Entering the Race to the Moon: Autobiography of an Apollo Rocket Scientist

ENTERING THE RACE TO THE MOON

Autobiography of an Apollo Rocket Scientist

By John P. Hornung

ISBN 978-0-9830441-7-8

Content: 84830 words and 53 pictures

Copyright: 2013 by John P. Hornung

Published by Jack be Nimble Publishing at Smashwords

$1.99

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

To those who make craft that ride the heavens

Reviews

Chapter 4 - To the Moon, Without Me

The Space Show

October 30, 2009

Having read his story, I strongly recommend it because John Hornung was among those pioneers that wrote the book on building, designing, testing, and developing rockets and human spaceflight. His memoir is an important treasure of information that would serve us all well to know, understand, and remember. Dr. David Livingston, host of The Space Show, broadcast 1248 (Special Edition), aired on October 30th, 2009.

Chesapeake Style Magazine

October 2011

(John’s) delightfully entertaining memoirs of his association with the NASA space program have something for every level of reader. The graphics and NASA photos of the vehicles associated with the space launching vehicles are a treasure. This look at his first career as a space scientist is exciting and inspiring, sprinkled with hilarious moments of fun. Jean C. Keating – National Award Winning Author.

Chapter 2 - ABANDON SHIP!

Chapter 2 is also sold as an independent book which is five star rated.

Table of Contents

Prelude

Chapter One - The Silent Aftermath

Was I Raised a Poor White Child?

Unveiling the Mystery

My Take on All of This

Acknowledgments

After the Aftermath

Chapter Two – Abandon Ship!

From Land to the Sea

Bright Lights and Sandy Ditches

An Inconvenient Photograph

The Jamboree

Chapter Three – Private 1543868

Marine Fighter Squadron VMF 143

Paris is on an Island?

Combat Training

Aircraft Mechanic School

They Also Serve Who Stand and Wait

On Gung Ho

Acknowledgments

Chapter Four – To the Moon, Without Me

Learning the Right Stuff

Reliability Engineer

NASA Data Center

Advanced Engineering

System Engineering, Maybe

Engineering Reliability into Rockets

The Unseen Flights of the Saturn IB

Nitro Man

The First Use of Artificial Intelligence

Death Makes a Visit

The Crisis of a Failure

A Reluctant Exit

The Saturn IB Established Its Place in Space

Saturn IB Missions

Saturn IB’s Math Model Unit

More Information on the Saturn IB

Acknowledgments

The Author

Interview with the Author

Prelude

There were many significant chapters of my life. In this writing I include four distinctly different chapters. Three of them were selected for their significance in U.S. history; early school integration in the deep south, a period of brutality in the US Marine Corps, and the landing on the moon. The remaining chapter includes stories of Sea Scout adventures. These are the descriptions of the four chapters.

The Silent Aftermath

In the mid 1950s, a battle bubbled to the surface between a group of Catholic intellectuals, intent on removing segregation in New Orleans Catholic schools, and their formidable segregationist foes. While the intellectuals began planning for the integration of New Orleans Catholic schools as early as 1949, Archbishop Rummel and his Church hierarchy refused to desegregate them until 1962, two years after the New Orleans public schools complied with Federal civil rights laws.

In the battle’s aftermath was a wake of difficult challenges my family had to face. This is the account of the attempt to understand the consequences of this epic struggle. The story begins with the description of the Hornung sibling’s unusual childhood and the puzzles that surrounded it. Why were we treated harshly by our parents and at times by schoolmates? Why was I sent to a boarding school a short distance from home and not allowed to return on weekends? Who was our adopted brother Joe? Was he used as an instrument of collusion in the battle between segregationist and integrationist? More than fifty years later, the Silent Aftermath unravels shocking discoveries of the mystery behind the difficulties we siblings encountered and the early battle to integrate New Orleans segregated Catholic schools.

Abandon Ship!

