member of the flight crew with an astonishing set of ... large champagne bottles ... approached us, leaned over Linda with her elbow in her face to show me her ... bottles... and asked if I would like to be served a "flute" of liquid medicine that bubbled with carbon dioxide that she assured me would keep me from being afflicted by Space Adaptation Syndrome (SAS) and would actually make me feel "quite good, Chérie") so, realizing now she was in fact the official space medicine physician aboard our spacecraft, much like my friend Dr. John Charles, the inventor of the rather marvelous (and somewhat infamous) Lower Body Negative Pressure device, that I also wrote about in "<a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1642938246/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i23"><u><i>Don't Blow Yourself Up</i></u></a>," plug, plug, I took her up on it and even might have said with nervy bravado, "Keep them coming!" while Linda's eyes continued to roll just as our spacecraft also began to roll while making a huge amount of noise and shaking as if Zeus himself had come awake inside the vast, complex, and amazingly powerful "engines" and wasn't happy about it, either.</p><p> Lift-off was sudden. G-forces pressed us back against the narrow confines of the "Corinthian" leather-upholstered chairs and the nose of our Concorde spacecraft lifted higher and higher until it pointed toward the very stars. Up and up and up and up and up and up we rose, birds and clouds and atmosphere zipping past the porthole where my nose was all but pressed while I daintily held on to the "flute" of space medicine, now empty.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGu1q6W0UBKU9_8AK3kzT1MYwdW7lVBfEoEcYBTPUOAoZdUodIoJVlJQ1P90MCYALN2fffH2VcVH7mdnhzhAq4dsWAJpnkTCr1Y03FWdVJjwVQItfhAyMR3aDhi9v5lDtHVbPjKYh8WswZ/s571/Concorde+Window.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="571" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGu1q6W0UBKU9_8AK3kzT1MYwdW7lVBfEoEcYBTPUOAoZdUodIoJVlJQ1P90MCYALN2fffH2VcVH7mdnhzhAq4dsWAJpnkTCr1Y03FWdVJjwVQItfhAyMR3aDhi9v5lDtHVbPjKYh8WswZ/w400-h297/Concorde+Window.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Spacecraft Porthole or "Window"<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p><p>In front of us a retangular-shaped instrument panel began to count off our "velocity" that was measured in "Mach" numbers. Before I could be struck by SAS, more space medicine was offered by our "space doctor" who leaned over often and well while I greedily consumed the magic elixir (that should be offered up to all astronauts in my opinion). Up and up and up and, did I mention UP we continued, until we finally reached SPACE. The moment I looked out my porthole and saw the vast curvature of the planet from which we had left, I knew I had done it! I WAS ASTRONAUT HOMER! Mom would have been so proud. Dad would just sighed and walked up to the mine but that's OK. I'd done it! Linda had done it, too, although even as the "Mach" number on our instrument panel reached TWO and then some more, she wasn't able to entirely enjoy it as the space "medicine" had caused her to go to sleep although she did rouse herself for the petit fours and more flutes of anti-SAS meds from the marvelously equipped "space doctor" along later with a meal of special "space food" with bizarre connotations such as "Lobster" and "Fresh-caught Salmon" and "Truffles" and "Croquettes." It was strange food for this West Virginia boy but, in the interest of science I persevered.</p><p>Later, when I put my hand on the interior surface of the "capsule," it felt warm to my touch which I took to mean the horrific friction of the cosmos was wearing away at the thin metallic structure of our spacecraft. As we zoomed along, this was all that was between me and the empty reaches of space but yet I was not afraid! Fearlessly, I took the time to observe the planet passing below that I later determined was the part of its surface called the "North Atlantic" which was entirely covered with a silky fluffiness called, in space parlance, "clouds." Yet the curvature of the vast orb was obvious and I allowed myself, for just one moment, to be little "Sonny" Hickam, Rocket Boy of the Big Creek Missile Agency, who had finally been allowed to be a Star Voyager.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyMSlwdQ28jnak5hFWVTKP77_gz3vfZHVqdhQYYUu3bVTEy0DKJ6J5U6hXvVhKN6WGidvlcgjXUy60-vcVmToGRnBdQLkStbtt38MfN1K4BIoz5TKwg_sKKx2x3DBQfLqzEmxFdJXQifUn/s441/Concorde+Curvature.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="441" data-original-width="316" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyMSlwdQ28jnak5hFWVTKP77_gz3vfZHVqdhQYYUu3bVTEy0DKJ6J5U6hXvVhKN6WGidvlcgjXUy60-vcVmToGRnBdQLkStbtt38MfN1K4BIoz5TKwg_sKKx2x3DBQfLqzEmxFdJXQifUn/w286-h400/Concorde+Curvature.jpeg" width="286" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Curvature of the Earth from our Spacecraft<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p><p>Although entirely anti-climatic after becoming an "Astronaut," I did make the David Letterman show that very night. Before I went on, David's producers asked me if they could show a clip of me teaching him how to scuba dive in a New Jersey Red Roof Inn swimming pool even though that meant they wouldn't have time to show a clip from that movie called <i>October Sky</i>. After giving that idea some thought, I said, and I quote "OK!" And that's what happened! As I recall, the Universal Studios people who paid for me to fly the Concorde weren't entirely happy about that but, then again, I don't recall them particularly ever being happy about much I did. What mattered, of course, was that I had become an Astronaut and still am to this day! And Linda, too, of course, although I think she would still trade the title for breakfast with Nicole, go figure. </p><p> -- Concorde Astronaut Homer Hickam</p><p>PS - After the Letterman show, Bandleader Paul Schaeffer said my appearance was "Way Cosmic." This, of course, if nothing else, made my Astronaut status official. </p><p><br /></p><p>PPS: We actually flew the Concorde twice. This first one from Paris and the second from London. Both times to New York to make a deadline to publicize October Sky. Falling for the perfidy, Universal Studios paid for it both times.</p><p><br /></p><p>PPPS: Just kidding on that "always wanted to be an Astronaut" thing. Not really for a variety of reasons, all told in that book titled, as you may recall, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1642938246/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i23">Don't Blow Yourself Up</a>!<br /></p>Homer Hickamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10218229542457074434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794772572438808559.post-76671580863521729252021-03-07T11:21:00.001-08:002021-03-07T15:48:18.613-08:00Awful at Titles<p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I've
always been awful at titles. I've even had trouble titling this blog. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Awful at Titles</i> will have to do, I
guess, but I'm talking about the titles of my books. I've got a bunch of bad titles out there but I'll give you the worst example. My novel <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Red
Helmet</i>. If you saw a book with that title, what would you guess it was
about? Combat? War? Porn? It's actually a love story set in a West Virginia
mining town. There's this rich daddy's girl who is gifted a coal mine by her
father, the very same coal mine headed up by her estranged husband. Her name is
Song. His name is Cable. Maybe it should have been titled <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Cable and Song</i> or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Song and
Cable</i> or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Coal Miner's Wife</i> .
. . but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Red Helmet</i>? A red helmet is
what a novice coal miner wears and Song has to wear a red helmet when she works
in the mine to learn about it and then a lot of other stuff happens (including lots of romancey stuff) with her and Cable but that
was no reason to name the novel after what's on her head, was it? No it wasn't, but you see, I
started writing another novel about a novice coal miner, a young fellow, and
got enamored with the title but then wrote an entirely different novel, sort
of, and just kept the name. So wrong.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7r0KqpAcoBpozAq3cxPogDBYjZp2HqfdixyUZdS9bo8KsKKo2qpsn5nvbfs8WNNEVE5kLnR1jBfcqL2ltU0G-vUuYocLa-nxntYBJ1ESRvYUOnRO1EOVmLxcxVcrTZCOGES39EYR57tUj/s900/red_helmet1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="592" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7r0KqpAcoBpozAq3cxPogDBYjZp2HqfdixyUZdS9bo8KsKKo2qpsn5nvbfs8WNNEVE5kLnR1jBfcqL2ltU0G-vUuYocLa-nxntYBJ1ESRvYUOnRO1EOVmLxcxVcrTZCOGES39EYR57tUj/s320/red_helmet1.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>It's more about the woman than the helmet, honest!</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Another
title problem I had was with the third novel in my Helium-3 series, the first
being <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Crater</i>, the second <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Crescent</i>, and the third . . . you can
see where I'm going there, right? Some alliteration referencing the moon. The
first two titles aren't bad. <i>Crater</i> is about a boy who lives in a mining town on the moon and <i>Crescent</i> is about a girl who becomes his friend after trying to kill him, but then I got to the third and went . . . "Huh.
Let's see, something moony that starts with Cr. Cruh. . . cruh. . ." I
just couldn't come up with it so I just titled it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Crater Trueblood and the Lunar Rescue Company</i> which was OK although it took me a lot of words to justify it but
. . . Cruh. . . cruh. . . And then after
the book came out, I was talking about struggling to come up with that third book title with somebody who instantly said, "You could
have named it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Crust</i>. You know, like
the moon has a crust and that's what Crater and Crescent are mining." I hate that person.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7WCxnsVkg0vTJdkRsKBTN_Or1YfLS8f8SWa-3-rOpSyFHut3r2HM24HbSObXW46uzmm59gPHkD21CGL3YgA2iiE0TEKbduTM2nP2B-5CyqgWj0pKVQBaghVl-PUBxR4Nk8QNU8UYZ3tL5/s1014/Helium3CraterSeriesCovers.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="541" data-original-width="1014" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7WCxnsVkg0vTJdkRsKBTN_Or1YfLS8f8SWa-3-rOpSyFHut3r2HM24HbSObXW46uzmm59gPHkD21CGL3YgA2iiE0TEKbduTM2nP2B-5CyqgWj0pKVQBaghVl-PUBxR4Nk8QNU8UYZ3tL5/s320/Helium3CraterSeriesCovers.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Not too bad but...</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I could go on although I guess <i>The Keeper's Son</i>, <i>The Ambassador's Son</i>, and <i>The Far Reaches </i>weren't too bad in terms of titles for the Josh Thurlow trilogy although I clearly ran out of sons on that third one. <i>The Dinosaur Hunter</i> kind of worked although somebody pointed out to me that it was also the name of some sci-fi series by somebody else. <i>Back to the Moon</i> worked pretty well and gave Vice President Pence a nifty idea so it's OK so chalk one up for Homer!And my very first book, <i>Torpedo Junction</i>, wasn't too bad although somebody pointed out after the fact that there was a famous book written in the 40's with the same title. Luckily, titles can't be copyrighted and, anyway, I didn't know about it so there.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span> </span> Truth is
I even had problems with the title of my most famous work, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Rocket Boys</i>. Well, of course, you might know it as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">October
Sky</i> but, hey, they're anagrams, right? The very first question from the
very first interview about that memoir was, "So, Hiram, why did you want
to write a book about John Glenn?" That's no lie, nor even an exaggeration.
Hiram. Sigh. John Glenn. Bigger sigh. But <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Rocket
Boys</i>, John Glenn, I get it. Universal Studios loved the name so much they
changed it to, well, you know. Amazon in its ratings files <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Rocket Boys</i>, which essentially is the story of a coal mining town and
how it rallied around some 1950's girl-crazy high school boys building rockets, under the following, no
lie: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Aeronautics and Astronautics</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Scientist Biographies</i> (note to the
world: I am not a scientist and it's a memoir, not a biography), <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">History of Physics</i> (huh?), and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">History of Astronomy</i> (ditto?).</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then
there is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Coalwood Way</i> which is a
story of the Rocket Boys (those crazy boys in a coal mining town, yeah?) that I
wanted to call <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Coalwood Christmas</i>
because it is sort of, more or less, a Christmas story about those boys but I
got talked out of it by the publisher who said—stick with me now—that hardly anybody buys Christmas books (!) so now,
every year near Christmas, I put up <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Coalwood Way</i> on my Facebook or Twitter page to remind one and all it has
less "Way" in it than "Christmas" but I'm fighting against
the title when I do that and I know it but I do it, anyway. Sometimes, I even
claim that its real title actually is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A
Coalwood Christmas</i> but nobody cares but me because they can see very
clearly on Amazon or in the bookstores that it's not.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeaC8Zhpb3ffDf65fyLlvsUFqSaHV-4lDzdPsFuNiLB8FEVgTze0014kWVHG_2UOjD209mTgtilwPDycQS7uTVEDejZqO__HojSh5dB0hKkFEkD9BHkPHIBzxMGcMJXQ5D-3JV6VeBJ7L0/s1296/CoalwoodWayChristmasCover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="862" data-original-width="1296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeaC8Zhpb3ffDf65fyLlvsUFqSaHV-4lDzdPsFuNiLB8FEVgTze0014kWVHG_2UOjD209mTgtilwPDycQS7uTVEDejZqO__HojSh5dB0hKkFEkD9BHkPHIBzxMGcMJXQ5D-3JV6VeBJ7L0/s320/CoalwoodWayChristmasCover.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I keep trying.</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"> <span> </span> By the way, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Coalwood Way</i> is listed on Amazon as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Biographies of Scientists</i> (we have
already discussed this) and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Human
Geography</i> (What is that?). <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Sky of
Stone</i>, the third in the "Coalwood" or "Rocket Boys"
trilogy, has a very nice title, thank you, one of my best so I can come up with
a good one, sometimes. It's about a summer when I worked in the coal mines and
fell in love with an older woman and got involved in an underground track laying contest and
my dad was tried for the death of one of his miners. Amazon's file: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Human Geography</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Scientist Biographies</i>. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>All
this leads me to where I am today, trying to figure out what to title my
latest, a memoir that I just handed in to my publisher. It spans forty years of
my life and is about being a cadet at VPI and building its iconish cannon
Skipper and then going into the Army and falling in love with a girl who
wanted to sing in the Mormon Tabernacle Choir more than being with me and then being
in Vietnam and getting shot at and blown up once and threatened with a court
martial for doing the North Vietnamese's work for them by knocking down a
bridge (that was bad, I'll confess) and then after coming home learning how to write and then
diving on U-boat wrecks and finding a skeleton on one of them and then living
in Germany and then hanging out in Israel and finding a skeleton in the Sinai
(I don't know why I find these things, either) and then working for NASA and
training astronauts in Japan and almost getting fired and then getting to see
and touch Sputnik 1 in Moscow (yes, I know), and then writing a book somebody actually wanted to make a movie about. . . and . . . Amazon,
probably: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Human Geography</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Biographies of Mad Scientists</i>. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
keep running bad titles through my head, all the while knowing it really,
really matters while I also know it doesn't because you're going to want to
read it anyway, right? But, for your edification, here are a few of the
titles, all awful I'm sure, I'm thinking about right now:</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Nothing
But Trouble</i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Who Do You Think You
Are?</i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Working My Way Back Home</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You Don't Belong Here</i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">And Then There Was That Time . . .</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">and</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ease Your Busoms</i>.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"> I came up with that last
one (a brand of coffee in Japan that kept me alive while I was over there) because I don't think even
Amazon would put that under <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Scientist Biographies</i>. Or would they? On the other hand <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Human Geography</i> might just work.</p>
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{page:Section1;}</style></p>Homer Hickamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10218229542457074434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794772572438808559.post-91384692736179362282020-11-08T09:39:00.008-08:002020-11-08T15:27:43.056-08:00Red and Pink Marked the Corridors of Death<p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Red and Pink Marked the Corridors
of Death</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In January, 1961, President John F. Kennedy came into
office under full sails. He sounded good, looked good, and had the ability to
connect with folks. He was charismatic, people just liked to get near him, and
his big grin kind of lit up the room. As I wrote in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Rocket Boys</i>, I first came across Kennedy in Welch, our county seat,
when he was trying to win the state primary against fellow Democrat Hubert
Humphrey. It was necessary that he win our primary, so the press accounts went,
because we disliked Catholics and if he could win in an awful state like West
Virginia, he could win anywhere. This was, for most West Virginians, something
of a surprise. We had no idea we were prejudiced against Catholics. I surely
didn't know anybody who didn't like them. In fact, a high percentage of
Coalwood folks were from Italy and Eastern Europe and were Catholics and we
didn't think a thing about it. I understand now, of course, that even if it
took inventing prejudice where it didn't exist and giving our entire state and its people a
black eye in the process, the press didn't much care as long as they sold
their newspapers.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But, anyway, there Kennedy was standing atop a limousine
expounding on the benefits of food stamps which didn't yet exist, and how he
was going to save coal miners from being poor. Since nearly all of the miners
listening to him were fully employed and weren't hungry unless they happened to
have skipped lunch that day, he wasn't making much headway with the crowd. That
was until I asked him what he was going to do about space with a follow-on
recommendation that we should go to the moon. When he said if he got to be
President, maybe that's what we'd do, the crowd gave him a good cheer and I
think it buoyed him a little bit. He won the West Virginia primary going away.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> A freshman at Virginia Tech, </span>I heard Kennedy's inaugural address on a radio in my room and liked what he had to say a lot. He promised we were going to fight
tyranny, meaning the Communists in Russia and China, and also said that we
should figure out what we could do for the country and not worry about what the
country could do for us. Since I was in school to be an engineer to help beat
the Russians in the space race and also intended to become an officer in the
military, I figured I was right in line with President Kennedy's speech.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Looking back on it, I don't recall any of the cadets I
knew caring two cents about politics. As far as we were concerned, the USA had
grown as it should since 1776 during war and peace during which our country
mostly did the right thing when it had to do it. Our history flowed from war to
war and the country progressed westward and led the
industrial revolution and that was all we needed to know. If we thought about
modern history, it centered around the Cold War. Most of us thought, one way or
the other, the tension between the United States and the Soviet Union would
boil over and we might get caught up in it after we graduated but that was well
into the future or so we thought. What we didn't know, while we were enjoying a crisp, beautiful
Autumn in 1962, was there was something strange happening in Cuba that was about
to bring the entire world to the brink and us with it.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>These days, a lot of people make fun of the 1950's and
60's when grade school kids hid under their desks during atomic bomb drills. I
mean how could a desk stop an atomic bomb? Haha. Well, not so fast. As it was
explained to us by our teachers, it actually made some sense. We got under our
desks to keep our little bodies from being sliced through by flying glass from
shattered windows. That might not work but wasn't it worth a try? The fallout
shelters that families built inside their homes back then are also thought of
as pretty droll. Maybe so, but even if hiding out after the nukes dropped
didn't work out, at least it showed parents cared enough about their children
to prepare as much as they could. The point is most Americans thought back then
that there was a real possibility that the Russians were going to hit us with
atomic bombs and we'd hit them back. In other words, it was almost certain that
we were all going to get blown up. Many a young man got his first successful
sexual encounter in those days by reminding his young lady friend that they
might as well spoon because they were probably going to die awful deaths,
anyway. I mean that happened. A lot. Trust me.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In October my junior year at Virginia Tech, Premier Nikita Khrushchev of the
Soviet Union noticed American Jupiter nuclear-tipped missiles were being installed in Turkey which was right next door to his country. Khrushchev was a commissar at Stalingrad, that horrific World War II battle, and had seen a lot of blood and guts and dying and killing. In comparison, Jack Kennedy was a lowly PT boat skipper in the South Pacific during that time, working in exactly the same setting as James Michener's novel <i>Tales of the South Pacific</i>. I also wrote about what really happened to Kennedy in <i>The Ambassador's Son</i>. Anyway, it wasn't Stalingrad. The Russian leader got it in his head that if that young upstart of an American
President thought he was going to ring in his country with nuclear
weapons, he'd return the favor by putting missiles in Cuba. Cuba was only 90 miles from Florida
which meant our entire country east of the Mississippi was well within range. President Kennedy, getting wind of this, didn't take kindly to it and
so the next thing I knew about it, I was with my cadet buddies huddled around
our television sets in the day room listening to the President tell us<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>that there was a very good chance that nukes
were about to fly. Of course, he didn't say that directly but from the steel in
his voice, and the phrases he used, it sounded a lot like an ultimatum and
anybody who knew anything about our military knew there were atomic and hydrogen
bombs already in the air aboard B-52s, just waiting out there somewhere over
the Arctic ice to head to Russia. Likely, their bombers were also out there
circling ready to go.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Toward the end of his speech, Kennedy gazed into the
camera lens and with what I took as the utmost gravity said:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My fellow citizens,
let no one doubt that this is a difficult and dangerous effort on which we have
set out. No one can foresee precisely what course it will take or what costs or
casualties will be incurred. Many months of sacrifice and self-discipline lie
ahead -- months in which both our patience and our will will be tested...</i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"Months! Holy shit," somebody said. "We're going
to war!"</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"The Corps will be called up," somebody else
said and nobody argued with that assessment although, privately, I think there
were more than a few of us who suspected we would be radioactive dust long
before that happened.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When I heard a professor who was an
expert on radiation had agreed to talk to the Corps, I gathered with a crowd in the Burruss Hall auditorium. It was packed. I recall the sour smell of damp wool. We
were sweating in our uniforms. The man, an older gentleman with a kindly face
like somebody's favorite uncle, was dressed in a tweed jacket and soon had us
mesmerized by his calm, matter-of-fact analysis of the horror that was coming.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>On a flip chart, he showed the
likely targets for the Soviets and his assessment of the size of the bombs
they'd use. Cities with more than a million population or the District of
Columbia were probably going to be hit with 100 megaton monsters. Smaller
cities were going to get 50 megatons. Military bases would be pounded by the
more surgical 25 tonners that would still leave craters ten miles in diameter.
The closest military base to Blacksburg was Radford Arsenal, about twenty miles
away. The good Professor said Radford would probably only get five or ten
megatons. "Still," he went on, "we'll feel its effects here. If
you're standing outside when it hits and looking in that direction, you'll first see a flash and then you will be completely, utterly blind. That will essentially be a death sentence. The heat will be close behind so, if you were lucky enough not to see the flash, I recommend you try to get behind something. The blast
effect . . . well, it'll be like a hurricane. Buildings will come apart and
debris will be flying everywhere with enough force to kill. Then will come the
radiation but not just from Radford. From everywhere."</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He flipped his chart to show the normal winds of October in the United States with
red and pink swaths marking the likely path of fallout and radiation from an attack on the east coast. The only
thing on his chart that I halfway liked was that Coalwood and, in fact, all of
McDowell County did not fall within any of the radiation corridors. Maybe my
folks would survive even if my brother and I didn't. But what kind of world would be
left? The Professor wasn't hopeful. "There will be massive
casualties," he said. "There won't be many doctors<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>or nurses left and most of the hospitals will
be rubble. It will be a nightmare where the living will envy the dead. Eventually,
I suspect, most life in the northern hemisphere will die off. In the southern
hemisphere, well . . . " He shrugged. "It depends on where the wind
blows and the currents flow. Are there any questions?"</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>If there were any, I don't recall them. I slogged
dismally back to Brodie Hall and joined the Squadron A cadets in front of the
television in the day room. No one said anything. We just watched the constant
news which really had nothing new to say. My text books were waiting in my room
but I saw no good reason to study.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>On October 27, the news came that one of our U-2
reconnaissance planes over Cuba had been shot down and the pilot killed. "Those damn
Russians! Kill 'em all!" I heard a cadet yell down the hall. Much of
America echoed that sentiment. Shortly afterwards, an American destroyer was
reported to have depth-charged a Russian submarine. We began to see on television film of fallout shelters being prepared and troops on the move in Florida
toward Key West to jump off to Cuba. Civil Defense made announcements with
advice on what to do if war came, mainly to listen for the sirens and get to
the shelters if you could find one. All that was left to the students at
Virginia Tech was to do what we always did and that meant for the cadets, get
up at oh six hundred in the morning to calls of "First Call to Growley,
sir!" and march in formation to breakfast and then spend the day in class
or the library or in our rooms studying and then evening formation and dinner
in the mess hall and back to our rooms for more studying or going down to the day room to watch
the television. For the
most part, there were few smiles and none of the usual high jinks or pranks in
the Corps. We just existed to wait to see if we would continue to exist.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It was hard to sleep. My old lady - as our room mates
were called back then - in the lower bunk asked me what I was thinking.
"Nothing, really," I told him which was true. I thought it was better
not to dwell on it.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"You scared?"</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I let my mind wander inward to see if I was.
"No," I said, honestly. "Not yet."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"I am," he confessed.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It occurred to me that I was who I was. Coalwood boys mostly learned not to be
scared. Our fathers disappeared every day down into a deep, dark coal mine and
there was no guarantee they would come back up whole. That should have scared
us every day but, after awhile, I guess we just got kind of numb to it. Still,
this was different. There was a good chance the whole planet was about to die.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A week after Kennedy's speech, without any specifics, it was announced that the
Russians had agreed to withdraw their missiles and the American blockade was
lifted. As the years passed, we would learn that we came very close to an exchange of nukes because of miscalculations on both sides. To this day, if you read most American historians, they will claim that it was Khrushchev who blinked and gave in. A deeper unpeeling of that onion shows very clearly both he and Kennedy blinked. With the big news operations in the United States in collusion with the Kennedy Administration to make it look like we won, the removal of the Soviet missiles was celebrated while the quiet removal of our Jupiter missiles from Turkey went mostly unreported.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span> </span> In the
Virginia Tech barracks and dormitories and classrooms and cafeterias<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and mess halls, as yet we students knew nothing of
that and some never would for, all too soon, they were to be bloody sacrifices to a proxy war in Vietnam. Instead, we tried not to look or act as relieved as we felt.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>For a while, at least, we slept the sleep of the saved.</span></p>
<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black;"></span></i></span>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Homer Hickamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10218229542457074434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794772572438808559.post-24679086721779259402020-10-03T09:21:00.007-07:002020-10-03T09:54:15.454-07:00Treatment of The Coalwood Rocket Boys: A Proposed TV Series<p>Note: This is a recent pitch or treatment of a proposed television series based on <i>The Coalwood Way</i>, the "equal" to my original memoir <i>Rocket Boys/October Sky</i>.
