The year 2000 is less than 20 years away, and I personally do not try to project much farther ahead than that. Who would have predicted in 1938, for example, that we would be flying three times the speed of sound by 1958? Of course, this was developed in great secrecy and there still were those at the time who said it couldn’t be done. Or who would have anticipated that in only five years, from 1977 to 1982, the cost of a jet transport would rise 300 percent? Or that jet fuel would skyrocket from seventeen cents to $1.50 a gallon?
In retrospect, this country was wise not to have gone ahead with its supersonic transport in the 1960s. And Lockheed was fortunate to have lost that design competition. The SST would have hit the fuel crisis head on. And the noise would have been unacceptable. It is not an airplane we can afford to fly today in commercial use. The Concorde, of course, enjoys government subsidies by Great Britain and France.
The Lockheed SST proposal basically was a three-times scale of the SR-71 design, already proven in flight. We did not use the wide fuselage so beloved by the airlines for the variety of interior arrangements it can accommodate because of what we knew about the importance of weight and drag to attaining triple-sonic speeds.
The airlines opted for the wider fuselage of the Boeing design. And the contract, later cancelled, went to a company that had never fired an afterburner nor made a sonic boom—that is, had never had any supersonic experience. We made our design studies available, and the Boeing plane came to resemble more and more the losing Lockheed proposal. But their design at the time of contract cancellation lacked transatlantic range by 700 miles. I wanted the concession to pick up the passengers from mid-ocean.
Very high fuel consumption still is a problem for commercial operation. To be economically sound, an SST will require development of another series, or two, of jet engines with much greater thrust-to-weight ratio that can achieve supersonic speed without afterburner. Whether we develop these improved engines by the year 2000 is dependent on availability of development funds.
And for successful commercial airline use, the supersonic transport first must overcome the noise problem. This, too, will yield to advanced engine development.
There is a technique, not a solution, that could be used right now to reduce takeoff noise but I have not been able to persuade others that it would be acceptable to passengers. The passengers wouldn’t even know when it was taking place. I refer to mid-air refueling. We had done it with the Blackbirds more than 18,000 times by the early 1980s.
Sitting in the second seat of a YF-12 in flight, I have been amazed at the speed and skill of refueling from a KC-135 tanker, even when the aircraft made turns, climbs, or other maneuvers. This mid-air refueling process I believe to be one of the most important developments in the history of aviation. Why? Without it we could not send our bombers over Russia—and back, for example. We could not send great payloads over-ocean as we now do with the C-5. Nor could we send our fighters halfway around the world. Nor cross 7,500 miles of the Pacific Ocean in five hours with the SR-71. And the mid-air refueling capability eliminates the need for many foreign air bases.
Using the technique, an SST could take off lightly loaded with fuel, take on enough fuel in the air for the flight, and land conventionally. The present Concorde, for example, could take off from Los Angeles with a full load of passengers but light in weight and therefore not requiring the noisy afterburner, refuel over Hudson’s Bay from a 707 or other obsolete transport used as an aerial tanker, and fly nonstop to London. Realistically, I do not expect that to happen.
But this is an area where I do not expect the Russians to surpass us. There was an amusing incident involving the Russian SST at the Paris Air Show in 1973—before its tragic crash. Visitors were invited to inspect the airplane on the ground and in flight. Other Lockheed people were allowed to go aboard and even to fly in the airplane. I was escorted around the outside by eight of their engineers. They didn’t seem to hear when I said that I’d like to go inside. So I had a good view of the exterior.
While I have been impressed with the Russians’ forging capacities with their big presses, presses we need and do not have, I found that manufacturing techniques applied to the airplane skin were quite crude. Rivets were not flush with the surface. The fuselage was as well made as it needed to be, but the infinite pains routinely taken by U.S. manufacturers to get the skin smooth had not been taken.
We have been surprised to learn of the lack of concern for safety in some Russian designs. Their standards—certainly in military aircraft and even commercial airplanes—do not meet those of the U.S. Many of their airliners could not pass an FAA test for engine-out takeoff.
Military aircraft in the Korean conflict did not have an abort speed. A four-engine bomber would be so loaded as to require the entire runway length for takeoff. If an engine were lost there would not be enough extra runway for takeoff on only three engines. It is not that the Russians could not improve in this area, it is that they have chosen not to do so and have their priorities elsewhere.
The HST, hypersonic transport, would be the next step technologically. Practically, it really is difficult to make a case for going to Mach 4 and 7 in a transport airplane. It takes too long to get up to speed and then throttle back for landing. Less than one-third of the flight duration would be spent hypersonically.
The HST would seem to have no place at all in the commercial airline field. Even on very long flights—the only flights on which this airplane would be used—our best knowledge today indicates that about 37 percent of the flight distance would be spent in climbing to altitude and accelerating to design speed, where the plane would cruise for about 30 percent of the flight distance before starting its descent.
Fuel consumption for the hypersonic engine, as we know it today and anticipate it for tomorrow, really is out of this world.
