Tag: Cold War

The 1962 Iowa Summer Study

On By Danny RobbIn Astronomy, Geology, History, History of Exploration, History of Science, Lunar Robotics, Planetary Science, Science Policy, Space ExplorationLeave a comment

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.

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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 ↩︎

Kodak’s “Pre-Invented” Lunar Orbiter Camera; or, The Fate of SAMOS Readout

On By Danny RobbIn History, History of Exploration, History of Science, History of Technology, Lunar Robotics, Mapping, Photography, Planetary Science, Robotics, Space Exploration, Warfare1 Comment
Left: The Lunar Orbiter camera system sitting in the bottom half of the pressurized shell. Project Manager Cliff Nelson (left) stands with NASA/Langley team members Calvin Broome, Israel Taback, and Joe Mooreman. From NASA. Right: Lunar Orbiter frame 5017-M, showing artifacts from Kodak’s camera system. From NASA/LOIRP.

In 1966 and 1967, NASA sent five robotic spacecraft into orbit around the Moon. Constructed for the primary purpose of finding landing sites for Apollo, the Lunar Orbiters also enabled nearly comprehensive mapping of the Moon in stunning detail. The quantity and resolution of the photographs returned by Lunar Orbiter was unprecedented, thanks to a camera system built by the Eastman Kodak company of Rochester, New York. Their imaging system involved elaborate mechanisms to expose photographic film in orbit, develop the film onboard the spacecraft, and remotely transmit images back to Earth.

In February of 1967, the Rochester Times-Union published a story about how Kodak had “pre-invented” the Lunar Orbiter camera. Kodak director of R&D Arthur Simmons told the Times-Union that “no one walked in and asked us to develop a camera and film system to take closeup photos of the moon…Kodak has, for want of a better word, a ‘library,’ of hundreds of ‘conceptual ideas’ which we don’t advertise.”1 But the story of the camera’s “pre-invention” was more interesting than Simmons let on. When Kodak joined Boeing’s bid for the Lunar Orbiter in 1963, the camera system already existed. The company had originally developed it for the Air Force in the 1950s as a part of the highly classified satellite surveillance program called Weapons System 117L (WS-117L).

The nature of WS-117L and the clandestine origins of the Lunar Orbiter camera system were vaguely known by some at the time, but the full details were only revealed to the public through declassification decades later. This article won’t linger on the detailed technical specifications of the Lunar Orbiter cameras, but will instead focus on tracing the system’s development from conception to its adoption by NASA. It is the story of some of the first attempts by the United States to remotely transmit images from space, and how those same systems were adapted for lunar exploration.

WS-117L had roots in RAND studies of satellite surveillance concepts going back to 1946, and was the first major attempt to put those ideas into practice. The United States was hoping that satellites could be used to monitor the buildup of nuclear weapons and launch sites in the Soviet Union. In 1953, RAND Report 262 laid out in full the feasibility and utility of such systems, and by 1955 the Air Force began soliciting contractors for WS-117L. Eastman Kodak created camera systems for Lockheed’s bid, and the the Air Force awarded their contract in October of 1956.2

Timeline of the Advanced Reconnaissance System, or WS-117L, from a 1958 summary. From NRO (PDF).

Originally, RAND had primarily considered using television systems.3 “Near real time” imaging was considered by some to be the ideal form of satellite surveillance, so television was a logical choice. But in a declassified history of the program, Robert Perry explains that the goal of real time imaging quickly became contested within the Air Force–it was unclear whether the technology was ready to satisfy requirements, and the alternative film recovery systems showed clear feasibility and reliability early on. Some of these efforts were spun off from WS-117L into the Discoverer-CORONA program, which sent Kodak camera systems into orbit, and returned capsules of exposed film for aerial retrieval and processing back on Earth.4 Early on, however, a near real time system was very much a part of the plan. In their bid for WS-117L, Kodak created a remote transmission system that would fly in what became known as the SAMOS program.