</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 24pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">THE COALWOOD ROCKET BOYS</span></i></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">The
Television Series</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">BASED ON A TRUE STORY</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A television series is
proposed based on the New York Times best-selling book <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">THE COALWOOD WAY</i> (</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 6.5pt;">Delacorte
Press; First Edition edition (October 10, 2000), ISBN-10: 0385335164, ISBN-13:
978-0385335164) and the short stories of Homer Hickam about his days as a
Coalwood Rocket Boy.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The series is set in
Coalwood, West Virginia, a miner's town built to fit within a narrow valley
surrounded by high, heavily forested ridges.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Every house, fence, road, store, and church is owned by the coal
company.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every man works for the mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the women who live in the town, except teachers, are wives of the coal miners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the
kids are the children of these coal mining families.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The episodes begin in
the fall of 1958, a time of harsh economic recession for the coalfields of West
Virginia, and the beginning of the space age in the outside world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each show will draw from the rich lode of
stories about the strong, proud, and rambunctious people of Coalwood struggling
with the realization that their little town may be dying, and that their
children are being torn between following the old life of their parents or
choosing what appears to be a bright new future in the outside world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Across generational lines, a town begins to
fight a war over its children, and a mother and father enter into a kind of
bloodless combat over the fate of their sons.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Because of its unique
setting, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Coalwood Rocket Boys</i> will
break new ground and will attract young and mature viewers alike, the shows
spotlighting adults and teen-agers in turn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There are also many possibilities for comedic episodes, the book often
cited for its ability to make the reader laugh and cry, sometimes on the same
page.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>From his room, teenager
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Homer H. (Sonny) Hickam, Jr.</b>, the
main character (and often the narrator) can see the coal mine tipple, the black
steel tower that lowers and lifts the miners' cage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The town is governed by the rhythms of the
shifts at the mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sonny Hickam is a
Coalwood boy, destined, it seems, to eventually join the miners digging coal
until he decides to build rockets and someday go to work for NASA.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He recruits his friends to join him in what
he calls the Big Creek Missile Agency (named after Big Creek High School).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, suddenly, Sonny and his friends, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Quentin</b>, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Roy Lee</b>, and <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">O'Dell</b>
begin to look in an entirely different direction from their fathers -- up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their determinedly optimistic plan to build
rockets is set against a town beset with economic problems.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Quentin is the prototypical nerd, Roy Lee is
the most mature of the boy (he has a car and a girl friend!), and O'Dell is the
scrounger of rocket supplies, always with a scheme.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The book, the
inspiration for the episodes, has tales of not only rocket-building, but of
loves won and lost, of family struggles between father, mother, sons, and
daughters coping with great change, of high-spirited school classes and dances,
of dealing with teenage bullies, of hard-working men in the mine, of gossip, of
church-going, of preachers and prostitutes, of grand drama across a little town
fighting a losing battle to survive.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Besides Sonny Hickam
and the Rocket Boys, the main characters include:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Homer Hickam, Sr.</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">,
Sonny's father and the superintendent of the coal mines in Coalwood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Self-educated and well-read but lacking the
formal engineering education usually required for the job, he devotes all of
his energies to keeping the mines productive for its owners and safe for the
men who work inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Homer is tough and
disciplined and the heart of the little town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He is certain about every thing he does and thinks, including the
probability that his dreamer second son, Sonny, is never going to amount to
much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He dotes on Jim, his football star
son because Homer once wanted to be a football star, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite his hard manner, he has a softer,
gentler side to him, especially for his wife, Elsie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We also see him grow to have a new respect
for Sonny as the rockets of the Big Creek Missile Agency get more and more
sophisticated and start to reach for extreme altitudes.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Elsie Hickam</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">,
Sonny's mom and Homer's wife, an independent woman ahead of her time and the
only person in the town who can stand up to her husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite her independence, Elsie Hickam leads
a lonely life with a man whose first love is the coal mines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is also determined that her sons will not
follow in her husband's footsteps into the mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is seen over the years painting a scene
on the wall of her kitchen, a picture of a beach where she hopes someday to
live.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Jim Hickam</b>, Sonny's brother, a handsome, girl-crazy high school
football star struggling with his own sense of inadequacy by pretending bravado
that often isn't there as he contemplates having to compete in the outside
world and dreams of a football scholarship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He is outwardly disdainful of his younger brother but is mostly bemused
by Sonny's energetic optimism.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Valentine Carmina</b>, a gorgeous, sensual young woman who is nearly
always in trouble with the high school principal and the managers of the coal
mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sonny is attracted to her although
she is from one of the poorest families in Coalwood and is not considered his
social equal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Valentine returns Sonny's
interest but doesn't share his dreams of space.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She has her eye on escaping Coalwood and its restrictive ways by
becoming an actress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She organizes a
local theater group but runs into opposition from the coal company and the
company church.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Jake Mosby</b>, a young mining engineer, an outsider sent by the
company owners to Coalwood for "seasoning."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jake is a great lady's man, owns a bright red
Corvette, is a Korean War veteran (flew jets), drinks a little too much, and
represents to the boys the wonderful outside world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Always a little in trouble with the coal company,
he is somewhat inept as an engineer but is socially smooth, adored by the all
the women in town (some mother him, others lust after him), Jake provides a
kind of touchstone for the outside world for Sonny and the boys, often giving
bad advice but coming through in the end to resolve problems both for himself
and others in Coalwood.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Freida Riley</b>, a twenty-one year old, bright and beautiful high
school chemistry and physics teacher, who acts as the boys' mentor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She has Hodgkin's disease in remission.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She and Jake Mosby have something going on
between them, off and on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Besides trying
to help the boys in a somewhat repressive school environment, she also has to
cope with an almost assured death sentence from her insidious cancer.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The <b>Reverend </b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">"Little" Richard</b>, the black
preacher in town who provides wit and wisdom to Sonny.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Richard always has a Bible quote, story, or
parable handy to guide the young man along the way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Richard must also act as the representative
of the black community to the company.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Black men work side by side with whites in the mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All are black when they come out of the
mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All consider themselves proud
Coalwood citizens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, black housing is
in a separate part of town, thus artificially dividing the people.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Lesser characters
include, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Reverend Lanier</b>, the white
preacher in town, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mr. Dantzler</b>, the
company store manager, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mr. Turner</b>,
the high school principal, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Geneva Eggers</b>,
the town prostitute (she lives in a cabin high on a mountain), <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">John Eye</b>, the town bootlegger, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Bill Bolt</b>, the machinist who helps
build the rockets for the boys, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tag
Farmer</b>, the town constable, and <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mr.
Dubonnet</b>, the union chief (and a high school boyfriend of Elsie Hickam).</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And so the drama for
the series is established.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the Rocket
Boys build their rockets, the town is changing, the people worried, the mine
struggling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet these are a proud people
who will work to keep their little town intact.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Some suggested episodes:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">(1)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><u>Cape Coalwood</u>:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The boys' rocket range is an old coal slack
dump three miles out of town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Elsie
visits it during a rocket launch and discovers Coalwood citizens want to watch
the boys launch their rockets but are hampered by the rutted, dirt road to
"Cape Coalwood."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She begins to
use her time-tested ways to harass her husband into doing what she wants him to
do and that, for the Rocket Boys, is to improve the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She has the
preacher preach a sermon about it, she "forgets" to cook supper, she
takes Chipper, her pet squirrel (who Homer hates) to sleep on her pillow, and paints
Homer out of the kitchen mural of Myrtle Beach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A secondary story has Sonny and Roy Lee trying to help Valentine stage
her play.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since no one will allow her to
have it either at a school or the church, she has decided to have it
outdoors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For that she needs a
place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why not Cape Coalwood?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">(2)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><u>The Strike</u>:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The miners go out on strike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sonny ends up being in the middle of
everything when he convinces Bill Bolt to sneak in at night to help build his
rockets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Homer is proud of Sonny's
initiative but must punish him and Bill, making the strike even more
bitter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Elsie confronts Homer when the
other wives stop talking to her and Sonny's classmates shun him because of who
his father is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mr. Dubonnet offers to
end the strike for Elsie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Elsie is torn
between two men, her husband who she loves, and Dubonnet who she once
loved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sonny must go to his father and
take responsibility for the trouble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Little Richard counsels Sonny to have courage like Dan'l in the lion's
den.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A secondary story has Freida Riley
and Jake Mosby confronting the fact that Jake isn't mature enough to stop his
womanizing and commit to Freida.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Freida
knows that she has a harsh choice:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>accept Jake for what he is and continue to love him, or walk away.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">(3)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><u>The Woman's Club</u>:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Elsie demands that the railroad tracks be
removed from Coalwood after she observes the coal dust from the open cars
covering a new-born baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She organizes
the coal company woman's club to lead a protest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sonny accidentally gets trapped in a coal
car, taking a dangerous ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This not
only gets Sonny in big trouble with his father but also gives Elsie and the
woman's club fresh reason to have the tracks removed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A secondary story involves brother Jim and a
girl friend who, desperate to escape her family, wants to get married.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hoping to get pregnant, she tries to seduce him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jim is tempted but hesitates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Valentine tells Sonny of the girl's plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jim refuses to believe Sonny's
warning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sonny goes to Reverend Richard
with Jim's problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He tells him the
story of Samson and Delilah and Sonny sets out to convince Jim that
the girl will sap his strength before the big game, thus ruining any hope he
may have for a football scholarship.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">(4)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><u>The Truth of Miss Geneva</u>:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Geneva Eggers, the town prostitute, becomes
the target of Reverend Lanier who is trying to increase church attendance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Homer (Dad) saved Geneva as a child from a burning
house and has secretly protected her ever since.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He must somehow continue to protect her while
keeping the church-goers happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sonny is
seen sneaking into Geneva's house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He's
there to ask her to let him put up a wind gauge on her cabin so he can judge
the wind velocity before his rocket launches but everybody jumps to the wrong
conclusion, including Elsie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A secondary
story has Reverend Richard and Reverend Lanier arguing conflicting
philosophies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Reverend Richard challenges
Reverend Lanier to trade churches for one Sunday to see who's the better
preacher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Richard's style is singing and boisterous preaching.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Reverend Lanier is a much more intellectual approach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The two congregations confront the two
different styles with humorous results.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">(5)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><u>Jake's Mind</u>:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A miner is killed in the mine and everybody
believes that Jake Mosby's sloppy engineering caused it, including Jake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Freida defends Jake, even to himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Homer (Dad) investigates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jake helps Sonny and the boys with their
rockets, trying to remember why he ever became an engineer in the first place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A secondary story has Valentine sent home
from school for wearing, as Mr. Turner calls them, "Jezebel"
clothes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she discovers that
Valentine has never been properly taught about clothes (she has been raised by
her widower father), Elsie decides to take the girl shopping in Welch, the
county seat.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">(6)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><u>Superstition</u>:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Miss Riley receives no new lab equipment in
her classroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She resolves to teach the
boys chemistry and physics by demonstration in the real world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She asks Homer (Dad) to take her class into the coal
mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is appalled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's bad luck for women and girls to go in
the mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, he's tempted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wants Sonny to someday be an engineer in
the mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>John Dubonnet, the union
chief, talks to Elsie, making Homer jealous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Homer resolves to do what the union is against:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>agreeing to Miss Riley's request.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The whole town is in turmoil as a result and
it is up to Elsie and Sonny to figure out a way of getting Homer (Dad) out of the
mess.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A secondary story involves Sonny
and the boys deciding to use a potentially dangerous new propellant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Quentin and Sonny begin a series of experiments
in the basement, resulting in blowing up the Hickams' hot water heater.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, they have to replace it, somehow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>O'Dell proposes selling ginseng but first
they have to find some and dig it up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
turns out the best crop is on Geneva Eggers' property, a place the boys have
been ordered to never go.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">(7)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><u>Tropic of Coalwood</u>:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A copy of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Tropic
of Cancer</i> is found in Quentin's briefcase.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In an attempt to get the boy too worn out to think about sex, Quentin,
the prototypical nerd, is ordered by Mr. Turner to join the football team.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the rocket boys join with him with
predictable and hilarious results.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a
moment of insanity, the rocket boys tell the Big Creek "front four"
that the cheerleaders would rather go with them to the Prom than the
players.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A bet is made.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, the rocket boys have to figure out how
to get the cheerleaders on their side!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They begin a fumbling, bumbling attempt to woo the more experienced and
cagey girls to go with them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Valentine
takes Sonny aside and explains girls to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She takes it as a personal crusade to get Sonny a date with the head
cheerleader.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A secondary story has Elsie
thinking about her high school days when she was Dubonnet's girl friend and
Homer (Dad), somewhat of a nerd himself, was trying to win her over.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">(8)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><u>Is that Rocket Fuel or
What?</u>:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Homer orders Tag, the
constable, to close down John Eye, the bootlegger, after catching one of his
miners with moonshine down in the mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The trouble is John Eye provides the boys their rocket fuel - pure
alcohol!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His place is also one of the
social centers in town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tag lays it on
Sonny - he's going to shut down John Eye unless Sonny can somehow convince his
father otherwise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sonny goes to Reverend
Richard who goes to Homer and reminds him that John Eye is protected by a promise
made my Homer's mentor, The Captain, just before he died.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seems John Eye saved The Captain's life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Homer is caught between his order and The
Captain's old promise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He struggles for
a compromise.</span></p>
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<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">(9)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><u>Beware yon Dubonnet, with
the lean and hungry look</u>:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Valentine puts on another stage production, a revised version of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Julius Caesar</i>, which makes fun of the
coal company, the football team, the union, and even the woman's club (Elsie is
president).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only is that going to
cause trouble all by itself, Sonny wrote it!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After the show, he is in serious trouble with just about everybody in
town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He decides to concentrate on
rockets, not writing, but Freida Riley urges him to keep going on both.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A secondary story has Mr. Dantzler, the
company store manager, trying to sell television sets in a town set a valley
too deep to receive TV signals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Quentin
comes up with a plan to establish a cable system by erecting an antenna on a
high mountain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The best place for the
antenna is Geneva Eggers' property, owned by her and not the coal company.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The company tries to make a land grab.</span></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Homer Hickamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10218229542457074434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794772572438808559.post-14325291866192159182020-06-22T17:14:00.000-07:002020-06-23T12:52:33.472-07:00The Dinosaur Wars and Understanding Cause and Effect<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I've always been interested in cause and effect in my writing and life in general. For instance, during my years of hunting dinosaurs, I noticed a competition between American paleontologists that seemed pretty intense and wondered what caused it. After all, I'm not a professional bone-hunter in any sense, only a fellow who likes to dream about the past and the future, and is willing to get my hands dirty to get involved. After doing my due diligent research, I began to understand that paleontologists are competitive for the reasons most of us are. They need funding to do what they do, they want to influence others to think the way they do about their field of study, and they simply want to be appreciated for the hard work they accomplish in difficult conditions. But I think this competition may also be an echo of the so-called dinosaur wars in the American west </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">in the late nineteenth century. That was when Dr. Edward Drinker Cope and Dr. Othneil Marsh, two of the most famous and influential dinosaur hunters of that age, started an unofficial war. But, as often happens in research, my study of that war led me in an unexpected direction, to unravel another war that was happening at the same time. This war marked the end of a way of life for tens of thousands of indigenous people, the Sioux, the Blackfeet, the Crow, and several other smaller tribes known in general as the Plains Indians.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"> Ironically, people from Europe were responsible for first creating and then destroying the civilization that took root in the plains of the American West. The Spanish inadvertently began the formation of this society by introducing horses to the Americas. When some of the horses escaped and made their way north from Mexico, various groups of indigenous natives, then hunter/gatherers and farmers, began to make use of them by following on horseback the vast buffalo herds that were then roaming central North America. This new ability to keep up with the herds provided enough consistent food and materials to support increasing numbers of people that ultimately formed into communities we now call tribes. Before long, these tribes formed a unique civilization of mobile and competing groups that depended on the ready availability of the American bison on a sea of grass with no obvious borders. These requirements were so precise and critical that any interference from the outside had a good chance of causing the entire civilization to come crashing down and that's what ultimately happened.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"> After the Civil War, there came to the western plains an assortment of men from the east, not a few of them hooligans of the worst stripe with a familiarity with guns and a disposition to use them. The railroads were happy to hire them to lay their tracks across the plains and to bully anyone who got in their way which definitely included the odd nomadic people they encountered. From the perspective of these rough men, the Plains Indians were people who wandered aimlessly and mostly got in the way. From the perspective of the tribal leaders and young warriors, their lands were being invaded by gangsters who were inclined to indiscriminately kill the buffalo, steal their women, disrespect their leaders, and damage their way of life. Alcohol, vast quantities of which was brought in and made readily available to hooligans and warriors alike, didn't help. Bullets and arrows started to fly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"> Behind the first bands of lawless adventurers came men with families who had no wish to fight with anybody. They only wanted to build homes, string fences, raise cattle, and put the land under the plow. Their efforts, seemingly benign, proved to be far worse for the Indians than the hooligans. Barbed wire kept the buffalo herds from moving on to fresh grass and caused the animals to go hungry. The introduction of cattle brought disease. Starving and sick buffalo equaled starving and sick tribespeople who, in reprisal, stole from the farmers and ranchers or attacked their settlements. Reluctantly responding after repeated demands from the settlers for help, the federal government finally dispatched the army to keep the peace. Army generals without any specific orders except stop the turmoil surveyed the situation and decided what needed to be done to get control of the situation was force the various tribes into small, isolated areas, wipe out the buffalo herds, and put the warriors afoot by taking away their horses. Before long, the battles and massacres known as the Indian Wars began and raged across the places where, coincidentally, amazing dinosaur bones were just being found.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"> At first, it was the adventurers looking to make some easy saloon money who packed up old bones and shipped them east for anybody who would pay for them. Without knowledge of what they were doing, most of these samples arrived in poor condition but they were enough to intrigue both government and private scientific and educational establishments as to the potential of making some exciting and important discoveries. Heedless of the battles being waged between the Army and the tribes, they dispatched scientists with teams of men to secure the bone beds and dig up the best ones they could find.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"> Among the bone-hunters heading to the plains was a young and wealthy paleontologist, the aforementioned Edward Drinker Cope. Cope was brilliant but unendowed with virtually anything in the way of social graces. He was slovenly, dominated every conversation without letting anyone get in a word, and seemed to lack the slightest ability to relate to another human being. Ostensibly representing the United States Geological Survey but accompanied by his own hired men who quickly learned he was in no way their friend but their boss, Cope roamed across the western battlefields passing without care or comment wandering bands of stunned and hungry tribespeople, huge mounds of rotting buffalo carcasses left by buffalo hunters or felled by disease, and a reckless United States Cavalry galloping around and chasing any Indians they saw.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"> Cope's collecting in the Bridger Basin of Wyoming brought him into contact with another paleontologist, one Dr. Othneil Marsh of Yale University who considered that area his own private hunting ground. Marsh was an arrogant skinflint who often forgot to pay the salaries of his assistants and had the reputation of taking credit for discoveries made by others. To Marsh, Cope was an arrogant upstart and, after they met and Cope did not give Marsh his due deference, which was actually impossible considering the kind of man he was, their private war began.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"> To marginalize Cope who did not have as much money or backing, Marsh flooded the bone hunting grounds with squads of diggers and collectors who filled hundreds of freight cars with bones that were shipped to New Haven for his exclusive study. He also traveled to the West to see things for himself. As if in a self-contained protective bubble, Marsh ignored the running battles replete with tootling bugles and war cries and wailing women and crying children and went wherever he pleased. His crews dug huge quarries that turned into mud holes where buffalo, deer, and elk got stuck and drowned, and dynamited sites coveted by the tribes for their seasonal villages. The Indians simply had no idea what to make of either Cope or Marsh except they were both probably crazy and bad luck to kill so they left them alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"> While the bloody battles (which included Custer's Last Stand) continued between the cavalrymen and warriors, Cope and Marsh kept fighting their private war. When their men encountered each other in saloons, they fought with bare knuckles. In the field, they took pot shots at each other. When they got the opportunity, they jumped the others' claims and even dynamited the others' digs. On the academic front, the two paleontologists named new dinosaur species willy-nilly often based on the smallest of fragments, and generally did their best to discredit one another. In the process, Cope and Marsh caused not only damage to Cretaceous and Jurassic fossil beds but dinosaur science itself by creating a tortured mess of overlapping and, in some cases, nonexistent species that would take decades for modern paleontologists to unravel which still hasn’t completely been accomplished if it ever will.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Eventually, karmic forces being what they are, Cope would die alone in a house filled with old bones while Marsh, broke and bitter, would pass on a couple of years later. Unfortunately, although they were gone, their battles had set the example amongst American fossil-hunters as to who named what, who was most deserving of grants, and also who among them would rise to the top of the paleontology heap. Although not as intense, this competition continues to this day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> To be a good novelist or memoirist, a writer much try to understand everything that causes people to do what they do, where their influences come from, and the spirits that flit around them, mostly unseen but surely felt. Those writers who don't peel back life to understand what's underneath it, or research the connections between their characters and the past of the places where they live, tend to write stories that readers sense are missing something.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> When I decided to write a novel about modern paleontology, the result was my book titled <i>The Dinosaur Hunter. </i> In that story of intrigue and murder, the paleontologist that shows up on a remote Montana ranch looking for bones was undoubtedly influenced by the history of Cope and Marsh, a history that I left out of the novel since there was no place for it. Still, I knew about it and it changed the way I saw that fellow and wrote about him and what he did which I think made him feel more real to my readers. Hemingway was a proponent of this, by the way, in that he said (and I'm paraphrasing) it isn't necessary to include everything you know in a story because the reader will sense that you know it. The land itself, a harsh, remote place </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">that holds the tough remnant of the people who followed the gunslingers,</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> also holds</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> the ghosts of the nomadic tribes of lost dreams and crushed souls. Such is history, such is life, such are the connections between us all for good or bad that the writer must strive to discover.</span></div>
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Homer Hickamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10218229542457074434noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794772572438808559.post-1288138326041609602020-06-10T06:31:00.000-07:002020-06-10T11:30:42.701-07:00How I Became A Dinosaur Hunter<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtZs0J4oAqVrNBqUh8NBNLApKMCV_ef9wbm4-FDnRSn6s8LPkA7XaLC70v24T-f-KrGiYA5x-N1wUfv0vwxM3DLF5KyouL6Z4kCqyDXrhnbg6dnctVoIMVLyB2Ei47ArMLNjfsEnWfULEd/s1600/YoungSonny_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtZs0J4oAqVrNBqUh8NBNLApKMCV_ef9wbm4-FDnRSn6s8LPkA7XaLC70v24T-f-KrGiYA5x-N1wUfv0vwxM3DLF5KyouL6Z4kCqyDXrhnbg6dnctVoIMVLyB2Ei47ArMLNjfsEnWfULEd/s1600/YoungSonny_3.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Little Sonny Hickam (him being me as a boy), about the time</b></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><b> he started sifting through Coalwood's fossils</b></span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; line-height: 24px;"> When I was a boy in the little mining town of Coalwood, West Virginia, I became aware of a huge dump of rejected coal that was also the repository of vast quantities of fossils. Fascinated and mystified, I often went there to peel away slabs of coal to reveal strange, tropical plants. Coalwood was a place where there were heavy snows in the winter so that didn't make a lot of sense. It was as if these remnants were from a different world and, in a way, they were.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; line-height: 24px;"> The era that produced the fossils inside the coal that my boyhood hands opened like pages of an ancient book was called the Carboniferous Period, a weird but extremely productive time for life on Earth. Because the world was warmer and wetter and its atmosphere contained much more carbon dioxide than today, our planet was essentially a greenhouse where plants grew without restraint. This went on for about six hundred thousand centuries until plants completely engulfed what was then a single continent we now refer to as Pangea. From space, had there been anyone up there to observe our world, it would have looked like a huge bright green lily pad floating on a dazzling blue sea, an ocean that was filled to the brim with creatures from single cells to complex organisms, most of them feeding on the detritus washed into it from the overgrown land.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHfKSEdHoAIq-fzpRMeOgEGn4Y9KvJaO5Xg25QkwyTPXt9oPANYXG-WrJbIyX5b4hZw4iLpw3zGktfuYu0bxmwlSw7Jt9w_YT6cEiSUM8vgiJKXPZpQAbBWxuQvBJAA-ecmBKVu_bz6NGb/s1600/download-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHfKSEdHoAIq-fzpRMeOgEGn4Y9KvJaO5Xg25QkwyTPXt9oPANYXG-WrJbIyX5b4hZw4iLpw3zGktfuYu0bxmwlSw7Jt9w_YT6cEiSUM8vgiJKXPZpQAbBWxuQvBJAA-ecmBKVu_bz6NGb/s1600/download-1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Carboniferous Era - Hot, muggy, lots of oxygen and carbon dioxide<br />to help plants grow and ready, given 300 million years or so, to turn itself into coal</b></span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">So much carbon was ingested by the plants that flooded across the planet, the percentage of oxygen in the atmosphere rose to almost twice what it is today. The fires caused by lightning must have been spectacular. Eventually, huge mats of dead plants and ashes clogged all the major waterways. This phenomenon created vast deserts which caused the extinction of many species of reptiles, amphibians, fish, and insects. It was a great incongruity. An overabundance of life made remorseless death spread across the Earth. It also eventually created the layers of coal that lay in thick seams beneath my home town.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; line-height: 24px;"> As my boyhood self pondered the impressions of these old plants, I often wondered if I would find a dinosaur. Later in my education, I would learn that the Carboniferous age occurred well before they existed but the old dump had still started something in my head, an interest in all that had come before and how life had changed over time. After I became a scuba diver, this curiosity led me to explore caverns in Florida where I'd been told bones from extinct cave bears existed and, in a deep dive down a funnel of rock, I found a complete skeleton. When I ventured off to Honduras to map the reefs on the "lost" island of Guanaja, I climbed into its mountainous terrain and found pottery shards and decorative items created by the Payan people (akin to the Maya). These discoveries, along with books about ages past, somewhat satisfied my itch to understand prehistory but I never forgot about those days when I sat on a coal dump and wished I could find a dinosaur.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8dywsiu-xOSEUMMZBpp4F7tDN1yFGReu3CkcdFej8b66aZ6iHEW63eVubDfakbnT9ltdJ6TF801V3QmIRJGe2RdBFA6cvxaamgfipSClpsKZ4VuBOWaI21U0h3__ogfkLH6WKSsPi7zNZ/s1600/31XXGjL5WHL._AC_UL160_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="160" data-original-width="110" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8dywsiu-xOSEUMMZBpp4F7tDN1yFGReu3CkcdFej8b66aZ6iHEW63eVubDfakbnT9ltdJ6TF801V3QmIRJGe2RdBFA6cvxaamgfipSClpsKZ4VuBOWaI21U0h3__ogfkLH6WKSsPi7zNZ/s400/31XXGjL5WHL._AC_UL160_.jpg" width="275" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>This book changed the way millions looked at dinosaurs AND Paleontology</b></i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; line-height: 24px;"> When the novel <i>Jurassic Park</i> was published, like millions of other readers, I devoured Michael Crichton's story. Although it was an obviously fictional tale, it included information about the new science behind dinosaurs that theorized they were much more active and a lot different than we had been led to believe. After the movie came out and I saw the actor-paleontologists digging them up, I started thinking again how amazing it would be to find a dinosaur fossil although I had no real idea how to do it and, my writing career just taking off, was too busy to take the time to find out. It was just something I'd always kind of wanted to do but probably never would.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">M<i><b><span style="font-size: small;">e reading Jurassic Park. Oh, wait, that's Elon reading my<br />novel The Dinosaur Hunter. Never mind...</span></b></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Enter the force I think of as Kismet, the strange and curious destiny that seems to control my life. To my way of thinking, this ancient proposition is something greater than having a predetermined fate. It is a power outside of ourselves that somehow recognizes that which we need and opens a path that we may choose to follow or not. If chosen, it allows a life to not just be led but savored. The trick, however, is recognizing Kismet when it arrives and then having the will to follow it along passages that may not be easy and may, in fact, be very hard. Such was the path that opened for me to become a dinosaur hunter.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; line-height: 24px;"> My connection to the film <b>Jurassic Park</b> was that it happened to star Laura Dern who played the part of a paleontologist. A few years later, Ms. Dern also played my teacher Miss Riley in October Sky, the film based on my memoir <i>Rocket Boys</i>. When she and I attended the Venice Film Festival for the showing of October Sky, we talked mostly about Jurassic Park. She told me she loved working on the movie but confessed she hadn't actually visited a real dinosaur dig and didn't recall meeting any real dinosaur hunters or paleontologists. She couldn't help me find a dinosaur fossil but she said, "You know what, Homer, I bet you'll find one if that's what you want to do. Don't ask me how I know, I just do."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: small;">October Sky movie poster - That's<br />Laura Dern on the right. On the left is<br />that other guy as older Sonny (Homer) when he no longer played on a coal dump</span></b></i><br />
<i><b><span style="font-size: small;">to look for fossils but launched rockets, instead</span></b></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> And so it was because of Laura Dern in association with that Kismet thing that found me and my wife Linda one bright California morning sitting in the kitchen of Joe Johnston, the director of October Sky who</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">, in a lull in the conversation, said to me, "Homer, I was talking to Laura Dern the other day and she said she thought you might be interested in what I've been doing."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"> Joe left the kitchen and soon returned with a cigar box filled with rough yellowish fragments, the biggest of which was perhaps only several inches wide. "Dinosaur bones," he said and went on to explain that he'd picked them up while scouting locations for his next movie which was to be the third in the <b>Jurassic Park</b> series titled, appropriately enough, <b>Jurassic Park III</b>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Dinosaur bone chips called "Float" like Joe Johnston showed me</b></span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">At the sight o</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">f the dusty bone chunks within the cigar box, </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">I found myself unaccountably thrilled. "Where did you find these?" I asked, taking the box from Joe.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; line-height: 24px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;">"Montana," Joe said and reached to take the bones back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"> I pulled the box away and my interrogation continued. "<i>Where</i> in Montana?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"> "Well, we start in Bozeman but you probably don't know where that is."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"> "Oh, but I do!" It was even the truth. My wife Linda and I had friends in Bozeman, a fine couple named Frank and Naomi Stewart. We regularly visited them every winter to go skiing. All of a sudden, I was that boy sitting on a coal dump peeling open slabs of coal looking for dinosaurs. "Joe, the next time you go out there, can I go with you?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"> Joe smiled. "Sorry, Homer. We're done scouting."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"> I couldn't let it go. "If you'll tell me where you were," I proposed, "maybe I could go there and look around?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"> "You can't just pick up dinosaur bones,” Joe explained. He was now frowning. “You have to go with somebody who knows what he's doing."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"> "Who did you go with?" I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; line-height: 24px;"> "Dr. Horner is his name," Joe answered, "but he doesn't let just anybody go out with him. I only got to go because we hired him to be an advisor on our movie."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; line-height: 24px;"> The bones in the box had cast a spell over me. "But if you asked him,” I pressed, “do you think he'd let me go with him?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; line-height: 24px;"> This time, Joe managed to wrest the box out of my hands and carried it back from whence it came. While he was out of the room, Linda brought up some facts for my due consideration. "Homer, you can't go to Montana. You've got speeches scheduled nearly every week for the rest of the year and have you forgotten your book deadline?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; line-height: 24px;"> I hadn't forgotten. After all, I was already on chapter two and I had months (well, ok, one) to get it done but I could already feel that I not only wanted to but <i>needed</i> to take that Coalwood boy I once was and find, as I always wanted to do whether I knew it or not, dinosaur bones in Montana.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; line-height: 24px;"> When Joe returned, I kept pressing him until he said that maybe he could find out if I could go with Dr. Horner at some unspecified time in the undetermined future. Recognizing that was as far as he was willing to go, I finally fell silent about the matter and our visit was done. On the way to the airport, I reflected that m</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">aybe I was just being silly. What was the big deal about finding dinosaurs, anyway? When we got home, I got back to working on the book manuscript but, when I looked up from my computer or was out running, I still couldn’t shake the idea of going out to Montana and looking for ancient bones. To that end, </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I kept sending Joe occasional emails, asking him to please ask Dr. Horner on my behalf. He never answered until, to my astonishment, he surprised me with a call. Dr. Horner had given me permission to visit his summer camp near Fort Peck Reservoir in northeast Montana.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"> My response, after a thank you, was, "How about Frank?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"> "Who?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"> "Frank Stewart, my buddy in Bozeman."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"> "Just you, Homer," he said and, after claiming he was busy which might have even been true, Joe Johnston hung up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"> I sat back in my chair and gave it some thought. After a few moments of mental gymnastics, I decided surely it would be OK to bring Frank along. If there was any objection, I could explain him away as my driver or something. A preacher back in Coalwood used to say, "When a door closes, the good Lord will open another one." My mom used to add, "If that doesn't work, Sonny boy, knock out a window and crawl through it."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: small;">The Dino Boys Caricature by<br />the great Don Howard</span></b></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"> Since I was my mother's son, I subsequently dialed Frank's number. "Would you like to go with me to hunt dinosaurs?" I asked as soon as he picked up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"> "Sure," Frank said, and then, after a pause, "What was the question again?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"> And that's pretty much how Frank Stewart and I became true dinosaur hunters and also when I began my somewhat obsessive quest to find for myself not only dinosaur bones but, at the behest of one of the greatest paleontologists of them all, the remains of a young version of that ancient and entirely glorious but ultimately tragic creature known formally and majestically as <i>Tyrannosaurus rex</i>.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><b>The Day I found my little T</b></span></i></td></tr>
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Homer Hickamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10218229542457074434noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794772572438808559.post-54646308478220551392020-01-27T13:14:00.000-08:002020-01-27T13:14:02.356-08:00My Markup of Title II, Subtitle A, of HR 5666<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">My Markup of HR 5666*</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">* I focused entirely on Title II. I did not mention Mars because I think without building a permanently crewed Lunar Outpost that then becomes an anchor for gathering Lunar resources to provide wealth and security to the people who pay the bills - your poor working stiffs aka the American taxpayers - NASA will never send people to Mars because there would be a tax revolt. Once the Lunar Outposts are built and we are a true spacefaring nation where everybody is getting something out of it, the Mars crowd can then write their own damn HR's.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "NewCenturySchlbk",serif; font-size: 18.0pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "NewCenturySchlbk",serif; font-size: 18.0pt;">TITLE II—HUMAN SPACE EXPLORATION AND OPERATIONS </span></b><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "NewCenturySchlbk",serif; font-size: 18.0pt;">Subtitle A—Permanently Crewed Lunar Outpost Program </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "NewCenturySchlbk",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;">SEC. 201.
