I was in the fifth grade, 11 years old. It was morning, still early in the day, with class taking place in our home room. I cannot recall the subject (probably “Social Studies”), but I can still see how we the students were divided into small groups, working on an assignment involving Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have A Dream” speech, which makes sense, in retrospect, for the time of year.
I can still hear the school’s principal coming over PA speaker. Unexpected school-wide announcements were not unusual, but there was obviously a separation from her normal tone of voice. Her exact words are forever blurred through age and time, but “tragic accident” and “space shuttle exploded” remain eternally clear.
For myself, I remember the shock of the moment. At some point that morning, one of the school’s television contraptions was rolled into the classroom. We did get to see live news coverage for a brief time, compliments of an antenna and local broadcast signals. It may be difficult to appreciate from a 2026 mindset, as there was no YouTube or other video streams to continually play and replay something that had happened moments ago from any part of the world. We probably saw the launch and explosion once, maybe twice, and that was it, before our teacher returned to the curriculum of the day.
January 28th, 1986 began lifelong reflections of the event, about the perils of space travel and the plethora of ethical lessons revisited again and again in diverse venues throughout the years.
I was a kid barely into the double digits of age, so it was not like I was doing any grand philosophical introspection on the disaster and what it meant. But I did think about it a lot, being into all things space, and the Space Shuttle program was front and center. After all, the Space Shuttles were “it”, the cornerstone of NASA’s persona in the 1980s. Apollo was long over before I was born, Skylab history as well as so 70s, and The Hubble Space Telescope’s rise to prominence was still a few years away. Plus, the Shuttles were a symbol of America’s exceptionalism; no other nation, particularly the Soviet Union, had a comparable program that could ferry astronauts to and from space like we could. Add in all the chatter about Haley’s Comet returning that year, and it was a good time to be a kid fascinated by the wonders of space, the space program, and what it all meant. By the 1990s, we would be on Mars!
While the Challenger Disaster is not the first tragedy I recall exactly where I was (that belongs to the attempted assassination of Pope John Paul II), it was the first for which I was old enough that I truly thought about it, imaging the event, what it must have been like for the astronauts in their final moments, about living and then suddenly dying. Despite knowing the risks, as astronomy magazines would reiterate again and again in the subsequent months and years, grasping that it could happen to you still must have been hard, and obviously always uncomfortable. Reading articles and commentary, again mostly through space-related publications, was how I processed the explosion. It was through those writing that I learned about the tragedy of Apollo 1, when three astronauts were incinerated in their command capsule, all because there was no emergency latch on the inside.
Decades after, whenever I thought about space exploration, Challenger was always there. Especially in the 2000s, I made it a habit to be outside at night when a Space Shuttle – Atlantis, Discovery, or Columbia – would fly over my area. Each time I saw those swift-moving gems in my light-polluted skies, Challenger allocated space in every experience.
And about the “O-rings”? As a kid, I did not have many memories of that particular point, despite its clear significance to the narrative. The Challenger was destroyed, astronauts horrifically died, and the future of the space program was in jeopardy; those are the impressions I still have from my young worldview.
I would have to keep writing for several more hours to recount all the instances, starting in college, where I heard yet another take on the lessons of the Challenge Disaster. Authority did not listen to reason. The reports were engineering gobbledygook that managers could not comprehend. The fanfare of the first teacher launching into space could not be stopped, no matter the unusual sub-freezing Florida forecast. All lessons in politics, the politics of science and scientists, and observations on human nature. From classroom case studies to workplace seminars, it’s unlikely anyone in academia and white collar professions has been immune to Challenger-fueled content over the past four decades.
Challenger is a reminder of the price paid for space exploration. It was paid before Challenger, and after (Columbia), and will continue to be paid if we ever return to the Moon, or find a way to venture beyond the confines of our tiny Earth-Moon pocket of the Cosmos. Yet the enduring tragedy would be for Mankind to set aside its innate need to discover and explore, not by telescope and robots alone, but by omission of our physical presence upon worlds we have yet to set foot on.
Discover more from Computer Looking Up
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
Hard to believe it was forty years ago!
Fortunately the space programme was resumed and we are finally going back to the Moon.
I am surprised the pending Artemis II launch is not getting more coverage. It’s kind of a REALLY big deal that humans will be orbit the Moon again.
If I had to generalize, the vast majority of the population does not appreciate how far away the Moon actually is in comparison to every manned orbit after 1972.