Here is a collection of short stories of my teenage adventures in the Sea Scouts. The stories include: a harrowing attempt to survive a severe storm at sea; an unusual way of winning first place in a Boy Scout District Camporee; an encounter with the US Army; and what it was like to attend a colorful Boy Scout World Jamboree. They are not common tales of campfire sing-a-longs and scouts driving to excel to the highest rank. Our Sea Scout Ship concentrated on other activities and carried them one or two steps beyond such noble pursuits. While being adventurous and fun loving, we took our seamanship seriously and met challenges in a responsible manner. These stories are filled with wit and humor. Every time I read these adventures I laugh out loud. Maybe you will too.

Private 1543868

I enlisted in the U.S. Marine Corps in my junior year of high school. My decision to enlist was driven by an unfortunate situation and an attempt to rescue my faltering plans to complete my education. While I found my platoon’s experiences during Marine Corps boot camp to be brutal at times, I learned a half century later they were the dark side of Marine Corps life. Although recruits experienced the blunt force of the dark side, they and the public were not aware how entrenched it was from the 1950s thru the mid 1970s. This came to light only after I read the book see Parris and Die – Brutality in the U.S. Marines, while researching material for this chapter. This is the story of my encounter with the dark side and my attempts to survive it.

To the Moon, Without Me

After I graduated from college in 1963 with a degree in Physics I was immediately hired by the Chrysler Corporation Space Division and assigned to the Space Division’s Engineer Management Training Program. The company constructed the first stage of NASA’s Saturn IB Space Launch Vehicle at NASA’s Michoud Rocket Plant in New Orleans, Louisiana. Eventually, I became a Reliability Engineer working in an organization that was the first to develop the mathematics and techniques of Artificial Intelligence. This technology was applied to deciphering the weak points in the Saturn IB rocket's design.

The Saturn IB was critical to achieving the goal of landing a man on the moon and returning him to earth because it was NASA’s workhorse in testing components of the giant Saturn V and its payload to the moon. It launched and tested the Saturn V’s third stage the Saturn IV-B, the Apollo spacecraft, the Saturn’s brain, and the lunar lander. The testing culminated with the Saturn IB’s launch of Apollo 7, the first manned Apollo spacecraft. With the very next Apollo mission, Apollo 8, the Saturn V headed to the moon.

Many of my assignments became a baptism of fire in the sink or swim approach to getting the job done that existed in the early years of the Apollo Space Program. I write; of what I did after discovering that imaginary numbers were missing, of an incident that may have led to my arrest, of my attempt to discover what went wrong during a critical test of the Saturn IB’s superstructure, of the little known facts surrounding the fire atop Saturn IB 204 which killed three astronauts, and, of the unseen test flights of the Saturn IB. This is the story of my exciting and demanding career in the race between the United States and the Russians to be the first to reach the moon.

Chapter One - The Silent Aftermath

Dr. Philip J. Hornung and his new bride Maria O’Connor leaving on their honeymoon to Cape Cod, Massachusetts.

Two significant parts of my life were lifelong puzzles I could never solve. The first was the unusual upbringing that my sister, brothers and I had to endure. The second was the question, why was I sent to a boarding school at the age of 11 and not allowed home visits on the weekends and holidays. Our home was only a 15 minute drive from the school. I decided to sit down and write about these two puzzles. I didn’t get an answer to why our upbringing was so unusual on completing my writing about it. However, after I was well into my research on my boarding school, I made a shocking discovery as to why I was sent there. This is the story of my pursuit of the answers. This pursuit led to the realization that I had been unknowingly drawn into the traumatic events of a battle in the fight to desegregate the New Orleans Catholic schools in the early 1950s. It was then that I understood that our unusual upbringing, my being sent to a boarding school, and the battle were all connected.

Was I Raised a Poor White Child?

