Riding Rockets

While Puddy’s selection was a disappointment to astronauts, he instituted one critically important change—empowerment of the position of chief of astronauts. Shortly into Puddy’s tenure, Dan Brandenstein unequivocally informed us that all flight assignments would originate with him and would then be successively approved or vetoed by Puddy, the JSC Director, Dick Truly, and the NASA administrator. Amazing! Someone in an astronaut leadership position was (gasp)…communicating with the astronaut corps! I was certain that the moon was in the Seventh House, Jupiter was aligned with Mars, and winged-swine were in the JSC treetops. If Abbey and Young had been present, they might have fainted. It had taken eleven freakin’ years to hear this career-essential information—something John and George should have given us on day one.

Regardless of Dan’s welcome leadership, there were other concerns. I could invest a couple years of my life working toward a third flight, only to have the rug pulled out from under me when a schedule change canceled my mission or another shuttle disaster interrupted the program or my health became an issue. In my last physical exam the cardiologist had seen an anomalous blip on the EKG traces. “It’s no big deal, Mike. I’m not going to require you to fly on a waiver.” But what if the blip became something serious enough to ground me?

I also considered what type of mission I might draw. I craved a spacewalk, but so did every other MS. Instead of an EVA, I might find myself on a Spacelab mission butchering mice and cleaning shit from monkey cages. The thought of waiting around a couple years only to end up as a space zoo janitor wasn’t appealing.

And then there was the toll my career was taking on Donna. Though she wasn’t about to use it against me, I was enough of a husband to at least think about it. And I was still learning about that burden. At a party I overheard a TFNG wife comment about the unaccompanied status of theChallenger widows. “There aren’t a lot of men who would feel comfortable stepping into a dead astronaut’s shoes.” The observation hit me like a fist. I had never considered just how different the burdens of anastronaut widow were. I knew men. There weren’t a lot of us capable of stepping into the shadow of a national hero—sure to wilt more than just an ego. Years later, at an astronaut reunion party, a TFNG widow told me, “I’ve dated, but nothing ever really develops.” Men just couldn’t deal with her deceased husband’s astronaut title, she explained.

The unknowns, the fear, the burden on the family…they were all pointing to the NASA JSC front gate—time to drive out of it forever. I was within days of telling Brandenstein of my decision when the phone rang. It was Don Puddy. I was being assigned to another DOD mission, STS-36, only a year away. My sentence as an unassigned astronaut had lasted a month.

Puddy’s call put me on a 6-G pullout from the bottom loop of the astronaut roller coaster. I now soared skyward. Every doubt, every fear about staying at NASA was gone. Within a year, I would once again be Prime Crew. When I told Donna the news, she smiled, but her eyes said volumes more. My announcement gut-shot her. I knew she wanted out. But she took it like a loyal soldier. She would be there for me no matter what.

Only a single aspect of STS-36 would ultimately be declassified, our orbit inclination.Atlantis would carry us into an orbit tilted 62 degrees to the equator, the highest inclined orbit ever flown by humans (it still remains the record). This wasn’t the polar orbit planned for STS-62A (that would have been nearly a 90-degree inclination), but it meant we would get a view of more of the Earth’s surface than any astronauts in history. Our orbit would almost reach the Arctic and Antarctic circles.

I would be one of two TFNGs on the mission. The other, J. O. Creighton (owner of theSin Ship ski boat and Corvette my children found so alluring) would be the mission CDR. Like Hoot, J.O. was an exceptional pilot and leader. John Casper (class of 1984) would be the PLT. The other two MSes on the mission would be Dave Hilmers (class of 1980) and Pierre Thuot (class of 1985). In spite of his wimpy-sounding French name, Pierre was all-American. His astronaut nickname was Pepe.

Because our crew was at the back of the training line, Dave Hilmers and I had time to serve as the family escorts for STS-30. For the first time in my career, I was now the potential “escort into widowhood.” The assignment allowed me another glimpse into the world of the astronaut spouse. At one of the beach house gatherings, Kirby Thagard broke into tears as she told the others that June Scobee had called to wish them all good luck. Just the name of aChallenger widow was enough to sheen the eyes of many of the women…at least when their own husbands were hours from launch.