The 1962 Iowa Summer Study

Author’s note: this article was originally published in The Space Review.

In June of 1962, scientists from around the United States descended on Iowa City for a summer study on science in space. Among the roster of over 200 attendees were names like Van Allen, Kuiper, Shoemaker, Spitzer, Whipple, Drake, and Sagan. They were enticed by a nice brochure, a generous honorarium, and the promise that they could shape the future of space exploration.

In one of their invitation letters, study organizer Lloyd Berkner defined the stakes. “A number of the key people in NASA will devote themselves full time to the summer study,” he wrote, “and it is clear that the outcome of the summer’s deliberations will have a far reaching influence. If we as individual scientists do not provide a major input this summer, we may miss the boat…”1

An earlier draft of that letter had ended with the question: “WHERE WERE YOU WHEN THE DECISIONS WERE MADE IN THE SUMMER OF 1962?”2

An aerial map of the State University of Iowa Campus and surrounding amenities.3

Berkner was chair of the Space Science Board (SSB), a committee of the National Academy of Sciences (NAS). NASA administrator James E. Webb had directly requested that Berkner and the SSB organize the study with NASA funding. The two-month long event would conclude with a direct report to Webb himself.

The Iowa Summer Study, as it came to be known, convened at a critical moment. A year earlier, President John F. Kennedy had established the goal of landing a man on the Moon. Then, in November 1961, an “Office of Space Sciences” appeared on NASA’s organizational chart, with mathematician Homer Newell at the head. Science’s place in NASA, and in the Apollo program, was being actively negotiated. But the agency’s relationship to the outside scientific community was uncertain, shifting, and often tense.4 

The SSB had been created in 1958, the same year as NASA, specifically to advise government agencies. Berkner approached this role with a gusto that was not always well-received.5 Early NASA officials often saw outside scientists as presumptuous regarding their potential influence. For their part, some of the scientists on the SSB had played leading roles in the rocket programs that preceded the creation of NASA, and knew that science was one of the only practical uses for rockets beyond weaponry.6 It may have been from this position that some desired, or presumed to already possess, significant input on the space program as a whole.

And while Webb and Newell were in the process of developing in-house scientific talent, they both knew that NASA would need a good working relationship with the broader scientific community. By the end of 1961, Newell noticed that many scientists in the academic community increasingly felt like outsiders, unable to influence the direction of instruments they would be expected to use.7 Meanwhile, NASA’s launch capabilities were expanding, and the Moon was now looming on the horizon.

Webb himself was highly sympathetic to the scientists and the SSB. He was a good friend of Berkner, and had even participated in a NAS summer study on transportation.8 Summer studies like these were an established practice by this point, used by both the Department of Defense and the NAS to bring experts together on specific problems or questions.9 But the scope, purpose, and timing of the Iowa Summer Study made it somewhat unique.

To Newell, Iowa was in part an opportunity to heal an essential relationship before it worsened. To Berkner, it was a chance to preserve and deepen the influence of the SSB during NASA’s formative years. To Webb, it was a way to gather information on the best way to achieve his president’s goals in space. And for the scientists, it was an opportunity to learn more about NASA, and perhaps influence the trajectory of the nation’s space program just as it got off the ground.

The Summer of ‘62

James Van Allen was a natural fit to chair the study. He was a key member of the early rocket groups, and his experiments flew on the first US satellite, Explorer I. He was also a member of the SSB. And so his home institution, the State University of Iowa, was chosen as the venue, and preparations began early in 1962. 

On the planning team’s priority list, the evaluation of NASA’s existing scientific program was item number one. But they also intended to consider “long-range scientific goals in space science” more broadly.10 SSB planners sent multiple invitations to a long list of scientists. A brochure sold the amenities of the university and the surrounding area, hoping to get busy scientists to commit to a two month program. 

An Aerial map of the State University of Iowa Campus and surrounding amenities.11

There was major competition for their attention–for example, the Navy was conducting their own space-related study and astronomer Gerard Kuiper was moving his growing Lunar and Planetary Lab into new facilities.12 Despite the challenges, they ended up with a solid list of full-time participants, and the roster expanded further because part-time participation was quite feasible. The study was broken up into working groups, and participants could show up when the relevant working group was meeting.

Eighteen working groups covered almost every aspect of space science imaginable, including astronomy, solar system atmospheres, particles and fields, and meteorological rockets and satellites. Some working groups covered topics beyond basic scientific research, considering NASA’s relationship with universities, international cooperation, and the social and economic implications of the space program. Working groups met promptly at 9 AM and continued until the end of the work day, with a break for lunch. NASA officials often kicked off the working group sessions with explanations of existing NASA programs, and direct guidance on the sort of advice they sought.

The active and extensive involvement of NASA officials in these sessions reinforced the notion that this study might seriously influence their planning. And in public statements near the end of the study, Webb reiterated this idea. “We are financing this study to bring the best brains in our universities and industries together here, to say what’s wise for the United States to do,” he said in a press conference in Iowa, “and we expect to follow their advice wherever we can.”  When asked what made this study different from similar ones in previous years, Webb replied that it was the timing: “You don’t any longer have to argue the United States ought to have a [space] program,” he said, “now you’ve got to address yourself specifically what should the program be, in detail.”13

After Webb received briefings in August, participants compiled their work into a massive formal report titled A Review of Space Research, containing a panoramic view of scientific disciplines in the middle of 1962.14 James Van Allen, in an August address, likened the report to “an anthology of detective stories–very good ones!” But, he pointed out, these stories remained largely incomplete.15 The question remained how much impact these stories would actually have on NASA, and Apollo was one of the biggest tests.

The Future of Apollo

The working groups most relevant to Apollo were the Working Group on Lunar and Planetary Research and the Working Group on Man as a Scientist in Space Exploration. Many NASA officials attended their sessions, including Charles Sonett from NASA’s Ames Research Center and Joseph Shea from the Office of Manned Space Flight (OMSF). Sonett asked Lunar and Planetary participants to focus on specific recommendations, and gave direct feedback on proposals for pre-Apollo lunar sample return and budgetary issues.16 Shea had also made an earlier request for proposals of experiments to be run by the Apollo crew.17

The Subgroup on Scientific Undertakings for Man in Space (chaired by Gerard Kuiper and geologist Eugene Shoemaker, with Carl Sagan as secretary) took up broader questions of science in Apollo and beyond. A variety of NASA and DoD officials contributed, including Sonett and Verne Fryklund Jr., acting director of the Office of Space Sciences. In this group, Sonett distributed a draft report that his internal NASA committee on Apollo science had put together.18

This document would become known as the Sonett Report, and it had been specifically requested by the OMSF earlier in the year.19 Sonett’s committee, which included Shoemaker, had met during the Iowa Summer Study to produce this draft. The Iowa working group then made recommendations that influenced the final report.

In 1963, Fryklund sent a memo to director Robert Gilruth at the Manned Spacecraft Center (MSC, also present in Iowa) with guidelines on the scientific objectives for the Apollo program. In it, he outlined the Sonett report and the incorporation of the Iowa Summer Study recommendations.20 In the end this meant prioritizing generalized observation, sample collection, and deployment of monitoring equipment like seismometers. 

These recommendations seem to have influenced Apollo scientific planning in a fairly general sense. Apollo scientific planners Noel Hinners and Donald Beattie, neither of whom actually attended, both saw the discussions in Iowa as foundational for their work.21 But while these early reports may have broadly influenced mission architecture, many of their specific recommendations would not make it to actual Apollo missions.22 And one of their strongest recommendations would end up being firmly denied.

