NOTE: I wrote and published this several years ago on my previous blogsite at Blogger. Since then I have reposted it nearly every year, and do so again in observance of the day when we lost the Space Shuttle Challenger and all seven astronaut crew members on board.
It was seventy-three seconds after lift-off on January 28, 1986 that the Space Shuttle Challenger exploded, killing its entire seven member crew, which included a high school teacher, the first private citizen to fly aboard the craft.
I was working with NASA as a public information officer attached to the press site at Kennedy Space Center. My job that morning was to deliver pre-launch commentary at the communication console inside the Launch Control Center at the Cape.
I began my shift at the microphone at about 3am, about the time the tanking operations got underway when millions of pounds of pressurized hypergolic fuels were being pumped into the behemoth at Launch Pad 39-B as the seven astronauts breakfasted before suiting up for the big event.
I would continue commenting on the launch prep until the astronauts were driven to the launch pad. Launch commentary emanated from Kennedy Space Center until the shuttle lifted off and cleared the tower. From then on, the launch became a “mission”, thus the commentary from that point would be undertaken by mission control in Houston.
It was cold in the pre-dawn hours. It was still dark when I left my home bundled in a winter coat. I could see my breath — unusual for Florida.
When I arrived at the LCC (Launch Control Center), my supervisor, NASA Public Affairs news chief Hugh Harris, was already seated at his communications console, headset on. I slid into the adjacent chair and opened a 3-ring binder that contained the launch sequence and milestones that I would be talking to, explaining to the public — the taxpayers — in simple language exactly what was taking place.
“No anomalies” Harris advised me in NASA-speak, meaning everything was proceeding normally. I took over the mic, offering comments as the launch team hit significant milestones in the countdown sequence. And so it went as the clock ticked forward smoothly toward an 11:38 a.m. liftoff.
The seven suited-up astronauts began their departure from crew quarters in the Operations and Checkout “O and C” building, located about three miles away. NASA cameras, along with national and international TV media, were trained at the exit way where they would do the “walk-out”, waving at those cameras and at an assemblage of cheering NASA and contracted workers as the silver-suited astronauts made their way into the silver Airstream “Astrovan” for the ride to the launch pad.
As they strode toward the TV cameras and the van, I keyed the mic to describe their walkout. Little did I know those words would be heard thousands of times in the aftermath of the shuttle explosion, as TV news programs replayed the last moments we saw the Challenger Seven alive.
During all of this time, there was great concern among the Launch Control engineers about the cold temperatures at the launch pad. Some advised against launching, arguing that the rocket boosters’ O-rings had not been tested for such a cold environment, and it was not certain they would perform within design parameters.
But others in more senior engineering positions prevailed for a lift-off. Many believed senior decision-makers felt pressured to launch lest they be the cause of a delay that would cost NASA millions of dollars.
And besides, thousands of spectators were descended at Kennedy Space Center to witness – along with children at TV sets all over the world – the “First Teacher in Space” Christa McAuliffe make history.
Throughout the pre-dawn morning a team was sent to the pad with long broom sticks to break up ice that had built-up under the shuttle. An infrared camera focused on the right-hand solid rocket booster aft field joint showed that the ambient temperature there was a mere 8°F.
Discussion about temperature concerns continued throughout the morning, albeit outside of our comm loop. Ultimately after much haggling among several key engineers, the fateful decision was made to proceed, and the clock resumed steadily for launch.
Finally, we hit the T-minus ten second mark.
“Ten…nine…eight…seven…six… we have main engine start...”
The excitement was palpable. America’s first Teacher in Space! History was about to be made! In the bright sunlight of a bracing and shivering morn, news cameras focused on McAuliffe’s proud parents and family for their anticipated reactions.
“Four, three…two…one…and lift-off! Lift-off of the 25th Space Shuttle mission and it has cleared the tower!”
Back inside Launch Control, our commentary was done. We now awaited the handoff to Houston for Mission Control’s narration as the spacecraft bolted from its Florida launchpad.
