A Planetarium for the Nation’s Capital

Washington, DC, the monumental core of the nation, has not only defined the identity of the United States but also significantly shaped the national experience. As the political heart of the nation, the buildings and monuments in Washington, DC, particularly within the National Mall area, serve as visual representations of the nation’s agenda, beliefs, and society.¹ Despite this alignment between space, symbolism, and national identity, the establishment of a planetarium—a place where the public could engage with the wonders of the cosmos and the advancements of modern science—faced numerous challenges. Although Washington, DC, emerged as a center of scientific and technological leadership, the journey to build a planetarium in the national capital spanned nearly five decades, beginning in the 1920s and culminating in the creation of the Albert Einstein Spacearium in the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum (NASM) in 1976.² This prolonged history is emblematic of the broader dynamics that have shaped the cultural and scientific institutions of twentieth-century America.

The distinctive political symbolism of Washington, DC, significantly influenced the project’s trajectory. Unlike planetaria in schools, libraries, or even other major cities, the proposed Washington planetarium would be a national symbol, a space to showcase the country’s technological achievements and heritage. This symbolic role subjected the project to the complex interplay of political decisions, including debates over site selection, funding, dome size, and content. The involvement of prominent scientists, pilots, and politicians underscored the high stakes associated with establishing a planetarium in the nation’s capital.³ Tracing the attempts to establish a major planetarium in the Washington area, and their rationales, provides insight into American society’s perception of science and technology, particularly space science, and into how the United States sought to define itself on the world stage.

This study examines the history of the Washington, DC, planetarium through two key historiographical lenses: the influence of Cold War competition on science education and the role of the planetarium in shaping and reflecting the identity of the United States as a global superpower. Cold War ideological and technological competition impelled the planetarium plan that had long stalled. Most of all, the launch of Sputnik by the Soviet Union in 1957 was a pivotal moment that reshaped American science education. A growing consensus that science and technology were critical to national defense and comparisons to the Soviet Union’s strict science education led to calls for change. Planetaria, as educational tools, were seen as critical in this effort to inspire and train the next generation of scientists and engineers. The 1960s campaign to build the world’s largest planetarium in the nation’s capital reflected the desire within American society for science education during the Cold War.

Second, the history of the Washington, DC, planetarium also reveals how the United States sought to assert its identity as a global superpower, particularly in the fields of aviation and spaceflight. The planetarium was not just an educational tool but a symbol of American technological prowess and a testament to the country’s leadership in the Space Race. The decision to incorporate the planetarium into the NASM, an institution dedicated to preserving and showcasing America’s achievements in aviation and space exploration, underscores this point. The planetarium became a part of the broader narrative of American exceptionalism, highlighting the country’s contributions to humanity’s understanding of the cosmos and its ability to lead the way into the future.

This study begins by tracing early attempts to establish a planetarium in Washington, DC, in the 1920s and 1930s. Various institutions in Washington attempted to import state-of-the-art German planetarium projectors, but these early efforts suffered a series of setbacks, including bureaucratic delays, financial constraints, and competing priorities within the Smithsonian Institution. The study then moves to the post–World War II era, when the Cold War and the Space Race provided new impetus for the project. It examines how the launch of Sputnik and subsequent science-education reforms created a sense of urgency that led to the planetarium’s inclusion at NASM. It then explores the various challenges and controversies that arose during the construction of the NASM Spacearium, including debates over its design, financing, and programming, and how the Washington planetarium illustrated America’s achievements in air and space. By focusing on the protracted history of Washington, DC, planetarium projects, this case study illustrates how national narratives are constructed and contested within cultural institutions. The study also offers insights into the challenges of integrating educational initiatives with broader geopolitical strategies, a theme that remains relevant in contemporary discussions about the role of science and technology in society.

The story of modern planetaria begins in 1923 on the rooftop of the Carl Zeiss factory in Jena, Germany, where two engineers, Walther Bauersfeld and Werner Straubel, introduced the Zeiss Model I. This groundbreaking device projected a starry sky onto the interior of a dome sixteen meters in diameter, replicating the daily and annual movements of celestial bodies with remarkable precision.⁴ Dubbed “the wonder of Jena,” the planetarium captivated public attention, attracting 50,000 visitors in its first week.⁵ For the people of the Weimar Republic, the planetarium provided a space of tranquility amidst political and economic instability, merging the marvels of modern technology with a nostalgic longing for the pre-modern night sky.⁶ Oskar von Miller, the director of the Deutsches Museum who supported the project, described the planetarium as a “temple of glory” to German technical genius, symbolizing innovation and cultural pride.⁷

Recognizing the planetarium’s potential as an educational and cultural tool, Clyde Fisher of the American Museum of Natural History (AMNH) in New York launched a campaign in 1926 to bring the Zeiss Model II, the latest version of the projector, to the United States. After visiting the Munich Planetarium, Fisher was convinced that it would “attract more people to the Museum than anything we have ever had here [in AMNH].”⁸ Similarly, Harvard astronomer William Jacob Luyten praised the “Miracle of Jena” as a triumph of science and engineering, underscoring its educational value in making the night sky comprehensible to all.⁹ As part of this effort, by 1940, five major planetaria had been established in the United States, in cities such as Chicago, New York, and Los Angeles, all made possible by private philanthropy.¹⁰ Yet, despite the growing popularity of planetaria across the country, Washington, DC, remained without one.