Dr. Philip J. Hornung was born and raised in Baraboo, Wisconsin. His father, Otto (Adolph) Hornung, was employed by the Hoppe Clothing Store in Baraboo. During his 56 years with this prominent store, he rose from clerk, to department manager, to buyer and eventually became the store’s manager. His son Philip attended Columbia College, a private college in Dubuque, Iowa. The college is now called Loras College. The college was a combined liberal arts school and Catholic Seminary. In 1930 Philip received a B.S. in Chemistry, Magna Cum Laude. His campus activities included Choir, Honor Roll, the French Society, Dramatics–stage electrician, and Lorian, the college yearbook. After graduation, Philip attended Catholic University in Washington, D.C. He obtained a PhD in biochemistry in 1935. His Doctorial Thesis was Penicillium Zukali Biourge, A study of its physiology and biochemistry. Philip was president of his graduation class.

Dr. Maria O’Connor, Philip’s wife, was born and raised in Springfield, Massachusetts. Her father Martin O’Connor died when she was nine years old. Her mother Honora Elizabeth Gleason O’Connor became the first policewoman in the state of Massachusetts in order to have arrest powers while working in child protective services. Honora retired after 20 years of service with the police force. Maria graduated from high school at the age of 16 and her mother was able to send her to Trinity College, a private all girl Catholic college in Washington, D.C. Maria majored in biology and graduated in 1933. She received a Master’s degree in biochemistry from Catholic University in 1935 at the age of 21. Later in her life, Maria received a PhD from Tulane University in New Orleans.

Philip and Maria met while attending Catholic University. They were married shortly after graduation. Philip taught at Mount St. Joseph College and Catholic University after his Post Doctoral work at Yale University as a Visiting Fellow. In December 1936, while living in D.C., Maria and Philip had their first child, a girl they named Maria. They left Washington, D.C. in 1937 when Philip took a teaching position with Xavier University of Louisiana in New Orleans. During his 35 years at Xavier he became a Professor of Biology and Chemistry, Chairman of the Biology Department, the Director of the Division of Natural Sciences, and Coordinator of University Planning. Initially, Maria stayed at home to raise their five children. In 1946, when her youngest child reached the age of three, she joined the Biology Department at Xavier University as a biology instructor. In 1951, Philip and Maria established the Department of Medical Technology and Maria became its Chairman shortly thereafter. The Department inaugurated a four year program leading to a Bachelor in Medical Technology. In 1960 Maria left Xavier University to teach at Tulane University Medical School and obtain a PhD in Microbiology.

Xavier University of Louisiana is the only all black Catholic University in the United States. Jenny Vengalil, in her article Mother Katharine Mary Drexel: A Blessed Presence in the History of Philadelphia provides the following information. Xavier was founded by Katherine Drexel, the daughter of a very wealthy national and international banker, Francis Anthony Drexel. The family firm, Drexel and Sons Company, was located in Philadelphia. On the death of her father, Katherine inherited thirty percent of her father’s fortune. Katherine was keenly aware of the plight of the African Americans for their lack of opportunities and education. One of her major efforts was the building of Xavier University for the education of African Americans. She never gave up on her cause of civil rights. She funded NAACP investigations into the mistreatment and exploitation of black workers. She died in 1955.

Katherine Drexel was a strong advocate of racial tolerance. She established the religious order, the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament for Indians and Colored People. She was canonized a Saint by Pope John Paul II on October 1, 2000. Katherine Drexel is known as the Patron Saint of racial justice and of philanthropists.

On arriving in New Orleans Philip and Maria rented a very nice apartment in the uptown district near St. Charles Ave. They hired a maid, Lillian, to help care for their daughter Maria and their newborn son John, that’s me. They eventually moved to a large second floor apartment on Lafaye Street in the Gentilly area of the city. While living there they arranged to build their first home in a wide open range of wild brush and giant oak trees. The new community was called Mirabeau Gardens. For several years its streets were paved with raw oyster shells. There was city water, electricity, and phone service. However, during the early years families had to rely on septic tanks, and street gutters for drainage. Off and on, throughout our lives we had domestic help in the house. At one point, my parents employed two sisters and a cousin to serve as cook, housekeeper and laundress.

