Consuming Concorde

When the Concorde touches down in London this October to complete its last scheduled transatlantic flight, it will mark the end of an era. To its crews, to the happy few who could afford a ticket (a round trip averaged ten thousand dollars), and to sympathetic observers, the end of scheduled commercial supersonic flight will be a shameful step backward. This attitude reflects a determinist bent in the popular view of technology that remains at its most passionate when it comes to aeronautics. The Concorde's influence was immense and complex, beginning with its design and continuing with its operation as a tool of leisure. The supersonic culture associated with it will linger on, much as that associated with dirigibles seven decades ago has done.

The main outlines of Concorde's story are easily discovered. Accounts, analyses, and biographies of the project abound, though most frustrate as much as they inform. The late Emmanuel Chadeau once remarked on the level of advocacy displayed by all sides, and on how writers chose to ignore facets of the story rather than attack them. True, there have been careful, sober-minded attempts to portray specific aspects of the supersonic aircraft's history and to reexamine the exact nature of the project's failure. But most commentators, reacting perhaps to journalistic investigations, tended to brush aside uncomfortable issues, even to adopt a "should've, could've, would've" approach, though with limited supporting evidence. In so doing they fed the notion of a special destiny, perhaps unfulfilled, but one that appeals to the public and its leaders, all eager for beautiful symbols, regardless of their function.

Nowhere is this more evident than in the political arena. The initial goal of the Concorde project, to challenge American technological supremacy, appealed to nations that relied heavily on American aircraft and wanted to boost their own national industries. The cost projections and the aim to develop several types of machines (short-range supersonics were considered) made eminent sense, as did the diplomatic vision of a united Europe (a vision embodied in Concorde's very name; the e was added to please French language purists). The project agreement was signed on 14 November 1962, but unfortunately it yielded little by way of effective cooperation.

Not only was there serious dissent between political partners; the wedding of the French and British aerospace industries was strictly of the shotgun variety, and it didn't take. Two chains of assembly, two directors, two units of measurement—two of everything (not to mention the need for translators) made the undertaking obscenely expensive from the very start. Engineers doubled as national administrators, effectively negating some of their joint efforts. Even salesmen never compared notes, preferring to focus on where relations with their respective countries were particularly good, to boost their pitch. Conflicting national ideals as well as devaluations of the pound and the franc did little to mend the situation. Such troubles also reflected the fact that Concorde was the first and one of the biggest international industrial undertakings in commercial aviation history. In a field where nobody knew how to cooperate internationally, and where organizational charts on both sides of the Channel never quite matched, the supersonic airplane was not the only thing that had to be invented. So did the seamless web, from engineering practices to flight regulations.

What the public perceived as simple technical choices were in fact the results of years of theoretical projections, practical experimentation, and wondrous delays. For example, the pointed "Gothic revival" variation of the delta wing and the funny-looking droopy needle nose fascinated onlookers. Few indeed understood how such design features helped meet requirements for both supersonic and subsonic flights, takeoffs and landings, or what they contributed to structural rigidity and aerodynamic lift. All this had required three complete aircraft redesigns. In fact, making passengers feel comfortable, even bored (there are no movie screens on a Concorde), in a highly inhospitable environment was likely the greatest achievement of the British and French engineers who...