SUSTAINABLE HUMAN EXPLORATION PROGRAM. </span></b><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">It
is the sense of Congress that the Nation’s human exploration program is an
important element of United States leadership in space exploration, economic
strength, and national security. It is the further sense of Congress that
constancy of purpose and the sustainability of the Nation’s human exploration
goals and objectives should be an inherent principle of a long-term human presence
on the lunar surface that spans several Congresses and Administrations and
provides for development of the moon, henceforth described as Luna in this
document, for the economic benefit, security, and general welfare of the
American people and the world at large. </span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 7.0pt;">VerDate Mar 15 2010 15:26 Jan 22, 2020 Jkt 000000 PO 00000 Frm
00009 Fmt 6652 Sfmt 6201
C:\USERS\JWGROSS\APPDATA\ROAMING\SOFTQUAD\XMETAL\7.0\GEN\C\NASA_AUTH </span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "NewCenturySchlbk",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;">SEC. 202. GOALS AND OBJECTIVES. </span></b><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">(a)
I</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">N </span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">G</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">ENERAL</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">.—The Administrator is
authorized under sections 20302 and 70504 of title 51, United States Code, and
shall carry out plans and programs to achieve sustainable human presence on the
surface of Luna. </span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">(b)
E</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">STABLISHMENT</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">.—The goal of NASA’s Permanently
Crewed Lunar Outpost program shall be to land humans on Luna, first in 2024 by
any means necessary, and next establish one or more sustainable permanently
crewed outposts on the Lunar surface by 2030. </span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">(c)
P</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">RECURSOR </span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">A</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">CTIVITIES</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">.—The Administrator, as he
may deem necessary, shall undertake precursor crewed and robotic missions to
cis-lunar space and the lunar surface to determine the most efficient and safe
methods of constructing permanently crewed lunar outposts.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">(d)
O</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">BJECTIVES</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">.—The objective of our human
missions to Luna will be, by 2030, </span><span style="background: white; color: #14171a; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">to construct one or more permanently
crewed lunar outposts as anchors to support commercial, scientific, and
academic organizations intent on acquiring the resources & knowledge of the
moon for the economic benefit, security, & general welfare of American
citizens and, by extension, the citizens of the world. These outposts will
provide, for a negotiated fee, the necessary living areas, sustenance, and hangar
space required for such organizations to outfit and prepare themselves for
their various missions, both scientific and commercial. As listed in Section
203 (g) below, International partners will be fully welcomed.</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br />
</span><b><span style="font-family: "NewCenturySchlbk",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;">SEC.
203. STRUCTURE OF PERMANENT LUNAR OUTPOST PROGRAM. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">(a)
Permanently Crewed Lunar Outpost</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">O</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">FFICE</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">.—The Administrator
shall establish a Permanently Crewed Lunar Outpost Office within 60 days of the
enactment of this Act to lead and manage the Permanently Crewed Lunar Outpost
program. </span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">(b)
P</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">ROGRAM </span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">D</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">IRECTOR</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">.—The Administrator shall
appoint a Program Director of the Office established in subsection (a) who
shall report to the Associate Administrator and the Associate Administrator of
the Human Exploration and Operations Mission Directorate. </span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">(c)
R</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">ESPONSIBILITIES</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">.—The Permanently Crewed
Lunar Outpost Program Office shall be responsible for developing— <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>(1) a schedule of flights and
demonstrations on the Lunar surface that would support and lead to a permanently
crewed lunar outpost by 2030 <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>(2) inviting all interested
academic, scientific, commercial, and International partners that may want to
join our effort and determining the organization and investments that would
result.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 8.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 7.0pt;">VerDate Mar 15 2010 15:26 Jan 22, 2020 Jkt 000000 PO 00000 Frm
00011 Fmt 6652 Sfmt 6201 C:\USERS\JWGROSS\APPD</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">(d) S</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">YSTEMS </span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">E</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">NGINEERING AND </span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">NTEGRATION</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">.— <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">The
Director of the Permanently Crewed Lunar Outpost Program shall appoint a
Systems Engineering and Integration Manager to manage the systems engineering
and integration activities of the program. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">(e)
S</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">PECIAL </span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">H</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">IRING </span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">A</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">UTHORITIES</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">.—The Administrator
shall propose to Congress any special hiring authorities that the
Administrator determines are needed to ensure that personnel with the requisite
skills and experience are available to the Program Office. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">(f)
P</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">ROGRAM </span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">E</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">LEMENTS</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">.—The Permanently Crewed Lunar
Outpost Program shall determine the best technical methodology for reaching the
primary goal as listed in Sec. 202 Para. (d) above. It will keep the President,
Congress, and the National Space Council fully apprised as to its progress
toward the goal of establishing one or more fully operational Permanently
Crewed Lunar Outposts by 2030. Progress reports will include:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>(1) Within 30 days of the enactment
of this act, the administrator will order an independent agency, with
experience in spaceflight, finance, and statistical analysis, to determine if
its present plans to land Americans on Luna by 2024 is feasible and, if not, to
present an alternate plan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>(2) Within 120 days of the enactment
of this act, the administrator will, in consultation with academic, government,
scientific, and commercial entities, produce a report that lays out how one or
more Permanent Lunar Outposts can be constructed for the purpose listed
previously, and an annual outlay of funds required to implement this plan
through 2030. This will include all robotic and crewed flights necessary as
precursors to the beginning of actual construction of the permanently crewed
Lunar Outpost. This report will first be presented to the National Space
Council which will then, if deemed appropriate, present the findings to the
Congress and seek the necessary funds necessary to construct one of more
permanently crewed Lunar Outposts for the purposes set above. This will be in
the form of a National Goal that lays out the economic, security, and overall
benefits of building permanently crewed Lunar Outposts that will accrue to the
American people and, by extension, the people of the world<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">(g)
I</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">NTERNATIONAL
</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">C</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">OLLABORATION</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">.—<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">(1) I</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">N GENERAL</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">.—The Administrator shall lead</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">and encourage to the maximum extent practicable</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">international partner participation in the
implementation of the elements of constructing permanent;y crewed Lunar
Outposts. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If the National Space Council
deems it necessary due to the overall interest of multiple International plus
scientific, commercial and academic entities who wish to join this enterprise,
it may choose to establish a Lunar Outpost Consortium of which NASA would be
the American representative. Such a consortium would be required ultimately to
become self-financing.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">(2) C</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">ONGRESSIONAL AUTHORIZATION</span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">.—NASA</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">shall seek Congressional authorization prior to
finalizing any exploration architecture that depends on</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">international or commercial partnerships for
overall mission success as well as the creation of the consortium mentioned
above.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">(h)
Center Assignments Within NASA—<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>(1) As a general principle, the NASA
Administrator shall choose, with the concurrence of the National Space Council,
the responsibilities of the centers and offices under his authority for the
various phases of the Permanently Crewed Lunar Outpost Program.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "DeVinne",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>(2) The NASA Administrator will have
the further authority, with the concurrence of the National Space Council, to
modify or change the assigned responsibilities of the centers and offices under
his authority for the Permanently Crewed Lunar Outpost Program if he deems
necessary for the purpose of improved management, budgetary concerns, or other
changing conditions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br /></div>
Homer Hickamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10218229542457074434noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794772572438808559.post-40711913568984215402019-10-20T10:55:00.000-07:002020-06-12T10:28:59.809-07:00Dinosaur Photos<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglUQDYM19murxDSAUTZs_BCg68A5E7za41NHZEi6ve2m1OYUig367e3C6SOIwyA1bu28fAEPJiuHLufQf6E2wz6Tb-tXTx-ko4IyBQxaPHnE4XL8rWRPt-Woq3aPFEYB9ji6xFCu6lsB-H/s1600/2FrankH3Dinovert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglUQDYM19murxDSAUTZs_BCg68A5E7za41NHZEi6ve2m1OYUig367e3C6SOIwyA1bu28fAEPJiuHLufQf6E2wz6Tb-tXTx-ko4IyBQxaPHnE4XL8rWRPt-Woq3aPFEYB9ji6xFCu6lsB-H/s640/2FrankH3Dinovert.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Frank Stewart and Homer Hickam with</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">vertebrae of a Triceratops juvenile</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLKeUg3RCRd5n3innBgV9p6ZzMi3N7n9XVTub7Aw7udfWTBUSZKV8Noiml3L_kjq94mmIlp43sxLuWo5MPlMxPwcXlOOBqGn8b-Q6pgDNC6D7BsgeMKafN-voxt2k55rveufWpHhNB6sxX/s1600/H3Celeste.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1382" data-original-width="1072" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLKeUg3RCRd5n3innBgV9p6ZzMi3N7n9XVTub7Aw7udfWTBUSZKV8Noiml3L_kjq94mmIlp43sxLuWo5MPlMxPwcXlOOBqGn8b-Q6pgDNC6D7BsgeMKafN-voxt2k55rveufWpHhNB6sxX/s320/H3Celeste.png" width="248" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">Homer and Celeste Horner in a Hell Creek moment</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxuXvP5YRhNHeLQixYHGBPAozmiGS8vSdlzZegBvZZGt9TWOF6250qR6-81GT2R4Lwx9dK4OD0M1mOZT5bzMKxnXFS83C4SMWQETHPY-Fxkk6dbcNdwjfwUcjwyA0KMMskOqhNhNcSHWSn/s1600/H3Portugals.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1489" data-original-width="1497" height="397" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxuXvP5YRhNHeLQixYHGBPAozmiGS8vSdlzZegBvZZGt9TWOF6250qR6-81GT2R4Lwx9dK4OD0M1mOZT5bzMKxnXFS83C4SMWQETHPY-Fxkk6dbcNdwjfwUcjwyA0KMMskOqhNhNcSHWSn/s400/H3Portugals.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Moi and two of the Portu-gals on the day we launched rockets rather than hunt dinosaurs. Three of them lived in that little tent. Later, they would find the X-Rex.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRHLbIZCjITxTwn-eDBpFV0fnaeoiFw12uxv3vRkEWodnUo8kBC-IwkxBxLU4rMkDhTzfIVvauYSvRmGMsvftyk0yYEIobL308DJW5PgT28ujb3drLTw-arFvguqQwvxkqEgNOCXjCw6vD/s1600/1999HCCamp.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRHLbIZCjITxTwn-eDBpFV0fnaeoiFw12uxv3vRkEWodnUo8kBC-IwkxBxLU4rMkDhTzfIVvauYSvRmGMsvftyk0yYEIobL308DJW5PgT28ujb3drLTw-arFvguqQwvxkqEgNOCXjCw6vD/s640/1999HCCamp.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Dr. John "Jack" Horner and me the first summer. We all ended up as friends after Frank and I were almost kicked out for being bone thieves.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKtrIm-MqVlT-6XVSqv1BYUTjBAyYxbB2HSlrQO1H2Sj35Hq35Hr0pEqHvseGRWuSDzAB1UIkTWB4zvzqRWiM8EfHe_jVukrVm21MSP-MBVAWQXCAVTDSA2XWuDRdM5zITFDLyIoCFouih/s1600/H-rex.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1414" data-original-width="978" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKtrIm-MqVlT-6XVSqv1BYUTjBAyYxbB2HSlrQO1H2Sj35Hq35Hr0pEqHvseGRWuSDzAB1UIkTWB4zvzqRWiM8EfHe_jVukrVm21MSP-MBVAWQXCAVTDSA2XWuDRdM5zITFDLyIoCFouih/s640/H-rex.JPG" width="442" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">One of the best days in my life, the day I found the H-Rex. "Where's the rest of it?" - Dr. Jack Horner</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtNZpBqhD5KhEk1MeARtFVN9lHojltwBq9bX3oQrSWTwz5_5K4XA9Pl-s93pP9ePefbCWKL61fi2-j7-8DURk5XTDKDcm5NF7neCr5bRCoeccmucsn4d69mCMtJUTgxUt9TC1yPXlkFLdV/s1600/H3%2526TrexClaw3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtNZpBqhD5KhEk1MeARtFVN9lHojltwBq9bX3oQrSWTwz5_5K4XA9Pl-s93pP9ePefbCWKL61fi2-j7-8DURk5XTDKDcm5NF7neCr5bRCoeccmucsn4d69mCMtJUTgxUt9TC1yPXlkFLdV/s640/H3%2526TrexClaw3.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Juvenile T.rex claw. "Where's the rest of it?" - Jack Horner</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2UniAMftAMH7JDU5jnP28nhT4LG9iGp8Xyg08phyphenhyphenn35CWKibnMpBnHJJusdH0QDsozEmLIFVy2W0B3vQEmCdXLriUk4X37Iyu6i_f74jZ5vj9xgUh-eKa6X32UnPImypswmtMbgK5p6gt/s1600/H3andDinoHuntersMontana.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2UniAMftAMH7JDU5jnP28nhT4LG9iGp8Xyg08phyphenhyphenn35CWKibnMpBnHJJusdH0QDsozEmLIFVy2W0B3vQEmCdXLriUk4X37Iyu6i_f74jZ5vj9xgUh-eKa6X32UnPImypswmtMbgK5p6gt/s640/H3andDinoHuntersMontana.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Frank, Bill H., and me the day after the great storm. Yes, our boat was sunk, and yes, we lost our food, and, yes, we lost our beer, and yes, we almost died, and yes, we went dino hunting the next day.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgji416HXxF1U7FZdznkae3xVCjvrGY4BrwZw12ZCSnhK6LYAiEAoonoqxJTRNwKSiC60mIV7EZQU189Q9XJOKk1baW4vvjhah0KWP9zrBfN4h6Glqs9p86p-eEtXIgWzKCGUzeAViWZl6i/s1600/FrankinDinoLand.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgji416HXxF1U7FZdznkae3xVCjvrGY4BrwZw12ZCSnhK6LYAiEAoonoqxJTRNwKSiC60mIV7EZQU189Q9XJOKk1baW4vvjhah0KWP9zrBfN4h6Glqs9p86p-eEtXIgWzKCGUzeAViWZl6i/s640/FrankinDinoLand.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Frank prospecting</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbUuEa3ES28ZC7JPhQ-t1ZhxPghKLr9xQXuH6rL1DAMIX-VLHtXOMcMUVsW-1hL24HrPruhyphenhyphen42vzF02HrpRLjA3kIKU9IoHAI0G0kM0j5-B1GxU4IlyLpmIgKFZxS1qijTLFwWA-LVPe7p/s1600/Dino+Boys1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1219" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbUuEa3ES28ZC7JPhQ-t1ZhxPghKLr9xQXuH6rL1DAMIX-VLHtXOMcMUVsW-1hL24HrPruhyphenhyphen42vzF02HrpRLjA3kIKU9IoHAI0G0kM0j5-B1GxU4IlyLpmIgKFZxS1qijTLFwWA-LVPe7p/s640/Dino+Boys1.jpg" width="484" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Caricature of Homer, Frank, and occasional dino hunter Bill Hendricks by artist Don Howard</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsdnoU4BSF79GbbwquMZHEPFmkfSFz87G30rZEHCB3UUi9HxEhwdQNtvRkCFzopCtprut86fFtRvCdwwqONLG-Ibtt-Ooy-yPU_Ta0Q-9hfLwYHZne04DmVGiuafzrLgEA2bAysEKFEVPM/s1600/H3dinohunter2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsdnoU4BSF79GbbwquMZHEPFmkfSFz87G30rZEHCB3UUi9HxEhwdQNtvRkCFzopCtprut86fFtRvCdwwqONLG-Ibtt-Ooy-yPU_Ta0Q-9hfLwYHZne04DmVGiuafzrLgEA2bAysEKFEVPM/s640/H3dinohunter2.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">On the scout for the juvie T</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8D7D0GySMoj41IU7MXEIJm_KfdeK5rTJmJ8aGRYPGnQjUSpu_nQ4btRgVimrSW9qD-2GkLYH6D6ReGoB3sh3y2_fKuwcNTuSkZube1JJsz-YrP7bxW4m0WKpeQC3K7iZ6l3x70SN9c640/s1600/lth3dino.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8D7D0GySMoj41IU7MXEIJm_KfdeK5rTJmJ8aGRYPGnQjUSpu_nQ4btRgVimrSW9qD-2GkLYH6D6ReGoB3sh3y2_fKuwcNTuSkZube1JJsz-YrP7bxW4m0WKpeQC3K7iZ6l3x70SN9c640/s640/lth3dino.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Wife Linda finally joined us for a summer. She did great.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghkvHJQBmf-_zMnR8UeNsI589pVPcAvrHoeunyGxR6q6G2iMmMMW-_NJQ7eRQFEWSP8lbTZQkp9vOBevrOpb0FnsZ8KPQQvN8lMBBx6q9pL3-R4vyldclqiQmTm8ZZv96ma3p7fQ1U7iOH/s1600/franakh3hunt.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghkvHJQBmf-_zMnR8UeNsI589pVPcAvrHoeunyGxR6q6G2iMmMMW-_NJQ7eRQFEWSP8lbTZQkp9vOBevrOpb0FnsZ8KPQQvN8lMBBx6q9pL3-R4vyldclqiQmTm8ZZv96ma3p7fQ1U7iOH/s640/franakh3hunt.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Frank and I confer on a bone coming out of the hill</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXw5R-32sgRsXUyM_5lHEacTIyjSGNQzcWCTjdCnHWJWKOtiB446knxz40HXDjbR1v_1fgdJuj-1C-gALZo82TI4iyz0E4JwkMzUS0ab6vOJB2p5LUAQq_0mCFxN5bZTHxdpsq4xEZV9dz/s1600/h3feather.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXw5R-32sgRsXUyM_5lHEacTIyjSGNQzcWCTjdCnHWJWKOtiB446knxz40HXDjbR1v_1fgdJuj-1C-gALZo82TI4iyz0E4JwkMzUS0ab6vOJB2p5LUAQq_0mCFxN5bZTHxdpsq4xEZV9dz/s640/h3feather.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Noting a small find</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfFuuWD4AGCLGZ7Mrcwg_Fc-qdyYlJXeq2WWAll4grIc1aLuxMEyG7hyb5Gce3NB8LhGl7XJEgf7ur9jGGO2N-SaKc1nreY2d3Fna0F05kSBsnesS6nPBRj2XTp-m1GzythTvmm7VSa-Nt/s1600/H3DinoGirlsLee.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfFuuWD4AGCLGZ7Mrcwg_Fc-qdyYlJXeq2WWAll4grIc1aLuxMEyG7hyb5Gce3NB8LhGl7XJEgf7ur9jGGO2N-SaKc1nreY2d3Fna0F05kSBsnesS6nPBRj2XTp-m1GzythTvmm7VSa-Nt/s640/H3DinoGirlsLee.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">With some dirty little Dino Girls and One Lucky Boy</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg9c55gNBUGCc64lWjduiWBF5TtyToZx6hnEAzG4OsgbrnDiBm8H-yKmAU5o_6lMRqvmlSkaneR529tK-F-znQRU-OvSHM41nLsNxqWAXqzFE3oFO-LucSKHJbkHUUJ2oLqxArfRRF7r-H/s1600/alake.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg9c55gNBUGCc64lWjduiWBF5TtyToZx6hnEAzG4OsgbrnDiBm8H-yKmAU5o_6lMRqvmlSkaneR529tK-F-znQRU-OvSHM41nLsNxqWAXqzFE3oFO-LucSKHJbkHUUJ2oLqxArfRRF7r-H/s640/alake.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">My view at lunch. Fort Peck Reservoir in distance</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbSv_3KHVi9qVFKlOrVqkZhi9MSRGb-Sn10bQk3HWsEeRHkHaMW9bwK7tva6G9oZfGuOuGXDEDg1H7nwx2ccnt8Ceztusis9VxcERjni8Mysb4_avpi6YqoQqxkdZLZJ5SCia5B52KUcHI/s1600/althikes.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbSv_3KHVi9qVFKlOrVqkZhi9MSRGb-Sn10bQk3HWsEeRHkHaMW9bwK7tva6G9oZfGuOuGXDEDg1H7nwx2ccnt8Ceztusis9VxcERjni8Mysb4_avpi6YqoQqxkdZLZJ5SCia5B52KUcHI/s640/althikes.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">An ancient beach. Mud flow behind it was always a great place to find dinos.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0CESA1cGp2Vlo7cHl86UP_A4TwXp_VoO_6iYKNxHurdumLYjkIt4CZ06gZ2QsvCnzhaZId2cOEElcOs3wTxOMRqV8Ebja5yYLgBTtRpfnfhwxsW0fhaYwPytsyOeE4x7dEvmqQjo8V3Iu/s1600/Homer%2527s+Nose.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0CESA1cGp2Vlo7cHl86UP_A4TwXp_VoO_6iYKNxHurdumLYjkIt4CZ06gZ2QsvCnzhaZId2cOEElcOs3wTxOMRqV8Ebja5yYLgBTtRpfnfhwxsW0fhaYwPytsyOeE4x7dEvmqQjo8V3Iu/s640/Homer%2527s+Nose.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">The famous "Homer's Nose" which changed the debate on the nature of Triceratops.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeJeyRR_hFjHRpYINPfm0WlXx3i559HDGk3PbHjJTKygG2XYwoPr81xnpJmm40wb0543wOMMIpXU49PsPgpPk3sa8y_VF3cy3Em6PPm0oyzSNqruZ-EIiW8ITVoiHZxuudEMwS2ihYukMH/s1600/35147_138409172854097_110601_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeJeyRR_hFjHRpYINPfm0WlXx3i559HDGk3PbHjJTKygG2XYwoPr81xnpJmm40wb0543wOMMIpXU49PsPgpPk3sa8y_VF3cy3Em6PPm0oyzSNqruZ-EIiW8ITVoiHZxuudEMwS2ihYukMH/s640/35147_138409172854097_110601_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">A nice theropod bone. There may be the rest of the animal just below.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjniWAwOopnw46j1a6fr0izNhowHU_B1tSLpRtX3p_uw1DmfcfC7M9SSv45iJ0pYJ-Hz3-_YD73zYsFoWQkEpvdvVa-qbu2kp5Jzh0sKIHBYkXpjFuFhlc4o-DfwKyLE3ckF-P1f2c6VcxJ/s1600/280015_238133306215016_6836466_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjniWAwOopnw46j1a6fr0izNhowHU_B1tSLpRtX3p_uw1DmfcfC7M9SSv45iJ0pYJ-Hz3-_YD73zYsFoWQkEpvdvVa-qbu2kp5Jzh0sKIHBYkXpjFuFhlc4o-DfwKyLE3ckF-P1f2c6VcxJ/s640/280015_238133306215016_6836466_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Making a judgement on a find</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbnTEYhZLJPjb3dRpnhc_EepNKRbFLPNUKTt0GPMLpYKHYu9FIA2w532_ivg4TGPDxILIPZMHUNhFRB5SlPCtjNQnuDXR9kxhwnpm29Lgv94vacKdBxf7l8y_lmiGveK6kJJhOSn2PfgRG/s1600/2H3dinohunter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="953" data-original-width="830" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbnTEYhZLJPjb3dRpnhc_EepNKRbFLPNUKTt0GPMLpYKHYu9FIA2w532_ivg4TGPDxILIPZMHUNhFRB5SlPCtjNQnuDXR9kxhwnpm29Lgv94vacKdBxf7l8y_lmiGveK6kJJhOSn2PfgRG/s640/2H3dinohunter.jpg" width="556" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Full Regalia of the Dinosaur Hunter</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjygtK6KZJV-bjJgZ4j89-qB4TTD9P_DT-RWk4KtVSjWcfhg_zbSTSPggq2n0PPxg8BetEhWhQ5-WTPm65U32zCn8QWdaUmHm4LpONq8bJWoFUXGdqgjsJiuRwySeCbgGDHPoG_mmqHkrRP/s1600/19944450_10210123636948463_816376012165756374_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjygtK6KZJV-bjJgZ4j89-qB4TTD9P_DT-RWk4KtVSjWcfhg_zbSTSPggq2n0PPxg8BetEhWhQ5-WTPm65U32zCn8QWdaUmHm4LpONq8bJWoFUXGdqgjsJiuRwySeCbgGDHPoG_mmqHkrRP/s640/19944450_10210123636948463_816376012165756374_o.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Here I found evidence of an Ankylosaur. I'm still looking for it.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWRD1kd8Ik4LYEAHce3v1L68a70Yyt5dBZ58s26S4aJYQxY66wSaqgaso1CzqOru1dd8LFmY-xrC_lmaaDV3_ah9TXj-nxjfX39Smf1qiiHyhpkhY-ICR_fFaaGyXZz_gt-Vz9OecgOeGF/s1600/19956722_1751805308181134_956885854490563624_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWRD1kd8Ik4LYEAHce3v1L68a70Yyt5dBZ58s26S4aJYQxY66wSaqgaso1CzqOru1dd8LFmY-xrC_lmaaDV3_ah9TXj-nxjfX39Smf1qiiHyhpkhY-ICR_fFaaGyXZz_gt-Vz9OecgOeGF/s640/19956722_1751805308181134_956885854490563624_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">A shadow in a very hot sun</span></td></tr>
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Homer Hickamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10218229542457074434noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794772572438808559.post-3331611730465219432019-07-25T10:17:00.000-07:002019-08-11T15:12:26.704-07:00My Open Letter to NASA Managers Who Can't Say "Moon" without "Mars" in the Same Sentence: Please stop it.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf6yZ0xV-39MoWSuT28HMpVuWY9LP9Ekuti2nqVZXs_KQOLOsEIZE9xmppMXOYS46f0LeU49XAdQQfH_tZs0uc4pQ1v-fIB5pkE3uKP1y2OdKvCvUdcfrmZdFfruBGUSC4e5nkEJw87Gwm/s1600/AukLetterHead.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="187" data-original-width="759" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf6yZ0xV-39MoWSuT28HMpVuWY9LP9Ekuti2nqVZXs_KQOLOsEIZE9xmppMXOYS46f0LeU49XAdQQfH_tZs0uc4pQ1v-fIB5pkE3uKP1y2OdKvCvUdcfrmZdFfruBGUSC4e5nkEJw87Gwm/s640/AukLetterHead.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Dear NASA Managers who can't say "moon" without "Mars in the same sentence:</div>
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I love you, I really do but please stop it.</div>
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Although you may think that everybody agrees with you that <i>Artemis</i> is just a touch and go on the path to Mars, let me assure you that it isn't with me and many, many others in the space community. We've worked hard for years to get us to the point where maybe we're finally going back to the moon.<br />
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We've even got a Vice President who is behind NASA, who wants you to go to the moon and build something permanent there, and who has stuck out his neck for you. For years, lots of us have been working in every way we can - me with my books and my other writings - to get someone in the Executive Branch who is really serious about going back to the moon, not in a sprint with flags and all that but for a purpose that's good enough to keep us there.</div>
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But now I fear you're about to totally screw it up mainly because of where your heads are on this moon and Mars thing.</div>
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So, with great respect to all of you who toil every day on the pathways to space, let me be clear: Every time you folks at NASA tack "and then we're headed to Mars" onto your comments about going back to the moon, you diminish the moon as a destination whether you realize it or not. As such, you are totally confusing everybody, especially young people. Common sense says you're not going to Mars because you have no orders to go there and the technology not only doesn't exist, there are no plans to make it exist.</div>
