The Star Sailors

Over the next two years Goddard continued to refine his design for a liquid-fueled rocket. In May of 1928 he had built a rocket that weighed 70 pounds with a motor capable of generating 200 pounds of thrust, however, this rocket did not fly. Tests with this rocket resulted in several explosions. Around the same time Goddard hired his brother-in-law, Albert Kisk, who had experience as a machinist in addition to Clark grad student Lawrence Mansur to assist him in his work. In September of that year, Robert’s father Nahum Goddard died of throat cancer at the age 69, just one month after his retirement.

The flights continued into December 1928 at which time Goddard achieved a short flight. He also began to do work with gyroscopes to provide better stability on longer flights. However, this research was rendered moot by the fact that heat from the rocket exhaust was burning through the combustion chamber. Goddard solved this problem by injecting excess gasoline into the combustion chamber. At the end of the month Goddard flew a rocket to an altitude 204 feet and began to revisit his work with gyroscopes

Around the same time Abbot began prodding Goddard to show more progress with his research. Goddard responded by suggesting his experiments would be safer in a desert environment. Abbot contacted some friends at Mount Wilson to see what could be arranged. He also cited the Germans’ ongoing interest in rocket technology when he asked for Congress $10,000. Abbot was unable to secure the money but promised Goddard $ 5,000 if he could guarantee a successful flight.

In May of 1929, Goddard attempted to launch an 11 foot rocket. The test was a failure due to a faulty fuel line. The next earliest possible test was in July.

The test flight eventually occurred on July 17. The rocket was equipped with scientific instruments and a parachute aid in recovery. Below that were the propellant tanks, combustion chamber and the rocket nozzle which was surrounded by stabilizer fins.

The rocket was launched at 2:00 PM. It lifted off and rose 80 feet into the air. At this point it rolled sideways and crashed 171 feet away. The gasoline tank exploded upon impact and destroyed all of the scientific instruments. The noise was such that neighbors called the police to report a plane crash. Goddard tried to cover the incident up, but hot on the heels of the police and the fire department were a flock of reporters. The next day more wild headlines appeared in the newspaper.

Goddard’s reputation for secrecy was thrust upon him retroactively in the 1950s and this fact is born out by his official biography, which pressed those people who knew him well to emphasize this aspect of his personality. It seems that they obliged, but only to a point. Charles Lindbergh went on record as acknowledging that there was truth to this, but argued that it was common for inventors to remain tight lipped about their work. Harry Guggenheim was known to refer to Goddard as a “lone wolf” and noted that he became very protective of his research if it was attacked or impugned in any way. Of all the people who knew him, only Robert Truax seems to have given Goddard’s biographers what they really wanted. He described Goddard as being “abnormal,” claiming that most rocket researchers were usually very vocal about their work. Truax summed up the general feeling about Goddard when he said:

I think in general most of the other people in the field were somewhat resentful of Goddard because in the early days he was the only one who had any money and the only one who had done any appreciable amount of work on it, but wouldn’t tell any one else what he was doing. They felt that he was sort of cheating everyone else by keeping it all to himself.

 

Ultimately, while there is some truth behind the legend of Goddard’s secrecy, his choice to remain tight lipped about his work must be placed in context. Goddard had taken great pains encourage the belief that he it was only a matter of time before he attempted a moon landing. The reality was that Goddard’s research was not nearly as advanced as he would have liked. As a result he felt little compulsion to release the technical details of his work. This gave Goddard the appearance of keeping secrets when the truth was that he really had none to keep. The difference between Goddard and other rocket scientists during the 1920s and 30s is Goddard’s insistence on obtaining patents, affidavits and other legal documents to protect his research. Just as Alexander Graham Bell is recognized as the inventor of the telephone because he was able to patent his design before his rivals could do the same, so too is Robert Goddard recognized as one of the fathers of modern rocketry for the same reason.

For the rest of that year Goddard’s research continued uninterrupted. However, the death of Daniel Guggenheim, Harry Guggenheim’s father, combined with the onset of the Great Depression mean that there was very little money available for Goddard to continue his research and he was forced to cease his testing in Roswell, New Mexico and head back east to Clark. While there he was able to secure a $250 grant from the Smithsonian’s Hodgkin’s Fund. It wasn’t much but it allowed him to continue tinkering with his fuel pumps and other small components. In 1930 he also tried to perfect an air breathing rocket that he had patented. Goddard achieved some publicity for this work, but little else.

A close examination of Goddard’s diary from this period in his life shows that he was distracted. Goddard’s diary reflects an increasing amount of time spent copying homilies, sermons and quotations that were meant to be stoical in nature. One such entry in Goddard’s diary reads:

The rocket is very human. It can raise itself to the very loftiest positions sole by the ejection of enormous quantities of hot air. Emerson says, “If a man paint a better picture, preach a better sermon or build a better mouse trap than anyone else, the world will make a beaten path to his door.” I, like many others have had the misfortune not to be an artist, a preacher or a manufacturer of mouse traps.

 

In May of 1933, Goddard began fund raising again. He sent a long letter to Charles Lindbergh asking to meet with him, as well as Harry Guggenheim and Colonel Henry Breckinridge, Charles Lindbergh’s lawyer. However, Lindbergh, Guggenheim and Breckinridge were having money problems of their own and did not reply to Goddard’s letter. In July of the same year he went to Washington armed with a letter of introduction from Abbot. He first tried to interest the US Navy in funding his research. He initially failed to interest the Navy in his work, but he was eventually able to send an illustrated report to Acting Secretary HL Roosevelt. At the same time, Goddard was encouraged to write Florence Guggenheim by Breckenridge asking for $25,000 to continue his work at Roswell, or failing that, $2,500 which would allow him to continue his research at Clark. Harry Guggenheim answered on behalf of his mother saying that while $25,000 was out of the question, Goddard could expect to receive the $2,500 that would allow him to keep working at Clark University.

As time passed, Goddard became more and more deeply involved in his research. By 1935 there were questions among the Clark trustees as to whether or not Goddard should still be considered a Clark professor, due to his long and continuing absences. The question was resolved for the short term when Goddard received a commitment from Guggenheim to pay the salary of Goddard’s substitute for the next two years. That August, Atwood sent Goddard a letter in which he wrote, “We are all excited over the conspicuous publicity which you are receiving in the papers.”

When Atwood visited Goddard that fall, he told Goddard that he was taking heat from the school trustees regarding Goddard’s status. To which Robert responded by reminding Atwood that his research was a university project. When Atwood invited Goddard to the Clark commencement ceremony, Lindbergh covered his flank by writing a letter that praised both the university and Goddard’s on-going research and had it read at the commencement ceremony. In the winter of 1936 however, Atwood wrote Goddard a letter in which he said, “I have not heard anything of your work for so long that I wonder what is happening.”

Goddard returned to Roswell, New Mexico on September 23, 1934. During their first stay, Goddard and his team had been somewhat aloof from the rest of the town’s population. Now, however, Goddard found himself embraced by the town and its people. He also habitually rhapsodiozed about the beauty of the New Mexico desert as his diary demonstrates. “The dry air and the sunlight seemed very good, after the dingy skies, fog, rain and dampness of the East. It seems as if there were some truth in the saying that there is no air east the Mississippi.”

Goddard’s assistants were also known to wax poetic about the site of their experiments. One former classmate had this to say about Roswell:

It is real western cattle country here and on Saturday afternoons the Main Street of the town is filled with cowboys, with wide hats, high-heeled boots and leather chaps and others who look like old prospectors. We have a mountain about 40 miles away at 10,000 feet high and some higher mountains about 80 miles away, but the country here is very level.

 

Goddard’s assistants reached Roswell soon after Goddard himself. Esther’s photographs depict the ecstatic men partaking in comic rituals such as taking down the calendar from 1932 and replacing it with one from 1934, in addition Goddard ceremoniously putting on the hat that he had left on his work bench two years before. The return of Goddard to his Roswell testing ground occasioned the usual burst of publicity that often seemed to follow Goddard and was the most dramatic thing to happen until Charles Lindbergh visited Roswell without warning on September 15.

