Lighting the fire

Gordon Woolf turned the party barge due east, taking his excited passengers about a mile closer to the point from which four U.S. astronauts were strapped into the Atlantis for the last shuttle launch on July 8.

Woolf is an almost three-decade veteran of the space program. He retired less than two years ago, but one might easily note his passion for the job and the program has not waned. He worked with a team responsible for “lighting the fires” that sent the shuttle into low-Earth orbit. (Link here for a more clear explanation of the shuttle program and those who kept the birds flying for 30 years.)

He and his wife, Peggy, graciously opened their home — located around 7 miles from the shuttle launch pad — for my oldest daughter and myself. We, more accurately, I, were intent to see the final shuttle launch. (My interest in the space program is somewhat documented here. But my interest is of no interest here, and certainly not the point of this essay.)

As we bounced across the lagoon from the Woolf condo to the launch site, Woolf cranked up the radio. “Good Times,” by Chic, blared out. The sun was shining. The launch was on track. Good times, indeed.

On the small craft with us, in addition to Gordon and Peggy, were Russ Gullett and Kathy Beck. Russ and Gordon spent years together traveling on U.S. aircraft carriers as civilian consultants. Their combined knowledge of aviation and space is impressive.

We anchored about 45 minutes before the launch.

At the end of that time, daylight sky became instantly brighter. The space plane and launch system developed during the 1970s rode upon a column of bright fire and dark smoke. Four stellar Americans and thousands of pounds of International Space Station supplies and equipment moved within seconds more than a mile into that speckled Florida sky, and punched through a quick and clean hole through the cloud cover that previously threatened to delay the launch.

The visual was followed by a chest rattling boom and rattle. The experience was complete. And tremendously satisfying, to the point of emotional.

There was cheering on the craft piloted by Woolf. Cold Coronas topped with fresh lime appeared within seconds of the sight and sound. The sincerity of the toast was significantly deeper than the clink of beer bottles; the ensuing silence gave each of us a few moments to come to some grip upon the end of a remarkable period in American exploration and technological advancement.

Gordon returned volume to the radio. K.C. & the Sunshine Band implored us to “Get Down Tonight.”

“Baby, babe, let’s get together.
Honey, hon, me and you.
And do the things, ah, do the things.
That we like to do.”

To do the things we like to do. Or maybe the things we’ve taken for granted. Global communications. Texting. ESPN.

The generations who never knew a life without the Internet or instant access to friends and music and video and games, probably know nothing of a space program that delivered such conveniences.

And we have baby food that better aids in the development of infant eyes and brains. Safer passenger tires. Numerous advances in medicine, to include a reliable artificial heart pump and better treatments for osteoporosis. Advances in the production of medicine. Improvements in rescue equipment, to include life-saving infrared devices for firefighters. Environmentally friendly lubricants. Vastly improved insulation for homes. NASA has a website that better catalogs the benefits derived from the shuttle program and other space activities.

Unfortunately, we have a President who appears to care little about the adequate support of a space program that has given more than it has cost. It comes as no surprise that Obama would short-change a government program that works.

Former astronauts Jim Lovell and Gene Cernan have chastised those who leave NASA with no clear direction. They have said the federal government is “abdicating” the nation’s leadership in space. They allege that the executive and legislative branches of government are leaving America’s space program in “substantial disarray.”

The Atlantis had punched a hole through the sky, and there was celebration on the Woolf boat that, upon reflection, spoke much more about the combined accomplishment of a national vision than to any hope that the previous 30 years would result in continued maturation of the U.S. space program.

Gordon Woolf turned his head due east, instinctively, when asked about the future of the space program. He shook his head in the negative to express uncertainty as an answer.

I looked back at the fading column of Atlantis aftermath, and killed the Corona.