Television systems were still in consideration early on, but there were clear technological limitations at the time, especially when it came to resolution. Kodak’s newly formed Apparatus and Optical Division settled on a system to develop film onboard the spacecraft and “readout” the images to receiving stations on Earth. Planners envisaged five cameras for SAMOS, the first three dedicated to testing Kodak’s readout system (the others testing advanced recovery systems). The E-1 camera would primarily be a technology demonstrator, while the E-2 and E-3 would test the ability for their system to take images at more functional resolutions. All used the same basic architecture.

A diagram showing the various SAMOS camera systems and their proposed capabilities. From NRO (PDF).

In a way, this camera system was in fact “pre-invented,” as it was mostly a clever assembly of existing technologies, many created by Kodak. The company had decades of experience in aerial photography going back to World War I. By the end of World War II, they had created advanced aerial films, compact film storage systems, and image motion compensation techniques. They had also worked on IR bomb sights and proximity sensing for the Navy, which would become useful for developing thermal control materials for the spacecraft.5

Illustrations from 1957 show a rough sketch of their plans for SAMOS readout. Kodak’s 70mm film would be exposed, processed, and stored before readout and transmission. Electronic signals received on the ground would be used to reconstruct the images.

An early diagram showing the SAMOS readout system without some of the key details. From NRO (PDF).

By 1958, planning documents started detailing two of the key technologies that ultimately made the readout system possible. One was what became known as Kodak “Bimat” film, labeled in the illustration below as “WEB.”6 This web was coated with gelatin containing the necessary processing chemicals, enabling “dry” processing. The web was pressed against the exposed film, developing and fixing the images before storage and transmission.7

Diagram from a 1959 Lockheed briefing on the SAMOS program, image is labeled September 1958. From NRO (PDF).

The origins of Bimat film are somewhat obscure in the public record. One Kodak-produced history suggests that the technology started as a laboratory investigation with amateur photography in mind, and was then applied to use in aerial photography.8 Considering the timeline, it was either a happy accident that this experiment matured just in time for WS-117L, or Kodak engineers started looking into the technique specifically in response to the challenges of film photography in space. 

A Lockheed development plan from March 1956 describes the processing system in vague terms, stating that it would “not differ significantly” from existing methodologies for “airborne rapid-processing,” and describing a notional “a roller-applicator type” system. It also lists “the handling of photographic chemicals” as one of the “major difficulties to be overcome.”9 The illustration from 1957 shows the onboard processing step without the “WEB,” a detail that only shows up in diagrams like the one above labeled 1958.10 Then, a patent for a “web processing method” was filed in August 1959 by Kodak researchers, presenting “a one-step method for substantially completely developing and fixing a photographic image…without immersion in photographic processing baths.”11 David McDowell, an engineer who joined up with Kodak in late 1956 and worked on both SAMOS and Lunar Orbiter, also remembers Bimat being developed specifically for the project. “Bimat was started as soon as we started work on E-1 and E-2,” he told me, “because we knew we had to process film in orbit.”12

The second key technology was the readout system itself, which involved collaboration with the Columbia Broadcasting System Laboratories to create a flying-spot scanner.13 It worked using what McDowell calls an “inside-out CRT,” using a cathode-ray tube that fired an electron beam through the exposed film. Variations in the density of the film changed the intensity of the beam, and those variations were recorded by a photomultiplier and translated into electronic signals that could be sent back to Earth. Teams on the ground received those signals, used equipment to translate them back into an image, and recorded that image on film. Before passing through the film, the beam reflected off a revolving drum (seen in the diagram below) for thermal management.

Diagram of the SAMOS readout system from the same Lockheed briefing. From NRO (PDF).

In October 1960, the first E-1 camera launched on an Atlas-Agena, but failed to inject into orbit. Meanwhile, officials were actively debating the wisdom of continuing the readout program. Costs were rising, engineering difficulties plagued the program, some of the technology was beginning to seem obsolete, and CORONA-like systems were looking like a better option until more advanced readout techniques could be developed. Despite these issues, there were advocates for readout, and tests continued so that any decision could be made based on tangible results.

