Challenger and Columbia

[lwood]

Obligatory "Where Were You When:" Part One:

21 January, 1986, Cleveland, Ohio: Sts Philip and James grade school:
We were in our seats, anticipating lunch, when one of the mothers who volunteered to watch us while the teachers had their well-deserved break burst into the classroom.

"Turn on the television -- the Space Shuttle exploded!"

The television, strapped precariously to its tall gantry, was rotated into position, accompanied by the shocked noises of stunned children. It was Mrs Klemens' "split" class, where the smartest children from both fifth and sixth grades were in one classroom.

We watched, again and again, the fireball: one SRB this way, one another, and yes at eleven I was enough of a geek to know a solid rocket booster. We ate lunch with wide eyes, watching them play it over and over again.

"Go with throttle up," Houston said, and the frozen O-ring shattered and took seven people with it.

The principal, Sister Julie, came on the PA soon after lunch and said that we could go home, if we wanted. As my mother was one of the lunch mothers, we did. We went home and watched the news casters, at a loss to explain anything more, to move the story forward, loop the footage over... and over...

So. That's where I was then.

Not-Quite-So-Obligatory "Where Were You When:"

But where were you several years before, at 0700 EST, when Columbia first struggled valiantly into the skies?

This isn't fair, I suppose: most of my friends list now lives in Pacific Time, where it was 0400 and not worth getting out of bed for, but I was in Ohio, raised with a dose of Star Trek every Saturday night at six -- a show that had, in its first run, cause my then-future father to refuse to even take phone calls from my then-future mother, let alone go out on a Friday night..

So my bowl of Cheerios and I were watching WKYC, Channel 3, NBC News, and loving every minute of it. Mom woke us up early for it, but for once (and for several launches after, thank you), I didn't mind.

Me, my Cheerios, and the Space Shuttle. I can still remember the aftertaste of milk and oats in my mouth -- with raisins if we had money for 'em that week.

I didn't know then that it'd been a bureaucratic boondoggle, on the boards for years, that compared to the original idea it'd been neutered and had its wings quite clipped. I'm not old enough to remember any of the Apollo missions, so as far as I was concerned, this was Space Travel.

I didn't know then I was being cheated of the real skies. They may go outta the blue and into the black, but the real dream is denied: when they go there, they always come back and never go anywhere, including the Moon -- and they do it in twenty-five-year-old technology, each carrying pocket calculators more powerful than the on-board computer.

I have to admit, I've grown somewhat more bitter about the Space Shuttle since I quit eating Cheerios.

Obligatory "Where Were You When:" Part Two

1 February, 2003, Oakland, California: Snug Harbor, being named for a house in a Heinlein novel, and being the latest domicile of ours to acquire that name.

The phone rang. When the phone rings that early here, it is usually countgeiger's work. Mike's immediate emotional urgency told me otherwise, which woke me up a little more: Who died?

Right question, as it turns out, if none of the names were familiar to me. Another seven. We'll probably even revive some of the same old tasteless jokes.

I'm bitter. Bitter, bitter, bitter. I wanted space. I wanted the Moon and Mars and everything else you get when you go outta the blue and into the black.These dreams will be denied me for many more years, perhaps for ever, for one reason and another starting with with the complete bureaucratic boondoggle of the US space program, the industries it exists to support, and rather notably, my gender.

I heard the news. The first thing that came to mind was Richard Feynman, Feynman with his beaker of ice water, Feynman whacking the O-Ring (brought to you by Morton Thiokol) into the table in front of the committee, the gods, and everyone.

Feynman shattering the O-Ring.

I voiced the first words I could think of, which were, "Ah. I'm sure NASA has fucked it up again, then." I considered my options.

"I'm rolling over, and going back to sleep," I said. "I want you to know that, when it comes time for the obligatory 'Where Were You When' roundup, I rolled over and went back to sleep."

I didn't want to see my dreams crushed again. I didn't need to see whatever footage the networks could scrape together being shown, over and over again, another fireball with a piece or two skewing off in horribly wrong directions, watching the networks in a mad scrabble for something to fill the void of ignorance, as they had done on 11 September, 2001 and 21 January, 1986.

"There was an Israeli on board."

"Mike, if I were a paranoid conspiracy theorist, I would say it's the US Government's fault, in an obvious sympathy ploy."

I rolled over, but couldn't go back to sleep. My bed was aching with the cold of denied dreams... when did it get so cold?

All I could taste in my mouth was dead cereal.

All I could taste was the aftertaste that Cheerios leave, though I haven't touched a bowlful in over a decade.

And they are bitter.

-- Lorrie

Comments

[walkyrja.livejournal.com]

*soft comfort*

It is always bitter, the dashing of dreams.

I find myself in a melancholy suited for the dreary grey of winter's skies over New England.

I found out when, on the Troth's elist, I read Ben's tribute.

What a way to get news.

[rowanf.livejournal.com]

Russell and I got up this morning at 5:45 to go see if we could see the streak of shuttle passing overhead at 5:52 this morning. It was too overcast but we waited hoping to at least hear the sonic boom. Eight minutes later over Texas the shuttle and seven astronauts were gone. Ochone! Ochone! I am very sad.