The Day The Spacemen Died

On January 27, 1986, Mrs. Lang asked Daniel Fritz and a smaller, dumber version of myself to go outside.  We were 8 and a half at the time, and we thought we were so smart.  Living in South Florida allows you the rare access to so many wonderful things, like a front row view to the shuttle launches.  On this particular day, our 3rd Grade teacher picked Daniel and I to be the spotters.  Once the shuttle was visible we were to run back in and tell the class to come outside to see it as it roared high through the sky and into space.  

By this time in my life I had known Daniel Fritz for three years.  Later, I would have a sporadic class with him all the way through high school, but the closest we ever came to being friends was that January day, standing in the South Florida sunshine.  After that, the two of us, stupid children, would barely speak, but forever be tied to an idiotic bond that I have rarely spoken of.  Now I share the regret with you.  

I didn't know anything about the space program as an eight year-old.  Truth is, the most I ever learned about the NASA program was by watching Apollo 13, starring Tom Hanks.  So when Mrs. Lang called us back inside, telling us that the shuttle had been scrubbed for the day, the first thing I said to Daniel was, "Why does it need to be cleaned before it takes off?"

The 27th of January was actually the 5th time NASA tried to launch the Challenger because of weather or maintenance problems.  I didn't know that.  All I knew was that this particular launch was special because part of the seven member crew was to be the first-ever teacher in space, Christa McAuliffe.  

So in we came, back to our seats, but we left something outside the class that I regret to this very day.  A stupid pact.  I honestly cannot tell you who proposed it, but I know we both agreed to it and thought it would be cool.  "Hey, wouldn't it be awesome if the shuttle blew up?"  Or a similar statement, followed by way-too-excited concurrence.  And shamefully, the childhood version of a signed contract, the lead-lock of the "crossed fingers."  Awesome?  Awful is more like it.  

It could have happened this morning.  In walked some other teacher, slowly approaching Mrs. Lang and interrupting her lesson to whisper something in her ear.  A hand to an agape mouth.  Incredulous looks.  Muffled teacher-speak, and out walked the other teacher just as slow as she came in.  

"Class," Mrs. Lang began, "there has been a terrible accident.  The space shuttle has blown up."

Within minutes there was a television broadcasting the coverage to the quad that sat in the middle of the three classrooms in our end of the building.  We then went outside to stare and point to the smoke trail that stained the cloudless blue sky as I am sure the event still stains the hearts of those close to the crew.  The seven crew members were gone.  Six accomplished astronauts and one determined teacher.  And here, back on Earth, taking it all in , Daniel Fritz and I squirreled off to a corner and took an oath to never mention our pact to anyone, ever.  

Through the remainder of my formidable school years Dan Fritz and I would forever carry the knowledge that we had some terrible connection to that tragic event.  I am not writing this for anyone to feel sorry for me, but to understand that I have remorse for that stupid wish so long ago.  The Space Shuttle Challenger may not even get mentioned in the mainstream media on the 28th of this month, and may not get mentioned again until some unfortunate forthcoming disaster.  But to me a January doesn't pass, a shuttle doesn't launch, and space talk doesn't take place without me thinking of crossing my fingers without considering the full consequences of something so stupid.  

Like 9/11, and for those old enough to remember, JFK and MLKs assassinations, 28 January will always take me back to those two days in my life.  I now pray for those families and hope that the failures of the day that led to the disaster, and the disaster of of the Space Shuttle Columbia in 2003, lead to the prevention of any future NASA catastrophe.  

One final note.  When I left elementary school to start sixth grade I was enrolled at the brand new, Christa McAuliffe Middle School in Boynton Beach, Florida.