Last Week in Tucson...

Piggy-back Endeavour - September 20, 2012

I finally saw a space shuttle!  Years ago, I went to see a space shuttle “launch.”  Well, I saw a movie anyway… in IMAX!  My dream though, one of them, was to travel to Florida to see an actual shuttle lift-off, but I never made it. I did hear one, one time.

I don’t remember which shuttle it was, but in the early years of the program, probably before the Challenger loss, I stood outside my truck one morning and listened, and watched, for the shuttle to come over Arizona as it prepared to land at its alternate runway at White Sands Missile Range in New Mexico.  I think it was the only time it landed there – Edwards AFB and the Kennedy Space Center were both weathered-in and NASA needed to get the machine back on the ground.  I think the hungry astronauts were running out of food or something…

So a few minutes before it would have to overfly the Arizona desert, I stood outside on a sidewalk beside a busy north Phoenix street, and hoped that I would see a contrail – or perhaps hear the twin sonic booms that were its signature.  I didn’t see it – but as the observers in New Mexico were exclaiming that it was in sight, I did hear those twin booms.  It was exhilarating, and I am sure I talked about it the rest of the day and probably the next day too.

I have mentioned before about my Dad’s work in the American space program, and almost everyone I know knows about his work on the SRB’s – I’ve told everyone that story – so I won’t repeat that one here. Likewise, I've yapped about the importance of the space program – including not just remote or automated exploration but also human space flight – in the end, that is the only way mankind can survive.  We may have plenty of time for that, or we may not.  But we better keep working on it…

So this last year, the space shuttle (Endeavour) went to space and back for the last time – with astronaut Mark Kelly at “the stick.”  Atlantis was the last shuttle to go to space and back – but Endeavour was the last to make its last flight to its post-space home.  Here’s what NASA says about it on their website…

Endeavour was NASA’s fifth and final space shuttle to be built. Construction began on Sept. 28, 1987 and it rolled out of the assembly plant in Palmdale, Calif. in April 1991. It was named after a ship chartered to traverse the South Pacific in 1768 and captained by 18th century explorer James Cook. Endeavour flew 25 times, traveling more than 122,000 miles and accumulating 299 days in space. Like shuttles Discovery, Enterprise and Atlantis, Endeavour is embarking on its next mission – to inspire the next generation of explorers and engineers at the California Science Center.

Endeavour’s “26^th” mission brought it flying over Tucson, Arizona.  I was in Tucson, attending a training class; that entire class of American traffic school instructor patriots trooped out to the parking lot at Pima County Community College on Bonita Street – and we waited for it to arrive.

Endeavour arrived over Tucson on the back of its Boeing 747 transporter – and it made two broad-banking passes over the city.  This was so Mark Kelly and his wife, Arizona’s Gabrielle Giffords, could see the shuttle Kelly commanded, on its last journey.  I saw only one of its circuits around the city – and I am satisfied with that.  I didn’t know it was coming back around – I thought it might – but I didn’t stay outside long enough to see the second pass.

But it was awesome – it was glorious – it was magnificent.  Then it went on to Edwards AFB, eventually made a pass or two over SFO, and then landed in Los Angeles at LAX to spend some time in a hangar in preparation for its becoming a California Science Center museum piece.  Ah, gone too soon!

America, let’s get busy.  We need to regain our focus and initiative and reinvigorate our drive into the unknown, ideally with other space-looking nations as our partners. We need to get our next human-carrying spacecraft into the dark blue beyond, and we need to go to Mars.  I don’t think we’ll find much there.  But we’ll sure learn a lot in the endeavour.  Let’s GO.

September 24, 2012

The man tried to drown me once...

Would this man drown a kid?

When I was in grade 7 or 8, I do not remember which, my teacher tried to kill me.  I don’t know why exactly – he said I was “mouthy.”  Those who know me well know that this cannot possibly be true.  I am never anything if I am not respectful, especially of my elders. I always have been.   

But he apparently lost his temper with me over some perceived misconduct. He joyfully lifted me bodily from the floor, slid me horizontally down the “science lab” counter in a classroom at Cholla elementary school (somewhat like an otter on a water-slide) – from one end to the other where there was a deep sink – and then he tried to drown me. It was by the luckiest of coincidences that I was able to escape. This is all the more horrifying because this man professed to be my friend and as my teacher, was charged with my care and protection while at school.  I know!  Now that I think about it, there were probably a couple of other educators who might have had the same homicidal urges when they thought about me, but I digress...

For about the past twenty years, he and I spoke almost every day. We traveled together, we ate together and we sat and talked together; it was enough happiness for me to simply sit somewhere with him and talk; it didn’t really matter where. He was my mentor, my “father,” my buddy, my true friend. He was always available when I needed him (even when I didn’t know I needed him) and he never asked for anything in return. He was my friend every day of my life from 12 years old to the day he left us all behind, no doubt unwillingly (the leaving, I mean).