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So, dear NASA folks, if we're going to get young people excited about space, trust me on this: The moon is exciting enough and I'm going to tell you why.<br />
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A lot of you NASA managers think it's just a practice ground but I'm sorry, that's so Old Space. There is the moon and then there is the moon.</div>
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The moon I fear you are looking at is the moon of Apollo which was considered a cold, dead, dry, and essentially uninteresting place and therefore that's why the missions were cancelled so you'd better just bounce off it and keep going. The real moon, however, is actually much different than we thought it was fifty years ago.</div>
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We have learned so much about the moon since Apollo. The great news is it's wet. It may very well hold signs of life that either had an origin on the moon or, more likely, was sent from Earth during various primordial collisions or came in from outer space aboard comets. This should make the moon fascinating to scientists and philosophers alike.</div>
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Consider this: We haven't looked at with a microscope a single drop of water from OFF our world. That's pretty interesting when you consider that we've never looked at a single drop of water from ON our world that wasn't filled with life or evidence of life. Just one drop of moon water - life or no life - is going to tell us an enormous amount on who we are and where we came from and what's likely out there waiting for us.</div>
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Besides water and its uses and perhaps evidence of life or past life, the moon is loaded with stuff we can use and I'm sure you know the list. So let's go get it.</div>
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Now, let's consider Mars but not the Mars that is the prodigious planet you keep saying you're heading toward. </div>
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The Mars I think you imagine is actually a fantasy, a wonderful fantasy, but still very much one that exists mostly because of the wistful dreams started by Percival Lowell a century ago when he wrote fanciful books about Mars as if they were factual which was picked up by H.G. Wells and Edgar Rice Burroughs and a thousand other writers since who've filled our heads with unrealistic concepts of what Mars is really like.</div>
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NASA, however, must not promote fantasies. It's all right for Elon and others to believe in the fantasy and work toward it - it's their money and their time and otherwise they're doing great work - but you have to take an actual, hardheaded look at the fourth rock out from the sun because you're spending the people's money.</div>
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So here we go: Mars is no "fixer upper" as Elon calls it. In fact, Mars is a fearsome place, a dwarf planet, only one third the size of the Earth and but twice the size of our moon.</div>
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Mars has no atmosphere to speak of and what it has cannot be breathed. It has virtually no air pressure so it might as well be a vacuum for planning purposes in terms of keeping people alive.</div>
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Mars is horrifically cold, averaging 81 degrees below zero, meaning that only a slight failure in an astronaut's suit heating system will cause frostbite perhaps requiring amputation. Look at the climbers of Mount Everest and how they often have to have toes, fingers, and noses cut off to avoid gangrene after being frostbitten in, compared to Mars, relatively benign conditions.<br />
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Unless suit technology is revolutionized with some sort of "beyond our present technology" backpack providing heat and air, astronauts on Mars can't just clomp around in thin suits without being susceptible to frostbite due to inevitable heater failures and, without tons of heavy compressors and filters and catalysts to convert carbon dioxide to oxygen to keep their backpack tanks full, they will also quickly experience a thing called asphyxiation which is generally considered a bad thing.<br />
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As an aside, in my novel <i>Crater</i> I have people working outside on the moon wearing biolastic suits which are made up of living organisms which provide pressure and warmth and air. These, I have to admit, might be defined as "beyond our present technology."<br />
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But back to the real Mars.</div>
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Many have pointed out that frostbite and asphyxiation didn't happen on the moon during Apollo. That's true but the astronauts were only there temporarily and quickly headed back to Earth. Your Mars fantasy is to go there and stay for months and possibly years on end without help from anybody. You've got a totally different situation to deal with.</div>
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But let's keep going because if Mars was only just cold and possessed of a thin atmosphere, it would be fine for human exploration but there's a bit more and they're the worst.</div>
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Mars has no magnetic field like Earth and therefore radiation and cosmic rays cascade down on its surface. The only instrument we've put there to measure it registered so much radiation in a solar flare that it knocked out the instrument but not before it let us know any Earthian mammal would have died.</div>
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Mars soil is deadly to Earthian plant-life. Without leaching out the perchlorates and adding massive amounts of water and fertilizer, nothing can be grown in it. This means continuous food supplies have to be sent out over an average of 140,000,000 miles more or less constantly. Are you prepared for that? Did you plan on farming? Astronauts performing stoop labor isn't a likely image even if you carried all that fertilizer and were able to wash the soil with Mars water. Consider what that's going to take. It's a massive undertaking and just to keep a few people fed.</div>
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All this means astronauts on Mars will have to live underground or beneath a pile of rubble in some kind of habitats and will require constant supplements from Earth. We decidedly do not know how to build such self-sustained habitats! Only once has it been tried and that was the Biosphere II attempt in Arizona which failed.</div>
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And should we solve all that and our astronauts are able to live inside their man-made caves, they will only be able to make brief stints outside in suits while getting irradiated in the process, risking frostbite, and hoping their air holds out and they don't starve or die of thirst. Some fun.</div>
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But before even all that, there's the voyage just to get there which is so vast and will take so long, it makes going to the moon seem like a Sunday afternoon drive. Unfortunately, NASA doesn't have anything even on the drawing boards that could remotely carry astronauts to Mars and land them there. Your Orion capsule is woefully inadequate for anything more than a few weeks. Essentially, you've got to build something roomy like the International Space Station and set sail all its massiveness to Mars if you've any hope of keeping a crew healthy and even then, it's going to be touch and go because, you know, people get sick.</div>
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Ten months one way (when the planets line up meaning sometimes it'll take considerably longer) through irradiated space in weightless conditions means your astronauts will arrive with decreased muscle mass, brittle bones, damaged eyeballs and perhaps brains and then you expect them to then perform like the Apollo astronauts? Unlikely. It would be like putting 80 year olds atop Mount Everest and telling them to get out and go to work. Unhappily, you're going to need a complete pharmacy and surgery to get anybody that far out, especially using chemical rockets.</div>
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So you say you'll just build bigger better rocket engines? Great. Do it. But even thermal nuclear engines would only cut that trip in half and even if it cut it to a third, you don't have such engines and it's going to be awhile to get them and you don't need them for the moon. So where are they in the pipeline? Some of your folks are doing great work on them but realistically, such engines are many years away from flying with humans aboard. You'll need to first test them with robotic spacecraft many times. What are we looking at? Decades? Probably.</div>
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And just consider - please - what it would take to design and build all this hardware both as ships and landers and habitats and then build the simulators and train the ground personnel and then keep this huge marching army trained, salaried, and content. Nowhere have I seen the slightest work on your part to identify this horde of people working on the ground you're going to need just so a few astronauts can go to Mars. Maybe Elon can go with a skeleton crew on the ground and risk himself and his employees and volunteers but, dear NASA, you are a federal agency who answers to the people. You've got to go in force with more than a reasonable chance of success with a powerful reason to go in the first place or not go at all. That's just the way it is.</div>
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For NASA to send humans to Mars, then, isn't going to be anything like Apollo. It's going to be more like a continuous D-Day and will require an effort that essentially mobilizes the nation but will forever be an economic drain. How long do you think it will be supported?</div>
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At some point, when you really sit down and see what it will take to send humans to Mars, you quickly begin to appreciate that NASA could send a thousand, nay ten thousand robots there to roam, dig, root through, drill within, and fly over that planet and see exactly what's there. Also, eventually artificial intelligence, possibly even in the shape of humans if that is desired, make so much more sense as we can crawl inside their heads and see exactly what they see and what they feel without having to deal with the frailties of human beings.</div>
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And, as a trainer of many astronauts, I have to tell you that unless our technology changes immensely, you are asking far too much from normal human beings to send them on such missions to Mars with the equipment we can realistically acquire over these next several decades.</div>
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So there you have it. Unlike Mars which will be an economic drain where only the bravest, strongest, and mostly single and divorced astronauts can go who are willing to shorten their lives considerably in order to visit a dead little planet, the moon, because it is so near and interesting and filled with resources, can be a place where actual, real, and normal people can go, where minerals are acquired for the Earth that will supplement our economy, and where people can work and make some money and create a space economy. And lots of fantastic science can be done, too.</div>
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So here's what I believe and think you should, too: NASA's job right at this moment is to put an anchor down on the moon that will allow everyone, private or governmental, to follow by using it as a safe haven before heading out to the Lunar Outback to prospect. To do that, you're looking at decades of work - good wonderful work - that will see plumbers, miners, electricians, construction workers, and so forth actually living on the moon. Isn't that enough? I think so.</div>
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In summary, dear NASA managers, the moon is NOT a practice area. It is our eighth continent and I believe you have the responsibility to get us back there and set up shop so the rest of us can follow. Now, let's get going and, for goodness sake, unless you're talking about robotic missions, please stop talking about Mars!<br />
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All the best,</div>
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Homer<br />
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PS - Once our moon-Earth economy is up and running, and we find the right planet around the right star... well, I'll be there for you. That will be a worthy objective. Let's do it. Let's go.</div>
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Homer Hickamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10218229542457074434noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794772572438808559.post-42657661197928496502019-07-21T15:04:00.002-07:002020-01-28T10:27:29.291-08:00Why go to the moon? Simple. To Gather Resources We Need<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Over the last couple of weeks, I've explained how Mars first reached mythical status in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries as a desirable planet for people to visit and even live by a series of books and lectures by a somewhat crazy billionaire turned astronomer named Percival Lowell. <a href="https://homerhickamblog.blogspot.com/2019/06/a-myth-known-as-mars-psst-nasas-not.html">https://homerhickamblog.blogspot.com/2019/06/a-myth-known-as-mars-psst-nasas-not.html</a><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Percival Lowell, billionaire, astronomer, and kinda crazy</td></tr>
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After that, I examined what it would actually take to send humans to Mars and my belief that NASA will never attempt it nor will anyone else who's reasonable because this tiny little planet isn't worth the blood, time, or treasure to send humans there when robotic and artificial intelligence is available to thoroughly explore it and get back all the answers it might hold. <a href="https://homerhickamblog.blogspot.com/2019/07/mars-is-not-for-humans-not-now-and.html">https://homerhickamblog.blogspot.com/2019/07/mars-is-not-for-humans-not-now-and.html</a><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP26pn0xdzAa1Ygj2yaAlHpL64H93BvtsCKnjyQB7jRwEW5j8NYUgC2ei0khqDQETRDNYTik_wE0Wv-58W8yo7CRDVj9zGRDXXyyJ_F6zZTgE2nZaGxevPeDJW8ZuChD1kBbQYwRl5q89a/s1600/park-3089907__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="509" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP26pn0xdzAa1Ygj2yaAlHpL64H93BvtsCKnjyQB7jRwEW5j8NYUgC2ei0khqDQETRDNYTik_wE0Wv-58W8yo7CRDVj9zGRDXXyyJ_F6zZTgE2nZaGxevPeDJW8ZuChD1kBbQYwRl5q89a/s320/park-3089907__340.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Earth</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd2CMWhAIxlvo-nwvz_Etwp7exuj5zsXeIZsuNtFbO-DA-nNp9I9gc-liDYrSOguo_NCPrBGXH11U-C1V3kf37CGxeJel9UKC3COfyKpHzlhfHEjY64gdRQ8JD3tV04h8nzxRweGFF2wRx/s1600/egyptian-mummy-close-detail-260nw-1081062512.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="280" data-original-width="390" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd2CMWhAIxlvo-nwvz_Etwp7exuj5zsXeIZsuNtFbO-DA-nNp9I9gc-liDYrSOguo_NCPrBGXH11U-C1V3kf37CGxeJel9UKC3COfyKpHzlhfHEjY64gdRQ8JD3tV04h8nzxRweGFF2wRx/s320/egyptian-mummy-close-detail-260nw-1081062512.webp" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mars</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="329" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA79SJafI8MpuZ4wHlDj7VkdoUNVbHPguQxxm4QTcD1mSq_iFvdBl_o5xnzIgrfd0gqwlsfvVA1qtJj5gG7vuZZgxW9yelmxudoWo1_7Yx5xeCaqmC1h8ZpdlxR3i9NqBIjfFtsPEDDAub/s200/girl-320262__340.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="193" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Artificial Intelligence (AI) Buffy</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA79SJafI8MpuZ4wHlDj7VkdoUNVbHPguQxxm4QTcD1mSq_iFvdBl_o5xnzIgrfd0gqwlsfvVA1qtJj5gG7vuZZgxW9yelmxudoWo1_7Yx5xeCaqmC1h8ZpdlxR3i9NqBIjfFtsPEDDAub/s1600/girl-320262__340.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA79SJafI8MpuZ4wHlDj7VkdoUNVbHPguQxxm4QTcD1mSq_iFvdBl_o5xnzIgrfd0gqwlsfvVA1qtJj5gG7vuZZgxW9yelmxudoWo1_7Yx5xeCaqmC1h8ZpdlxR3i9NqBIjfFtsPEDDAub/s1600/girl-320262__340.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br />
<br />
But this isn't true for Luna, our moon. It's different. People not only can go there, they should go because we need their intelligence, their labor, and their sweat to gather important resources for the world.<br />
<br />
My opinion is undoubtedly colored by the unique place I'm from, a town called Coalwood in a state called West Virginia in a place called Appalachia where it's difficult to get there, difficult to live there, but has resources that must be shipped elsewhere in order to keep our civilization humming along.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzjoFXZCsGYCTKKvNvLnCmcdKP8lyRm79atRhZmCNiYrlI_kYF67B65teJGXbCN_gxniqJSgG0XfiIZIbe3GvylvQMfUdBOHIs5psaQJkaVKt9CSizN6MOkNux9Bv8eE0ybxzaWiTPriup/s1600/9thGradeMineTourCoalwood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="504" data-original-width="913" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzjoFXZCsGYCTKKvNvLnCmcdKP8lyRm79atRhZmCNiYrlI_kYF67B65teJGXbCN_gxniqJSgG0XfiIZIbe3GvylvQMfUdBOHIs5psaQJkaVKt9CSizN6MOkNux9Bv8eE0ybxzaWiTPriup/s400/9thGradeMineTourCoalwood.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>That's me, third from the right kneeling. Just us 9th grade boys<br />after visiting the mine where our dads worked. They made money in a dangerous profession but</b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>raised their families, educated their kids, and sent us off to the unsuspecting</b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>world where we did pretty darn well. Our dads were just like what miners on the moon will be like, good, robust, hearty, and daggone smart.</b></i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
In other words, I'm from a place something like the moon.<br />
<br />
West Virginians came to the mountain state in the early 20th Century attracted by the coal mining industry. It wasn't that they necessarily liked mining coal. They came so as to make money and have a place where they could raise their families. The work they did was nasty and dangerous but they still did it and did it as long as they could. After awhile, it became their way of life and they fell in love with the mountains, hills, and valleys of the rugged land.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgohYYqaUxK_VVpBt29NWxALQTeQ_2kFcId4nB13ZO6Vj8m-NmZEcCmB8HjnxFasoDONUvnnNBkxcOX3h7hXUXGC9gQiRyYSlhC449rMiOcFSkTiYr6aDPdj9gxM9tfe1opR91znJeBUJwU/s1600/CoalwoodWayCover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="304" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgohYYqaUxK_VVpBt29NWxALQTeQ_2kFcId4nB13ZO6Vj8m-NmZEcCmB8HjnxFasoDONUvnnNBkxcOX3h7hXUXGC9gQiRyYSlhC449rMiOcFSkTiYr6aDPdj9gxM9tfe1opR91znJeBUJwU/s320/CoalwoodWayCover.jpg" width="194" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>One of my memoirs about life in Coalwood.</b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>It was a New York Times</b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>best-seller.</b></i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Their way of life is the way I think life on the moon could and should evolve.<br />
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A few years back, I wrote about the descendants of West Virginians in <i><a href="http://homerhickam.com/project/crescent-a-helium-3-novel/">Crescent</a></i>, the second novel in my "Crater" trilogy. In the 22nd Century, Crater, a young Helium-3 miner, and Crescent, a genetically modified female, meet a group on the moon who are fleeing from Earth because their land has been stolen. It turns out they are from an area in the former United States known as Appalachia which has been forcibly depopulated for socio-economic reasons. This is not too farfetched as much of the West Virginia county and the town of Coalwood where I grew up has been depopulated, the people forced to go elsewhere to find jobs. I am one of those ex-pats so I can relate to the group that Crater and Crescent agree to lead to a far place on the moon, a mining town called Endless Dust which is laid out somewhat like Coalwood.<br />
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Recently, I told Senator Ted Cruz and his Aviation and Space Subcommittee that what I want out of the space program is "Coalwood on the moon" and that I don't care two cents about who the next professional astronaut is who goes there. What I care about is opening a place where real people - plumbers, electricians, miners, construction workers, and other so-called blue collar workers - can go work, make money, and raise their families just like in the Coalwood where I grew up. Go here to see exactly what I said:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xRbCkFYZpWk&feature=youtu.be&fbclid=IwAR1v9ls4FT3cJGXFBGYJu4XJ2IBbCa-ei1DAHFV-aN_a7fnT9uStwxCK6bg">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xRbCkFYZpWk&feature=youtu.be&fbclid=IwAR1v9ls4FT3cJGXFBGYJu4XJ2IBbCa-ei1DAHFV-aN_a7fnT9uStwxCK6bg</a><br />
<br />
The moon I describe in <a href="http://homerhickam.com/project/crater/">Crater</a>, <a href="http://homerhickam.com/project/crescent-a-helium-3-novel/">Crescent</a>, and <a href="http://homerhickam.com/project/helium-3-series/">The Lunar Rescue Company</a> is a place where there are many Coalwoods, frontier mining towns populated by a rugged people made even tougher and stronger by the land in which they live.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAENxULwasycPmYr8Auqg-UrMTh-qgHJnNj5N-qEhfrjMVF3bUi_MmlC8HM58p1RX-KrH1tOLiMxkGrnM5fKRMg8wRibQO8G3Wz8vTsTXz_gKbUJQqX3OWgtzuhH7RhEI9PE1-xGoUuPHn/s1600/Helium3CraterSeriesCovers.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="541" data-original-width="1014" height="339" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAENxULwasycPmYr8Auqg-UrMTh-qgHJnNj5N-qEhfrjMVF3bUi_MmlC8HM58p1RX-KrH1tOLiMxkGrnM5fKRMg8wRibQO8G3Wz8vTsTXz_gKbUJQqX3OWgtzuhH7RhEI9PE1-xGoUuPHn/s640/Helium3CraterSeriesCovers.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>My "Crater" series of novels (aka Helium-3 series).</b></i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
So how does that happen? How does the moon go from being an exotic fantastic locale where only brave astronauts dare to go to a place of work for folks like those who raised their families in Coalwood? And why would the taxpayers of the United States and our partners and allies ever want to shell out even a dime to make that happen?<br />
<br />
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It is because the moon qualifies as a reasonable place for the world to expand and gather resources.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRahrh43jV1P3K1bsrahqPLO8f-LAHp5lFF6fk41NX8Pvo9wNe2Ye6EhaG0D15gzUmtWbzLUCHxVR3hYzf4ErdqlXNGeK3rG8pFXKY8qlCwTYy76xdMKxzP5PdlxdQB67IM1OJDQC0oLi1/s1600/full_moon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="742" data-original-width="806" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRahrh43jV1P3K1bsrahqPLO8f-LAHp5lFF6fk41NX8Pvo9wNe2Ye6EhaG0D15gzUmtWbzLUCHxVR3hYzf4ErdqlXNGeK3rG8pFXKY8qlCwTYy76xdMKxzP5PdlxdQB67IM1OJDQC0oLi1/s320/full_moon.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>Hi there. I'm Luna, your neighbor. I've got lots of good stuff for you<br />if you'll come and get it.</b></i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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And what are those resources on the moon that the people of lunar Coalwoods will gather for us and send back? I'll give you the usual list: Platinum, Helium, Helium-3, Thorium, etc. etc. and so forth but remember beneath every crater is the shattered remains of an asteroid. There's likely gold in them thar lunar hills and a lot else, too.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ_-5EVE6c8DF5CoGWYC-Zi1bD0_d74Tv5A39lMdVvNq9OS-8XYWaDikkL_omJFgq_OvxNg7I-BX4_agtUp8KukCVnHzHE8GpZX2jqsQydnfyWQqIsAM1wkQiEWsEHwddlQCyLgCTXplJn/s1600/BTTMCover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1096" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ_-5EVE6c8DF5CoGWYC-Zi1bD0_d74Tv5A39lMdVvNq9OS-8XYWaDikkL_omJFgq_OvxNg7I-BX4_agtUp8KukCVnHzHE8GpZX2jqsQydnfyWQqIsAM1wkQiEWsEHwddlQCyLgCTXplJn/s320/BTTMCover.jpg" width="219" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: small;">Here's another best-seller I wrote. Vice President Pence<br />said it was one of his favorite books. It's a little outdated but<br />still has some great stuff in it about why we need to go back.<br />And it's got adventure. And thrills. And great characters.<br /> And sex in space, too (not that it has anything to do with anything else).</span></b></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
As to the "how," it's also pretty simple. We as a nation have done the flags and footprints on the moon thing with Apollo Now, 50 years later, we need an anchoring base on the moon from which other entities, whether governmental or private, can come to, outfit themselves and then set across the lunar plains, valleys, rilles, and hills to explore and then build their roads and towns and start working and making money and raising their families and sending resources back to a needy Earth.<br />
<br />
That's it. That's all our federal government has to do. Just build an anchor up there, one staging area and then hold onto it long enough for all others to follow and build up a lunar civilization based on gathering resources.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw-VBa4F_nnlq2ygcR7rAxT-6g9xAEGpJagoAscGaFjyblyfowNgYNoRUbXj1blvtlKBOLcyyIVZ5uEFw17ZDdIXMHXZSSe0YEjapJefZYHQ0hMEL2hpeJ3JhpeKa32OdSsvv_0XkM49iX/s1600/16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="880" data-original-width="677" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw-VBa4F_nnlq2ygcR7rAxT-6g9xAEGpJagoAscGaFjyblyfowNgYNoRUbXj1blvtlKBOLcyyIVZ5uEFw17ZDdIXMHXZSSe0YEjapJefZYHQ0hMEL2hpeJ3JhpeKa32OdSsvv_0XkM49iX/s400/16.jpg" width="307" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: small;">My clever little moon anchor as described in my 1993 (!) study for NASA</span></b></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
I kind of mapped that anchor out in my 1993 study which I cleverly disguised as a comparison with the South Pole Station that can be seen here: <a href="https://homerhickamblog.blogspot.com/2019/03/1993-study-of-moon-laboratory-by-homer.html">https://homerhickamblog.blogspot.com/2019/03/1993-study-of-moon-laboratory-by-homer.html</a><br />
