But what popular media recorded as a disastrous, dispiriting launch failure was also a failure to manage public expectations, to appreciate the risks involved in live coverage of scientific experiments, and to keep political aspirations in line with technical progress. The launch was scheduled two months to the day after the Sputnik shocker. When the December 4 rocket firing was delayed multiple times—not uncommon in launch countdowns—and finally “scrubbed ” for that day, many newspapers ran large, bold headlines across the entire front page announcing the postponement. American readers began to comprehend the complexities of modern rocketry in stories that described the launch vehicle’s various components and blamed the delays on problems ranging from frayed wires to defective parts to gusty winds. “As Impatience Mounts, Fidgety Scientists Fuss with Bride-Like Missile ,” read a headline in the St. Petersburg (FL) Times.24 While such stories helped educate the public about this new technology, the focus on problems and delays only reinforced the fact that the Soviets had already overcome these complexities. During the wait, the press corps scrambled for whatever story angles they could find—filing reports about how Cape Canaveral was chosen as the launch site, what the locals thought about the commotion surrounding the event, the odds of satellites colliding in space, and even interviews with each other. NBC cameraman Gene Barnes fretted to a print reporter that the longer the delay, the less likely he could get his film to a nearby affiliate and processed for airing on the evening news.25 Camped on the beach miles from the launch pad, others complained there were too few updates from program administrators. “They keep referring to this as a test firing, but the public looks on this as THE satellite and deserves more information about it ,” said the New York Times’s Milton Bracker.26
This buildup to the launch contributed to an exaggerated letdown, made worse by the timing—the December 7 anniversary of Pearl Harbor. The San Francisco News even used the headline “Cold War Pearl Harbor. ”27 Time magazine, in its December 23 issue, chastised the 127 members of the U.S. and foreign press corps who covered the launch, pointing out that few “gave any strong warning to editors and readers—as briefing officers warned them—that they were there for a test shoot, and that one of three missile tests turn out to be a flop-nik. ”28 Scientists working on the Vanguard project had warned that the odds were against successfully placing a satellite into orbit on the first try. One told reporters it would be “a real miracle. ”29 J. Paul Walsh, deputy director of Project Vanguard, said in a press conference before the launch, “We will be pleased people if it establishes an orbit, but we will not be despondent if it doesn’t. ”30 Those cautionary words did not cut through the swirl of anxiety and wishful thinking.
Lost in the coverage, in the hand wringing that followed, and in some historical accounts of the era is the fact that the original plans did not call for the rocket that burned to carry a satellite. Dubbed TV-3 for its status as a “test vehicle ,” it was a new rocket design, and the launch was the first attempt using three “live ” stages, meaning all three contained fuel and would undergo a “burn ” during flight.31 Its predecessor, TV-2, used a live first stage but dummy second and third stages.32 TV-2 was launched successfully October 23, but only after months of delays due to manufacturing problems and seven “static ” (bolted down to prevent liftoff) test firings.33 That the United States attempted to put its first satellite into orbit by placing it atop an unproven launch vehicle, with the eyes of the world watching, is a historical oddity that appears different in hindsight than it must have seemed at the time. Although the TV-3 explosion dominated public perceptions, the Vanguard program was an unqualified success; in a record thirty months it developed an entirely new space launch vehicle and successfully placed three satellites into orbit.34
Competing Programs
Project Vanguard began as a scientific initiative to launch a satellite as part of the International Geophysical Year (IGY). Proposed in 1950 and sponsored by the International Council of Scientific Unions, the IGY program was modeled after the International Polar Years, held in 1882–83 and 1932–33.35 Astronomers were forecasting a period of increased solar activity from mid-1957 to the end of 1958, so the “year ” of research actually spanned those eighteen months.36 In addition to studying solar activity, scientists in sixty-seven countries participated in coordinated research in such fields as geodesy, geomagnetism, gravity, meteorology, oceanography, rocketry, and seismology.37
In the years leading up to its start, the United States and the Soviet Union proposed launching satellites during IGY, and by agreement, these “man-made moons ” were to transmit radio signals on a predetermined frequency, allowing scientists around the world to track those achieving orbit. Calling orbiting satellites man-made moons seems quaint now, but in those days, headline writers needed a description that average newspaper readers could grasp, as shown in a United Press headline from February 15, 1956, in the Sarasota (FL) Herald-Tribune: “First Man-Made Moon May Be Visible in 1957. ”38 The story introduces the term “artificial earth satellite ” in the second paragraph and sticks with “satellite ” for all but one reference through the rest of the story. Project Vanguard’s director, Hagen, tells the reporter that to see the satellite, traveling from horizon to horizon in eight to twelve minutes at eighteen thousand miles per hour, “will take a little doing ,” even with binoculars.39 According to the United Press story, the United States planned to launch ten satellites in all, the first being 30 inches in diameter and weighing twenty-one and a half pounds. That is larger than the 20-inch size that was ultimately decided upon, and much larger than the 6.44-inch “grapefruit ” placed atop TV-3.