He was my seventh-grade home-room teacher at Cholla Elementary School in 1965-66.  I don’t remember a single thing about how we became friends outside of the usual teacher-student relationship.  I just remember that we did. Such a close relationship between a teacher and a student would not even be possible today. 

I remember rough-housing with him in the classroom (see story above) – before, after, and even during class to some extent; that drowning story was his favorite too -- he always told that one when he'd introduce me to someone. I wasn't just mouthy, I was a load of trouble both inside and outside the schoolhouse - but he loved kids, even troublesome ones. It wasn’t long before he and I were trading items from our lunch boxes – the way I remember it, he brought the same sandwich every day – a cotto-salami sandwich on “yellow-colored” bread, like maybe buttermilk bread (with mustard)? We’d swap occasionally. I can't eat a salami sandwich today without thinking of Dave.

Dave was probably always a counselor and a “mentor” at heart. I’m not the only one he looked after – there were literally hundreds over the years. One thing I learned about him today that I do not remember he ever shared with me, was that he once was chosen the national "middle school counselor of the year." While I may not have known that fact, it doesn't surprise me. As a teacher and later a counselor, he and his teacher-counselor partners ended up with all the problem boys. I was simply one of his first and he could never get rid of me after that. His care wasn’t limited to school hours – I was invited to his home on multiple occasions. I met his wife, his in-laws, and his kids. They all became part of my life and made me feel like “family” when I was with them. I still do today.

He saw me, as he did others he helped, as an at-risk kid. I don't think he was wrong about that; I believe I was an at-risk kid – and I also believe that I didn’t get too far off the path to decency because of his guidance and his care for me. I think I very easily could have. I wonder today how many others like me could say the same thing? I’ll bet there are many. But not all of them were lucky enough to become an every day part of his life, as I did, once they were past school age. Many kids who get into trouble today do so because they don't have a Dave Melian in their life who cares for them -- who decides that it is the most important thing in the world to make a difference for someone. It isn't always convenient to do that, you know.

Sometimes on Saturday mornings I would ride my bicycle over to their house in Moon Valley – and once there, I would follow him around. He and Gloria would have me eat with them and I think he usually threw my bike in the back of his station wagon and would cart me home afterwards. The first Crepes Suzettes I ever had, Dave made for me when I was just a kid - they were always one of his specialties. 

My teacher - 1967

My first trip to the Grand Canyon was with Dave and his family – in that green Ford station wagon.  He had given me a camera – a little 35mm Agfa (which he later got back for his son), and I still remember a photo I took on that trip of the San Francisco Peaks in the rear-view side-mirror; creative photography at 14!  It was a winter-time trip and there was snow on the mountains. I often wonder if there is a connection between that wonderful experience and my love for the Grand Canyon today – it is certainly not the entire story – but I’ll bet it didn’t hurt.

I was a rather timid boy – bullied occasionally – and I rarely stood up for myself. One particularly spoiled and socially-inappropriate kid (not naming names here) jumped up on a chair in the music-room one day and kicked me in the ribs – either breaking or bruising them pretty seriously (don’t remember which, but seems to me they were cracked, at least). I couldn’t retaliate for this offense for quite some time – if you’ve ever had injured ribs you know why. So anger and the desire for revenge smoldered in me… Finally, weeks or months later, I caught that skunk in the hallway at the school when there were no witnesses around, and I backed him into a corner and lit into him. 

I am sure Dave knew a good part of the background of the dispute. As luck would have it, he rounded the corner a minute or two (or at least a few seconds) into the fight, saw what was going on – and unfortunately for the rat who was being "corrected,” Dave wheeled around and disappeared back down the hallway from whence he came, having never been seen by my enemy. The other guy lost that fight big time; righteousness was on my side that day and Dave firmly believed in justice - even if it was schoolyard justice.

In the years after I got a little older and was in high school, Dave and his peers arranged to take the boys he was charged with on camping trips and outings. Many of his favorite stories were about those adventures - he was almost arrested on probably more than one occasion because of things that they did. I never got to go along on any of those - but I went camping once with his family - out to Apache Lake. 

I got a little sick to my stomach that weekend (probably from the heat) – but I still remember it as a good experience because of Dave’s care. Then, as they do now, the Melians had a small travel trailer – but I remember Dave and I sleeping outside under the stars. David and Kathleen were both still smaller at the time. Probably my clearest memory of that weekend is Dave and I floating on inner tubes, bobbing around in the middle of Apache Lake with speed boats flying by and swerving all around us! Hey, Dave knew how to live and enjoy life! On the way home that Sunday, we stopped for church in Globe. Dave and Gloria are devout Catholics and church is always part of their week. They don’t make excuses why they can’t go, they plan to do it as it is unthinkable not to. I still remember that Mass, which we attended at a pretty church in downtown Globe.

