Photo courtesy of NASA John Glenn enters the Friendship 7 capsule before embarking on NASA's first manned space mission in 1962. Former NLC student Melvin Korelitz pioneered the technology required to conquer the heat of re-entry and safely bring Glenn home.

THIS EDITION Volume 21, No. 2 February 27, 2003

Front Page

Space Pioneer

Space shuttle Columbia debris continues
to be found across North Texas as NASA
officials struggle to discover the cause of
their first re-entry failure in 41 years of
manned space flights.

Preliminary analysis indicates superheated air breached the outer skin of the ship, but how it did so is unclear, leading to a host of theories as to what could have happened 200,000 feet above the earth on the morning of Feb. 1 that led the Columbia, traveling at 18 times the speed of sound, to be torn apart, killing all seven astronauts onboard.

Was it the result of damage at liftoff? Or was it one of an army of other possibilities including a leaking landing-gear door, a ruptured fuel system or a collision with space junk?

Like the rest of America, former North Lake College student Melvin Korelitz doesn’t know why the orbiter broke up. But unlike most Americans, he fully understands the extraordinary re-entry forces of heat and friction that destroyed it. That’s because 41 years ago, he and his colleagues were among the first persons in the world to learn how to conquer them.

Korelitz, a soft-spoken, articulate 83-year-old who attended several art and sculpture classes on campus from 1993 to 2000, co-developed the first heat shield ever used to return an American astronaut to Earth.

Along with a partner, Korelitz started a small research lab called the Cincinnati Testing Laboratories in 1946. By 1958, the lab found itself working with NASA in the space race.

“The re-entry heat was a huge obstacle,” explained Korelitz, “and here we were with the job of overcoming it.”

NASA had initially attempted to use thick metal plates, but they only conducted the heat and weighed the spacecraft down.

To test new material, Korelitz said he and his colleagues needed to simulate the harsh, 3000-degree re-entry environment. They commandeered several huge, unused electric generators originally built for Cincinnati’s old trolley system. Using 13,000-volt arcs, they created an “arc plasma generator” powerful enough to mimic the intense heat a spacecraft would encounter.

“From there it was a lot of chemical trial and error,” said Korelitz.

The culmination of their efforts was the lightweight heat shield used during the Mercury missions and most famously on the Friendship 7 capsule, which safely carried the first American astronaut John Glenn into — and back from — space in 1962.

The revolutionary hard plastic shield, made of fiberglass and resins, still burned up, noted Korelitz. But it did so in a very slow and controlled way, consuming and dissipating heat energy through a chemical process called “ablation,” he said.

“It was like a big, melting dish the spacecraft sat on,” said Korelitz, adding it was nothing like the modern system of insulating fabrics and tiles that was in place to protect the Space Shuttle Columbia.

Korelitz, who now lives in a quiet retirement home in Mississippi only a few minutes from his son, daughter-in-law and grandson, devotes his time these days to family and a passion for sculpture.

Sculpture and science may not seem complementary at first blush, but Korelitz has always been one to use his mind and hands to create new objects, whether those objects are hard plastic heat shields or Bible-themed woodcarvings.

“Having strong curiosity and an active imagination are both important qualities for artists and scientists,” noted Marty Ray, Korelitz’s art teacher at NLC. “Both search the known and unknown for the inspiration of their work.”

Korelitz traces his love of sculpture back to his youth. “I remember when I was in sixth grade, I’d take bars of Ivory soap and carve them into all sorts of things. I guess that’s where it all started,” he said.

Today, Korelitz works with large wood logs on sculptures that can take years to complete. His works are very personal and he’s quick to point out he’d never sell any of his sculptures. “They take so long to do, it would be like selling my own children,” he said.

Ray characterized Korelitz as a patient and very motivated student. “He never missed a class, came early, and worked extra hours.”

Richard Widener, a fellow sculptor and friend who attended classes with Korelitz, described him as a low-key, modest gentleman. “He was never one to brag or talk about himself,” said Widener. In fact, Widener only learned of Korelitz’s extraordinary past through a casual conversation while working on a woodcarving. He later discovered Korelitz regularly performed volunteer work at local schools, even as driving became difficult.

“That’s just typical of him,” explained Widener.

Yet even with his focus in life seemingly so far removed from his former career, Korelitz made it clear he still cares very deeply about the future of space exploration. Asked if manned space flight should persist, Korelitz responded in the affirmative without hesitation.

While questions have been raised over NASA’s extensive use of outside contractors, Korelitz pointed out the practice — and the concern — is nothing new. “That was a worry Glenn voiced. ‘I’m sitting in a rocket built by the lowest bidder!’ ” Korelitz remembered Glenn saying.

But as a former contractor to NASA, Korelitz can vouch for the stringent NASA protocols. “There were pages and pages of specifications to meet, and we had to prove again and again that we could meet those specs.”

Ultimately, Korelitz believes manned space flight must go on and sees continued exploration as a manifestation of the American pioneer spirit.

“It’s a new frontier, like the American West once was,” he said. “There were great dangers there, but also great benefits.

“Space is no different.”