They tell me I was born at a very young age in Brooklyn, N.Y., first-born son of a Coney Island fireman and a Boston telephone switchboard operator. Parochial grammar and high schools, I turned down a chance to go to Notre Dame in favor of Loyola, because my father announced he was retiring and moving us out to L.A.
But because I graduated h.s. on Feb. 1, and my sister had to finish her freshman h.s. in June, I worked on Wall Street for five months, we settled in Canoga Park out in the San Fernando Valley, and I flunked the Loyola entrance exam by one point. In five months I had forgotten one point’s worth of Math!
I then entered pre-med programs in a few junior colleges, couldn’t get a higher grade than C in chemistry, so I switched to engineering. Took courses at UCLA, but then realized I was really F. Scott Fitzgerald and switched to their Writers Program.
Got a job at North American’s Rocketdyne division in the Santa Susanna Mountains, and ended up a junior engineer working on the Titan and Atlas missile test stands Alpha, Bravo and Cocoa. The booster engine on the Atlas was banging into the sustainer engine, spilling out LOX and blowing up the stand. So my claim to fame (“Saving the nation’s space program,” is how I usually put it) was re-designing the gimbal mount on the booster from 15-degrees to 12. (No applause, please—it was a simple solid trig problem.)