Three decades after the Challenger disaster, Christa McAuliffe's lessons will finally be taught

[Xipe Totec]

5. I remember that day

I was in a meeting downtown in the old Tenneco building. A buddy of mine, who knew I had worked on Shuttle, came in and told me that the Challenger was destroyed. I felt as if somebody had punched me. I had left the program more than two years before then, but my first thought was to wonder if I had done something wrong. Was it my fault? Did I screw up? It didn't matter that I worked on reentry and the failure occurred during ascent. I still felt connected. I still felt as if, somehow, I was responsible.

On the way home, traveling south on interstate 45, towards League City, all I could see was American flags at half mast on both sides of the freeway. Mile upon mile of flags at half mast, from the fanciest business complexes to the grubbiest garages, all of Houston was in mourning.

As I write this, I look up above my monitor and see a poster hanging on the wall. It is the Challenger on it's maiden flight; the external tank painted white like a bride's gown. On the bottom right hand corner a simple caption reads, congratulations, America.

Sure, I remember that day...

as if it was yesterday.


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