The Challenger Disaster
Thirty years ago today, the shuttle Challenger exploded shortly after lift-off. I've seen posts on social media asking us if we remembered what we were doing when we heard the news. And that got me thinking about that awful day.
I grew up in the space program. My Dad began working at "The Cape" in 1958, several years before I was even born. He began with General Dynamics, working on the Atlas Centaur rocket. When the shuttle program began, he moved to Rockwell and became a part of the team that put the orbiters together. By the time he retired in the mid-1990s, he was the supervisor of the KATS lab, which was responsible for the onboard computer systems used on the orbiter.
The hallway in my parents' home was covered in photos of astronauts, launches, and landings. I had the pleasure and privilege of seeing launches from the Space Center. The space program was in my blood, so when the Challenger exploded on that cold January day thirty years ago, I took the loss personally. I was devastated by the loss of both the crew and the orbiter, itself.
The moments that stand out in my memory are as fresh as if they just happened. I heard the news of the explosion whilst at work. I worked at what was then Daytona Beach Community College in the public relations office. Someone from a neighboring office stuck his head in the door and told us the horrible news. I immediately called my Mom. She was watching my daughter, Andrea, at her house and I knew she would have been outside watching the launch from the end of the driveway. My coworker began crying as I dialed the phone.
When I got ahold of Mom, she was clearly shaken. She'd been a space program wife since 1958. She instantly knew what she witnessed was horribly, horribly wrong. She told me she shielded Andrea's eyes and hurried back in the house. I remember thinking that Andrea was too young to know what she was seeing, but Mom's protective instincts kicked in as she got them both as far away from the dreadful sight as possible.
After I hung up, the department director walked in. "Why is she crying?" he asked, pointing at my coworker, Carol. I replied that she was upset about the Challenger exploding. He seemed a bit confused by her reaction and said, "Well, the only thing better than one death is a multiple death." And with that he walked out of the office. I'm pretty certain that man had no soul.
Later that night, I was watching a news report on the Challenger and they played back the radio communications with the orbiter. Control said, "Go for throttle up." As Cmdr. Scobee did what he was instructed, you heard him say, "Uh oh." And then the Challenger was gone. Up to that point, I had hoped that the explosion happened so suddenly that they were caught unaware. But that broadcast told me that Scobee knew. And that broke my heart a bit more.
But it wasn't until years later that I learned just how tragic the disaster really was. It wasn't until after Dad retired that he finally spoke of that awful January day. The shuttle was put together in the VAB - the Vehicle Assembly Building. It was the only place big enough to stand the orbiter upright on the crawler so the fuel tank and solid rocket boosters (SRBs) could be affixed. It was customary for the shuttle program employees to watch the launches from the VAB, where they had several monitors displayed the myriad camera angles that the TV broadcast lacked.
The morning of the Challenger launch, Dad and his coworkers gathered and watched as usual. Dad said that as soon as the launch began, they knew it wasn't going to make it. They sat there, knowing that those seven people were going to die. And there was nothing any of them could do about it. He never said what it was they saw that told them. I can only assume that one of those camera angles gave them a good look at the SRBs and they saw the o-ring give. The pain of that knowledge was so great that my Dad never watched another shuttle lunch. Not when he worked there. Not when he was retired. He would watch it on tv after it was done. He would not watch it live.
Thinking about the Challenger still hurts. I often wonder why NASA pushed ahead with the launch despite the sub-freezing temperatures that day. Was NASA feeling the pressure of the media because the launch had already been scrubbed on several occasions and the media was mocking the agency? Was the government putting pressure about results? Someone out there knows, but all I can do is speculate. And on this thirtieth anniversary, I mourn anew the Challenger and the seven souls we lost with her.
I grew up in the space program. My Dad began working at "The Cape" in 1958, several years before I was even born. He began with General Dynamics, working on the Atlas Centaur rocket. When the shuttle program began, he moved to Rockwell and became a part of the team that put the orbiters together. By the time he retired in the mid-1990s, he was the supervisor of the KATS lab, which was responsible for the onboard computer systems used on the orbiter.
The hallway in my parents' home was covered in photos of astronauts, launches, and landings. I had the pleasure and privilege of seeing launches from the Space Center. The space program was in my blood, so when the Challenger exploded on that cold January day thirty years ago, I took the loss personally. I was devastated by the loss of both the crew and the orbiter, itself.
The moments that stand out in my memory are as fresh as if they just happened. I heard the news of the explosion whilst at work. I worked at what was then Daytona Beach Community College in the public relations office. Someone from a neighboring office stuck his head in the door and told us the horrible news. I immediately called my Mom. She was watching my daughter, Andrea, at her house and I knew she would have been outside watching the launch from the end of the driveway. My coworker began crying as I dialed the phone.
When I got ahold of Mom, she was clearly shaken. She'd been a space program wife since 1958. She instantly knew what she witnessed was horribly, horribly wrong. She told me she shielded Andrea's eyes and hurried back in the house. I remember thinking that Andrea was too young to know what she was seeing, but Mom's protective instincts kicked in as she got them both as far away from the dreadful sight as possible.
After I hung up, the department director walked in. "Why is she crying?" he asked, pointing at my coworker, Carol. I replied that she was upset about the Challenger exploding. He seemed a bit confused by her reaction and said, "Well, the only thing better than one death is a multiple death." And with that he walked out of the office. I'm pretty certain that man had no soul.
Later that night, I was watching a news report on the Challenger and they played back the radio communications with the orbiter. Control said, "Go for throttle up." As Cmdr. Scobee did what he was instructed, you heard him say, "Uh oh." And then the Challenger was gone. Up to that point, I had hoped that the explosion happened so suddenly that they were caught unaware. But that broadcast told me that Scobee knew. And that broke my heart a bit more.
But it wasn't until years later that I learned just how tragic the disaster really was. It wasn't until after Dad retired that he finally spoke of that awful January day. The shuttle was put together in the VAB - the Vehicle Assembly Building. It was the only place big enough to stand the orbiter upright on the crawler so the fuel tank and solid rocket boosters (SRBs) could be affixed. It was customary for the shuttle program employees to watch the launches from the VAB, where they had several monitors displayed the myriad camera angles that the TV broadcast lacked.
The morning of the Challenger launch, Dad and his coworkers gathered and watched as usual. Dad said that as soon as the launch began, they knew it wasn't going to make it. They sat there, knowing that those seven people were going to die. And there was nothing any of them could do about it. He never said what it was they saw that told them. I can only assume that one of those camera angles gave them a good look at the SRBs and they saw the o-ring give. The pain of that knowledge was so great that my Dad never watched another shuttle lunch. Not when he worked there. Not when he was retired. He would watch it on tv after it was done. He would not watch it live.
Thinking about the Challenger still hurts. I often wonder why NASA pushed ahead with the launch despite the sub-freezing temperatures that day. Was NASA feeling the pressure of the media because the launch had already been scrubbed on several occasions and the media was mocking the agency? Was the government putting pressure about results? Someone out there knows, but all I can do is speculate. And on this thirtieth anniversary, I mourn anew the Challenger and the seven souls we lost with her.
Deanne, thank you so much for sharing this personal thought. I was in science class in high school when we saw it happen. It was the first time a teacher would go to space. Such a tragedy. I did not know your connection with the space program through your dad. You must have some really interesting insight such as this one. I am saddened that we don't hear much going on with the space program after all the changes. I hope more attention is given to them in the future. Again thanks for sharing, Roger.
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