The shortcomings of trying to track a satellite visually, even using powerful telescopes, was a major factor in the selection of Project Vanguard as the IGY satellite program. After the U.S. National Committee for the International Geophysical Year decided, in early 1955, that the nation’s participation should include launching a satellite, the Army, Navy, and Air Force put forth competing proposals for this chance to make history. All three had active rocketry programs, and interservice rivalry for priority and funding of weapons systems was intense. All three proposed modifying existing rockets, but only the Naval Research Laboratory proposed using one not tied to an existing military purpose—the Viking. The Army’s Redstone and Air Force’s Atlas rocket programs were part of the country’s nascent intermediate-range ballistic missile (IRBM) and intercontinental ballistic missile (ICBM) fleets, and the Air Force had already begun developing plans for a military satellite to be launched using Atlas or Titan rockets.
The contrasting Army and Navy satellite proposals illustrate the trade-offs that early satellite designers faced in terms of size, weight, and functionality. A smaller, lighter satellite would be easier to put into orbit but hard to verify. If it achieved orbit, what further value could it offer to justify the effort and expense? A larger, heavier satellite could hold the instrumentation and batteries needed to transmit tracking signals and other data over a period of time, but lifting more weight high enough for a stable orbit stretched the capabilities of existing rockets. The Army proposed launching a small, five-pound satellite called Orbiter. Although the use of the well-established Redstone rocket promised an earlier launch date, the satellite as originally proposed lacked any means to transmit tracking signals and could perform no scientific experiments.40 The Naval Research Laboratory’s proposal, A Scientific Satellite Program, dated April 13, 1955, notes that such a satellite would be visible only at dawn or sunset, in favorable weather, and would be “exceedingly difficult to acquire in an optical instrument of sufficient power (and hence restricted field of view) ” unless its location were already known.41 “Indeed, it is readily conceivable that an object could be placed in an orbit and never observed, if only optical methods are used ,” the proposal warns.42 To address this issue, eight pages of the proposal are devoted to describing in detail a tracking system called Minitrack, based on modifications to the guidance system us
ed in the Viking rocket program. The modified Viking rocket and modified tracking system, Minitrack, together with a new, instrumented satellite design, became Project Vanguard.