In fact, in 1925, two years after the “Miracle of Jena” was revealed to the public and before the first planetarium in the United States opened its doors in Chicago in 1930, Zeiss contacted the Smithsonian Institution to pursue the idea that “the first planetarium in the nation” should be built in the capital. Zeiss opened an office in New York in 1925 and sent a public relations package to the Assistant Secretary of the Smithsonian, Charles Abbot. Zeiss’s strategy was plausible as Abbot was an astrophysicist who had led the Astrophysical Observatory of the Smithsonian since the turn of the century.¹¹ The letter enclosed the endorsements of astronomers, including Robert Grant Aitken at Lick Observatory, Frank Dyson at Greenwich Observatory, Elis Strömgren at Copenhagen Observatory, and Clyde Fisher at AMNH, later the head of the Hayden Planetarium.¹² Their endorsements concentrated on the impact a planetarium would have on education and entertainment. Garrett P. Serviss, a popularizer of astronomy, made a particularly nationalistic plea, saying, “America has advanced to the forefront in astronomical discovery but has lingered behind in popular presentation of the subject.”¹³

Zeiss’s attempt to establish the first planetarium in Washington, DC, however, was frustrated by internal challenges at the Smithsonian Institution and political complexities in the DC area. On May 12, 1927, three days after receiving Zeiss’s proposal, Abbot replied that the planetarium plan “may be beyond our means” given that the Smithsonian had been, since 1923 with other federal agencies, under considerable fiscal restraint in the Coolidge administration.¹⁴ Later that year, prompted by Zeiss, Albrecht Pagenstecher, a New York businessman, wrote again to Abbot that he and his friends were seriously considering ordering a Zeiss projector for the United States.¹⁵ Pagenstecher planned to support the construction and placement of the nation’s first planetarium in the capital in connection with the Smithsonian Institution and then turn it over to the government as a gift to the nation. However, Abbot informed Pagenstecher that the Smithsonian’s Board of Regents faced significant obstacles, including sweeping changes proposed by the National Capital Planning Commission (NCPC) and a substantial import duty that further complicated the plan.¹⁶ Debates over the character and the cognizance of the National Mall were an ongoing struggle in Washington, with competing government interests demanding space and controlling architectural choices. Tensions soon led to a major review of the Smithsonian’s future, with President Coolidge and William Howard Taft (figure 1).

Abbot, whose personal energies and interests remained with the astrophysical observatory itself, consistently resisted proposals to establish a planetarium in Washington, DC, citing a lack of financial feasibility and the institution’s existing commitments. Despite the enthusiasm from figures like Senator James Couzens of Michigan, who attempted to garner Senate support for a Zeiss Planetarium, Abbot argued that Congress was unlikely to allocate the necessary funds, estimated between $50,000 and $60,000, for the project.¹⁷ Abbot’s reluctance was further underscored when Frederic A. Delano, a Smithsonian Regent, Chairman of the NCPC, and an uncle of Franklin D. Roosevelt, suggested designating a site for the planetarium and finding a sponsor. After visiting the Fels Planetarium, Delano wrote to Abbot, “Whenever I read about a planetarium…I feel sad that we missed the opportunity of getting one here in Washington.”¹⁸ Despite Delano’s persistence and clear interest, Abbot, once again, politely declined, explaining that the Smithsonian’s resources were fully committed to existing priorities, leaving little room “to add to it his interesting and education project.”¹⁹

The Smithsonian was not the only target for a Washington planetarium. In March 1937, letters of protest appeared in the Washington Post titled “Ideas for a Jefferson Memorial.”²⁰ The letters objected to the Pantheon-like building plan for the Memorial, suggesting a cultural and educational facility, such as a planetarium, better reflected Jeffersonian ideals. Since the sixty-ninth Congress first introduced a resolution to authorize the erection of the Thomas Jefferson Memorial in 1926, the Thomas Jefferson Memorial Commission (TJMC) looked for proper locations, including the intersection of Constitution and Pennsylvania Avenue. In 1936, as President Franklin D. Roosevelt suggested that the TJMC find a bigger site, the commission secured a site on the south bank of the Tidal Basin, in line with the Washington Monument and the White House. The Jefferson Memorial was supposed to be a testament to the ideals of freedom, democracy, and enlightenment, and a place where these abstract principles gain tangible form and expression, resonating deeply with the spirit of the American people and Washington, DC.²¹ Letters in the Washington Post at the time emphasized that the memorial should honor the life and work of Thomas Jefferson by emulating the man, who pondered knowledge with a scientific mind.²²

Delano led the way once again. In November 1937, he proposed to Arno Cammerer, Director of the National Park Service, that a planetarium be built as a memorial to Thomas Jefferson. The idea quickly circulated among key figures, including Congressman John J. Boyland of New York, chairman of TJMC, and Ruel P. Tolman, acting director of the National Collection of Fine Arts.²³ Tolman suggested incorporating the planetarium into a new wing of AMNH, noting that space in Washington, DC, was becoming increasingly scarce.²⁴ The proposal sparked a similar discussion in Congress, where Representative Alfred N. Phillips of Connecticut introduced a bill to establish a national planetarium in memory of Thomas Jefferson, arguing that it would serve the public’s education and enjoyment more effectively than another monument.²⁵ Despite gaining momentum, the plan faced opposition over costs. In June 1938, Congress approved funds for a traditional Jefferson Memorial without a planetarium.²⁶ This decision disappointed many who argued that Washington, DC, should be more than a shrine or tourist destination.²⁷

Early efforts to build the first planetarium in Washington, DC, in the 1920s and 1930s reflected the symbolism of the nation’s capital and the unique status of the National Mall as the birthplace of national museums. During this period, astronomy was portrayed as a source of wonder and nostalgia rather than a rigorous scientific discipline. In addition, because of the symbolism of Washington, DC, as a tourist destination, the planetarium was used as a tool to emphasize the educational aspect of the city rather than a venue for science education. Consequently, as planetaria emerged in cities across the United States, the symbolism associated with Washington, DC, diminished. As the “nation’s attic,” the Smithsonian was then not emblematic as a place for science.

During World War II, planetaria became assets as training grounds where pilots and navigators could practice celestial navigation. This laid the groundwork for increased postwar interest by the military, educational institutions, and the Smithsonian. The German V-2 missile had demonstrated that space was a new realm for warfare and had to be explored. Both the V-2 and nuclear weapons highlighted the impact scientific research could have on national security, and fostered a new space-minded perspective, increasing public interest in science and technology.²⁸ Planetaria would become places to foster this awareness, symbolized by the popular show “To the Moon and Beyond,” screened at the 1964 New York World’s Fair, about traveling to the moon. As Boyce-Jacino has observed, “outer space emerged as a place to which someone might travel, or which technology might conquer.”²⁹

Through the 1950s, efforts to incorporate a planetarium facility into the Smithsonian complex, both internally and externally, became more aggressive. In June 1955, Leonard Carmichael, the seventh Smithsonian Secretary, joyously announced that President Eisenhower had signed and sent to the House a request for a supplemental appropriation of $2.3 million. The money was for what would become the Institution’s first new building in three decades, the Museum of History and Technology (MHT). The Washington Post reported that Carmichael hoped for additions and improvements, including buildings for a national air museum and a planetarium, with the latter possibly a part of the MHT. No priorities were set, however, and MHT was the goal. Yet, as the Post reporter pointed out, Washington, DC, was “only one of two or three major cities without a planetarium” at the time.³⁰ This brought more letters of inquiry to Carmichael’s desk.