All through the 1930s, Goddard received numerous letters from rocket clubs all over the world. In 1938, the New York Times reported that a “torpedo rocket” had been developed in Britain for use against enemy airplanes. First and foremost in the mind of Robert Goddard, however, were the Germans. When German rocket pioneer Willy Ley came the United States to question Goddard about his work, Robert became convinced that he was the target of Nazi spies. Around this time, Lindbergh returned from a trip to Germany where he had had the opportunity to meet with many of Germany’s leading rocket researchers. Lindbergh came away from these meetings convinced that the Nazis were pursuing rocket technology with an eye toward military applications. Around the same time, Goddard lodged a complaint with Simon & Schuster Publishing. He claimed that the book they were about to print, Rockets Through Space, was biased because its British author, P E Cleator gave more credit to the Germans than Goddard felt they deserved. The publisher responded by adding a footnote that Goddard was actually the first person to build and fly a liquid fueled rocket.

In addition, Goddard also found himself facing competition at home from other rocket researchers in the United States. In 1935, he sent Abbot affidavits from everybody who had been involved in his work since 1920, which were to be deposited at the Smithsonian. Goddard’s goal was to counter the claims coming from Europe that many of the advances in rocketry had been developed there, instead of in the United States.

More and more, Goddard saw himself as being besieged by interlopers. The many amateur rocket clubs that began to appear in the 1930s usually promoted cooperation, however, Goddard was not ready to cooperate with any of these groups because he had not completed his research and as a result they were forced to forge ahead without him. G Edward Pendray’s American Rocket Society in New York made headlines with their launches, as did Willy Ley when he announced that he was going to build a mail carrying rocket. Then a midshipman in the US Navy, Robert Truax sent Goddard a long letter filled with insightful technical questions and shrewd suggestions regarding future rocket development. Truax would eventually go on to direct rocket research and development for the US Navy.

Under other circumstances Goddard’s protectiveness of his work might have been at least tolerated. However, after the cancellation of a meeting between himself and his counterpart at the Guggenheim Aeronautical Laboratory at the California Institute of Technology, Goddard’s reputation seemed to be set in stone. He kept Lindbergh, Abbot and Guggenheim as friends and supporters, but Robert had tested Guggenheim’s patience and Goddard now had the reputation of being an uncooperative loner. Goddard’s isolation was underscored that November when a storm came through Worchester and blew down the cherry tree. When he heard the news Goddard wrote, “Cherry tree down, have to carry on alone.”

The loss of the cherry tree permanently severed Goddard from Worchester and as a result, Robert and Esther settled permanently in Roswell where she began trying to draw Robert out of his shell. In 1940, Esther threw herself into the local activities in Roswell. She joined, among other things, the Woman’s Club, the Shakespeare Club and the Bridge Club. When war broke out in Europe in 1939, Esther began to organize knitting crusades for the Red Cross in addition to raising “Vitamins for Britain.” In 1941 she became president of the Federated Women’s Clubs of New Mexico. In October of 1940 Esther succeeded in drawing Robert out of his shell when he joined the Roswell Rotary Club. It was the first social organization the Goddard had become a member of since joining a fraternity in college.

Goddard’s growing attachment to Roswell was paralleled by a growing estrangement from Clark University. He had never been a particularly effective administrator when working at the University, and at a distance he was a disaster. In September of 1939, Goddard relayed to Atwood a complaint from one of Goddard’s assistants and former Clark physics student, Percy Roope, that math instructor Cary Melville had become rebellious and had refused to take instructions that were being transmitted by Goddard through Roope. He assigned himself the best students and marked his classes far harder than was necessary. When Goddard asked Atwood to straighten the situation out he got a sharp rebuke in reply. “Wire Melville immediately definite instructions regarding courses. You are Chairman.” Atwood very much resented being asked to intervene.

The tension between Goddard and Atwood continued to grow. On more than one occasion Atwood was heard to ask, “What are we going to do about Physics for next year?” In 1939, Goddard traveled to address the heads of Clark’s science programs, which alleviated some of the tension that had grown up over his continuing absence. In 1940, things got tense again when it was suggested that Goddard’s leave of absence should be extended. When word of this reached Guggenheim in Roswell he wrote a letter guaranteeing the substitute professor’s salary for the coming school year.

Relations between Atwood and Goddard worsened further early in 1941 when Atwood complained, “I hear a good many rumblings about this plan of having you away so long and holding the position open for you. We need a stronger set-up in Physics at Clark and one with more permanency.” Goddard responded by arguing that his work was important to national defense and how Atwood’s comments reflected upon the University, when this fact was taken into account.

From this point on, the correspondence between Goddard and Atwood became positively toxic until Goddard was invited to resign in 1942. Goddard would not be edged out of his tenure so easily, however. “The problem is not simple one,” he wrote, “for I, too, will soon reach retiring age. Clark is my alma mater, and Worcester is my home, and it is a severe wrench even now to contemplate severing relations with the University.” Goddard was really only interested in protecting his annuities, but this also seems to indicate that he wanted to stay on speaking terms with Atwood and the Trustees if possible. Atwood, however, wanted to bring Goddard to account for the significant quantities of university equipment in his possession. Goddard, however, refused this and a showdown between the two men was now inevitable.

By this point in his life, Robert Goddard was rivaled only by Thomas Edison as one of the most well known and highly publicized scientists in the United States. In addition, rockets continued to capture the imagination of the public and the interest of the military as was shown when an essay written by an Army officer appeared entitled, “What Can We Expect of Rockets?” in 1939. When a newspaper in Italy reported that the Germans were experimenting with “rocket artillery shells” in 1940. Goddard was contacted by Associated Press. He claimed to have been “disturbed” by this development and said, “I have never investigated the possibility of the rocket being used as a weapon, and this may affect my work.”

This was not true, strictly speaking since Goddard had experimented with rocket powered weapons during World War I. He got away with it, however, because he maintained good relations with important newspapers and reports. Goddard had been cautioned by Lindbergh and Guggenheim to treat the press fairly and for the most part Goddard did so, but he still had his favorite reporters, particularly Howard Blakeslee of the Associated Press, Herbert Nichols of the Christian Science Monitor and science writer William Wenstrom.

Blakeslee wrote this in December of 1940 about one of Goddard’s test flights:

River of Fire. It produced one of the awesome things which strike the eyes of the few persons who have seen one of his rockets taking off. Before it rises, for a second or two, a jet of pure flame strikes down the valley and rolls 50 feet along the surface as a billowing river of fire 10 feet deep. This is the jet of fire which drives the rocket, spreading out as it expands in the air… There is nothing on earth its heat cannot melt.

 

Goddard, Lindbergh and Guggenheim also knew the value of prestigious coverage in addition to keeping within the good graces of the nation press and at that time, as now, there was no more popular or prestigious publication than National Geographic.

When the United States entered World War II, following the Japanese air strike at Pearl Harbor, on December 7, 1941, Goddard once again turned to designing rocket powered weapons. He picked up where he had left off in 1918, however, many technical advances and a shift in the way the war would be fought had occurred in that time and Goddard was forced to start from scratch again. However, one problem remained and that was one of physics. Since the introduction of the tank onto the battlefield in 1916, it had become necessary to find a way for infantry to neutralize enemy tanks. The problem was that if an explosion occurs against a flat surface the majority of the energy will be deflected away from the point of impact. This could be overcome with hardened projectiles moving at a high velocity, but these could only be delivered by airplane or by large artillery guns and were not man portable. A discovery made in 1888 lead to the development of the hollow or shaped charge which would allow a light projectile to penetrate an armored vehicle and allow shrapnel, hot gases and molten metal to enter the crew compartment or the engine space. The idea was sold to the National Defense Research Council by Goddard’s partner, in the venture, CN Hickman, who had also worked with Goddard during World War I, however, Hickman claimed that Goddard should receive the credit for the invention the bazooka because it was his rocket research the made the bazooka possible. Despite Hickman’s willingness to share the credit, no grants from this work were given to Goddard.