The Roof over Our Heads

My parents began construction of their first house in late 1940 or early 1941. The home was a small two story New England style house totaling 1,507 square feet. The first floor included a dining room, living room, kitchen, very small foyer, and a small half bath. A slender 9 foot wide screen porch ran across the back of the house. A one car detached garage was connected to the porch by a covered breezeway. The second floor contained three bedrooms and one small full bath. The master bedroom and two other bedrooms were of medium size.

On Sunday December 7, 1941, our family celebrated the completion of the home with a few of my parent’s friends. That afternoon, as the music played on the radio, the broadcast was interrupted with the announcement that Pearl Harbor had been bombed by the Japanese. Our company departed as quiet as mice at the conclusion of the horrible news. Dinner had yet to be served.

At that time, our family consisted of my mother and father, my sister Maria, my brothers Philip and Mike and me. Within fifteen months our brother Martin arrived. We four boys shared a bedroom that was 12’6 long and 10’11 wide. We each had one shelf in a 2’5 wide and 6’long closet and one drawer in a small flimsy dresser for storing our clothes. There wasn’t enough room for four regular beds, so we slept in a double bunk bed built by my father. The bed was made of pine 2x4s and 1x6s. Several 1x4 oak boards were placed a foot apart with their ends resting on 1x2s that ran along the inside bottom edges of the bed’s side boards. This was our box spring. Our mattresses were placed on top of the box spring". The mattresses were three inches thick and were stuffed solid with cotton, same as the mattresses found in old military barracks. Those who slept on the bottom level had to worry about the 1x4 boards on the underside of the upper beds, which would fall now and then.

Philip and I, being the oldest, were assigned the two top bunks. In the summertime we roasted from the New Orleans intense heat radiating through the ceiling. There was no insulation in the attic above us and the ceiling was only 18 inches above our noses. The attic was not ventilated with soffit vents or an attic fan that could draw out the heat. This allowed the heat to multiply many times over and penetrate the ceiling. To make things worse, the tops of the two bedroom windows were only six inches above the height of the mattresses of the top bunks. This gave my brother and me no air movement in the upper bunks even when the windows were wide open. We had one small window exhaust fan in the bathroom down the hall. This provided no relief from the heat in our bunks. We would sleep in our tighty whiteys and perspire profusely.

Our home was constructed without any insulation in the walls or ceiling. In the winter, the temperatures would often get down into the 30s and 40s. We froze. While the house had gas piped to each room for the installation of gas heaters, heaters were installed only in the living room, dining room, small foyer, and the master bedroom. For most of the winter only the foyer heater would be lit. During the day, the foyer heater would be set on medium. A fan hung from the wall above the heater. The fan was directed so it would blow the warm air out of the foyer into the living room. On very cold days the heater in the dining room would be lit during the day and set on low. During the night, only the heater in the foyer would be lit; it would be set at a very low level. Some nights only the pilot light would be lit. Some winter nights it was not lit at all.

When we went to bed we would cover our heads with a blanket or pillow to try to keep warm. At times we could see the moisture from our breath. Going to the bathroom during the night involved a run to and from the bathroom while trying to keep from freezing. On rare occasions I would notice a slight stain on the dark blue wall next to the bunk beds. It was a tell tale sign that someone chose to stay warm that night rather than stand on the cold tile in the bathroom. I learned to always pull the covers over the bed on exiting it, for if I didn’t, it would take longer to re-heat the bed with my body when I returned. I slept with my head on or covered by the pillow. I lived with untreated chronic sinus problems. I didn’t discover, until I was about 33 years old, that I was highly allergic to down, the stuffing in those old pillows. In the winter, when we were rousted out of bed to get ready for school, the house felt as cold as the outside air. We would scamper down the stairs and turn on the gas to the heater in the foyer and light it with a wooden match. Our pants and shoes were so cold we had to warm them over the heater before putting them on. If you took too long at your turn warming your clothes, you were shoved aside. One time my brother Michael placed his shoes so close to the heater they curled and singed so badly he had to get new ones. Father made him pay for them. For the six hottest months and the two very cold months of the year we hunkered down to fend off the inside temperatures while trying to sleep.

