Part I
Managing Planetary Science
Chapter 1
Homer Newell and the Origins of Planetary Science in the United States
John D. Ruley
The rise of planetary science as a recognized discipline became possible with the launch of the first planetary probes in the late 1950s and early 1960s.1 In the United States, from the beginning of the Space Age until 1967, this effort blossomed at NASA under the leadership of a quiet former mathematics professor named Homer E. Newell Jr. who came to the American space agency from the Naval Research Laboratory (NRL). There, he had worked on upper atmosphere research using sounding rockets since the end of World War II, and then filled an important role as science coordinator for the Vanguard Earth satellite program of the late 1950s. He joined NASA less than a week after it opened its doors in 1958, as assistant director for space sciences in the new agencyâs Office of Space Flight Development (OSFD).2
At the time, there was no clear notion of planetary science as a separate scientific disciplineâit was just one of several research areas that NASA expected to investigate under the mandate provided by the National Aeronautics and Space Act of 1958, whose provision to expand âhuman knowledge of phenomena in the atmosphere and spaceâ covered a broad range of activities.3 When considering planetary exploration, however, Newell realized that geology, meteorology, volcanism, climate and weather, and a range of other disciplines would be needed in NASAâs effort to explore our solar system. Still, to the degree that any thought was given to a new discipline, it was the more general âspace science.â In his 1980 historical memoir Beyond the Atmosphere: Early Years of Space Science, Newell wrote that space science turned out to be inseparable âfrom the rest of science and the broad range of disciplines to which space techniques promised to contribute.â4 Nonetheless, as historian Joseph Tatarewicz pointed out in his 1990 book, a new discipline focused on study of the planets, variously called planetary astronomy, planetology, or planetary science, did emerge over timeâas a direct result of NASA support through the various offices Newell headed.5
Newellâs accomplishments during his time at NASA included:
âą Creating the space science organization at headquarters, including a planetary science division.
âą Establishing policies for robotic mission and experiment selection, and announcements of opportunities to include the academic science community.
âą Successfully lobbying to create a planetary sciences section at the American Geophysical Union (AGU), becoming that sectionâs first president.
âą Representing NASA to the academic science community and the community to NASA.
âą Exploiting the high priority granted to lunar projects after 1961 to accelerate development of launch vehicles and probes that benefitted both lunar and planetary programs.
âą Identifying Mars as the planet in our solar system most likely to harbor life, and working to develop a capability to land scientific instruments there.
âą Expanding NASAâs astronomy program to include ground-based telescopes to support planetary missions, over the objections of his own staff.
âą Supporting development of spin-scan imaging sensorsâagain, over the objections of his staff. Originally developed for weather satellites these were later used on deep-space missions to image Jupiter and Saturn.
These accomplishments were offset by one great failure: After his promotion to associate administrator in 1967, Newell became overfocused on internal NASA issues and failed to realize that the scientific community would not support a manned mission to Mars (figure 1.1). Relations between NASA and the planetary science community nearly came apart as a result, and took years to recover.
The story of how this happened involved a complex series of struggles between (and among) NASAâs headquarters and field centers, the National Academy of Sciences, and the wider academic science community.