The SSB had sent out a questionnaire earlier in the year, which W.W. Kellogg summarized in Review.23 “Should a scientist (at least one) be a member of the first Apollo crew?” one question read. Kellogg’s summary of the responses included what may be the only exclamation point in the entire document: “Emphatically, ‘Yes!’”24

This was also the conclusion of both the Iowa working groups and the Sonett Report. But Shoemaker’s memory of Iowa was not a pleasant one, because he got the sense that this advice was already falling on deaf ears. In a 1988 interview, historian Ron Doel asked Shoemaker about Iowa.

“It was perfectly plain that [the MSC representatives] didn’t want scientists sticking their damn noses in any way into the whole venture,” Shoemaker recalled. “They regarded us as a huge nuisance. It was offensive.”25 In the end, a scientist would not fly on an Apollo mission until Apollo 17.

But tensions surrounding Apollo went even deeper. Some in the scientific community had already been vocal about their opposition to the Apollo program altogether. In Iowa, this conflict became more direct as NASA officials and scientists were thrown into the same rooms. Iowa Journalism professor William Porter was tasked with making observations, and in a reflection written near the end of the Study, mentions what he called “steamy sessions” that addressed the question of overall national goals.26

The summary in Review characterized these discussions as revealing “considerable confusion about the Apollo mission and its proper justifications.”27 This impression likely came both from those opposed to Apollo, and those who saw Apollo as a primarily scientific mission. NASA officials emphasized to the scientists that Apollo was primarily an engineering effort, and that science (while important) was firmly secondary.

Some scientists, for their part, “sensed what they felt was a confusion between public relations and science,” Porter wrote.28 Some scientists in Iowa expressed fear that a veneer of science was being used to legitimize the Apollo program, a scenario made worse by their perception that Apollo was drawing funds away from productive scientific projects.29

These concerns made it all the way to the Oval Office a few months later, when JFK asked Webb about the possibility of doing exactly that to expedite a lunar landing. Webb made a vigorous defense of science, with arguments echoing those presented to him in Iowa.

Webb told the President that “if I go out and say that [Apollo] is the number-one priority and that everything else must give way to it, I’m going to lose an important element of support for your program and for your administration…particularly the brainy people in the industry and in the universities who are looking at a solid base.”30 In the end, they did not move forward with concepts of a “crash” program.31

Webb was trying to both support his president’s goals and maintain a solid relationship with the scientific community–a delicate balancing act. Early in 1963, he used direct quotes from Review to justify Apollo in scientific terms during a speech in Chicago.32 Regardless of his intentions, this may have been exactly the sort of legitimization tactic that some who contributed to the report had feared.

Both Berkner and Newell also tried to smooth things over with scientists in Iowa and beyond. They emphasized that Apollo was happening regardless, so the scientists should get on board. Many accepted this to varying degrees, but tensions around Apollo would never fully disappear.

Impact and Continuing Studies

In his final address, Berkner highlighted several topics where he felt the Study had made significant contributions. In addition to lunar science and Apollo, Berkner pointed to discussions concerning the search for extraterrestrial life, investigation of the origins of life, and the sterilization of spacecraft.33

Another topic that emerged was the potential of large space telescopes. Astronomer Leo Goldberg was chair of the astronomy working group. In 1978, Goldberg told Spencer Weart that it was the SSB that connected him directly to NASA. “The big thing I remember about Iowa,” he said, “is that we learned for the first time that it was going to be possible to rendezvous and dock in space. And right away we all began to think: gee, this is how you build a big telescope in space, or a big laboratory.”34 This was exactly the sort of thing many organizers hoped would come out of these meetings.

The overall impression from both the report and observers was that in spite of any disagreements, the scientists in Iowa generally endorsed NASA’s existing programs, recognized that NASA had hired some competent people, and provided a set of detailed and actionable recommendations at a crucial juncture in the organization’s history.35

Throughout, Porter reflected, most scientists had taken their task very seriously. They had strayed, sometimes, beyond their purview, often to the annoyance of the administrators. But Porter had the impression that the scientists were very aware of how limited their influence might ultimately be, and persisted regardless.

Porter speculated about why the scientists would have approached the proceedings in this way: “…many individual scientists feel responsibile(sic), in a curious kind of way, for NASA; they feel that the society at large may hold them responsible as a group for the operations of science in space, as they feel that the society at large holds science responsible for the atomic bomb and the things that followed it.”36

The relationship between the SSB and NASA deepened in the years following Iowa. The SSB appeared by name on NASA organizational charts starting in August 1962, with a dotted line connecting it directly to the Administrator. The NAS would remain on these organizational charts until 1977.37

Van Allen would refer to A Review of Space Research as “a classical document and became the prototype for subsequent studies by the SSB.”38 The next study after Iowa took place at Woods Hole, Massachusetts in 1965. There, scientists continued some conversations left off in Iowa, including discussions of the “Large Orbital Telescope.” Goldberg was present once again, and remembered the hopeful atmosphere of the Woods Hole meeting. “At the time, the future just seemed unlimited,” he said.39

NASA historian Joseph Alexander explains that after Iowa, “summer studies remained a staple of the SSB’s activities through the 1970s.”40 The 1980s saw summer studies that rivaled the Iowa study in scale, he writes, before their frequency eventually declined under budgetary pressure.

Special thanks to Hemlock Stanier, Graduate Student Lead at The University of Iowa Special Collections & Archives, who found and scanned items of interest in the James Van Allen Papers. Their work in helping me navigate and access the collection was invaluable. Thanks also to Dwayne Day for assistance and suggestions in the early stages of this project.