It seems that there were limits to Goddard’s acquisitiveness, however. In 1944, after a trip to the Curtiss-Wright plant in Caldwell, New Jersey, Vice President Robert Earle joked with Goddard, “Upon seeing how much you spent for meals I greatly wonder how you can exist on so little food.” This brought out Goddard’s somewhat impish sense of humor when he wrote, “Thank you for your solicitude regarding my meals… I will admit, however, that being a professor for a number of years has developed the habit of living on short rations, besides keeping me a novice in the technique of making out expense accounts. I will see to it that this fault is corrected in the future.”

Overall, Goddard was not a reckless person. He had maneuvered for years to maintain his tenure position at Clark in order to secure a refuge so that he had somewhere to go in case the funding for his rocket research ran out. His running argument with Atwood continued even after Goddard’s research moved to Maryland. There were three bones of contention between Goddard and Atwood. The first was Goddard’s double dipping his retirement plans, which had continued from 1914 onwards. Goddard was now in his sixties and would soon be eligible to collect on those annuities. The second was the large amount of university property that Goddard had in his possession. The third was Goddard’s many leaves of absence from the University.

In 1943, Goddard was earning more money from the government than he was from Clark. He wrote to the TIAA, which was responsible for managing Clark’s retirement plan. Goddard wanted to know if it was possible for to increase the amount of money being paid into the plan. The TIAA responded that this was possible only if Atwood also increased the payments that the University was making into Goddard’s retirement plan. As Goddard had been on numerous extended and unpaid leaves of absence over the past several years, there was no money being paid into his retirement plan. Around the same time, Goddard also contacted the Carnegie Foundation, again inquiring about his annuity. He learned that a large sum of money would be paid to him from the Carnegie Foundation, but that this would not be enough to guarantee a comfortable retirement. Goddard contacted Atwood, again seeking to increase the size of the payments going into Goddard’s annuity. Atwood contacted the University payroll office and told Goddard that he could send his enlarged payments to Worcester and that the University would pass them along to the TIAA from there. As a result, Goddard stood to receive two annuities so long as he held on to his tenure position at the University.

The question of what to do with Goddard’s large amount of shop and laboratory equipment still remained, however. Atwood demanded that the US Navy purchase all of Goddard’s equipment and added that some of the items in Goddard’s possession nominally belong to the Carnegie Foundation and the Smithsonian, actually belonged to Clark University, as it was Clark that was actually receiving the donations from the Smithsonian and the Carnegie Foundation. Goddard responded by saying that much of the equipment from the Smithsonian had been loaned to him personally, while the equipment that he had used while working under with the Navy was US Navy property. The dispute was eventually ended in 1943 when the Guggenheim Foundation agreed to buy Goddard’s equipment from Clark University for $4,600 without an appraisal. Guggenheim believed that this was the simplest course of action and Atwood agreed.

Goddard would not think of retiring from Clark until he had a secure position either in the government or with private industry. To that end he was able to secure a position with Curtiss-Wright Aviation. When Atwood learned of this he sent Goddard a letter asking him how he planned to manage the Physics and Math Departments, while working in the private sector and reminded him that the “men on the ground” must have the ability to plan their courses as they saw fit. Goddard got very angry when he saw this and wrote, “If I understand the first paragraph of your letter…correctly, the University would like to have my resignation at the present time. If this is so I am hereby tendering it.” Atwood wrote “YES!”, and underlined it four times. He also wrote, “I am shocked at your reaction. I have not asked for your resignation from your professorship at Clark.” Goddard responded to this by writing, “I am happy to discover that I have misinterpreted your meaning and shall be glad to continue in my former status as outlined in my letter of January 9, 1943.” In this way Goddard was able to remain both a Professor at Clark and the head of the Physics and Math departments.

The showdown between Goddard and Atwood that had been brewing for years finally came in August, 1943. After the departure of yet another substitute professor, Atwood wrote to Goddard, saying, “We have another emergency to meet…We simply can not keep a good man here without any prospect open to him for the future.” As Clark was taking on what Atwood called, “Army emergency work,” the school trustees decided that it would be best if Goddard would return to oversee the running of the Physics Department. Goddard responded to this request with a telegram, in which he wrote, “Hence I must regretfully resign in order to help you meet the present emergency.” Goddard also sent Atwood a letter that stated:

As I stated, I feel that I can be of enough service in the war effort to make my decision to remain here the only course to follow. The fact that I am near the retiring age is also a factor of definite weight. A third point is that I doubt if I could lecture as soon as September. I had a severe cold last spring which settled in the larynx and a specialist tells me I ought not to speak above a whisper for about two months.

 

Atwood accepted Goddard’s notice of resignation without hesitation. At the same time, Atwood also announced that Clark would no longer offer graduate studies to Physics students. This decision was due in equal parts to Goddard’s negligence and Atwood’s plundering.

When Goddard returned to Annapolis in 1944, he found that his workshop was plagued with rumors that he and his men would soon be terminated. These rumors arose out of the usual delays caused by US Navy contract renewal process and eventually, Goddard’s government contracts were renewed and he would be allowed to continue his work through to June, 1945. In April of 1944, however, Goddard discovered that Curtiss-Wright and the US Navy had been dealing behind his back, making arrangements to move Goddard, his men and their equipment to Caldwell. In order to relieve him unnecessary paperwork, Goddard’s work for the US Navy would now be under contract to Curtiss-Wright.

In June of that same year, book critic Edmund Wilson wrote a favorable review of Rockets by Willy Ley. Not long afterward, Goddard wrote to Wilson, with the intent of countering the impression that the Germans had had any first in rocket research. Three days later on June 13, 1944, the first Nazi built V-1 flying bomb hit London. Also called a “buzz bomb, “doodle bug” or “cherry stone” the V-1 was an air breathing pulse jet providing power to what would later be recognized as the world’s first operation use of a cruise missile. In addition the warhead, the V-1 also had a simple guidance and timing system that was designed to cut off the engine so that it could fall on the target city. Goddard was swamped by requests from reporters for the V-1′s technical information. Goddard was unable to offer details until August, at which time he made the following statement to the North American Newspaper Alliance:

The V-1 flying bomb as a flight controlled plane has already been shown to be an American idea through patents to [Charles F.] Kettering and [Elmer A] Sperry. The jet-propulsion engine is another. Features of the patent that appear in the bomb engine are shutter-type valves in a fixed grill; fuel injection orifices incorporated in this grill; combustion chamber; spark plug; and nozzle… Anyone could have read it during the last ten years.

 

The reality was that, while Goddard did submit a patent for an air-breathing rocket engine in the early 1930s, the engine that powered the V-1 was actually an outgrowth of a patent issued to Paul Schmidt of Munich, Germany in 1930. Walter Dornberger, later head of the German V-2 project described, some of the inner workings of the V-1 pulse jet. The V-1′s pulse jet created approximately 500 explosions per minute. It did this by sucking air through “a grid valve fitted to the duct head and provided with many rows of single flap plated opening inward. Fuel oil was injected into the compressed air and ignited. The resultant combustion closed the valve flaps of the grid forward and forced the combustion gases and the air contained in the duct astern. This was accompanied by powerful expansion of the gases and reaction propulsion took place.” While there were some minor technical similarities between the Goddard and Schmidt designs, but ultimately the pulse jet developed for the V-1 was of German origin.

The rocket motor for the V-2, however, was a completely different story. Unlike the V-1, the V-2 was a true rocket. A memorandum shown to Goddard by Guggenheim at Mercer Field, New Jersey where Guggenheim was the commanding officer, confirmed Goddard’s belief that the Germans had been stealing American rocket research and passing it off as their own. To further illustrate his point, Goddard showed Guggenheim a picture of a rocket he had built at Roswell and compared it with photographs of captured V-2s. The two designs were almost identical.

Despite this, however, there seems to be little evidence linking Goddard’s influence to Nazi rocket development. Some of the Nazi scientist who emigrated to the United States after the war claimed that Goddard’s work had not been published in Germany before the rise of Adolf Hitler. This is supported by Esther Goddard, who conducted her own search for links between Goddard and the V-2 and found nothing. Dornberger made repeated claims that rocket research was a complicated undertaking that required teamwork and was beyond the reach of solitary inventors like Goddard.

