The Brilliant Minds Behind Apollo Shine On

I wrote my memoir, The Step, to draw attention to the unsung heroes of the Apollo Program. The men and women who made up the technical team, instead of the astronauts who have historically received all the attention and the glory. I’ve been promoting my book and giving book talks for over a year now. I always mention the effort that was made to assemble this incredibly impressive, intelligent and hardworking scientific team that made this seemingly impossible feat, of landing a man on the moon, attainable. 

Last weekend I had the pleasure of addressing Mensa at their Annual Gathering in Hollywood, Florida. I ended my talk, as I usually do, with a Question & Answer session. One man named Bob Tewchuk raised his hand and asked, “Seems there is a rumor that 90% of the Apollo mission computer was code redundant. That is, 10% of the code contained the instructions, and 90% was used for error checking and to ensure there were no errors or crashes. A friend of mine told me this years ago, and I’d like to know if it’s true.”

I worked in PR not in computer programming, so I didn’t know the answer to his question. But I knew someone who would! I took down Bob’s information and promised I would get back to him with an answer. I forwarded his question to two of my former Apollo coworkers and friends, Kenneth Clark and Jim Handley. Here’s Ken’s reply:

“The term “code redundant” implies that there is code that is redundant for some reason such as to recompute a value for which the answer is known in order to verify correctness.  I doubt there was any of that in the flight computers and know for a fact there was none in the ground computers.  A second form might be some form of redundancy in hardware with identical software in the redundant hardware and some sort of voting logic to determine which hardware was correct.  The Launch Vehicle Digital Computer used triple modular redundancy (TMR) logic, but I don’t believe the code was replicated.  The Saturn Ground Launch Computers were not TMR.  However, the Mobile Launcher Computer did contain redundant set of code which was switched to if the primary memory encountered a parity error or no instruction alarm during execution.  I don’t know if the Apollo Guidance Computers contained any form of redundancy and don’t see any evidence of any in my investigation on the internet.

 On the subject of error checking, not even close to 90% of the code would be allocated to that task.  The amount of memory in any of the computers made it absolutely impossible for there to be much if any code in the computers to be used for error checking.  The error checking that existed was to determine if an operation requested or commanded by a program completed successfully.  There were some checks even in the Lunar Lander to report on unexpected errors.  An example of this was the Lunar Module program alarms minutes into the landing sequence (Error codes 1201 & 1202).

 Memory in the computers was mostly magnetic core.  Here are some examples of the memory sizes used in the computers

 Saturn Ground Launch Computers (RCA 110A) – 32 K 24 bit words + 1 parity bit

Instrument Unit Launch Vehicle  Digital Computer – 32 K 28 bit words including 2 parity bits

Apollo Guidance Computers — 2048 K words of erasable magnetic core memory and 36 K 16 bit words of read-only core rope memory.

 

Note:  There were 2 Apollo Guidance Computers in the spacecraft.  One in the Command Module and one in the Lunar Module.

 

Hope this helps,

Ken”

Amazing that over fifty years later his memory is so precise. I called him a genius in my book and clearly he’s living up to the title.

The remarkable triumphs of that team have changed the trajectory of our country forever. The greatest minds of the time collected and working together were ever so powerful. Unfortunately, when Apollo ended the team was disbanded. Many of the brilliant scientists and engineers were sent packing or to sell typewriters.

Our space program has been stuck on the back shelf for years. As we stagnate China, Russia and private companies make leaps and bounds forward. It’s about time we revisit our treatment of the space program and recognize it’s importance in securing our future stability and respectability as a nation. I can think of two guys who would be perfect to head up the scientific team!

Music was part of the Apollo Days – by Martha Lemasters

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One of the most favorite memories I have from working on the Apollo Program comes from the rehearsals and subsequent shows that the chorus performed for the entire IBM launch support team and their spouses before each launch. They were called Facility Dinners and everyone looked forward to them.

We took liberty with some popular songs by changing a few words and sang songs like Get Me to the Launch on Time, and There’s no business like Space Business. We also sang a lot of patriotic songs like God Bless America, America, the Beautiful; This is My Country, Battle Hymn of the Republic and If I Had a Hammer and many others. We even sang some of the old IBM fight songs, written in the 20’s, including Ever Onward.

We rehearsed twice a week in the cafeteria. We had a local high school girl who played the piano for our rehearsals. When it came time for the show, we employed professional musicians who backed us up. We sang in four-part harmony, all directed under the careful eye and ear of Leon Bill, the Communications section head. Leon had a background in music, producing, directing and even performing in Broadway type shows.

Besides the chorus, we had skits, which I wrote and usually acted in too. There was one skit about a couple taking a vacation on Mars…and another about a lady shuttle commander who fell in love with a subordinate.

What fun days they were. The chorus was very tight knit. We supported each other in work and in play.

Some of my best friends that were in the chorus are still among my best friends today.

My First Business Trip

MARTHAATWORK

Martha Lemasters, author of The Step, at work for IBM at the Kennedy Space Center during the Apollo Progam.

By the 1970s, pantyhose were a staple in every woman’s wardrobe. As more women headed into the workplace, sales of pantyhose grew. The only problem was that there wasn’t very good elastic in the waist and they would start to droop to your hips if you didn’t pull them up!

The day has finally arrived for my first business trip. I am to go to Bethesda, Maryland, just outside D.C., to sit in for the communications manager for one week. I am confident. I have learned to become assertive and stand up for my rights. I am so excited; I feel I’ve earned this trip. I know I’m a professional woman now. I’ve developed my creativity and knowledge. I pick out my best business suit to wear; every strand of hair is in place. Even my attaché case matches the overnight bag I carry. In short, Doris Day couldn’t look any more perfect for the part of a traveling professional woman.

