REDSTONE 
-The Rocket With The Right Stuff

On January 31, 1958, as Clark, another co-operative training student, and I rode through the hills of North Alabama, we strained to listen to the static filled radio newscasts for some hint of news about the launch of a REDSTONE Rocket carrying a satellite.  

After the launch of Sputnik-I and the failure of the Navy’s VANGUARD rocket, Dr. von Braun assured President Eisenhower that our team had the hardware available and could put up a satellite in short order.  That day, a launch attempt was under way at Cape Canaveral, Florida.  

It was with reluctance and regret that Clark and I had turned in our badges at 4:00 pm, checked out of Redstone Arsenal and headed back to Tuscaloosa for the new semester at the University of Alabama, but the University’s registration process waited for no one.  I had spent my last work day in the telemetry checkout station where I had worked many long shifts during the preceding months helping to prepare a REDSTONE rocket for this attempt to bring the U.S. space program even with the Russians.  

What newscasts we could hear, make no mention of a rocket launch.  We went by to see Clark’s mother in Birmingham.  She met us at he door, appearing very excited.  She quickly herded us to the  living room urging us to come see what they were showing on the television.  The REDSTONE Rocket launch had been successful and the EXPLORER-1  satellite was in orbit and sending back data.  The U. S. Army's Rocket Team had entered  the Space Age!

Copyright 2007© Willie E. Weaver 

All rights reserved. 

The Vanguard Rocket's Failure

On December 6, 1957, I was seated at the dinning table in Ma Miller’s Boarding House situated on West Clinton Avenue, Huntsville, Alabama, on the current site of the von Braun Civic Center. Mealtime was usually a rather noisy time with many different conversations among the 30-odd men seated at the two large tables, but that day everyone’s attention was on the scene being played out on the small black-and-white television set in the corner of the room.  

The Navy was making its attempt to launch a VANGUARD rocket with the USA’s IGY satellite.  It would not be the first into space but at least the USA could join the Russians in space exploration.  The final countdown continued and at “Zero” we saw the smoke and flame and then the liftoff.  Suddenly the screen was filled with the bright flash of a violent explosion and what was left of  VANGUARD fell back to the launch pad.  

Surprisingly, instead of sighs and moans of despair, a spontaneous cheer of elation arose in the room.  Everyone there realized that the Navy’s failure meant that the local missile team would now get its chance to redeem the honor of the USA.

Into Orbit

On October 4, 1957, as student member of the Army Ballistic Missile Agency's rocket checkout team, I was inside the tail section of a Redstone Rocket heating temperature sensors with a hand-held hair dryer.  This process was to verify the proper installation and operation of the many temperature sensors that were flown on the military rockets.  We used various other methods to check the operation of the other sensors, such as pressure, vibration and position, that were required to track the performance of the rockets once they were delivered to be used to either carry bombs or, hopefully, to place satellites into earth orbit.  I was getting into position to heat another sensor when I heard a commotion outside the rocket and was instructed come out and listen to an important announcement.

In the Spring of 1957, we had finished tests on a Redstone Rocket specifically outfitted to deliver a satellite into earth orbit for the “International Geophysical Year Program” (IGY).  That rocket and its cargo were then placed into storage because “Washington” had made the decision that the Navy and its missile program would have the privilege of being the first to place a USA satellite into orbit.

Everyone knew that the Russians had a fledgling missile program and had announced that they planned to participate in the IGY with a satellite of their own, but it had been assumed by all that the USA would be the first nation to successfully place an artificial satellite into earth orbit.   That assumption had just been shattered.  The news had quickly spread throughout Redstone Arsenal and the nation that the Russians had placed the world's first artificial satellite into orbit.  Now every 90 minutes we were reminded that the USA had lost the Race to Space, as we listened to the beeping from Sputnik-I bragging to the world about the Communist triumph.

SCHOOL DAZE

In the fall of 1953, Mr. Sims, our high school physics teacher, showed us how the mathematics that we had studied could be used to describe the orbits of the planets and even how  rockets will some day carry men to the Moon, Mars, and beyond.   Maybe those dreams of the Martian landscape are not so far fetched after all.

