NASA Johnson Space Center Oral History Project
Edited Oral History Transcript

Harrison H. "Jack" Schmitt
Interviewed by Carol Butler
Houston, Texas – 14 July 1999

Butler: Today is [July] 14th, 1999. This oral history is with Dr. Harrison Schmitt, who was commonly referred to as “Jack” by his colleagues at NASA at the time. Dr. Schmitt is here at the Johnson Space Center in Houston, Texas. This interview is being conducted for the Johnson Space Center Oral History Project by Carol Butler. Thank you for joining us today.

Schmitt: It’s my pleasure. And congratulations on getting this project going finally.

Butler: Thank you. Thank you. It’s a fascinating project. It’s wonderful just to be able to have a chance to talk to you and your colleagues and get your oral histories down. Today we’d like to start with talking about how you first got interested in planetary geology.

Schmitt: Well, I had no overriding interest other than in the planet we call the Earth until I was looking for a job in 1964; and I sent a letter to Eugene [M.] Shoemaker of the US Geological Survey, one of the foremost planetologists that has ever lived. And he, it turns out, had sent me a letter almost simultaneously [after] looking at the list of people who had taken and done reasonably well on the US Geological Survey exam. And so, since there was a depression in most other parts of geology, I decided to go out and work with Gene.

It was aided by knowing many of the people that Gene had attracted to his group that had, by that time, become known as the Branch of Astrogeology within the US Geological Survey. People like Danny [Daniel] Milton and Newell Trask and Don [E.] Wilhelms and others who I had known for other reasons, and really very, very strong individuals in their science. And it was clearly a credible group to go work for.

I had met Gene some years before in—when I was introduced to him, it was by a hard rock geologist, more in tune with what I was working on at the time, who said, “You have to go down the hall and see what this crazy guy Eugene Shoemaker’s working on. He’s trying to map the Moon!” Well, indeed Gene did instigate the—that effort—modern effort—of mapping the Moon; and, much to the excitement of the Apollo astronauts and the Apollo managers when they finally decided that we were going to land there, that background was extremely important.

But that really triggered it. I had become interested somewhat in—in spaceflight after leaving Caltech [California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, California] and going to Norway in 1957 as a Fulbright student. And like so many people, when Sputnik was launched in the fall of 1957 (October 1957), it caught my attention. But it particularly caught the attention of the other students, from all—from countries all over the world, who were in residence at the University of Oslo. And that’s what triggered my interest, more maybe than—even than the technical achievement, because at Caltech we had been around people who were going off to work in the missile industry and things like that. And so, rockets were not an unusual phenomenon to us. But the degree to which the then Soviet Union’s success with a artificial satellite of the Earth, Sputnik 1, influenced and excited and literally scared the students who were around at that time from all over the world. That really did get my attention about how important space almost certainly was going to be in the future of humankind.

And so, I was more interested in a general sense than I was in actually ever thinking about participating directly myself. And really that thought didn’t occur—well, it occurred once in a jocular vein when the National Academy of Sciences put out a report (I believe it was) probably in the very early ’60s (I was still at the Harvard Geological Museum as a graduate student). And that report said the—it was done for NASA, and that report said that it—the first person on the Moon should be a hard rock geologist. Well, of course, all the geologists in Harvard and probably everywhere else that had wind of that report cheered and said, “Yeah! That’s right.” And then we promptly forgot about the whole thing because nobody was—it was sort of a joke.

But in 1964, while I was working in my early time with the US Geological Survey in Flagstaff, Arizona, NASA and the National Academy of Sciences asked for volunteers for the fourth group of astronauts who were to be scientist-astronauts. And I thought about 10 seconds and raised my hand and volunteered. Primarily because I felt—I can remember feeling, at the time, that if I didn’t volunteer, no matter what happened to my application, that I’d almost certainly regret it when human beings actually went to the Moon.

Butler: Well, it looks like that volunteering turned out pretty good for you in the long run.

