Frank Sietzen says that we should remember them as well on Memorial Day.
I agree — in their own way, particularly in the sixties, they were on the front lines of the Cold War. Even if you don’t believe that Apollo and subsequent events (such as ASTP) really helped to bring down the Soviet Union, the people supporting it believed that it was vital at the time, and on Memorial Day, we commemorate all who have served or fallen, regardless of the strategic significance of their efforts in retrospect.
Unfortunately, we’re a little nationally schizophrenic on the subject. We consider what they do vital and important, yet we consider them too important to allow them to take risk, and when they die, the symbolism of their loss overwhelms common sense. This is one of the reasons that human spaceflight is so expensive — we consider astronaut loss unacceptable and will spend billions to prevent even a single incident, even though it’s inevitable if we are to open the final frontier, and economically insane.
Occasional commenter Paul Dietz once noted that if we were serious about opening up space, we’d force America to grow up, and set aside a huge cemetery, like Arlington, to symbolize the numbers of lost pioneers that we expected in the endeavor. I agree.
But in a sense, we have. Down at the KSC Visitor Center, there is a memorial wall that contains the names of those who have died so far, including the crews of Apollo 1, and the Challenger and Columbia disasters. It’s worth noting that there are a lot more than seventeen squares on it. There’s room for many more, should we have the boldness to continue.
[Update late morning]
This post brings to mind what I wrote the day after the Columbia loss:
The crewmembers of that flight were each unique, and utterly irreplaceable to those who knew and loved them, and are devastated by their sudden absence from their lives, and to paraphrase what the president said after September 11, seven worlds were destroyed yesterday.
But, while this may sound callous, the space program will go on just fine without them. They knew their job was hazardous, they did it anyway, and by all accounts, they died doing what they wanted, and loved, to do. There are many more astronauts in the astronaut corps who, if a Shuttle was sitting on the pad tomorrow, fueled and ready to go, would eagerly strap themselves in and go, even with the inquiry still going on, because they know that it’s flown over a hundred times without burning up on entry, and they still like the odds. And if yesterday’s events made them suddenly timorous, there is a line of a hundred people eagerly waiting to replace each one that would quit, each more than competent and adequate to the task. America, and the idea of America, is an unending cornucopia of astronaut material.
When it comes to space, hardware matters, and currently useful space hardware is a very scarce commodity. People are optional. A Shuttle can get into orbit with no crew aboard. It could return that way as well, with some minor design modifications (actuators for nose-wheel steering and brakes, and gear deployment). But no one gets to space without transportation. Many of us would walk there if we could, but we can’t.
Yesterday, we lost a quarter of our Shuttle fleet. The next time we fly, we’ll be putting at risk a third of the remainder. If we lose that one, every flight thereafter will be risking half of America’s capability to put people into orbit.
So, when I grieve the loss of Columbia, it’s not because it was just a symbol. What I truly grieve is the loss of the capability that it not just represented, but possessed. That vehicle will never again deliver a payload or a human to space. It cost billions of dollars to build, and would cost many billions and several years to replace. That was the true loss yesterday, not the crew. I think that people realize this on some level, but feel uncomfortable in articulating it.
As I said, we have to grow up on this issue if we want to open a frontier.
[Update a couple minutes later]
In rereading that post, and following the link to my initial post on hearing of the disaster, I found this sadly prescient (actually, much of the post was, including my initial second guess as to what had happened):
Someone in the comments section asks if the vehicle will be replaced. No, that’s not really possible — much of the tooling to build it is gone. It would cost many billions, and take years, and it’s not really needed at the current paltry flight rate. Assuming that they have confidence to fly again after they determine the cause, they’ll continue to operate with the three-vehicle fleet, until we come up with a more rational way of getting people into space, whatever that turns out to be. Unfortunately, because it’s a government program, I fear that the replacement(s) won’t necessarily be more rational…
My fear, at least to date, has been borne out. I hope that the new Augustine Commission and the new NASA management can rectify it, but it’s only a hope, not an expectation.
