What Might Have Been

Quentin leaned forward and shook his finger at me.

Listen, old man, if you don’t work these equations, what will be the point of all we’ve done? We might end up building a good rocket that’ll fly just fine, and all the grown-ups and teachers will brag on us. Who knows? We might even be able to bluff our way past the judges at the science fair. But you’ll know and I’ll know — all the boys will know — what could have been done if you hadn’t lost your nerve. We could have built a great rocket.

Rocket Boys, A Memoir, Homer Hickam (1989)

The One Thing Necessary

When the Soviets launched Sputnik Homer Hickam was 14, living in an impoverished West Virginia mining town, and destined by the expectations of the day to live a short life hundreds of feet underground breathing coal dust in a dark shaft.

Sputnik changed that path.

So much did that satellite fascinate him that in high school, though otherwise fearful of math, he learned more than enough to launch rockets and predict their trajectories.

He recalls the moment such ineptitude had to be overcome:

I did the calculations, assuming our rocket reached maximum velocity … The result equaled a velocity of … 545.45 miles per hour. When I recalculated, I came up with the same result. … I found it difficult to imagine … our rockets could really go that fast… This can’t be right.

Quentin took a quick look and pushed the notebook back to me.

It is exactly correct. Keep going. Don’t lose your nerve.

I haven’t lost my nerve! I snapped. But I had. The next step was to do the equations for … the De Laval nozzle, and privately I quaked at the thought of attempting [the equations] … dozens of them, intricate, enmeshed, one building on the other — one wrong, all wrong.

You had the calculus class, Quentin. You work them.

No, he said adamantly. Miss Riley gave you the book. You know calculus as well as I do. Quit stalling!

My confidence was gone. Doing those equations was like running a four-minute mile — something possible only for someone far greater than I.

Quentin leaned forward and shook his finger at me.

Listen, old man, if you don’t work these equations, what will be the point of all we’ve done? We might end up building a good rocket that’ll fly just fine, and all the grown-ups and teachers will brag on us. Who knows? We might even be able to bluff our way past the judges at the science fair. But you’ll know and I’ll know — all the boys will know — what could have been done if you hadn’t lost your nerve. We could have built a great rocket.

The goal was a great rocket, not mastering math, and a little math was not going to stand in the way of a rocket launch.

Hickam and his friends would go on to win the gold and silver medal in the area of propulsion at the 1960 National Science Fair. Instead of a coal mine, Hickam went to college, and worked as an engineer for NASA.

The wannabe programmer often suffers hesitancy from the math that might be involved. But that should never be an obstacle. Math and programs have much in common. But to start to code often requires little math.

Still, do not be at all surprised that, in your drive to build better and more interesting programs, you learn quite a bit of math, and the day comes when you’ll want to go even farther in math because you begin to appreciate how far it can take you with those stupid computers.

Your goal is a great program; let nothing — not math or any other thing — stop you.

All that is to say that, besides some hardware, software, and time, the only other thing you need is desire. Have that, and all else follows.