Of Disasters And Of Peace

On January 28, 1986, during the one of the hourly, ten minute breaks that is a feature of any classroom technical training in the military—in this case I was at DLI learning German--I turned from getting my morning coffee to watch the television as the Challenger was making its ascent. Suddenly—

I’ll never forget the wide eyes, the open mouths that were suddenly a feature of every face in the room; the ‘Oh-my-Gods’ that issued from nearly every mouth. DLI hosts students from each service and nearly all of its language instructors are civilian native-speakers. So it was that in the room I was in, Air Force, Army, Marine, Navy and civilian alike stood stunned—some in tears—as the fate of the Challenger’s crew slowly dawned on the mind of each individual observer.

At the time, I thought no disaster could be so universally traumatic to witness. We all know differently now, of course.

*****

Whenever I have thought of the Challenger disaster, I can’t help but think of the lone civilian member of the crew, Christa McAuliffe. Most of us who were adults then recall the media blitz immediate preceding Mrs. McAuliffe’s mission. As the first civilian (a teacher) to go into space, there was a lot of excitement—and, yes, hype—surrounding the lady’s presence on the Challenger. However, one report stands out in my mind: some interviewer asked Mrs. McAuliffe’s young daughter, Caroline—around five or six at the time—how she felt about her mother going into space. The poor kid was afraid that her mother would never come back.

Over these many years, I have wondered how the now-young woman has been doing and have sent up a prayer for her every now and then, along with all of the others.

*****

Not long after the Columbia disaster, my mother, who works for a Big Media organization, had occasion to meet a brother of one of the crew of the last mission. The upshot of his attitude was this: he hurt and he missed his sister, but he was, at the same time, at peace. His sister died doing something that she loved, had dreamed about and trained for nearly all of her life, and she had been making a positive contribution to her society and to its future.

That’s all any of us can aspire to.

UPDATE: Dr. Sanity was there.

Comments

[Tugboat Phil]

This was the biggest non-event of my adult life. I say that with respect. I was stationed with a Navy cargo handling unit out of Williamsburg, Va. We took an annual trip to Antarctica to offload the supply ship, for National Science Foundation, just prior to the "winter over."

We had been on the Ice for about a week when we heard the news. There was no live feed TV at the time (don't know if there is today). So while everyone in the known world "saw" this event over and over, we missed it.

By the time we had gotten back to the States, the video footage had run it's course (much like the twin towers). It was probably close to a year before I actually saw it. Once I did, I was glad I hadn't been near a TV when it happened. I don't really want to see it again.

I was a kid in the early 60's and my dad used to get us up at all hours for the rocket launches. He'd drag us to the top of a hill for a meteor shower, which was usually covered by clouds. So I had a real interest in the Mercury through Apollo programs.

I remember the very first Shuttle landing and wondering if it would actually stop on the runway. But after the Challenger, I started wondering about the whole Shuttle program. It didn't seem like we had an actual mission. Maybe we don't.

[Samantha]

I was at school at the time it happened. There was an announcement over the PA system that the shuttle had exploded. I looked out of the window to see if I could see anything (I was in NYC, in the 4th grade, and I didn't know any better). When I got home I wacthed the news on my parents' black and white TV. I never saw colour footage of the explosion until years later. Seeing it in black and white first took a bit of the edge off. And seeing it in colour all of those years later wasn't as bad because so much time had passed.