PULLOUT QUOTE: In an age of cynicism, of big scandals and flawed pop stars, these astronauts are iconic of a dying breed of true American Idols--the brave, noble, good-hearted superheroes of generations past...
Mourning the Loss of our Unknown Heroes:
A personal account of the morning of the Columbia Space Shuttle Disaster
By Diana Ducey
I find that America only recognizes its heroes after it is too late for the new idols to learn of their impact on our country. I am referring, of course, to the seven astronauts of the Columbia spacecraft crew. In all honesty, I was not in the least aware of the shuttle's journey; that is, not until my mother's phone call jarred me from a deep sleep on Feb 1, 2003:
I woke up today to a surreal digital voice shrilly announcing, "You have an incoming call." brrriing! "You have an incoming call." brrriing! "You have an incoming..."
All at once, I become vaguely aware of the phone ringing. I rouse myself out of bed and run across the room and fumble to release my cell phone from the wall charger and phone holster. Blindly, I flip open my phone and jab desperately at the glowing keypad until I find the "talk" button. Answering the call with a "Whah-ha? Yeah? This is Diana," I met my mother's anxious voice on the line.
"Diana, can you hear me? Turn on your TV. Watch the news! [Static fuzz]-space shuttle--The Columbia--it dis-[static] on re-entry;all seven crew members--. Bewildered, I do as instructed and click my television set on. In my sleepy stupor, I squint as the screen brightened, and I fixate upon the small blinking "local info" icon at the lower left hand of the screen: 41 degrees Fahrenheit...11:43AM EST...10:43AM Central...
"What?!" I exclaim into the phone. "It's not really 11:45 a.m., is it, Mom?" I ask, thinking back to whether or not I set my alarm clock the previous night. My mother replied in a puzzled, shocked tone: "Why, yes, I guess it is 11:45, but Diana, did you hear me? I want you to turn on the news. The Columbia space shuttle was due to reenter the Earth's atmosphere and land in Florida this morning, but it has disintegrated."
I'm silent for a moment as I gather my thoughts, trying to get my mind to process this information and downgrade the importance of the current issue I was pondering--the fuzzy disappointment and guilt I felt for sleeping in four hours past the time I intended to begin working on homework.
My mom just told me something really urgent, but it was not quite hitting me all at once. "What shuttle?" I demand. "Columbia?" I repeat after her. Columbia? No, no-- doesn't she mean the Challenger? But, no, didn't that shuttle explosion happen back in 1984 or something like that? What is she--I think cloudily as I strain to revive the sight to my blurred, sleepy eyes.
Then, it all comes together: The anchor on the FOX news program sat down in front of the camera, wearing a pained expression, sculpted into the deep furrows of his forehead, paired with an eerily humble, solemn stare. He described what they were about to play for the audience as being "amateur video footage from Texas." A picture-in-picture box appeared above the anchors' shoulders, and the network begins rolling the tape. All I can see is a shockingly blue sky, and then out of nowhere, a white trail shoots across the clear blue horizon. It was the brightest white radiance one can imagine--a pure, hot, flashing spark of light, a beautiful blend of fireworks and what I would describe as a shooting star. I was spellbound, awed by the sight.
Except, what I had just seen was not a shooting star, nor a Fourth of July cascading firework display. The bright blue of the cloudless sky that formed the background of this video clearly argued that this was not a celestial body nor pyrotechnics. In a wash of horror, it became clear to me what I was witnessing, and realized at once that what I had seen was anything but picturesque. All too soon I understood that the simple, captivating image was in actuality a witness's view of the space craft Columbia, a United States NASA space shuttle (1 of 4 of our country's such aircrafts) and its flight crew of seven as they hurled down to earth at Mach 18--a traveling speed I cannot begin to fathom.
However dramatic a normal shuttle's re-entry flight must be, it became painfully clear in moments that this tape did not capture a typical re-entry scenario: within moments, the videographer captured the shooting white trail suddenly turn into several smaller trails, and then disappearing entirely in a bright white explosion.
Stunned, I return my attention to the phone in my hand. "Mom? What am I watching? How did this--When did this--???; But I couldn't wait for the answer. Once more I drop the phone to my side absentmindedly as the announcer describes the previous images.
* * * * * *
The flight crew included two women, one from India, and the first Israeli astronaut ever to make a journey into space. The space shuttle is gone--the crew, dead. "There are no survivors," said a devastated, grief-stricken NASA administrator, indicating with visible anguish the finality of the statement.
* * * * * *
This is a loss at so many levels. My heart is heavy with indescribable sorrow and grief as I sit quietly on my bed, intently watching the news channels. At a personal level, seven families have just been ripped apart by this horrendous disaster. Nationally, we just lost seven heroes--those who never received the due admiration and fame during their lifetime. In an age of cynicism, of big scandals and flawed pop stars, these astronauts are iconic of a dying breed of true American Idols--the brave, noble, good-hearted superheroes of generations past, whose motivations do not include gaining wealth or making it big at the box-office, but instead strive to further the bounds of scientific knowledge and our limited understanding of the universe.
When the networks begin to air close-ups of NASA photographs that depict the seven smiling crew members beaming proudly in their day glow orange flight suits, I have trouble fighting back the urge to cry--so much is lost in one day. It's truly unimaginable how much the world can change in the span of a few hours. Those astronauts had the experience of a lifetime, having the chance to explore "the final frontier" and gain first-hand experience of life away from Earth.
The real tragedy lies in the fact that those seven excited astronauts were a mere 12 minutes out from Florida, where their families--husbands, wives, children--and an adoring crowd awaited their return. They will never have the chance to share their memories of space travel with the world.
* * * * *
Pieces of the spacecraft rained down upon five states, from Texas outward. The wreckage will undoubtedly cover an overwhelmingly large area, making the prospects of searching for pieces of the shuttle and victims' remains all the more challenging and heart wrenching.
Later, I will read that remains were indeed found, including a charred leg, a disfigured torso, fingers with rings still attached, and most symbolic and gruesome of all: a human heart. It as though this last item discovered is representative of the grieving nations whose greatest explorers were taken from life so suddenly, so unexpectedly, leaving the world to weep. My thoughts and heart go out to the children of the astronauts, and to America and India and Israel--and to all those who lost the very heroes they never knew they had.
