Miss Form? Meet Mister Function

I had made the mistake early into my co-op of calling the Vertical Processing Facility (VPF) soulless. It’s a more or less steel structure, grey metal siding, occasionally exposed grey concrete, and no windows. All in all not a very interesting building in terms of design, in that it lacks the perceived thought and consideration most of us learn to implement into our own projects at school.

But the bare bones of it are what give it character. It’s not designed to impress. It’s designed to perform what it needs to.

We have a library, here in headquarters, which mostly has just records and building codes and the sort. However, there is a small architecture section and one book in particular focuses on industrial buildings, in which there’s a really nice two-page spread on the Vehicle Assembly Building (VAB.)

There are, of course, other buildings on Center, but the VAB is decidedly the most recognizable due to its size. It’s the 4^th largest building in the world by volume, 525’ high and a footprint roughly 700’ by 500’. So let’s be honest, it’s a GIGANTIC box. It would literally develop its own weather in the interior because of its size before they implemented climate control measures.

From an industrial standpoint, the VAB is a marvel, 4 huge bays designed to hold 4 separate rockets and the transfer isle between them. There are platforms rising up in the high bays to construct the massive rockets and cranes to hoist the different components into place. Like many of the buildings here on Center, well for the most part like any government industrial building constructed in the sixties and seventies, structurally it was designed to withstand a nuclear blast. The sheer scope of it knocks you on your feet when you’re inside because you look up and it swallows the entirety of your perception. I couldn’t take a good picture while I was there in order to capture the idea of the size that the VAB is, but I found the picture to the right from the NASA archives which hints strongly at what I’m talking about. The base of the shuttle where the solid rocket boosters (SRBs) meet the mobile launcher (ML) is still about thirty feet in the air, and if you look closely at one of the platforms you can see workers in order to scale it in your mind. And then you think about it, the Shuttle fully stacked is only about 180 feet tall (Haha, only,) the Saturn V was 363 feet, and the proposed Ares V is going to be 380. Yikes! This is a MASSIVE structure that works and manipulates these delicate (and just as massive) vehicles.

And all of this is fantastic.

But…

Architecturally, the VAB doesn’t dress itself up nice and pretty. Strip off the few instances of decorated siding (The meatball and the flag) and you’re left with, like I said, a box (granted, a very cool box.) And really I’m just reiterating a long discussed argument in architecture, but I feel it’s one to address while on this co-op because I’m working so closely with industrial buildings. As designers, we need to think about form versus function, but also budgets, schedule, current conditions, the historic registry, construction practices, building codes, and ultimately, what does the user want in this structure? We need to, as thoughtful architects, to consider above all else what the user needs.

The VAB doesn’t need decorative cornices and odd angles. We needed a place we can stack rockets safely, and that’s exactly what the architect and structural engineer designed.

Leaves in the River

A few posts ago I talked about legacies, touching on nostalgia of the history happening to us right now and not taking the time to acknowledge that this is the stuff of history books. This is a continuation of that.

Growing up here in Florida has allowed me to really feel like I am in the heart of space travel, like I am a part of something bigger than myself as we speed towards new horizons and into the final frontier. I can’t tell you how many times I have sat on my driveway, looking up at the heavens, and watched a space shuttle, or a rocket, or some other project NASA was working on take-off into the heavens. It is engrained in my childhood, from the launch to the sonic BOOM as the Shuttle comes home.

One time in particular is one of my most unforgettable and surreal memories. As I’ve said, Kennedy is a part of everyone in Brevard County, so it is not uncommon for the world to stop around us as we watch one of the launches. Launch and landing always take priority even over prime time on our local news. We wait and watch, our television screens tuned into Local 6 or whatever, until about one minute left before we all run outside to watch with our own eyes.

It was a nice winter day, not too cold, and my middle school had scheduled a fire drill, therefore all of us gathered out on the soccer and baseball fields waiting for the all clear. When the fire drill was officially “over” the administration held us out there longer than normal, directing us all north and telling us to keep our eyes open.