Dave's faith shaped his entire life – he told me at one time he had planned and studied to be a priest and was attending school for that purpose. I don’t remember why he got sidetracked; it was probably Gloria’s fault (‘cause you know priests cannot marry…) This distraction from the priesthood was probably a massive stroke of luck for David, Kathleen and Jim... Still, he “ministered” all his life; I can name dozens of people that he cared about and cared for. Although he was never "preachy" about it, we talked about it all the time and it was always plain what he was up to. Dave’s ministry, every day that I knew him, was looking after the people around him.

As I grew up, went away to the service, got married, Dave faded out of my life for about twenty years. It seems like a long period as I think about it, but twenty years isn’t really that long. I thought about the Melians often during those years, but life got in the way of any connection with them I might have had, given my distractions, family and job. I regret that now of course, those "missing years," but I think it is a normal thing that happens to many of us. Friends and acquaintances, even good ones, pass in and out of our lives during the course of it all. The great thing, and my good fortune, is that with Dave and his family that drifting apart was not permanent like it often is for some.

I found myself thinking about him, wondering how he was doing, and eventually I looked him up and we reconnected in the 1990s. We picked up right where we left off. I know absolutely that our re-acquaintance was meant to be and it came about exactly the way it was supposed to. I don't believe in fate, or pre-destination, but Dave and I were meant to be friends and there was no avoiding it. We have spoken almost every day since. We never had a disagreement or a fight – and I do not believe he was ever mad at me.  If he was ever mad at me, he never showed it.  And knowing me, that’s a huge compliment to him… and indicative of his great patience.

Since then, he and I traveled together frequently – so many times that some of the memories run together. Sometimes we traveled with others of his family – sometimes just the two of us – at least once it was just the “boys” – Dave, me, John (another friend) and Jim – all making a pilgrimage together to the Melian cabin above Prescott, where we mostly just sat around and talked – we talked about what big beer-drinkers we were, and the pleasures of biscuits and gravy. I don’t remember drinking that much beer, but we talked about it… all weekend long.

Some of our other trips included Mexico (Rocky Point), San Diego, a couple of Royal Caribbean cruises (Mexico and Alaska), Grand Canyon and Southern Utah, Quebec and New England, the Arizona border from Bisbee to Canyon de Chelly… you get the idea. He and Gloria took me to Los Angeles a couple of years ago for my birthday – we stayed with Haig and Kathleen a day or two and then we drove up the coast. On that trip -- Jim, Gloria and I took turns in the cramped back seat of Dave's little Chevy Cobalt -- and the air conditioning quit right in the middle of the Mohave Desert coming home - in August - over by Needles.  Hey, it's an adventure! He and I even went out chasing thunderstorms once or twice... In recent months, we talked about still more future trips we might take together -- to Los Angeles for a hot dog at Pink's, and a windjammer cruise I found out about up in Maine.

Dave and Gen on a St Lawrence ferry

Dave and I took a trip to Maine and Quebec back in 2009 - we drove from Portsmouth up the coast into Quebec to visit my friend Genevieve; along the way we had a lobster dinner in Bangor.  

You know, the way they eat lobster in Maine?  They cook the whole lobster. Everything. They put that "whole" lobster on the plate and there you have it. And they expect you to eat the whole thing and they don't consider you normal unless you do. My adventurous friend tried it. I didn't, but he did. Neither one of us ate the whole thing though; even Dave only took a few bites of that nasty middle part.  From then on, I order just the tail! The next morning, on a beautiful sunny Maine day in October, we stopped at a rest area and took photos of Mt Katahdin (which is where I took that photo of him above, sitting in the rental car); Mt Katahdin is the place where the rays of the morning sun first strike mainland US soil each day.

Alain's B&B - a 17th century farmhouse

We continued north across the border, met Genevieve and toured with her along the St Lawrence - we ate crepes in Quebec City and we rode the ferry across the seaway.  We stayed at Alain's B and B and had huge blueberry pancakes baked slowly on Alain's antique iron stove, and we drank Alain's "stands-up-by-itself" cowboy coffee. We had a reluctant but ultimately roaring bonfire on a cold, dark beach. We sat on the shores of Lake Champlain in the sunshine and watched the boats. 

Dave and Gloria's 50th anniversary in Alaska

One of the best times was his and Gloria’s 50th Anniversary cruise from Alaska to Vancouver three years ago.  It was a really wonderful thing to be able to celebrate that milestone with these two friends, their real family, and several of us who are "adopted" family.  We ate together every evening – and Dave and I walked around Ketchikan with Jim for an afternoon when our ship stopped there. We made several trips to the ship's sauna and jacuzzi. We had a late-evening drink together onboard a couple of times – and also met several times in the ship’s hamburger joint for late night snacks with Jim. Jim’s like me – always hungry (or at least ready to eat). There was much more, of course, but these are some of the individual memories that stand out for me as being particularly good ones.