For example, William W. Hammerschmidt from the Department of Defense’s Weapons Systems Evaluation Group argued to Carmichael that the Smithsonian, with its expertise in operating a national museum, was the ideal location for a planetarium to serve public education and the liberalization of the public mind.³¹ Hammerschmidt, a PhD in physics, felt that Washington was lagging behind other cities promoting education, such as Boston, Philadelphia, and even Montevideo, Uruguay. Carmichael, unimpressed, admitted that the planetarium project was important but that the Smithsonian’s other objectives took priority.³² Even so, appeals like Hammerschmidt’s kept Carmichael conscious of external expectations; at that time, there was even a rough plan for a planetarium near the Smithsonian Castle, replacing the old Arts and Industries building across from the proposed Air Museum, then to be situated on the other side of Independence Avenue (figure 2).

Sputnik I heightened public anxieties and changed the political landscape. Its launch on October 4, 1957, led to a surge in public and government interest in space travel. It also created pressure for educational reforms to strengthen the nation’s powers in science and technology. Both heavily influenced the rise of planetaria, driven by a sense of crisis about a perceived technological gap with the Soviet Union, what some scholars have described as the “Pearl Harbor effect.”³³ The gap was intolerable for the United States and led to major increases in funding for science and technology education and to the creation of the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA), a space-focused agency built on the former National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics.

As the scientific and technological rivalry with the Soviet Union intensified, planetaria became an object of competition, too. The media pointed to the Moscow Planetarium, known for its then-unmatched twenty-five-meter dome, as a benchmark, suggesting that the nation’s capital required a planetarium of comparable grandeur.³⁴ The day after Sputnik I’s launch, a newspaper reported that a National Security Council meeting highlighted how seriously Senators viewed the technology gap with Russia.³⁵ One article included a photo of visitors to the Moscow Planetarium looking at a globe and listening to talks about the satellite’s path. The lecturer used the globe to dramatize how a satellite circled the Earth. About a week later, a reader wrote to the Post, arguing that “since the Russians have a planetarium in Moscow, I see no reason why we shouldn’t have one in our Capital too.”³⁶ The image of the world’s first satellite celebrated in the world’s largest planetarium created a sense of crisis and an opportunity. Calls of this type reflected the push to reform science education.

At the height of the Cold War, American classrooms became vital arenas for preparing students to outpace their communist counterparts in various scientific and technical disciplines.³⁷ Intellectuals from liberal and conservative circles criticized life-adjustment education, which focused on the practical and vocational applications of science and technology, as insufficiently rigorous to compete against communism.³⁸ This sentiment was further intensified by the media, which amplified the prevailing sense of urgency and crisis. A special edition of Life magazine on March 24, 1958, contrasted images of a Soviet and an American student on the cover. Under the headline “Crisis in Education,” serious-looking Alexei Kutzkov of Moscow appeared more formidable than the happy Stephen Lapekas of Chicago. The article also contrasted their educational systems: “In USSR: Rough Haul All the Way” and “In U.S.: Relaxed Studies” to emphasize the differences. According to the article, the American education system was less challenging and fell behind Russia, especially in science and mathematics.³⁹

In 1958, the Congress passed the National Defense Education Act (NDEA) “to strengthen the national defense and to encourage and assist in the expansion and improvement of educational programs to meet critical national needs” in the present “educational emergency.”⁴⁰ The act appropriated $890 million from 1959 to 1962, focusing on aids for teaching science, mathematics, and foreign languages for schools at every stage. Spurred by this windfall, scientists led the charge, believing that the current curriculum was outdated and failed to reflect the practice of modern science and technology.⁴¹

Among the beneficiaries were planetaria. Title III of the NDEA, “Financial Assistance for Strengthening Science, Mathematics, and Modern Foreign Language Instruction,” included “acquisition of laboratory and other special equipment, including audio-visual materials.”⁴² The invention of the Spitz Model A in 1947, an affordable, portable planetarium projector, made planetaria more widely available.⁴³ This $500 projector significantly lowered the barrier to installing planetaria in schools, universities, astronomy societies, and military training schools. For example, the home of Spitz Laboratories, Pennsylvania, saw more than one hundred planetaria open in the decade following the NDEA’s implementation.⁴⁴ The federal government ensured that such expansion of science and technology facilities would continue by enacting the Higher Education Facilities Act of 1963, just as baby boomers were entering college.⁴⁵ The Act allowed the construction of undergraduate and graduate academic facilities with an initial appropriation of $230 million per year. With government support, planetaria that were once only in museums were now being built in public schools, libraries, and universities across the country.

A shared understanding of planetaria’s importance in science education also influenced the Washington Southwest redevelopment plan. The Southwest Urban Renewal Plan was one of the nation’s first large-scale urban renewal efforts, beginning with the Redevelopment Act of 1945. The NCPC identified Southwest DC as “one of Washington’s worst slum areas” or “problem areas” because of overcrowding, lack of sanitation, age of buildings, juvenile delinquency, and disease.⁴⁶ The plan to revitalize the city reignited the discussion of establishing a planetarium. On May 4, 1958, the Washington Post reported that a group of individuals from the sciences and the arts, including a conductor of the National Symphony, public relations director of the Washington Star, architects, doctors, and attorneys, suggested a $1 million planetarium in the DC area. They suggested starting a fundraising campaign to build a Science and Arts Center for Youth with “the latest and the best in planetariums.”⁴⁷

Another attempt was made by the operators of a waterfront seafood restaurant that was facing demolition as southwest redevelopment progressed.⁴⁸ Watson Rulon, a founder and president of the popular Hogate’s Seafood Restaurant and a principal designer and developer of the Southwest waterfront renewal project, proposed adding a planetarium at a new Potomac overlook site. The proposition was discussed before a joint meeting of the NCPC and the District Redevelopment Land Agency (RLA). Two months later, the RLA opposed the plan as “premature,” but reversed its decision a month later, granting conditional approval.⁴⁹ In December 1958, after visiting major US planetaria, Rulon proposed a $1 million, four-hundred-seat planetarium, connected to Hogate’s but administered by the Smithsonian, with costs covered by admission fees.⁵⁰ The RLA approved this ambitious plan in May 1960. However, despite initial enthusiasm, the project faced several revisions, and the Smithsonian’s interest dwindled. Hogate’s opened in 1972 as a large nine-hundred-seat restaurant, without a planetarium.

