Narrator: In the tense moments before launching into orbit, astronaut John Glenn, a national hero in the making, paused the countdown. The world watched, but Glenn’s attention was on a single, critical detail. A new, room-sized IBM 7090 computer had calculated his trajectory, a complex web of numbers that would guide his Friendship 7 capsule around the Earth. But Glenn, a pilot who trusted people over machines, had one final request. "Get the girl to check the numbers," he said. If she said the numbers were good, he was ready to go. That "girl" was Katherine Johnson, a brilliant African American mathematician working in a segregated unit at NASA. Her story, along with those of her remarkable colleagues, was almost lost to history. In her book Hidden Figures, author Margot Lee Shetterly uncovers the phenomenal true story of the black female mathematicians at NASA whose calculations were the hidden engine behind some of America’s greatest achievements in space. It’s a story of genius, perseverance, and the fight for victory on two fronts: one against the Soviet Union in the Cold War, and another against racial and gender discrimination at home.

Narrator: During World War II, the United States faced an unprecedented crisis. The war effort demanded a massive increase in aircraft production, creating a severe labor shortage in aeronautics. At the Langley Memorial Aeronautical Laboratory in Virginia, personnel officer Melvin Butler was desperate for mathematicians, or "computers," to process the endless data from wind tunnel tests. This desperation, combined with pressure from civil rights leaders like A. Philip Randolph, created an unexpected opportunity. An executive order desegregating the defense industry meant that for the first time, Langley began actively recruiting African American women.

For women like Dorothy Vaughan, a talented math teacher from Farmville, Virginia, this was a life-altering chance. In the summer of 1943, she was working a grueling, low-wage job at a military laundry plant to support her family. Despite her college degree, teaching paid a meager $850 a year. When she saw an advertisement for a mathematical job at Langley paying $2,000 a year, she applied. The job offered not just financial security but a chance to use her intellectual gifts to contribute to the war effort. It was a door opening, a chance to fight for what the black press called the "Double V"—victory against fascism abroad and victory against racism at home.

Narrator: When Dorothy Vaughan and other black women arrived at Langley, they entered a world of contradictions. They were performing essential, high-level work for the nation, yet they were treated as second-class citizens. They were segregated into a separate unit known as the "West Area Computing" section. They had to use separate bathrooms and eat at a designated table in the cafeteria, marked by a demeaning sign that read "COLORED COMPUTERS."

This daily indignity became a quiet battleground. A computer named Miriam Mann, unwilling to accept the label, began a personal act of defiance. Every day, she would walk into the cafeteria, remove the sign, and tuck it into her purse. And every day, an unseen hand would replace it. Her husband worried she’d be fired, but Miriam was resolute. This small, persistent act of resistance became a symbol for the West Computers. It was a fight for dignity, a declaration that their minds were essential to the mission, even if the institution tried to marginalize their presence. Eventually, the sign stopped reappearing. It was a small victory, but it proved that even within a system of oppression, individual courage could force change.

Narrator: As the Cold War escalated into the Space Race, the work of the computers became even more critical. No one embodied this more than Katherine Johnson. Recruited to Langley in the 1950s, her prodigious talent for analytical geometry quickly set her apart. She was moved from the computing pool to the Flight Research Division, a group of all-male, white engineers. There, her relentless curiosity and refusal to be sidelined broke down barriers. She persistently asked to be included in high-level briefings, something "girls" were not supposed to do, until her male colleagues finally relented.

Her reputation for accuracy became legendary, culminating in that pivotal moment with John Glenn. The astronauts were wary of the new electronic computers, which they saw as "black boxes" with no transparency. Glenn’s request for Katherine to personally verify the IBM machine’s orbital calculations was the ultimate vote of confidence. For a day and a half, she worked at her desk calculator, confirming the machine’s numbers to eight significant digits. When she finally gave the go-ahead, the mission proceeded. Katherine Johnson wasn't just a "computer"; she was a critical part of the intellectual trust that made America’s first orbital flight possible.

Narrator: The women of West Computing didn't just break barriers for themselves; they actively built pathways for those who would follow. Mary Jackson, a contemporary of Katherine Johnson, exemplified this commitment. After working as a computer, she set her sights on becoming an engineer, a role almost entirely closed to women, let alone black women. To qualify, she needed to take graduate-level courses offered at the all-white Hampton High School. Undeterred, Mary had to petition the city of Hampton for special permission to attend the segregated night classes. She won her case, earned her qualifications, and in 1958, became NASA's first black female engineer.

Her drive to create opportunities extended to her community. When her son, Levi, wanted to enter the local soap box derby, Mary turned their garage into an engineering workshop, applying her knowledge of aerodynamics to his car. In 1960, Levi became the first "colored boy" to win the peninsula's derby, a victory that inspired the entire black community. Mary saw this as more than a race; it was a demonstration of what was possible through science, hard work, and belief. She knew that breaking a barrier meant it would never have to be broken again.

Narrator: In 1958, as the NACA officially became NASA and the Space Race intensified, the segregated West Area Computing unit was formally dissolved. On paper, integration had arrived. Dorothy Vaughan, who had led the unit with foresight and integrity, saw this as both a victory and a personal setback. She had successfully advocated for her "girls" to be integrated into specialized divisions, but it meant the end of her own managerial role.

Recognizing that electronic computers were the future, Dorothy taught herself the programming language FORTRAN and became an expert programmer, ensuring her continued relevance. However, despite her skills and decades of service, she was repeatedly denied promotions to lead the new, integrated computing divisions. Her story reflects the complex reality of progress. While the "Colored Computers" sign was gone and segregation was officially over, the "glass ceiling" remained firmly in place. The journey of these women shows that progress is not a straight line, but a hard-fought, incremental process, often achieved through the quiet, unyielding determination of individuals who refuse to be hidden.

Narrator: The single most important takeaway from Hidden Figures is that American history, particularly the triumphant narrative of the Space Race, is incomplete and inaccurate without the stories of these brilliant African American women. Their contributions were not marginal; they were central to the nation's success. They performed the calculations that designed safer airplanes, sent astronauts into orbit, and landed a man on the Moon, all while navigating the profound injustices of a segregated society.

The book challenges us to look beyond the celebrated heroes and ask: whose work made their achievements possible? It leaves us with the powerful realization that genius is not limited by race or gender, but opportunity often is. The story of Dorothy Vaughan, Katherine Johnson, Mary Jackson, and Christine Darden is a testament to the power of perseverance, but it also serves as a crucial reminder to actively seek out and celebrate the hidden figures in every great human endeavor.