I Wanted to Fly

In 1964, sending humans to the moon was a romantic lyric crooned by Frank Sinatra. President John F. Kennedy had given a speech in 1962, urging the United States to become an international leader in space exploration. JFK stated, “We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard.” He visited the Cape Canaveral Air Force Station twice before he was assassinated in 1963. I was hooked not only on the charm of the First Family, but also on the improbable notion that “Romeo” might sing “Fly me to the moon” as well as “you are all I long for, all I worship and adore,” just for me.

As a teenager in 1964, my family visited the John F. Kennedy Space Center in Merritt Island, Florida. I did not comprehend how a rocket could orbit Earth and land on the moon, but I had blind faith in science. After that vacation, I targeted news concerning Apollo, Skylab and the Space Shuttle Programs. Considering how rare flying for pleasure was in my world, I dreamed of an opportunity which might offer me air travel. I was naïve.

Due to an article in the National Education Journal announcing applications, I leapt at an opportunity to become an astronaut. It appeared to be a chance to educate students on scientific discovery and the future of space exploration. As a fifth grade teacher in Basalt, Colorado, we were still using paper mache models and one-dimensional drawings of our solar system. Although, Apollo 11 was successful in safely delivering three US astronauts to the moon on July 20, 1969, there was still a mystique about what our solar system contained. Children in Colorado were fortunate to be able to view the night sky and read about galaxies, comets, solar flares and planets, but could I encourage students to reshape their life goals and include engineering, piloting and navigating the Universe?

I scrounged up letters of reference, created a scientific experiment to be conducted on the Challenger, obtained approval from my school district and submitted my application to become the first Teacher in Space. I waited for the interview which would select the three top candidates. I was proud to find out a teacher from nearby Aspen was one of the top ten candidates from Colorado, but disappointed my name was not on the list. There were 11,000 qualified candidates from across the US. Somehow, I was overlooked. Eventually, I did receive a certificate stating that I participated in the 1985-86 NASA Teacher in Space Program and made a significant contribution toward furthering the role of education in the United States. As I pulled that award out of a photo album recently, I had to chuckle at all of the staple scars in the corners. Oh, how many hours had I spent creating bulletin boards in various classrooms?

The day of the shuttle launch on January 28, 1986, I was teaching in Basalt Middle School. I did not have access to a radio or a television, therefore I did not hear the news of the Challenger disaster and the death of all seven astronauts until I drove home. Watching multiple broadcasts that evening, I was speechless. There had been 24 successful launches prior to 1986. Never did I imagine that a whole crew would be incinerated during a launch in full view of reporters, families and NASA employees. Naturally, I also kept asking myself, “What if?”

While I had questioned my mortality during a cancer scare, I did not seriously weigh the risks of becoming an astronaut. It was time to reevaluate my goals. Finding adventures and maintaining my strength and happiness must be modified to include, staying alive. As I walked across the parking lot toward my school on the wintery morning, one day after the Challenger explosion, a 5^th Grade boy hurried over to me stating “I didn’t always like your science classes, but I’m glad you didn’t blow up.”

“Gee thanks, Allen. I am also relieved that I’ll be here to continue teaching.”

During the next seventeen years of my career, I improved my ability to engage learners and impart wisdom using the mistakes and successes I experienced. Still, I would appreciate an opportunity to visit Christa Mc McAuliffe’s grave in Concord, New Hampshire and reflect on the sacrifice she made.