Planetarium plans in the 1950s differed from previous attempts in the 1920s and 1930s. Whereas early planetaria symbolized technical excellence and transcendent experiences as tourist attractions, the planetaria of the 1950s served as new and promising science education tools even though they still highlighted themes of space travel. Thus, the descendants of “The Wonder of Jena” still provided heavenly experiences with astronomical imagination, but also became an essential weapon in schools to raise science warriors for the Cold War.

The sense of crisis caused by the perception that the United States was falling behind the Soviet Union, and that Washington was falling behind Moscow, resulted in the establishment of another planetarium committee by a local entrepreneur, Herman Weinstein, who dubbed the effort the “Washington Planetarium and Space Center (WPSC).” Weinstein had built “Education Services,” in Washington, which among other functions created multimedia packages for educational interests. And he attracted Edward Teller, then at Berkeley, to his team. Teller, infamous as the father of the hydrogen bomb, by then was beginning to migrate to social issues. Right after Sputnik, Teller defined the science race with the Soviet Union as “a battle more important and greater than Pearl Harbor” and testified at an NDEA hearing on January 30, 1958, about the importance of science education.⁵¹ At Senate hearings investigating satellite and missile programs, Teller argued that the United States had fallen behind the Soviet Union in its missile program and stressed the need for public science education to overcome this gap. He also asserted that Americans were losing interest in science because they thought it was only for “highbrow” scientists. A long and painful process of science education reform was needed to correct this.⁵² In this context, Teller was particularly excited about the educational benefits of the planetarium. In early 1961, Teller corresponded with Theodore J. Kauffeld, a consulting engineer who oversaw planning the “Astronarium and Science Center” for the New York World’s Fair in 1964, to convey his thoughts on the planetarium.⁵³

Weinstein also attracted Father Francis Heyden, the well-known and highly regarded Georgetown University astronomer. Together, they drafted a proposal to create the WPSC in March 1961. It began by pointing out that Washington housed “the most important concentration of Scientific and Educational Agencies (governmental and private) in the country,” yet was “the only capital city of the major world powers without a large planetarium.”⁵⁴ At first, they envisioned a non-profit facility with a training facility in aviation and space science and technology, with a seventy-five-foot dome like the Hayden Planetarium in New York. Reflecting Washington’s concentration on government institutions, the proposal highlighted using the planetarium for in-service training in rocket ballistics, celestial navigation, space medicine, space law, and social and economic aspects of the Space Age. From its beginning, the WPSC was a grand plan, incorporating post-Sputnik concerns and the centrality of Washington, DC.

The first official meeting was held on May 11, 1961. Weinstein gathered key proponents from academia and government, including Teller, Heyden, Harvard astronomer Donald Menzel, pioneering aviatrix Jacqueline Cochran, and representatives from NASA, the Department of the Air Force, the Department of Defense, the US Information Agency, the National Academy of Sciences, and the Senate Aeronautical and Space Sciences Committee.⁵⁵ Philip Hopkins, director of the National Air Museum (NAM), also attended, representing the Smithsonian as an observer.⁵⁶ The meeting finalized four agendas for the WPSC: (1) the planetarium project was a sound and urgent one; (2) the possibility of both public and private financial support should be explored; (3) planetarium activities should be coordinated with local educational institutions on all levels, as well as with the Smithsonian and other government agencies; and (4) the planetarium programming should receive primary focus, while not precluding other activities that would fit well in the space-age context.⁵⁷ Teller was selected as Chairman of the Planning Committee, Heyden as President, and Weinstein as Executive Secretary. The committee members pledged to raise sufficient funds to build and operate the WPSC.

Preparing for the meeting, Weinstein drafted a proposal for the National Science Foundation (NSF) to demonstrate how the WPSC could address the challenge of scientific rivalries among competing interests. The proposal emphasized how the WPSC would offer the NSF “an unusual opportunity and responsibility in participating in an imaginative scientific and educational program of local, national and international interest and importance.”⁵⁸ Recounting a brief history of planetaria from Jena, Chicago, Philadelphia, and Los Angeles, he described how the educational potential of planetaria had fulfilled the dual objective of “education and motivation.”⁵⁹ The situation in Washington highlighted the urgent necessity of establishing a planetarium in the city, especially as a world capital, aligning with the widespread consensus that such a facility is crucial for bridging the science education gap with Communist countries:

The committee envisioned the WPSC as a “dramatic showcase” that exhibits “peaceful nature of space exploration program to serve all mankind,” which will lead to an “improved image of America.” For this purpose, WPSC was ready to cooperate closely with the State Department, the US Information Agency, NASA, the National Academy of Sciences, NSF, the Office of Education, and other government offices, and willing to create a national training center for planetarium directors and staff.⁶¹

Unlike previous efforts, the WPSC plan attracted endorsements from a variety of organizations. Most importantly, the WPSC plan included a design and a specific building site, Dangerfield Island, south of Washington National Airport. As soon as the National Park Service and the NCPC approved the site in May 1962, architect Robert Calhoun Smith, president of the Washington chapter of the American Institute of Architects, presented a bold design featuring a large dome that caught the attention of media outlets.⁶² On May 11, 1962, the Washington Post published an artist’s aerial view of the WPSC and a map showing where it would be located. In addition to local newspapers, including the Washington Daily News, Baltimore Sun, and Washington Evening Star, the WPSC was featured in regional newspapers and scientific periodicals.⁶³Science News Letter, on May 26, 1962, featured the aerial model of the WPSC’s iconic flying saucer–shape structure on its cover and announced a new planetarium to be built in the Washington area with the goal “to encourage interest in and interpret the space sciences.”⁶⁴