I share your gratitude and sorrow.
This is not the occasion for quibbling about specifics in your post. I offer the following as a constructive supplement.
The country is not on a war footing. Astronauts–and the serious candidates and prospects–are volunteers. They are highly intelligent and among the nation’s overall best. Their voices should be prominent in deliberations about the appropriate level of risk.
Their voices should be prominent in deliberations about the appropriate level of risk.
They are. In fact, they are too prominent in some cases.
But they are volunteers. If they think that the mission is too dangerous, no one holds a gun to their head to fly. There are plenty who would be happy to replace them, and capable of doing so. There is no shortage of astronauts.
I wonder if this issue is perhaps tied to the essential irrelevance of NASA HSF to peoples day to day lives that Rand has rightly highlighted on more than a few occasions.
The activities of the astronauts are symbolic rather than essential and so the loss of astronauts is itself seen as having a level of meaning that does not exist when a crew of coal miners or construction workers are killed in the course of doing their work.
It may sound heartless but I would be happy to see a day come when the death of an astronaut performing some task on the lunar surface is of no more significance than the death of a miner or some other industrial worker (not that their deaths are insignificant per se just that the whole country does not go into mourning and we do not shut down all related activity for 3 years).
I hate to be heartless, but it isn’t the astronaut lives that are the problem, currently, it’s losing a 1 to 2 billion dollar orbiter and a large fraction of our lift capacity that is the biggest loss.
It’s politically incorrect to point that out.
They are. In fact, they are too prominent in some cases.
I didn’t know that.
Since no doubt the too-prominent people have served honorably and well, their opinions merit serious attention. Still, I wonder if the selection process is picking the appropriate kind of volunteer.
There are plenty who would be happy to replace them, and capable of doing so. There is no shortage of astronauts.
That’s what I’m trying to get at.
IMO we should view the astronaut trade as something inherently dangerous like bomb disposal, or construction work in hazardous environments: where fatalities are inevitable despite prudent and reasonable prevention efforts.
It is not my intent to be blase about the human price. Afaic astronauts who die from work should have their dependents maintained indefinitely at an upper-middle-class living standard, including educational expenses for their children. (It would be good to learn that that’s already the case, but it doesn’t jibe with my image of NASA or the federal government.)
****************
Btw, I wrote the foregoing before seeing Markus’ comment. I agree with him, but for the immediate future I stand by my last paragraph.
Even before the Apollo I fire there were losses of life in the space program.
If memory serves over forty plus years, I seem to recall that at least a few Gemeni astronauts died in training accidents flying T-38s.
I was watching the Air Force Song and thinking of space and the following lyrical substitutions came to my head:
Off we go into the wild BLACK yonder,
Climbing high into the sun;
Here they come zooming to meet our thunder,
At ’em boys, Give ‘er the gun!
Down we dive, spouting our flame from under,
Off with one hell of a roar!*
We live in fame or go down in flame.
Nothing can stop the U.S. Space Force!
Minds of men fashioned a crate of thunder,
Sent it high into the BLACK;
Hands of men blasted the world asunder;
How they lived God only knew! (God only knew!)
Souls of men dreaming of REALMS to conquer
Gave us wings, ever to soar!
With scouts before and bombers galore.
Nothing’ll stop the U.S. SPACE Force!
Here’s a toast to the host
Of those who love the vastness of the REALMS,
To a friend we send a message of his brother men who fly.
We drink to those who gave their all of old,
Then down we roar to score the rainbow’s pot of gold.
A toast to the host of men we boast, the U.S. SPACE Force!
Off we go into the wild BLACK yonder,
Keep the wings level and true;
If you’d live to be a grey-haired wonder
Keep the nose out of the BLACK!
Flying men, guarding the nation’s border,
We’ll be there, followed by more!
In echelon we carry on.
Nothing will stop the U.S. SPACE Force!
Happy Memorial Day everyone, and let us remember the fallen.