The Food before Us

Our living quarters were surpassed only by our dining experiences. Mother usually cooked dinner. At times some of the food was barely edible. For example, the asparagus was tough and very stringy. I had to take care not to choke on it. We were served a helping of each of the table foods. We were to eat it whether we liked it or not. We weren’t allowed second helpings of any foods until we finished all first helpings. If we refused to finish our food it was put in the refrigerator and served to us cold for breakfast. Some of us developed ways to sneak it off our plates and hide it. The cuffs of our pants worked well at times, but our attempts at hiding bad food were not too successful. When we were caught we were sent away from the table. The next time we saw the leftovers was in the morning. It was our breakfast, right out of the refrigerator and unheated. Michael could not eat eggplant unless it was so heavily coated with Italian bread crumbs it was twice its original size. He would instantly vomit on swallowing it. Mother would serve eggplant once or twice a month. He used every means possibly to sneak it out of the dining room. He was caught many times and punished by denying him supper. Michael would have to skip breakfast the next morning. He could not manage eating the stale, cold eggplant.

The quality of the food was not of our mother’s doing. While father was giving away money to church building funds, tithing to our parish church, and donating to the United Negro Fund, the NAACP, Catholic missions, and the annual Bishop’s Appeal, he placed us on a stingy food budget. After my mother’s death two of my brothers went through father’s old records. In them was a large stack of cancelled checks made out to these organizations. The food budget was something around one dollar per child per week. With that restriction Mother was forced to purchase discounted vegetables and lower quality foods and meats from the A&P food store. We were not to have fresh milk. The milk specialty of the house was canned, condensed Pet Milk mixed 50/50 with water. The flavor guaranteed that we would not drink excessive amounts of the solution. Once we became teenagers we were allowed to have instant dry milk mixed with water. When chilled really well, its flavor was acceptable.

Being involved in all sorts of athletic activities, sports and otherwise, I felt hungry quite often. On numerous occasions I would return home after school and grab several slices of bread and devour them in short order to get relief from hunger pains. Sometime in the past, one of my siblings told me father required our mother to record the quantity of each food we ate, not the amount put on our plates. Father, being a biochemist, was running some kind of nutritional study on us. You can see the results of our father’s controlled experiment in the photo of my brothers and me. Left to right are Joe, Mike, John, Martin, and Philip. Joe was adopted into our family in 1949 at the age of 9.

At first glance it may appear that we look just like any other group of highly active kids. If you compare the size of our heads to our bodies, you may conclude otherwise.

As very young children, it was natural for us to become upset when we were treated harshly by our parents. If we cried or whimpered as the result of this treatment, our father placed us in a dark closet under the stairs leading to the second floor. It didn’t have a light and there was a scary trapdoor in the floor to access the damp, dark crawl space under the house. At times, its atmosphere made it difficult for us to contain our crying. We were let out a short time after our crying stopped. The closet was appropriately named The Crying Closet.

One of the punishments we incurred for rule infractions, such as being 5 minutes late returning home, was being sent to our room for the rest of the evening without dinner. We would get so mad from this treatment we would slam the bedroom door shut and pound it with our shoes. That door got a good scarring as the result of our anger.

Ass Backwards

One day our father came to the conclusion he wanted to limit our use of toilet paper. So, we were summoned individually and in groups to go over the new regulations for toilet paper. We were to use only three squares for each bowel movement. We were even shown how we were to fold the paper prior to its use. We duly complied. I learned how to manipulate the delicate folds to avoid any mistakes. For a mistake meant extra washing, for there was to be no second papering application. This new hygiene procedure went on for about two months. Then, out of the blue, father summoned us for another session on defecation procedures. Before father was a short stack of old newspapers. He informed us his cost reduction procedure was down the toilet. He began