The reception of the WPSC plan illustrates how eager the media and interested parties were to enlist international and domestic politics. As the plan took shape, it also became more ambitious; now, the goal was to build the largest planetarium in the world. The Board of the WPSC changed the size of the dome of the proposed planetarium from seventy-five feet to eighty-five feet, 2.5 feet larger than the world’s largest dome in Moscow. It was a way to showcase the city’s unique position as a “world capital,” and it captured the zeitgeist that anything that competed with the Soviet Union had to be superior. In addition, the WPSC audaciously claimed to grow its membership beyond the United States and become “the largest aggregation of astronomers anywhere in the world.”⁶⁵

Political relations between the United States and other countries also influenced the acquisition of the projector. In 1962, Teller corresponded with Otto Laporte, the prominent German-American physicist who was then Science Attaché at the American Embassy in Tokyo, about scientific exchanges with other countries. Teller’s target was Japan, which was planning to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of the cherry blossom trees planted in the tidal basin between the Jefferson and Lincoln Memorials. Prompted by the WPSC, Japan proposed to offer its large Model III Minolta planetarium projector, worth over $100,000, in exchange for audio-visual materials, texts, and educational packages of equivalent value to “help improve and upgrade science teaching in the school systems of Japan.”⁶⁶

Weinstein used Japan’s offer as a ploy. Believing the Minolta projector would not be effective in an eighty-five-foot dome, he cannily leveraged the offer to ask the German embassy to suggest the donation of a Zeiss projector. He described the WPSC as an “important international, cultural, and educational attraction” that could draw over a million visitors annually,⁶⁷ and argued that the donation of the Zeiss projector would be “a permanently effective exhibit of West Germany’s excellence in areas of optical instrumentation” and a testament to the mutual lasting friendship between the two countries.⁶⁸ This partnership, the Board hoped, would enhance WPSC’s global standing by utilizing the symbolism of the technological object—a projector in the world’s largest planetarium—to bolster relations with its allies.

With strong board member support, an approved site, and a striking building design, the WPSC garnered significant public attention. Board members were, at times, creative. Jacqueline Cochrane wisely focused on engaging children in the campaign. In one effort, she marshaled school children to contribute to a planetarium fund, recruiting six girls from a West Virginia high school to donate their “coke money” and seven boys from the Apollo patrol of Troop 51 of the Boy Scouts to organize a fundraising campaign.⁶⁹ This effort was symbolic and designed to engender emotional support, and illustrates the breadth of the WPSC’s strategy.

Early efforts to reach out to local political and academic figures received sympathetic attention but little funding. In 1965, however, a staunch supporter, the Air Force, approached the WPSC. The service had been trying to establish a major monument or memorial in the Washington area but was met with opposition in the 1960s as a “dynamic memorial” was more popular than a “monument.” For the Air Force, WPSC seemed to have all the “magic ingredients” that made the project feasible, and it could emphasize its “Aerospace” mission. Although the Air Force was already operating several planetaria as training and visitor centers, it regarded the WPSC as a visible focal point connecting government and civil scientific agencies, scientists, and educators.⁷⁰

On January 18, 1965, Oscar Chapman, a WPSC board member, met with Eugene Zuckert, Secretary of the Air Force, and Jess Larsen, President of the Air Force Association (AFA). At the board meeting the next day, Chapman reported that “the Air Force Association is very interested in supporting the Planetarium and, in turn, using it as “a living, active memorial to the Air Force.”⁷¹ The board members agreed that the AFA would have the ability to raise the $5 million and discussed how to negotiate to fulfill the missions of both organizations.⁷² The WPSC even considered changing its name to “National Air Force Planetarium and Space Center” if cooperation with the AFA went well. However, the two groups held different positions, and the differences were not resolved. Focusing on the educational function of the planetarium, the WPSC has prioritized providing students and adults with up-to-date educational content about space science. The AFA, on the other hand, wanted to use the planetarium as a symbolic place to connect aviation to space flight to maintain its original purpose as an Air Force memorial. Negotiations between the WPSC board and the AFA broke down in late 1965. In January 1966, Edward Teller, who had favored the deal, reconvened a new Education Advisory Board comprising the presidents of all major institutions in the Washington area to explore alternative strategies for securing the WPSC’s uncertain future.

By building the world’s largest planetarium in the “world capital,” the WPSC declared a broader ambitious goal of becoming a global center for space science education, overcoming the shock of Sputnik. The site and building design were quickly finalized and garnered public attention, but an essential component remained missing. When negotiations with the AFA, which seemed to be the last hope, broke down, the Smithsonian Institution finally stepped in and brought the hope one step closer to establishing Washington’s first planetarium. Like the other players, the Smithsonian had its own agenda.

Although the WPSC never materialized, despite its promising inception, NASM inherited the strategic emphasis on the urgent need for science education in the post-Sputnik era. The ambition to create the world’s largest planetarium was not realized, but the planetarium project represented a significant breakthrough in the planning of the NASM, addressing challenges that had hindered the Smithsonian for more than two decades since the NAM bill in 1946. For a nation that had recovered from the Sputnik nightmare and reasserted its technological prowess with the success of the Apollo missions, a planetarium in the nation’s capital was regarded as an appropriate vehicle for showcasing the history and excellence of American technology.

Sputnik and the Space Race also impacted Smithsonian operations. The most noticeable changes occurred at the NAM. Realizing the importance of air power through World War II, Americans enthusiastically agreed to create a national museum to showcase American aviation shortly after the war, which led to the passage of the bill establishing the National Air Museum in 1946.⁷³ The Smithsonian had played an important role in preserving American aviation history long before 1946, and its expertise in establishing and operating museums made it a natural fit for the Smithsonian to take the lead in establishing the NAM.⁷⁴ However, despite the Smithsonian’s expertise in museum operations, integrating its plans within ongoing projects required navigating a complex bureaucratic process involving Congress, the NCPC, and the Bureau of the Budget. The acquisition of the Wright brothers’ 1903 Flyer in 1948 seemed to mark a turning point, but it would be another decade before a building site was finalized in 1958.

The Space Race presented new opportunities for the Smithsonian. As the International Geophysical Year and the launch of Sputnik created the Space Age in the public mind, officials from the Smithsonian Institution and NAM expanded their focus to include spaceflight as a natural extension of aviation. The NAM had already been passively building a space collection. Responding to pressure from Charles Lindbergh and Daniel Guggenheim, it accepted a 1935 Series A Goddard rocket, but did not display it until the 1950s. Among many other World War II artifacts, the Air Force transferred to the Smithsonian a German V-2 missile.