Schmitt: Well, I was very lucky, very fortunate. And I think all the astronauts of that era, whatever they may say now, really were accidents. We happened to be at the right place at the right time. Unlike today, where young people can career-plan to become astronauts and go through several applications and every 2 years or so they can have that opportunity, we—it was presented to us in a very spontaneous way for the most part. And although some people applied two or three times on the pilot side, we were the first group of scientist-astronauts. And it really—we were an accident. And I think most of the astronauts have to say (if not all of them)—have to say that if they really were true to what happened, they were accidents. Not very many people can claim—like Eugene Shoemaker could claim that he had dreamed of going to the Moon from the time he was a child. (There’s no question that he did.) Unfortunately, he was not qualified medically in order to volunteer for that group.

Butler: It must’ve been challenging for him to have been—be able to help you all that were applying, and to help you get into the program in that way.

Schmitt: Well, he seemed to get a big kick out of it. Some regrets, I’m sure, for not being there himself. But he certainly, in those early years, gave heart and soul to trying to organize and stimulate NASA to put together a true field geology experiment for the Apollo Program. And ultimately, we did that. He was disappointed in how sophisticated it was for its time. But nevertheless if he hadn’t been pushing, people like George [M.] Low and Gene [Eugene F.] Kranz and even [Gen.] Sam [Samuel C.] Phillips at Headquarters would have had a harder time selling the kinds of things we ultimately did.

Butler: As you were going through the selection process to become a scientist-astronaut, as you said, the new group and it was a new realm that NASA hadn’t selected anyone for before, what was that process? What did you do? Can you tell us about that?

Schmitt: Well, roughly, I believe the announcement of opportunity for the scientist-astronaut program, the first selection, came out in November of 1964 (if I remember correctly). And about 1400 young scientists applied—scientists and engineers, essentially none of whom were women, which is interesting when you—later on, we’ll talk about the situation today. Or how that changed. Out of that 1400, based on a Federal Aviation Administration flight physical that we all had to submit with our application, NASA took that number down to (as I recall) about 400; and those 400 were asked to send in some additional information. I believe it was published papers and things of that nature. Transcripts.

Stuff to establish their academic credentials. And from that second submission, then 80 (I believe) were selected to be reviewed by a committee of the National Academy of Sciences. And those 80 also were asked to submit additional written material, an essay that I recall about “What would you do if you were suddenly on the Moon?” I don’t recall exactly what I said, but I was deeply involved in working on those kinds of problems for Dr. Shoemaker. And so, I suspect that it had a little bit more knowledge and information in it than the average applicant would have had a chance to do. Or to provide.

From that 80, 16 then were selected by the National Academy, submitted to NASA to then take a physical at the Brooks Air Force Base [San Antonio, Texas], where those physicals were being given at that time. It was an 8-day physical; 15 of the 16 showed up. I don’t recall the 16th’s name or anything at this point—but that would be available somewhere—but he apparently decided that he really wasn’t as interested in this program as he thought he was when he put in this application. So, the 15 candidates then went through that physical, came down, and were interviewed by a group of NASA managers here. I know Al [Alan B.] Shepard [Jr.] and Deke [Donald K.] Slayton were in that group. Max [Maxime A.] Faget was there. I would have to, again, refer to the records of all the people that were interviewing us. Oh, Chuck [Charles A.] Berry, the flight surgeon, was obviously in the room. And based on that, six were selected then as astronauts.

At that time, they didn’t have any of this idiocy of calling people “candidate astronauts.” Once you were selected, you were an astronaut. And I have argued with the local powers that be here and tried to foment rebellion within the astronaut corps not to allow themselves to be called “candidate astronauts.” It’s ridiculous, this! If somebody’s not going to qualify and not going to make it, they’re not going to make it. You don’t have to call them a candidate to prove that they’re on probation. It’s a bit demeaning.

