But none had the effect on 11-year-old Scott Malcomson and his friends that the short-lived TV series "Salvage One" did.

The concept behind "Salvage One" was that it was possible to use "off-the-shelf technology" --- meaning, mostly, creatively-used junk --- to revisit the moon.

Malcomson was a resident, at the time, of the "Home of the Ministering Angel", a state-supported group home located on the sprawling estate of what had once been a prosperous farm. Some sixteen children, ranging in age from 6 to 16, were quartered at "Ministering Angel", and Scott enthusiastically recruited half of them to realize the promise Merv Griffin had delivered to their television set.

At first, the project was merely one of pretending to be a formal space program. Kids were allocated "missions", a fake "command center" was set up in Scott's bedroom with construction paper and crayons depicting command consoles, and cheap walkie-talkies purchased with allowance money formed a crude communications network. Topping the project was the conversion of an unused, two-level animal grain silo to the function of "rocket ship".

But the "Ministering Angel" wasn't very good at ministering at all. Routinely, children were allowed to roam off the property at will, so long as they were available for breakfast, school, dinner and bedtime.

Anaheim Hills, the semi-rural suburb where the home was located, was smack dab in the middle of a district largely ruined in previous years by earthquakes. Many expensive houses had slid off their foundations or been heavily damaged, their owners having moved to temporary trailers in many cases before moving on to their new homes. These became playgrounds and clubhouses for the group home's wayward inmates.

One of these trailers, apparently having been inhabited by a sizeable family expecting to stay there for an extended period, had a nearby kerosene tank buried up to its hatch and pump assembly nearby. When Scott and his friends found it, it was still half-full: lettering on the side read "5000 gallons".

Malcomson could do basic math. Worse, he was also an avid reader of both NASA science journals and Tom Swift pulp sci-fi novels, dozens of which occupied the shelves of the group home's bookcases. He knew kerosene had been used to launch the early Redstone rockets, and that it didn't need liquid oxygen for a suborbital launch. And in his mind, Swiftian physics that ensured the safety of heroic figures (such as himself and his friends) dominated.

In short order, teams of kids were carrying, wheeling and dragging five-gallon cans (swiped from the garage) of kerosene back to the "launch site". The lower floor of the silo, which tapered to a sliding hatch in the bottom, was lined with garbage bags and duct tape to prevent leakage, and hundreds of gallons of kerosene were poured into the top, through the square gap in the slotted two-by-four floor dividing the silo, and into the "fuel tank".

Malcomson directed the entire project with the enthusiasm and energy only a pre-teen can bring to bear on anything. A junked sofa was obtained to provide seating for the three would-be astronauts, amongst whom Malcomson would of course be counted as the project leader. Plywood sheets were cut with hacksaws into fins, attached with nails and more duct tape to the four legs of the silo, and controlled from the "command module" with strings slipped through rusted-out holes in the side of the contraption.

Four children were detailed to stand "well away" (maybe thirty feet) with disposable Flintstones 110 cameras to bear witness to the launch and record it for all posterity. A "safety bunker" was constructed another twenty feet away, in the shade of a great oak tree, by digging a three-foot-deep hole and covering it with another piece of plywood --- itself then being covered with about half an inch of concrete stolen from the utility shed.

The launch itself was to be effected by lighting a fuse made of newspaper, itself slipped into place between the bottom hatch and the hull of the silo. A designated lighter would torch the newspaper, then run to the bunker and watch the launch from there, ready to open up and receive the photographers if "something happened". After all, they were just photographers, not "heroes".

Provisions for the flight, expected to take three days as the mighty rocket sought to match John Glenn's feat of three orbits around the Earth --- on a completely suborbital trajectory that was somehow supposed to be maintained by a constantly-firing engine --- consisted of gallon-sized cans of government-subsidized peanuts from the group home pantry.

It was the acquisition of the provisions that doomed the project and undoubtedly saved at least seven children from self-immolation. You see, Malcomson had ASKED PERMISSION to do the entire thing, and had kept the group home parents completely up to date on his comrades' efforts, omitting nothing. But the peanuts were part of recorded items on the government's books, so the parents walked with Scott down to the silo to make sure he wasn't hoarding them.

By this time, the silo was leaking kerosene from a dozen holes; perhaps fifty gallons were soaking into the ground and over five hundred had been dumped into the silo. The sofa was in pieces nearby, to be inserted one by one into the silo once fueling was done and then reassembled just before launch.

The Anaheim Space Program came to an abrupt halt amid much screaming, running, pointing of fingers and a marathon spanking session.

Malcomson has, to this day, launched nothing more sizeable than an Estes model, but continues to dream of the expansion of the American space program.

Submitted on 08/01/2007

Submitted by: Scott Malcomson
Reference: Self, 1977

Copyright © 2007 DarwinAwards.com

Bruce said:
Definitely Keep: Personal Account
Scott, that is an amazing and very well written story! I'm glad you didn't go up in a kerosene fueled fireball so that you could share this with us. This almost sounds like a modern-day version of the Little Rascals. Very entertaining!

James said:
Definitely Keep: Personal Account
Malcolm, I salute your dreams and imagination, and hope to someday read about your exploits as a real astronaut! Meanwhile, I am dumbfounded by the permissiveness of the adults involved. Were they all high or something? And perhaps they should have spanked themselves first! A very well-written PA which should register with the readers!

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