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Will Americans come around to my vision?<br />
<br />
We shall see.<br />
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- - Homer Hickam<br />
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Homer Hickamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10218229542457074434noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794772572438808559.post-86621883198112395832019-07-20T13:04:00.000-07:002020-01-31T20:04:48.012-08:00Mars is not for humans, not now and perhaps not ever and here's why...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
And so it continues by some folks at NASA Headquarters that we are going to the moon with the Artemis program so that the agency can then put people on Mars. Folks, I'm sorry but they're just not and here is why:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuuAKC-cp-9fNaNAah30wwCsOX6qa7kM8xvYIJWNA5AeKMyQaTEpD_KQEa9LEMaaFA7yww2KdvRggcgOxO9X3VQtHTiDwSHcMFlWpwXxQ99vxYQYsoLiEso9U3jaX8WkO8UVhcOovZyHpG/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="129" data-original-width="157" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuuAKC-cp-9fNaNAah30wwCsOX6qa7kM8xvYIJWNA5AeKMyQaTEpD_KQEa9LEMaaFA7yww2KdvRggcgOxO9X3VQtHTiDwSHcMFlWpwXxQ99vxYQYsoLiEso9U3jaX8WkO8UVhcOovZyHpG/s1600/download.jpg" /></a></div>
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<i><b>Sooooo sorry!</b></i></div>
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In a previous blog, <a href="https://homerhickamblog.blogspot.com/2019/06/a-myth-known-as-mars-psst-nasas-not.html">https://homerhickamblog.blogspot.com/2019/06/a-myth-known-as-mars-psst-nasas-not.html</a>, I explained how Mars rose into the consciousness of so many people over the past century or so as a desirable place to send humans to land and live. <u>But Mars has always been more of a myth than reality.</u><br />
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To understand the reality of what Mars really is, think of it as a corpse or a mummy. It is interesting as a former living thing and deserving of study but also somewhat repulsive.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipiKEwTp6i18eHVATAr7kffPk_rAfW57yLByFH_eX2EetvLkdPPwqLPsGPX6LcxbZfcFR8HIoCJfZIfc-uBbhOGJaSiQtBo2mkNEAdoRipqebZ3Jv92sMY2nWXe2JHiYno4KJaOVDzzQV_/s1600/park-3089907__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="509" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipiKEwTp6i18eHVATAr7kffPk_rAfW57yLByFH_eX2EetvLkdPPwqLPsGPX6LcxbZfcFR8HIoCJfZIfc-uBbhOGJaSiQtBo2mkNEAdoRipqebZ3Jv92sMY2nWXe2JHiYno4KJaOVDzzQV_/s320/park-3089907__340.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: small;">This is Earth...</span></i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFoz-1ZIw2VMxB71NhVGJWfurwaBFxGWNliAwFQ0Hk4I_QGZy99qMCZ5pQYa6Yjvo-6t3HhOOfNE6472PXKml_fI4cJt7K4yCTor1EsGwV0fDDgjjirRuMemgN1CzAuro5bggymHR0e_ui/s1600/egyptian-mummy-close-detail-260nw-1081062512.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="280" data-original-width="390" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFoz-1ZIw2VMxB71NhVGJWfurwaBFxGWNliAwFQ0Hk4I_QGZy99qMCZ5pQYa6Yjvo-6t3HhOOfNE6472PXKml_fI4cJt7K4yCTor1EsGwV0fDDgjjirRuMemgN1CzAuro5bggymHR0e_ui/s320/egyptian-mummy-close-detail-260nw-1081062512.webp" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: small;">And this is Mars.</span></i></b></td></tr>
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So, just for a moment - and I'm really sorry to have to let reality intrude because Mars is a great fantasy - let's look at what Mars really is:<br />
<br />
• <u>It is a tiny planet</u>, only one third the size of Earth and only twice the size of the moon. In many ways, it's just a large dwarf planet.<br />
<br />
• <u>Its atmosphere is deadly poison</u>, a very thin mix of mostly carbon dioxide. The atmospheric pressure at the top of Mount Everest in what is called the "death zone" is 5 pounds per square inch. On Mars, the maximum atmospheric pressure is .088 pounds per square inch. Even if Mars had an atmosphere of pure oxygen, it would mean a quick death for anyone who tried to breathe it.<br />
<br />
• <u>Mars is a dead planet</u>. It has no magnetic field like Earth. Our magnetic field captures radiation like a shield and keeps us relatively safe from the harmful effects of all those whizzing particles.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPRBEFWo0OX2V0d6CpvRFEJOpd9moeLqvrtELzTSIPWJlvESRYOXXKhtPOJFA409fwfSIQfVMVpOVBkzNaKMNJn-ozRjKVhYiB9kLc74ucnPQ8s7606XiFZixpNcwQAvO_wErLssXwkYbt/s1600/download-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="181" data-original-width="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPRBEFWo0OX2V0d6CpvRFEJOpd9moeLqvrtELzTSIPWJlvESRYOXXKhtPOJFA409fwfSIQfVMVpOVBkzNaKMNJn-ozRjKVhYiB9kLc74ucnPQ8s7606XiFZixpNcwQAvO_wErLssXwkYbt/s1600/download-5.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: small;">Golleee! I thought Mars was bigger than that!</span></b></i></td></tr>
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<br />
• <u>Mars is very cold</u>. On average, it's about 81 degrees below zero Fahrenheit. This is much colder than anywhere on Earth. Ever seen the black, ugly frostbitten toes of the climbers on Mount Everest? Let a boot warmer not work for just a few minutes on Mars and you'd have horribly frozen toes. Same goes for other parts of the body including hands. On Mars, frostbite would be a constant worry not to mention failure of the moving parts of your suit.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWIsAOIM8FlbmEDrU4MTpj89B0ZBWwJGPQ-R6Ls8iCcx1nV8Q16ChPaDwlZ4Z3MGNDI1zfkTU8xtQidb1YTY8kVIUKzx7aQcErmzEqMrcSfMDCKVogj6D4LrNdGFTZbpVLd4DP1LnYTtMG/s1600/th.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWIsAOIM8FlbmEDrU4MTpj89B0ZBWwJGPQ-R6Ls8iCcx1nV8Q16ChPaDwlZ4Z3MGNDI1zfkTU8xtQidb1YTY8kVIUKzx7aQcErmzEqMrcSfMDCKVogj6D4LrNdGFTZbpVLd4DP1LnYTtMG/s1600/th.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: small;">You wore those boots on Mars? I told you their heaters weren't working.<br />Now you're going to lose all your toes!</span></b></i></td></tr>
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• <u>The surface of Mars is awash with radiation</u> that is deadly to humans. The only instrument sent to Mars to measure radiation was nearly destroyed by solar flares that would have killed within hours any Earthian mammal. Think living in Chernobyl. Not in the city. <u>In the nuclear plant</u>.<br />
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• <u>Mars is very far away</u> from the Earth in both distance and time. On average, it's about 140 million miles away. Earth and Mars do a complicated dance around the sun. Most of our robots sent there take about 10 months one way and we could expect most human missions to be the same. However, it's only every couple of years that Mars and the Earth line up so that the journey isn't longer.<br />
<br />
• <u>Plants can't grow in Martian soil</u> without intensive leaching of the perchlorates out of it and the addition of vast amounts of fertilizers. In other words, Mars dirt is poisonous to Earthian plants. You can't live off the land without a huge dedicated farming effort requiring trillions of gallons of water and tons of fertilizer in amounts that are simply humongous along with physical labor and the operations of machines plowing and digging and sowing and reaping unknown to humankind in the entire history of the world <u>ever</u>.<br />
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• <u>Mars dust is poison if breathed</u>. That's right, kids. Mars dust is everywhere, floating, drifting, getting into nooks and crannies. And if breathed? Those perchlorates I mentioned above that kills plants? Well, breathe it in and it will kill you, too, and there is no way to get away from it without massive care, huge filters, and even then, it will still probably get you. You know, like the sand from the beach you do everything to keep out of the villa? Dust to dust will mean more on Mars than even on Earth!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6dpgfphCCVemaXJF_wLZkOjUQSqvAKIskv6T-X6y1d4_h5R5kx7nR_2dLEjq4gfP0SN24Qsxw0p7Tl9s9vjdsSEYZSZ0y5HCkUnC3TIhr8pdG5XrlYz1USzscnBeOEYmqNG66oVLROVZo/s1600/mars-11604__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="336" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6dpgfphCCVemaXJF_wLZkOjUQSqvAKIskv6T-X6y1d4_h5R5kx7nR_2dLEjq4gfP0SN24Qsxw0p7Tl9s9vjdsSEYZSZ0y5HCkUnC3TIhr8pdG5XrlYz1USzscnBeOEYmqNG66oVLROVZo/s320/mars-11604__340.jpg" width="316" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: small;">The surface of Mars. It's kind of desolate. Pretty, agreed, but still deadly</span></i></b></td></tr>
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<br />
OK, got it? Now, with these realities of what Mars is really like, let's pretend you're the manager of the team responsible to send humans to Mars. Here (vastly simplified) are your tasks.<br />
<br />
• First, you would have to figure out to deal with the limitations of the human body outside our protective atmosphere and magnetic field. Just some of the things that would have to be overcome are these realities:<br />
<br />
1. <u>Prolonged weightlessness is not good for humans</u>. As a minimum, living for months in microgravity causes loss of muscles, loss of bone calcium, possibly slows brain function, and causes eye damage. In other words, it makes you weak, your bones brittle, your thinking somewhat muddled, and fuzzy vision. Can you think of any human groups presently like this? Of course. Weightlessness makes you old before your time. Unless that's solved, sailing astronauts through space to Mars and landing them would be like placing 80-year old folks atop Mount Everest and expecting them to get out and go to work to stay alive.<br />
<br />
2. <u>Prolonged exposure to the radiation in space outside our magnetic field is not good for humans</u>. Background radiation that is everywhere in open space is bad enough but undeterred cosmic rays will zap through the human body like little bullets destroying flesh, blood, and anything else that gets in its way. In ten months of exposure, unprotected humans might look normal but inside they'd be like Swiss cheese with lots of health problems on the march that would kill them.<br />
<br />
3. <u>Prolonged time away from assistance from other humans is not good for humans</u>. There is a lot that can go wrong with the human body. The appendix is a good example. It can be fine one day, completely haywire the next and will kill you if you don't get it immediately surgically removed. Wintering over on the South Pole is about the closest we've ever come to separating a group of humans from everyone else in modern times. When a woman (who was a physician) was diagnosed with breast cancer there, she had to operate on herself and an emergency evacuation took place which would be impossible for anyone on a flight to Mars (or on the surface of Mars, of course). Although she survived the ordeal, the poor woman would die a few years later because the cancer had been left untreated for too long.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwhyphenhyphenIS0X3x87aOe0RJiQg3IdG34ZSQ76yeEoeuCtIa_vb47xAXoIdeDdSLXHvKGh9QhhdstK-VdIuYRCcnfyhDiLysyAO_TYD9by8N43OvFhs9Kr-8TBFYT0JcnAhEe2sVBhLptYHhj9JQ/s1600/sick-woman-headache-sitting-under-260nw-1214604580.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="280" data-original-width="390" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwhyphenhyphenIS0X3x87aOe0RJiQg3IdG34ZSQ76yeEoeuCtIa_vb47xAXoIdeDdSLXHvKGh9QhhdstK-VdIuYRCcnfyhDiLysyAO_TYD9by8N43OvFhs9Kr-8TBFYT0JcnAhEe2sVBhLptYHhj9JQ/s320/sick-woman-headache-sitting-under-260nw-1214604580.webp" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: small;">Sick person on way to Mars</span></b></i></td></tr>
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• Next, recognizing these human limitation problems, you would have to build the hardware, software, train your crews, and organize the Earthian support teams for the voyage. Let's see as a minimum (and again vastly simplified) what that would take:<br />
<br />
1. <u>You'd quickly realize that nothing NASA or anyone else has on the drawing boards would be adequate as a living space for humans on a 10-month journey through space</u>. The Orion capsule that NASA keeps touting as its "beyond the moon spacecraft" would be laughable to your engineers. Orion is a death trap for any voyage longer than a couple of weeks. It couldn't begin to carry the water, air, and supplies necessary to survive the ordeal of flying for months through irradiated space.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikid9dM39Vj5oxt67m07paAQDV6xTlvsddFHjf8EXNU9UMjcQ5nK9CRr-BrkwWiDdCyf6ddsDrarTdVEq8UdcP4PKyI70yxjWExA_l9CnOwsTYxsC7DRiXvmi_mMTAbjshRQD3-9SgZruO/s1600/images-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="177" data-original-width="285" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikid9dM39Vj5oxt67m07paAQDV6xTlvsddFHjf8EXNU9UMjcQ5nK9CRr-BrkwWiDdCyf6ddsDrarTdVEq8UdcP4PKyI70yxjWExA_l9CnOwsTYxsC7DRiXvmi_mMTAbjshRQD3-9SgZruO/s320/images-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: small;">You're going to travel 140 million miles and ten months through space in that?<br />"Farewell and adieu to ye fair Spanish ladies..."</span></b></i></td></tr>
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<br />
2. <u>Something big then would have to be designed</u> to overcome the limitations of the human body, and then tested, and then flown numerous times with test crews outside the magnetic field of Earth in order to assure that the flight is survivable. Nothing like this has ever been done. It will take an enormous effort to build this spacecraft that might provide artificial gravity (spin it?), radiation shielding (Lead? Water? Unobtainium?). You'll also need inside this ship a full medical lab, a complete pharmacy, a surgical ward, and an optics specialist that can treat eyes and make spectacles as needed.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv247VxiKYe5LTuERWBdO38rQ2gZff8OAGYWzFtt8ySHx2uMlIyjcaPZHxiInuftx67oUwvu71zj9ncDTrE7aCNVKy8WcEj9U0jzQjvrR_ZHzx9gBpppSiVF7Z1QNCd8CkQIxSfyFdkbVj/s1600/doctor-with-co-workers-analyzing-x-ray_1098-581.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="417" data-original-width="626" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv247VxiKYe5LTuERWBdO38rQ2gZff8OAGYWzFtt8ySHx2uMlIyjcaPZHxiInuftx67oUwvu71zj9ncDTrE7aCNVKy8WcEj9U0jzQjvrR_ZHzx9gBpppSiVF7Z1QNCd8CkQIxSfyFdkbVj/s320/doctor-with-co-workers-analyzing-x-ray_1098-581.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: small;">Hi there! You're sick, too? And we're only a million miles into this flight?<br />Thank goodness, NASA paid my way through medical school and I only have to do this once!</span></b></i></td></tr>
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<br />
3. If your engineers come back to you (as they probably will) and say that <u>ten months is just too long to fly through space</u>, you'll have to build advanced propulsion systems such as nuclear thermal rocket engines. These do not presently exist so they will have to be built and tested and actually flown through space, preferably all the way to Mars. These might cut down the journey to a few months but, sadly, even for that smaller amount of time, you'll find you still have to provide all that medical assistance and shielding. It'll just cut down on your odds of having a disabled (or dead) crew upon arrival at Mars.<br />
<br />
4. Somewhere along the line, one of your engineers is going to ask "<u>How much food is the crew going to need? And water?" The answer is enormous amounts and both quite heavy</u>. So now, you've got to design a galley and stuff your ship full of food and water. It is mindful of what the German U-boats had to do to cross the Atlantic during World War II. Every available space, even the toilet, was stuffed full of food and they still starved and some came down with scurvy. Let's say you only have a three-person crew. For a journey requiring ten months, they would need (according to the U.S. Army's field guide for soldiers in the field) about five tons of food and 25 tons of potable and 25 tons of non-potable water. Of course, you can recycle some of the water but not all so you'll need to make sure you've got that mechanism all figured out without any possibility of failure. Otherwise, you're risking your crew dying of thirst or, at best, really stinky since they won't be able to wash. Best thing, you'll realize, is carry lots of water. You've got to get back, too, so you kind of end up doubling everything. Better triple it just to be sure. Uh oh. Better get a bigger ship! And rocket!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSaiPD_JarxgLpYUkPXcQy0jDa00op4sXXJtXgDyS_O6pty_2HPlXiqunowGPCI6WK4nGuSxoY35rrJh_99ziM2WKRfGI-Dhp5WkirMubrxgZ5lU66MZ-1eQ7yW2u2V7PugBwEmSZzIKOw/s1600/images-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="253" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSaiPD_JarxgLpYUkPXcQy0jDa00op4sXXJtXgDyS_O6pty_2HPlXiqunowGPCI6WK4nGuSxoY35rrJh_99ziM2WKRfGI-Dhp5WkirMubrxgZ5lU66MZ-1eQ7yW2u2V7PugBwEmSZzIKOw/s320/images-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: small;">Eat your limes, m'boys ere ye gets the scurvy!!!<br />But we be astronauts, ain't we Cap'n?<br />Yeah, but ye ain't immortal.</span></b></i></td></tr>
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5. <u>How about poop</u>? Well, you'd better put in a number of toilets and they'd better work. Poop can be slung outside and probably will be but if there's a problem and pipes get clogged, better come up with something better than they've got on the ISS which has a nasty toilet according to everyone who's had to use it. Think what it would mean to have to use a rural gas station toilet for ten months! And then another ten months!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8vEUcpIsi656Zfe7n0n4ihf_IS_fp8x_Mpi_dbad219rm99WRUvXq_jvi9NLd4ZgSwhVGM_PvCDAmVSFttzGITJ25AZB1a3GzNyoFdWCyQKr6YsqCKr5nNTGrR6okG9nanDrMDpW9F-u8/s1600/download-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="286" data-original-width="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8vEUcpIsi656Zfe7n0n4ihf_IS_fp8x_Mpi_dbad219rm99WRUvXq_jvi9NLd4ZgSwhVGM_PvCDAmVSFttzGITJ25AZB1a3GzNyoFdWCyQKr6YsqCKr5nNTGrR6okG9nanDrMDpW9F-u8/s1600/download-2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: small;">Yuk!</span></b></i></td></tr>
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6. Uh oh! <u>How is the crew going to get power</u>? Solar panels? They're going to have to be huge! We're going away from the sun! Nuclear power plant? Where? How? It's got to be shielded and somebody's going have to know how to operate it. I've got it! Let's use fuel cells. Oh, wait, one of those almost killed the crew of Apollo 13. What to do, what to do? Nobody knows. Talk about engineering arguments! You'll finally just have to choose something but you realize there are going to be serious drawback to any power solution. You realize on a lot of choices you're making in the design of this big ship, you're crossing your fingers. You can't wait for vacation. You take a cruise and one of the passengers, a young person, dies of something along the way. You're stressed! That could have been one of your Mars crew! You start thinking of early retirement.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSaird0OvZhsAfVPvVGiMPiM4J8kxp8wVbGoUje7UcfoaHZCg4S3JzlsKpKCYpWG3RICMK76FRVlBaNPHxV9pr5jjHQOwX0BKNmRRQlCg7_8sIkxdLoqOkZRIrWRymh2OqVZjBzGQLwu2B/s1600/ship-1578528__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="510" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSaird0OvZhsAfVPvVGiMPiM4J8kxp8wVbGoUje7UcfoaHZCg4S3JzlsKpKCYpWG3RICMK76FRVlBaNPHxV9pr5jjHQOwX0BKNmRRQlCg7_8sIkxdLoqOkZRIrWRymh2OqVZjBzGQLwu2B/s320/ship-1578528__340.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: small;">People die on cruise ships. All ages. It's sad but true.<br />But if you could put a ship this size in space<br />and send it to Mars, you might be on to something...</span></b></i></td></tr>
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7. So let's say you've got your ship designed and a-building. It's a big, complex thing but you think it'll get a crew to Mars without killing them but now you realize that the crew is going to have to be trained on living in this contraption and ground crews are going to have to be trained to keep track of what's happening in it and also every facet of its systems. Checking back on your spaceflight history, you realize that the Apollo missions had tens of thousands of people on Earth who knew precisely their particular part of the Apollo capsule and lander and a thousand or so people who were fully occupied every moment of their lives with the flights that lasted a little over a week. But <u>for Mars, you're going to have to have all these people dedicated to keeping track of every component of your spacecraft for months and years. It will be a vast, marching army that will stretch out to the horizon and somehow you're going to have to keep them trained, salaried, and happy.</u> Nothing like it, short of war where the nation went into rationing to support its troops in the field, has ever been done. Just as D-Day was practiced and the Apollo missions were practiced, a ship to Mars is going to have to be recreated in a realistic simulator on Earth with crews spending months inside it and wave after wave of ground controllers moved in and out to their stations while simulations teams throw problem after problem at them. There will be day, evening, and night shifts and the sims will be interminable. Not every person hired will be able to take the incessant training and pressure. Constant retraining will be necessary. Finally, someone will come up with ships at sea which are monitored and maintained entirely by the crew inside. It will be tempting to get rid of ground support and just put enough crew aboard and let them go essentially on their own. But who will dare to let this happen?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwxQctI0K-tFybQS5R-GUCrCyfcSTi9SMwjclBM7QmDM2glMvaC5Bkn4oJVNA6JfI2LNrSvRRHVUJUVA29ntIqGWK0aXzb5wCiGqEOrcUsHMx_vgN4BQ7boS0T4WhDzrELhMMfogzsXlYW/s1600/download-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwxQctI0K-tFybQS5R-GUCrCyfcSTi9SMwjclBM7QmDM2glMvaC5Bkn4oJVNA6JfI2LNrSvRRHVUJUVA29ntIqGWK0aXzb5wCiGqEOrcUsHMx_vgN4BQ7boS0T4WhDzrELhMMfogzsXlYW/s1600/download-4.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: small;">Mars Mission Control (multiply this scene by about six times in size<br /> not to mention behind the scenes controllers) operating<br />24 hours a day for years at a time incessantly without relief. </span></b></i><br />
<i><b><span style="font-size: small;">To keep things going, you're going to have to pay these guys a lot and</span></b></i><br />
<i><b><span style="font-size: small;">they're still going to burn out.</span></b></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
8. OK, you've got your ship a-building, your crews and ground support a-training, and then one of your pesky engineers is going to ask, "<u>Um, what about landing and how long are they going to stay?</u>" This will start yet another round of engineering design with lots of unknown factors. For instance, will the crew be healthy enough to land on Mars? And, if so, how to do it? Retro rockets? Parachutes? How will they get back to the mother ship? And what are they going to do to dodge all that radiation down there? What are they going to eat? What about water? Got to put tons of everything down there first... somehow. OMG!<br />
<br />
9. So you've got a lander which has the ability to take off again - you hope. But you can't just have your crew wander around. <u>You've got to have a habitat that shields them from the radiation and where they can eat, drink, poop, pee, and get surgery as required</u>. So you realize you've got to ship not only food and water in advance but some place for them to live! This will mean putting that ship for the crew which was a-building on hold, and all those simulations and ground controllers on hold, and now having to construct a survivable habitat and somehow getting that to the exact place where the crew will land and then train the crews to live inside them and the ground folks to monitor them and then...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzS5UXFMu824pERAZIDGF-DgsmUAvWoPGmAPCbYF-ooRLJ9I4JP6fQzFvUiKVskpMau_8Rim5RpdASKjfmD1QgKY2jucgaj_KljbQToaZuIIdcACG8LYRogv_QU91yCJdkE22UIZAWK98o/s1600/star-wars-145063__340.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="518" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzS5UXFMu824pERAZIDGF-DgsmUAvWoPGmAPCbYF-ooRLJ9I4JP6fQzFvUiKVskpMau_8Rim5RpdASKjfmD1QgKY2jucgaj_KljbQToaZuIIdcACG8LYRogv_QU91yCJdkE22UIZAWK98o/s320/star-wars-145063__340.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: small;">Humongous Mars Craft of Some Sort Kind Of Maybe</span></b></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
• <u>And THEN you're going to realize that for what it's taking to put this sad and probably sick little crew on Mars, you could've built a thousand, nay TEN THOUSAND robots capable of scouring the surface of the little planet</u> AND by the time you've built all these contraptions and trained all these people and driven yourself and a lot of other people pretty much crazy, you could've waited until Artificial Intelligence got to the level that AI droids could even look like people and you could even kind of crawl inside these semi-people's heads and see what they see and feel what they feel. AND they don't get sick, they don't care much about radiation, and they don't eat or drink or poop or do any of the things that people do AND everything is suddenly simplified!!!<br />
<br />
So we would go from this scenario with humans on Mars:<br />
<br />
Mars Mission Director: Hey, what happened to Ken?<br />
Crew Controller: He fell off a cliff and broke his arm. Compound fracture.<br />
MMD: OMG! How is he?<br />
CC: In emergency surgery. His arm is also infected. Doc says he'll need massive amounts of antibiotics and they're running low. He needs a blood transfusion, too. Sir, I think Ken might not make it.<br />
MMD: Just because of a broken arm?<br />
CC: Afraid so.<br />
MMD: How's his significant other?<br />
CC: Buffy is stressed out of her mind. The doc told her to rest. She took a pill and went to bed.<br />
MMD: Can we get them out of there?<br />
CC: Not really.<br />
MMD: What's to be done?<br />
CC: We probably should send along a crematorium on the next cargo flight.<br />
MMD: I don't get paid enough for this.<br />
CC: None of us do, sir.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb3mlaSi5sS1LsLvJHQmv3yn6rV-G-c79FQPmSLnA56TIxUU7-cW_ZenCO4dFleyHcSWYOZbOAafFiq7Kzo4YyfvCTkZoOlnDJHbiN210_SzddKdYDoPnQ6VAiF45f6VfQWDgfHr6aRp5I/s1600/download-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="160" data-original-width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb3mlaSi5sS1LsLvJHQmv3yn6rV-G-c79FQPmSLnA56TIxUU7-cW_ZenCO4dFleyHcSWYOZbOAafFiq7Kzo4YyfvCTkZoOlnDJHbiN210_SzddKdYDoPnQ6VAiF45f6VfQWDgfHr6aRp5I/s1600/download-1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: small;">Ken broke his arm on Mars!!!</span></b></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
