Riding Rockets

I wondered if any of them at that grave felt culpable. I suspected those who knew nothing of the O-ring problem, and most at JSC and HQ had not, felt they were off the responsibility hook. In my book they were not. It wasn’t an O-ring failure that brought us to this Arlington service. That was merely a symptom. The real failure was in the leadership of NASA. Over many years it had allowed the agency to degenerate into a loose confederation of independent fiefdoms. As proof of that, the Roger’s Commission was finding that many at MSFC had been aware of the O-ring issue, but the problem had not been communicated to the appropriate offices at HQ and JSC, including Young’s and Abbey’s offices. Neither did the Thiokol engineers’ eleventh-hour worries about launching in cold temperature get to the launch director at KSC. And astronaut concerns about the lack of an escape system and the passenger program were unknown to NASA’s senior management, of that I was certain. NASA was filled with incredibly talented people, some of the world’s best. But the agency lacked the leadership necessary to bind everyone together into an effective and safe team. The NASA administrators were largely budget lobbyists beholden to the White House and Congress. They didn’t lead NASA. They certainly didn’t leadme. I couldn’t recall any administrator ever visiting the astronaut office to solicit our opinions. I had heard one TFNG grumble, “We should fly every new NASA administrator on a shuttle mission. Maybe if they had the shit scared out of them they’d be more beholden to us.” That was a part-timer program I would endorse.

“Who led NASA?” was the question. Nobody. That’s why we were standing in Arlington listening to “Taps” for Dick Scobee. It was even a mystery to me who led my fiefdom. Who was in charge at JSC? George Abbey seemed to be absolute ruler of his own little duchy. Even now, a previously planned new astronaut selection was still rolling along. The shuttle wouldn’t fly again for years. Why bring in more astronauts now? We couldn’t understand why the JSC director or NASA HQ didn’t order a stop to it. It was more proof to us that when it came to anything associated with astronauts,everybody, including the JSC director and NASA administrator, worked for Abbey. He didn’t answer to anybody. How many other similarly independent fiefdoms existed within NASA? What were their kings like? What frustrations burdened their serfs? I could only speak of my own. Lack of leadership at JSC and in Washington, D.C., had allowed the astronaut office to become dominated by fear. Even outsiders had become aware of it. In a vitriolic March 12, 1986, memo addressed to John Young, Colonel Larry Griffin, commander of the air force detachment to NASA (he was not an astronaut), wrote, “…my personal experience in working with the astronaut office is that nearly everyone there is absolutely afraid to voice any opinion that does not agree with yours. You criticizing anyone for ‘pressure’ is ludicrous when the primary axiom in the astronaut office is, ‘Don’t cross John if you ever want to fly.’ That’s pressure!” Colonel Griffin had it slightly wrong. We were afraid to voice any opinion that did not agree with that of Youngor Abbey. Did the JSC director or the NASA administrator have any idea how fearful we were of our management? If they had been involved in our lives, they would have known and could have fixed the problem. That’s what good leaders do.

I couldn’t point to any single individual and say, “He did it!” but, collectively, NASA management put Scobee and the other six in their graves. I wanted them all gone. So did most of the astronaut corps. But we were so jaded by our NASA experiences, we doubted it would happen. Already it was more than three months sinceChallenger and there had been no firings. I saw the future and it looked remarkably like the past. Of course there would be new “oversight committees” and a new “safety emphasis,” but to a significant degree the same people would remain in leadership positions and that meant nothing would really change. I would later hear a TFNG describe it perfectly. “You can paint a different tail number on the squadron dog [referring to the most malfunction-prone jet] but it’s still the same dog.”

I walked away from the Arlington ceremony angry, bitter, depressed, and guilt-ridden…making a mental note to tell Donna that if I died on a shuttle mission I didn’t want Abbey or Young or anybody from NASA HQ anywhere near my grave. I certainly didn’t want any of them handing her the flag from my coffin. (Upon my return to Houston, I did make that request of Donna.)

The only positive thought I could muster was that at least there would be no more scab pulling. The crew was buried. Now the healing could begin.