Alternatively, consider substituting STARS for REALMS (originally sky) in the second and third stanza.
Off we go into the wild BLACK yonder,
Climbing high into the sun;
Here they come zooming to meet our thunder,
At ‘em boys, Give ‘er the gun!
Down we dive, spouting our flame from under,
Off with one hell of a roar!*
We live in fame or go down in flame.
Nothing can stop the U.S. Space Force!
Minds of men fashioned a crate of thunder,
Sent it high into the BLACK;
Hands of men blasted the world asunder;
How they lived God only knew! (God only knew!)
Souls of men dreaming of STARS to conquer
Gave us wings, ever to soar!
With scouts before and bombers galore.
Nothing’ll stop the U.S. SPACE Force!
Here’s a toast to the host
Of those who love the vastness of the STARS,
To a friend we send a message of his brother men who fly.
We drink to those who gave their all of old,
Then down we roar to score the rainbow’s pot of gold.
A toast to the host of men we boast, the U.S. SPACE Force!
Off we go into the wild BLACK yonder,
Keep the wings level and true;
If you’d live to be a grey-haired wonder
Keep the nose out of the BLACK!
Flying men, guarding the nation’s border,
We’ll be there, followed by more!
In echelon we carry on.
Nothing will stop the U.S. SPACE Force!
Part of the problem of remembering astronauts who died in the line of duty is the outlook that sees the deaths of a million people – or more – as an unfortunate occurrence, but one man’s death is a tragedy. No doubt, that’s because we know the one, not the million.
An early science-fiction short story had its astronauts (one or two) treated as heroes and given the “keys to the country”.
I think Rand is overly optimistic when he says “There is no shortage of astronauts”. There may be no shortage of volunteers, but, unlike early science-fiction movies where you sent a sergeant, a corporal, and a major up, to get where Aldrin, Armstrong, …, Young got takes more than a wide-eyed enthusiasm. The physical and mental requirements are formidable, and based on today’s crop of high-school and college graduates, not that easy to fill.
In a way, it’s like the early days of aviation. The pilot was an exceptional person, and many died working out the theories of flight.
“There are many more astronauts in the astronaut corps who, if a Shuttle was sitting on the pad tomorrow, fueled and ready to go, would eagerly strap themselves in and go, ….”
Just as those early pilots went on flying.
The physical and mental requirements are formidable, and based on today’s crop of high-school and college graduates, not that easy to fill.
The actual requirements are not that formidable, and they’re not that hard to fill. All of NASA’s astronauts are vastly overqualified for the job, because NASA can afford to do that, given how few slots there are. There are many thousands of people who don’t make the cut who would be perfectly capable of doing the job as well as the current corps.
What will never stop grating me is that the loss of both orbiter crews was avoidable. Challenger should never have been permitted to launch in such cold weather. Columbia should have been afforded the luxury of having a spy satellite tasked to examine it’s leading edges after it was pretty obvious that the wing was struck.
It’s just so wrong.
The shuttles are the most remarkable vehicles ever created and they have performed magnificently.
Can’t we consider both losses -of man and machine- equally devastating?
I understand that people are expendable, but so are machines. We may not have built another one yet, but I have little reason to think we couldn’t if we needed to, despite the machining/construction shortcomings.
The recent trip to Hubble was a great example of how important human space flight is. And it helped having guys like John Grunsfeld There is no way that Hubble could be repaired to the degree it was without the addition of direct human interaction.
It’s equally damaging to lose both man and machine.
The recent trip to Hubble was a great example of how important human space flight is. And it helped having guys like John Grunsfeld There is no way that Hubble could be repaired to the degree it was without the addition of direct human interaction.
However, a series of expendable space telescopes, launched over the years, would have been both less expensive and more productive (since many would have been in operation at once, even if they could not be repaired) than the Hubble system has been. The N-th copy of the telescopes would have been much cheaper than the first.
You will notice that recent space telescopes have been launched to high, or even solar, orbits.