I am to leave from the Melbourne airport, fly to Atlanta for a change to Washington, D.C. I check my suitcase, board the plane and I’m on my way. I expect the trip to be easy but once over Atlanta we have to circle the airport for more than an hour, slipping my boarding time for my next flight to D.C. I now have only three to four minutes to make that flight.

As I descend the stairs from the plane, I think I can make it. I am feeling important as I look around and see most of the passengers are men. I hold my head up high and then it happens. With my overnight case in one hand and my attaché case, as well as my huge handbag in another, the elastic in my pantyhose breaks. Hovering over I use both elbows to pinch each side of the pantyhose to keep them from falling down. Hurrying through the airport the vision is not exactly what would appear on the cover of New Woman Magazine. My 5’9” frame stooping over, elbows in place holding the pantyhose up and scurrying as fast as I can. I know I don’t have time to stop and take the pantyhose off because I will miss my flight. I finally make it to the plane. One of the flight attendants comes over and asks “Are you in pain”?

“No, I just need to get to the ladies room and remove these pantyhose.”

I’d been warned me about the D.C. airport: “It’s one of the most hectic airports you’ll ever go through. The secret is to get to the rental car agency and get out of the airport before the 5 p.m. rush-hour traffic begins.”

With these words ingrained in my thoughts, I make a beeline to the rental car agency as soon as I land. I get the keys and hurry to the huge parking lot. It takes me a while to even find the car; then I have trouble getting the car started. A man passes by and I ask him if he knows the secret to starting the car.

“You’ve got to have your seat belt on,” he says.

I feel so ignorant. But I think the procedure, obviously installed by the rental company, even more stupid. I get started and head out of Washington. I travel about 30 miles, happy that I’ve beaten the worst of traffic when it hits me. I have forgotten my suitcase! As I approach a road sign that reads Manassas, I realize I have also traveled south, instead of north. I travel for another few miles before I can get off and turn around to go back to the airport. My lips start to quiver, tears are coming down my face, destroying my image as a professional woman entirely.

As I pull up to the area designated for arriving passengers, the porter comes up to the window of my car and all my professionalism goes out the window. My chin is even quivering, my bottom lip protrudes and I just break out crying. “I left my luggage in the airport, drove 30 miles in the wrong direction and I don’t know how to get my luggage or even get out of this place and drive the right direction. Can you please help me”?

“Of course I can,” he says gently. “Let me have your claim ticket.” I quit sniffling, give him my ticket and wait in the car. In a short time, he returns with my suitcase and puts it in the back seat.

“Now, where is it you’re supposed to go,” he says.

“Bethesda,” I softly answer as I hand him a $10 tip. Well, so much for being professional.

I finally reach the six-story hotel and check in. It is December and I think it’s very cold but then I’m a Florida gal, I think it’s winter when the temperature reaches the fifties. The temperature is 31 and sinking according to the TV in my room. I decide to eat in the hotel restaurant not wanting to venture out on such a cold evening. After dinner I go to bed early to get a full night’s rest so I can make a dynamic impression with my energy and promptness the next morning.

Talk in the next room awakens me. I glance over at the red dial on the clock and see that its 2 a.m. I imagine the talking is from a late night party someone is having, as I can even smell the smoke from their cigars and cigarettes.

I plug some Kleenex into my ears and turn over hoping to fall back asleep. A loud siren jolts me out of bed. I suppose it’s someone stuck in the elevator. I put the pillow over my head but the sound is too penetrating. I pick up the phone and call the front desk. “Is someone caught in the elevator? The bell on my floor keeps ringing.”

“The hotel is on fire! Get a coat on and evacuate the building at once,” comes his frantic cry. I am dressed in my Florida-style shorty nightgown. My coat, also made for Florida, is thin and falls just below my waist. I packed my new bra and my new tennis racquet. It is a toss-up as to which item to grab to take with me. I put my coat on and grab my beloved racquet and purse and head out the door to the deafening sound of the siren. I am also barefooted and barelegged. The hallway is filled with men, some half-dressed, some half-asleep, some half-drunk, all very anxious. They all head to the elevator. “No,” I yell, remembering my safety training. “We have to take the stairs.” About 30 people cram down the stairs, jumping two and three steps at a time. Once outside I see five fire trucks surrounding the building. One is a hook and ladder, perched at the top floor with the fireman knocking on the window, trying to wake up the people inside.

It is freezing and there is no place to go inside. Out of the whole crowd of hundreds there are three women. At least they have on full-length warm coats. I notice the strange things that the crowd has managed to bring with them: bottles of scotch, whisky, shoes in hand. And I stand here with my racquet.

The fire department is providing oxygen to some of the people who have inhaled smoke. One fireman comes over and asks, if I need artificial respiration. I wonder why he is asking me that, I’m not coughing or slow of breath. I relate it to walking across the catwalk at the VAB.

About 30 minutes later a school bus is brought in for us to get out of the weather. There is no heat in the school bus but at least we can sit down. By dawn, we are told that we can’t go back into the hotel to get any belongings. I put a call into my work contact and tell him what’s happened. Then I utter the words that no professional woman wants to say. “I have no clothes, can you possibly ask around the office to see if someone in a size 12 can loan me a dress for just the day? Oh, and a pair of shoes in size 9.”

Gene, my contact, arrives in about an hour with a green and blue stripe dress and shoes. The shoes weren’t too bad. The dress was about two inches short-waisted and another two inches too short in length. It was also very tight around my hips. I looked like a refugee from Goodwill. Decked out like this, I drove the car to the building and head straight to the receptionist. I resolve to hold my head up and just get on with the day.

“Can you direct me to the Personnel Office,” I ask.

“Oh honey,” she replies, as she looks me up and then down. “We’re not hiring today.