people’s minds, rarely did anyone question how in the world we were going to send a massive rocket like that to the Moon, land on the surface, explore, then blast off again and return to Earth, where we’d need another safe landing. Even scientists were baffled, scratching their heads in frustration because everyone thought in terms of only one gigantic spacecraft.
Everyone, that is, except John Houbolt, a bright, clever NASA engineer. John came up with the concept of using two specialized spacecraft—a command/service module and a lunar landing module—rather than one heavy spaceship in our efforts to get to the Moon, land on the surface, and get back home. The command module would stay in orbit around the Moon while the lunar landing module would be equipped with a “descent” stage that could be left on the surface, as well as an “ascent” stage with its own engine for blasting off the Moon and then rendezvousing with the command module. This was especially important because the lunar lander’s rocket motors did not have to be nearly so large, since they would be needed only to power the ascent section until it rendezvoused with the command module for the return trip back to Earth.
It was a novel idea, and many people at NASA questioned John’s “fanciful notions,” but they finally realized the advantages of having two spacecraft rather than one huge one. John’s willingness to keep his mind open and to think creatively opened the door to whole new vistas of space exploration.
Another brilliant, open-minded engineer who worked with us on the Apollo program was Hubert (Hu) Davis. Although the astronauts training for a potential landing on the Moon might not have realized it early on, the lunar landing modules (LMs) were too heavy to safely land. Hubert Davis was the project manager for LM-5, and when he heard about the problem and that his spacecraft was not slated to land, he said to NASA, “We’ll work to reduce the weight, if you will consider putting LM-5 as the first lander.” Hu and his team went back to work. They tried everything they knew to do.
After five versions of the LM (LM-1 to LM-5), it was still too heavy. Hubert didn’t say, “Well, that’s too bad; that’s what the lander has to be, so deal with it.” No, just the opposite. Hubert Davis put his mind to work on every way possible to reduce the weight load of the lunar lander, considering everything from the metallic materials used on the outside “skin” of the lander to how many pens Neil and I carried aboard the spacecraft. Every ounce mattered.
When almost everyone said it was impossible, Hubert Davis found a way to lighten the weight of the LM, making it possible for LM-5 to land on the Moon. Because of Hu’s imaginative thinking, NASA began offering financial bonuses to aerospace companies and contractors who could reduce the weight of the LMs in production. Had Hu not found a way, Neil and I would not have attempted a landing during Apollo 11, and NASA would have been forced to wait for LM-6 and Apollo 12—or possibly even later—to land. So in a very real way, Hubert Davis made it possible for Neil and me to land on the Moon. Why? Because Hubert Davis kept his mind open to the possibilities.
INNOVATORS ARE OFTEN OUT OF SYNC with many people around them. No doubt about it—from Leonardo da Vinci to my friend Sir Richard Branson, owner of Virgin Galactic—some of history’s most creative people have been a bit quirky. Anyone who saw Albert Einstein trudging along the sidewalks of Princeton University with a briar pipe hanging out of his mouth might have assumed the odd fellow in the old, frumpy overcoat and socks that didn’t match was a hobo. Today, students at Princeton are still studying Einstein’s formulas and ideas, and his adage “Subtle is the Lord, but malicious He is not” is inscribed in the stone mantel of the fireplace in the mathematics building on campus. I guess I used many of Einstein’s ideas when I developed my own mathematical equations regarding space rendezvous.
Because of my fascination with rendezvous principles necessary for the lunar module to lift off the Moon’s surface and be reunited with the command module, some of my fellow astronauts thought I was obsessed with the subject. They called me “Dr. Rendezvous,” usually with respect, but sometimes with a hint of derision as well. I didn’t care; I knew I was