My Hero is my Dad. He told me stories about the Moon. He was a dreamer and a believer in magical and miraculous things. Even when something wasn’t broken, he could make it work better. He did this for my heart on a regular basis.
His name was U.W. Hopson but friends and family called him “Walt.” People he worked with called him “Hoppy.” When he was 15, he was a jet mechanic at a little airstrip on Okinawa, called Naha. WWII was ending, and as a member of the Army Air Corps, he traveled and worked on aircraft in Guam, Zamboanga, and Okinawa before a career in aviation, stateside, segued into aerospace during the Cold War and Race to Space.
Walt Hopson was a Senior Propulsion Test Inspector for the Apollo, Saturn V, and Systems Nuclear Auxiliary Power (SNAP) Space Reactor at Santa Susana Field Laboratory (SSFL). While working at this experimental nuclear development and rocket engine testing facility near Los Angeles, he was exposed to radiation and toxic chemicals in the line of duty, as were thousands of men and women who devoted their efforts toward the Cold War and Space Race. Later, he retired from Martin Marietta after working on the Titan programs at Vandenberg Air Force Base in California.
When I was a little kid, I used to think my Dad built all the rockets himself. In my mind’s eye, I could see him in a workshop that looked just like the garage we had at home; perfectly organized, with a tool for every task in its place. Except the workshop in my mind was infinitely bigger than our garage, and I was sure that all the people working there to help build my Dad’s rocket were eagerly assisting him as he barked orders at them all and instructed them in all aspects of perfecting the absolutely flawless and perfect rocket, that he (of course) designed and built (and even painted) all himself. Indeed… My Dad, the tall guy up there at the top of that tallest ladder painting the finishing touches on this fantastic and fabulous rocket (that he built all himself)… is the driving force of complete genius behind the entire Space Program!!! I would sit in my classroom as a kid, thinking about my Dad, thinking about outer space, certain that if it weren’t for him and his intellectual superiority, sense of humor, and magical abilities to make wild stuff happen just by talking about it, there would be no rockets headed for outer space. Despite all these glowing words that express admiration, there was no fawning over him or particular excitement about all of this. To the contrary, this was all just very normal to me … just a fact of every day life, as certain to me as the peanut butter and jelly sandwich in my lunchbox, with the crust cut off. It wasn’t a big deal… it was just the guy that was my Dad. Later, at home we’d all go out to the front yard at just about sunset. The wind would blow my hair back from my forehead as we looked out toward the ocean, and suddenly we’d see it … this rocket, launching toward outer space. My little hand would reach up and get lost in his big hand, and my chest would swell up with pride and I’d think to myself… “Yup. There goes another rocket Dad built.”
For the last several years of his life, Walt battled a radiological cancer linked to radiation exposure and aerospace. In 2000, Congress enacted the Energy Employee Occupational Illness Compensation Program Act (EEOICPA), designed specifically to compensate Cold War Patriots who were harmed in the line of duty while serving the country during this era. In an error of epic proportions, the Space Program Personnel of Santa Susana Field Laboratory were specifically excluded from EEOICPA, despite their efforts, exposures, and illnesses today as a result of their contributions and sacrifices during this important time in our nation’s history.
My Dad and I founded TheAeroSpace.org together, on behalf of the men and women of Santa Susana Field Laboratory’s Space Program Personnel employed by North American Aviation’s Rocketdyne. Our effort is to spread awareness of the SSFL’s environmental situation, and assist in making important changes within EEOICPA in order to adequately honor heroes of the Race to Space.
Walt passed away on January 11, 2010. He was at home in Northern Oregon, surrounded by people who love him and who worked tirelessly to help him prepare for his next journey. In the long and rainy nights before his passing, we were still making up stories about the Moon, and making magical miraculous plans of ways to get together again. We talked about the astronauts that he helped to send into outer space, and speculated about how nervous they must have been before blast off, preparing for their journey into the unknown. We thought of them, and we tested our communications systems and verified our connections were strong enough to keep us in touch long after launch. We stayed brave, and walked each other through it. In the end, I hope I helped him reach for the Moon and catch it.
Let us honor the dreamers among us, those who inspire us to think of achieving the impossible, who make our hearts dance in the stars. Honor those whose eyes twinkle with mischief, those who can make even the most unbroken things work better, just by smiling at them. I miss you, Dad…. You are my diamond in the sky. Mission Control loves Rocket Man.
D’Lanie Blaze
TheAeroSpace.org