I swiveled around in my chair to face the glass floor-to-ceiling window and witnessed Challenger rising into the sky. As she climbed, a gorgeous billowy white column followed beneath her, the twin solid rockets and three main engines shining brilliantly against a clear and deep blue sky.
At 68 seconds of flight, the CAPCOM (Capsule Communicator) ordered the crew to “Go at throttle up.”
Commander Dick Scobee confirmed the call.
“Roger, go at throttle up.”
Those were the last words ever heard from Challenger.
Five seconds later, at precisely 73 seconds into the climb, now at 48,000 feet over the steely blue Atlantic, a frigid O-ring failed to seat, allowing a blow torch of super hot solid propellent to set in motion a fatal chain of events.
The gorgeous billowing contrail had now split into a Y shape, giving me my first clue that something had gone horribly awry. Challenger was breaking apart.
Next I watched in horror as one of the twin rockets detached from its mother ship and spiraled outward.
Smoke and streamers burst forth like fireworks from the center, ghastly tendrils a sickly orange in color as gravity pulled them earthward. We were witnessing a catastrophe.
I didn’t breathe. I knew we were watching the awful death of seven of our own. The room went silent as systems managers stared unbelievingly at frozen computer screens. All data flow from the shuttle had ceased.
“Flight controllers here looking very carefully at the situation,”reported Houston Mission Control’s public affairs officer Steve Nesbitt.
“Obviously a major malfunction. We have no downlink.”
After pausing, Nesbitt continued. “We have a report from the Flight Dynamics Officer that the vehicle has exploded.”
At every console, stunned system engineers froze in stunned silence, followed by the realization that the Seven they had worked with, rehearsing every possible scenario, were tumbling at near supersonic speed into the deep.
Yet within moments, the launch control team regained its composure and snapping into action, began the drill for which they had practiced and rehearsed for just such an eventuality, one they prayed they would never have to use. Having worked with the astronaut team for months, they felt it personally.
Emergency procedures were immediately enacted at both Kennedy Launch Control and Houston Mission Control, running through rescue operations in hopes they would somehow save the crew. But after several minutes, all knew the crew was gone. Gone…
Part of the follow-up contingency rules included locking down launch control, ceasing phone communication with the outside world, and carefully running through checklists that would ensure relevant data was correctly recorded and preserved.
All materials, including my three-ring binder and handbag, were embargoed. Nothing would be carried out until it had been thoroughly examined.
Hugh Harris quickly stepped away from his console to consult with NASA’s Public Affairs director, political appointee Shirley Green who had made the trip from Washington DC to be there for the big “Teacher in Space” event, and who was now watching the catastrophe in stunned bewilderment.
Moments later, my console headset crackled. Keying the closed loop button, I took the call. It was the White House.
“The President would like to speak to the nation,” said a voice at the other end. “We’d like some assistance in crafting a statement.”
Above: President Ronald Reagan and his staff reacted to the news as they watched it on a television in the Oval Office Dining room. Because the room is usually furnished with a small television, it is often here that the president first sees news events being reported from around the world.
A short time later, President Reagan appeared on TV worldwide, offering words of condolence and comfort to the nation.
President Reagan stated:
“Today is a day for mourning…a national loss…The members of the Challenger crew were pioneers…
The future doesn’t belong to the fainthearted; it belongs to the brave. The Challenger crew was pulling us into the future…
“There’s a coincidence today. On this day 390 years ago, the great explorer Sir Francis Drake died aboard ship off the coast of Panama. In his lifetime the great frontiers were the oceans, and a historian later said,
‘He lived by the sea, died on it, and was buried in it.’
“Well, today we can say of the Challenger crew: Their dedication was, like Drake’s, complete.”
…
The days and weeks that followed the catastrophe went by in a blur of media frenzy and ocean salvage operations.
I was soon invited to work with the official presidential investigation team — The Rogers Commission.
My job was to document the entire investigation and author a narrative of it, which was subsequently published in a report titled “The Historical Summary of the 51-L Data and Design Analysis Task Force.”
Below is an autographed copy, signed on the cover by members of the Search and Recovery team and others.