In January 1961, the second SAMOS test launched with another E-1 camera and sailed into orbit. In Sunnyvale, California, technicians at a readout station received transmissions from the spacecraft, and the result was a photograph with a 100 foot resolution. The system had worked.14

The E-2 camera would be the next step, with more advanced aiming systems and a higher resolution. All of the rotating systems within the spacecraft created complexities when it came to achieving these objectives. One key difference between E-1 and E-2, McDowell recalls, was that E-2 used a rotating nosecone to help stabilize and aim the camera.15

A diagram of the payload section for E-2, showing the “steerable mounting” that made it distinct from E-1. From NRO (PDF).
A diagram from SAMOS planning documents showing the proposed aiming and stereo operation capabilities of the E-2. From NRO (PDF).

The first attempt to launch an E-2 ended two seconds after liftoff, when the Atlas fell immediately back to the ground and exploded. After the E-2 launch failure, readout was largely abandoned in favor of recovery programs. According to Perry, Air Force Colonel W.G. King believed that almost without exception, “everything a readout system could do a recovery system could do better.”16 Among other problems, readout systems required long lives, necessitating higher orbits that sacrificed resolution and created greater power requirements.17 Kodak engineers, including McDowell, remember one of the primary constraints being the bandwidth required to transmit the images, and the fact that they were only using a single ground station.18

No other E-2 cameras were flown, but it wasn’t the end of the story for the camera system. After the Air Force canceled further launches, E-1 and E-2 hardware was left scattered around the country, with one test model remaining in Eastman Kodak facilities in Rochester.

Perry reports that officials at NASA knew about the E-1 system and inquired about the cameras as early as April of 1961, and that the Air Force gave them permission to get details from contractors. The film readout system was similar to the method employed by the Soviet Luna 3 spacecraft to return the first images of the far side of the Moon in 1959, and NASA was interested in using the E-1 for similar purposes. Perry quotes Colonel King saying that NASA officials “did [not] seem to understand much about the problems of taking pictures from a space vehicle.” He did not believe the system would be usable for lunar exploration, but the idea didn’t go away.19

At that time, the best candidate for using such a camera system would likely have been for the Surveyor program’s planned orbiter, which was encountering its own problems. NASA historian Bruce Byers writes that several factors converged that led to dropping the Surveyor orbiter in favor of a standalone project. JPL was dealing with failures of the first Ranger probes, which delayed its work on Surveyor, and the development of the Centaur upper stage planned for Surveyor was also running into trouble. 

Meanwhile, Apollo planning was underway. NASA officials decided to deprioritize orbiter data, because landing data was more helpful for hardware development, which had top priority. The orbital imagery would be primarily helpful for landing site selection, which could come later. JPL was to focus on getting Surveyor landers ready, while the Office of Space Sciences (OSS) began developing alternative plans for an orbiter.20

Oran Nicks put Lee Scherer on the job of developing a spacecraft that could fly on Agena. He originally looked into adapting Ranger or Able 5 to the task. After they handed the program off to the Langley research center, however Byers writes that Langley director Floyd Thompson opted for a competitive bid.21 But this competition may have been, if not a complete smokescreen, weighted heavily in the favor of one particular bid. Correlating the Lunar Orbiter program with the timeline presented in Vance G. Mitchell’s declassified history of NASA/DOD relations paints a fascinating picture. 