Footnotes

  1. Lloyd Berkner, letter to Abelson, March 2, 1962, Box 284, James A. Van Allen Papers (RG99.0142), Special Collections & Archives, University of Iowa Libraries. ↩︎
  2. RC Peavey, telegram to J A Van Allen, March 1, 1962, Box 284, James A. Van Allen Papers (RG99.0142), Special Collections & Archives, University of Iowa Libraries. ↩︎
  3. Space Science Summer Study brochure, Box 285, James A. Van Allen Papers (RG99.0142), Special Collections & Archives, University of Iowa Libraries. ↩︎
  4. See Homer Newell, Beyond the Atmosphere: Early Years of Space Science (NASA, 1980) https://ntrs.nasa.gov/citations/19810012433  ↩︎
  5. Newell, p 212  ↩︎
  6. The Rocket Panel went by many names over the years, and had overlapping membership with various scientific advisory groups. This embryonic program also included the IGY committee. See Newell’s account of the Rocket Panel and IGY program in Beyond, pp 25–58. See also Joseph K. Alexander, Science Advice to NASA: Conflict, Consensus, Partnership, Leadership (NASA, 2017) pp 5–11. ↩︎
  7. Newell, pp 206–207 ↩︎
  8. Oral history transcript, James E. Webb, interview 1, April 29, 1969, by T.H. Baker, LBJ Presidential Library, pp 3–5 https://discoverlbj.org/item/oh-webbj-19690429-1-74-266 ↩︎
  9. For example, the USAF and the Navy had been using summer studies in the early 1950s. See Dwayne Day, Lighting Rod: A History of the Air Force Chief Scientist’s Office (USAF, 2000), p 39 ↩︎
  10. “Suggested Topics for Consideration,” January 31, 1962, Box 284, James A. Van Allen Papers (RG99.0142), Special Collections & Archives, University of Iowa Libraries. ↩︎
  11. Space Science Summer Study brochure, Box 285, James A. Van Allen Papers (RG99.0142), Special Collections & Archives, University of Iowa Libraries. ↩︎
  12. Kuiper to Berkner; Peavey to Kellogg, Box 284, James A. Van Allen Papers (RG99.0142), Special Collections & Archives, University of Iowa Libraries. ↩︎
  13. “Space Science Press Conference,” 1962–08–23, University of Maryland, American Archive of Public Broadcasting (GBH and the Library of Congress), Boston, MA and Washington, DC, accessed April 28, 2026, http://americanarchive.org/catalog/cpb-aacip-500-qf8jjp77. ↩︎
  14. A Review of Space Research, National Academy of Sciences — National Research Council, (Washington, D.C.: The National Academies Press, 1962) https://doi.org/10.17226/12421 ↩︎
  15. James A. Van Allen, “Resume of Summer Study Program”, August 8, 1962, p 3, Box 287, 1962 James A. Van Allen Papers (RG99.0142), Special Collections & Archives, University of Iowa Libraries. ↩︎
  16. “Minutes of the Lunar and Planetary Research Working Group”, Jun 25, (p 1), June 29, (p 4–5), Box 289, James A. Van Allen Papers (RG99.0142), Special Collections & Archives, University of Iowa Libraries. ↩︎
  17. Ibid, July 2, p. 2 ↩︎
  18. “Minutes of Meeting of Working Group on Man as a Scientist in Space Exploration,” Box 288, James A. Van Allen Papers (RG99.0142), Special Collections & Archives, University of Iowa Libraries. ↩︎
  19. “Report of the Ad Hoc Working Group on Apollo Experiments and Training on the Scientific Aspects of the Apollo Program,” December 15, 1963. https://www.lpi.usra.edu/lunar/documents/SonettReport.pdf  ↩︎
  20. Fryklund to Gilruth, “Scientific Guidelines for the Apollo Project,” October 8, 1963, in Exploring the Unknown, Volume VII (NASA), 2008), SP-2008–4407, p 617 ↩︎
  21. Donald Beattie, Taking Science to the Moon: Lunar Experiments and the Apollo Program, (Johns Hopkins University Press, 2001), p xiv, https://archive.org/details/takingsciencetom0000beat; Hinners to Wright, August 18, 2010, (p 11–12), https://www.nasa.gov/wp-content/uploads/2025/02/hinnersnw-8-18-10.pdf?emrc=c494ad ↩︎
  22. See David Portree, “Apollo Science and Sites: The Sonett Report (1963)”, https://spaceflighthistory.blogspot.com/2019/11/apollo-science-and-sites-sonett-report.html  ↩︎
  23. Some of the most extensive responses came from Carl Sagan, Thomas Gold, and Harold Urey; Kellogg to Nelson, “Review of Answers to Space Science Board Questions on “Scientific Program for the Apollo Mission”, July 23, 1962, Box 288, James A. Van Allen Papers (RG99.0142), Special Collections & Archives, University of Iowa Libraries. ↩︎
  24. Review, Chapter 11, pp 17–19  ↩︎
  25. Eugene Shoemaker, interview by Ron Doel, session IV, September 8, 1988, transcript, Niels Bohr Library and Archives, American Institute of Physics, pp 6–7 https://repository.aip.org/node/128785; It’s somewhat unclear if Shoemaker is remembering the Iowa Summer Study specifically, or the Sonett group meetings that had convened in Iowa earlier that year. He may be conflating them, and exaggerating their attitudes, but NASA officials certainly tried to temper the expectations of scientists in the study meetings, and comments in the working group meeting minutes could be fairly interpreted as saying that scientists would likely NOT be included on early Apollo missions. ↩︎
  26. William Porter, “The Context of the Space Science Summer Study”, p 3, Box 287, James A. Van Allen Papers (RG99.0142), Special Collections & Archives, University of Iowa Libraries. ↩︎
  27. Review, Chapter 1, pp 21–22 ↩︎
  28. Ibid, p 3 ↩︎
  29. Newell, 208 ↩︎
  30. “Transcript of Presidential Meeting in the Cabinet Room of the White House,” November 21, 1962, Prepared by Dwayne Day from John F. Kennedy Library Presdient’s Office files, NASA, p 15–18 https://www.nasa.gov/wp-content/uploads/static/history/jfk-webbconv/pages/transcript.pdf 
    ↩︎
  31. For additional context and analysis, see Dwayne Day, https://www.nasa.gov/history/JFK-Webbconv/pages/backgnd.html  ↩︎
  32. James Webb, “Keynote Address — National Goals in the Space Age,” in Proceedings of the Conference on Space-Age Planning (NASA, 1963), p. 5–7; Webb acknowledged some of the scientific dissent and the recommendation for a scientist on the first Apollo crews, but largely emphasized scientific opportunities created by Apollo.  ↩︎
  33. Lloyd Berkner, “Closing Remarks,” August 9, 1962, Box 287, James A. Van Allen Papers (RG99.0142), Special Collections & Archives, University of Iowa Libraries.  ↩︎
  34. Goldberg to Weart, transcript, May 17, 1982 Niels Bohr Library and Archives, American Institute of Physics, p 81 https://repository.aip.org/node/127942  ↩︎
  35. See Review, Porter, and Newell  ↩︎
  36. Porter, p 2  ↩︎
  37. See https://www.nasa.gov/history/historical-organizational-charts/  ↩︎
  38. See: https://articles.adsabs.harvard.edu//full/1990AREPS..18….1V/0000019.000.html ↩︎
  39. Goldberg, p 84  ↩︎
  40. Alexander, 25 ↩︎
Featured

The First Photograph of the Earth From the Moon: A Visual History

On August 23, 1966, the team behind NASA’s Lunar Orbiter I captured the first image of Earth as seen from the Moon. You will sometimes see an updated version of this image, in fantastic resolution with all imperfections erased. It is an impressive restoration created by the Lunar Orbiter Image Recovery Project (LOIRP) in 2008, and just one example of the amazing work done by the LOIRP. But my favorite version will always be the original, because to me the imperfections are an essential part of the image. They are artifacts of the tools used to create that image, and they tell a story of incredible ingenuity.

Below, you can see the image that was plastered across the front page of the New York Times a few days after the Lunar Orbiter teams captured it. You can probably see the vertical stripes that line the image. These exist because the picture is built from 35mm film strips laid next to each other and composited together. It was the final step of a process that started by exposing and developing 70mm aerial film onboard the spacecraft using an Eastman Kodak camera system. Here is the story of how engineers retrieved this image and others like it, and delivered them to NASA at a critical time for the agency and the country.

A closeup of the frame 102 from Lunar Orbiter I, with the stripes on the crescent Earth visible. Source: NASA (hosted at archive.org)
The medium resolution shot from frame 102. Source: NASA/LOIRP

The pictures of the Earth weren’t part of the plan, and they almost didn’t happen. The primary goal for Lunar Orbiter was to help find landing sites for Apollo, and there were particular target areas planned for imaging on Lunar Orbiter I.

Team members had discussed the possibility of photographing the Earth, and NASA officials were enthusiastic about the idea1. But they would have to convince Boeing Program Manager Robert J. Helberg to make it happen. Helberg was afraid of the risks that the operation might entail to the spacecraft, and the possibility that the required maneuvers would cause them to lose contact with Lunar Orbiter. He was worried about the company’s performance incentive if something went wrong.2 This was a reasonable concern, considering how complex and delicate the spacecraft was.

Below, you can see the camera that made it happen, and the Lunar Orbiter spacecraft that carried the camera along with a handful of other scientific instruments. 