To this scenario:<br />
<br />
Mars Mission Director: Hey, how's AI Buffy and AI Ken?<br />
Crew Controller: AI Ken fell off a cliff yesterday and broke one of his arms. AI Buffy is replacing it with a spare.<br />
MMD: Great. How's AI Buffy's power pack?<br />
CC: She'll be dead in about two months but she's gone a year past her design.<br />
MMD: Great. She going to be able to operate that well digger until then?<br />
CC: Don't see why not. A new improved AI Buffy is on the way there to replace her, too.<br />
MMD: Great. Carry on.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCTyLolTTvGguxzkbjOhEYz7HQogfZFvilnK1NEHMaAUYv48MRVoEXYUY3fjzVBUVookdCUSLXtXBVZqR_fgkHpKmX-adyKWx1V_WxI9kyZy4EBIDOsm1OZmeqf6HbLfM-x02ykglzz5Wn/s1600/girl-320262__340.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="329" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCTyLolTTvGguxzkbjOhEYz7HQogfZFvilnK1NEHMaAUYv48MRVoEXYUY3fjzVBUVookdCUSLXtXBVZqR_fgkHpKmX-adyKWx1V_WxI9kyZy4EBIDOsm1OZmeqf6HbLfM-x02ykglzz5Wn/s320/girl-320262__340.png" width="309" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: small;">The new AI Buffy on Mars is doing swell and</span></b></i><br />
<i><b><span style="font-size: small;">the old one fixed Ken's arm!</span></b></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
And that, folks, is the sad and sorry truth on why people are not going to Mars any time soon and very possibly never. It's not that it's too hard. It just doesn't make any sense with the technology we've got, the limitations of the human body, our ability to keep ground control armies marching forever without some economic or national-survival sense to it, and the present and near-future capability of robots and artificial intelligence. Besides that, <u>Mars just isn't the planet it's made out to be. It's a hellhole, pretty much, an interesting hellhole to be sure but not the place we need to dump so much effort into. Let's save that for the Earth-like planets around other stars</u>. We'll get there, one way or the other, because they will be, unlike Mars, worth the time, blood, and treasure.<br />
<br />
Oh, and I'll add one thing more. All those folks who think they really, really want to go to Mars and live should just go out to Garfield County, Montana, where I hunt dinosaurs every summer, and squat down in the badlands and spend a few months without communications with anyone and just kind of live off the land or what they've carried with them. I guarantee you by the time a few weeks are done - and most likely a few days - they'll be begging to get out of there and, compared to Mars, those marvelous badlands I love so much are positively benign.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQcyD31-3s-XxGWYjutz67PFA0FuT_fewFeyVLtkqropDnMHsA8hbk0xXMhShvkuHo0YJHfMKQVaybIdF2yjtJYzpWQD_RCVMFLCSXIvdRdyfjzWC0rwEylPnktBzqsLWtbNx9Rd-GOYwG/s1600/H3hotdayJuly2017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQcyD31-3s-XxGWYjutz67PFA0FuT_fewFeyVLtkqropDnMHsA8hbk0xXMhShvkuHo0YJHfMKQVaybIdF2yjtJYzpWQD_RCVMFLCSXIvdRdyfjzWC0rwEylPnktBzqsLWtbNx9Rd-GOYwG/s320/H3hotdayJuly2017.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Me in the Montana badlands - benign compared to Mars.<br /> Wonderful country but not forever, thanks.</i></span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
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Homer Hickamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10218229542457074434noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794772572438808559.post-48509283509705109622019-06-13T16:24:00.003-07:002020-01-18T08:18:00.967-08:00A Myth Known as Mars (psst, NASA's not going there, pass it on)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Dear Readers:<br />
<br />
Many of you know that I've recently taken NASA Administrator Jim Bridenstine and other top managers in the agency to task for not being able to talk about plans to go back to the moon (this time to stay) without mentioning Mars in the same breath. My unhappiness over this tendency is pretty simple: Not only do I not like being told a myth as if it were true unless it's by a Tolkien type of myth teller, I don't like young people to be the victim of myths told again and again until even the myth-tellers think they're telling the truth.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiturk2NnQlZOQ0DagkZDCzNcv2rikjP6imQ9N9ZoK86PKmcW_GBJjB4Sq-teRhJXYFmxJmEW8GSf73it9pbxUKSZSI4y0m-RhFQQt26Bh0x_W_CWQ9rJz_zIDtXusIMxZbOzyaT5tO8TQT/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="277" data-original-width="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiturk2NnQlZOQ0DagkZDCzNcv2rikjP6imQ9N9ZoK86PKmcW_GBJjB4Sq-teRhJXYFmxJmEW8GSf73it9pbxUKSZSI4y0m-RhFQQt26Bh0x_W_CWQ9rJz_zIDtXusIMxZbOzyaT5tO8TQT/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mr. Tolkien, Myth-Teller, whose wonderful books were fiction.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
So, children, here is the truth: NASA has no plans now, nor has it ever had plans, nor does it have a plan to have plans to send humans to Mars. As of right now, it isn't going, not with humans, and if you're depending on NASA to get you there, you are going to have a very long wait. Below, I'll list some of the things the agency would have done already if it was going to send humans to Mars (spoiler alert: they've done none of them).<br />
<br />
Of course, NASA Administrator Jim Bridenstine is a very nice man and a competent manager and also very smart. I know him and admire and respect him. So why does he and others in NASA and nearly every person who has anything to do with human spaceflight in the federal government keep talking about going to Mars when they have orders to go to the moon?*<br />
<br />
Sadly, it is because they like so many others are the victims of a Martian illusion promoted by a billionaire astronomer - sort of a star-gazing Bernie Madoff - more than a century ago. It is an illusion that just won't go away even though it is clearly a fantasy. Believe me, I take no joy in pointing this out because it is really kind of sad. So often, it isn't reality that is the most difficult to overcome when we have to face the truth but the fantasies that we carry in our heads.<br />
<br />
Here is the story of that billionaire and how he started the entire fantasy about Mars that, even today, so thoroughly infects NASA, space policy wonks, and the public at large about human spaceflight and where people should try to set up shop "out there."<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6MgyBVnuPoQ2OPB2NV9vK1mdln2TZzl-YlKFTHAR19BVvoyEM6KQHQBkiCX5kBCWGFTE5gRh9eJ68E0FE2Wy1R9kusAAEjYo3pY5D_aUHlwwZGkinQmU06tHqL1aO36T4V_HYNJMWHzyH/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="186" data-original-width="124" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6MgyBVnuPoQ2OPB2NV9vK1mdln2TZzl-YlKFTHAR19BVvoyEM6KQHQBkiCX5kBCWGFTE5gRh9eJ68E0FE2Wy1R9kusAAEjYo3pY5D_aUHlwwZGkinQmU06tHqL1aO36T4V_HYNJMWHzyH/s200/download.jpg" width="132" /></a><br />
<br /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here is Don Knotts, a fellow West Virginian, playing an astronaut<br />
that I'm including just because.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Recently, I had cause to research for a screenplay one Clyde Tombaugh, a nerdy but persistent fellow who discovered the dwarf planet Pluto in 1929 (just in time for the Depression but hey).<br />
<div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV9Bme329hqS8n4bjuaneVyXDdedAV_-ym5xNj5itg-fLak2JSy891Tay0vLf2f7dG35U6uaKAS7nEZfarvSbxLvukb5UVBT0fCkk9OcyesRBuF7ugIPKDVnQ5ySwdDExQY1ngmhvP9zbD/s1600/ClydeTombaugh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="248" data-original-width="466" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV9Bme329hqS8n4bjuaneVyXDdedAV_-ym5xNj5itg-fLak2JSy891Tay0vLf2f7dG35U6uaKAS7nEZfarvSbxLvukb5UVBT0fCkk9OcyesRBuF7ugIPKDVnQ5ySwdDExQY1ngmhvP9zbD/s320/ClydeTombaugh.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clyde Tombaugh</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
In the process of studying Clyde's experiences, I ran across another interesting story, that of the very wealthy raconteur, author, and erstwhile astronomer who founded the Lowell Observatory, he being Dr. Percival Lowell, and his secretary, assistant, and mistress Miss Wrexi Louise Leonard who would become, against all odds, the first American female professional astronomer.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh31tYQj4u9wpcdX4O3L4Xoe1bW3yTRL7jU1dHY2qeiKuXbjwSVol_jlg0zUppEPrtU0YcpuW3Iyqf-VW30PxjTBTlko0gOjEAPjWmF25x6AuVbwPNWT8pB-Et8ya63wYyqxZEBCtHwfcLU/s1600/Lowell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="318" data-original-width="400" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh31tYQj4u9wpcdX4O3L4Xoe1bW3yTRL7jU1dHY2qeiKuXbjwSVol_jlg0zUppEPrtU0YcpuW3Iyqf-VW30PxjTBTlko0gOjEAPjWmF25x6AuVbwPNWT8pB-Et8ya63wYyqxZEBCtHwfcLU/s320/Lowell.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Percival Lowell at his telescope in his observatory</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5JX47XKtGWCYAkbwuT4sneP2n22h6cXzHWPxi25t4biYvkCgzlWvJG22ULkYrnbIt7VWWcCBbYFaL1z1S0nZhJhXCcyWr3pReu431SEZw8QMHF1Nf6xrLDMN3t2EgGaf27GGAGnGhzAJb/s1600/WrexiTelescope.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="744" data-original-width="547" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5JX47XKtGWCYAkbwuT4sneP2n22h6cXzHWPxi25t4biYvkCgzlWvJG22ULkYrnbIt7VWWcCBbYFaL1z1S0nZhJhXCcyWr3pReu431SEZw8QMHF1Nf6xrLDMN3t2EgGaf27GGAGnGhzAJb/s320/WrexiTelescope.jpeg" width="235" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wrexi Leonard making her own independent observations<br />
at the Lowell Observatory</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Dr. Lowell (an honorary title) was a very rich member of the Lowell family, a bunch of Boston Brahmins who were rumored to only talk to the Cabots who only talked to God. His sister was a cigar-smoking poet and also an avowed Lesbian. This was during the Gilded Age when Victorian mores were still in effect so Ms Lowell truly didn't care what anybody thought about much of anything. His brother was the President of Harvard, his other sister a well-known although somewhat eccentric philanthropist.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6RFxlyy1P2laHF5DBq321TDTRLuomYkjhI5QA-lhGisBkXH3UlW55ajv4XhVoPzCTpZLRQas32ldrhFb5ePBFufxvdoSWp7qb0lSa9ip6yzfRJZOD5TpUy5L0c8m_-G-y8nnX0D4Dr0kr/s1600/download-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="174" data-original-width="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6RFxlyy1P2laHF5DBq321TDTRLuomYkjhI5QA-lhGisBkXH3UlW55ajv4XhVoPzCTpZLRQas32ldrhFb5ePBFufxvdoSWp7qb0lSa9ip6yzfRJZOD5TpUy5L0c8m_-G-y8nnX0D4Dr0kr/s1600/download-1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amy Lowell, Percival's sister</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
With such siblings, I guess you could say that Percival came from interesting stock. On the other hand, when you're as rich as the Lowells were, I suppose being interesting might be somewhat natural.<br />
<br />
Anyway, after exploring the sexual mores of the ladies of Asia and writing titillating memoirs about his experiences, Percival decided his next pursuit of the good life was to become an astronomer. He therefore constructed the Lowell Observatory in Arizona, dragged poor Wrexi out there with him, and got to work. Before long, he discovered Mars. Well, not really, as the planet had been known since ancient times but sort of because he saw it in ways nobody had ever seen it before.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilrnGYI2sItlO1QOaFnPGshH8mSibY78dWklY55u9bMHE4j1r5iLtifyxnQLOi6x3_6DeqOUruPCw7BEy5iWky_bd0Fncx6x6_W1K6e8VAOcUo0lghJ4fz53jmwY_I-Qoc7V_8ZIyqdImQ/s1600/download-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="221" data-original-width="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilrnGYI2sItlO1QOaFnPGshH8mSibY78dWklY55u9bMHE4j1r5iLtifyxnQLOi6x3_6DeqOUruPCw7BEy5iWky_bd0Fncx6x6_W1K6e8VAOcUo0lghJ4fz53jmwY_I-Qoc7V_8ZIyqdImQ/s1600/download-2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of Percival Lowell's many drawings of Mars</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
When Dr. Lowell studied Mars from his hilltop observatory above Flagstaff, he saw odd features on the red planet. The more he looked at them and drew them, the more he was convinced he was seeing signs of present or past intelligent life. Night after night, he drew what he saw which were lines that streaked across the planet, some of them intersecting in smudgy places as if on purpose. Before long, he was certain that what he was seeing were canals and the intersections were surely oases where the beings who had dug the canals were living.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQevmf0d8AV0EuAwZHybQmE4X5W9mNTeiZFCL_oQ1dri6KsysYlwxLmZPwQb3Srvk5ZB4tsgocd1qFtPG426uRPYgZ1Es9UocXLfYXoyvNpJHV3-GmSqsFCP4a7vTGFUaqa3DWaRczW-y-/s1600/Lowell_Observatory_Staff_Seated_at_24inch_Telescope_1905_Harry_Hussey_Wrexie_Leonard_Vesto_M_Slipher_Percival_Lowell_Carl_Lampland_John_C_Duncan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1273" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQevmf0d8AV0EuAwZHybQmE4X5W9mNTeiZFCL_oQ1dri6KsysYlwxLmZPwQb3Srvk5ZB4tsgocd1qFtPG426uRPYgZ1Es9UocXLfYXoyvNpJHV3-GmSqsFCP4a7vTGFUaqa3DWaRczW-y-/s320/Lowell_Observatory_Staff_Seated_at_24inch_Telescope_1905_Harry_Hussey_Wrexie_Leonard_Vesto_M_Slipher_Percival_Lowell_Carl_Lampland_John_C_Duncan.jpg" width="254" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wrexi with Lowell Observatory staff</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Since Lowell often left Wrexi alone at the observatory while he travelled hither and yon, she rolled up her sleeves and started to learn astronomy. A coal miner's daughter and therefore extremely intelligent, Wrexi also pretty much ran the facility. She published her observations in several prestigious scientific journals that were so well regarded the Mexican and the French Astronomical societies saw fit to give her awards and induct her into their organizations. This was nearly unprecedented for a female at that time.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdg8jNLa5jQBx7j1Hk0p3QHzU2NlkQR8ZP4iCv-9vmy2lwSsSdG435terNArSobqIv0qsvdGPXr9N4IZp1WLrbd_XK9HtEMnJeCs9KzibtXIAnjomxYKdISVAsMARZVCcfUmQt0sC5nnt3/s1600/Wrexi.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="123" data-original-width="323" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdg8jNLa5jQBx7j1Hk0p3QHzU2NlkQR8ZP4iCv-9vmy2lwSsSdG435terNArSobqIv0qsvdGPXr9N4IZp1WLrbd_XK9HtEMnJeCs9KzibtXIAnjomxYKdISVAsMARZVCcfUmQt0sC5nnt3/s400/Wrexi.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wrexi Leonard's observations of Mars in 1897</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But back to Percival Lowell.<br />
<br />
From his observations, Lowell conjured up the idea that Martians were building canals to transport water from the poles in order to sustain their civilization which was facing (or had faced) enormous climate change. Since Earthian scientists were then concerned about our own climate change due to the mini-ice age (hmmm...), this struck a public nerve. Lowell wrote many books on these amazing lines and what they meant. He even went on the lecture circuit and, before long, Percival Lowell was something of a pop star of his age and Mars grew into a symbol of life on the edge that was eagerly clasped to its bosom by a repressed and somewhat anxious society which was thrilled there were creatures out there besides themselves who were probably equally miserable and scared.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ-7LHMjrbs4HhoZ1tPSAVJVdThfgd-jwsFrUXopsaalkimhQTMLS20Tcl4pz1Y4ROfgOg06BRB2YfUai1nQNQ-pbPNbX_EUQKD4pL1SavvYBWk5IvvQLTtYx02ZM3XyFpsgLUproT7f-l/s1600/download-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="252" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ-7LHMjrbs4HhoZ1tPSAVJVdThfgd-jwsFrUXopsaalkimhQTMLS20Tcl4pz1Y4ROfgOg06BRB2YfUai1nQNQ-pbPNbX_EUQKD4pL1SavvYBWk5IvvQLTtYx02ZM3XyFpsgLUproT7f-l/s1600/download-3.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some books, mostly about Mars, by Percival Lowell</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
A careful reading of his writing (difficult as it's pretty dense stuff) shows it isn't entirely clear that Lowell believed his own hype. Actually, he saw that Europe was heading pan over skillet for the Great War and it was his hope that his Martian chronicles would demonstrate that people were better off cooperating in the face of disaster than killing one another off. Nonetheless, the Europeans saw fit to kill one another off by the millions which so disappointed Lowell that he died of a stroke at the young age of 61. Well, it may be that his battleaxe of a wife poisoned him since she was so jealous of Wrexi (my own theory completely devoid and utterly absent of any evidence) but nonetheless Lowell went to the great Mars in the sky, leaving his observatory to struggle on while Lowell's widow sued it and tried to destroy it until Clyde showed up and discovered Pluto but that's another story. Wrexi, by the way, was thrown out on the street by Lowell's wife and ended up in the poor house (literally).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq89_J9UXf1awqYgW92JRvjbsM7mIEn-0z-fu_gBK3IxNM_7ChCAH3Sm_YE-He5AeHBH6F8qd_5cs8K8CttYoPbzBUV9hKF-yhKO8xRABziya4NbSqscHufh1M1PybaHtix0CYviNHQoOC/s1600/WrexiTombstone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="383" data-original-width="538" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq89_J9UXf1awqYgW92JRvjbsM7mIEn-0z-fu_gBK3IxNM_7ChCAH3Sm_YE-He5AeHBH6F8qd_5cs8K8CttYoPbzBUV9hKF-yhKO8xRABziya4NbSqscHufh1M1PybaHtix0CYviNHQoOC/s320/WrexiTombstone.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wrexi's tombstone. She died poor and alone.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Other than his failure to see that Miss Leonard was properly rewarded and cared for as a result of her long service to him and his family, Lowell's legacy was Mars, or the misunderstanding of what Mars really was, and his purplish prose about what he thought he saw spawned a vast array of fiction including Wells' <i>War of the Worlds</i>, Heinlein's <i>Stranger in a Strange Land</i>, and Bradbury's <i>The Martian Chronicles</i>. Mars in the minds of so many readers became sort of a mini-Earth, or a place where another Earth might rise, and where humans should aspire to go because it was, well, Mars which beckoned with open arms. Besides these literate, exciting books, there came thousands and thousands of tales in book or film form set on a fictional Mars, nearly all of it grown straight out of Percival Lowell's imagination while he peered through his telescopes atop an Arizona mountain (the canals, by the by, might have been the reflection of the veins in his eyes). Lowell's prose was so romantic and his lectures so interesting that, over time, in nearly everyone's head Mars became not what it actually was but what everyone wanted it to be.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC92z299SRDE7hH758HYhI9iTKhd8kTmgf1o-njEBLj1GeYS-wGUkXDv4xzMUcbC2D2Cs_3DYYaA8R496hWHxFSR3HySLqITbDnq6Mv4v8jB5-wBDR01bLF12JBssateZqpU5TBd7Z2-hh/s1600/images-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="157" data-original-width="321" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC92z299SRDE7hH758HYhI9iTKhd8kTmgf1o-njEBLj1GeYS-wGUkXDv4xzMUcbC2D2Cs_3DYYaA8R496hWHxFSR3HySLqITbDnq6Mv4v8jB5-wBDR01bLF12JBssateZqpU5TBd7Z2-hh/s320/images-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And there you go!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But then came a violent correction of Lowell's Martian dreams in the form of the truth.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm3q3Xp311WbUdAFWgdGbPW4xP2mHOzAP6OmQp1fG22FVor4yEGNrp78uFnRu3PJa1eGB6fqyEWwRhNULcr0SCx4moULanvFxrB5eKUByqW517NI9VEwRZ6QCFffoGXmVF5qHOUhR4XUyz/s1600/download-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm3q3Xp311WbUdAFWgdGbPW4xP2mHOzAP6OmQp1fG22FVor4yEGNrp78uFnRu3PJa1eGB6fqyEWwRhNULcr0SCx4moULanvFxrB5eKUByqW517NI9VEwRZ6QCFffoGXmVF5qHOUhR4XUyz/s1600/download-4.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mariner IV - Dream Slayer</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In 1965, NASA' s Mariner IV flew past Mars and took photos and other measurements. What it sent back shocked scientists and lay people still awash with Lowellian dreams of a ruddy but livable world. The photographs revealed only a tortured plain of craters and dirt. Moreover, the flyby confirmed that the Martian atmosphere was only about 1% of Earth's and almost entirely carbon dioxide. The planet also had no magnetic field. In other words, Mars was a dead planet. Dead, dead, <i>dead</i>.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLKOSR1mkxZms-7o-BSuaRm1w9vc0lKr5Ae_gThkU5fDxI7CUxK6OvOZMFmcUHyQ-_LHci-YpK0ptKcOBB_OQC8E9cBra56FwVm69I5XIL0k5D9-RqalxNz30N5wgDr7swP2IHJuooLjgQ/s1600/download-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="216" data-original-width="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLKOSR1mkxZms-7o-BSuaRm1w9vc0lKr5Ae_gThkU5fDxI7CUxK6OvOZMFmcUHyQ-_LHci-YpK0ptKcOBB_OQC8E9cBra56FwVm69I5XIL0k5D9-RqalxNz30N5wgDr7swP2IHJuooLjgQ/s1600/download-5.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wait a minute, Mariner IV... Can this be right? This is Mars?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The midget planet (only one third the size of Earth) was now known to be nothing but a battered old red rock located far, far away but NASA (bless its heart for persistence) labored on in its study of the place but sadly now with the dream of a little globe somewhat like Earth totally crushed.<br />
<br />
Lowell's dreamy depictions of Mars and all the fiction that had been built up around it, however, proved extremely difficult to suspend and, very soon, the ancient red corpse was being resurrected as a place where humans absolutely needed to go. This time, it was by none other than Dr. Wernher von Braun, something of a dreamer himself, who put Mars back up on its pedestal with a rhetorical stick up its, um, back to hold it up. This, oddly enough, was because of the Apollo moon program which, after an initial rush of excitement after the first landing and the thrill of the Apollo 13 rescue, quickly lapsed below the fold in interest by a bored public.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz73SjzOw3HOLtKDzbfmK11weWh4qoWCMnjUqKfNIR_ME39pa2LX34qktjbHi9rhakHRElE5RGk0qPvFaFhKb7gGQseUkkeRkMA3R6ySamo3WXKPwlrRctj9wAPTrfnFW1PtA9NdfFJyjG/s1600/Wyatt.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz73SjzOw3HOLtKDzbfmK11weWh4qoWCMnjUqKfNIR_ME39pa2LX34qktjbHi9rhakHRElE5RGk0qPvFaFhKb7gGQseUkkeRkMA3R6ySamo3WXKPwlrRctj9wAPTrfnFW1PtA9NdfFJyjG/s320/Wyatt.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My cat Wyatt being bored like the American public. I am<br />
including this because he's also cute (so is the American public)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As an aside, what could have happened at this point was that NASA and the American intelligentsia might have said to themselves, "You know, these Apollo flights have been great and we've learned a lot but they've kind of run their course with the present technology. Let's pause, consider what we've learned, and in the meantime slowly and responsibly build more robust systems to go to the lunar surface so that we might prosper from our success..."<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7G3zZ35x2pNAfSrnGpA89QtQ01wfZAvZypr2O66dBhFhvErosqz9XIgwJZsv4jm4Rolne7l0cUO6ceozQknD_Zw4aLorUv2iDH2_R9-6UPOh5xrHzDoD2LsB28BrCFgyxvoxcN1TYd2iU/s1600/download-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="118" data-original-width="92" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7G3zZ35x2pNAfSrnGpA89QtQ01wfZAvZypr2O66dBhFhvErosqz9XIgwJZsv4jm4Rolne7l0cUO6ceozQknD_Zw4aLorUv2iDH2_R9-6UPOh5xrHzDoD2LsB28BrCFgyxvoxcN1TYd2iU/s1600/download-7.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thinking like the Thinker, a somewhat untested process in the<br />
United States overall space program</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But <i>nooooo.</i><br />
<br />
Before we scarcely got there, the moon flights were cancelled along with Dr. von Braun's extremely successful heavy lifting Saturn V rocket. Hurt by this rejection, the doctor latched onto Mars and waxed eloquently on it as a substitute destination. To get there, he conjured up a multi-tiered approach of building a space shuttle, then a space station, and then nuclear rocket engines that would propel twin spacecraft and their landers to the small red planet. He said to anyone who would listen that Mars was the "next moon" and so he prepared his pitch to the powers that be and it was a good one, too.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj41nxtGsQHJJCSD4tEGPBKpfTLptzklSro8NeMGt9HZ61wBs3AKzx3EanHbxb1ga6wl5CTlGegiIspcf5BmEV5xHCfaXstZ6IRcA15wFaQumPEP249BhPWzjHm32pMPV0Mbij4ek7IlTum/s1600/download-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="175" data-original-width="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj41nxtGsQHJJCSD4tEGPBKpfTLptzklSro8NeMGt9HZ61wBs3AKzx3EanHbxb1ga6wl5CTlGegiIspcf5BmEV5xHCfaXstZ6IRcA15wFaQumPEP249BhPWzjHm32pMPV0Mbij4ek7IlTum/s1600/download-6.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dr. von Braun's Hail Mary Pass to Mars</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Unfortunately...<br />
<br />
The day after Dr. von Braun made his presentation on going to Mars to Vice President Agnew (soon to resign for taking bribes) and Congress (nobody resigned even though, well, you know), Mariner VII swept by Mars and revealed, yep, Mariner IV wasn't kidding. Mars was not only dead but it was really, really dead. Von Braun was therefore summarily dismissed, his presentation tossed in the trash can, and any idea of going to Mars was forgotten.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXvh_6iu5w5cjtyoZv9YMerEjJWk_IMLFfuv_VnW22c2VIoePShB-tJIWYWcz14gKwKpeyl1t61pK4mHIL10IlL-aledGLAqswHQf0itBPlPuFi92PNTKU6tOhxjPtOXrrntLpVY2NtY3V/s1600/download-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXvh_6iu5w5cjtyoZv9YMerEjJWk_IMLFfuv_VnW22c2VIoePShB-tJIWYWcz14gKwKpeyl1t61pK4mHIL10IlL-aledGLAqswHQf0itBPlPuFi92PNTKU6tOhxjPtOXrrntLpVY2NtY3V/s1600/download-8.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thank you, Dr. von Braun.<br />
