AdamZ
Touchdown! Greaser!
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Adam Zucker
This was sent to me by Col. John Lowrey USAF Ret. Author or Anatomy of a Spin. Pretty impressive.
Joe Kittinger is not a household aviation name like Neil Armstrong
or Chuck Yeager. But what
he did for the U.S. space program is comparable.
On Aug. 16, 1960, as research for the then- fledgling U.S. space
program, Air Force Captain
Joseph Kittinger rode a helium balloon to the edge of space,
102,800 feet above the earth,
a feat in itself. Then, wearing just a thin pressure suit and
breathing supplemental oxygen,
he leaned over the cramped confines of his gondola and jumped--into
the110-degree-below- zero, near-vacuum of space. Within seconds
his body accelerated to
714mph in the thin air, breaking the sound barrier. After free-
falling for more than four and
a half minutes, slowed finally by friction from the heavier
air below, he felt his parachute open
at 14,000 feet, and he coasted gently down to the New Mexico
desert floor.
Kittinger's feat showed scientists that astronauts could survive
the harshness of space with
just a pressure suit and that man could eject from aircraft
at extreme altitudes and survive.
Upon Kittinger's return to base, a congratulatory telegram was
waiting from the Mercury Seven astronauts--including Alan Shepard
and John Glenn.
More than four decades later Kittinger's two world records--the
highest parachute jump, and
the only man to break the sound barrier without a craft and
live--still stand. We decided to visit
the retired colonel and Aviation Hall of Famer, now 75, at his
home in Altamonte Springs, Florida,
to recall his historic jump.
FORBES GLOBAL: Take us back to New Mexico and
Aug.16, 1960.
Joe Kittinger: We got up at 2 a.m. to start filling the helium
balloon. At sea level, it was
35 to 40 feet wide and 200 feet high; at altitude, due to the
low air pressure, it expanded
to 25 stories in width, and still was 20 stories high! At
4 a.m. I began breathing pure oxygen for two hours. That's how
long it takes to remove all
the nitrogen from your blood so you don't get the bends going
so high so fast. Then it was
a lengthy dress procedure layering warm clothing under my pressure
suit. They kept me in
air- conditioning until it was time to launch because we were
in the desert and I wasn't
supposed to sweat. If I did, my clothes would freeze on the
way up.
How was your ascent?
It took an hour and a half to get to altitude. It was cold.
At 40,000 feet, the glove on my right
hand hadn't inflated. I knew that if I radioed my doctor, he
would abort the flight. If that happened,
I knew I might never get another chance because there were lots
of people who didn't want this
test to happen. I took a calculated risk, that I might lose
use of my right hand. It quickly swelled
up, and I did lose use for the duration of the flight. But the
rest of the pressure suit worked.
When I reached 102,800 feet, maximum altitude, I wasn't quite
over the target. So I drifted for
11 minutes. The winds were out of the east.
What's it look like from so high up?
You can see about 400 miles in every direction. The formulais
1.25 x the sq. root of the altitude
in thousands of feet. sq root of 102,000 ft is 319 X
1.25 = 399 miles.Rod) The most fascinating thing is that it's
just black overhead--the transition
from normal blue to black is very stark. You can't see stars
because there's a lot of glare from
the sun, so your pupils are too small. I was struck with the
beauty of it. But I was also struck by
how hostile it is: more than 100 degrees below zero, no air.
If my protection suit failed, I would
be dead in a few seconds. Blood actually boils above 62,000
feet.
I went through my 46-step checklist, disconnected from the balloon's
power supply and lost all communication with the ground. I was
totally under power from the kit on my back. When
everything was done, I stood up, turned around to the door,
took one final look out and said
a silent prayer: "Lord, take care of me now." Then I just jumped
over the side.
What were you thinking as you took that step?
It's the beginning of a test. I had gone through simulations
many times--more than
100. I rolled over and looked up, and there was the balloon
just roaring int o space. I realized
that the balloon wasn't roaring into space; I was going down
at a fantastic rate! At about 90,000 feet, I reached 714mph.
The altimeter on my wrist was unwinding very rapidly. But there
was no sense of speed. Where you determine speed is visual--if
you see something go flashing by. But nothing flashes by 20 miles
up--there are no signposts there, and you are way above any clouds.
When the chute opened, the rest of the jump was anticlimactic
because everything had worked perfectly. I landed 12 or 13 minutes
later, and there was my crew waiting. We were elated.
How about your right hand?
It hurt--there was quite a bit of swelling and the blood pressure
in my arm was high. But that
went away in a few days, and I regained full use of my hand.
What about attempts to break your record?
We did it for air crews and astronauts--for the learning, not
to set a record. They will be going
up as skydivers. Somebody will beat it someday. Records are
made to be busted. And I'll be
elated. But I'll also be concerned that they're properly trained.
If they're not, they're taking
a heck of a risk.