The camera was originally created for a classified Air Force surveillance satellite called SAMOS. In my history of the camera system, I detailed how the camera came to be, and how it was eventually adopted by NASA.

In short, Kodak devised a system for taking medium resolution and high resolution images simultaneously on the same strip of film. This film was routed through the spacecraft, where it was pressed against Kodak’s “Bimat” film, which developed and fixed the image. A flying spot scanner shot an electron beam through the film, and variations in the density of the film resulting from the image changed the intensity of the beam. Those variations were captured by a photomultiplier on the other side of the film, where they were translated into electronic signals that were sent back to Earth for reconstruction.

The camera schematic seen in Lunar Orbiter From: NASA/Boeing
Lunar Orbiter’s readout system From: NASA/Boeing

Lunar Orbiter officials Floyd Thompson, Clifford Nelson, and Lee Scherer went to JPL to change Helberg’s mind about taking the images of Earth. “They convinced Helberg that the picture was worth the risk,” writes NASA historian Bruce Byers, “and that NASA would make compensation in the event of an unexpected mishap with the spacecraft.”3 NASA historian James Hansen also describes how “the enthusiasm of his own staff for the undertaking” played a major role in changing Helberg’s mind.4

The Lunar Orbiter team put together a plan to reorient the spacecraft for photography of Earth on orbits 16 and 27. You can see the diagrams of the position and maneuvers for these photographs below.

Once the images were taken, they were developed and stored on the spacecraft. The team transmitted the photographs to Earth a few days later, where they would go through the reconstruction process, a multipart procedure that started at the Deep Space Instrumentation Facilities scattered across the world. The three primary stations used for Lunar Orbiter were in Goldstone, Madrid, and Woomera.5

A diagram showing the photographic transmission and reconstruction system from the Lunar Orbiter III contractor report. From NASA. 
A map of facilities that participated in tracking and data for Lunar Orbiter. From NASA/Boeing

For the most part, the plan was to perform readout of the film near the end of the mission, but the Lunar Orbiter team did have the ability to perform near-real-time imagery through “manual reassembly” of the images at the ground stations in Madrid, Spain, and Woomera, Australia. 

They used this ability primarily to check the quality of the photographs, especially near the beginning of the mission, but they also used this process to get the images of Earth back mid-flight. At 9:30 PM on August 25, the station near Madrid began to receive the first images of the Earth from the Moon. The image took 43 minutes to arrive.6 In the receiving station, the picture materialized on a kinescope tube, and was captured on 35mm film by a special camera pointing at the tube.

This was accomplished using the specialized ground reconstruction electronics (GRE), shown below.

LO team members at the GRE at one of the Deep Space Stations. From NASA/Boeing

The film was then looped to reconstruct the full frame as it existed on the original 70mm film onboard the spacecraft. This reconstruction process created the stripes that make Lunar Orbiter photography so distinctive. 

On the bottom of each film strip, you can see the pre-exposed “edge data” that was used to aid in the reconstruction of each frame.

From: NASA/Boeing

Below, you can see more images of the GRE used to commit the images to the 35mm film, creating the component strips of the larger frames.

Another angle of the GRE. From this angle, you can see the lens pointed toward the kinescope tube. From NASA/US National Archives
A closeup of the lens and film setup of the GRE camera. From NASA/US National Archives

The manual reconstruction process was fairly laborious, and the plan was to use automatic reconstruction machines for the bulk of the images at the end of each mission. Reconstruction aside from the near real time imagery took place at Eastman Kodak facilities in Rochester, New York, using a reassembly printer (when possible) that transferred the full frames to 9.5 inch film.

The automatic printing process. From NASA/Boeing

The machine projected “framelets” side by side to form composite images. The famous Earth photograph is itself a combination of three images from the high resolution lens–Frame 102, H1-H3. The result is a spectacular panoramic vista, with the Earth hanging just above the Moon’s limb.

Ann Kilgore (left), mayor of Hampton, Virginia, looks at the photograph with Langley Director Floyd Thompson. Source: NASA

NASA officials and official histories considered the image an outstanding success.8 Before this, the Soviet Union was largely winning the space race. Their lunar exploration program had racked up numerous achievements: first flyby (Luna 1) and first impactor (Luna 2), first images of the lunar farside (Luna 3), first lander (Luna 9), and first orbiter (Luna 10). For the United States, the image of the Earth from the Moon was one of their first big “wins” in the space race. The fact that it was such an astounding visual certainly helped.

Left to right sit Oran Nicks, Floyd Thompson, Cliff Nelson, Isadore Recant, and standing, geologist Larry Rowan. Source: NASA (clipped from Kindle edition)

Beyond this accomplishment, the Lunar Orbiters helped comprehensively map the Moon, and achieved their primary objective of scouting for Apollo landing sites. The imagery from the first three Lunar Orbiters was so useful that scientists were able to have more control over the flight plan for the last two LO spacecraft. 

Frame 102 actually directly influenced the scientists’ decision making once they were in the drivers’ seat. For the most part, the plan was to take images from a very direct top-down perspective. But the unplanned image contained oblique angles of the lunar surface, which proved useful to scientists who were trying to grapple with lunar topography. Frame 102 directly led to plans for more oblique angle photographs on later missions.9

Despite the images of the Earth taken by Apollo a few years later, that first image of the Earth from the Moon holds a special place in the history of space exploration. Journalists and Kodak’s Colorama referred to it as “the picture of the century,” a phrase that has also been used for Lunar Orbiter II’s oblique photograph of the crater Copernicus. Hansen believes, however, that in the eyes of the Lunar Orbiter team, Frame 102 was the picture that truly deserved the title.10

  1. Sources are somewhat unclear about whether it was NASA employees or Boeing engineers who first raised the possibility. The Lunar Orbiter I report says the idea was discussed by flight operations during early stages of the project but never put into any firm plans. It goes on to say that “the first serious thought of taking such a photo was expressed by NASA personnel.” (p 64). In James Hansen’s history of NASA Langley, he writes that “Boeing engineers realized that the Lunar Orbiter project presented a unique opportunity for photographing the earth.” and that the Lunar Orbiter project staff were “all for it.” (pp. 344-345) His source is Byers, but Byers makes no claim about the origins of the idea. Both Byers and Hansen were also writing based on separate interviews with Spacecraft Manager Israel Taback.  It seems plausible that the idea was raised during early discussion by Boeing engineers, and stuck in the heads of NASA officials, who persisted in pushing for it even though it wasn’t included in the flight plan. ↩︎
  2. Bruce Byers, Destination Moon: A History of the Lunar Orbiter Program, April 1977, NASA, pp 241-242, https://ntrs.nasa.gov/citations/19770016195 ↩︎
  3. Byers, pp 241-242 ↩︎
  4. James R. Hansen, Spaceflight Revolution: NASA Langley Research Center from Sputnik to Apollo, NASA, January 1995, pp. 344-345. https://ntrs.nasa.gov/citations/19950021264 ↩︎
  5. Most of the engineering information in this post comes directly from Lunar Orbiter contract documents. For more detail, see Lunar Orbiter I: Photographic Mission Summary, NASA/Boeing, April 1967, pp. 50-53, https://hdl.handle.net/2027/uiug.30112106582528; also Lunar Orbiter I: Photography, NASA/Boeing, August 1967, https://ntrs.nasa.gov/citations/19670023005 ↩︎
  6. “How the Earth Looks From the Moon,” The New York Times (New York, NY), August 26, 1966, https://www.nytimes.com/1966/08/26/archives/how-the-earth-looks-from-the-moon-first-picture-shows-cover-of.html ↩︎
  7. Lunar Orbiter slide collection, 146:13, Kodak Historical Collection, D.319, Rare Books, Special Collections, and Preservation, River Campus Libraries, University of Rochester ↩︎
  8. See Byers and Hansen. ↩︎
  9. Byers, p 243, and Lunar Orbiter I: Photography, p 33 ↩︎
  10. Hansen, footnote 66, pp 506. Hansen reports that he was “not able to track down the exact source of the phrase.” In most other sources I have come across, the Copernicus photo has the “picture of the century” designation. Hansen seems to have strong reasons to think that Frame 102 had the title first, and that it came from within Kodak. I will try to return to Kodak archives again soon, with this question in mind. ↩︎