As a passenger airliner, the HST would not be economically feasible. In military applications, it probably would be unmanned. And the SR-71 already exceeds Mach 3 and altitudes above 100,000 feet.
The nuclear-powered airplane is another concept considered for the future. Under contract to the Strategic Air Command shortly after World War II, we investigated design of a nuclear-powered bomber. It was even before our first Skunk Works was established. I was chief engineer then for Lockheed’s California Company.
Gen. Curtis LeMay, then SAC commander, wanted a plane to fly high and supersonically. It was the NEPA project, nuclear energy for propulsion of aircraft. Six or seven other companies were involved. James Douglas was Secretary of the Air Force at the time, and 30 years later when I saw him in Washington, he came over and thanked me for “cutting up” the nuclear airplane.
We had been asking nuclear power to do something it was not suited for, and I said so. The airplane design became mammoth in size to carry the big nuclear powerplant. The cockpit alone weighed 40,000 pounds. A lead shield was required between the cockpit and rear of the airplane where the reactor was carried in order to reduce the radiation enough to allow pilot and flight crew to fly the plane for about 30 hours a year.
It was so “hot” from a radiation point of view that if you had to change a generator on one of the engines—either four or eight in the design study—it had to be by remote control, by a robot. The plane really didn’t like to get off the ground, so jet fuel afterburners were necessary. It got to be a great big cumbersome unwieldy system.
Funds had been approved to continue the work, but I argued against it. After some strong discussion, others reluctantly came to agree with me that the project should be abandoned.
I do not foresee the nuclear airplane in the year 2000 either.
The Space Shuttle is an exciting concept with lots of popular appeal. Philosophically, putting a man in space and bringing him back down means a great deal to our belief in ourselves. Whether the Shuttle will pay off economically, commercially, I do not know. The number of flights per year and realistic pricing for customers are yet to be determined.
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p; Its continued safety concerns me on these early flights. It was not all easy going on the second flight when the crew was down to the last of three power sources for electrical needs.
We can do so many things with an unmanned cheap launching device. Communications satellites have been orbiting for several years and do a marvelous job. They are a very good business proposition.
On a more mundane level, except for development of second-generation jet transports, commercial passenger, and cargo aircraft in service today—or planes much like them—will be what we have in the year 2000. The emphasis will not be on bigger and bigger as it was for some years, but on what is realistic, practical, and commercially viable using present technology.
One of my favorite ideas for a number of years has been a method of sinking capital ships without using a nuclear or even a gunpowder bomb. It would be truly a “clean bomb.” I thought of it when the Pueblo was captured, and the Mayaguez. We could have sunk the things without hurting a soul once our people were off.
If a 2,500-pound highly streamlined shape made of tool steel—which would not shatter—were to be launched from altitude by an SR-71 it would hit sea level at speeds well above Mach 3. Its penetration power would take it right through any ship, and it would generate so much heat that it would set fire to or sink the ship. It would be a clean kill, and much cheaper than a conventional weapon.
Such a bomb could go through 300 feet of earth. It could, for example, plug the tunnels through the Ural mountains. It could penetrate 33 feet of reinforced concrete.
We know the airplane could carry and launch such a bomb because of our earlier missile-firing work with the YF-12.
The bomb must be made of tool steel to be very hard and not break apart on impact. The trick is in the guidance, and we would expect the bomb to hit well within a thirty-foot target area when dropped from 85,000 feet. It is quite easy to figure the penetrating force—with the weight and drag and the force of velocity. Design of the weapon itself is quite simple. And I’m not giving away an idea to the Russians, because they haven’t anything that can fly high enough or fast enough to launch it.
There is promise of resource development beneath the oceans with new techniques in ocean mining. We know the resources are there including the chromium, vanadium, platinum, and other scarce materials that now must be imported from Africa. The techniques are known, too. It would require only the investment of funds, hundreds of millions of dollars, to make it a practicality.
The Glomar Explorer, a project of Hughes Aircraft, Global Marine, and Lockheed Missiles and Space Company, was designed for ocean mining. A sort of vacuum sweeper reaches down two or three miles to pick up nodules from the ocean floor. This has been done in test operations under ocean west and southwest of Hawaii. A processing plant aboard ship can reduce the nodules to ore. The technology is there, although to be settled, of course, is the ongoing argument about which nations reap or share the benefit of products from international waters.
The Glomar has another very important capability—rescue and retrieval of submarines.
Lockheed’s participation in Glomar was to design the mechanism that would pick up an abandoned Russian submarine sunk to depths of 15,000 feet. Skimping on static testing of the remotely-controlled titanium arms—failure to conduct one last test before the retrieval attempt—resulted in less than 100 percent success. The sunken submarine had been located and was being lifted. It was two-thirds of the way up when one of the arms failed, and part of the sub dropped back down. The rest was recovered, however, and it was informative to our submariners.
Later, one of our submarines was lost in the east Atlantic. We suspected that it might have been the victim of the game of “chicken” the Russians like to play with other subs. But there was nothing capable of descending to 9,000 feet to search for it—even for inspection if not retrieval. So the value of the vehicle is indisputable—militarily and commercially. The expense of restoring Glomar would be great. Just the cost of maintaining it in dock runs high—about $30,000 a month. But its usefulness is clear. It would be a handy gadget to have in operation.