In 1962, as the Surveyor orbiter was under study, NASA Associate Administrator Robert Seamans met with DOD research official John Rubel to discuss lunar reconnaissance. Then, in May 1963, little more than a month after Langely submitted Lunar Orbiter’s Project Approval Document to Seamans, a much larger meeting took place between NASA and DOD officials. They directly discussed the use of NRO equipment for both unmanned vehicles and the Apollo program. Immediately following this meeting, NASA administrator James Webb and Seamans started working with DOD officials on how to put this into practice, and specifically on how NASA could create unclassified contracts for such arrangements. Despite reservations, Rubel’s successor, Eugene Fubini, had the NRO look into NASA’s request.22

In mid July, an agreement was drafted between NASA and the DOD giving NASA permission to use NRO equipment for “both unmanned and manned lunar reconnaissance operations,” under certain stipulations. It included the following plan of action: 

“…it will be the responsibility of the NRO to select a contractor, generally from among those engaged in the present covert reconnaissance programs, to develop equipment meeting these specifications in a secure and protected, or ‘black’, fashion. Concurrently, NASA will grant the same contractor an overt or ‘white’ reconnaissance contract which will serve as a technically plausible cover for the development of the flight hardware actually to be employed, during that length of time in which the flight hardware must be regarded as highly sensitive because of its relevance to the on-going covert reconnaissance operations.”23

Mitchell recounts one instance of very direct contact between the interested parties during this period. “On 24 July 1963,” he writes, “NASA, NRO, and CIA representatives met with Fredrick C.E. Oder, a retired Air Force colonel involved with Samos in the 1950s, and now an Eastman Kodak executive.” The group directly discussed adapting the E-1 and E-2 cameras for lunar exploration, consulting Kodak engineers who thought it would be feasible.24

On August 28, the DOD/CIA/NASA agreement was signed by James Webb and Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara.25 On August 30, Seamans reviewed Langley’s Request For Proposals document, and NASA released it to contractors.26 The Boeing/Kodak bid was approved by Seamans and Webb in December. “Although the available documentation does not say so,” Mitchell argues, “the NRO, by virtue of the provisions of the 28 August agreement and its knowledge of reconnaissance camera systems must have played a role in the selection process.”27

This all may help explain the fact that at least in its early stages, Lunar Orbiter was kept under tight security measures at Kodak. McDowell remembers that at the time, work on Lunar Orbiter was kept “in the same level of secrecy that the [SAMOS] projects were.” Work was extremely siloed–engineers building individual components did not always know exactly what they would be used for. McDowell says that this was a pretty standard practice for Kodak at the time, but that the fact that they were using the E-2 probably had something to do with it.28

Regardless of whether the outcome of the competition was predetermined, the Kodak system did have real advantages over the other bids for Lunar Orbiter. It promised increased flexibility, the capability of taking images simultaneously in multiple resolutions, and the ability to achieve impressively high resolutions.

Kodak’s final Lunar Orbiter camera system used a process largely identical to their E-2 cameras.29 They even seem to have borrowed some of the illustrations from SAMOS presentations for Lunar Orbiter documentation.

The Lunar Orbiter readout subsystem as shown in the Lunar Orbiter I contractor report. From NASA.

The primary modifications that Kodak engineers made were to the lenses and shutter systems. They sought to meet very strict NASA requirements regarding resolution of the images. Compared to the E-1 and E-2, which had 100-foot and 20-foot resolution respectively, NASA’s goals for Apollo planning stated a roughly 3-foot resolution (closer to the never-realized plans for the SAMOS E-3). They also moved from a single ground station to three. Kodak’s final system was capable of achieving that resolution given the right orbit.

Through Lunar Orbiter documentation, we get a closer look at the reconstruction process. Transmitted images were displayed with a kinescope and captured on 35mm film, which was sent to Rochester for reassembly. Strips of 35mm film were assembled to form a full frame, which was in turn captured on film and sent off to NASA. This meant that the images themselves traveled across several different rolls of film before finally being put to use.

A diagram showing the photographic transmission and reconstruction system from the Lunar Orbiter III contractor report. From NASA.

The photographs brought back by Lunar Orbiter played an integral role in Apollo site selection, and brought a wealth of new information to cartographers and scientists. The camera system performed admirably, although engineers did encounter a handful of difficulties over the course of the five flights. Some of these difficulties had to do with the Bimat film itself, which operated somewhat inconsistently. The film could “stick,” experience dryout, or see droplet formation, leaving artifacts on the film.30 The continuing issues with the film into 1966 and 1967 may hint at some of the specific engineering and reliability issues that contributed to the end of SAMOS readout.