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In the spring of 1955, I stood beside Dr. Ferdinand Mitchell’s “Gravity-Well”.  I was there attending the University of Alabama’s  Open house for high school seniors.  The Gravity-Well was a large round wooden table whose top sloped from the edge to a hole in the center along an exponential curve.    He invited me to roll a cue ball with a slight velocity along the top of the table.  Instead of immediately rolling through the hole in the middle of the table, the cue ball began to orbit the hole with an elliptical curve that took it from deep within the hole and back near the edge of the table.  Dr. Mitchell explained that this apparatus was to demonstrate and study the movement of a satellite around another body in a gravitational field.  It was built as part of a government project.  When questioned, his only answer was that, we were entering a new era and that today’s students would see men exploring space.  Could it be possible for me to be a part of that exploration!

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In January of 1956, I was in the Physics 102 class at the University of Alabama trying to keep my mind on the lecture,   but I kept worrying that this might be my last semester in college.  My Dad was very sick and all of our meager family income was needed for household and medical expenses.  The professor ended the lecture early as Dr. Eric Rodgers, the head of the Physics Department, entered the  room.   Dr. Rodgers told us about a co-op program that the University had with the U. S. Army.  Under this program, physics students could alternate semesters of study with semesters of work with the von Braun rocket team at Redstone Arsenal.  Well, I  was not sure what a co-op was and I didn’t know where Redstone Arsenal was , but I did know who Werner von Braun was and I needed a job.  I signed up for the cooperative training program and was scheduled to began my first work period with the Army Ballistic Missile Agency on June 5th 1956.

Me and the Planet Mars

                                                  

On Saturday mornings in 1946, I would be sitting in the Ritz Movie Theater in Tuscaloosa watching as the hero of the “Serial” was saving the Earth from Martians who came to the Earth in  a rocket ship and allied themselves with earth’s criminal elements.  Surely this was far-fetched, but I knew that I would return week after week until I had seen every episode .  I could not put out of my young mind the thoughts that there were other worlds out there waiting to be explored; maybe with creatures either like us or strangely different.

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In 1950 I was exploring the planet Mars as a warrior beside John Carter.  Suddenly a sharp tug on my arm brought me back to the din of the other 37 people on the school bus and my best friend, Maurice, saying “Why are you always reading those funny books?”   

Well, it was not a Funny-Book, it was a hard bound copy of Edgar Rice Burroughs’ Dejah Thoris, A Princess  of Mars;  so my logical reaction was, “It’s not funny!”  

I tried to return to my alternate world but Maurice grabbed the book from my hands and began to read out-loud a vivid description of the Martian landscape and the beautiful warrior-princess, Dejah Thoris.  This elicited loud laughs and giggles from the other boys and girls on the bus and I became known for a while as the “Boy from Mars”.   

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On Thursday nights in 1951, I could be found sitting in our large over-stuffed maroon chair with my right arm wrapped around our new white-plastic radio while grasping the antenna coil on the back.  I listened to the radio in this strange position because that was the only way that I could receive the Birmingham station that carried the program entitled “DIMENSION - X”.  This program broadcast dramatizations of Science Fiction stories by various authors, including Ray Bradbury and his MARTIAN CHRONICLES.  I would sit there, my eyes often closed, oblivious to the world around me,  exploring the planet Mars with the rocket men from Earth or joining the fatalistic Martians' resistance to those invaders for the sky.

Copyright 2012© Willie E. Weaver 

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An Airplane Crash

In January of 1942, my dad and I were about to leave the house to go to Papa Weaver’s country store in Peterson, Alabama when an announcement on the radio caused him to stop and listen.  I did not understand all the words from the radio but as a five year-old, I did comprehend that an airplane had crashed in Brookwood, Alabama.  This seemed to be the reason for the ambulance, with siren wailing, that had sped eastward past our house several minutes ago.  

    

As we drove to the store in silence, I remembered my toy airplane and remembered hearing airplanes fly over our house and anxiously scanning the sky to catch a glimpse of them.  I had been told that these small roaring and flying things are actually larger than my Dad’s  large coal truck and had men driving them in the air much like a truck being driven on the road.  The thought of flying like a bird above the trees and looking down on everything below often stirred my imagination, but the thought of falling out of the sky to crash on the ground sent chills down my spine.

As we got out of the car at Papa Weaver’s store, we heard the siren of the returning ambulance.  We stood and watched as it sped by taking the injured fliers to Druid City Hospital in Tuscaloosa.  I knew about that hospital because I had spent some time there with pneumonia last winter.  At the store, we learned that the airplane had crashed just behind my aunt’s house in Brookwood.  My Dad decided to go take a look at the crashed airplane.  As we drove the six miles to Brookwood, I again daydreamed about flying, but occasionally shuttered as I thought about crashing.