But the Smithsonian then began making an active effort. On April 1, 1958, a few weeks after the successful launch of Vanguard I, Philip Hopkins went to the Naval Research Laboratory to ceremonially receive a full-size Vanguard rocket. At the same time, the Smithsonian contacted the Army to acquire an example of the rocket that carried the first satellite, a Jupiter C.⁷⁵ Clearly aware of the powerful influence interservice rivalries could play, Carmichael promised that “the National Air Museum is planning to display the United States Navy ‘Vanguard’ rocket, and we believe it would be most appropriate and interesting to have these two historic rockets shown as companion pieces in the same exhibit.”⁷⁶ In 1961, the NAM expanded its rocket collection, acquiring the Polaris, the first submarine-launched ballistic missile, and the Atlas, the first Air Force ICBM and the launch vehicle for Project Mercury. Lined up alongside the west side of the Arts and Industries Building and prominently visible from Independence Avenue and the Mall, “Rocket Row” became a must-see tourist destination in Washington, DC (figure 3).

By 1966, powerful names in Congress, such as Senator Barry Goldwater, stepped in. Goldwater, prompted by National Air Force Museum Advisory Board efforts to link the upcoming bicentennial with the establishment of a National Air Force Museum, insisted that the NAM be established and renamed the National Air “and Space” Museum (NASM) to memorialize the development of both aviation and spaceflight. President Johnson approved the bill in 1966. This was a new beginning.⁷⁷

Despite its new vision for the Space Age, the NASM still struggled to acquire sufficient federal support for construction. The Vietnam War and the subsequent increase in military expenditures left little funding for the Smithsonian museums. In June 1966, the Senate declared that NASM funding would have to wait “unless and until there is a substantial reduction in our military expenditures in Vietnam.”⁷⁸ To overcome the crisis, the Smithsonian employed a two-pronged strategy, capitalizing on growing public fascination with spaceflight, notably Apollo, and incorporating the planetarium as a venue to direct that fascination to the NASM.

The Smithsonian had a new, capable leader to make and sell that link, S. Dillon Ripley. When Ripley became Smithsonian Secretary in 1964, he accepted an invitation to join the WPSC’s Executive Board, which allowed him to keep in touch with the slow but continuing endeavors of the planetarium initiative. Ripley understood there had been many efforts from many directions. He took it seriously enough to assign a senior staffer, James Bradley, to attend the meetings and keep tabs after, in early 1965, the prospect of Air Force funding seemed strong through the agency of the Air Force Association and the National Air Force Museum Advisory Board. Although Ripley initially sought to foster the liaison, his recent appointment and awareness of the constraints imposed by the ongoing war led him to withdraw from further action. He also remained hesitant to endorse renaming the new museum the “National Air Force Planetarium and Space Center.”

The success of the Apollo missions once again brought public attention to the stalled NASM project. Seizing the opportunity, Smithsonian officials emphasized that NASM would be “a living monument” to the Apollo mission. Ripley stressed to President Richard Nixon that “the time is now ripe for your Administration to consider planning and pushing forward the construction of the fully authorized National Air and Space Museum…which honors and promotes the sense of adventure you have so eloquently described as ‘Spirit of Apollo.’”⁷⁹ By then, the Smithsonian had secured official responsibility for building a national space collection through an agreement in March 1967 that gave NASM control of the custody, protection, preservation, and display of all historical artifacts relinquished by NASA. NASM was poised to serve as a showcase not only for American aviation but also for American space flight.

With funding still stalled due to the ongoing Vietnam War, Ripley and Bradley sought to maintain Congressional interest in the NASM project by proposing the incorporation of a planetarium into the museum’s plan and turned to the WPSC. After Philip Hopkins resigned, S. Paul Johnston, a recognized authority on air power, became NASM director in 1964 and continued to serve on the WPSC board, actively seeking opportunities for collaboration. Johnston kept Ripley informed of WPSC developments, and when a proposed partnership with the AFA fell through, Ripley decided to take decisive action.

Ripley noticed that the WPSC board was considering turning the planetarium project over to another organization, such as the Park Service, the National Geographic Society, or the Smithsonian.⁸⁰ He knew that the WPSC had already approached the Smithsonian in September 1967 to discuss sharing the Dangerfield Island site. Ripley, at the time, countered that the Smithsonian would not consider the site but would entertain a “proposal from the Center for a joint study invoking incorporation of the Center into the Air and Space Museum” under the conditions that the Space Center incorporates the themes of the NASM and that the present Board would be willing to help the Smithsonian “along the path toward Congressional fiscal approval, just as I believe our cultivating the giants of the aerospace world would.”⁸¹

Prompted by Johnston’s observations, particularly his early assessment of the NASM’s strengths and weaknesses, including a “lack of space orientation,” Ripley became convinced of the necessity for a major planetarium located on the National Mall and under Smithsonian oversight.⁸² By that time, likely informed by Johnston, Ripley was aware of studies demonstrating the educational benefits of planetaria, which had resulted in significant funding from the NDEA by emphasizing the link between planetaria and national agendas.⁸³ Ripley also knew that Smithsonian staff were exploring alternative options for housing a planetarium within an existing structure. One particularly creative option was a revived plan to install a planetarium within the large central dome of the National Museum of Natural History (NMNH), thereby visibly reinforcing the Smithsonian’s broad mission to educate and inspire.

