This is the first in a series of personal blogs that the Coalition will begin featuring from members of the entire human spaceflight community, who will comment on whatever they choose. Our first in this series is by Madi Sengupta, who was a NASA Shuttle and Space Station trainer at the NASA Johnson Space Center (JSC) from 2008 to 2011, and is now a Program Manager for the American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics. The first astronaut crew trained by Madi included Dr. Piers Sellers, who passed away on December 23, 2016 after being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer a year earlier. An essay written by Dr. Sellers on “Cancer and Climate Change” may be found here. The Coalition’s statement on his passing may be found here.
In the summer of 2009 I was assigned my very first Shuttle crew to train. The crew of STS-132 was to launch on May 14, 2010 for a 12-day flight designed to deliver and install the Russian research module Rassvet, as well as a cargo pallet for the International Space Station (ISS). These tasks involved extensive use of the robotic arms on both the Shuttle and the ISS. In addition, the crew was expected to conduct several spacewalks to complete maintenance tasks on the ISS.
I excitedly read up on the entire crew, focusing on my new student, Dr. Piers J. Sellers. Piers was known as “EVA extraordinaire” logging over 40 hours in six spacewalks across two previous spacewalks, and eventually becoming an EVA instructor in the astronaut office. For his last flight, we’d be adding “Robotics guru” to the end of that title too. In our first meeting, I briefed Piers on the nine months that lay ahead of us, leading up to launch day. Training schedules and hours, facilities, procedures. Nine months to do what we normally do in about 12-15 months. Piers didn’t bat an eye.
First step: Montreal. Astronauts who haven’t yet been certified to fly the Space Station robotic arm are shipped off to Canada for two weeks to learn the basic ins and outs of robotics operations on the Space Station. So, soon after receiving his flight assignment, off Piers went. I checked in on him every few days, to see how he was taking to this new skill set. He was doing well and was characterized as “very perceptive.” No surprise there. And soon he was back, finishing up his robotics qualifying exams in order to certify for flight.
Training was grueling. Piers was involved in every Station robotics operation during the mission, and he was effectively starting his robotics training from scratch and on a compressed timeline. With many successful space walks under his belt, Piers was determined to be just as accomplished at flying the ‘Big Arm’ (the International Space Station Robotic Arm). That meant lots of studying and practicing in simulators, skills trainers, and at the Neutral Buoyancy Laboratory or Virtual Reality Lab at JSC.
Over those nine months, I usually saw Piers at least twice a week, sometimes up to 4 times, either in one-on-one training sessions or with some of his crew mates, always to talk robotics. We’d practice the specific maneuvers he’d make at the robotics console on the Space Station, figure out what cues he’d need to keep an eye out for on the monitors and displays, and work through the calls he’d need to make on the flight loops during each operation. Hours and hours and hours – learn and practice. Rinse and repeat. To say it was a challenging pre-flight period would likely be an understatement, but Piers was ever the professional and never without a smile on his face, and a joke or two casually thrown into conversation when the days were long or the hours early.
DST[1], Big Arm, M1/M2[2], clearance, and, one of his personal favorites, “Safing Removed”[3] were becoming our mutual language. We bonded over “robotics speak”.
During training, it was never a surprise to get a call from Piers around 11am on a Saturday (usually an “off day”). “We’re taking the boat out. Meet at the docks in an hour,” he’d say. And generally, my response was always, “Oh! This sounds so fun, but I just woke up and it’ll take me at least an hour to get to the docks.” I never did take a ride on that boat, but I think I secretly looked forward to those calls. Originally student and teacher, we were slowly becoming friends.
In the year or two after I left NASA for the East Coast, Piers moved to the DC area and the boat calls were replaced by emails about dinners and gatherings at his new home. We’d all dine and wine, with talks of politics, space, and life. These are moments I’ll treasure. It’s a bittersweet truth that we are often handed experiences that only in hindsight are we able to appreciate for their truly lasting impact on our lives. STS-132 is one of those experiences. Working with Piers was and forever will be one of the highlights of my career.
In mid-December – a little less than a month ago – just as Piers was getting ready to travel to Houston for the last time to be with family, I was heading to India to do the same. Our final text exchange ended with me asking him if there was anything I could bring back from India for him (last year, his only request was mango chutney). “Thanks, but I have all I need. Enjoy India!” he responded.
He passed away a week later… and I have no doubt he was surrounded by all that he could have wanted or needed.
I will miss Piers. His humor and wit. His intelligence and passion for understanding our beautiful planet. His drive to learn new things and excel at them. His boundless optimism and hope for humankind’s future on this fragile oasis. He was a true joy to be around, someone who always made me laugh with jokes we attributed to his being British (that admittedly, I sometimes did not even get!), someone who made me reflect with insightful quips about life and work.
Fair winds, my friend. You left the world a better place than you found it, and that’s all we can each hope to accomplish in life. The world is a little less bright with you gone, but your impact on me will be permanent, and for that I am truly, truly grateful.
[1] DST is the Dynamic Skills Trainer, a computer-based simulation used to train robotics skills.
[2] M1 and M2 refer to astronauts who operate the Big Arm on flight. “M1” is the astronaut responsible for operating the arm. “M2” is responsible for supporting M1 during the operation.
[3] In order to prevent the Space Station Robotic Arm from moving inadvertently, the system is kept in a “Safed” mode. “Safing” is removed as the first step to begin operating the arm.