However, at the same time, Dornberger, Von Braun and other German scientists found it useful to maintain a perceived connection between themselves and Goddard. They believed that having an American doing the same research at the same time made them less complicit in the atrocities that occurred at Camp Dora and the Mittlewerk in Central Germany. They also claimed that majority of Goddard’s patents were classified. This is now known to be untrue, as the Goddard work was not classified until 1942. The idea that Goddard was unknown in Germany before the war is also untrue. When trying to secure more funding for their work, Dornberger and others often placed their arguments within the framework of an international arms race and often cited Goddard as proof that the United States was winning. The truth was during the 1930s, Germans used their military and diplomatic attaches to spy on American rocket research by using them to acquire Goddard’s patents. The result was that while Goddard’s designs were not directly copied by the Germans, the remarkable similarities between the rockets built by Goddard and those built by the Nazis indicates that the Germans were keenly aware of Goddard’s work and drawing inspiration from him, while at the same time adapting his research to fit their own needs.

During the first two months that they lived in Maryland, the Goddards rented a home in Annapolis. In October they moved to the small resort community of Tydings-on-the-Bay. It was cooler here than at Annapolis and closer to Goddard’s work in addition to offering a magnificent view of the Chesapeake Bay. “We are simply loving the place,” said Esther, “tho I am still scouring in spots.”

In October, 1944, Robert and Esther moved to a larger house. Its yard was so large that Esther and Robert were able to take up archery. Esther loved the house, but Robert claimed that it was too big and gloomy. He was heard on several occasions telling friends that he wanted to go back to Roswell. That same year, Esther enrolled at Johns Hopkins University. A house keeper was hired to look after the house and Robert bought his wife a car for the commute to the train station.

Due their location and wartime rationing, the Goddards found that their social life had become more restricted. Christmas was the high point of the year with Robert receiving scotch and cigars. The Goddard also still traveled, mainly to New England, Baltimore and Washington to see the sights and visit old friends. Further restricting their social activities was Goddard’s work for the US Navy, which was very demanding and often required him to work upwards of 50 hours per week. By 1944, Goddard was spending most of his time organizing his research notes made during the 1920s and 30s. He also found that because of the war, Goddard was receiving very little in the way of publicity. He was pleased, however, to be credited as a contributing source to the development of the first British and American jet fighters, which were being tested at the end of the war. Goddard was also annoyed that he had to share credit with the Russian rocket scientist Tsiolkovsky.

While working at Annapolis, Goddard continued his relationship with G Edward Pendray of the American Rocket Society, who had long been a fan of Goddard and his work. After the first launches of the V-1 and V-2, Pendray wrote many letters to a wide variety of newspapers extolling Goddard and his work and reminding the American public that it was Goddard who had developed the first liquid fueled rockets. When Pendray went so far as to propose that the Smithsonian republish Goddard’s two reports on rocket science for that institution, Goddard was delighted and wrote a short introduction.

By late 1944, Goddard was unwell. Starting in the year before the entry, “stayed in bed all day” began to appear with increasing frequency in Goddard’s diary. In June, Goddard visited Baltimore TB specialist Dr. Charles R Austrian who referred him to Dr. Henry Slack, a throat specialist. Dr. Slack advised Goddard not to talk at all and that his voice would improve on its own. It seemed to work for awhile, but by the time winter came, Goddard was often bedridden.

His inability to speak also interfered with is research, unable to speak, Goddard tried writing, however, his assistants found that his writing was so bad as to be almost unreadable. He even tried to communicating with his research team through morse code by tapping on a table with a pencil. This was also a dismal failure.

In March, 1945 Robert and Esther went to dinner at the Army-Navy Club in Washington DC as the guests of Commander Charles Fischer, one of Goddard’s patrons in the Navy. During dinner Goddard suffered from such a severe upset stomach that the alarmed Commander drove them home. In May Goddard once again visited Dr. Slack who flatly told him to take a vacation. The Navy obliged Goddard by giving him and his team two week off before moving them to New Jersey. Ultimately the vacation did little to help Goddard and when he returned, Dr. Slack referred him a surgeon, Dr. Edwin Looper who found a growth in Goddard’s throat. On May 19^th, Dr. Looper operated and removed Goddard’s larynx and Upper Trachea in the process. Goddard received many letters of sympathy and good wishes from family and friends. Guggenheim, was by this time serving as the executive officer aboard an aircraft carrier in the Pacific wrote to Goddard saying:

The thing for you to do now is get complete rest somewhere, and make a full recovery. In the meantime, don’t worry about jet propulsion or anything else. Your experiments have been many a year in the making and there is a long road ahead, so a few months more or less will really make no difference. Your job is to get your mind off anything but your health, and when that has been recovered, we’ll make a fresh start on the great future ahead.

 

Even Wallace Atwood, who had ceased to be a friend years ago sent Goddard a letter full of good wishes.

Goddard’s stubborn nature had seen him through tuberculosis, battles with smoking, drinking and countless failed experiments. It could not, however, defeat throat cancer, the disease that had claimed his father. He lingered for awhile in an oxygen tent, sustained by regular blood transfusions and tended to by a nurse. Esther stayed at his side day and night until August 10^th, 1945 when she needed to go home for a few hours. While she was away, Robert Hutchings Goddard died. He was 63 years old. Goddard was buried in the family plot on August 13^th. His death was commented on by many of the newspapers who had charted his progress towards the moon. Many of the same papers claimed that he was the inventor of the V-2 rocket. Edward Pendray wrote this obituary for the AAAS Journal, Science:

Even more impressive than Dr. Goddard’s technical skill, insight and ingenuity were his extraordinary perseverance, patience and courage. He carried on many of his investigations in the teeth of public skepticism and indifference, with limited financial resources and in spite of heartbreaking technical difficulties-a combination of obstacles which might have baffled and disheartened a less stout-hearted pioneer. Almost single-handed, Dr. Goddard developed rocketry from a vague dream to one of the most significant branches of modern engineering.

 

After his death, rocket research in the United States continued, often relying heavily on Goddard’s pioneering researcher. Goddard’s influence was felt to such an extent that it was simply not possible to build or fly rockets without touching on Goddard’s research in some way. The depth of Goddard’s contribution to the emerging science of rocketry was such that Esther felt that the world needed to know exactly how far Goddard had advanced development of rocket technology.

Consequently, in the late 1940s with the help of her late husband’s old friend and benefactor, Harry Guggenheim, Esther began to undertake the monumental task of organizing Robert’s notes. With the assistance of two typists, Esther transcribed 5,500 pages of notes in addition to mounting and labeling well over 2,000 photographs. Esther also transcribed Goddard’s diaries and with the assistance of Pendray completed a project that Goddard had started the year before his death, the compilation of all of his laboratory notes from 1929 to 1941. At the same time she began negotiations with the US Government for official recognition of Goddard’s work and monetary compensation for the infringement of Goddard’s patents. These negotiations continued at a slow pace until 1953, when Esther took matters into her own hand and began to look for a writer who could produce an acceptable biography.

The writer she chose was Wesley Price, an assistant editor of The Saturday Evening Post. When Esther showed Price the material that she had available, he immediately submitted a book proposal to Farrar, Straus and Young. Given that Roger Straus was the nephew of Harry Guggenheim and that the Straus family were the directors of the Guggenheim Foundation, Price’s book proposal was approved at once and in 1954 he began conduction interviews with Goddard’s associates. Price worked on the project for two years until he suffered a physical break down was forced to abandon the project. The writer hired to replace him was Milton Lehman, a publicist for the Motion Picture Association of America. He had originally come to Esther’s attention in 1954, when he published a series of articles on Goddard and his work, as well as other pieces related to rocket science.

Lehman started conducting interviews in 1956, beginning with Charles Lindbergh who told him, “he feels that this book should be timeless. It should be a permanent reference.” Lindbergh would become so involved in the production of the book, as to practically be its coauthor. The book would eventually be called This High Man and would not be published until 1963. Likewise, Esther would not receive compensation for government infringements of Robert’s patents until much later that Esther would eventually receive a million dollars from the US Government as settlement for her patent infringement suit.

Although Goddard did not directly influence the development of German rockets as has long been claimed by his official biography, This High Man. The depth of his contribution to the development of space flight is undeniable and it is for this reason that he is rightly remembered as of the great scientific figures of the 20^th Century, as well carrying the mantle, “The Father of the Space Age.”