Planetary exploration became an issue for Newell almost immediately after he joined NASA; the first specific mission noted by Newell in one of his long series of green cloth-covered notebooks (now in the National Archives) was an early Mars probe. His major activity early on, however, was building a staffâhe did so in large part by recruiting his former colleagues at NRLâand establishing NASAâs policy for mission and experiment selection. This latter activity fundamentally affected planetary missions and all other space science activities at the agency from its origins to the present.6 This almost immediately put him in conflict with the newly created Space Science Board (SSB) of the National Academy of Sciences.7
The SSB had been formed a few months earlier, when National Academy of Sciences president Detlev Bronk became concerned that the legislation authorizing NASA did not provide an adequate mechanism for scientific input. He discussed this with Hugh L. Dryden, research director of the National Advisory Committee on Aeronautics (NASAâs administrative predecessor), Advanced Research Projects Agency (ARPA) chief scientist Herbert York, and International Council of Scientific Unions president Lloyd V. Berkner during a meeting in June 1958. The following month, Berkner sent a telegram to scientists around the nation soliciting those interested in participating in space research, and received over two hundred replies.8 Berkner then organized the board and a dozen committees covering topics including exploration of the Moon and planets.9
According to Newellâs subordinate and eventual successor, John E. Naugle, in the fall of 1958 the SSB moved to assume âa major operational roleâ in mission planning and experiment selection, with NASA relegated to supporting the experiments and executing the missions selected by the board.10 There was precedent for thisâthe Vanguard program of 1955â1958 had been run in that way, with the National Academy of Sciences in charge of experiment selection and NRL directed to support them. Newell, in his position as Vanguardâs science coordinator, had the unenviable job of matching up the academyâs changing requirements with NRLâs launch vehicleâamong other things he had to deal with a radical change in configuration when the academy decided a spherical satellite would simplify atmospheric density calculations. Since the original satellite design was bullet-shaped and could be launched without an aerodynamic shroud this change forced a major engineering effort to alter the upper part of the rocket.11 The convoluted administrative structure at NRL responsible for making these changes to the rocket in response to outside scientific requirements clearly frustrated Newell. In the immediate wake of Sputnik 1, he responded to a request for comment from a congressional aid with a scathing letter in which he complained about âa tremendous amount of timeâ wasted on briefings and reports and called for âa permanent, competent, and adequate staff of scientistsâ inside the responsible government agencies âto provide leadership in basic and applied research.â12 He was not about to see the Vanguard approach applied at NASA. Accordingly, he worked diligently to control both rocket and satellite configurations in-house.
Newell learned of the SSB plans for an operational role at one of their meetings in the fall of 1958 where he represented NASA. It was followed by a meeting attended by Newell; NASAâs director of space flight development, Abraham Silverstein; Vanguard director John P. Hagen, for whom Newell had worked at NRL; and John W. Townsend, a former deputy in NRLâs Rocket Sonde Research Branch, at which what Naugle calls âtwo significant decisionsâ were made: In addition to supporting basic research, Newellâs Space Sciences Division was tasked to âprepare scientific experiments and payload systems for sounding rockets, and scientific experiments for earth satellites and space probes,â while Hagenâs Vanguard Division received the âresponsibility for the integration of scientific experiments from the Space Science Division as well as from outside groups into payload systems for satellites and space probes.â Everyone recognized that this would create friction with the SSB, as it would inevitably put NASAâs in-house scientists in competition with those from academia and industry.13 This began what Newell called a âlove-hateâ relationship between NASA and the SSB.14
Figure 1.1 Homer E. Newell, NASA associate administrator of space science in 1967. (Credit: NASA.)
In addition, as director of space sciences at NASA Newell quickly found himself in conflict with the Jet Propulsion Laboratory (JPL), which was transferred from army to NASA control shortly after the new agency opened its doors in the fall of 1958. Much of JPLâs staff was committed to developing planetary missions and had evolved a program called Vega that would combine a modified Air Force Atlas intercontinental ballistic missile with JPL-developed upper stages to launch JPL-developed space probes to the Moon and planets. While the army might have been content to allow JPL latitude to develop everything in-house, NASA chose to limit the lab to developing the scientific probes and to fly them on an Air Force Atlas-Agena launcher developed for the SAMOS spy satellite program.15
During 1959, Newell made decisions that exacerbated NASAâs relations with leaders both at JPL and at the SSB. First, at the suggestion of astrophysicist Robert Jastrow, Newell met with University of California chemist and Nobel laureate Harold Urey. In his book The Planets, Urey had observed that the Moonâs distorted shape implied that it was geologically deadâsomething that could be proved by placing seismographs on the surface. Up to this point, while the Moon was a natural focus of attention, mainly in terms of Cold War competition between the United States and the Soviet Union, Newell thought it held little scientific interest. Based on Ureyâs input, Newell recommended an urgent project to soft-land instruments on the Moon, and directed Jastrow as lunar project officer to accomplish it. The decision to oversee the lunar science program from some place other than JPL irked the labâs director, William J. Pickeri...