David Altman just celebrated a monumental milestone in his life — his 100th birthday. An internationally renowned and respected scientist, he is also a quiet, dapper man with a twinkle in his eye and a sly sense of humor.
Upon meeting him in his Menlo Park home, one learns quickly that he loves tennis and considers his decision not to have knee replacement surgery 10 years ago the biggest regret of his life. It takes a bit of prodding to get beyond Altman’s modest demeanor, but the tale that unfolds is that of a man whose life’s work has made him a towering figure in the science of rocketry.
His contributions to America’s space program, which stretch back to its earliest beginnings, his extraordinary life and the remarkable people he has met along the way are worthy of a Ken Burns-style documentary.
Altman was born in 1920. At the time, life expectancy for the average American was 47 years. Prohibition had just begun and the Treaty of Versailles had just taken effect, bringing an official end to World War I. Ironically, the world was grappling with a global influenza pandemic.
Although Einstein had published his Theory of General Relativity five years earlier, rockets and space travel were only starting to emerge from the realm of science fiction. In January 1920, just a month before Altman’s birth, the New York Times ran an editorial ridiculing aerospace pioneer Robert Goddard for his theories that rockets would one day enable man to photograph the moon and travel to distant planets. (A retraction was issued in 1969 following the successful mission of Apollo 11.)
Altman, it seems, entered the world at exactly the right time.
Journey West
His story starts quietly enough on Feb. 13, 1920, in Paterson, New Jersey. He was the youngest of three children born to Herman and Frieda Altman, Polish immigrants who came to America in 1907. His father and uncle operated a mill in the region’s burgeoning silk industry.
Altman entered Cornell University and obtained his undergraduate degree in chemistry in 1940. One of his professors suggested going elsewhere for graduate study. “There was a lot of anti-Semitism at the time,” Altman explained. “I was advised to seek an appointment at U.C. Berkeley, where they thought I would be more comfortable.”
His acceptance notice to U.C. Berkeley in hand, Altman broke the news to his parents. “They weren’t too excited about me moving 3,000 miles away,” he recalled. “But my mother was a fatalist.”
After three short years at Berkeley, Altman had earned a doctorate in chemistry. Along the way, he met several people who would figure prominently in his life. One was a music student named Beverly Adlis, the woman who would later become his wife. Reflecting back on that meeting, Altman says his greatest joy came from his marriage. “I made a good decision.”
Another person he encountered at the university was Albert Einstein. The legendary physicist made a lasting impression on the young Altman, and his likeness is still on prominent display in Altman’s home office.
The third person was one of Altman’s professors and none other than J. Robert Oppenheimer, the theoretical physicist who is often referred to as “the father of the atomic bomb.” Oppenheimer would ultimately have multiple impacts on Altman’s life. “He was a brilliant lecturer,” Altman said. “He paced back and forth and smoked the whole time.”
Oppenheimer became a key figure in the Manhattan Project, the multinational effort during World War II that led to the creation of the first nuclear weapons. Oppenheimer was also the director of the Los Alamos Laboratory, the top-secret facility that was created as part of the Manhattan Project.
After obtaining his doctorate, Altman was recruited by Oppenheimer to work on the Manhattan Project. Altman and his colleagues worked at Berkeley, and initially were not told they were working on a bomb. “We thought we were working on a nuclear energy project. We couldn’t figure out what the big fuss was about,” he recalled. “Later, we figured it out. But by then it was either them or us.”
Altman’s education in chemistry, physics and math, along with his experience of working on the Manhattan Project, congealed into the perfect set of skills and expertise to launch a career in the budding aerospace industry. In 1947, Altman left Berkeley for the Jet Propulsion Lab in Pasadena, where he would spend the next 10 years as JPL’s chief chemist, conducting scores of scientific studies on rocket propulsion.
Victim of ‘Red Scare’
Several years into his tenure at JPL, Altman came under scrutiny by the House Un-American Activities Committee. Although never a member of the Communist Party, his prior association with two Berkeley “Rad Lab” scientists, both of whom were Oppenheimer acolytes, evidently caught the attention of the FBI. Being somewhat of an outspoken liberal evidently didn’t help his case.
Of that time, Altman noted, “Cockiness can be a real hazard.”
Jody Altman, the eldest of the three Altman children, recently obtained the FBI records pertaining to her father’s investigation. “It took over two years to get them. They were tailing you at one point, Dad!” she said during the interview with The Almanac.
During the investigation, Altman was suspended from his job at JPL and had his security clearance revoked. He was advised to solicit people who could attest to the fact that he was not a communist.
Acting on that recommendation, he contacted his former boss, Robert Oppenheimer. Oppenheimer, who was by then surrounded by controversy, was not in a position to help. He said to Altman, “I’m sorry. I have problems of my own.”
David and Beverly Altman traveled to Washington to appeal his case. The charges against him were dropped, but Altman recalled a parting shot. “One of the committee members asked my wife a question at the end. He asked her if she spoke Russian.”
With the cloud of suspicion lifted, the Altmans returned to Pasadena, and David to JPL. His job and clearances were reinstated and the months of lost salary were repaid.
Altman’s experience of the anti-communist crusade and other events of that era are detailed in “Escape from Earth, A Secret History of the Space Rocket,” a 2019 book by Scottish author Fraser MacDonald.