It bothers me right at the moment that as I think back on the years of our friendship, not every little bit of our shared history is present in my memory.  It’s that there is so much to remember – and that many things have become so familiar that it seems we always knew them, they’re always there.  Little bits and memories are there – pieces of things that we did together, woven into the fabric of many years passed by.  My mind is hungry for memories right now, because now he's gone and that is an immediate hurt. I don't want to forget any of him, or to allow the memories to grow dim.

I cannot say that I have any regrets.  It's just that I long for another minute or two where I could give him a hug, or hear him tell me in great detail about one of his boyhood memories, or about a great meal he had on the ship a couple of weeks ago. His departure was sudden; I had no time to prepare for it.  The news of his passing literally took my breath away, it was such an unexpected shock. In that, I know I am not alone and I am not complaining. 

I know Dave is OK. Dave was 82, almost 83, and his physical heart was struggling, so this moment should not have been, and in the end was not, a surprise. He and I talked about this. Our discussions about death were matter of fact, not fearful. I told him more than once that he was not allowed to die, that I needed him too much; but we never get our heart's desire when it comes to that. Many times we encounter people who never had the chance to say goodbye, farewell, to someone they loved. While it is true that I did not get to specifically say goodbye to him, we had left nothing unsaid. 

He knew that I loved him, and I think he knew how important he was to me. I am a much poorer person now that he is gone – and it will be most difficult, if not impossible, to fill the hole he leaves. Without any worries about "manly" reserve or etiquette, I can tell you that I loved him – that I could not have loved anyone more.

My friend David H. Melian died this past week. I’ve done nothing but think about him since the moment I heard that sad news, which is a natural thing when you lose someone who was such a large part of your life. And today, there was a funeral mass for Dave. Afterward, many went to his son and daughter’s home for a celebration of his life. There was lots of comfortable conversation between people who shared love, food, laughter, friendship, not just a few tears and experiences that were all tied together in our memories of this wonderful man. 

I repeatedly heard the memories of Dave that others shared – and the themes were the same as I have written here; everyone remembers him in much the same way. As I heard others speak of him – I thought more than once that what they said would have been just as true – even the same words – as if I had spoken them myself. This, I think, is the legacy of a very successful man, a man who lived his faith consistently each day. He was a person who loved life and the people he shared it with and he knew how to express that love, both in word and deed.

On his last vacation, just days before he passed away, I followed his ship’s progress around the Mediterranean and the flights he, Gloria and Jim took – the way I almost always do when any of my friends are away on trips. As their time away grew to a close, I got impatient for their return, so much so that I went to the airport to greet them on their arrival home. I do not usually do that unless I am giving someone a ride. But I was missing him, even though there was no idea that our time together was at its end.

I unfortunately had the wrong flight – I had lost the paper I wrote the flight numbers on and I guessed and picked the wrong one. They were already headed home from the airport a few minutes before I got there and so, on Sunday evening, I missed what would have been my last sight of Dave in this world. That, I regret. We did talk on the telephone the next evening, as we almost always did each day.  His last words to me as we ended our conversation on Monday night, were “I love you.”

Can you think of any better way to remember your best friend?

My best friend Dave Melian was born on December 21, 1929 in Melvindale, Michigan. He passed away at his home in Cave Creek, Arizona on a Wednesday; September 12, 2012 at about eight o'clock in the morning. In between, he lived and loved each day the best way he knew how. What an example he was for me; I am a better person for having known him.

Even though he tried to drown me once, maybe even because he did, I will miss him each and every day.

September 15, 2012

Remembering the Early Space Program and Neil Armstrong

Mercury-Redstone Launch

The early days of the space program in the United States occupied the attention of the public in a way I doubt many younger people can imagine today – what I mean is – back then we didn’t normally glue ourselves to the TV the way many people do now.  But when a spacecraft with an astronaut or two was launched, it was all-day news, and that is probably the first time we ever did that (as a nation).  We stuck ourselves to the chair in front of the old black and white TV and we watched and watched and watched. 

This was back in the early days of television when programming was only 18 hours a day (if that) and “news” (including sports and weather) was limited to 30 minutes at 6 pm and 10 pm and maybe a third broadcast in the am for the early risers (along with the “farm report”).  Most folks back then would not have considered spending an entire day in front of the television a smart, reasonable or sane thing to do.  It's not a very good thing to do today, either.

Today, many sit zombie-like and entranced by interminable, unending media coverage (to no positive end) whenever CNN finds out that a Hollywood actor sneezed, including “expert” analysis by several medical “professionals,” plus commentary from his Grandmother and a psychologist or two so that we can completely understand (and appreciate) what the long term effects of the sneeze will be on the psyche of the unfortunate Hollywood star, his family and neighbors and friends and his dog…?   And of course, we most assuredly provide counseling for anyone remotely connected.

