Tale of the Twelfth Man

faith in man and technology’s mastery over Nature had already begun to waver. But with the second disintegration of a space shuttle in 110-odd missions, even that figure of a 1 in 100 appears optimistic. Inquiries into Columbia’s deathly descent may reset that margin of error. What’s certain is that mankind’s dream of weekend shuttles in earth’s planetary environs must now be kept on hold a while longer.

Actually, that dream stood significantly dulled when Richard Feynman was coerced into serving on a commission investigating why the Challenger exploded a minute after takeoff. For Feynman — physicist, Nobel laureate, member of Oppenheimer’s Los Alamos team, artist, drummer, teacher, humourist — that experience proved to be more than a chance to flaunt his flair for sharp and simple inquiry. It acquainted him with the bewildering, paranoiac ways of Washington’s bureaucracy. And he left behind a characteristically irreverent account Mr Feynman Goes to Washington. Today a re-read helps frame questions about Columbia.

Feynman’s first instinct was to turn down a request from the NASA chief that he serve on the presidential commission. Only to be counselled by his wife: ‘‘If you join the commission, there will be 11 people — all in a group, going around from place to place together — while the 12th one runs around all over the place, checking all kinds of unusual things. There probably won’t be anything, but if there is, you’ll find it.’’ (Those not introduced to Feynman’s writings must be advised to digest this with a spoonful of salt.)

Accordingly, the physicist enrolled in the task, along with Neil ‘‘man on the moon’’ Armstrong and Sally ‘‘the first American woman in space’’ Ride, under the leadership of William ‘‘Nixon’s secretary of state’’ Rogers. Full of steam, he set off for Washington. Only to find that an inquiry commission resembles a guided tour, rather than the spirited brainstorming session most imagine it to be.

Mrs Feynman had got it right. Rogers’ idea of inquiry was a group of people sitting through long presentations — with Feynman pulling his hair out as familiar details were recited while other questions were answered with ‘‘we’ll get that information to you later’’ — and laboriously planned trips to NASA installations. Each time Feynman would attempt to venture out on his own to follow a hunch, Rogers would communicate his displeasure. So much for the 12 man being allowed to run around all over the place.

But Feynman won all the same. A kindred soul on the commission, General Kutyna, had asked him: ‘‘What, sir, is the effect of the cold on the O-rings?’’ The O-rings were rubber seals to secure the joints in the Solid Rocket Booster. With the mixture in the booster heating up for takeoff, gas was liable to escape (which it did on that fateful January day) causing an explosion in the fuel tank. Engineers had been telling the commission that the O-rings, meant to expand to check against any opening in the joints, prevent ing leakage.

Having procured a bit of the O-ring rubber and put together a water-and-ice cocktail in his hotel room, Feynman went all prepared for what only he knew would not be yet another dreary public meeting. It started drearily enough, as he gestured wildly for a glass of iced water. When it came, he coolly dropped the rubber into it and switched on his microphone: ‘‘I took this rubber and put it in a clamp in ice water for a while. I discovered when you undo the clamp, the rubber doesn’t spring back. For more than a few seconds, there is no resilience in this particular material when it is at a temperature of 32 degrees (Fahrenheit). I believe it has some significance for our problem.’’

It did! All previous shuttle takeoffs had been at temperatures no less than 53 degrees. On January 28, 1986, the countdown took place at 28-29 degrees Fahrenheit. So the disaster. So the death of seven people, including Christa McAucliffe, meant to be the first schoolteacher in space. So the speculation whether NASA managers hushed doubts about safety in order to give Ronald Reagan a chance to have a sentimental moment in that night’s state-of-the-union address. And, indeed, so the eerie reverberation of the words of an executive at the company that manufactured the O-rings to his employees: ‘‘Take off your engineering hat and put on your management one.’’

And Feynman told us what happens when those hats are swapped.