The processing mechanism on Lunar Orbiter. Bimat supply was upper left, take-up upper right. The films were pressed together on the small drum in the middle. The developed film was dried and stored on the large drum below. From NASA (PDF).
A diagram showing the processing mechanism from a 1965 NASA/Langley document.
Frame 76, H3 from Lunar Orbiter V. This frame contains the landing site for Apollo 11, and displays several of the artifacts seen on Lunar Orbiter imagery. The landing site itself is nearly obscured by the line in the center, which may be a Bimat supply separation line. From NASA/LOIRP.

Because of its spin-off from Surveyor during the push for Apollo, Lunar Orbiter was arguably the very first spacecraft designed to conduct reconnaissance specifically for human spaceflight. The modification of military hardware for the purposes of exploration has a long tradition in the history of exploration, and this is a particularly fascinating example in that tradition. It is the story of a unique camera system straddling technological eras that ended up playing two very different roles in the geopolitical competition of the Cold War.

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Footnotes

  1. “How Kodak ‘Pre-Invented’ the Lunar Orbiter Camera (Based on an article in the Rochester Times-Union, February 3, 1967)”, 105:9, Kodak Historical Collection, D.319, Rare Books, Special Collections, and Preservation, River Campus Libraries, University of Rochester ↩︎
  2. “Chronology: WS 117L Background,” NRO, Declassified WS117L, SAMOS & Sentry Records, ID 953, https://www.nro.gov/Portals/135/documents/foia/declass/WS117L_Records/953.PD; and “Space System Development Plan: SAMOS R&D Program” 12 July, 1960, NRO, ID 608, https://www.nro.gov/Portals/135/documents/foia/declass/WS117L_Records/608.PDF; during the history of WS-117L, ARPA took a direct role in management for a period, and the project went through various names. This article’s primary focus is on the camera systems, and so avoids detailing these changes for simplification. The documents linked here contain detailed explanations of these changes. ↩︎
  3. “Project Feed Back Summary Report,” ed. J.E. Lipp and R.M. Salter, R-262, Volume 1, March 1, 1954 (RAND), https://www.rand.org/pubs/reports/R262z1.html ↩︎
  4. Robert Perry, A History of Satellite Reconnaissance Volume IIA – SAMOS, Revised October 1973, NRO, ID 304, https://www.nro.gov/Portals/135/documents/foia/declass/WS117L_Records/304.PDF; and   Kenneth E. Greer, “CORONA,” in CORONA: America’s First Sattelite Program, ed. Kevin C Ruffner,  pp 4-6, https://www.cia.gov/static/Corona-Between-the-Sun-and-the-Earth.pdf ↩︎
  5. David McDowell (former Kodak engineer) in discussion with the author, March 22, 2024 ↩︎
  6. This is one of the earliest references to this technology that I have been able to find. The term “Bimat” came later, and in Lunar Orbiter documents at the time, engineers have often retained the “web” terminology, referring to it as “Bimat web.” For more on how Bimat worked: https://www.cia.gov/readingroom/docs/CIA-RDP33-02415A000500120032-7.pdf ↩︎
  7. See “Advanced Reconnaissance System Weapon System 117L,” 1 March 1958, NRO, ID 101, https://www.nro.gov/Portals/135/documents/foia/declass/WS117L_Records/101.PDF; This was one of the primary differences between Kodak’s readout system and Luna 3’s, which used wet processing methods. ↩︎
  8. “Kodak Contributions to Aerial Photography,” p 6, 106:6, Kodak Historical Collection, D.319, Rare Books, Special Collections, and Preservation, River Campus Libraries, University of Rochester ↩︎
