Marathon to the Moon
Beautiful, beautiful. Magnificent desolation. Buzz Aldrin, 1969
Apollo’s moonshot gambit in the volatile years of the Cold War also witnessed a series of contributions from DuPont to place a man atop the lunar regolith ahead of the Soviets. From the WWII surplus of corporate R&D the company was primed to produce spin-offs earmarked for the space race. Commercial technology antedating the gauntlet thrown down by President Kennedy’s for manned spaceflight found a buyer in the Apollo program without any de novo development. The maturity of these innovations after long gestation in the marketplace was a boon to the alacrity of triumphs between the mastery of cislunar navigation and Neil Armstrong’s boot print on the moon. America in short order boasted an asymmetric advantage. Unlike the Soviets whose materials science lumbered under the yoke of siloed bureaucracy the private sector supplied off-the-shelf solutions at scale for NASA. Stockpiles of technology long vetted against failure could be requisitioned posthaste. Production could be ramped up seamlessly. So great was the industrial ecosystem that over 20,000 companies were mobilized to partake in Apollo (Reynolds 2013: 47). This pluralism was the seminal difference in the space race where Soviet central planning fell woefully short. Knowledge as per economist Friedrich Hayek (1945) is diffuse and the innovations from its decentralized experiments shaped by profit signals cannot be replicated by any politburo. Market feedback and the trial-by-error of entrepreneurs thus delivered the best technologies to NASA after many iterations for consumers.
Command economies are deprived of such market signals from customer defections whereby the Soviet technocracy may have first triumphed with Sputnik but later failed to solve the complexities of lunar landing. The iterative learning from competition in free markets was how NASA leapfrogged over its adversary. The marathon that was Apollo’s success hinged on the hybrid system of dirigisme and liberalism rather than the fake omniscience of apparatchiks in design bureaus. NASA harvested mature technologies everywhere whilst the hubris of Soviets sought creations ex nihilo which were untested and problematic to scale without market discipline. Apollo would emerge victorious from this epistemic difference. Frontier technologies subsidized by the creation of demand from years of industrial policy had a material advantage over analogue systems prided by Soviets. As government provided capital and businesses sold their intellectual property the Americans were able to reach the moon sooner. The workforce ledger from Apollo corroborates this public-private partnership as 36,000 civil servants worked on technologies in-house versus an army of 377,000 contractors (Burnham 2019; Binder 1953). In this ratio the minority of bureaucrats outsourced the production of hardware to specialists who could innovate unconstrained by the vice of risk aversion inherent in government. This incentive obviously mattered.
The self-interest of prestige and future contracts sought by private contractors guaranteed good work. The budget-maximizing model of bureaucracy conversely would have invited inefficiencies. Merit rather than political horse-trading therefore governed the allocation of resources. Bureaucrats provided benchmarks and the profit-motive of businesses achieved them in a timely manner lest penalties be risked. One established grand objectives whilst the other turned them into reality. Each exploited their comparative advantage. The complexities of the Apollo mission hewed well to this institutional format. A constellation of businesses would thereby have the latitude to freely innovate bereft of the need to be micromanaged by NASA. Strict adherence to schedules were simply policed by fiscal payments released in tranches upon completion of work by capable firms. A species of Darwinism ejected the less qualified in the supply-chain. By contrast the handful of Soviet design bureaus (OKBs) were fraught with the political terror of being dispatched to the Gulag. In a profession where discoveries derive from past failures of many iterations the politburo was less sympathetic to such learning-by-doing of engineers. Hence Soviet scientists were far more conservative in their research since they had all been incarcerated in a Gulag at one point or another (Erickson 2018:382). The reticence to share knowledge would be the bane of progress.
The Soviet program’s dysfunction made it prostrate before legacy companies like DuPont whose know-how of chemistry after decades of patents ensured success. The suite of materials developed by the company’s long-horizon R&D prior to Apollo would eventually protect astronauts and equipment from the hostilities of space. Moscow’s quantum leap of Sputnik and maiden spacewalk might have aroused panic at first but existing technologies like DuPont’s inventory quickly eroded the early primacy. The Soviets plateaued. Apollo required a greater degree of sophistication particularly for cislunar navigation. The desiderata to place a man in orbit versus on the moon were markedly different. The longer the sojourn in space the more avionics and astronauts had to be protected from cryogenic temperatures and fires in oxygen-rich cabins prone to ignition like a tinderbox. Low-earth orbit was more forgiving than the eight days of travel to the moon. Indeed mission brevity limited exposure as danger rose commensurately with time. Existential threats between inter alia the vacuum of space, radiation, or the dust of jagged glass on the moon all diminished the survivability of Apollo (Gaier 2005). It was incumbent on DuPont then to maximize the tolerances of hardware and mitigate such risks. Thereafter the company’s technologies were ubiquitous in spacesuits, the lunar rover, the lunar module and wiring insulation.
As Apollo wore on DuPont’s inventions were integrated as mission-critical components in correlation with the growing stakes of the program. Nylon alone initially pressurized early prototypes of spacesuits and carpeted the interior but catastrophe struck in 1967. During a dress rehearsal simulating a launch an electrical arc from internal batteries ignited the nylon netting used for stowage of tools and checklists. Three astronauts perished in the inferno. This coffin of pressurized oxygen heralded an inflection point whereby a reoccurrence of this tragedy would be averted by the fire-retardant properties of substitute fabrics. The postmortem audit of the fire adjudicated that Nomex subsequently be a staple of the space program. This miracle material would in turn upholster the insides of both the Command and Lunar Modules in tandem with extensive use in the A7L spacesuits (De Monchaux 2011). NASA’s Beta cloth composed of DuPont’s Teflon also clothed astronauts in that iconic matte white finish seen in the outermost layer of spacesuits. Quite famously twenty of the twenty-one layers in this portable habitat were engineered by DuPont between Kapton, Lycra, Neoprene, Nomex, Nylon, Teflon and Mylar (Lantry 1995). These quiet contributions made the company one of the most significant benefactors.
