Milton Rosen, chief engineer of the NRL ’S Viking rocket program, conceived Viking as a research tool to study the upper atmosphere, and at the time of the proposal, it held the altitude record for single-stage rockets—158 miles.43 Rosen, an electrical engineer, had worked on guided missiles at the NRL as World War II ended.44 First launched in 1946, Viking incorporated innovative “gimbaled ” motors, which could be angled for steering the rocket, intermittent gas jets for stabilizing it after the main propellant was exhausted, and radio telemetry.45
In his bid to win the IGY project, Rosen collaborated with Roger Easton, who had joined the NRL in 1943 and worked on radio beacons and blind aircraft landing systems, and Easton’s boss, John Mengel, who headed the laboratory’s Radio Division.46 Mengel coined the name Minitrack from a phrase used in the title of a memo, “Proposal for Minimum Trackable Satellite ,” that he and Easton wrote to describe the system.47 By switching to a lower radio frequency, which Rosen had suggested, and using large, five-by-fifty-foot ground antenna arrays, the system could pick up the relatively weak signal generated by a transmitter small enough to fit in the satellite. Minitrack used trigonometry to calculate the satellite’s position by comparing the different angles of the incoming radio signal at pairs of ground antennas connected to receivers capable of detecting tiny differences in the signal wavelengths. As Mengel explained in a Scientific American article, humans use the same the technique to locate the direction of a sound that reaches their ears at different times.48 For a visual illustration, think of sitting on a long, straight beach. Waves arriving perpendicular to the shore break evenly, but those that roll in at an angle break from one side to the other and arrive at two points on the shoreline at different times. Figure 1.2 shows how the tracking technique was later illustrated in Project Vanguard Report No. 18, dated July 26, 1957, which was devoted solely to a progress update on Minitrack.49
Fig. 1.2. Minitrack technique, using angles of signals. This diagram shows how the Mini-track system tracked satellites using the different angles of signals arriving at a pair of antennas. (Courtesy Naval Research Laboratory)
The NRL’S initial 1955 proposal goes into similar detail about the launch vehicle, describing modifications to the Viking rocket and the addition of two solid propellant stages. There is also a thorough discussion of orbital considerations, such as the advantages of launching eastward from a location near the equator to maximize the boost from the earth’s rotation and the critical timing and precise angle needed in the final stage to achieve stable orbit. It provided fewer details regarding the satellite. The payload was to be “small in size and mass ,” between ten pounds and forty pounds—the projected weight of the shell, instruments, and batteries needed to transmit data for up to four months.50 That is all that is stated—no materials, no dimensions, no schematics—but ultimately, once the satellite’s design was fleshed out, it would join the tracking system as the winning elements of the proposal.
The NRL laid out an ambitious schedule of ten launches in thirty months, with three test flights and seven satellites, placed on the fourth through tenth rockets.51 It predicted sending up the first satellite two years from the start of the program. Its main scientific objective was in the field of geodesy—using a satellite to make more accurate measurements of the earth, which would help in “tying together the various continental grids and locating the many islands with respect to these grids. ”52 Geodesists relied on the moon as a reference point for making measurements in the middle of the ocean, and a satellite, by virtue of its closer proximity, would improve accuracy tenfold. In this case, a satellite truly would function as a “man-made moon. ” The data would yield practical and militarily significant results, the proposal notes: “Improved geodetic data is required to provide maps of sufficient accuracy for locating potential military targets and Loran navigation stations. ”53 Loran, short for long-range navigation, was a land-based system of radio beacons operated by the Coast Guard. Left unstated is the reason the proposed partner in the effort, the Army Map Service, was interested in pinpointing several Pacific islands—they were to be used in ICBM test flights.
Beyond proving that a satellite had achieved orbit, other considerations factored in selecting the IGY satellite program. Among the concerns were how to keep the time and resources required from delaying existing military programs (no civilian organization had the wherewithal); how, for strategic and public relations purposes, to portray the launching of a satellite as a scientific rather than a military exercise; and how to keep sensitive military secrets from leaking out with published scientific findings. The National Security Council weighed these concerns, established policies for the program, and put the Department of Defense in charge of it in a secret directive, NSC 5520, adopted on May 26, 1955.54 President Eisenhower approved the directive the next day.
Fateful Decision
Responsibility for deciding among the competing proposals fell to Assistant Secretary of Defense for Research and Development Donald Quarles, who asked an ad-hoc, eight-member selection committee to review the proposals. The panel included experts and scholars appointed by each branch of the military. Homer J. Stewart, an aeronautical engineer at the California Institute of Technology’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory, chaired the committee, which came to be known as the Stewart Committee.55 The group met in full or in part numerous times throughout the month of July 1955, even visiting the Martin Company factory in Baltimore to view rocket production.56 President Eisenhower, however, did not wait for the Stewart Committee’s decision before announcing that the United States planned to launch a satellite. On July 29 his press secretary, James Hagerty, met with reporters to confirm plans to launch “small earth-circling satellites ” as part of IGY. His statement included this confident prediction: “This program will for the first time in history enable scientists throughout the world to make sustained observations in the regions beyond the earth’s atmosphere. ”57 The Soviets announced their IGY satellite plans four days later.