 Over the next two years Goddard continued to refine his design for a liquid-fueled rocket. In May of 1928 he had built a rocket that weighed 70 pounds with a motor capable of generating 200 pounds of thrust, however, this rocket did not fly. Tests with this rocket resulted in several explosions. Around the same time Goddard hired his brother-in-law, Albert Kisk, who had experience as a machinist in addition to Clark grad student Lawrence Mansur to assist him in his work. In September of that year, Robert’s father Nahum Goddard died of throat cancer at the age 69, just one month after his retirement.

The flights continued into December 1928 at which time Goddard achieved a short flight. He also began to do work with gyroscopes to provide better stability on longer flights. However, this research was rendered moot by the fact that heat from the rocket exhaust was burning through the combustion chamber. Goddard solved this problem by injecting excess gasoline into the combustion chamber. At the end of the month Goddard flew a rocket to an altitude 204 feet and began to revisit his work with gyroscopes

Around the same time Abbot began prodding Goddard to show more progress with his research. Goddard responded by suggesting his experiments would be safer in a desert environment. Abbot contacted some friends at Mount Wilson to see what could be arranged. He also cited the Germans’ ongoing interest in rocket technology when he asked for Congress $10,000. Abbot was unable to secure the money but promised Goddard $ 5,000 if he could guarantee a successful flight.

In May of 1929, Goddard attempted to launch an 11 foot rocket. The test was a failure due to a faulty fuel line. The next earliest possible test was in July.

The test flight eventually occurred on July 17. The rocket was equipped with scientific instruments and a parachute aid in recovery. Below that were the propellant tanks, combustion chamber and the rocket nozzle which was surrounded by stabilizer fins.

The rocket was launched at 2:00 PM. It lifted off and rose 80 feet into the air. At this point it rolled sideways and crashed 171 feet away. The gasoline tank exploded upon impact and destroyed all of the scientific instruments. The noise was such that neighbors called the police to report a plane crash. Goddard tried to cover the incident up, but hot on the heels of the police and the fire department were a flock of reporters. The next day more wild headlines appeared in the newspaper.

Goddard’s reputation for secrecy was thrust upon him retroactively in the 1950s and this fact is born out by his official biography, which pressed those people who knew him well to emphasize this aspect of his personality. It seems that they obliged, but only to a point. Charles Lindbergh went on record as acknowledging that there was truth to this, but argued that it was common for inventors to remain tight lipped about their work. Harry Guggenheim was known to refer to Goddard as a “lone wolf” and noted that he became very protective of his research if it was attacked or impugned in any way. Of all the people who knew him, only Robert Truax seems to have given Goddard’s biographers what they really wanted. He described Goddard as being “abnormal,” claiming that most rocket researchers were usually very vocal about their work. Truax summed up the general feeling about Goddard when he said:

I think in general most of the other people in the field were somewhat resentful of Goddard because in the early days he was the only one who had any money and the only one who had done any appreciable amount of work on it, but wouldn’t tell any one else what he was doing. They felt that he was sort of cheating everyone else by keeping it all to himself.

 

Ultimately, while there is some truth behind the legend of Goddard’s secrecy, his choice to remain tight lipped about his work must be placed in context. Goddard had taken great pains encourage the belief that he it was only a matter of time before he attempted a moon landing. The reality was that Goddard’s research was not nearly as advanced as he would have liked. As a result he felt little compulsion to release the technical details of his work. This gave Goddard the appearance of keeping secrets when the truth was that he really had none to keep. The difference between Goddard and other rocket scientists during the 1920s and 30s is Goddard’s insistence on obtaining patents, affidavits and other legal documents to protect his research. Just as Alexander Graham Bell is recognized as the inventor of the telephone because he was able to patent his design before his rivals could do the same, so too is Robert Goddard recognized as one of the fathers of modern rocketry for the same reason.

For the rest of that year Goddard’s research continued uninterrupted. However, the death of Daniel Guggenheim, Harry Guggenheim’s father, combined with the onset of the Great Depression mean that there was very little money available for Goddard to continue his research and he was forced to cease his testing in Roswell, New Mexico and head back east to Clark. While there he was able to secure a $250 grant from the Smithsonian’s Hodgkin’s Fund. It wasn’t much but it allowed him to continue tinkering with his fuel pumps and other small components. In 1930 he also tried to perfect an air breathing rocket that he had patented. Goddard achieved some publicity for this work, but little else.

A close examination of Goddard’s diary from this period in his life shows that he was distracted. Goddard’s diary reflects an increasing amount of time spent copying homilies, sermons and quotations that were meant to be stoical in nature. One such entry in Goddard’s diary reads:

The rocket is very human. It can raise itself to the very loftiest positions sole by the ejection of enormous quantities of hot air. Emerson says, “If a man paint a better picture, preach a better sermon or build a better mouse trap than anyone else, the world will make a beaten path to his door.” I, like many others have had the misfortune not to be an artist, a preacher or a manufacturer of mouse traps.

 

In May of 1933, Goddard began fund raising again. He sent a long letter to Charles Lindbergh asking to meet with him, as well as Harry Guggenheim and Colonel Henry Breckinridge, Charles Lindbergh’s lawyer. However, Lindbergh, Guggenheim and Breckinridge were having money problems of their own and did not reply to Goddard’s letter. In July of the same year he went to Washington armed with a letter of introduction from Abbot. He first tried to interest the US Navy in funding his research. He initially failed to interest the Navy in his work, but he was eventually able to send an illustrated report to Acting Secretary HL Roosevelt. At the same time, Goddard was encouraged to write Florence Guggenheim by Breckenridge asking for $25,000 to continue his work at Roswell, or failing that, $2,500 which would allow him to continue his research at Clark. Harry Guggenheim answered on behalf of his mother saying that while $25,000 was out of the question, Goddard could expect to receive the $2,500 that would allow him to keep working at Clark University.

As time passed, Goddard became more and more deeply involved in his research. By 1935 there were questions among the Clark trustees as to whether or not Goddard should still be considered a Clark professor, due to his long and continuing absences. The question was resolved for the short term when Goddard received a commitment from Guggenheim to pay the salary of Goddard’s substitute for the next two years. That August, Atwood sent Goddard a letter in which he wrote, “We are all excited over the conspicuous publicity which you are receiving in the papers.”

When Atwood visited Goddard that fall, he told Goddard that he was taking heat from the school trustees regarding Goddard’s status. To which Robert responded by reminding Atwood that his research was a university project. When Atwood invited Goddard to the Clark commencement ceremony, Lindbergh covered his flank by writing a letter that praised both the university and Goddard’s on-going research and had it read at the commencement ceremony. In the winter of 1936 however, Atwood wrote Goddard a letter in which he said, “I have not heard anything of your work for so long that I wonder what is happening.”

Goddard returned to Roswell, New Mexico on September 23, 1934. During their first stay, Goddard and his team had been somewhat aloof from the rest of the town’s population. Now, however, Goddard found himself embraced by the town and its people. He also habitually rhapsodiozed about the beauty of the New Mexico desert as his diary demonstrates. “The dry air and the sunlight seemed very good, after the dingy skies, fog, rain and dampness of the East. It seems as if there were some truth in the saying that there is no air east the Mississippi.”

Goddard’s assistants were also known to wax poetic about the site of their experiments. One former classmate had this to say about Roswell:

It is real western cattle country here and on Saturday afternoons the Main Street of the town is filled with cowboys, with wide hats, high-heeled boots and leather chaps and others who look like old prospectors. We have a mountain about 40 miles away at 10,000 feet high and some higher mountains about 80 miles away, but the country here is very level.

 

Goddard’s assistants reached Roswell soon after Goddard himself. Esther’s photographs depict the ecstatic men partaking in comic rituals such as taking down the calendar from 1932 and replacing it with one from 1934, in addition Goddard ceremoniously putting on the hat that he had left on his work bench two years before. The return of Goddard to his Roswell testing ground occasioned the usual burst of publicity that often seemed to follow Goddard and was the most dramatic thing to happen until Charles Lindbergh visited Roswell without warning on September 15.