At any rate, these six of us were then put in a position where we had to qualify as pilots. As everybody should know, everybody in the Apollo spacecraft really needed to operate as a pilot-astronaut as well as whatever else they might have been in their previous life. And so, four of us who had no previous pilot experience (or at least not jet pilot experience) were sent to Williams Air Force Base [Chandler, Arizona] for jet pilot training. Two, Joe [Joseph P.] Kerwin and Curt [F. Curtis] Michel, had previous flying experience. Joe had just qualified as a Navy carrier pilot, as a flight surgeon-pilot; and Curt Michel had been in the Air Force and flew F-86s (if I remember correctly) during the Korean conflict. So, he just had to get back into thinking about being a pilot again.

The other group—consisting of Owen [K.] Garriott, Ed [Edward G.] Gibson, Duane [F.] Graveline, and myself—then were sent to Williams Air Force Base for what’s called—was called their Undergraduate Pilot Training Program. And about 3 weeks after we arrived out there—actually, the news broke even before we were sent. But Duane Graveline ran into a bit of a problem (it turned out for him a great problem) in that his wife sued for divorce. And that, at that time, was not a very acceptable position to be in; and he resigned after about 3 weeks of pilot training. So, the other three (Garriott, Gibson, and myself) remained at Williams Air Force Base and went through the full Pilot Training Program. Except for the military instruction that the Air Force cadet-pilots had to go through.

Most of our group, the class of ’[19]67A, were Air Force Academy graduates. So, it was a really remarkable group of young men that were going through pilot training, all of whom were about 10 years younger than we were. So, I would—became terribly impressed, not only with the quality of the people that were becoming pilots in the Air Force, but the unbelievable (in my estimation and experience) professionalism of the Air Force training staff—the Captains and Majors, for the most part (some Lieutenants), that were part of Air Training Command and just did a really remarkable and highly professional job. They really—you can understand why American pilots do as well as they do in combat as well as in peacetime, because of the quality of the training they’re getting.

Butler: That’s very good to hear. While you were down there, how was the environment for you? This was obviously new for them to have scientist-astronauts come train with them, and new for you as well, not having had the pilot training before. What was it like from both sides?

Schmitt: Well, I, of course, don’t know the Air Force side. I’m sure they had some difficulties putting up with these three civilians who appeared on the base. If I remember correctly, we were told we were the first civilians ever to receive Air Force pilot wings and—after our 54 weeks of training. The Air Force seemed to tolerate us. We were probably a bit of a thorn in their side, because we could not be disciplined in the same way that the military pilots. They could just tell NASA, “We don’t want them anymore,” I guess, and then deal with NASA at that point.

From our perspective, I think we fit in very well. We were spread academically throughout the class in terms of the—well, I believe that Ed Gibson graduated number 2 in our class (if I remember correctly). (He’ll have to verify that.) Owen Garriott was a bit higher. I was a bit farther down. I had a harder time learning how to fly these things, particularly on instruments, than the others did—for whatever reason that was. Eventually, I succeeded. But it was a bit traumatic for me to try to work my way through that.

And in the middle of all this, just as we transitioned from T-37s to T-38s, in a basketball game I broke my elbow. So, I had to sit down for a few weeks while that elbow healed, and then try to catch up. (Which I ultimately did.) But it meant an awful lot of flying, awfully fast. Which was fine. That’s the best way to learn, I think, is just to get all your flying in at once.

Butler: Jump right in there and do it.

Schmitt: But we, I think, had a good—I think everybody was satisfied with the relationship with the Air Force. They continued to do that for the next group that came on board a couple of years later. And I really, personally, cannot speak too highly of the quality of the training that we received. It really was a remarkable experience.

Butler: Good. Going back a little bit, when you did learn of your selection to become an astronaut, what were your thoughts at the time?

