Riding Rockets

I watched on TV asColumbia ’s SSMEs came to life and a cloud of steam billowed from the flame bucket. When the SRBs ignited andColumbia was airborne, I almost pissed my pants. We jumped from our seats cheering. It was an act duplicated around televisions at Johnson Space Center and Marshall Spaceflight Center and on the floors of countless aerospace factories and in millions of living rooms around the country. The TV showed a man at the Kennedy Space Center jumping up and down and punching his fist into the sky like a Little Leaguer celebrating a home run flying over the centerfield fence. Another view showed a man standing on top of an RV wildly waving an American flag as he watchedColumbia ’s smoke trail arc to the east. Another camera caught a woman dabbing at her tearing eyes. Everywhere the cameras captured a frenzied public. It was Woodstock, a NASCAR race, and a Virgin Mary appearance all wrapped into one overpowering, soul-capturing Happening.

And it only got better. At T+2 minutes and 12 seconds a flash of fire and smoke signaled the separation of the boosters. It was another computer-modeled milestone successfully passed.Columbia rapidly diminished to just a blue-white star and then disappeared completely. But we didn’t need to see her to know how things were going. We could tell by the abort boundary calls coming from MCC: Negative return, Two Engine TAL, Single-Engine TAL, Press to MECO. It was gobbledygook to most of America, but for astronauts it was the sweet song of nominal flight. At Young’s call of “MECO!” we all cheered again.Columbia had given her crew a perfect ride. I knew our celebration was premature. There was still a lot that could go wrong beforeColumbia was safely back on Earth. But, like the Apostle Thomas, I had seen with my own eyes and now I believed. If those gods of Apollo could put her into orbit with their computer models, they could certainly bring her safely home on the wings of their computer models.

On the flight back to Houston I couldn’t relax the smile on my face. It was giving me a headache. But I didn’t care. It had been nearly three years since I had entered NASA and this was the first time I really felt I had a chance of becoming an astronaut in anything but name only. Until I heard Young’s MECO call, I hadn’t truly believed it could happen. I had been convincedColumbia was going to end up on the bottom of the Atlantic and the closest I would ever get to space would be in a T-38. And I wasn’t the only doubter. I would later hear that Pinky Nelson, upon the MECO call, had jumped from his seat and shouted, “Now I can put in a swimming pool!” Pinky had been a heretic, too. He hadn’t truly believed in the gods of Apollo, and he had put off a decision to build a swimming pool until he knew he had a real job. InColumbia ’s 8½ minute ascent, his dream of spaceflight,all of our dreams of spaceflight, had taken a giant leap toward reality. Mine was no longer the diaphanous mirage I had been following for twenty-five years. The gods of Apollo had fashioned a machine that could turn my astronaut pin to gold.

Chapter 16

Pecking Order

April 19, 1982, effectively marked the end of the TFNG brotherhood. It was on that day George Abbey assembled us to announce, “We’ve made some crew assignments.” Like Hollywood stars hearing, “Can I have the envelope, please,” we held our breath at Abbey’s words. For four years, in hundreds of Outpost Tavern happy hours, on thousands of T-38 flights, around countless supper tables, we had asked the question of one another, of ourselves, of our spouses, of God:When would we be assigned to a shuttle mission? The room was space-silent as Abbey read the names. “The STS-7 crew will be Crippen, Hauck, Fabian, and Ride. STS-8 will have Truly, Brandenstein, Bluford, and Gardner. STS-9 will be Young, Shaw, Garriott, Parker, and two payload specialists. Hopefully we’ll get more people assigned soon.” That was it. God walked from the room.