All through the 1930s, Goddard received numerous letters from rocket clubs all over the world. In 1938, the New York Times reported that a “torpedo rocket” had been developed in Britain for use against enemy airplanes. First and foremost in the mind of Robert Goddard, however, were the Germans. When German rocket pioneer Willy Ley came the United States to question Goddard about his work, Robert became convinced that he was the target of Nazi spies. Around this time, Lindbergh returned from a trip to Germany where he had had the opportunity to meet with many of Germany’s leading rocket researchers. Lindbergh came away from these meetings convinced that the Nazis were pursuing rocket technology with an eye toward military applications. Around the same time, Goddard lodged a complaint with Simon & Schuster Publishing. He claimed that the book they were about to print, Rockets Through Space, was biased because its British author, P E Cleator gave more credit to the Germans than Goddard felt they deserved. The publisher responded by adding a footnote that Goddard was actually the first person to build and fly a liquid fueled rocket.

In addition, Goddard also found himself facing competition at home from other rocket researchers in the United States. In 1935, he sent Abbot affidavits from everybody who had been involved in his work since 1920, which were to be deposited at the Smithsonian. Goddard’s goal was to counter the claims coming from Europe that many of the advances in rocketry had been developed there, instead of in the United States.

More and more, Goddard saw himself as being besieged by interlopers. The many amateur rocket clubs that began to appear in the 1930s usually promoted cooperation, however, Goddard was not ready to cooperate with any of these groups because he had not completed his research and as a result they were forced to forge ahead without him. G Edward Pendray’s American Rocket Society in New York made headlines with their launches, as did Willy Ley when he announced that he was going to build a mail carrying rocket. Then a midshipman in the US Navy, Robert Truax sent Goddard a long letter filled with insightful technical questions and shrewd suggestions regarding future rocket development. Truax would eventually go on to direct rocket research and development for the US Navy.

Under other circumstances Goddard’s protectiveness of his work might have been at least tolerated. However, after the cancellation of a meeting between himself and his counterpart at the Guggenheim Aeronautical Laboratory at the California Institute of Technology, Goddard’s reputation seemed to be set in stone. He kept Lindbergh, Abbot and Guggenheim as friends and supporters, but Robert had tested Guggenheim’s patience and Goddard now had the reputation of being an uncooperative loner. Goddard’s isolation was underscored that November when a storm came through Worchester and blew down the cherry tree. When he heard the news Goddard wrote, “Cherry tree down, have to carry on alone.”

The loss of the cherry tree permanently severed Goddard from Worchester and as a result, Robert and Esther settled permanently in Roswell where she began trying to draw Robert out of his shell. In 1940, Esther threw herself into the local activities in Roswell. She joined, among other things, the Woman’s Club, the Shakespeare Club and the Bridge Club. When war broke out in Europe in 1939, Esther began to organize knitting crusades for the Red Cross in addition to raising “Vitamins for Britain.” In 1941 she became president of the Federated Women’s Clubs of New Mexico. In October of 1940 Esther succeeded in drawing Robert out of his shell when he joined the Roswell Rotary Club. It was the first social organization the Goddard had become a member of since joining a fraternity in college.

Goddard’s growing attachment to Roswell was paralleled by a growing estrangement from Clark University. He had never been a particularly effective administrator when working at the University, and at a distance he was a disaster. In September of 1939, Goddard relayed to Atwood a complaint from one of Goddard’s assistants and former Clark physics student, Percy Roope, that math instructor Cary Melville had become rebellious and had refused to take instructions that were being transmitted by Goddard through Roope. He assigned himself the best students and marked his classes far harder than was necessary. When Goddard asked Atwood to straighten the situation out he got a sharp rebuke in reply. “Wire Melville immediately definite instructions regarding courses. You are Chairman.” Atwood very much resented being asked to intervene.

The tension between Goddard and Atwood continued to grow. On more than one occasion Atwood was heard to ask, “What are we going to do about Physics for next year?” In 1939, Goddard traveled to address the heads of Clark’s science programs, which alleviated some of the tension that had grown up over his continuing absence. In 1940, things got tense again when it was suggested that Goddard’s leave of absence should be extended. When word of this reached Guggenheim in Roswell he wrote a letter guaranteeing the substitute professor’s salary for the coming school year.

Relations between Atwood and Goddard worsened further early in 1941 when Atwood complained, “I hear a good many rumblings about this plan of having you away so long and holding the position open for you. We need a stronger set-up in Physics at Clark and one with more permanency.” Goddard responded by arguing that his work was important to national defense and how Atwood’s comments reflected upon the University, when this fact was taken into account.

From this point on, the correspondence between Goddard and Atwood became positively toxic until Goddard was invited to resign in 1942. Goddard would not be edged out of his tenure so easily, however. “The problem is not simple one,” he wrote, “for I, too, will soon reach retiring age. Clark is my alma mater, and Worcester is my home, and it is a severe wrench even now to contemplate severing relations with the University.” Goddard was really only interested in protecting his annuities, but this also seems to indicate that he wanted to stay on speaking terms with Atwood and the Trustees if possible. Atwood, however, wanted to bring Goddard to account for the significant quantities of university equipment in his possession. Goddard, however, refused this and a showdown between the two men was now inevitable.

By this point in his life, Robert Goddard was rivaled only by Thomas Edison as one of the most well known and highly publicized scientists in the United States. In addition, rockets continued to capture the imagination of the public and the interest of the military as was shown when an essay written by an Army officer appeared entitled, “What Can We Expect of Rockets?” in 1939. When a newspaper in Italy reported that the Germans were experimenting with “rocket artillery shells” in 1940. Goddard was contacted by Associated Press. He claimed to have been “disturbed” by this development and said, “I have never investigated the possibility of the rocket being used as a weapon, and this may affect my work.”

This was not true, strictly speaking since Goddard had experimented with rocket powered weapons during World War I. He got away with it, however, because he maintained good relations with important newspapers and reports. Goddard had been cautioned by Lindbergh and Guggenheim to treat the press fairly and for the most part Goddard did so, but he still had his favorite reporters, particularly Howard Blakeslee of the Associated Press, Herbert Nichols of the Christian Science Monitor and science writer William Wenstrom.

Blakeslee wrote this in December of 1940 about one of Goddard’s test flights:

River of Fire. It produced one of the awesome things which strike the eyes of the few persons who have seen one of his rockets taking off. Before it rises, for a second or two, a jet of pure flame strikes down the valley and rolls 50 feet along the surface as a billowing river of fire 10 feet deep. This is the jet of fire which drives the rocket, spreading out as it expands in the air… There is nothing on earth its heat cannot melt.

 

Goddard, Lindbergh and Guggenheim also knew the value of prestigious coverage in addition to keeping within the good graces of the nation press and at that time, as now, there was no more popular or prestigious publication than National Geographic.

When the United States entered World War II, following the Japanese air strike at Pearl Harbor, on December 7, 1941, Goddard once again turned to designing rocket powered weapons. He picked up where he had left off in 1918, however, many technical advances and a shift in the way the war would be fought had occurred in that time and Goddard was forced to start from scratch again. However, one problem remained and that was one of physics. Since the introduction of the tank onto the battlefield in 1916, it had become necessary to find a way for infantry to neutralize enemy tanks. The problem was that if an explosion occurs against a flat surface the majority of the energy will be deflected away from the point of impact. This could be overcome with hardened projectiles moving at a high velocity, but these could only be delivered by airplane or by large artillery guns and were not man portable. A discovery made in 1888 lead to the development of the hollow or shaped charge which would allow a light projectile to penetrate an armored vehicle and allow shrapnel, hot gases and molten metal to enter the crew compartment or the engine space. The idea was sold to the National Defense Research Council by Goddard’s partner, in the venture, CN Hickman, who had also worked with Goddard during World War I, however, Hickman claimed that Goddard should receive the credit for the invention the bazooka because it was his rocket research the made the bazooka possible. Despite Hickman’s willingness to share the credit, no grants from this work were given to Goddard.