Back in the early 60s, no one did that; not until Kennedy got killed in Dallas.  But we did watch the astronauts fly. In 1961, space was an unknown – a mystery we could hardly imagine traveling in or through.  No one knew what would happen when (or if) we went there – what physical or mental problems might be caused by exposure to the lack of atmosphere, or by weightlessness.  Traveling to another world was almost unimaginable – so much so that many ignorant people don’t believe that we actually have done it.  We quarantined our spacemen when they got home – put them in isolated quarters in case they brought back some new bacteria or germ that might quickly kill us all if it got loose.

So when NASA launched our first astronaut, Alan B. Shepherd, into low space, we sat and watched, with feelings of hope, fear, and anticipation.  I can still remember the scene – Walter Cronkite sitting at a desk in the open air at Cape Canaveral, with a Mercury-Redstone rocket and its gantry in the near-distance behind him with a little tiny black Mercury “capsule” perched on top, while we waited for the count-down to get to zero and the engines would light.  Tendrils and jets of steam vented away from the rocket in the early morning sunshine as we waited on the edge of our seats for the ignition and launch. 

[A note about the photos:  Take a look at the nice little Redstone rocket in the photo above.  Then scroll down and take a look at the difference in power evident in the space shuttle launch photo down toward the end of this essay, or the Saturn V under the Apollo 8 command ship...  What a difference 30 years of development makes.]

I’m not sure many of us knew at the time just how many of those Redstone rockets had previously blown themselves to bits on launch or within the first few seconds of flight... I know I didn’t.  I’m not sure whether these early spacemen were courageous – or simply thick, stupid and uncomprehending of the realities (I’m joking…).  But if I had personally seen those many recent catastrophic failures (as the Mercury 7 had seen), I don't think love of country, Mom or mankind could possibly have induced me to sit atop one of those big bombs while it was being lit.

Gagarin

Spam in a can... On that first day when we catapulted astronaut Shepherd out over the Atlantic in a “what goes up must come down” trajectory, Yuri Gagarin had already been launched and orbited the earth.  He was first. The United States was a little more conservative, or cautious, about those first flights.  We launched first Shepherd, and then Gus Grissom, up and down, first and second, before we orbited John Glenn on the third Mercury flight; none of them had more than a little control over their spacecraft.  That would come later, with the Gemini program.


One of my best memories from the first orbital flights was the sense of wonder evoked by the radio communications from the astronauts as they circled the Earth -- and the weird sense of connection we had with them even when they were so isolated from us all. I remember when the citizens of Perth, Australia turned on every light in their city, as a hello and "welcome" to the orbiting American astronaut as he passed overhead. I still have warm feelings for Perth and Australians today as a result; I cannot think of Perth without thinking of what they did.  

My first memory of the space program was being led into the backyard one evening, probably in the late 1950s, to see a Russian satellite pass overhead.  My memory of it was as a ball of fire -- I don't know if what we saw was a re-entry burn-up or if my memory is flawed -- perhaps we just saw it as we see any satellite - like a little moving planet.  But I clearly remember seeing it -- it passed from south to north, basically.  I've seen many more since, of course -- seeing a satellite is possible almost any evening if you know how to look for them.  One of the best was seeing the International Space Station followed by a space shuttle as they passed overhead after un-docking from each other a few years ago.  The ISS led the shuttle by a few hundred miles -- but from this perspective, way down here in Phoenix, they appeared to still be close together.  They were both about as bright as Venus.

The USA had no catastrophic failures in the early days, but Russia lost Valentin Bondarenko in a training accident early on. I cannot help but feel that their losses are our losses too; you know, a brotherhood of spaceman kind of thing. At the time, the loss of Vladimir Komarov hit me particularly hard - he died when his Soyuz capsule's parachutes failed to slow his descent. In the USA, while glitches and problems were frequent, the day only came two programs and roughly 5 years later when we lost our first NASA astronaut crew– and that was on the ground. Test pilot Michael Adams had lost his life prior to Apollo 1 in an X-15 flight over California– but today no one much remembers his “space” flight – or his death. We knew, though, even from the start, that the day would come when men would give their lives for the sake of space exploration. At the time we didn't realize that women would be astronauts too and would also give everything; to date, four of them (17% of our total losses). In 1961, that possibility was unthinkable (except to women, of course).

Liberty Bell 7 just before she sank...

On one Mercury flight, astronaut “Gus” Grissom “lost” his capsule after splashdown – all our early spacecraft landed in the sea via parachutes.  The hatch on “Liberty 7” opened too soon and the craft filled with seawater and sank, while a Marine Corps helicopter hovered overhead, unable to lift its water-logged weight from the Atlantic.

