Mike Mullane - Riding Rockets

Before dinner, Rick Hauck led us in a moment of silence to remember our fallen friends, then gave a short presentation that included a recap of some of the significant history written by our group. We each received TFNG T-shirts bearing thirty-five small caricatures of our individual likenesses. The shirts also featured the past-tense headline “We Delivered.” It was an update to the original 1979 TFNG T-shirt, which had displayed the same caricatures and the title “We Deliver.” The TFNG class had, indeed, delivered for NASA and America.

Before scattering to our hotels we posed for a class photo. I sensed a renewed closeness in the assembly. It wasn’t the Knights-of-the-Round-table closeness we had once shared—that level of camaraderie had forever ended when the first Abbey flight assignments had winnowed us. But the white-hot fierceness of our competition had been cooled by the years. We were all gold-pinned astronauts; most of us gold-plated several times over. We were all bound by an experience singularly unique in the history of man…spaceflight. As we stood for our reunion photo, fewer than four hundred earthlings had ever flown into space. Even the fraternity of those who had summited Mount Everest was more than twice as large. The exclusivity of the astronaut experience would forever be a force that would pull TFNGs together.

I occasionally run into a TFNG in my travels. I once crossed paths with Hoot Gibson in his capacity as a Southwest Airlines pilot and had cause to regret it. In the late 1990s I was a passenger on a flight he was piloting. As the jet reached cruise altitude, he announced over the intercom that “world-famous astronaut Mike Mullane was aboard and would be happy to sign autographs.” To ensure my distress, he added my seat number. A line formed and a few old ladies grabbed their cameras for photos. I wanted to leap from the plane to escape the severe embarrassment. Better dead than look bad.

The three TFNG Challenger widows have successfully moved on with their lives. As Lorna Onizuka shared with me, “We stubbed our emotional toes along the way, but I think we’ve all come through the tragedy as happy, content, and successful women and mothers.” Lorna thinks it was the mothering instinct that got everybody through the worst days—each of them had to place their children first and didn’t have time to be emotional cripples. “My children saved my life,” was Lorna’s assessment.

The “man repellent” factor of the astronaut-widow thankfully did not endure. June Scobee and Jane Smith remarried. Lorna and Cheryl McNair remain single but Lorna says they both have vibrant social lives. Lorna says, “I’ve shared my life with a special man for more than ten years.” She laughs as she recounts some of the problems of reentering the dating scene as a mother of two. “When I wasn’t home and a man would call, my oldest daughter would ask him if he was bald.” For some reason that daughter had a “bald men need not apply” attitude. Lorna’s youngest daughter would ask a male caller if he smoked cigars, which was her criterion for rejection. And both daughters would tell men they had to have Mom home by the ten o’clock news. If Lorna’s happy, upbeat attitude is representative of the other Challenger survivors, as she believes it is, they are doing quite well.

Donna and I are approaching our sixtieth birthdays. We both weigh more, sag more, and forget more than we did in those euphoric, intoxicating early TFNG days. But life has been good… grand, really, because we have been blessed with six wonderful and healthy grandchildren. Pat and Wendy, Amy and Steve, and Laura and Dave have all given us two grandchildren each: Sean and Katie, Hanna and Meagan, and Noah and Gwyneth. While holding our first grandchild, I asked Donna, “Would you have ever thought we’d be telling our kids to have more sex?” As the saying goes…“If I had known grandkids were so much fun, I would have had them first.”

Donna and I also just passed our fortieth anniversary…not wedding, but rather the anniversary of that fateful first kiss of January 3, 1965. We celebrated with a glass of wine and were asleep by 9:30P.M . We each got married for the wrong reasons, but we somehow endured long enough to fall in love.

The astronaut beach house is still standing and I hope it is forever preserved for future generations of astronauts. It sits on sacred ground. The spouses of the Challenger and Columbia crews last held the love of their lives on its sands. No doubt some future crew spouses will hold dear the memory of their last beach house visit, too, for it will include a memory of the last time they embraced their lovers. It is the nature of spaceflight that more crews will perish. Even if NASA can fix its culture, the complexity of the machines and the unforgiving environment of space will claim more astronauts.

Another place sacred to astronauts was created after I retired. In 1991 the Astronaut Memorial, funded largely by the sale of Florida Challenger license plates, was dedicated at the KSC Visitors Center. Whenever I visit that center, I always make it a point to walk to the memorial. It consists of a large matrix of granite panels bearing the names of all astronauts who have died in the line of duty. Those names have been chiseled completely through the stone to allow mirrors set behind the panels to reflect the sunlight through the etchings. The entire panel assembly automatically rotates to follow the sun and continuously catch its light. There are now twenty-four names in the granite, the earliest being Theodore Freeman, killed in 1964 in the crash of his T-38 jet, and the latest being the Columbia Seven.

On my visits to the memorial I will take a seat on a bench and stare at the four TFNG names the panels bear…Francis “Dick” Scobee, Judith A. Resnik, Ellison S. Onizuka, and Ronald E. McNair…and remember the last moment I saw them. *They were walking to a sim wearing Prime Crew smiles. It is how I will always remember them…young, happy, soaring with the knowledge they were next up. I will remember each of them in my prayers. I will also include prayers for their spouses and Judy’s family. The life those spouses and parents knew also ended on January 28, 1986, but nobody ever etched their names on a monument.

From the memorial I will walk to a nearby full-scale space shuttle mock-up. Metal platforms have been installed around the display so tourists can climb up and walk through the cockpit. I will anonymously join a group of families and watch them take photos and listen to them marvel at the complexity of the switch panels and the cramped volume. Invariably my attention will be drawn to a child among them. In his or her amazed young face I will be transported back to 1957. I am standing in my front lawn with the identical expression, watching Sputnik I twinkle through the terminator.

September 7, 2005

Albuquerque, New Mexico

www.mikemullane.com

*The panel only bears the names of astronauts who died in the line of duty. For that reason Dave Griggs and Dave Walker are not memorialized on the panel.

Glossary

AB—Afterburner. The throttle position that increases the thrust of a jet engine by burning additional fuel at the back of the engine.

AD—Arrested Development. The state of many military aviators, the author included.

ADI—Attitude Director Indicator. An instrument that shows aircraft or spacecraft attitude relative to the Earth’s horizon.

AFB—Air Force Base.

AOA—Abort Once Around. A launch abort in which the shuttle makes one orbit of the Earth and lands in the United States.