A few seconds later the familiar "Challenger, you're go for throttle up" call was made, and Challenger acknowledged it. There was a huge cloud that I thought was caused by the throttle up maneuver. I watched, waiting for Challenger to emerge from the cloud. I puzzled over the fact that the solid rocket boosters had apparently separated early, and looked lost as they drifted without anything attached to them. Then somebody mumbled "Guys, that is not normal." The fact that something had gone terribly wrong finally entered my brain, and the NASA commentator said they'd lost down link (telemetry data) from Challenger. A moment later he said that the vehicle had exploded.

I stood there stunned. Hoping against all hope that the crew might somehow make it. Knowing deep down that they would not. Wishing there was something...anything... I could do to help them. I do not pray. I did at that moment.

I spent that day in a haze. I was glad that I had work to do to keep my mind off what I had seen. I spent the day working on a system installation at a building that did not have TV, so I was spared the endless replays of the explosion. But my work suffered that day as I kept seeing that obscene explosion in my mind. By days end I had reconciled myself to the fact that these things happen in aviation. Sometimes the machines fail, and nobody can do anything about it.

The days passed. There were memorial services for the astronauts. I choked up every time I saw a mourning spouse trying to comfort children who faced life without one of their parents.

Soon rumors surfaced that NASA was to blame for the tragedy that took seven lives. This turned out to be true. The scientists at Morton Thiokol had recommended that the Shuttle launch be delayed because the temperature was too cold, and they feared failure of the O rings in the solid booster rockets. They proved to be prophetic. NASA pressured them to prove that their position was justified, instead of taking the recommendation seriously and waiting for better launch conditions. As a result, management at Morton Thiokol over rode their own people and went along with NASA, recommending launch.

In the debris of Challenger seven tarnished gauntlets came to earth. They had fallen from the hands of the "Challenger 7." Somewhere, six young Americans and one Isreali, having seen the disaster, picked up the gauntlets. They tried them on, saw that they fit, and set their sights for the stars. Today we call them the "Columbia 7."

This is for the Challenger 7.