Grissom was later blamed for popping the hatch prematurely – although he said he had not touched it.  He has been portrayed as panicked and cowardly by the media (in the film and book "The Right Stuff").  That’s nonsense. I have always thought he was due the benefit of the doubt – mechanical things do fail – and Grissom was known to be an unflappable and methodical test pilot – not the least bit incompetent or frightened, as he was portrayed. He was a “by the book” kind of a pilot, and a pilot’s pilot.  My thought has always been that he was criticized and denigrated by some who wouldn't have had the guts to stand in his shoes on even their best day.  And let's face it - they weren't there.  I don't believe for a minute that Gus Grissom didn't have "the right stuff."

Apollo 8 - Dec 1968

Everything we did on those early flights was aimed at one goal – to land us on the Moon, and to do that before the Russians could do it (and before New Year’s Day, 1970).  That was the goal President Kennedy set for us. In 1964 and 1965, we fired off two astronauts at a time in the slightly-larger Gemini capsules, on larger Titan II rockets.  We practiced docking maneuvers (using little unmanned spacecraft called “Agena” -- and space-walks. Astronauts like Neil Armstrong were finally flying their Gemini capsules like little space-sports cars – and sometimes they spun wildly out of control (before recovering and making NASA's first emergency landing).

Later, when the same pilot (Armstrong) had a need to suddenly find an alternative landing spot on the Sea of Tranquility, that experience in quick improvisation served him well. All of these exercises (and learned skills) were necessary for the Apollo flights and it turned out these were sound plans and preparations – Apollo unfolded just like we envisioned it -- and got us up there and walking around on the Moon’s surface before 1970, just like John Kennedy told us we would.  We had some problems along the way, like Apollo 13, but the Apollo program overall was a resounding success, and an awesome achievement by the standards of any era. The Russians never made it; after our success preempted them, they took their program another direction (which has also benefited space exploration and travel even today -- not just for them -- but for the rest of us as well).

Before we got Apollo 8 off to circle the Moon at Christmas, 1968, we had suffered the loss of our first crew on the pad in an oxygen-fueled flash fire – Gus Grissom, Edward White and Roger Chaffee were the first astronauts to die in one of our spacecraft. So when Frank Borman, Jim Lovell and Bill Anders orbited the Moon and took photos of all of us back on planet Earth – many of us were thinking about the high cost we'd paid.  By then, in the Soviet Union, Cosmonauts Valentin Bondarenko, Vladimir Komarov and three others had also perished. 

Apollo 8, Earth and Moon

We were also thinking about the very real possibility that we might never see Apollo 8 again once it went around the Moon's back side… if they didn’t enter a lunar orbit precisely, the spacecraft could “glance” off and careen irrevocably into the far reaches of interplanetary space. Adding to the suspense, while they were behind the Moon we had no communication with them; we didn't immediately know at that critical point whether those men were coming home or not; what NASA and Apollo 8 were trying to do had never been done before. So we sat on the edge of our seats once again and we hoped and we waited.  But the NASA of the 1960s was a very competent organization and its people were brilliant.  Apollo 8 reappeared, in orbit, just as planned and the astronauts treated us to a moving scripture-reading for Christmas (a nice touch even for us non-Christians) and (later) one of the most famous photographs ever taken – Earthrise photographed from Moon orbit.

Apollo 8 Command Ship today (in Chicago)

My own family has a personal connection to those glory days of the American space program – my Dad was involved in the space program at two different times in his career as an engineer (or originally as a draftsman and design-checker).  In late 1965, he was hired as a draftsman by the Lockheed Corporation at White Sands Missile Range in New Mexico (and later worked as a design-checker there). They were designing and building new tracking equipment – the existing gear (for Mercury and Gemini) wasn’t suitable for space flight that was leaving the confines of low Earth orbit – Apollo would be traveling nearly 240,000 miles out across the open sea of Space to get to the Moon, so we had to build new equipment that could track them way out there.  For those who think we didn’t really go to the Moon at all, my Dad thanks you (as do thousands of his similarly-employed peers) for letting him know that all his years of work in that program, including the design and the construction, as well as the later actual tracking of the Apollo space missions, were just a hoax and a fraud. Morons.

Later, when NASA was preparing for the Space Shuttle program, Dad, by then a mechanical and optical engineer, designed “steering” gear on the Solid Rocket Boosters used to help launch the Shuttles ("steering" does not regard direction of travel -- but a mechanism to control and equalize thrust through the use of rotating nozzles). 

I myself was also a "design engineer” in the early space program – helping further private rocket and spacecraft design with extremely sophisticated model rockets in my backyard… some of these reached dangerously high altitudes and although I am not certain any ever achieved orbit, a couple of them were still going up when they disappeared, so who knows… I was very famous in my neighborhood.

