A new book and movie document the
accomplishments of NASA’s black “human computers” whose work was at the
heart of the country’s greatest battles
smithsonian.com
As America stood on the brink of a Second World
War, the push for aeronautical advancement grew ever greater, spurring
an insatiable demand for mathematicians. Women were the solution.
Ushered into the Langley Memorial Aeronautical Laboratory in 1935 to
shoulder the burden of number crunching, they acted as human computers,
freeing the engineers of hand calculations in the decades before the
digital age. Sharp and successful, the female population at Langley
skyrocketed.
Many of these “computers” are finally getting their due,
but conspicuously missing from this story of female achievement are the
efforts contributed by courageous, African-American women. Called the
West Computers, after the area to which they were relegated, they helped
blaze a trail for mathematicians and engineers of all races and genders
to follow.
“These women were both ordinary and they were extraordinary,” says Margot Lee Shetterly. Her new book Hidden Figures
shines light on the inner details of these women’s lives and
accomplishments. The book’s film adaptation, starring Octavia Spencer
and Taraji P. Henson, is now open in theaters.
“We’ve had astronauts, we’ve had engineers—John Glenn, Gene Kranz, Chris Kraft,” she says. “Those guys have all told their stories.” Now it’s the women’s turn.
Growing up in Hampton, Virginia,
in the 1970s, Shetterly lived just miles away from Langley. Built in
1917, this research complex was the headquarters for the National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics
(NACA) which was intended to turn the floundering flying gadgets of the
day into war machines. The agency was dissolved in 1958, to be replaced
by the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) as the space race gained speed.
The first black computers didn’t set foot at Langley
until the 1940s. Though the pressing needs of war were great, racial
discrimination remained strong and few jobs existed for
African-Americans, regardless of gender. That was until 1941 when A.
Philip Randolph, pioneering civil rights activist, proposed a march on
Washington, D.C., to draw attention to the continued injustices of
racial discrimination. With the threat of 100,000 people swarming to the
Capitol, President Franklin D. Roosevelt issued Executive Order 8802,
preventing racial discrimination in hiring for federal and war-related
work. This order also cleared the way for the black computers, slide
rule in hand, to make their way into NACA history.
Exactly how many women computers worked at NACA (and later NASA) over the years is still unknown. One 1992 study estimated
the total topped several hundred but other estimates, including
Shetterly’s own intuition, says that number is in the thousands.
Surrounded by the West Computers and other academics, it took
decades for Shetterly to realize the magnitude of the women’s work. “It
wasn’t until my husband, who was not from Hampton, was listening to my
dad talk about some of these women and the things that they have done
that I realized,” she says. “That way is not necessarily the norm”
Langley was not just a laboratory of science and engineering; “in
many ways, it was a racial relations laboratory, a gender relations
laboratory,” Shetterly says. The researchers came from across America.
Many came from parts of the country sympathetic to the nascent Civil
Rights Movement, says Shetterly, and backed the progressive ideals of
expanded freedoms for black citizens and women.
The book and movie don’t mark the end of Shetterly’s work She
continues to collect these names, hoping to eventually make the list
available online. She hopes to find the many names that have been sifted
out over the years and document their respective life’s work.
As a child, Shetterly knew these brilliant mathematicians
as her girl scout troop leaders, Sunday school teachers, next-door
neighbors and as parents of schoolmates. Her father worked at Langley as
well, starting in 1964 as an engineering intern and becoming a
well-respected climate scientist. “They were just part of a vibrant
community of people, and everybody had their jobs,” she says. “And those
were their jobs. Working at NASA Langley.”
The spark of curiosity ignited, Shetterly began
researching these women. Unlike the male engineers, few of these women
were acknowledged in academic publications or for their work on various
projects. Even more problematic was that the careers of the West
Computers were often more fleeting than those of the white men. Social
customs of the era dictated that as soon as marriage or children
arrived, these women would retire to become full-time homemakers,
Shetterly explains. Many only remained at Langley for a few years.
But the more Shetterly dug, the more computers she
discovered. “My investigation became more like an obsession,” she writes
in the book. “I would walk any trail if it meant finding a trace of one
of the computers at its end.”
She scoured telephone directories, local newspapers,
employee newsletters and the NASA archives to add to her growing list of
names. She also chased down stray memos, obituaries, wedding
announcements and more for any hint at the richness of these women’s
lives. “It was a lot of connecting the dots,” she says.
“I get emails all the time from people whose grandmothers
or mothers worked there,” she says. “Just today I got an email from a
woman asking if I was still searching for computers. [She] had worked at
Langley from July 1951 through August 1957.”
But life at Langley wasn’t just
the churn of greased gears. Not only were the women rarely provided the
same opportunities and titles as their male counterparts, but the West
Computers lived with constant reminders that they were second-class
citizens. In the book, Shetterly highlights one particular incident
involving an offensive sign in the dining room bearing the designation:
Colored Computers.
One particularly brazen computer, Miriam Mann, took
responding to the affront on as a her own personal vendetta. She plucked
the sign from the table, tucking it away in her purse. When the sign
returned, she removed it again. “That was incredible courage,” says
Shetterly. “This was still a time when people are lynched, when you
could be pulled off the bus for sitting in the wrong seat. [There were]
very, very high stakes.”
But eventually Mann won. The sign disappeared.
The women fought many more of these seemingly small
battles, against separate bathrooms and restricted access to meetings.
It was these small battles and daily minutiae that Shetterly strove to
capture in her book. And outside of the workplace, they faced many more
problems, including segregated busses and dilapidated schools. Many
struggled to find housing in Hampton. The white computers could live in
Anne Wythe Hall, a dormitory that helped alleviate the shortage of
housing, but the black computers were left to their own devices.
“History is the sum total of what all of us do on a daily
basis,” says Shetterly. “We think of capital “H” history as being these
huge figures—George Washington, Alexander Hamilton and Martin Luther
King.” Even so, she explains, “you go to bed at night, you wake up the
next morning, and then yesterday is history. These small actions in some
ways are more important or certainly as important as the individual
actions by these towering figures.”
The few West Computers whose names have been remembered,
have become nearly mythical figures—a side-effect of the few
African-American names celebrated in mainstream history, Shetterly
argues. She hopes her work pays tribute to these women by bringing
details of their life’s work to light. “Not just mythology but the
actual facts,” she says. “Because the facts are truly spectacular.
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