The Stewart Committee set aside the Air Force proposal, a pro forma effort that lacked a delivery date, seeing no way it could be accomplished without setting back progress on the Atlas ICBM. By July 1 the Army had revised its original proposal, modifying the upper-stage rockets and adding electronic tracking of the satellite. Faced with two alternatives, committee members split over which rocket held the most promise, while agreeing that the NRL’S instrumentation and tracking were superior.58 Committee member Clifford C. Furnas, a chemical engineer and guided missile expert who later succeeded Quarles as assistant secretary of defense, wrote about the deliberations in a Life magazine article, published October 21, 1957. Furnas said that the group wished it could have recommended using the Army’s rocket with the Navy’s instrumentation but realized from past experience with joint military programs that rivalry, jealousy, and unwillingness to share information, funding, and credit would so slow the process that getting a satellite into orbit by the end of IGY would be unlikely. “We finally decided that breaking the space barrier would be an easier task than breaking the interservice barrier ,” he wrote.59
In a five-to-two vote, with one member absent, the Stewart Committee selected Project Vanguard on August 3, 1955. The Army demanded, and got, a second hearing, as did the NRL. Vanguard’s chief, Milton Rosen, offered revisions incorporating suggestions the committee had made—more tests of the new rocket and a lighter satellite—and provided written assurances from his four contractors that the schedule could be accelerated to launch the first satellite in eighteen months.60 Rosen’s original time frame would later prove far more accurate, as the program encountered numerous problems and launch dates slipped. However, the original committee decision stood, Quarles upheld the recommendation, and the Army was ordered to suspend satellite development. After Vanguard was selected, the Army�
�s rocket men couldn’t believe they had lost, and their counterparts at the Navy admitted surprise that they had won.
Considerable historical debate has focused on the Stewart Committee’s decision. Some see anti-German bias toward the Army’s team of former Nazi engineers, led by Wernher von Braun, which was responsible for the deadly German V-2 rocket.61 Another viewpoint discerns partisan loyalties toward the Navy among the members of the Stewart Committee. Furnas, who voted with Stewart against Project Vanguard, later wrote that the decision was “purely technical. No politics were involved. ”62 Still another claim is that the National Security Council’s secret directive prohibited using a launch vehicle already intended for military purposes.63 Motives are difficult to prove, but the text of the declassified NSC directive stops short of an explicit prohibition.
NSC 5520 is a short document, consisting of a dozen paragraphs and three attachments—a rough one-page budget, a discussion of technical matters, and an endorsement by Nelson Rockefeller, who was a special advisor to Eisenhower. The directive’s thrust was to support spending about $20 million (Project Vanguard would end up costing $110 million) to launch a small scientific satellite, provided it did not impede research and development of long-range missiles or larger spy satellites the Pentagon was pursuing. When Vanguard’s major contractor, Martin, won a contract to work on the Titan rocket, the best engineers who had worked on Viking were transferred to work on it. Thus, the reverse happened. Work on an ICBM impeded work on Vanguard. With the Soviet Union on the brink of developing intercontinental ballistic missiles capable of carrying warheads, reconnaissance satellites offered a potential means for keeping track of developments in that closed and secretive society. Unclear at the time, however, was the legal status of orbiting satellites. The directive authorized using a small, nonmilitary satellite to test the principle of “freedom of space. ” This doctrine held that national sovereignty of airspace did not extend to orbital altitudes, making a satellite akin to a ship in international waters. In an Oval Office meeting four days after Sputnik I passed over numerous nations without any protests, Donald Quarles, who had been promoted to deputy secretary of defense, observed that “the Russians have in fact done us a good turn, unintentionally, in establishing the concept of freedom of international space. ”64
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