When I was pregnant, my husband and I lived in a small one-bedroom apartment in Coral Gables. We absolutely adored our little apartment, but there was definitely no room for a baby, so we had to find a temporary home when Brandon was born.
We stayed at my grandparents' house, Val's parents.
Not only was it great to have such help with a newborn, but it was also an opportunity for my grandparents to enjoy their very first great-grandchild for an extended period of time. We lived with them for almost two months, a week short of two months in fact.
Halfway through that stay, a terrible thing happened. The Columbia shuttle blew up, minutes from landing.
I was 9 years old when the Challenger blew up, but I remember it like it was yesterday. I was overwhelmed with emotion to have to witness these two horrible events in my lifetime. Both events were tragic, but the fact that the Columbia mission was over and they were on their way home makes it more so.
My grandparents and I spent the day glued to the television, watching the report over and over again.
I will always remember that day, sitting in my grandparents’ family room, watching my child nap as this very sad event took place.
In spite of the sadness of these events, there is a silver lining; it is through these disasters that we put our lives and problems in perspective, and learn to enjoy those precious moments with family and friends before they too are gone.
I would like to thank the seven astronauts from the Columbia, the seven astronauts from the Challenger, and all the other men and women who risk their lives so that we may learn our universe. It is because of you that my son has the ability to learn about the world we live in and can someday do his part to make it a better place.
As a not a grateful person, but an eduator, I too, thank those that make it possible for us to learn more about the world we live in. But I thank those that PROTECT IT, also. Protecting our world is as important as helping us understand it. Gordy, never forget the liberties you have and how lucky we are to live here in the USA. Luckily your Abuelito Papito and your Uncle Val, remind us exactly why we should be, and are, grateful.
Posted by: Titi at February 1, 2005 11:23 PMA sweet, edifying story, made beautiful by the grateful perspective of its thoughtful author. How very fine.
Posted by: A.M. Mora y Leon at February 9, 2005 10:35 AMI arrived fron Cuba in '62 with just my mother and sister when I was eight. I had been awed by a LIFE magazine in which the seven original astrounauts were portrayed in the cover. They were the coolest thing I had ever seen , attired in their shinny silvery space suits, all smiles. That impressed me so much that I even remember that that particular magazine had a picture of Dwight Eisenhower playing golf, I don't even like golf.
My mother made the sacrifice to buy me the Doubleyday Space Program booklet series and the Science News. I couldnt wait for the procession of programs to go by, I never doubted that we would go to the moon. Mercury, one man capsules, Gemini, two men, space walks, docking in space with another vehicle, endurance records. Finally Apollo came, we were serious now, the big leagues, we were really going to the moon.
I was devastated when the Apollo fire occurred, my dad had been able to finally make it in the Freedom flights by then, he was a new arrival. He pulled me aside and wispered, "if our ancestors had given up everytime a galleon sunk, we would not be who we are, surely the Americans can do better, do not worry we'll get there" Shortly after, when all the world was watching the eagle soar, I was sick that night, had a high fever, but stayed glued to the TV set until that first small and giant step. We had done it! We beat the communists, the Americanos si que comian candela.
In a few years eventually all the excitement faded, I grew up, went away to college in Orlando and met my wife, we married. She had already graduated and had gotten a job at the Kennedy Space Center. A few months later I started to work as a ground support technician since I had aquired an AP certificate from George T. Baker in Miami. It was a strange and wonderful world, this was 26 years ago. The Space Shuttle was not there, it was being built in California. Our jobs were to modify the launch pads from the Saturn 5 configuration into one in which the Shuttle would fit in. The orbiter processing facility (OPF) was not ready, long hours, longer weeks, months passed by.
Finally it was coming, one day a huge 747 appeared, flying in slow motion, two T-38 trainers flown by astronauts escorting it, the shuttle riding piggyback! How can such a thing fly? It did and did it well, it landed and the work began. It was not complete! Tiles were missing, instruments not installed, systems to be checked. We were proud of our bird and we treated it with loving care. The day that Young and Crippen flew it on its maiden flight, when the main engines roared, the solid boosters kicked and it cleared the pad in a slow roll, all hearts stopped. When the solids were released and it achieved orbit we breathed again. Then we had beans.
Launch after launch we stacked them up, new things were learned, new records set, we were the envy of the world, We had Columbia, Challenger, Endeavour, Atlantis, Discovery, then we got cocky. We had become overconfident. nothing could go wrong. We were at the top, after all, we were the world's premier launch team, so we were told.
It was a clear, crisp and cold day. I had gone to watch the launch outside. I was working at the Operations and Checkout building, where the astronauts suit-up. I was working program requirements and analysis there, I had much earlier watched the astronauts leave, waving, wearing orange flight suits, watched them getting into their silver specially modified Gulfstream motorhome for their ride to the launch pad.
The final countdown started, there were the usual built in holds, 9....8....7...6....5....4....3....2...1.. We have main engine ignition, we have launch!!
Up it went, on top of a pillar of smoke, engines blazing, rivalling the morning sun followed by a low growl which became a rumble, then a roar which slowly faded as the wind was blowing the sound out to sea. Then there was a puff, it turned into a fireball, we watched in horror as the two solid rockets were now independently careening in crazy spirals, the people around me were yelling, Please, God let them achieve RTLS (return to launch site).
I kept looking up into that blue, silent and terrible sky, I knew they had died. The burning fuel cloud expanded, a beautifully perverse rain of metallic glitter could be seen falling. Moments later, the only indication that a tragedy had occurred were the silent sobs and crying which could be heard, faces draped in unbelief.
Days later, the remains were recovered, the file of the seven hearses drove by front of my building, Mr. Reagan spoke, I said goodbye and prayed.
Work began again, we had boards of inquiry, we went fevereshly over hundreds thousands of gigabytes of data to discover the culprit. We found the devil in the details, we learned some more, fixed things, and began again to hope for the best. My father's words rang true in my head.
We began launching again, Hubble, the Great Observatories, Space Station, more experiments, trips to Houston, quality programs.
It was Saturday, a brisk beautiful day, I was at the Jiffy lube waiting to get the oil in my car changed. I knew Columbia would be coming in today. I was listenning to the car radio, awaiting the tell-tale double sonic booms that my girl was coming home, after all I had cut my eye teeth on her, she had taught me well, I knew every inch of her, knew all her aches and pains, we had grown old together, 24 years, watching her soar up into space taking brave men and women into the future.
She had been launched, succesfully, completed her mission, she was coming home, about to land, piece of cake, another day, another dollar. She should have landed by now!, did she decide to go another few orbits? Wait! what is the radio saying? They do not have her on radar, there's no visual confirmation, my cell phone, I have to call work, home. They are gone!, they were committed to deorbit I hear my friend say. Did they make a contingency landing at some airport? No, we lost them, over Texas.
I hear Houston make the announcement, "it appears Columbia has broken up in reentry", I sit in my car, unable to drive. I pound the dash, I weep.
Work begins again, fact finding, we trek over hundreds thousands of acres of Texas brush, we lose yet other friends in a search helicopter accident, pieces are reassembled to discover the culprit. The devil is again found in details that are different this time, we learn some more, fix things, begin again and hope for the best.
This is America, where a young refugee from castro's Cuba can grow up dreaming the impossible, reach for the stars and hope for the best. I consider at times like this what was taken from another little boy, Elian.
Thanks Dad.
thanks for a beautiful story!
Posted by: tony at February 10, 2005 11:41 PMCohetedude,
Thank you for your wonderful story.
And thank you for being part of the discovery.
Tony,
Thanks! I appreciate it!