Exploring the Far Side of the Moon: A Visual History

Lunar exploration has always held a strange position in the history of exploration. For all of human history, people have been staring up at the Moon, and for centuries astronomers used telescopes to study the lunar surface. The telescopic surveying and mapping of the Moon by astronomers can (and should, I think) be considered a form of exploration. From this perspective, the Moon had been thoroughly explored far before the dawn of the Space Age. But on the other hand, because of the nature of the Moon’s orbit, the Moon also possessed some of the most mysterious and inaccessible terrain that ever taunted exploration-minded humans.

The Moon is tidally locked, meaning that only one side of the Moon ever faces the Earth. And so for all those millennia of Moon-gazing, there was an entire half of our natural satellite that no human had ever seen before. We would only get our first look at the end of the 1950s, and it would take even longer for us to complete a full map of the Moon. Here is a visual history of how we did it, designed to guide you through the process, even if you aren’t yet familiar with any lunar features.

First, let’s look at the near side of the Moon. The dark parts are the maria, Latin for “seas.” The brighter parts are, generally, called the highlands.

Needs no introduction. From NASA

The maria provide helpful landmarks for understanding how the far side of the Moon was revealed, and I have highlighted a few helpful maria below. In red you can see the Sea of Tranquility, probably the most famous mare, since that’s where Apollo 11 landed. But the other ones I have marked will be the most helpful landmarks for this history. We will especially be tracking Grimaldi, really a crater on the western limb (edge) of the Moon with a mare floor. Over on the eastern limb, highlighted in green, is the Mare Humboldtianum. I’ve highlighted Mare Crisium in blue, since it is large and distinctive. But mainly keep your eye on Grimaldi and Humboldtianum.

ORANGE: Grimaldi Crater, RED: Sea of Tranquility (Mare Tranquillitatis) , BLUE: Mare Crisium, GREEN: Mare Humboldtianum

Oddly, even though the moon is tidally locked, we have been able to see small portions of the far side, due to a wobbling motion called lunar libration. You can see libration happening in the animation below. You might be able to notice that Humboldtianum actually disappears over the limb at certain times. Because of libration, we have actually been able to see more than fifty percent of the lunar surface for a long time. In the 17th century, astronomers began using telescopes to study the extent of libration, and to extend lunar maps slightly.1

File:Lunar libration with phase Oct 2007 HD.gif
Lunar Libration, from Wikimedia

William Gilbert and Galileo were some of the first astronomers to detect and measure libration, and to attempt mapping the Moon in detail.2 Over time, astronomers began depicting the effects of libration on their maps, which can be seen very well in Johannes Hevelius‘ 1647 map from his Selenographia. The slivers on the northern and southern edges of the map show which areas come in and out of view through libration, and you can see that the effect is slightly more pronounced near the poles. You might even be able to find Humboldtianum on this map.

Hevelius was using some traditional astronomical measuring devices, but he was also using telescopes of his own construction.3

We also see libration depicted on the map below, made by Giovanni Battista Riccioli in collaboration with Francesco Maria Grimaldi in 1651. Riccioli’s naming scheme was one of the most influential, and our maps today retain many of his names. You can see Mare Tranquillitatus and Mare Crisium on this map, for example. You can also see that Riccioli named the crater Grimaldi after his illustrator. He also named a nearby crater after himself, and yet another in the vicinity after Hevelius. Humboldtianum, however, is named Zoroaster on Riccioli’s map.

Below, you can see the effects of libration on the visibility of Zoroaster/Humboldtianum. It’s helpful to note the positions of Aristotle, Hercules, Atlas, and Endymion. They can help you orient yourself around the northeastern limb.

This view was the one that astronomers had for the next several centuries. Better telescopes allowed observers to add a little more detail near the limbs, but observing features there would always prove extremely difficult. For the time being, the far side of the Moon would remain obscured. We can get a decent idea of the extent of our knowledge using John Russell’s Selenographia, an amazing lunar globe from 1797.4

John Russell’s Selenographia, a lunar globe made in 1797. All images of globe from Science Museum Group. This image is released under a CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 Licence

On the back of the globe, you can see the blank spots on our map. You can also see clever mechanisms Russell devised to display the movement of the Moon caused by libration.

The back of Russell’s globe, showing blank space with inscriptions, and mechanisms for displaying libration.

If we take a closer look at the western limb, we can see Grimaldi clearly, with Riccioli and Hevelius nearby. We can also see that Russell has filled in a lot of the area sometimes hidden through libration to the west of that area. This is where his map became more difficult to align with real features on the lunar surface. This is partly because that area is heavily cratered, and gives us a tantalizing glimpse at one of the largest and most complex surface features on the Moon.

The western edge of Russell’s globe, with Grimaldi highlighted in orange.

If we look really closely at the western limb as libration brings more westward features into view, we see what looks like some layered mountains, interspersed with dark surfaces. Russell looks to be depicting some of these mountains, and the darker areas between them. These seemed to go unnoticed by other astronomers until the late nineteenth century, when Russell’s darker areas begin to appear on maps again. But there is another dark mare beyond those mountains, and in the early twentieth century, German astronomer Julius Franz gave it the name Mare Orientale.5

We wouldn’t be able to get a better look at the far side of the Moon until we invented a way to send cameras there. At the dawn of the Space Age, rockets gave us the ability to do just that. In 1959, Soviet engineers created a series of robotic probes, and launched them toward the Moon. One of these managed a lunar flyby, and was named Luna 3. Engineers equipped Luna 3 with a film camera, capable of developing the exposed film, scanning the images, and transmitting them back to Earth by radio. For a fantastic look at the technology involved here, and some of the images, check out Don P. Mitchell’s website. You should also read Sven Grahn’s work on how Jodrell Bank radio observatory in England intercepted the images as they returned.

In October of 1959, in a cramped room on the Crimean Peninsula, Russian engineers Boris Chertok, Sergei Korolev, and colleagues watched as images materialized slowly on heat-sensitive paper.6 Here is the first image we have of the far side of the Moon:

File:Luna 3 moon.jpg
The first photograph of the far side of the Moon (1959). From Wikimedia.

It is not the highest quality, but it is fairly amazing that it was possible at all in 1959, given the early state of the technology. Below, I’ve highlighted our landmark maria for reference–we’re seeing around the eastern limb. While distinct craters are hard to make out, we can easily see some new maria. The ones to the right and south of Mare Crisium are Mare Smythii and Mare Marignis (we had some glimpses of them on the eastern limb before Luna). But way out there on the right hand side of the image are two entirely new, entirely distinctive maria. The large one in the north was named Mare Moscoviense. The one in the south with the peak in the middle is the crater Tsiolkovskiy, named for the pioneering Russian rocket scientist.

Russian astronomer Yuri Naumovich Lipsky led the effort to interpret the images and begin a map of the lunar far side. His efforts led to the following maps:

Schematic chart. You can probably spot Crisium and Humboldtianum. From Zdeněk Kopal’s Mapping of the Moon: Past and Present.