You could say that I was also personally inspired by the space program... In the summer of 1969, it didn’t seem real to us that our astronauts were going to the moon to land on it.  Some of us boys slept out in the yard during the Apollo 11 mission – and while Neil and Buzz and Richard flew, we looked at the Moon and we talked and dreamed about what it was like “up there.”  Later, very late at night, the heady atmosphere and the "euphoria of youth" got us into trouble – impersonating alien life-forms at two in the morning on the boulevards nearby, in complete alien costume, scaring bejeezus out of several drunk drivers, (we thought). That extra-curricular activity led to apprehension, detention, suspension... and “charges” of curfew violation. Our immediate travel arrangements were decidedly earthly; (police cruiser) transport to a nearby precinct-house... and my Mom didn’t speak to me for about two weeks… 

Buzz Aldrin on the Moon

But by the time Neil and Buzz Aldrin stepped down onto the surface of the Moon from Eagle, the “lunar landing module (or LEM),” we were all back in front of the TV; hundreds of millions of us. Even David Beaver, whose father had advised Phoenix PD to "let him sit down there [in jail] and rot" when he had been called at 0300...  We heard Neil Armstrong say “That’s one small step for (a) man, one giant leap for mankind” on live television – all the way from Earth’s moon.  I did not hear the “a” he claims he spoke – but I believe him.  If he said it, he said it.  Period. Was it really a “giant leap” though?   

It was certainly a first step. Mankind must move beyond the Earth if we are to survive. While it likely won’t happen soon (more likely about 6 or 8 billion years from now), the Earth will eventually become completely uninhabitable, global-warming or not.  Eventually, the sun will grow old and as it runs out of fuel it will expand, and planet Earth will be engulfed and incinerated.  So before that day when we would become crispy critters, human emigrants must strike off in search of a habitable place to live.  Without a space program, how will we be able to do that?  And isn't the first step often the biggest?

Aside from that reality, we have gained hundreds of products and technologies through and from the space program.  Life simply would not exist as we know it today without us having launched men and women into space. The program jump-started the development of scratch-resistant lenses, Teflon, Velcro, memory foam, rechargeable batteries, miniaturization and microprocessors. Did you know that computers used to take up entire rooms and more?  Now, your little old laptop PC has many more times the computing power of all the equipment that sent the Apollo flight across space to the Moon! Many technologies used in the medical field, including that which is used to detect breast cancer, and digital technology, satellites, GPS, cell phones, satellite television, real-time and advance weather monitoring, microwave ovens, microwave communication equipment, solar energy, new pharmaceuticals, aircraft and aviation safety, and advances in firefighting technology, to name just a few – all of these things stemmed from space travel development and exploration. 

Both in the everyday, and in the big picture, the results of the space program have improved our lives – all our lives.  Many of us wouldn’t even have survived to adulthood without the benefit of the things we’ve learned while trying to get out there.

Neil Armstrong - NASA photo

This past week, our first man on the Moon passed away unexpectedly at barely past 80 years of age.  Neil Armstrong was by all accounts and appearances a modest unassuming guy -- but who did astonishing things.  He didn’t do them by himself of course – hundreds of men and women just like him helped him accomplish what he did. 

But I liked Armstrong because he clearly represented what I think are some of the best things about “us.”  He did his job well; he had a certain amount of courage.  He was positive, never negative. He was brilliant and competent.  He didn’t squawk much.  (Actually, he didn’t squawk at all, not publicly anyway.)  He was a great representative of all those just like him who accomplished so much in such a short time. 

I can’t but think that in the history of human endeavor – that which is past and that which is still to come – those early halcyon times in the space program will be among the times we think were most golden.  And Neil Armstrong was one guy who represented very well the magnificent people and program that started us down that road. 

We’ve lately lost sight of the place, even the direction, where they were leading us.  Perhaps someday we will regain that vision and focus.  Right now, I am remembering how exciting it was to be a witness to those early days – even if it was just being glued to the TV set, watching as brave men sat on top of white rockets at Cape Canaveral before being hurled skyward.  Thanks Neil, Buzz, Richard, and Alan, and John, Wally, Gordo, Sally, Yuri, and all the others who were “first.”  I won’t forget you. For the Mercury 7, the Gemini and Apollo astronauts, and particularly…

In Memory of

Valentin Bondarenko

Michael J. Adams

Virgil “Gus” Grissom

Edward White

Roger Chaffey

Vladimir Komarov

Yuri Gagarin

Georgi Dobrovolski

Victor Patsayev

Vladislav Volkov

F. Dick Scobee

Michael J. Smith

Greg Jarvis

Ellison Onizuka

Sharon Christa MacAuliff

Judith A. Resnik

Ronald McNair

Rick Husband

Kalpana Chawla

William McCool

Michael Anderson

David Brown

Laurel Clark

Ilan Ramon

"Non est ad astra mollis e terris via "

All photos courtesy of NASA except Apollo 8 Command Ship, by Bob Schaller

Uncle Bob’s Sonoran-style Enchiladas

Don't eat this late at night.