In 1959, Altman became vice president of Chemical Systems Division, a subsidiary of United Technologies, which was then based in Sunnyvale. The new position precipitated a move to Menlo Park and the community Altman has called home for 61 years.
At CSD, Altman was at the center of the effort to build and test rockets, rocket boosters and fuel systems for America’s space program. Altman’s work on the moon landing earned him NASA’s Apollo Achievement Award in 1969.
On the home front, the Altman family had grown to five with daughters Jody and Jan and son, Rick. Jody Altman recalls that preparation for family meals wasn’t just about food. “We had to be ready for physics and chemistry questions at breakfast and dinner,” she laughed.
An aspect of America’s involvement in Vietnam in the late 1960s became a source of conflict between Altman and his wife. Each held differing opinions over the use of the controversial substance, Napalm. Beverly Altman was very much opposed to the practice, but given her husband’s professional affiliations in the chemical industry, overt protest might have proven to be problematic. Shaking his head and laughing, Altman recalled, “She expressed her opposition by bringing coffee to the protesters marching outside SRI.”
After 20 years in the Bay Area, it was announced that CSD’s operations were moving to Connecticut. The news was accompanied by the offer of a promotion for Altman. “I turned it down because I wanted to stay in California so I could play tennis year round,” Altman noted with a chuckle.
After CSD moved to the Northeast, Altman retired officially in 1981. He played tennis until the age of 90, when one of his knees became too painful. “I think it was my ‘American Twist’ serve that did it,” he observed.
Probing a disaster
In 1986, Altman became involved in yet another defining moment in American history: the Challenger Shuttle disaster.
In the aftermath of the catastrophe that killed seven crew members, Altman was asked to participate in the investigation into the cause of the explosion that destroyed the shuttle. The assembled panel of experts concluded that weather was a key factor.
“It was very cold,” Altman recalled. “I made calculations about velocity and friction in the cold, dense air. The “O” rings weren’t flexible,” he explained. This factor allowed hot gases to escape and led to the explosion.
Another, and far less technical, factor came down to politics and human frailty. According to the findings of the Rogers Commission, the panel charged with overseeing the investigation, NASA knew about the implications of cold temperatures but concluded that further delays would be “bad PR.” Altman said: “It was all set up. They gambled.”
Altman also served on the board of Stanford’s Industrial Affiliates, a program that encourages upstream interaction between academic researchers and business leadership. Brian Cantwell is the Edward C. Well professor at Stanford’s school of engineering. He worked closely with Altman for a number of years, and says Altman was instrumental in helping to shape the program, and that he brought a unique perspective.
“He was a rocket company executive, but very few people in that position have the kind of academic rigor that he has,” Cantwell said. “When he would speak in his quiet authoritative voice, heads of industry would listen. He is a giant in the field — a leader in industry and a leader of thought.”
Altman’s determination to make rockets and propellant systems better, safer, more efficient and more environmentally friendly led to the creation of Space Propulsion Group. The company, which was co-founded in 1999 by Altman, Cantwell, Arif Karabeyoglu and aerospace veteran John Wilson, is in operation today, and continues its work in rocket propulsion and clean energy systems with clients that include NASA, the FAA, and the U.S. Navy and Air Force.
The complete list of Altman’s professional accomplishments and accolades is a long one — and impressive. Apart from his prodigious intellect, what other qualities contributed to his success? With genuine modesty, Altman says his ability to adapt helped him deal with whatever situation presented itself.
“I was always an independent thinker,” he said. To wit, although Altman was raised in an Orthodox Jewish family, his views on religion have changed over the years. The culture of the Jewish religion remains part of his family’s tradition, but Altman says he no longer believes in God, and declared, “I believe in what he stands for: righteousness.”
Altman’s ability to adapt was put to the test five years ago with the sudden passing of his wife after 68 years of marriage.
Supported by his family and devoted caregivers, he continues to enjoy his life. He is a regular player at Little House senior center’s bridge games, but says he doesn’t like the current scoring system. Another highlight is “Happy Hour,” an Altman family tradition that takes place daily at 5:30 p.m. Altman’s drink of choice is appropriately named “Gin and Sonic,” a combination of gin, tonic and soda.
No interview with a centenarian would be complete without a few Proust-inspired questions and this one is no exception. Here are the questions posed by The Almanac to Altman, followed by his replies:
The Almanac: To what do you attribute your longevity? David Altman: “I didn’t do a lot of galavanting. I also tried to ‘go with the flow’ and not get too upset about things.”
TA: Were you ever a smoker? DA: (laughing)”Yes! I smoked pipes and cigars until I was 40. My father smoked the occasional cigar throughout his whole life.” (Note: Altman’s father lived to the age of 101.)
TA: What person from history do you most admire and why? DA: “Einstein, because of his insight and depth of thought.”
TA: What or whom do you most despise? DA: “The Nazis.”
TA: You’ve lived through some momentous times. Are things better or worse than they were 100 years ago? DA: “There were different problems then. On the whole, I think things are better now because more people are educated.”
Altman’s children and two granddaughters, Erica and Jamie, all live close enough to visit on a regular basis. The occasion of Altman’s 100th birthday, however, brought family and friends from as far away as Turkey to celebrate.
Altman’s youngest granddaughter, Jamie, observed, “It’s because he always tried to do the right thing and he takes the relationships in his life seriously.”
She says that her grandfather has influenced her in many ways, but she often thinks about one of his sayings: “Don’t get into too much mischief — just enough mischief to have fun.”