This globe was produced, which is a fantastic glimpse at how much of the surface Luna 3 managed to add to our map. But you can clearly see the massive blank spot, and Mare Orientale remains frustratingly in mystery.

It would remain that way until 1965, when Soviet engineers sent another robotic spacecraft past the Moon. Zond 3, which may have been destined for Mars, flew by the Moon equipped with another film-based system, and captured a handful of images. To see more about the technical details of Zond 3 and its flight, you should check out Andrew LePage’s website. And once again, Don P. Mitchell has an incredible collection of Soviet lunar photographs.

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Zond 2 – Zond 3 was part of the same series of spacecraft. From Wikimedia.

And, for the first time, we see Mare Orientale in its entirety:

Zond 3, Frame 3, the first full look at Mare Orientale, originally processed by Yu. N. Lipsky (1965). From Don P. Mitchell’s excellent website.

Here’s a reminder of where we are, to orient ourselves. Zond 3 is giving us a glimpse over the western limb, past Grimaldi:

Zond 3, frame 18. From Don P. Mitchell (seriously, go check out his website).

And once again, Lipsky went to work putting all this new data on the map. You should be able to see Crisium, Humboldtianum, and Grimaldi for reference. We can now see Orientale, Muscioviense, and Tsiolkovskiy in their proper positions. But notice, there are still blank spots on the map.

Then, in 1966 and 1967, NASA sent five robotic probes to the Moon: the Lunar Orbiters. The Eastman Kodak company adapted camera systems they had designed for the Air Force to the task of mapping the Moon in preparation for the Apollo program.7 The teams behind Lunar Orbiter took thousands of incredibly high resolution images of the lunar surface. The first several Lunar Orbiters were mainly used to scout out landing sites for Apollo on the near side. But even on Lunar Orbiter I, they managed to capture some images of the far side. One of them was this shot, with Tsilkovskiy sitting in the foreground of the first “Earthrise” image ever captured.

What made Lunar Orbiter distinct from the Soviet efforts was not only the number of images, but the level of detail that each image contained. Two lenses allowed the simultaneous capture of both medium-resolution and high resolution images, like this one showing the central peak of Tsiolkovsky and its inner walls.

On Lunar Orbiter IV and V, scientists got the opportunity to play a more direct role in target selection. In the shot below from Lunar Orbiter IV, you can see Grimaldi, and down there near the edge, coming into full view: Mare Orientale. Just a few shot later…

Mare Orientale.

Between all the Lunar Orbiters, we gained imagery of 99 percent of the lunar surface. This allowed cartographers to create a fully detailed map of the lunar far side.8

Apollo astronauts orbiting around the Moon would add to our imagery and understanding of the far side, as would more Soviet probes. Later robotic probes would fill in the few remaining gaps, which were mainly near the poles. Over those years, our knowledge and understanding of the lunar surface would only continue to grow. For centuries, the far side of the Moon had been one large blank spot on a map. Then, in less than ten years, largely due to the hard work of engineers and scientists working with robotic probes, we filled in blank spots. We have become more fully acquainted with our Moon, but we still have more to learn.

Special note for posterity:
This post was written the day before the crew of Artemis II flew around the Moon. One reason for the focus on Mare Orientale in this history is a quirk in the history of direct observation of the lunar far side by astronauts. On all the Apollo missions, their orbits and the lighting conditions never allowed them to view Mare Orientale under sunlight. The closest they got was an image of Orientale under Earthsine on Apollo 17. Tomorrow, people will see Mare Orientale in fully glory for the first time.

Mare Orientale in Earthshine on Apollo 17. From NASA/LPI.

Update 4/12/2026:
On Monday, April 6 – they did it.

“The Moon’s Great Scar,” from NASA.

  1. There are a lot of great histories of the early mapping of the Moon, but I won’t linger long on the details in this post. One of the most definitive is Ewen Whitaker’s Mapping and Naming of the Moon. There is also a good section on the topic in Mapping of the Moon: Past and Present by Zdeněk Kopal and Carder. Much of the information in this post comes from these sources. ↩︎
  2. Stephen Pumfrey argues Gilbert was definitively first: https://adsabs.harvard.edu/full/2011JHA….42..193P ↩︎
  3. Janet Vertesi takes a look at where Hevelius’ instruments fit into the technological culture of the time: https://www.jstor.org/stable/40731030 ↩︎
  4. The Linda Hall Library has a digital copy of Russell’s pamphlet, in which he describes the workings of the device: https://catalog.lindahall.org/permalink/01LINDAHALL_INST/1oon2h5/alma99455413405961 ↩︎
  5. Mare Orientale means “Eastern Sea,” which is confusing, considering it is on the western limb. The name was correct at the time Franz observed it–the directions changed in 1961. Ewen Whitaker and Richard Baum have a great history of Mare Orientale, which highlights the contributions of Russell, and explains the shift in directions. ↩︎
  6. See Boris Chertok’s Rockets and People, Volume II (PDF), translated by Asif Siddiqi. 519-538 ↩︎
  7. An older version of this article stated that the camera systems were designed for the CIA, but actually the ancestral tech of the LO cameras was originally designed for the Air Force as a part of WS-117L. Kodak camera systems in WS-117L did become a part of the CIA project CORONA. But the film readout system that was incorporated into Lunar Orbiter was a part of SAMOS (PDF), a separate component of WS-117L that was not transferred to the CIA. Both USAF and CIA satellite reconnaissance systems were soon were soon bundled into the organization that became the National Reconnaissance Office (NRO). The author caught this mistake on a re-read. ↩︎
  8. For more on Lunar Orbiter, you can find my master’s thesis on the about page, which focuses especially on the Kodak camera systems and the role of science in Lunar Orbiter. There is also NASA’s official history by Bruce Byers, and Farouk El-Baz’s The Moon as Viewed by Lunar Orbiter. The Lunar and Planetary Institute has an amazing page hosting images from Lunar Orbiter. ↩︎

“Standing By”: Science Communication on Apollo 8

This morning, as I sipped my coffee, I took in the view of a crescent Earth from the perspective of astronauts heading toward the Moon. It’s the first time this has been possible in over 50 years. Yesterday, as I awaited the launch of Artemis II, I watched the CBS broadcast of Apollo 8, in which Walter Cronkite guided America through the very first journey around the Moon in 1968.

Throughout the broadcast, Cronkite regularly broke away from the action to talk to leading scientists. Viewers were taken to Jodrell Bank observatory in England, where the eminent astronomer Bernard Lovell sat with a CBS reporter, a radio telescope looming behind them. Then to the Jet Propulsion Laboratory, where American geologist Eugene Shoemaker sat beside a giant lunar globe, excitedly answering questions.

Scientists had a complex relationship with Apollo. Many scientists at the time looked at the price tag for the “man-in-space” program, and couldn’t help but imagine how many scientific robots could have been constructed and sent across the solar system with those dollars. Some were extremely vocal about this, to the frustration of NASA officials. Many scientists were concerned that science was being misused to legitimize missions that had dubious scientific value. But others agreed with NASA’s arguments that Apollo was an important part of selling a space program and enabling long-term access to space. And others still were genuinely excited about the possibility of doing field work on the Moon.

Apollo 8 in particular had limited scientific value, but science featured heavily in the broadcast nevertheless. This may have been exactly the sort of “science-washing” that worried so many scientists. But Lovell and Shoemaker had the opportunity to explain the exact limitations of Apollo 8 to the CBS audience themselves. In doing so, they highlighted the work of lunar robotics teams that preceded the Apollo missions, and explained the questions that future Apollo missions might help to answer. Missions that Apollo 8 would enable.

