My godfather was a Black aerospace engineer who worked on the Apollo moon mission. I knew his story had to be told

In 2017 I received a call that my godfather, Charlie Cheathem, then in his late 80s, was in the hospital. I’d grown up living close by in Compton — his daughter was my best friend. Back then, Compton was a middle class neighborhood with tree-lined streets, housing many Black professionals, Charlie among them.

During my hospital visit, a close friend and former colleague of his arrived, and they began reminiscing about the time they worked on the Apollo missions at North American Aviation in Downey, in southeastern L.A. County.

Apollo command module at North American Aviation's facility in Downey, 1966.

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Courtesy NASA

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As they continued to chat, I heard something Charlie had glossed over when I was younger. It was the discrimination they’d experienced as a handful of Black aerospace engineers inside the giant facility. Charlie had told me all about his work in aerospace throughout my childhood, and how passionate he’d been about it, but until now this other aspect hadn’t quite registered.

This time, however, as a self-proclaimed history buff, I was intrigued. I sat down with my cell phone in hand and pressed record.

Filling in the picture

Afterwards, when Charlie was back at home, I couldn't shake my curiosity and wanted to know more. Over the months I plied him with questions and recorded him whenever I could. I’d of course learned about the race to space in school and its importance to the U.S., but it turned out there was so much I hadn’t known about.

Charlie Cheathem, who worked on the Apollo missions.

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Rachel Swaby

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LAist

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Like President John F. Kennedy’s 1961 executive order outlawing racial discrimination in the hiring of federal government workers, with an understanding that the billions of dollars going into the space race could potentially open up thousands of jobs for Black workers.

Even then, though, it was more likely that a Black man would become a janitor than an aerospace engineer. That was still pretty rare. (Charlie, with a typical bull-headedness, had made it happen earlier through sheer determination).

While the doors had been opened for these men, however, once they were inside they had to prove themselves again and again. They were often not welcomed, were disrespected, and later even surveilled by the company. And all the while, unbeknownst to them, getting paid less than their white counterparts.

It seemed to be a place where space and race collided, and I felt these stories had to be told before it was too late. Given Charlie’s age, time was running out.

When I shared my new knowledge with other people, they appeared surprised as well. They didn’t know there were Black engineers involved in the moonshot, or that Los Angeles had played a key role in the Apollo missions. (North American Aviation was a subcontractor to NASA, and had built the Saturn V's second stage rocket and the command module, which housed the astronauts and landed on the moon, in Downey.)

Nate LeVert at the launch of Apollo 6.

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Courtesy Nate LeVert

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Developing the podcast

Now actively on my own mission, I asked Charlie if he could connect me with some of his colleagues. He put me in touch with Shelby Jacobs, with whom he’d worked, and through Shelby I connected with his close friend Nate LeVert.

When I learned more about their contributions, I was astounded. These three men had played key roles. Nate had designed the engine propellant system for the second stage rocket and worked on every Apollo launch.

Shelby had built the camera system that took the very first photographs of the curvature of the earth from space. And Charlie oversaw all configuration management, which meant his sign-off was crucial to the rocket’s production. All at a time when civil rights unrest was rocking the country.

The separation of Saturn V's second stage rocket during the Apollo 6 mission.

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Courtesy NASA

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As an avid listener of public radio and podcasts, I began to think that an audio series was the way to go to get these stories out. One day a few years ago I was at an LAist event when I began talking to a woman next to me, who turned out to be a senior editor at LAist, Suzanne Levy.

I told her about Charlie’s story, and she was also fascinated. Over the weeks, we developed the idea together, and she suggested I should be the host.

"Wait, that wasn't what I’d signed up for!" I thought. I'd figured someone else was going to do it. I was terrified — I’d never done anything like it. But I realized she was right. I couldn't let my fear get in the way. I had the personal connection to the story, and I needed to tell it.

And then, she pitched it internally to LAist Studios.

LA Made: The Other Moonshot.

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Lethabo Huma

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LAist

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In-depth interviews

It was great timing. They were producing another space-related podcast, Blood, Sweat and Rockets, and thought this was a perfect complement. Antonia Cereijido, now the host of Imperfect Paradise, and Shana Krochmal, VP of LAist Studios, gave it the green light. They brought on production company Reasonable Volume to make it. And with their executive producer Rachel Swaby, we were off to the races.

Shelby Jacobs shows podcast host Joanne Higgins a photo album from his days as an aerospace engineer.

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Rachel Shelby

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LAist

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We began extensive interviews of each man, talking to them on multiple occasions. One day we spent eight hours straight interviewing Shelby about his life. It was good that we did, because just two months later, he died from cancer. It emphasized the urgency of getting all their stories down on tape.

Shelby Jacob's NASA towels in his bathroom.

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Rachel Swaby

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LAist

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My relationship with these extraordinary men became more personal with each interview session. The more involved we got, the more they felt comfortable sharing with me. I met their families and they let me into their worlds. Shelby had a whole bathroom and guest room completely devoted to aerospace, including NASA-branded towels with his name embroidered on them.

Charlie had kept so many artifacts his garage was stuffed full, including the original Wall Street Journal edition where he was included in a front page photograph promoting North American Aviation’s top Apollo team. And Nate showed me some of his original design drawings, still intact after more than 50 years.

A promotion by North American Aviation in the Wall Street Journal showing Charlie Cheathem, on the left hand side.

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Courtesy Elizabeth Cheathem

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Difficult memories

Revisiting this time in their lives, however, also brought up negative things they had endured. Painful experiences, like witnessing the aftermath of a lynching in Alabama, as Nate had done as a young boy. Or being told in college, as Charlie was, not to follow his dream to be an architect because Blacks would never be able to “travel the world to experience different types of architecture.“ Or having someone look at you, like Shelby had, and tell you “you are just too dark to get work in the field.”

But they didn’t hold back, and we heard stories that moved us to tears. Now the four-part podcast is finally out, and I’m so proud of it. There were many times over the years when I questioned if it would happen, but I was propelled by these men. Despite the difficulties, they never gave up. They went on to succeed in something they were passionate about, and have careers they loved, which allowed them to comfortably raise their families. Their strength is what I would draw on whenever I got discouraged or disappointed.

I feel this podcast is my best representation of their journey, and mine. It is my offering to them, and my way of saying thank you. I know of no better way to show my gratitude for a job well done and a life well lived.

Listen to Episode 1