This is not your typical “rolled” enchilada – but a dish served in a more traditional way. Esto es especialmente bueno para el desayuno… While this is not particularly spicy, it is not mild either.  If you enjoy an average level of spiciness in your Mexican dishes, this one will be about right.  If on the other hand, you have a sensitive palate, it might be a bit hot.  One way to tone it down would be to eliminate the "duck" sauce, and instead use a teaspoon or two of "taco seasoning."

Ingredientes:

Sauce 

3 TB shortening

3 TB flour

2 TB chili powder

1 tsp cumin

1 tsp garlic powder

1 tsp onion powder

1 tsp minced dried onion

2 cups broth

Fillings

1 lb ground round or chuck

¼ or ½ cup chopped sweet onion

1 can El Pato tomato sauce

Shredded Mexican Cheese

12 Corn tortillas

Eggs, to go on top.

Preparación:

Make a batch of enchilada sauce: Put all sauce ingredients in a sauce pan except the broth.  Make a roux and cook it for a few minutes, until it is all sizzly and bubbly, without burning it – med to low heat.  Add the broth all at once and stir/cook until thickened.  Set aside (keep hot). This will make a medium sauce -- if you like it thicker, add an additional tablespoon of flour and shortening.

Not this one, the YELLOW can.

Fry some ground round with some sweet onion, and when it is browned nicely, drain any excess grease and pour in 1 small can of El Pato Mexican-style tomato sauce (yellow can, we call it “duck sauce” around here – it has a picture of a mallard on the label, just like that one over there, except yellow...)   

Simmer the meat in the “duck sauce” until the sauce is mostly cooked off. Set aside; keep hot.

Now it's tortilla time!  Make a batch of tortillas.  Oh?  you don't have a tortilla press?  Well, then you'll have to buy some at the grocery.  Pity.

Heat a cast iron griddle or skillet.  Pour a small amount of oil on the hot griddle – and fry each tortilla for about 35 or 40 seconds, turning once. Without a bit of oil, the tortillas won’t get a little crispy like we want ‘em to. If they don't sizzle briskly when you put them on the griddle, the oil and pan are not hot enough. Set each fried tortilla aside on a paper towel.  Fry about three tortillas for each serving (1 enchilada), adding oil as necessary. (I always cut a section of paper toweling in quarters, and place a piece of paper towel in between each cooked tortilla while I finish frying the others; this keeps them apart and soaks up a bit of the oil.)

Assemble.   

Heat a skillet with a bit of oil and fry an egg to desired doneness (I prefer over-medium so the white is cooked but the yolk runs all over my enchilada while I am eating it).

While it is cooking, place a tortilla on a microwaveable serving plate.  Spread it with a spoonful of sauce, and a generous amount of the meat mixture.  Place a 2^nd tortilla on top and heap a goodly amount of shredded cheese on that.  Top with a third tortilla.  Ladle a serving spoon or two of hot enchilada sauce over the stack (don’t skimp on the sauce), maybe a little more queso, and nuke the whole thing for about 30 seconds.  To serve, place the just-finished egg on the just nuked enchilada stack.

This is good stuff... You can also add things (or layers) like salsa, or chopped black olives, hot refried beans, or chopped fresh onions – some folks might also like sour cream on this but I think simple is best and I don’t usually add a thing. Maybe some chopped lettuce y tomato on the side...  One of these is enough for an adult-sized serving.  It might take two or three for a teenager, though.

Makes about 4 servings.

New form of birth control

Congressman
"Representative"

The congressman said that women who are really raped usually don’t get pregnant, that their bodies somehow “reject” the unwanted act!   Gosh, imagine that – the possibilities for effective birth control we’ve overlooked all these years… obviously, all women have to do is not “want” the pregnancy, to feel like it was against their will somehow... and magically, they won’t get pregnant.  And all we had to do was listen to Congress to figure this out.

And now everyone is screaming for his resignation, tar and feathering, stoning, etc.  This is just another massive overreaction by the American body politic and all the P. C. experts.  I mean, his comments were stupid, ignorant, misinformed, maybe mean-spirited and wrong, but since when is that illegal?  Since when is poor judgment a reason to dump a great politician?

He spoke what he believed, apparently – and we Americans, well, we admire that, don’t we?  The man or woman who always does (or says) what he or she thinks is right?  After all, we all have the right to our opinions – they’re always valid whether or not they are based in science or reality or whatever… because, well, it’s what we think that's right and that's all that matters.

It seems to me that this mentally-deficient man fits right in up on Capitol Hill; there’s another three million of them there just like him, one way or another (many of them from my own state).  Humorist Mark Twain once said... "In the first place God made idiots.  This was for practice.  Then he made politicians."

In the end, it is not up to all these experts to decide whether the congressman stays or goes – that is and should be up to the voters in his district (at least in a case like this one).  

But it is a sad reminder to me every time something like this occurs just how ignorant and ill-prepared the larger portion of the American electorate truly is, to keep choosing individuals like this to run our government and write our laws.  It's like Pogo said; "We have met the enemy and they is us."