Schmitt: Well, I learned about my selection about 3 days before anybody else. And that was a result of a phone call from a consultant to NASA who was basically the head of aerospace medicine for NASA—Dr. [W.] Randolph Lovelace [II]—who had a clinic in Albuquerque [New Mexico]. I’d never met him before and, unfortunately, did not meet him afterwards. (He was killed as a result—or died as a result of an airplane accident about 6 months after this all happened.) But I was in my office in Flagstaff; and Fern Beeson, my secretary, informed me that a Dr. Randolph Lovelace was on the phone and wished to talk to me. And I sort of vaguely knew who he was because of my New Mexico connections; and so, I talked to him. And his first words were, “You don’t have to worry about anything. You’re in.”

Well, what he was referring to is that both the Air Force doctors and the NASA doctors were a bit taken aback that I had had, in 1960 (and we’re talking about 1965 now)—in 1960, I had had what’s called a partial colectomy in order to repair a congenital defect in my intestines; namely what’s called a malrotation. And as you can imagine, Air Force doctors and NASA doctors, who are used to eliminating anybody with any abnormality, were not too enthusiastic (as I gathered) about my becoming an astronaut. But Dr. Lovelace apparently was asked to review the case. He went to the surgeon—a Dr. Claude Welch, a famous surgeon at Massachusetts General Hospital, who did the surgery back in 1960—and they reviewed it and concluded that I would, as in Dr. Lovelace’s words, “would be better off than anybody else because of the geometry of my intestinal tract.”

And so, he said, “You’re in.” So, that—I guess he figured that I had been concerned that I was going to be eliminated on the basis of that operation. It turns out, I think, that everybody in our group had something that potentially could have eliminated them if you applied the strict standards that the Air Force normally would apply to a young pilot. But 10 years is a long time physiologically, as I’ve learned more about it subsequently; and where in your—when you’re 18 or 19 or 20, you will look extremely qualified physically, 10 years later almost everybody has something that you can find out about them that might disqualify them. Whether it’s eyesight or a bout of osteomyelitis, which one of the people had and came through okay on, but another didn’t. And so, it was a—I didn’t envy NASA in trying to make these kind of decisions for people who were in their late 20s and early 30s.

Butler: Human body’s pretty intricate. Once you got through with the pilot training, what did you move on to next? Is that when you moved down to Houston?

Schmitt: We immediately came down and took up training, general training—classes primarily—and tours and familiarization with the Saturn Vs and stuff like that with the fifth group of astronauts, who had been selected while we were in pilot training. These were pilots that basically we ended up being in the same training class with them, even though we were senior by one group. Because of the pilot training, we had to go through the classes with them.

And so, the first year probably (maybe even more, again you—all of this tends to merge into a haze with time), but we were training in a wide variety of engineering and spaceflight courses with the fifth group of astronauts. This included people like Fred [W.] Haise [Jr.] and Vance [D.] Brand and Jack [John L.] Swigert. That whole group of people who really became the second wave of the Apollo astronauts. I was the only one of our group that ended up being directly involved in Apollo. But most of the pilots who were in that sixth group did have some direct or indirect role in Apollo.

After that (and during that time)—again, in those days once you were selected as an astronaut, they expected you to perform at an immediately high level and at the old 8-day week/16-hour days that everybody else in the Apollo Program was performing at. And so, we also took on some assignments from the Astronaut Office to oversee certain aspects of the engineering or operations of the Apollo Program as it was developing. That was a very, very important part of the success of Apollo.

And I don’t think it’s gotten nearly enough credit, of what Al Shepard and Deke Slayton decided to do with the astronauts who weren’t directly involved in flights. Weren’t assigned to flights. And they were—maybe partly because, “What else do we do with them?” but partly because I think their insight was correct. In that having astronauts who were going to be at the tip of the spear, part of the review teams, part of the Critical Design Reviews, getting very familiar with certain aspects of the spacecraft, the rockets, and the planning and operations of Apollo, was extremely important in making it real to everybody else that people are actually going to use these things that we’re building.

It was a, you know—in a way—an adjunct—an important adjunct to the Snoopy Progr