  9. “Pied Piper Development Plan: Vol II Sub-System Plan, E. Visual Reconnaissance,” Lockheed Aircraft Corporation, 1 March, 1956, NRO, ID 502, https://www.nro.gov/Portals/135/documents/foia/declass/WS117L_Records/502.PDF ↩︎
  10. The date is somewhat difficult to decipher in the provided image, but is clearly 1958 on the one in this document: https://www.nro.gov/Portals/135/documents/foia/declass/ForAll/041723/F-2022-00223_C05142220.pdf ↩︎
  11.  Leonard W. Tregillus, Arthur A Rasch, and Edwin B Wyand, Jr, “Web Processing Method and Composition,” USPO Patent 3,179,517; https://patentimages.storage.googleapis.com/bd/76/21/1d361f54f0613e/US3179517.pdf ↩︎
  12. McDowell, 2024; The University of Rochester Special Collections Library is also currently processing some Kodak Research Laboratories documentation, to be opened in 2027. I am hoping that more information might be forthcoming. ↩︎
  13. This was similar in principle to Luna 3, which would have been in development around the same time or slightly after the Kodak/CBS system, despite flying sooner. The 1956 Lockheed document contains a pretty detailed description of the flying spot scanner, pretty much as it appeared in the final system. Luna 3’s scanner had definitely begun development by the middle of 1958, but preliminary work may go back to 1957 or earlier. Some of the basic principles behind the flying spot scanner go back even further to some of the earliest experiments in television. See Don P. Mitchell’s description of the Luna 3 systems: http://mentallandscape.com/L_Luna3.htm; and this account of Luna 3’s transmission system, including the use of film recovered from US spy balloons: http://www.svengrahn.pp.se/trackind/luna3/SpyBalloon.htm ↩︎
  14. Perry, pp 152-167 ↩︎
  15. David McDowell in discussion with the author, December 17, 2025. McDowell discussed the stabilization difficulties and the nosecone design in the 2024 discussion, as well. ↩︎
  16. Perry, pp 175 ↩︎
  17. Information on E-1/E-2 launches and the fate of the cameras from Perry, pp 165-177; continued investigation of readout, pp 178-196 ↩︎
  18. McDowell, 2024; also see comments in “RMSC Gambit Exhibit Press Conference”, t25:20, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HBMtsBZJT94 ↩︎
  19. Perry, pp 168, 173 ↩︎
  20. Bruce Byers, Destination Moon: A History of the Lunar Orbiter Program, April 1977, NASA, pp  9-29, https://ntrs.nasa.gov/citations/19770016195 ↩︎
  21. Byers, pp 16-29, 40 ↩︎
  22. Vance G. Mitchell, Sharing Space: The Secret Interaction Between The National Aeronautics & Space Administration & the National Reconnaissance Office, 1961-1995, NRO/CSNR, pp 12-13, https://www.nro.gov/Portals/65/documents/foia/declass/ForAll/012422/F-2019-00002_C05116216.pdf ↩︎
  23. “DOD/CIA-NASA Agreement on NASA Reconnaissance Programs,” 17 July, 1963, https://www.cia.gov/readingroom/docs/CIA-RDP33-02415A000400060019-0.pdf ↩︎
  24.  Mitchell, p 14 ↩︎
  25. For the final draft, see: https://www.nro.gov/Portals/135/documents/foia/declass/UPWARD/1.%20DoD-CIA-NASA%20Agreement%20on%20NASA%27s%20Reconnaissance%20Program.PDF ↩︎
  26. Byers, pp 46-47 ↩︎
  27. Mitchell, p 15 ↩︎
  28. McDowell, 2025 ↩︎
  29. For an earlier simplified account of this transfer, and a summary of some of the technical differences, see R. Cargill Hall, “SAMOS to the Moon: The Clandestine Transfer of Reconnaissance Technology Between Federal Agencies,” NRO, https://www.nro.gov/Portals/65/documents/history/csnr/programs/docs/prog-hist-01.pdf ↩︎
  30. Lunar Orbiter documentation often details these types of imperfections, including in the contractor report for Lunar Orbiter I: https://ntrs.nasa.gov/api/citations/19670023005/downloads/19670023005.pdf ↩︎