We will consider your proposal carefully - Congress.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But not really. NASA yet persevered, this time in the 1970's with two Viking spacecraft that actually landed on the dusty little planet's surface, one of the experiments even looking for signs of life. The result of that experiment was no life was found... or was it? There was some uncertainty. Over the next few decades, NASA dispatched increasingly sophisticated spacecraft to the small planet for detailed studies. These probes showed Mars to be a lot more interesting than the Mariner and even the Viking missions predicted. It was a world that had once known flowing water and still had polar ice caps, had deep canyons and giant mountains, and was geologically diverse. Moreover, little American robots with cute names began to roam the Martian surface and as they went along, they began to take on personalities and were praised for being brave and hardy and true pioneers.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_jvwoLoQluJq4KuIDjJq-jfU6limZ0UtvFbYul5j1jE6G8blW3MdMChduzgqo40csFxiAsfY6eNSkSLoxNmGROR7TBVi86nnrxY8iD2r3bvpZ1csntEKL1PVeaLrbGAAWXFP9l6nOJbST/s1600/Curiosity.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="336" data-original-width="585" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_jvwoLoQluJq4KuIDjJq-jfU6limZ0UtvFbYul5j1jE6G8blW3MdMChduzgqo40csFxiAsfY6eNSkSLoxNmGROR7TBVi86nnrxY8iD2r3bvpZ1csntEKL1PVeaLrbGAAWXFP9l6nOJbST/s320/Curiosity.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Curiosity Rover on Mars keeping it real.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Percival Lowell, in sheer delight at these developments, might have sat bolt upright if he wasn't dead under a concrete slab in a mausoleum his thoroughly irritated widow put him beneath on his observatory mountain which was called, wait for it, Mars Hill. That's right. Mars was in again! Let's go!<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYMBg1Q6W9CqbSnWKTws0vvNlH89SI5-vyUFOYu5UqBh0UR-eUdjNxTrYZsaNU4B-NdQ7PinNmCI1OOtsOH_3hmSlOtmLY9wtq5cb2xm-BFciw1_pq5YfnU9ePvGCphdn0b2kgPyRJS88E/s1600/ConstanceLowellMausoleum.tiff" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="419" data-original-width="228" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYMBg1Q6W9CqbSnWKTws0vvNlH89SI5-vyUFOYu5UqBh0UR-eUdjNxTrYZsaNU4B-NdQ7PinNmCI1OOtsOH_3hmSlOtmLY9wtq5cb2xm-BFciw1_pq5YfnU9ePvGCphdn0b2kgPyRJS88E/s320/ConstanceLowellMausoleum.tiff" width="174" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Constance Lowell at Percival's Mausoleum<br />
"Hey there! How ya doin'?<br />
I had your concubine Wrexi thrown in the street, just so you know!<br />
I also sued your Observatory for its last dime! Have a nice death!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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And so the Martian myth came alive yet again just as NASA's space shuttle program was shut down for being too expensive and too dangerous, and its International Space Station, otherwise a magnificent construction, was unfortunately, no matter how one looked at it, adding very little to science and essentially nothing to the economy and therefore needed to be pitched just like Apollo was (I will resist putting another photo of The Thinker here).<br />
<br />
But when reality fails, dreams can substitute. The Lowellian fantasy floated right back into people's heads. <i>We need to go to Mars</i>! Soon, children picked up on what the adults at NASA were saying and little red planets began to circle their heads. Noticing, NASA public relations folks changed <i>We need to go to Mars</i>! to <i>We're going to Mars</i>! And then after praise came their way for their declaration, there came a <i>shazam</i>! realization within the old agency that, to continue that praise, the leaders there didn't actually have to do the hard work of building anything to go to Mars! It only had to <i>say</i> it was going and people, especially young people, adored them and their agency! So they kept saying it and saying it and pretty soon the highnesses of NASA came to believe it, too. <i>We're going to Mars</i>!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMljNAoU-aC6wOZhiE6kkzbfV8vkzvup8_q8uRjySQ_deG-5wML9Qs6cwenDTjoKQ_L6LiB3rac8nkgGvldTHZvlym_cNd9EKG9WwT5c6sGJDQpw3ezpRskM1Dhpm9iFVGY-mpLyufXTvI/s1600/download-10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="167" data-original-width="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMljNAoU-aC6wOZhiE6kkzbfV8vkzvup8_q8uRjySQ_deG-5wML9Qs6cwenDTjoKQ_L6LiB3rac8nkgGvldTHZvlym_cNd9EKG9WwT5c6sGJDQpw3ezpRskM1Dhpm9iFVGY-mpLyufXTvI/s1600/download-10.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We're going to Mars!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But, while they were saying it, NASA did nothing to make it a reality. Not. A. Thing.<br />
<br />
Accepting for the moment that humans need to go to this small, reddish, essentially airless and radiation-washed planet because it's just marvelous there, what is it that needs to be done so that we complex and quite fragile organisms (who get sick and die on Mount Everest which is Disney World compared to Mars) might actually go and live there? Well, let's list some of them and see where we are.<br />
<br />
1. Testing of spacecraft large enough to sustain a crew for two years going and coming. - <i>Nothing accomplished or even proposed</i>.**<br />
2. Testing of habitats that would sustain humans on an airless, radiation-washed planet for any length of time - <i>Nothing accomplished or even proposed</i>.<br />
3. Testing of Martian landers. - <i>Nothing accomplished or even proposed</i>.<br />
4. Testing of artificial gravity in order to ameliorate the harmful effects of long-term microgravity (use of centrifugal forces?) - <i>Nothing accomplished or even proposed</i>.**<br />
5. Testing of shielding or medicine to ameliorate the harmful effects of radiation during spaceflight or the Martian surface - <i>Nothing accomplished or even proposed</i>.**<br />
6. Testing of power sources on the Martian surface (nuclear and solar generators?) - <i>Nothing accomplished but some proposals with minor funding and relaxed schedules</i>.<br />
7. Testing of advanced propulsion systems to ameliorate long journey across the nothingness between Earth and Mars (nuclear?) - <i>Nothing accomplished but some proposals with minor funding and relaxed schedules</i>.<br />
<br />
** Could have been tested on the International Space Station but wasn't which tells the tale I'm getting at very well.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjty7ios16OOfXbQ8Bju8hpGzlihPg2U_Dll8ulET_Qhp9OpTKX4kdqctXlMDzkVgKlRMAcukg0sWfMkWRCvjV6hnd7qcE872jCDv2ujff3zycmlck25o8Lhy6iOis6UBKbmk-XsPDNeHZu/s1600/download-9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="189" data-original-width="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjty7ios16OOfXbQ8Bju8hpGzlihPg2U_Dll8ulET_Qhp9OpTKX4kdqctXlMDzkVgKlRMAcukg0sWfMkWRCvjV6hnd7qcE872jCDv2ujff3zycmlck25o8Lhy6iOis6UBKbmk-XsPDNeHZu/s1600/download-9.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mars Plans? We don't have no stinkin' Mars Plans!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I could go on but I think the point is made. NASA has accomplished essentially nothing to get ready to send humans to Mars and there is virtually nothing in the pipeline. Still and yet, they keep saying <i>We're going to Mars</i>! even while being ordered to instead go to the moon. Well, actually, that command has forced them to modify their battlecry by putting it this way: <i>We're going to the moon so we can go to Mars</i>! Uh huh, right.<br />
<br />
By the way, not talking about Elon here. That boy might just give it a go but that's on his dime which probably has the head of Percival Lowell on it rather than President Roosevelt's. Do it, Mr. Musk. I will cheer you on. Glad you liked <i>The Dinosaur Hunter</i>, by the way.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3rGZdwYM8DmwR5GvY1_R3swftOvlPUCe2tuMABcETS5roof0qf8wSRtq3LJLR_vW9zEM71OPQiASnTB_j82AMKYBCS9ZmJ5F3k0XUT1YJWPuOkrVtHWlHKzt4zXR5pVPSd54_TdracrRZ/s1600/ElonDinosaurHunter.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="578" data-original-width="1036" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3rGZdwYM8DmwR5GvY1_R3swftOvlPUCe2tuMABcETS5roof0qf8wSRtq3LJLR_vW9zEM71OPQiASnTB_j82AMKYBCS9ZmJ5F3k0XUT1YJWPuOkrVtHWlHKzt4zXR5pVPSd54_TdracrRZ/s320/ElonDinosaurHunter.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elon reading The Dinosaur Hunter and being thoroughly amused.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
And speaking of me...<br />
<br />
Just about everyone who pays the slightest bit of attention to my writing about space (a small percentage of my literary output but still...) knows that I am a hopeless human domiciliary lunaphile (that means I love the idea of people living on the moon and doesn't mean something bad) and believe that we as a civilization have much productive work scientifically and economically to do on the planet that circles us. Just as Mars, the more we look at the moon, the more interesting it becomes. One difference is the moon is accessible by humans while Mars simply isn't. Another is humans have real work to do on the moon, work that will make life on Earth better, its people wealthier and more knowledgable and even spur some of them to actually live and work and raise families there. By the by, I could not possibly care less who the next professional astronaut, regardless of gender, who steps on the moon is. I only care who the next plumber, carpenter, mechanic, miner, or electrician is. The moon may be for scientists but it, like Antarctica and West Virginia, is also for blue collar workers who know how to build things and keep them running. That, to me, is really exciting to contemplate!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKADsPMdCmToPhjSIHIC0R5Vf5XxRQ0y3QdAJQ_oy1cIVObZn44Get_JKHyNe8tWqEteoWZ0TeAm8raOvVEZdO14WIRQ8JTt2PE1DyfiRo96-itWWAlZsijk3jWQmI_Kvhk6EhZv_EU-pN/s1600/CraterTrilogyPhoto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKADsPMdCmToPhjSIHIC0R5Vf5XxRQ0y3QdAJQ_oy1cIVObZn44Get_JKHyNe8tWqEteoWZ0TeAm8raOvVEZdO14WIRQ8JTt2PE1DyfiRo96-itWWAlZsijk3jWQmI_Kvhk6EhZv_EU-pN/s320/CraterTrilogyPhoto.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My trilogy of moon books, not counting Back to the Moon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqvLe5QCrWQncm0eciUzU58IlGTpjDssRKAYbbrVHsp_RX2h5qTbm1bUL71HqcaoKLl_muKapI_iZlygGGVBBlbHzwuR7dKh-iBwtHNe0h4_k9hAr7pH6mtD94deXdBr01gNNxyAVzEO7T/s1600/BTTMCover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1096" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqvLe5QCrWQncm0eciUzU58IlGTpjDssRKAYbbrVHsp_RX2h5qTbm1bUL71HqcaoKLl_muKapI_iZlygGGVBBlbHzwuR7dKh-iBwtHNe0h4_k9hAr7pH6mtD94deXdBr01gNNxyAVzEO7T/s320/BTTMCover.jpg" width="219" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My book the Vice President likes.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
In fact, I believe the moon is vastly more important to us as a species than Mars will ever be. By utilizing the resources of our nearby neighbor, we can create a spacefaring civilization that, for decades to come, will be mostly back and forth between us and our newly installed lunar brethren and sisteren. But to build what we need on the moon and properly explore it, we're going to have to do a lot of work while not being distracted by that shiny Lowellian myth known as Mars.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXwRYLzhT1kn94Xqsb2I9zKajzxEc9z2hsw3A5HKZtCKsNquy9cu9sHsHIWYIrP_QvuxRAzJPZ_4yIb7mOi3H05tSAA_e5eAaLdLMmStDIj7bvuMUVGghOlpAZspAyg9gnt3ls7w8b-311/s1600/H3Moon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="633" data-original-width="733" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXwRYLzhT1kn94Xqsb2I9zKajzxEc9z2hsw3A5HKZtCKsNquy9cu9sHsHIWYIrP_QvuxRAzJPZ_4yIb7mOi3H05tSAA_e5eAaLdLMmStDIj7bvuMUVGghOlpAZspAyg9gnt3ls7w8b-311/s320/H3Moon.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moi and my favorite planet not counting the one I'm presently on.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So, NASA and Mr. Bridenstine, I really regret having to be so pedantic about this entire Mars business but this is the unfortunate truth. You sending astronauts to Mars isn't going to happen because, not only haven't you prepared for it in any way, it probably <i>shouldn't</i> happen. There is absolutely nothing there that needs people. Unless our technology makes a huge leap, or something so extraordinary is discovered on this midget planet that we must go have a look with our real eyeballs, we need to accept the reality (I know it's difficult and I hate it as much as you) that Mars is a hideously awful place, worse than anything you can imagine. It will kill you every which way from Sunday and laugh while it's doing it. And should people go there, they will always be an economic drain, never adding anything back to the Earthians who spent a fortune to send them there except photographs of them desperately waiting for the next supply ship (should it ever come). It will be worse than the colonists on Roanoke Island who at least had air to breathe and water to drink and didn't have to live underground to keep from glowing in the dark but still disappeared way back when without a trace except for a pathetic word "CROATOAN" on a tree. Maybe the Martian colonists will stamp out a similar message in the dust for any visitors who should happen by to find their remains.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_OPQUnWNjkuLcKHClvArtr3tBwAzGHpObQfDKWBNPZuibqJAy3oogSJnXJowH63i0r9NWJATlRU9yXdpJa6pv23qmgPdv6zI40fi-Qe-uoKbjzhz8ttDP9vaXx2C309tKgvO3dLzyNhC8/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="163" data-original-width="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_OPQUnWNjkuLcKHClvArtr3tBwAzGHpObQfDKWBNPZuibqJAy3oogSJnXJowH63i0r9NWJATlRU9yXdpJa6pv23qmgPdv6zI40fi-Qe-uoKbjzhz8ttDP9vaXx2C309tKgvO3dLzyNhC8/s1600/download.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Hey soldier, do you understand what this means?"<br />
"Not a clue, sir."<br />
"Well, where is everybody?"<br />
"Um, well, perhaps something's amiss, sir."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Again, I'm really sorry for being fussy but let's just stop all this Mars stuff and go to the place where we need to go for economic as well as scientific reasons and please stop saying it's only so we can go to Mars. It's a big fib and an unnecessary one. Don't take me wrong. I absolutely believe Mars should be explored by the federal government's space agency but by robots and AI which every year get better and better and are extensions of we humans, anyway. They'll get us all the information we need and, after all, that's all you're really planning to do so all I'm saying is let's stay real and let Dr. Lowell rest.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6CVMQbEYN_zvpbd6BauGNTxR-ZFPekNCi9NfxmmRdnuoxq_U3vpyJ-sEschzQtrWO3iDrtOOtmM3t6c6CN87UUXP7eBPZFxwVcr47t0_IgjGlk8-lZB7XwOtkBZTGutV5X9uiiGwFyDG2/s1600/Lowell-Mausoleum-Inscription-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="731" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6CVMQbEYN_zvpbd6BauGNTxR-ZFPekNCi9NfxmmRdnuoxq_U3vpyJ-sEschzQtrWO3iDrtOOtmM3t6c6CN87UUXP7eBPZFxwVcr47t0_IgjGlk8-lZB7XwOtkBZTGutV5X9uiiGwFyDG2/s320/Lowell-Mausoleum-Inscription-3.jpg" width="228" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Quote from Percival Lowell on his mausoleum</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But I'm not as certain we should let Wrexi rest. That woman deserves a medal for putting up with Percival and winning honors for her astronomical work before being shoved into a pauper's grave. How about a Wrexi Leonard Avenue?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXKqWcy65Ka1yvhwNbRJS6tncEST-9Tgsvh2yq_IyIzUQidOs1SNyOx3blkICdyHIydgHO0NpgzktPKZ9sQIffi-pUxbifpKFsS0NRHobrfgB0CIepgK07ZDKmgmzaWoXM-X_u9GpRfsiJ/s1600/WrexiLouiseLeonard.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="609" data-original-width="435" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXKqWcy65Ka1yvhwNbRJS6tncEST-9Tgsvh2yq_IyIzUQidOs1SNyOx3blkICdyHIydgHO0NpgzktPKZ9sQIffi-pUxbifpKFsS0NRHobrfgB0CIepgK07ZDKmgmzaWoXM-X_u9GpRfsiJ/s320/WrexiLouiseLeonard.jpeg" width="228" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Miss Wrexi Leonard,<br />
the first professional female astronomer in the United States</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Thank you,<br />
<br />
Homer<br />
<br />
* Sadly, when told in the Oval Office that we were headed back to the moon, the President jumped into the fray by saying we were going to Mars. <i>What we have here</i>, as the famous quote in Cool Hand Luke had it, <i>is a failure to communicate</i>. If our return of humans to Luna had been properly presented to President Trump as an opportunity to expand the American economy by setting up permanently crewed outposts from which commercial and scientific entities could move into the lunar hinterlands to gather resources and knowledge, he would have probably been on board. But <i>nooooo</i>. Instead, he like so many others who have little background in human spaceflight besides movies and the usual Lowellian fantasies, jumped right into it which got NASA leaders, also immersed in the same fantastic dreams of a planet that doesn't actually exist, making decisions based on "turn and burn" from the moon to Mars which may see everything ultimately cancelled. A goal without a plan may just be a wish but a plan with the wrong goal is worse.</div>
</div>
Homer Hickamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10218229542457074434noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794772572438808559.post-43866322963085821412019-05-28T22:27:00.001-07:002019-12-08T16:47:54.878-08:00A short discussion of the Core Stage of the SLS and my novels Back to the Moon/Crater<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
Since my blog is read by the readers of Goodreads.com, I find it always a good idea to include some reference to one or more of my books no matter what I'm writing about. Since I am about to explain what the situation is with a great big rocket that NASA is trying to build that may be used to go to the moon, let me just say everybody not interested in this rather esoteric commentary but still interested in fictional accounts of going to and living on the moon should just read my wonderfully literate (and often funny) novels <i>Back to the Moon</i> and the marvelous trilogy (literate, funny, all) that began with <i>Crater</i> and then continued with <i>Crescent</i> followed by <i>The Lunar Rescue Company</i>. You can read about them and my other books here: <a href="http://www.homerhickam.com/">www.homerhickam.com</a>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4V3nmL2M3aZl8v7OO_1ifPxqfg_kBQAKthmVw2tAV3iP9LO_Jq8I9cWyyaI0f5A75UlbIAxd23KZLKC_JCJHPIF4UxTmmbRTAkcNs5iUujWJo6m3GsQzZgQc5RqNV1KqeUKatyNc6GjPv/s1600/BTTMCover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1096" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4V3nmL2M3aZl8v7OO_1ifPxqfg_kBQAKthmVw2tAV3iP9LO_Jq8I9cWyyaI0f5A75UlbIAxd23KZLKC_JCJHPIF4UxTmmbRTAkcNs5iUujWJo6m3GsQzZgQc5RqNV1KqeUKatyNc6GjPv/s320/BTTMCover.jpg" width="219" /></a></div>
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Now, with my GoodReads readers taken care of, let me explain in condensed fashion the problems with the core stage of the Space Launch System, aka SLS, and why it is what we euphemistically call the "long pole" of the development of this rocket. In other words, the core stage is the most difficult of all the components of the SLS to design and construct and will take the longest amount of time to prepare.<br />
<br />
Why is that? Well, although vastly simplified, here are some of the reasons.<br />
<br />
The core stage, which is really the first stage, utilizes as its base the design and materials of the external tank (ET) of the old space shuttle. This is because Congress required that NASA use components from the shuttle to build the SLS which must have seemed the right thing to do at the time. After all, here was a big rocket that already worked - the space shuttle and all. Just move its parts around a little bit, tweak them some, slap a new name on the resulting rocket, and away you go.*<br />
<br />
Using the components of the shuttle to make a new rocket might be compared with remodeling a house. For those of us who have done both, we know that a remodel of a house is filled with problems that building a house from the ground up doesn't have. There are a lot of compromises required for the remodel that is avoided by a fresh start with a clean sheet.<br />
<br />
With orders to turn the ET into a booster stage, the engineers assigned to it first ran into the problem that the tank would be subject to forces that were outside the scope of its original design. The ET was a marvel in engineering but it was supposed to take side mount forces (i.e., be dragged upward), not be pushed from below with a heavy load on top. In terms of forces, this is the difference between throwing a beer can (very little force on it other than flying through the air) and placing it upright on the ground and squashing it with the heel of your boot. Just like the beer can, the core stage is going to be crushed from above by the heavy upper stages while being shoved really hard from the bottom by multiple engines.<br />
<br />
Faced with the requirement to build a rocket utilizing components outside their original design and function, SLS engineers responded by making the ET shell much stronger with lots of bracing. The designers were also faced with having to stretch the ET so it could hold more propellant which meant more bracing, all of which added weight. And then there was another force, much more insidious, that the designers had to face. Vibration. The two five-segment solid rocket motors (these also adapted from the space shuttle) strapped to the core stage is going to shake it like the San Francisco earthquake. Essentially a somewhat brittle aluminum egg, it's difficult to predict what will happen no matter how much extra support is added.<br />
<br />
And then there are the friction-stir welds which are used throughout the core stage. If you don't know what this technique is, please go here: <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Friction_stir_welding">https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Friction_stir_welding</a><br />
<br />
Friction-stir welds are not an unknown as NASA has been doing such welds for a long time and SpaceX has, too. They've just never experienced as much force and vibration on such welds before. SpaceX is a nice, smooth ride since all its engines are liquid. As mentioned before, a 5-segment stretch SRB is going to shake the bejesus out of the core stage and those welds. Again, how much vibration the core stage will receive is not entirely understood. That's why vibration tests were done in Huntsville. Computer models are also being run. Sadly, ultimately, the only certain way to find out the real answer is to fly the blame thing.<br />
<br />
Another problem has to do with heat around the base. The ET, while being very strong, was thermally very fragile. Witness the Challenger. When a flame played around its base, it melted right through. On the SLS, the base of the core stage is going to receive a hotfoot by the engines strapped to its bottom. To protect it, a lot of extra shielding compared to the ET is needed down there. How much is required is not entirely understood. That's the reason for the so-called green test at Stennis that will see the engines lit. Unfortunately, those lit engines are reusable shuttle engines that are going to be thrown away. When they are used up, another kind of rocket engine is going to have to be attached at the base which means all the previous tests will have to be done again.<br />
<br />
So there it is in a nutshell, the problems Boeing and NASA have to solve on the SLS core stage, partly because they didn't start with a clean sheet. If they had, their core stage would have probably looked a whole lot like a wide-body Falcon 9 and maybe it would have been built faster and cheaper and better.<br />
<br />
One thing I'd like to make clear: I am not criticizing SLS engineers in this piece. My purpose is only to clarify its problems which we keep hearing about and has caused many schedule slips. The Boeing and NASA SLS engineers are doing their very best to prepare this rocket to fly and they should be praised for their work.<br />
<br />
However, because of the problems which still loom over this rocket, my recommendation from the get-go when the Vice President decided we were going back to the moon was to take the SLS out of the critical path to the moon and instead develop it, including some flights, to where it could be put in storage and brought into service if needed later. If that concept isn't viable, I think SLS should only be used for cargo flights, not for astronauts. This would allow NASA to relax its schedule a little and make sure everything is OK before proceeding while using SpaceX and Blue Origin rockets to test out the Orion capsule and send it for a loop around the moon. But, for what may be more political reasons than technical, NASA seems to want the core stage to be ready right away, no matter what.<br />
<br />
<br />
* As an aside for you history buffs, Ford did that very thing with the Edsel building it on the chassis of the already-existing Fairlane and Galaxie.</div>
Homer Hickamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10218229542457074434noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794772572438808559.post-74613464534942640902019-03-28T10:22:00.001-07:002019-03-28T10:22:22.947-07:00Back to the Moon: A Novel - My crystal ball account of the future which is now today<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle; font-size: 12pt;">I wrote <i>Back to the Moon: A Novel</i> in 1998 and it was published by Delacorte/Random House in 1999. </span><span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle;"><a href="http://homerhickam.com/project/back-to-the-moon/">http://homerhickam.com/project/back-to-the-moon/</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle; font-size: 12pt;">This is a portion of the final chapter. Although SSTO hasn't happened, I think there's at least some similarity to what is happening today. Moondog is very similar to Falcon Heavy. Big Dog could be the BFR. Jack Medaris could be that fellow from PayPal. My crystal ball wasn't entirely clear twenty plus years ago but it wasn't so cloudy, either.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Back to the Moon</i> is also Vice President Pence's favorite space book. He read it when it first came out. Maybe it influenced him a little, I wouldn't know.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Yes, Mr. Vice President, I think Jack Medaris and Penny High Eagle got married..."</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: 700;">Back to the Cape</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'BookmanOldStyle'; font-size: 12.000000pt;">It was a perfect day for a launch. The Cape sparkled in golden
light as the sun peeked above the dark blue horizon, illuminating a
single white puffy cloud hanging high in the sky. The crowd of
dignitaries stood at the base of pad 39-B and admired the rocket sitting
on its own squared-off base. It looked larger than it was because it sat
by itself on the concrete pad. The gigantic towers of the shuttle era were
gone. Only a small portable gantry, now rolled back, was needed for this
machine, the first of the operational single-stage-to-orbit (SSTO) fleet
fielded in three years of intensive effort and remarkable economy.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'BookmanOldStyle'; font-size: 12.000000pt;"> A siren wailed and the crowd tensed. Launch was imminent. A
loudspeaker crackled beside the stands. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I give
you the Medaris Engineering Company's Single Stage to Orbit vehicle,
</span><span style="font-family: 'BookmanOldStyle'; font-size: 12.000000pt; font-style: italic;">Moondog</span><span style="font-family: 'BookmanOldStyle'; font-size: 12.000000pt;">!"