The idea of using the NMNH’s dome was creative but raised concerns about a potential territorial dispute between the museums. As the NASM project moved closer to realization, the idea of including a planetarium in the new NASM building emerged. Smithsonian leadership anticipated that a planetarium would address government and public demand for science education, resolving the NASM’s situation. As one administrator wrote: “I think that there is considerable merit in redesigning the building to allow for the construction of a planetarium…we would be in a good position to begin a public campaign to solicit support. This would allow us to take advantage of increasing public interest in acquiring a planetarium for Washington and would constitute more evidence of our Institution’s concern with public education.”⁸⁴ Consequently, Ripley commissioned Hellmuth, Obata & Kassabaum, the architectural firm for the NASM building, to develop new plans incorporating a major planetarium. Initially, there had been discussions about integrating small planetarium-like chambers throughout the galleries to depict aeronautical and space themes, as a single planetarium was considered less aligned with the exhibition concept. However, with the possibility of acquiring the WPSC, Ripley reverted to the idea of including a large planetarium in the building, though he acknowledged to William A. Butts, Director of the Budget at GSA, that this would necessitate a significant redesign.⁸⁵

In January 1971, with prospects for the WSPC dimming, Ripley seized the opportunity to recruit Teller, Menzel, Melvin Payne of the National Geographic Society, and Harvey E. White, a physics professor and prominent science educator at the University of California, Berkeley. Ripley took a morning meeting with Teller and Payne and that afternoon reported highly favorably, feeling “we would be guilty of neglect if we were not to include within the National Air and Space Museum…an up-to-date Planetarium.” In June 1971, the assets of the WPSC were transferred to the NASM. While there were few funds for transfer, the real asset was the new association with WPSC luminaries who might attract members of Congress like Goldwater and Jennings Randolph, and James Webb from NASA.⁸⁶

The appointment of Apollo 11 astronaut Michael Collins as NASM director in the spring of 1971 significantly accelerated the project. Leveraging his fame, Collins rebranded NASM to enhance its appeal. Obata’s early designs for the museum were grandiose, what a Washington Post editorial derisively called a “monumental aircraft hangar.” By November 1971, Obata’s design, which included an eighty-foot domed planetarium, remained significantly over budget and faced criticism from members of the Fine Arts Commission, who argued that it was not suitable for the National Mall. In response, Collins adeptly reframed his vision, presenting the museum not merely as a gallery of objects but as a “national center for education about the science and technology of flight and its economic, social, cultural and political meaning.”⁸⁷

Congress finally authorized the construction of the downsized NASM on June 28, 1972, allocating $41.9 million. During a hearing on NASM’s construction budget in March 1972, Smithsonian leadership highlighted the educational potential of a planetarium, now referred to as the “Spacearium,” linking it to NASM’s mission. It would be, they claimed, the museum’s signature facility. In particular, Collins described the Spacearium as the most effective tool to increase public understanding, arguing, “No facility is better equipped for making these [discoveries of modern astronomy] understandable to the layman than the modern planetarium chamber.”⁸⁸ In another session of the hearing, Collins expressed his aspirations for the Spacearium as “an asset to the community in terms of educational and research needs.”⁸⁹ His arguments also appeared in the 1973 Annual Report of the Smithsonian, where he stated that its installation would enhance the institution’s reputation. According to Collins, to align with the Smithsonian’s reputation for research in the fields of astronomy and astrophysics, every possible attempt should be made to make the Spacearium a powerful and entertaining teaching tool.⁹⁰

The Spacearium project was under significant time pressure, as the NASM’s opening was set for July 1, 1976, to coincide with the American Bicentennial. As the timeline for the opening was finalized, major challenges remained, particularly in developing programming and securing the necessary hardware for the planetarium. One of Collins’s initial actions was to assign a new deputy director to oversee the planetarium project. Melvin B. Zisfein, an MIT-trained aeronautical engineer with experience in the aerospace industry and at the Franklin Institute, was appointed as NASM’s deputy director in 1971. He was tasked with formulating conceptual programming plans for the planetarium. To acquaint himself with the history of the WPSC efforts and subsequent developments, Zisfein reviewed records in the Secretary’s files. He also consulted with Donald Menzel, a member of the Executive Committee of the National Science Planning Board for the 1962 Seattle World’s Fair, who informed him that the fair had featured a prominent “Spacearium,” an immersive wide-angle Cinerama format film and slide production titled “Journey to the Stars,” funded by the Boeing Corporation.⁹¹ Inspired by the name “Spacearium,” Zisfein proposed adopting it for the new NASM planetarium.

Given the project’s complexities, Zisfein suggested a two-stage approach: first, a small prototype planetarium, the “Experimentarium,” to experiment with design and programming; then a full-scale Spacearium as part of the new NASM building. Collins supported this strategy, seeing the prototype as a way to secure construction funding and preview the museum’s offerings. Zisfein envisioned a simple setup in the South Hall of the Arts and Industries Building, featuring a forty-foot dome, folding chairs, a classroom star ball, and multimedia systems. He argued that the Experimentarium would demonstrate NASM’s revitalization, aiding future funding efforts.⁹²

By the end of 1971, space and cost constraints reduced the dome to thirty feet, but Zisfein remained optimistic. He reported to Menzel, a key figure in past planetarium efforts, that the smaller dome would still allow testing of architectural arrangements and show development. To assist in this process, Collins hired Charles G. Barbely, a consultant with experience at the Morehead Planetarium, where Apollo astronauts had trained. Barbely developed detailed programming scenarios focused on aviation, spaceflight, and humanity’s future in space, with an emphasis on connecting aviation history to space exploration.⁹³ Barbely’s proposed programs included a narrative linking the myth of Icarus to modern aviation and spaceflight, moving from ballooning and gliders to the Wright brothers, World War I, commercial aviation, and lunar landings.⁹⁴ The synopsis of the Experimentarium proposal, which traced the history of flight from ancient times, had a different perspective than the WPSC’s, which had envisioned it as “a dramatic showcase of peaceful uses of outer space.”⁹⁵ While the WPSC committee designed the exhibit to present astronomy and space science as rigorous science education, the NASM staff approached it by weaving the history of American aviation into the planetarium exhibit through the lens of science and technology. Indeed, Barbely described the Experimentarium as “another spark of vitality to NASM by providing dynamic public programs on astronomy and aerospace, while also providing a proving ground for techniques in theatre logistics, visitor comfort planning, program design, and determination of support needs for the proposed Spacearium.”⁹⁶

As Zisfein and Barbely developed the Experimentarium, they faced decisions about the planetarium’s focus: would it be a traditional “star show” or a more immersive “space show”? Zisfein favored the latter, seeing it more aligned with NASM’s goals. A space show would rely on slide projectors, motion pictures, and special effects rather than an expensive star projector. Barbely supported Zisfein’s vision, proposing three programming themes—aviation, spaceflight, and humanity’s future in space—and suggesting the planetarium could also serve for research projects, navigation instruction, and community enrichment (figure 4).⁹⁷

Despite these plans, the selection of a planetarium projector for the Spacearium raised political issues. NASM solicited bids for a college-scale projector and suspended dome, receiving proposals from Spitz, Viewlex, Zeiss, and Minolta. Although Viewlex’s bid was $2,000 higher, NASM selected it, citing superior performance. Spitz, an American company, complained to Congress, leading two Pennsylvania representatives to challenge the decision, arguing that choosing a Japanese-made product over a domestic one violated the “Buy American” Act.⁹⁸ Ripley and Collins defended their choice, asserting that Viewlex’s projector met all of NASM’s performance requirements, whereas Spitz’s did not.⁹⁹ They also highlighted that both projectors used Japanese components, but only 21 percent of Viewlex’s system was made in Japan. These arguments ultimately prevailed, allowing the Experimentarium to proceed with a Viewlex projector under a Spitz dome.