It seems that there were limits to Goddard’s acquisitiveness, however. In 1944, after a trip to the Curtiss-Wright plant in Caldwell, New Jersey, Vice President Robert Earle joked with Goddard, “Upon seeing how much you spent for meals I greatly wonder how you can exist on so little food.” This brought out Goddard’s somewhat impish sense of humor when he wrote, “Thank you for your solicitude regarding my meals… I will admit, however, that being a professor for a number of years has developed the habit of living on short rations, besides keeping me a novice in the technique of making out expense accounts. I will see to it that this fault is corrected in the future.”

Overall, Goddard was not a reckless person. He had maneuvered for years to maintain his tenure position at Clark in order to secure a refuge so that he had somewhere to go in case the funding for his rocket research ran out. His running argument with Atwood continued even after Goddard’s research moved to Maryland. There were three bones of contention between Goddard and Atwood. The first was Goddard’s double dipping his retirement plans, which had continued from 1914 onwards. Goddard was now in his sixties and would soon be eligible to collect on those annuities. The second was the large amount of university property that Goddard had in his possession. The third was Goddard’s many leaves of absence from the University.

In 1943, Goddard was earning more money from the government than he was from Clark. He wrote to the TIAA, which was responsible for managing Clark’s retirement plan. Goddard wanted to know if it was possible for to increase the amount of money being paid into the plan. The TIAA responded that this was possible only if Atwood also increased the payments that the University was making into Goddard’s retirement plan. As Goddard had been on numerous extended and unpaid leaves of absence over the past several years, there was no money being paid into his retirement plan. Around the same time, Goddard also contacted the Carnegie Foundation, again inquiring about his annuity. He learned that a large sum of money would be paid to him from the Carnegie Foundation, but that this would not be enough to guarantee a comfortable retirement. Goddard contacted Atwood, again seeking to increase the size of the payments going into Goddard’s annuity. Atwood contacted the University payroll office and told Goddard that he could send his enlarged payments to Worcester and that the University would pass them along to the TIAA from there. As a result, Goddard stood to receive two annuities so long as he held on to his tenure position at the University.

The question of what to do with Goddard’s large amount of shop and laboratory equipment still remained, however. Atwood demanded that the US Navy purchase all of Goddard’s equipment and added that some of the items in Goddard’s possession nominally belong to the Carnegie Foundation and the Smithsonian, actually belonged to Clark University, as it was Clark that was actually receiving the donations from the Smithsonian and the Carnegie Foundation. Goddard responded by saying that much of the equipment from the Smithsonian had been loaned to him personally, while the equipment that he had used while working under with the Navy was US Navy property. The dispute was eventually ended in 1943 when the Guggenheim Foundation agreed to buy Goddard’s equipment from Clark University for $4,600 without an appraisal. Guggenheim believed that this was the simplest course of action and Atwood agreed.

Goddard would not think of retiring from Clark until he had a secure position either in the government or with private industry. To that end he was able to secure a position with Curtiss-Wright Aviation. When Atwood learned of this he sent Goddard a letter asking him how he planned to manage the Physics and Math Departments, while working in the private sector and reminded him that the “men on the ground” must have the ability to plan their courses as they saw fit. Goddard got very angry when he saw this and wrote, “If I understand the first paragraph of your letter…correctly, the University would like to have my resignation at the present time. If this is so I am hereby tendering it.” Atwood wrote “YES!”, and underlined it four times. He also wrote, “I am shocked at your reaction. I have not asked for your resignation from your professorship at Clark.” Goddard responded to this by writing, “I am happy to discover that I have misinterpreted your meaning and shall be glad to continue in my former status as outlined in my letter of January 9, 1943.” In this way Goddard was able to remain both a Professor at Clark and the head of the Physics and Math departments.

The showdown between Goddard and Atwood that had been brewing for years finally came in August, 1943. After the departure of yet another substitute professor, Atwood wrote to Goddard, saying, “We have another emergency to meet…We simply can not keep a good man here without any prospect open to him for the future.” As Clark was taking on what Atwood called, “Army emergency work,” the school trustees decided that it would be best if Goddard would return to oversee the running of the Physics Department. Goddard responded to this request with a telegram, in which he wrote, “Hence I must regretfully resign in order to help you meet the present emergency.” Goddard also sent Atwood a letter that stated:

As I stated, I feel that I can be of enough service in the war effort to make my decision to remain here the only course to follow. The fact that I am near the retiring age is also a factor of definite weight. A third point is that I doubt if I could lecture as soon as September. I had a severe cold last spring which settled in the larynx and a specialist tells me I ought not to speak above a whisper for about two months.

 

Atwood accepted Goddard’s notice of resignation without hesitation. At the same time, Atwood also announced that Clark would no longer offer graduate studies to Physics students. This decision was due in equal parts to Goddard’s negligence and Atwood’s plundering.

When Goddard returned to Annapolis in 1944, he found that his workshop was plagued with rumors that he and his men would soon be terminated. These rumors arose out of the usual delays caused by US Navy contract renewal process and eventually, Goddard’s government contracts were renewed and he would be allowed to continue his work through to June, 1945. In April of 1944, however, Goddard discovered that Curtiss-Wright and the US Navy had been dealing behind his back, making arrangements to move Goddard, his men and their equipment to Caldwell. In order to relieve him unnecessary paperwork, Goddard’s work for the US Navy would now be under contract to Curtiss-Wright.

In June of that same year, book critic Edmund Wilson wrote a favorable review of Rockets by Willy Ley. Not long afterward, Goddard wrote to Wilson, with the intent of countering the impression that the Germans had had any first in rocket research. Three days later on June 13, 1944, the first Nazi built V-1 flying bomb hit London. Also called a “buzz bomb, “doodle bug” or “cherry stone” the V-1 was an air breathing pulse jet providing power to what would later be recognized as the world’s first operation use of a cruise missile. In addition the warhead, the V-1 also had a simple guidance and timing system that was designed to cut off the engine so that it could fall on the target city. Goddard was swamped by requests from reporters for the V-1′s technical information. Goddard was unable to offer details until August, at which time he made the following statement to the North American Newspaper Alliance:

The V-1 flying bomb as a flight controlled plane has already been shown to be an American idea through patents to [Charles F.] Kettering and [Elmer A] Sperry. The jet-propulsion engine is another. Features of the patent that appear in the bomb engine are shutter-type valves in a fixed grill; fuel injection orifices incorporated in this grill; combustion chamber; spark plug; and nozzle… Anyone could have read it during the last ten years.

 

The reality was that, while Goddard did submit a patent for an air-breathing rocket engine in the early 1930s, the engine that powered the V-1 was actually an outgrowth of a patent issued to Paul Schmidt of Munich, Germany in 1930. Walter Dornberger, later head of the German V-2 project described, some of the inner workings of the V-1 pulse jet. The V-1′s pulse jet created approximately 500 explosions per minute. It did this by sucking air through “a grid valve fitted to the duct head and provided with many rows of single flap plated opening inward. Fuel oil was injected into the compressed air and ignited. The resultant combustion closed the valve flaps of the grid forward and forced the combustion gases and the air contained in the duct astern. This was accompanied by powerful expansion of the gases and reaction propulsion took place.” While there were some minor technical similarities between the Goddard and Schmidt designs, but ultimately the pulse jet developed for the V-1 was of German origin.

The rocket motor for the V-2, however, was a completely different story. Unlike the V-1, the V-2 was a true rocket. A memorandum shown to Goddard by Guggenheim at Mercer Field, New Jersey where Guggenheim was the commanding officer, confirmed Goddard’s belief that the Germans had been stealing American rocket research and passing it off as their own. To further illustrate his point, Goddard showed Guggenheim a picture of a rocket he had built at Roswell and compared it with photographs of captured V-2s. The two designs were almost identical.

Despite this, however, there seems to be little evidence linking Goddard’s influence to Nazi rocket development. Some of the Nazi scientist who emigrated to the United States after the war claimed that Goddard’s work had not been published in Germany before the rise of Adolf Hitler. This is supported by Esther Goddard, who conducted her own search for links between Goddard and the V-2 and found nothing. Dornberger made repeated claims that rocket research was a complicated undertaking that required teamwork and was beyond the reach of solitary inventors like Goddard.