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'BookmanOldStyle'; font-size: 12.000000pt;"> Flames immediately erupted at the base of the rocket and it
powered smoothly off the pad, swept up into the sky and disappeared
within seconds. A thin cloud of water vapor, its only residue, hung in
the air and then began to disperse in the light winds. The crowd oohed
and ahhed appropriately and applauded enthusiastically. The doors on a
concrete hangar beside the pad opened and a rail car, carrying another
</span><span style="font-family: 'BookmanOldStyle'; font-size: 12.000000pt; font-style: italic;">Moondog </span><span style="font-family: 'BookmanOldStyle'; font-size: 12.000000pt;">SSTO, crept out and started trundling toward the pad. "The
second </span><span style="font-family: 'BookmanOldStyle'; font-size: 12.000000pt; font-style: italic;">Moondog </span><span style="font-family: 'BookmanOldStyle'; font-size: 12.000000pt;">will be erected and ready for launch in thirty minutes,"
the woman over the loudspeaker said. "Powerful, safe, and economical,
</span><span style="font-family: 'BookmanOldStyle'; font-size: 12.000000pt; font-style: italic;">Moondog</span><span style="font-family: 'BookmanOldStyle'; font-size: 12.000000pt;">s are available for immediate lease. Terms are available."
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'BookmanOldStyle'; font-size: 12.000000pt;"> Jack Medaris shook some hands, stepped down from the viewing
platform. He looked with pride at his accomplishment, the </span><span style="font-family: 'BookmanOldStyle'; font-size: 12.000000pt; font-style: italic;">Moondog
</span><span style="font-family: 'BookmanOldStyle'; font-size: 12.000000pt;">reusable SSTO. His company had gone public and accomplished the </span><span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle; font-size: 12pt;">design and construction of the Moondog using funds from the sale of its
stock. In effect, a vast number of Americans had decided to risk their
capital on Medaris's enterprise A cluster of five Big Dog engines provided
the boost to get the composite aerodynamic shell and the heavy cargo
aboard a </span><span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Moondog </span><span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle; font-size: 12pt;">into orbit. Once there and its payloads deployed, a
</span><span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Moondog </span><span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle; font-size: 12pt;">automatically reentered and landed back at the Cape or
wherever it was ordered, tail-first. A quick once-over and refueling and
she was ready to go again. After a few more test flights, the Federal
Aviation Administration was scheduled to clear </span><span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Moondog</span><span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle; font-size: 12pt;">s to be launched
from anywhere in the United States. Jack's plan was to keep a fleet of
six of them at the Cape to take advantage of the trained work force there.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'BookmanOldStyle'; font-size: 12.000000pt;"> Since Medaris's audacious trip to the moon, there had been many changes at NASA. NASA had gotten out of
the operations business and moved into the forefront of research and
development, handing over its scientific and engineering knowledge to
American commercial space operators. With the data it had gained from
the shuttle tests, the agency already had a prototype scram-jet that could
fly into orbit from Edwards Air Force Base, deposit a payload, and
return. NASA fielded the prototype for a half-billion dollars, ten times
less than the original estimate. That estimate had been made before
MEC, by taking </span><span style="font-family: 'BookmanOldStyle'; font-size: 12.000000pt; font-style: italic;">Columbia </span><span style="font-family: 'BookmanOldStyle'; font-size: 12.000000pt;">to the moon, had demonstrated what could be </span><span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle; font-size: 12pt;">done with a little money and a lot of engineering guts. The scram-jet
looked good, and the older and larger aerospace companies around the
world waited eagerly to get their hands on it. But Jack was convinced
his </span><span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Moondog </span><span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle; font-size: 12pt;">design would beat the scram in head-to-head competition. Or perhaps there might be room for more than one SSTO spacecraft. The
commercial markets that had opened up since his moon flight were going
to be too big for a single enterprise. It was as if that flight had opened
some sort of mental floodgate. The possibility that so much could be
done if the will was there to do it was energizing not only to the
aerospace field but in all the scientific and even political disciplines.
There were new starts everywhere. Anything was possible. And it didn't
have to break the bank to do it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle; font-size: 12pt;"> Medaris watched the group of VIP's, all potential customers,
excitedly watch the erection of the second </span><span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;">Moondog</span><span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle; font-size: 12pt;">. With cheap access
to space just on the horizon, commercial enterprises were making plans
to produce a great number of products in space - new materials, new
medicines, and new concepts such as tourism, space sports, and even
homesteading. Jack intended that MEC would be able to provide the
transportation to space they required. Industrial Orbital Facility, Inc., a private joint Japanese-American
company that had taken over the old International Space Station,
announced that it would launch a new man-tended laboratory the
following year aboard an improved Japanese H-2D booster. Competitive
bids were being taken from the clamoring companies for room aboard the </span><span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle; font-size: 12pt;">module. There was renewed hope among people paralyzed by spinal cord
trauma and disease that space research would deliver a cure.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'BookmanOldStyle'; font-size: 12.000000pt;"> There were mining outfits represented by the men and women
filing into the stand to observe the launch. The interest in helium-3 had
quickly reached fever pitch as soon as Dr. Perlman had come up into the
bright sunlight of the Montana summer. Using the thirty kilos of beads
found at Shorty crater and rescued from the Cayman trench, Perlman
had demonstrated the full power of his plant. Montana Power & Light
was working overtime to string in lines to it for commercial use. Energy
companies the world over were flocking to the United States to learn
more. The President of the United States, a year after </span><span style="font-family: 'BookmanOldStyle'; font-size: 12.000000pt; font-style: italic;">Columbia</span><span style="font-family: 'BookmanOldStyle'; font-size: 12.000000pt;">'s
landing, agreed to make the technology of fusion power available to the
world. Helium-3 had became the new gold of the solar system and
mining companies were lining up to dig it out.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'BookmanOldStyle'; font-size: 12.000000pt;"> There were government officials from several countries observing
Jack's </span><span style="font-family: 'BookmanOldStyle'; font-size: 12.000000pt; font-style: italic;">Moondog </span><span style="font-family: 'BookmanOldStyle'; font-size: 12.000000pt;">flight. The moon treaties of a previous era had been
revoked and governments across the earth had staked out claims. The
United States and Russia made the first, based on their landings there,
but other nations - England, Germany, France, Brazil, India, Japan,
China, even Portugal recalling a past history of exploration and
colonization - asked for and received territory set aside on the moon. An
international agency was organized at the United Nations to act as an
arbiter of the claims. If the land wasn't secured by a crewed landing
within twenty years, it would be auctioned to the highest bidder with the
proceeds going into an international spaceflight general pool. Some
people were already calling this as yet unnamed international agency by
a familiar name: Star Fleet.
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<span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle; font-size: 12pt;"> Jack knew his company was in a good position to take commercial
advantage of both the commercial and political activities. A </span><span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle; font-size: 12pt;">Moondog</span><span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic;"> </span><span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle; font-size: 12pt;">could carry a Big Dog aloft and place it into a parking orbit. All a nation
or a company needed to do was to put its mooncraft in orbit, dock with
the Big Dog, and then use it to reach escape velocity. There was a great
land rush coming a quarter of a million miles away from earth across the
Armstrong Sea...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And what began with </span></span><i style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle; font-size: 12pt;">Back to the Moon </i><span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">was continued with my <i>Crater Trueblood/Helium-3</i> series that envisions what life on the moon will be like a hundred years from now. Even though they're illegal, there will be gillies. Go here if you want to catch up with the future:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle;"><a href="http://homerhickam.com/project/crater/">http://homerhickam.com/project/crater/</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle;"><a href="http://homerhickam.com/project/crescent-a-helium-3-novel/">http://homerhickam.com/project/crescent-a-helium-3-novel/</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: BookmanOldStyle;"><a href="http://homerhickam.com/project/helium-3-series/">http://homerhickam.com/project/helium-3-series/</a></span><br />
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Homer Hickamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10218229542457074434noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794772572438808559.post-80639723602687744272019-03-13T08:17:00.002-07:002019-03-13T08:17:51.531-07:001993 Study of a Moon Laboratory by Homer Hickam<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Homer Hickamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10218229542457074434noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794772572438808559.post-43707489783148844682019-02-21T08:59:00.000-08:002019-02-21T08:59:59.515-08:00Excerpt from Homer Hickam's novel CRATER about the fate of the Apollo 11 Landing Site<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="heading 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="heading 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="heading 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="heading 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="footnote text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="header"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="footer"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="35" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="caption"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="table of figures"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="envelope address"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="footnote reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="endnote reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="endnote text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="table of authorities"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="macro"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="0" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="FollowedHyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Plain Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="E-mail Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Top of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal (Web)"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Acronym"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Address"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Cite"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Code"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Keyboard"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Preformatted"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Typewriter"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal Table"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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Name="Table Elegant"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" QFormat="true"
Name="List Paragraph"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" QFormat="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="42" Name="Plain Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4"/>
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj767pq-DoAMiuBYLdHvo8TUTFIKPS3YHkPBRhjKjfdtnk_KClmGABCUZkcncMW2BOH_VOWUDdAHp9WNYLtmc3Co4KNMeZnR8Kkp0nIUWC7NSZ9ntK05TyZH_mUJ1qQO9NUKJqD3Vt7F7Mo/s1600/CraterCover.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1461" data-original-width="1075" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj767pq-DoAMiuBYLdHvo8TUTFIKPS3YHkPBRhjKjfdtnk_KClmGABCUZkcncMW2BOH_VOWUDdAHp9WNYLtmc3Co4KNMeZnR8Kkp0nIUWC7NSZ9ntK05TyZH_mUJ1qQO9NUKJqD3Vt7F7Mo/s320/CraterCover.png" width="235" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Crater walked out of
the dustlock into the most amazing place he’d ever seen, the main corridor of
the bustling marketplace of the moon’s largest town. Maria was still dealing
with the Armstrong City clerks and inspectors who’d emerged from the airlock to
register the convoy, tax the heel-3 canisters aboard, and assist in their
further transport. She also had to attend to the handling of Captain Teller’s
body, including seeing his family. Crater wanted to see Teller’s family, too,
but there was an urgent message for him to go to the Medaris Mining company
offices and meet a representative sent from the Colonel. In the dustlock, the Armstrong
City dusties insisted that he remove his Deep Space BCP suit with the
explanation that the biotechnology had not been approved by the city health
department. Crater didn’t mind removing it—the sheath was pretty dusty, after
all—and the hot water showers afterwards felt very good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He headed for the
company office but before he got there, the Sheriff of Moontown appeared out of
the crowd, took him by the arm, and turned him around. “We have to be careful,
Crater! There may be assassins.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Crater was surprised
to see the sheriff. “How did you get here?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Jumpcar,” he said.
“The Colonel had a visitor and I hitched a ride.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That sounded awfully
convenient to Crater, but the sheriff seemed sincere. So he let himself be led
to a ticket counter which had a sign that said <i>See the Site of Humankind’s
First Landing on the Moon</i>. There were photos of the American astronauts
Armstrong, Collins, and Aldrin for sale along with other souvenirs, including
models of the Apollo capsule and the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Eagle</i>
lander. The sheriff handed over an adequate number of johncredits and the clerk
handed back two paper tickets. “Let’s hurry. We don’t want to miss the tram,”
the sheriff said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The sheriff pointed
at a dustlock which said <i>Tours to Tranquility Base Landing Site</i>. They went through
it, emerging into a pressurized tram filled with tourists. “Welcome,” the tour
guide said. “I hope you enjoy your excursion to Tranquility Base.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The sheriff pointed
at two empty seats and he and Crater sat down. The tram pulled out, following a
well-used track, while the tour guide announced that only one mile away was the
landing site of Apollo 11, the place where humans first walked on an “astronomical
body.” Calling the moon an “astronomical body” was something of an insult to
Crater but he didn’t say anything, just looked out the window at the boring view
which was mostly devoid of craters or anything else other than a mildly sloping
plain of pebbly dust. Before long, the bus arrived at the famous landing site
which was lit up by big spotlights. The tourists immediately started to take
pictures.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Crater gazed with
some wonder at the truncated base of the landing craft called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Eagle</i>. Beside it was the American flag
on a staff stuck into the dust. The flag was a recreation, of course, since the
original flag had been knocked down when the upper half of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Eagle</i> had taken off and, over the years, bleached white by the relentless sun.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The tour guide had
already exhausted his spiel on how close Armstrong had come to aborting the
mission because of an overworked guidance computer, and how the brave American
had landed anyway, completing the promise of the long-dead and little known
President Kennedy who had ordered the landing to occur before the Russians
could get to it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The guide was Russian
so he proceeded to tell the tourists that, of course, the Russians had launched
the world’s first earth satellite called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sputnik</i>,
and also launched the first person into space whose name was Yuri Gagarin. He
also went on to say that during the civil war, poor Gagarin’s body had gone
missing from the Kremlin during an attack by Siberian revolutionaries, but that
was neither here nor there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The tour guide next
turned to what had happened to the Apollo 11 landing site in the years
following the landing. He mentioned the outrage in the provinces comprising the
old United States of America that had occurred when a Chinese robot on tracks
had barged into the site and destroyed many of the footprints while also
knocking over some of the experiments left behind. A mission by the Independent
States of America, which claimed the Apollo sites since it included among its
member states Texas, Florida, and Alabama—where much of the Apollo hardware had
been designed and built—studied the site to see if it could be reconstructed. One
of its interesting findings was that it wasn’t the Chinese who had destroyed
Armstrong’s famous “first step for man, giant leap for mankind” boot print but
Astronaut Buzz Aldrin, who had inadvertently stepped on it as he climbed off
the ladder of the landing craft.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>While the tourists
clicked their photos, the sheriff said, “I have your ticket for the elevator
and the Cycler.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I hope whatever is
in that package is worth Captain Teller’s life,” Crater said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The sheriff took a
moment, then said, “I guess nothing’s worth that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“The crowhoppers
were after me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The sheriff looked
incredulous. “You shouldn’t take these things so personally. The Colonel has
many enemies. There might be any number of reasons why his convoy was
attacked.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Then why did you
mention assassins?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The sheriff
shrugged. “I’m a cautious man.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br /></div>
Homer Hickamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10218229542457074434noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5794772572438808559.post-23944049944423583432019-02-15T15:11:00.002-08:002019-02-15T15:11:40.253-08:00Answers to questions from an Iranian engineering student<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
NOTE: I was asked by an Iranian engineering student to please answer some questions for a magazine at his university. I agreed. The Iranian people are, in my opinion, pretty wonderful. I was happy to answer his questions and hope that the future of Iran will find it once more a free and open society.<br />
<br />
- Homer Hickam<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Dear Mr. Hickam, this written interview’s aim is to know you better and
introduce you to our university as a successful writer and engineer,
working in NASA.We would appreciate your consideration over these questions.
<br />Best regards
<br /><br /> Could you introduce yourself , please? (I know there are many
introductions of you in Wikipedia and other websites, but I want to know
how you introduce yourself.)
<br />
<br />**** I am Homer Hickam, the author of many best-selling books, both
fiction and non-fiction. This includes My Dream of Stars, the memoir of
Anousheh Ansari. I was raised in the small coal mining town of Coalwood,
West Virginia in the heart of the Appalachian mountains. My father,
grandfather, and great grandfather on both sides of the family were coal
miners. My ancestors first came to North America in the early 1700's so
we've been here for a long time. By DNA, I am English, Irish, German,
Danish, Spanish, and even a little bit African American. I graduated
from Virginia Tech with a degree in Industrial Engineering in 1964,
served in the army during the Vietnam War, worked for the Army Missile
Command in Alabama, the 7th Army Training Command in Germany, and then
for NASA at the Marshall Space Flight Center in Huntsville, Alabama. I
am best known for my memoir Rocket Boys that was made into the movie
October Sky. I am also an avid amateur paleontologist with two T.rexes to
my credit, a scuba instructor, and own homes and property in the U.S.
Virgin Islands and Honduras. I spend most of my time at our home in
Alabama. I am the chairman of the board of the Space and Rocket Center
where Space Camp is located. I am 76 years old. I am married but have no
children. Our volunteer work includes working for organizations that
take care of cats and dogs needing adoption.
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /> Lets start asking you about your masterpiece "Rocket Boys" . when did
you begin writing it and what did encourage you to write?
<br />
<br />* I think the answer is : "When Smithsonian Air & Space Magazine
challenged me to write an article of 1,500 words overnight, an artifact
of my boyhood days was sitting on my desk as a paperweight and caught my
eye. It was a rocket nozzle built in the machine shops of Coalwood, West
Virginia. My dad had saved it for me during all those years and when he
died, I got it back. I, therefore, wrote an article about those events,
something I hadn’t thought about for years. When it was published
shortly afterwards, my phone almost melted down from calls from New York
publishers and Hollywood. Was I, they asked, going to write a book about
this? Well, I said, I am now!"
<br />
<br />**** That answer is a good summation. However, I had already written
another well-received book in 1989 titled Torpedo Junction, the true
story of the battle against the German U-boats along the American coasts
during World War II so I was already well known to book publishers. That
made it easier to get Rocket Boys published.
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /> I read somewhere that you said : The book and the movie (October Sky)
are different. how much do you think they are different?and why did
Hollywood change the real story?
<br />( sorry but because of boycott we can't find your books up to 1000 Miles
far away here. and we just watched the movie. the price of "rocket boys"
book for buying from Europe is about expenditures a month of my family.
so how ever i like to read your books ,but i can’t.)
<br />
<br />**** I don't like to point out the differences if you've only seen the
film. Otherwise, it might seem disappointing to you. A screenplay is a
much different art form than a book. A movie has only 90 minutes or so
to tell a story while a writer can take as long as he/she likes to write
a novel or memoir. Inevitably, there are differences. I suppose the main
one with Rocket Boys and October Sky is that our rockets were much more
sophisticated than shown and also it took three years of development
work where the movie made it over a much shorter period. Also, the
science fairs were not our motivating factor. It was only when we were
nearing high school graduation we decided to enter the fairs because our
teacher Miss Riley wanted us to try. There were no scholarships but we
all went to college, either by first going into the military to get a
scholarship or, in my case, by my parents helping me and by me working
in the coal mines during summers to raise extra money.
<br />
<br />
<br /> As far as I know you published your newest book about your family's
alligator Albert by the name of "carrying Albert home". so after this ,
what is your next book about? is there any next one?
<br />
<br />**** There will be a next one. I can't talk about it yet. Publishers
don't like that.
<br />
<br />
<br /> People are not interested of space stories as much as some years
ago.Now they prefer reading stories about quantum physics more than
space-related subjects in scientific genre. do you have any plans to use
this field (quantum physics) and its mysteries in your next book?
<br />
<br />**** No.
<br />
<br />
<br /> Let me ask about NASA. How difficult and how fantastic can it to be
work in NASA?
<br />
<br />**** When I worked for NASA, every day I woke up and said to myself, "Oh
boy! I get to go to work at NASA today!" I enjoyed the work very much. I
spent many months in Japan training the first Japanese astronauts,
worked as a diver in the neutral buoyancy simulator, wore the suit to
practice underwater the Hubble Space Telescope repair missions before
the astronauts tried the procedures, and helped design the Spacelab and
set up all the astronaut training still being used for the International
Space Station. It was a lot of fun.
<br />
<br />
<br /> By your opinion which field of aerospace will make the future of this
science?
<br />
<br />**** For the aero part of aerospace, I think supersonic passenger and
freight transports of some kind are inevitable but I'm not sure how that
will evolve. As for space, artificial intelligence will become very
important. I also foresee the moon as the most important of space
destinations for humans and, eventually, we will see mining there. I
wrote a trio of young adult books about what life will be like on the
moon. They are titled Crater, Crescent, and The Lunar Rescue Company.
Space medicine is just in its infancy so much work to be done there.
Ultimately, I hope to see plumbers, carpenters, electricians, miners,
and lots of blue collar workers in space living, working, and raising
their families. It is my further hope that a new civilization and
culture will rise there. I don't expect it to be perfect. I expect it to
be rough, pioneering, and at times desperate but ultimately triumphant.
<br />
<br />
<br /> What was the most surprising thing you had ever encountered in your
engineering carrier?
<br />
<br />**** That I never used a slide rule! I surely used one a lot in college.
You won't have that experience, I'm sure.
<br />
<br /> Have you ever participated in or been the manager of a project which
is related to guns and war machines in NASA? or you just working on the
shuttle's mission and peaceful things? what's your feeling about it?
<br />
<br />**** I am a Vietnam veteran of the 4th Infantry Division and was there
during 1967-68, the bloodiest time of the entire war. It convinced me
war is never the answer to anything except misery and more war. I am not
a pacifist but war is no video game. It's an awful and cruel and
miserable thing and people get hurt, experience excruciating pain, and
if they don't die, carry the scars for the rest of their lives. After
the war, I worked for the U.S. Army as a civilian engineer but not on
weapons but mostly computers and programming and such. While I worked
for NASA, I never worked on anything of a military nature. NASA is a
civilian organization by law.
<br />
<br />
<br /> Which part of you is bigger? writer part or engineer part? could you
explain more, please?
<br />
<br />**** Now, writer. Then, engineer. I always wanted to be both and managed
to accomplish my dreams of success in both fields. I never saw any
conflict between them. To be a good engineer, you really must also learn
to write well. One of the requirements of engineering is being able to
express your ideas, both written and through speaking, in such a way to
convince others you are going in the correct direction. Engineering is
rarely an individual process. Nearly always, you are part of a team and
have to learn how to be a good leader and also a good follower. However,
an engineer must always question what is being done, especially if he
sees a better way... and there is nearly ALWAYS a better way.
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /> At first, I wanted to ask you whether "do you still see your Rocket
boys friends?" , But then I found out you have an anniversary event,
called " Rocket boys festival" in September2019 . Would you explain it
more please?
<br />
<br />**** Yes. Please go to <a class="moz-txt-link-abbreviated" href="http://www.rocketboysfestival.com/">www.rocketboysfestival.com</a> for more information
on that. There were actually six rocket boys. Five of us are still
alive. Quentin rarely comes to the festival but Roy Lee, O'Dell, and
Billy (not in the movie) usually show up. It's always good to see them.
<br />
<br /> Lets talk about a wonderful woman, whom you wrote the book "My dream"
about her, Anousheh Ansari. How do you know her? And what encouraged you
to write this book?
<br />
<br />(I will be so thankful if you tell us a good memory about Anousheh Ansari.)
<br />
<br />**** Ah, Anousheh! One of my favorite people in the world. I read
somewhere she was only a few days from being launched to the space
station so, on a whim, I sent her an email wishing her luck and she
wrote back! When she got back from space, she contacted me, we met and I
asked her if she'd like to write her memoir and, if so, could I help her
with it. She said yes. She's a wonderful person. I will include a couple
of photos of us. One is in front of the grave of Miss Baker, a famous
monkey who flew into space. The other is in my Huntsville neighborhood
trying out some devices called Trikkes which are good exercise!<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br /> At last, what would you say to young aerospace engineering students as
an advice in starting this way!
<br />
<br />**** It's good to hitch your wagon to a healthy horse. In other words,
choose wisely your employer and then try to get an experienced engineer
that you respect to mentor you. Listen more than you talk at first. If
you can, eventually you'll want to lead your own company. But always
never forget, especially in aerospace, your duty to the people who will
fly aboard your machines. Keep them safe but get them there!
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />thank you very much for spending time with us.
<br />
<br />**** Hope this was helpful. Please give my best to your family and friends.
<br />
<br />Homer
<br />
<br />
<br /><a class="moz-txt-link-abbreviated" href="http://www.homerhickam.com/">www.homerhickam.com</a></div>
Homer Hickamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10218229542457074434noreply@blogger.com