With the Experimentarium underway, NASM began planning the Spacearium. Although Zeiss had not been initially approached due to legislation mandating the purchase of US products, the possibility of a donation was considered. On November 29, 1973, Collins approached Wernher von Braun, the renowned German-American rocket engineer, to explore the potential of acquiring a Zeiss projector as a bicentennial gift from West Germany. Collins believed that the Zeiss projector was still the most advanced instrument available for large projection domes and was the optimal choice for the Spacearium. Von Braun contacted West German Chancellor Willy Brandt, outlining the Smithsonian’s vision for the new NASM and the benefits Germany could gain by donating a Zeiss projector.¹⁰⁰ Von Braun argued that a Zeiss projector at NASM would achieve a level of “public visibility” comparable to the Statue of Liberty in New York, making it an ideal gift to commemorate the bicentennial.¹⁰¹ Ripley also emphasized the importance of visibility and location, “the heart of Washington,” which was ideal for presenting German ingenuity and craftsmanship.¹⁰² Chancellor Brandt responded positively, and West Germany agreed to donate a Zeiss Model VI projector valued at $600,000.

In exchange for the donation, the Smithsonian named the planetarium the “Albert Einstein Spacearium” in recognition of Einstein’s scientific achievements and German heritage. Ripley informed President Gerald Ford of the plan, emphasizing the significance of naming the planetarium after Einstein. By June 1975, after negotiations with Zeiss and shipping companies, the projector was installed in a 70-foot diameter, 250-seat dome on the museum’s second floor, without modifying the floor design.

The Spacearium’s inaugural show, “Cosmic Awakening,” premiered in 1976, celebrating the history of American pioneers in astronomy and aviation. Narrated by Burgess Meredith, the show departed from traditional astronomy presentations by focusing on the American context rather than figures like Copernicus and Newton. It opened with a quote from John Adams and examined the American fascination with the almanac, symbolizing the nation’s pioneering spirit. The narrative then shifted to the history of flight, from the Montgolfier brothers’ balloons to the Wright brothers’ 1903 flight, connecting Einstein’s theory of general relativity to the broader theme of technological advancement. “Cosmic Awakening” highlighted American achievements, such as Charles Lindbergh’s transatlantic flight, Edwin Hubble’s galaxy studies, and Robert Goddard’s invention of the liquid-fuel rocket, integrating these milestones into the wider context of cosmic exploration.¹⁰³ This first show reflected NASM’s dual goals of showcasing American technological excellence while fostering strong international ties, particularly with Germany. The focus on both the Wright brothers and Einstein underscored the Smithsonian’s efforts to balance national pride with global cooperation. The Spacearium’s emphasis on the vastness of the universe and America’s role in its exploration also reinforced the museum’s mission to inspire visitors and promote the importance of aviation and space science.

The Spacearium’s programming process reveals how the Smithsonian used its human and political networks to address the final challenges facing the Washington Planetarium project. As a federally funded institution, the NASM had to navigate a complex bureaucratic process, including designing the museum, appropriating funds, and purchasing projectors. With increased visibility and a talented staff, the Smithsonian successfully navigated the process and finally opened its doors in 1976. The most recent model of the Zeiss projector at the time, a successor to the one in the public relations package given to Abbot in 1925, was finally working in Washington, DC, after fifty-one years.

The protracted journey to establish a planetarium in Washington, DC, reflects the complex interplay among scientific ambition, politics, and cultural symbolism in mid-twentieth-century America. Spanning over five decades, the efforts to integrate a planetarium into the nation’s capital were shaped by broader national concerns, particularly during the Cold War, when science education and America’s identity as a global superpower were at the forefront. Despite bureaucratic delays, fiscal constraints, and competing institutional priorities, the Smithsonian Institution, with its expertise and pivotal role in American cultural heritage, succeeded in incorporating the Albert Einstein Spacearium into the NASM. This achievement, not merely the addition of another exhibit, was a strategic decision aligned with America’s goal of asserting technological dominance, particularly during the Space Race. The planetarium’s development reflected a broader societal shift toward valuing science and technology, intertwining national security, public education, and international diplomacy. Envisioned as a tool to enhance public understanding of space science, the planetarium became part of a national strategy to demonstrate technological superiority over the Soviet Union. This highlights how cultural institutions can advance national interests, especially amid heightened global tension.

Despite its strategic importance, the Spacearium struggled to attain the prominence initially envisioned for it within the NASM.¹⁰⁴ The planetarium was often overshadowed by the museum’s more iconic displays, such as the Wright Brothers’ plane and the Apollo 11 command module, which were dramatically portrayed in the Museum’s giant IMAX theatre that opened with themes like “To Fly.” This outcome illustrates the inherent tension between the educational objectives of a planetarium and the more spectacular, visually arresting exhibits that tend to dominate public attention in large, multi-faceted museums. The relative obscurity of the Spacearium within the broader context of the NASM reflects the many challenges the Smithsonian has faced since the 1970s, which will be addressed in future research.

In hindsight, the story of the Washington, DC, planetarium serves as a microcosm of the broader challenges faced by cultural institutions in the modern era. It highlights the complex interplay among educational objectives, political influences, and the need for cultural institutions to remain relevant in an ever-changing landscape. The planetarium’s history is not just a tale of delayed realization but also a reflection of the Smithsonian’s adaptability and resilience in the face of these challenges. It underscores the importance of strategic vision and flexibility in the development of public institutions, particularly those that aim to bridge the gap between scientific knowledge and public understanding.