Lending a hand in space exploration

Homer stumbled across the contest while surfing the Web. In April 2006 the whole Homer family drove to Windsor Locks so he could be briefed on the contest's particulars.

The competition was limited in numbers, but stiff. Prospective contestants included independent inventors, college professors, and an international three-person team with substantial experience in spacesuit design. Homer made the seven-hour return trip to Southwest Harbor knowing he had plenty of work ahead of him.

First came the seemingly straightforward question of how to fashion a glove. Even that took time. "There was no pattern, and NASA wasn't talking," Homer recalls.

He began with the fingers, on the premise that he'd move from there up the hand and then to the wrist. The results of early finger failures litter the dining table – too hard, too soft, not strong enough, inflexible. "It was an iterative process," Homers says, in understatement. The tools he used cover the table: screwdrivers, pliers, thread, punches, a bulb pump, fabric, scissors. A notebook is filled with sketches.

Meanwhile, his job at the community center was not going well. "I definitely got things rolling, but I am not a political creature," Homer says. Translation: He upset the status quo in a place where change happens slowly, if at all.

"He went from A to Z and skipped all the letters in between," says Strong. "It bent a lot of noses out of joint."

In February Homer was fired, leaving him jobless but with time to focus on glovemaking. Some key decisions were reached: The palm would contain a hinge, and aluminum gimbals would allow flexibility in the wrist. He began staying up later, sometimes not going to bed until 3:00 a.m. His family thought he was a "little kooky," as Homer puts it, a smile transforming his otherwise serious face. "But they understood."

By the contest day, Homer was ready, but just barely. The final product was a two-layer, hand-stitched glove with a latex interior and a rip-stop fabric exterior. He'd tested it with a device he'd fashioned from a blood pressure cuff and a bell jar, but he wasn't convinced it would hold.

By now the competition had been winnowed to three contestants: Homer, a costume designer who worked with Victoria's Secret models, and – most formidably – the three-person team of engineers, which included Gary Harris, author of "The Origins and Technology of the Advanced Extravehicular Space Suit." "I knew the team to beat was Gary Harris's, but I didn't know who else was on it until I got home and read the [news] articles," says Homer. Indeed, the team had spent upwards of $40,000 on its entry.

The Harris team won the first round, the "burst challenge" during which a glove's strength was tested by pumping water into it. The costume designer's glove didn't meet the minimum strength requirement and was disqualified. Homer and Harris's team then submitted their creations to a "comfort" test. Both did well. In the final round – for flexibility and dexterity under pressure – Homer scored higher. When the results were tallied, he was the surprise winner.

"He was definitely the dark horse," says Mr. Davidian. "[Ultimately] his glove stood out because it took less force to bend the fingers. The sparks of creativity that were in the design could find their way into future NASA gloves."

As for the $200,000, Homer plans to pay some bills, add a master bedroom to the family's home, and take the kids on a Disney cruise. Then, who knows? He'll keep driving the bus – but he has his eye on another NASA contest.

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