We parked in the driveway of my aunt’s house and Daddy told me to stay there while he went to look at the crashed airplane.  I was not very happy about staying but I went inside to find my cousin, who was the same age as me.   My aunt stayed on the porch talking to the people going back and forth to the crash site.  When I found my cousin, he was also unhappy about not being allowed to see the crashed airplane.  We decided to slip out the back door and sneak through the woods to see the crash.  

 When we got there, we saw dozens of people.  Some were just standing around talking, others were poking through the wreckage and taking pieces of the airplane for souvenirs.  We tried to get through the crowd to get souvenirs also but Daddy spotted us and had us come stay with him until he was ready to leave.

The next morning we heard on the radio that only one  of the men in the airplane had survived the crash.  So, that day, I learned that flying is not always safe, but I remained intrigued with flying.  Once, while looking at the full moon with my sister,  Mother explained that the moon was another world much like the earth.  She also told us the myth of the Man-In-The Moon.  This got me to thinking that maybe some day I could get on an airplane and visit that other world. 

Copyright 2012© Willie E. Weaver 

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Encounter With A Washing Machine Wringer

Even after all these years of association with the space program I am still amazed at the progress of technology during my life time, especially the progression from tube type electronics to micro-circuitry that has made such great changes in our ability to communicate and handle data.  I have observed that every new technology development comes with fears that it may be misused or present some sort of hazard to the populous.  

My first encounter with new technology and its danger came when our family acquired a wringer washing machine about the time I was just starting to walk.  The washing machine precipitated an incident that physically scarred me for life.  That incident is in my memory only because of its repeated telling by my mother and grandmother.  Apparently, the trauma of the event completely erased it from my conscious memory. 

   

Every Monday Mama Weaver would come over to our house to help Mother with the wash.  In our washroom was a wringer washing machine and two #3 galvanized wash tubs sitting on a bench beside it.  When the clothes had been sufficiently sloshed about and agitated in the machine, they would be taken out  of the washer and put through the wringer and dropped into a tub of clean water for  the first rinse; then the wringer head would be swung around to the other tub and the clothes would be put through the wringer into the  other tub for the second rinse.  Lastly, the clothes would be put through the wringer one last time and into a basket for carrying outside where they would be hung on the clothes lines to dry.  

Occasionally, as the garments were fed into the wringer, one of them would fail to drop into the tub and continue around one of the wringer rollers.  It only took a couple of extra turns for the thickness to build up and cause the safety mechanism to pop the two rollers apart and stop the wringing action.  After some tugging and prying the tangled garment would be removed, the mechanism reengaged and the wringing of clothes resumed.

One wash day I played and watched as the ladies did the wash.  My sister, Nancy, was helping by guiding the clothes into the rinse tubs.  However, no one was watching the little boy when he reached up to examine the pretty pink rubber rollers.  My screams and the “clunk” of the rollers popping apart quickly got their attention.  My left arm was stuck between the rollers up to the elbow as I hung suspended five inches off the floor.  For a moment everyone else joined me in screaming.  As Mother held me, somehow Mama Weaver  managed to extract my now red and swollen arm from the wringer.

Wash day came to a halt as the priority became to get me to the doctor for they were sure that my arm was crushed.  They wrapped my arm in one of the freshly washed towels from the basket and since Mama Weaver did not drive she held me in her arms as we sped the nine miles to the doctor’s office in Tuscaloosa.  My cries soon subsided to an occasional sob or whimper but Nancy cried most of the way about her little brother’s broken arm.

After an examination, the doctor assured them that my arm was not crushed but it was badly bruised and I had a deep wound on the underside  of my forearm where all the the layers of skin had been scraped away by the turning action of the rubber roller.  The healing process took a long time and many bandage changes and left me with a permanent scar about half the width of my arm. 
Copyright 2012© Willie E. Weaver  

An interesting follow-up to my Wringer Washing Machine Incident: 
Sixty-seven years after the original incident, I attended a meeting where our denominational president was speaking. He told about as a young man he worked in a factory making wringer washing machines. After the meeting I got the chance to speak with him. We exchanged names and greetings and then without saying another word, I rolled up my sleeve and showed him my scar. His immediate response was, " How old were you when the wringer grabbed you?"
Copyright 2016© Willie E. Weaver

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