Remembering the Challenger Explosion

Tomorrow, January 28, 2011, marks the 25th anniversary of the Space Shuttle Challenger explosion. There have been several articles in the media this past week about the disaster, and many about Christa McAuliffe, the first Teacher in Space who died in the tragedy. And of course all the stories bring me back 25 years, to the auditorium at Concord High School in New Hampshire, watching a single 36" TV on stage along with hundreds of my classmates, watching as a teacher from our high school was about to make history.

In the summer of 1985 Christa was selected to become the first Teacher in Space. I was between my Sophomore and Junior years at Concord High, but I never had Christa as a teacher during my previous year. She was an Advanced Social Studies teacher, so she taught mostly Juniors and Seniors. The year started out with a huge amount of pride that a teacher from our school was going on the Space Shuttle, but as Fall turned into Winter, it began to become a bit tiresome, at least for me. There were always reporters hanging around the school, and one day William Bennett, the Secretary of Education, showed up to teach one of Christa's classes. The media attention grew even larger when, in early December, a student brought a rifle to school and took a hostage. That ended with the student being shot and killed, an event I talked about briefly in an earlier blog. I don't want to speak for every CHS student, but for me, I was ready for the Challenger to finally lift off, just to relieve the overwhelming attention we got every day. I really just wanted it to be over.

Many don't remember, but the Challenger launch was delayed almost a week due to weather. These delays didn't help many people's attitude at school, where every day the media would show up to cover the students watching the launch, only for it to be scrubbed. I really don't remember much about the start of January 28, 1985, but when launch time came, I know I headed down to the school auditorium to watch it on TV. The CHS auditorium isn't huge, and probably holds about 200-300 seats. The atmosphere was festive, to put it mildly. Everyone was excited, there were plenty of reporters and TV crews there, and the mood was full of anticipation and enthusiasm. Charles Foley, our principal, was on stage next to the TV, and I was near the back, with some friends, and a Concord Monitor newspaper reporter squatting in the aisle nearby. The countdown to the launch began, and everyone in the auditorium counted it down with mission control. When Challenger launched, many in the auditorium set off mini-crackers, showering everyone with streamers of paper. We all cheered. During the 73 seconds of Challenger's flight, I don't remember much. I chatted with friends, probably happy that I didn't have to be in French class. And then, something happened.

At first, no one was sure what happened. For me, being so far in the back trying to look at a small TV screen on a large stage, it just seemed to me that there was some extra smoke from the Space Shuttle. I remember the tone of the auditorium changing, but it wasn't like a big mood shift. There wasn't a huge hushed silence, only some confusion. More like, "Um, did something just happen?" I'll always remember, a guy sitting across the aisle from me, saying, "I think it blew up." Everyone around him was silent for about 2 seconds, and then someone said, "Yeah right!" and there was some nervous chuckling. (The Monitor reporter was lurking around us at that time, and I'll never forget the article in the paper the next day quoting the other student saying, "I think it blew up".) But then Mr. Foley yelled, "Everyone be quiet!" and turned up the TV. The auditorium grew still and silent, and after a few seconds it was quite apparent what happened. A few seconds later Mr. Foley told us all to leave and report back to the classroom we were supposed to be in, and that was where the real confusion began.

What happened? It blew up? Do you think they survived? Aren't there parachutes they could use? Everyone had questions, and the school was chaos. We were all supposed to go back to class, but I remember heading up to where I was supposed to be and not finding any teachers anywhere. Some of us sat around talking for a while, realizing that Christa was gone, trying to fathom what just happened. Many minutes later an announcement came over the loudspeaker, telling us all that school was closed for the day, and the buses would be outside shortly. Walking through the halls to my locker, I remember the quiet, and so many people in shock and tears. I walked out of the school, across the street to the Cumberland Farms, and called Mom to see if she would come to pick me up. For some reason, that day, I just couldn't take the bus. As I was waiting for her to pick me up, I'll never forget a reporter walking up to me and asking me if I ever had Christa as a teacher. I said no, and he immediately walked by, as if I wasn't there. The scene was surreal, with students in shock waiting for buses, reporters running around everywhere, and no one really knowing what to do.

We were given the next day off of school, and when we came back the day after, classes were merely places to gather and talk about what happened. It was during that first day back that I realized that my teachers were the worst off. Of course they would be...they were Christa's friends, her colleagues. I remember my Trig teacher, in tears, telling us how she had to send her husband and kids away because she just couldn't deal with everything. I doubt there were many lessons learned that day, or the next few days, as everyone tried to make sense of it all. The school was made off-limits to reporters (finally), but every day they were waiting for the students outside the school grounds. I remember rumors that one student pushed a reporter into a snowbank, but I'm not sure if that ever really happened or not. But the mood had definitely changed, where before the crash students couldn't have been happier talking to a reporter, but after, many wouldn't give them the time of day.

A few days after the tragedy the school held a private memorial for Christa. No outsiders were allowed; only students and teachers. We all gathered in the gym, and we were told that there was no agenda or structure to the memorial; if anyone had anything to say, they were welcome to come forward and talk. Many did, of course, and it lasted for about an hour and a half. I remember a girl got up and sang the old song "The Rose" a cappella, a song she sang at an aunt's funeral the previous year. Some students played the Dream Academy song "Life in Northern Town", which they thought was apropos somehow. But I'll always remember Mr. Godfrey, my Advanced Chemistry teacher, showing off a machine he built that would scan tests (like an optical reader). He remembered how Christa always tried to use it, and she'd come to his office screaming that it wouldn't work; and he ended by saying how he wished NASA had chosen his stupid machine instead of her.

Life at Concord High slowly turned to normal; or at least, as normal as could be expected. Reporters still showed up from time to time, but no one paid them much mind. Letters and cards poured in to CHS from all around the country, and it was amazing to see the outpouring of grief that others had. My connection to Christa had never been anything more than tangential: I was merely a student at the school she taught at, along with 1,200 other students. Although a year or so later I did come across another connection with Christa. I was going through some Sports Illustrated magazines that I had kept, and I noticed the address label on one: S. Christa McAuliffe. I figured that I had taken the magazine from a study hall at school when I was a sophomore; Christa had obviously brought in the magazine from home. I still have the issue to this day. I'm not even sure why I keep it, but I can't bring myself to throw it away.

I was reading an article about the Challenger Explosion the other day and it mentioned how Christa was 37 when she died -- 4 years younger than I am now. 25 years is a long time, but that year at Concord High still feels fresh in my mind, even if I have a hard time remembering too much about it. (If that makes any sense.) Most remember her by her famous quote, "I touch the future - I teach." But my lasting memory of Christa will always be a photo of her from my 1986 Concord High yearbook. In it, she's being given a tiny Concord High School flag that she would bring into space with her. She's standing on the stage at the CHS auditorium, smiling broadly, with the Senior class behind her, cheering her on. The caption to the photo says:

This is how we shall always remember Christa: Smiling. May we, in our lives, keep her that way.