By Claire Booth

There are two things about
that book that have stayed with me. First, the concept of “the pyramid,” where
there is one person in a profession who rises above all others. Obviously that
wasn’t original to Wolfe, but he used it extremely well to illustrate how the
values in the space program changed over time—from hot-shot test pilots to
careful scientists. And that brings me to the second thing. Wolfe notes that
there was a point in the mid-20th century were you couldn’t board an
airplane without the pilot having a very particular kind of drawl. It was a
West Virginia accent that had filtered down from the top of the pyramid. Test-pilot
extraordinaire Chuck Yeager was from that state, and his legend infused anyone
who flew a plane. Pilots at every level started copying his drawl. Ever since
reading that, I listen for it every time I’m on a plane and the pilot welcomes
people aboard. I hear it more often than you’d think.
That’s the sign of reporting
that makes you think and details so good they stay with you years later. Isn’t
that the kind of great writing we all aspire to? And it remains particularly
appropriate that Wolfe chose as his writing subject the beginnings of the moon
shot—one of humanity’s greatest achievements.
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