Below, you will find quotes from these interviews, with my quick analysis. To keep this post short(ish), I have tried to limit my descriptions to things I find most interesting or relevant. If you’re interested, I highly recommend watching the entire clips. They are a fascinating look back at science communication during our first trip around the Moon.

Note: Many thanks you to the anonymous person who uploaded all this archival footage. I’m not linking all of it in this post–in part to avoid clutter and limit length, but you can find the clips by a search (for CBS Apollo 8 footage), or find the links here: https://bsky.app/profile/inverting-vision.bsky.social/post/3mihebmpves23


Being interested in lunar robotics, I was looking to see how the robots would show up, especially Lunar Orbiter. Not long after the launch, Cronkite cut to Terry Drinkwater reporting from the Jet Propulsion Laboratory (JPL) in California, which built and operated some of the robots.

Drinkwater reports that people watching the launch at JPL are “thinking back to all that has gone on here in unmanned exploration of the Moon.” Then he takes the audience on a whirlwind tour of the Pioneer, Ranger, Surveyor, and Lunar Orbiter spacecraft. They show models of each vehicle, and images they produced, discussing how each contributed to science and Apollo planning.

An illustration of the three major lunar robots sent to the Moon by NASA. From a 1966 NASA press kit (PDF)

Later, they cut to an interview with Bernard Lovell. Lovell was director of the Jodrell Bank observatory in England, which had a fascinating role in early lunar exploration. They used their telescope to track the first robotic lunar missions, even intercepting image transmissions from Soviet lunar probes. Lovell was very straightforward about the limited scientific value of Apollo 8. “The orbiters and the landers have already given us a very great deal of scientific information about the nature of the lunar terrain and the constitution of the surface,” he said, explaining that “for a really significant addition to that knowledge, we will have to wait until the Apollo ship actually lands men on the Moon, and that really would be terribly exciting…”


When Apollo 8 arrived at the Moon, astronaut Jim Lovell began narrating what he saw from the spacecraft. He described a grey lunar surface that looked like plaster-of-paris. After their report, Cronkite brought in “Doc Shoemaker,” who sat in JPL next to a massive lunar globe, wearing his bolo tie. Shoemaker was one of the foremost of the new generation of geologists interested in taking their field work to the Moon.

Cronkite replayed Lovell’s description, inviting Shoemaker to “point to those spots on the Moon” as Lovell described them. Shoemaker silently points to the Sea of Tranquility as Lovell says that the mare “doesn’t stand out as well here as it does back on Earth.” Doc Shoemaker then points to the surrounding craters as Lovell begins talking about them. It’s really delightful, and having a human expert directly point out these features on a map adds something that animations don’t quite capture. I know that there were people watching at the time who still remember Shoemaker’s appearance, and it influenced their career direction.

“You did that one so well, you won your audition,” Cronkite says to Shoemaker. Then he starts asking Shoemaker about orbits, discussing gravitational pull and its relationship to orbital speeds. They introduce the ideas of “pericynthion”–the part of a lunar orbit passing closest to the Moon–and “apocynthion,” the point of an orbit farthest from the Moon. Cronkite mentions that the “Cynthus” part of those terms refers to an old name for the Moon. Shoemaker corrects him, claiming that those terms are actually more generalized, for the orbit of any smaller body around a larger body.

Today, the generalized terms usually used are periapsis and apoapsis. But Cynthus is an interesting Greek term. Appropriately, it was sometimes used as a name for Artemis, because the Greek goddess was by legend born on Mount Cynthus. Artemis was very much associated with Selene, goddess of the Moon. Any satellite of another body can be considered a “moon,” and the term “moon” was used that way even into the 60s, so its usage as a general term is also plausible. But Shoemaker was a geologist who was relatively new to spaceflight, so he could have been mistaken. My understanding is that these terms did in fact primarily refer to lunar orbits during Apollo, and that Cronkite was right here.

Regardless, Cronkite concedes. “Well I had one correct fact out of four there, that’s not bad, batting .250 on the apo…pericynthion.”


As the astronauts flew around the Moon, they cut back to Bernard Lovell again. This interview is particularly charming. While Lovell, a very distinguished scientist, was fairly even-keeled in earlier interviews, he is now visibly excited. Or at least, I think, as visibly excited as an old English astronomer can get.

He was apparently repeating “fantastic, utterly fantastic,” according to CBS reporter Morley Safer. Then Lovell gives his reflection:

“I must confess this is really one of the great moments…it’s very hard to believe that there are human beings actually flying around the Moon and giving this description of what they see. I don’t know if other people are like I am over this, but although as a scientist I have seen the photographs of the Moon so often, through so many telescopes, and more recently, these marvelous photographs sent back by the cameras. It still really almost bewilders me to try to understand that now at this moment we’ve been listening to a human being there giving these descriptions of what the volcanoes look like…”


There are several points at which Shoemaker talks Cronkite and the audience through things that the astronauts are seeing. At one point, they get confused by the fact that astronauts are talking about craters with names that are suspiciously familiar.

“I don’t find [those craters] on my Moon map here: Carr, Miller, Borman, Houston, Collins,” Cronkite reports. “They sound like they’re named after a bunch of people at the Houston manned space center to me, and I wonder how they do get these names, and how long they’ve been named that, and whether or not these fellas are going to name a few for the first time…”

Shoemaker was also befuddled. The astronauts were near the far side of the Moon, and he realizes what happened:

“[they] actually were just off the edge…of the globe…this is Mare Smythii, which was mentioned…a number of the craters they mentioned have no formal names yet–they’re back around the edge of this model, and cannot be seen from the Earth. They have been recorded on the unmanned Lunar Orbiter photographs, but no formal names have been attached. Since they have to have some kind of handle to be talked about, the astronauts have just given them names, and of course it’s fun to use the names that are most familiar, the names of your comrades in this kind of work. So I was a little puzzled too, I didn’t know what those names were, but it soon became apparent that these were the ones that had just been adopted for the mission.”

Mare Smythii and surrounding craters, as seen from Apollo 16. From Wikimedia.

Then he gets to describe the International Astronomical Union, and their naming processes, to the audience, bringing them into the world of space nomenclature.

He mentioned the Lunar Orbiter photographs there, which get a lot of air time. In other portions of the broadcast, they cut back to pre-recorded videos with the astronauts talking about their mission. In one, Bill Anders, the primary photographer on the mission, talks about their photographic objectives.

“The Orbiter photography was very good,” he explains, “but where the Orbiter photography was not so good, because the Orbiter was in  highly elliptical orbit…we hope to improve on that…”

Then Shoemaker talks Lunar Orbiter, holding up a far-side image. Unfortunately, the recording on Youtube cuts out here.

But my favorite part is a recording of Jim Lovell talking about their flight path, using a Lunar Orbiter photograph of the Sea of Tranquility. He describes landmarks in detail, making analogies to explain the scale to the audience, like the length of the runway at Ellington Air Force base. 

Jim Lovell holds up a Lunar Orbiter photograph

“You already talk like you’ve flown it and seen it,” the reporter interviewing him says.

“Yeah, this area has become quite familiar to me…I know it quite well,” Lovell replies.

Then Cronkite cuts in: “Jim Lovell, who ‘knows it quite well.’ He hadn’t been to it before, but such is the study and the training of these astronauts that he felt he did.”