However, at the same time, Dornberger, Von Braun and other German scientists found it useful to maintain a perceived connection between themselves and Goddard. They believed that having an American doing the same research at the same time made them less complicit in the atrocities that occurred at Camp Dora and the Mittlewerk in Central Germany. They also claimed that majority of Goddard’s patents were classified. This is now known to be untrue, as the Goddard work was not classified until 1942. The idea that Goddard was unknown in Germany before the war is also untrue. When trying to secure more funding for their work, Dornberger and others often placed their arguments within the framework of an international arms race and often cited Goddard as proof that the United States was winning. The truth was during the 1930s, Germans used their military and diplomatic attaches to spy on American rocket research by using them to acquire Goddard’s patents. The result was that while Goddard’s designs were not directly copied by the Germans, the remarkable similarities between the rockets built by Goddard and those built by the Nazis indicates that the Germans were keenly aware of Goddard’s work and drawing inspiration from him, while at the same time adapting his research to fit their own needs.

During the first two months that they lived in Maryland, the Goddards rented a home in Annapolis. In October they moved to the small resort community of Tydings-on-the-Bay. It was cooler here than at Annapolis and closer to Goddard’s work in addition to offering a magnificent view of the Chesapeake Bay. “We are simply loving the place,” said Esther, “tho I am still scouring in spots.”

In October, 1944, Robert and Esther moved to a larger house. Its yard was so large that Esther and Robert were able to take up archery. Esther loved the house, but Robert claimed that it was too big and gloomy. He was heard on several occasions telling friends that he wanted to go back to Roswell. That same year, Esther enrolled at Johns Hopkins University. A house keeper was hired to look after the house and Robert bought his wife a car for the commute to the train station.

Due their location and wartime rationing, the Goddards found that their social life had become more restricted. Christmas was the high point of the year with Robert receiving scotch and cigars. The Goddard also still traveled, mainly to New England, Baltimore and Washington to see the sights and visit old friends. Further restricting their social activities was Goddard’s work for the US Navy, which was very demanding and often required him to work upwards of 50 hours per week. By 1944, Goddard was spending most of his time organizing his research notes made during the 1920s and 30s. He also found that because of the war, Goddard was receiving very little in the way of publicity. He was pleased, however, to be credited as a contributing source to the development of the first British and American jet fighters, which were being tested at the end of the war. Goddard was also annoyed that he had to share credit with the Russian rocket scientist Tsiolkovsky.

While working at Annapolis, Goddard continued his relationship with G Edward Pendray of the American Rocket Society, who had long been a fan of Goddard and his work. After the first launches of the V-1 and V-2, Pendray wrote many letters to a wide variety of newspapers extolling Goddard and his work and reminding the American public that it was Goddard who had developed the first liquid fueled rockets. When Pendray went so far as to propose that the Smithsonian republish Goddard’s two reports on rocket science for that institution, Goddard was delighted and wrote a short introduction.

By late 1944, Goddard was unwell. Starting in the year before the entry, “stayed in bed all day” began to appear with increasing frequency in Goddard’s diary. In June, Goddard visited Baltimore TB specialist Dr. Charles R Austrian who referred him to Dr. Henry Slack, a throat specialist. Dr. Slack advised Goddard not to talk at all and that his voice would improve on its own. It seemed to work for awhile, but by the time winter came, Goddard was often bedridden.

His inability to speak also interfered with is research, unable to speak, Goddard tried writing, however, his assistants found that his writing was so bad as to be almost unreadable. He even tried to communicating with his research team through morse code by tapping on a table with a pencil. This was also a dismal failure.

In March, 1945 Robert and Esther went to dinner at the Army-Navy Club in Washington DC as the guests of Commander Charles Fischer, one of Goddard’s patrons in the Navy. During dinner Goddard suffered from such a severe upset stomach that the alarmed Commander drove them home. In May Goddard once again visited Dr. Slack who flatly told him to take a vacation. The Navy obliged Goddard by giving him and his team two week off before moving them to New Jersey. Ultimately the vacation did little to help Goddard and when he returned, Dr. Slack referred him a surgeon, Dr. Edwin Looper who found a growth in Goddard’s throat. On May 19^th, Dr. Looper operated and removed Goddard’s larynx and Upper Trachea in the process. Goddard received many letters of sympathy and good wishes from family and friends. Guggenheim, was by this time serving as the executive officer aboard an aircraft carrier in the Pacific wrote to Goddard saying:

The thing for you to do now is get complete rest somewhere, and make a full recovery. In the meantime, don’t worry about jet propulsion or anything else. Your experiments have been many a year in the making and there is a long road ahead, so a few months more or less will really make no difference. Your job is to get your mind off anything but your health, and when that has been recovered, we’ll make a fresh start on the great future ahead.

 

Even Wallace Atwood, who had ceased to be a friend years ago sent Goddard a letter full of good wishes.

Goddard’s stubborn nature had seen him through tuberculosis, battles with smoking, drinking and countless failed experiments. It could not, however, defeat throat cancer, the disease that had claimed his father. He lingered for awhile in an oxygen tent, sustained by regular blood transfusions and tended to by a nurse. Esther stayed at his side day and night until August 10^th, 1945 when she needed to go home for a few hours. While she was away, Robert Hutchings Goddard died. He was 63 years old. Goddard was buried in the family plot on August 13^th. His death was commented on by many of the newspapers who had charted his progress towards the moon. Many of the same papers claimed that he was the inventor of the V-2 rocket. Edward Pendray wrote this obituary for the AAAS Journal, Science:

Even more impressive than Dr. Goddard’s technical skill, insight and ingenuity were his extraordinary perseverance, patience and courage. He carried on many of his investigations in the teeth of public skepticism and indifference, with limited financial resources and in spite of heartbreaking technical difficulties-a combination of obstacles which might have baffled and disheartened a less stout-hearted pioneer. Almost single-handed, Dr. Goddard developed rocketry from a vague dream to one of the most significant branches of modern engineering.

 

After his death, rocket research in the United States continued, often relying heavily on Goddard’s pioneering researcher. Goddard’s influence was felt to such an extent that it was simply not possible to build or fly rockets without touching on Goddard’s research in some way. The depth of Goddard’s contribution to the emerging science of rocketry was such that Esther felt that the world needed to know exactly how far Goddard had advanced development of rocket technology.

Consequently, in the late 1940s with the help of her late husband’s old friend and benefactor, Harry Guggenheim, Esther began to undertake the monumental task of organizing Robert’s notes. With the assistance of two typists, Esther transcribed 5,500 pages of notes in addition to mounting and labeling well over 2,000 photographs. Esther also transcribed Goddard’s diaries and with the assistance of Pendray completed a project that Goddard had started the year before his death, the compilation of all of his laboratory notes from 1929 to 1941. At the same time she began negotiations with the US Government for official recognition of Goddard’s work and monetary compensation for the infringement of Goddard’s patents. These negotiations continued at a slow pace until 1953, when Esther took matters into her own hand and began to look for a writer who could produce an acceptable biography. The writer she chose was Wesley Price, an assistant editor of The Saturday Evening Post. When Esther showed Price the material that she had available, he immediately submitted a book proposal to Farrar, Straus and Young. Given that Roger Straus was the nephew of Harry Guggenheim and that the Straus family were the directors of the Guggenheim Foundation, Price’s book proposal was approved at once and in 1954 he began conduction interviews with Goddard’s associates. Price worked on the project for two years until he suffered a physical break down was forced to abandon the project. The writer hired to replace him was Milton Lehman, a publicist for the Motion Picture Association of America. He had originally come to Esther’s attention in 1954, when he published a series of articles on Goddard and his work, as well as other pieces related to rocket science. Lehman started conducting interviews in 1956, beginning with Charles Lindbergh who told him, “he feels that this book should be timeless. It should be a permanent reference.” Lindbergh would become so involved in the production of the book, as to practically be its coauthor. The book would eventually be called This High Man and would not be published until 1963. Likewise, Esther would not receive compensation for government infringements of Robert’s patents until much later that Esther would eventually receive a million dollars from the US Government as settlement for her patent infringement suit.

Although Goddard did not directly influence the development of German rockets as has long been claimed by his official biography, This High Man. The depth of his contribution to the development of space flight is undeniable and it is for this reason that he is rightly remembered as of the great scientific figures of the 20^th Century, as well carrying the mantle, “The Father of the Space Age.”