Not all of our weapons are military. Some are economic. The most important airplane for the future, to my way of thinking, isn’t a transport, isn’t a bomber, isn’t a fighter. It is the crop duster. Why? We are going to have to feed an awful lot of people in this world. We must keep our ecology in hand, save our forests, seed the fields, fight fires, control weather, and even—should there be nuclear explosions and environmental contamination—spray to accelerate diminution of radiation.
There is nothing dramatic about this airplane. It just might be the airplane most important to more people than any other. I’d like to think that airplane was one for peaceful purposes.
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A Good Life
AT STAR LANE ONE SATURDAY morning in a recent spring, we branded 52 calves, ten more than at roundup the previous year. The day began early for Nancy and me as we greeted 64 friends, neighbors, ranchers, and cowhands arriving to work or watch and share in the traditional barbecue that followed. It is one of the regular rituals we enjoy on the ranch—probably our favorite.
The roundup actually began the day before. My neighbor rancher Dee McVeigh brought nine of his cowboys to join our hands in combing the hills to round up all the cattle. All but one wild cow, that is, which escapes us every year. She’s more deer than cow, she’s so fast. We go after them all—calves, cows, and steers.
Some of the steers and the dry, non-bearing cows will be sold. The new calves, six to eight months old, will be sprayed for flies and ticks, innoculated in one mixed shot against hoof-and-mouth and several other diseases, have their eyes sprayed for pink eye, and be castrated and branded—a star with an L offside. All the cattle normally get shots once a year and are sprayed twice.
Before day’s end on Friday, all the cattle had been driven into several holding pens awaiting the next morning’s action.
On Saturday by 8 A.M., we were organizing the hands into roping groups—several teams of three or four men on horseback. Their first chore was to separate the calves from the cows, then divide the calves into groups of about ten. One group of calves at a time was herded into the main corral for the job at hand. We change cowhand teams with each group of calves.
Halfway through the morning we take a break to have coffee, soft drinks, and sweet rolls.
This is hard work. Yet many of the men are gray-haired and over 70 years old, a few 75. They’ve been roping all their lives. As in piloting, experience is what counts. There are some young ones coming along, too, among them our foreman’s son, Larry Erickson.
The branding irons I handle myself. My good friend of many years, Dr. Lowell Ford, handles the surgical assignment, aided by a young woman who is a veterinarian’s assistant. Dr. Ford, no veterinarian, joins us every year just for the fun of participating in the roundup. He comes from Kernville now, where he has helped to establish a much-needed clinic. A versatile man, a humanitarian and intellectual, he has taught philosophy of religion at Occidental College. He found this totally compatible with the practice of medicine.
By the time all the calves have been worked through, the job is done for another year. It is mid-day, and time for the barbecue.
As a working hand, I retreat to the main house to shower and change and return in my “padrone” outfit—western pants, embroidered shirt, and big Mexican sombrero. That is my role for the afternoon.
The barbecue setting is a grassy hollow under the shade of several huge ancient oak trees. The barbecue pit is a permanent fixture here, and the coals already are glowing. Long tables with benches have been set up. A bar has been created from a large box set on end; and soft drinks, beer, wine, and stronger libations are dispensed. An array of dips and chips is spread over one of the tables.
It is a congenial crowd, and newcomers do not remain strangers for long.
After the snacks are demolished and several rounds of drinks downed, the serious food arr
ives—barbecued sausages, tritip steak, beans, several kinds of salads, and an assortment of desserts. There is food enough to fill any hungry cowhand.
Then we play poker—some of the old hands and I. It’s a wild game, with each dealer calling what type of game will be played with that hand. Nobody wins or loses a lot, but the game is a major event on the day’s schedule each year.
Before sunset, the group gradually drifts away and we drive back up the hill to our house—Nancy and I and a few family members and friends who will stay overnight. Each time of day and each season presents its own special type of beauty in these mountains, but I think sunset at the end of a satisfying day’s work is my favorite time of all.
Even with a full-time foreman, there is plenty for an interested owner to do on a working ranch. Nancy took to ranch life enthusiastically from the first, as had Althea. Both of us are involved with everything that goes on there—reviewing the work schedule with Lee, tilling the soil, planting our oat hay, crop dusting against the invading mustard, harvesting, baling, and storing the crop.
We had a good crop that year, and by late summer had 10,000 bales of hay stored in three barns awaiting sale at higher prices during the winter. Many ranchers have to sell on harvest, because they haven’t sturdy barns with cement floors to keep out gophers.
Before all the bales were picked up, however, the whole crop was endangered by a fire that swept over 135 acres of the harvested area. It was started by a spark from the machine that picks up the baled hay—despite a spark arrester, practically new, and twice inspected. Lee had been working late on an extraordinarily hot day in mid-summer. It was almost dark when he shut down the machine and left the field. By the time he arrived at his house, he turned to see flames against the darkened sky.
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