Columnist Jim Clash is author of To the Limits (John Wiley &
Sons, 2003) and a Fellow at the Explorers Club
Joe Kittinger is not a household aviation name like Neil Armstrong
or Chuck Yeager. But what
he did for the U.S. space program is comparable.
On Aug. 16, 1960, as research for the then- fledgling U.S. space
program, Air Force Captain
Joseph Kittinger rode a helium balloon to the edge of space,
102,800 feet above the earth,
a feat in itself. Then, wearing just a thin pressure suit and
breathing supplemental oxygen,
he leaned over the cramped confines of his gondola and jumped--into
the110-degree-below- zero, near-vacuum of space. Within seconds
his body accelerated to
714mph in the thin air, breaking the sound barrier. After free-
falling for more than four and
a half minutes, slowed finally by friction from the heavier
air below, he felt his parachute open
at 14,000 feet, and he coasted gently down to the New Mexico
desert floor.
Kittinger's feat showed scientists that astronauts could survive
the harshness of space with
just a pressure suit and that man could eject from aircraft
at extreme altitudes and survive.
Upon Kittinger's return to base, a congratulatory telegram was
waiting from the Mercury Seven astronauts--including Alan Shepard
and John Glenn.
More than four decades later Kittinger's two world records--the
highest parachute jump, and
the only man to break the sound barrier without a craft and
live--still stand. We decided to visit
the retired colonel and Aviation Hall of Famer, now 75, at his
home in Altamonte Springs, Florida,
to recall his historic jump.
FORBES GLOBAL: Take us back to New Mexico and
Aug.16, 1960.
Joe Kittinger: We got up at 2 a.m. to start filling the helium
balloon. At sea level, it was
35 to 40 feet wide and 200 feet high; at altitude, due to the
low air pressure, it expanded
to 25 stories in width, and still was 20 stories high! At
4 a.m. I began breathing pure oxygen for two hours. That's how
long it takes to remove all
the nitrogen from your blood so you don't get the bends going
so high so fast. Then it was
a lengthy dress procedure layering warm clothing under my pressure
suit. They kept me in
air- conditioning until it was time to launch because we were
in the desert and I wasn't
supposed to sweat. If I did, my clothes would freeze on the
way up.
How was your ascent?
It took an hour and a half to get to altitude. It was cold.
At 40,000 feet, the glove on my right
hand hadn't inflated. I knew that if I radioed my doctor, he
would abort the flight. If that happened,
I knew I might never get another chance because there were lots
of people who didn't want this
test to happen. I took a calculated risk, that I might lose
use of my right hand. It quickly swelled
up, and I did lose use for the duration of the flight. But the
rest of the pressure suit worked.
When I reached 102,800 feet, maximum altitude, I wasn't quite
over the target. So I drifted for
11 minutes. The winds were out of the east.
What's it look like from so high up?
You can see about 400 miles in every direction. The formulais
1.25 x the sq. root of the altitude
in thousands of feet. sq root of 102,000 ft is 319 X
1.25 = 399 miles.Rod) The most fascinating thing is that it's
just black overhead--the transition
from normal blue to black is very stark. You can't see stars
because there's a lot of glare from
the sun, so your pupils are too small. I was struck with the
beauty of it. But I was also struck by
how hostile it is: more than 100 degrees below zero, no air.
If my protection suit failed, I would
be dead in a few seconds. Blood actually boils above 62,000
feet.
I went through my 46-step checklist, disconnected from the balloon's
power supply and lost all communication with the ground. I was
totally under power from the kit on my back. When
everything was done, I stood up, turned around to the door,
took one final look out and said
a silent prayer: "Lord, take care of me now." Then I just jumped
over the side.
What were you thinking as you took that step?
It's the beginning of a test. I had gone through simulations
many times--more than
100. I rolled over and looked up, and there was the balloon
just roaring int o space. I realized
that the balloon wasn't roaring into space; I was going down
at a fantastic rate! At about 90,000 feet, I reached 714mph.
The altimeter on my wrist was unwinding very rapidly. But there
was no sense of speed. Where you determine speed is visual--if
you see something go flashing by. But nothing flashes by 20 miles
up--there are no signposts there, and you are way above any clouds.
When the chute opened, the rest of the jump was anticlimactic
because everything had worked perfectly. I landed 12 or 13 minutes
later, and there was my crew waiting. We were elated.
How about your right hand?
It hurt--there was quite a bit of swelling and the blood pressure
in my arm was high. But that
went away in a few days, and I regained full use of my hand.
What about attempts to break your record?
We did it for air crews and astronauts--for the learning, not
to set a record. They will be going
up as skydivers. Somebody will beat it someday. Records are
made to be busted. And I'll be
elated. But I'll also be concerned that they're properly trained.
If they're not, they're taking
a heck of a risk.
Columnist Jim Clash is author of To the Limits (John Wiley &
Sons, 2003) and a Fellow at the Explorers Club