To me it speaks to the power of the Lunar Orbiter images. I think a lot about the telepresence sometimes created by the use of remote sensing technology for exploration. While a visceral sense of telepresence was fairly limited in early lunar robotics, there are often little moments where you catch a glimmer of it. This is one of them. 

Lunar Orbiter V, Frame 52M. From LOIRP in National Archives.

I am reasonably certain that Lovell is holding a cropped and annotated annotated version of the Lunar Orbiter photograph above, taken on Lunar Orbiter V. If so, he gets some of the details wrong. For example, he mentions a “half-hidden” crater that he refers to as “Maskelyne B” off the edge of the picture. It’s really Maskelyne F, seen just to the right of the rectangular artifact in the middle of the full image. Maskelyne B is actually visible in the image he’s holding (in the upper central portion of the frame, behind the large crater, which is Maskelyne).

Honestly, I don’t fault him for making mistakes. The astronauts spent time under the guidance of scientists studying these images, but it was a pretty wild crash course. For Apollo 8, the goal was for them to be able to identify photographic targets. It was more important to visually recognize targets than to be able to accurately name them. But this was all part of the show–using science to convey a sense of exploration and to legitimize the project. The astronauts had to become something like amateur science communicators themselves.

And in fact, the Apollo 8 astronauts produced many spectacular images, like this one showing the central peak of the far side crater Tsiolkovsky:

The central peak of Tsiolkovsky from Apollo 8. From Wikimedia.

Later in the clip, they cut to Shoemaker again, who describes their flight path and some of these photographic objectives. There was real science to be done here, however limited. Science communication like this, even if it is flawed, can often serve very important ends for a community hoping to create excitement and support for their research.


Robert Jastrow, an astronomer and NASA official, also makes a couple appearances. He does a good job of explaining some of the overall scientific objectives of lunar exploration, and the findings of the robotic missions thus far. One of the biggest questions that needed answering was the age and origin of the Moon.

“The information returned by spacecraft has answered some questions in that connection,” Jastrow explains, “but raised as many as it’s answered…”

Robert Jastrow. From Wikimedia.

They talk about the scientific return of Apollo 8, and Jastrow, like Bernard Lovell, frames it as a stepping stone towards the real scientific return expected from a landing.

Jastrow then talks through some Lunar Orbiter photographs with Cronkite.  “It’s a fairly new crater,” he says, holding up an Orbiter photo, “an expert like Gene Shoemaker would have to tell us exactly how old it is…” He mentions Meteor Crater in Arizona, talking about how scientists identify the difference between new and old craters. Shoemaker had done extensive work at Meteor Crater in his attempt to understand lunar cratering.

In one appearance with Jastrow, Cronkite asks jokingly whether the Moon is made out of green cheese, teeing up Jastrow to talk about Surveyor and its findings about lunar composition. 

At the beginning of the video after this one, Jastrow and Cronkite talk about the capabilities of astronauts vs. robots. Jastrow makes the claim that a robot would be more expensive, but I think this probably relies on the assumption of a robot that could match the generalized capabilities of a human. Certainly the capabilities of robots in the 60s meant that humans had a bigger advantage over robots than nowadays–but even then, a great deal could be done with robots for a relatively low cost, which is exactly the source of much Apollo skepticism in the scientific community.

At the end, Jastrow and Cronkite talk about Mars.


Of course, this was happening in 1968, amid a great deal of turmoil across the country and the world. In a special report summarizing Apollo 8, Cronkite framed the contrast with characteristic eloquence:

“A year of trouble and turbulence, anger and assassination, is now coming to an end in incandescent triumph…”

https://www.c-span.org/clip/reel-america/user-clip-cronkite-introduction-to-apollo-8/5198544


Many scientists weren’t above seeing Apollo’s significance beyond science, as seen in some of the videos above. In the special report, they included more interviews with Bernard Lovell, Harold Urey, and Eugene Shoemaker:

https://www.c-span.org/clip/reel-america/user-clip-scientific-perspectives-on-apollo-8/5198546

Photography and Science in Antarctica – Introduction – Herbert Ponting

This is a short introduction to a planned series of posts about photography and science on the British Antarctic Expedition. It includes another story about photographing orcas and ice. 

In 1910, the British Antarctic Expedition set out on the Terra Nova with the goal of being the first people to reach the geographic south pole. Captain Robert Falcon Scott organized and led the expedition–the second Antarctic voyage in his career. The Terra Nova expedition is now famous for being beaten to the pole by Roald Amundsen, and for the tragic deaths of Scott and the polar team on their return journey. But the story of the Terra Nova is also a story of scientific research. Captain Scott recruited a team of scientists and made their work a top priority, which may have been one factor in their second-place finish at the pole. Scott also personally recruited the man that would capture everything on film: Herbert Ponting.

Herbert George Ponting and cinematograph, Antarctica. Kinsey, Joseph James (Sir), 1852-1936 :Photographs relating to Antarctica and mountaineering. Ref: PA1-f-067-067-2. Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, New Zealand. /records/23244038

Ponting was already a rather accomplished photographer when Scott approached him in 1909. He was on the verge of publishing a travel book about his experiences in Japan, but Scott convinced Ponting to go to the frigid wastes of Antarctica within a year of their first meeting. Scott’s emphasis on science was a major draw for the photographer. The expedition was, in Ponting’s words: “a chance, such as never would come to me again, to turn the experience I had gained to some permanent benefit to Science.” Over the course of the expedition, Ponting used his extensive experience to document animal life and monumental ice formations, and to immortalize on film the mountains and the men of Antarctica.

In his photographs, Ponting distilled the notion of the heroic male explorer. This archetype defined exploration the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Travel narratives and photographs from these men were major commercial successes, and Ponting’s photographs even used the archetype to advertise beans. The idea of polar exploration as an act of masculine heroics has haunted Antarctic science into the 21st century. The Antarctic science community has struggled to move away from this old paradigm and create a safe and welcoming environment for scientists to do work that many dream of for their entire lives.

Captain Scott, from the Scott Polar Research Institute
An advertisement for Heinz, from the Scott Polar Research Institute.

Ponting very carefully arranged his photographs of the crew in ways that were specifically designed to conjure these “heroic” notions of the explorer and the scientist. But the images also give us insight into the scientific work done by the crew of the Terra Nova expedition. The scientific team was led by Dr. Edward Adrian Wilson, who the crew affectionately called ‘Uncle Bill.’ He was a capable zoologist, and both Ponting and Scott write about him with effusive admiration. Scott and Wilson also recruited a meteorologist, a physicist, and several geologists (one of whom was Raymond Priestly, a veteran of an early Shackleton expedition).

The scientists brought with them a wide variety of supplies and scientific instruments. These included a number of thermometers, telescopes, chemical glassware, and even balloons. Once in Antarctica, the expedition set up several laboratories, including a dark room. Ponting also took photographs on the Terra Nova, and had a photographic lab integrated into the ship. It was roomier than his assigned bunk, and the photographer ended up sleeping there under the light cast from the ruby-glass porthole.

Dr. Atkinson in the lab. From the Scott Polar Research Institute.

Ponting brought with him “an incredible quantity of gear.” This included tin cases full of film and photographic plates, which were hermetically sealed in tins to prevent damage. There were also color filters and telephoto lenses. The crew brought several small cameras, and Ponting gave some lessons on how to use the equipment. Ponting himself primarily used a pair of cinematographs to take films, and folding cameras for stills.

Herbert George Ponting and telephoto apparatus, Antarctica. Kinsey, Joseph James (Sir), 1852-1936 :Photographs relating to Antarctica and mountaineering. Ref: PA1-f-067-067-3. Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, New Zealand. /records/22514241

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