Watching a shuttle launch is something everyone should experience in person. (Ten… Nine… Eight…) Even though the pad is so far away you imagine feeling the earth rumble in your bones (Seven… Six…) and the roar tickling your eardrums as the clock counts down. (Five… Four…) Back at my school, a quiet settled over the fields as we grew restless with the familiar anticipation and flutter of butterflies in our stomachs. (Three… Two… One…)

(We have lift off…)

We watched the streak of white fire cut across the crystal clear blue sky, leaving a billowing cloud of orange and purple in its wake. We watched as the solid rocket boosters disengaged from the rest of the shuttle and fell away.

All of us watched it until there was nothing except a pinpoint glitter in the sky.

And then it disappeared.

Standing on that field surrounded by fellow classmates and administration, I distinctly remember thinking to myself, “This is awesome.” Not awesome as in cool, or wicked, but truly in the purest sense of the word awe-some.

This memory has stayed with me for years, and I pray I never forget it. The space program is majestic for those who play direct or in-direct parts, and even to casual observers. But this program is not without risk. In the case of this launch, I hadn’t known at the time that I would never see Space Shuttle Columbia take-off again. The investigation into the disaster concluded that an insulating foam tile had fallen off the external tank during launch and struck the orbiter’s wing, dooming the vessel before she even made it into space. Sixteen days later, she disintegrated over Texas, taking with her the lives of seven astronauts.

As I sit at my cubical, dreaming about the stars and thinking about cantilevers to make sure my canopy doesn’t collapse on the cars underneath it, I’m also thinking about the fact that I need to get this right. Not just that it looks pretty, or drawn well in AutoCAD, but how I can make it my own aesthetically, while still firmly founded in reality.

If there’s one thing that this co-op really brings home to me from a designer standpoint, it is affirmation of the responsibility for architects and engineers. Structures deserve every effort by the designer in order to be a safe facility for its inhabitants and the assets residing in them. While NASA is an extreme example of this, the structures in and around Kennedy are dedicated to space exploration and all structures simply need to work. While it was not the fault of our facilities, the freak accident that cost the program Columbia is a reminder that what we do affects lives, whether it be a malfunctioning light socket, or awkward stairs, or even a loose tile.

M. O. O. N… That spells Tom Cullen

I recently watched Apollo 13 again. I know, cliché, “oh she works at NASA of course she likes blah blah blah.” But you, dear readers, are missing the point.

It’s hard being away from friends and school for so long. I took this co-op back home so I’d be closer to my parents, no room or board costs, etc, but unfortunately few of my Florida friends (they’re at college) or Boston friends (they’re in, duh, Boston) are here to socialize with.

So I need creative ways to entertain myself here in Mel-boring. Any and all books I can get my hands on. Obsessive amounts of Supernatural. Video games. Driving 3 hours to Tampa to visit my brother then 3 hours back. Orlando. Facebook, lots of facebook. DeviantART, Fanfiction.net, Twitter, etc.

But even these get dull after a while. My way to deal with this, in a backwards way, was one weekend I decided to watch a couple of movies with Gary Sinise. In particular some of my favorite movies of all time, like The Stand, and Apollo 13.

It was awesome. But I think I would have enjoyed it more if I were in Boston.

See I have a perpetual and really unfounded anxiety when it comes to actively socializing. I don’t like it. I don’t like talking, preferring to listen and soak up the stories of other people’s lives and problems. If I want to talk I prefer it in writing ie a blog. But I’m working on my lack of people skills through this co-op, and it’s something that I didn’t think I could being so far away from friends and classmates. I’ve been reconnecting with old high school friends that aren’t in Tampa, Tallahassee, or Gainesville. Meeting with other co-ops here at KSC and even video-conferences with those around the country from Ames, Glenn, Dreyden, Goddard, Johnson and more. Even just talking and the occasional lunch with the senior engineers is a fascinating look into how things have changed at KSC.

The point is you need to put yourself out there even on co-op, and share those boring Saturday nights with the people you meet. Professionals call it networking. Spice it up by watching Apollo 13 and playing the six-degrees of Kevin Bacon game. (Hint, he’s already in the movie.)