The position afforded me an open-door access and bird’s eye view of every meeting held with key NASA engineers and astronauts who sifted through every piece of data. I worked out of Bob Crippen’s office with the famed astronaut and his staff.
One of my first duties was to visit the temporary hangar that had been erected at nearby Canaveral Air Force Station to house the pieces of Challenger as they were retrieved from the ocean depths. When I arrived there, much of the shuttle orbiter had been salvaged and laid out in aircraft accident investigation fashion, akin to piecing together a huge puzzle. The crew cockpit and mid-deck were twisted and shattered, a haunting reminder of the crew’s last moments as they slammed into the ocean at some godawful speed.
It was a sobering site and the hangar was to many, a holy place where one spoke in hushed voices as they viewed the reassembled craft, its surfaces visibly charred where the solid rocket’s propellant had burned through the shuttle’s tiled wings and fuselage. Burned bits and pieces were all that were left of the once-proud Challenger and her crew.
Later at the memorial service for the seven member crew, President Ronald Reagan said:
“The crew of the space shuttle Challenger honored us by the manner in which they lived their lives. We will never forget them, nor the last time we saw them, this morning, as they prepared for their journey and waved good-bye and ‘slipped the surly bonds of earth’ to ‘touch the face of God.’“
I may have commented in one of the past posts about this tragedy.
It was a cool, bright sunny afternoon in Stuart, Florida, just down the east coast from the launch site. I was driving northbound on four-lane US 1 and, like most of the other drivers, I pulled over to watch the launch, getting out of the car like so many others were doing.
People were cheering and applauding as the rocket ascended… but when the puffy white booster exhaust split into a ‘Y’ you could have heard a pin drop — outside. It’s likely most folks knew something went horribly wrong.
By the time I made it home about 15 minutes later there was still nothing on the radio about what happened and only speculation on the local t.v. news.
If I can stay sane and cognizant I doubt I’ll ever forget what I witnessed.
I only have one question: What really happened?
anoldpieceofleather
Bad decision based on several factors.
Several attempts were made to launch the previous mission (STS 61-C) with Congressman Bill Nelson aboard, costing NASA millions $$$. The resulting fallout put pressure on NASA to get STS 51-L (with Teacher in Space Christa McAuliffe aboard) launched, despite questions about the cold temperatures that came close to or exceeded temperature limit estimates for the O-rings that eventually failed because of the frigid Florida weather that day, causing the Challenger explosion upon liftoff.
This aligns well with the findings of the Rogers Commission (the official Presidential investigation into the Challenger disaster) and subsequent historical accounts.
The STS-61-C mission (Space Shuttle Columbia, January 12–18, 1986) was plagued by repeated launch scrubs— six unsuccessful attempts before it finally lifted off on the seventh try. These included issues like weather, technical problems (e.g., erroneous hydraulic readings, liquid oxygen valve/sensor failures, accidental LOX drain), and pad/equipment glitches.
NASA sources and contemporary reports noted that each scrub after propellant loading cost around $1–1.3 million (primarily in wasted cryogenic fuel that boiled off and extra personnel/overtime), so the multiple delays for STS-61-C indeed cost NASA millions of dollars overall.
These overruns directly impacted the schedule for STS-51-L (Challenger). The Rogers Commission report explicitly states that during the last six weeks before Challenger’s launch, the 51-L schedule was changed several times as a result of the 61-C delays. Originally planned for earlier dates (with roots back to mid-1985), STS-51-L’s launch was pushed from mid-January targets to January 22, then further delayed multiple times (three postponements and one on-pad scrub) partly due to the backlog from Columbia not returning sooner.
This created a compressed turnaround. Challenger launched just 16 days after Columbia landed, an unusually tight interval that exhausted ground crews.The high-profile Teacher in Space Project (with Christa McAuliffe aboard) amplified public and media attention. Repeated delays drew ridicule in the press, adding to perceptions of NASA struggling to meet ambitious flight-rate goals (aiming for 24+ launches per year to make the shuttle “economical” and reliable for commercial/military payloads).
The Rogers Commission highlighted that NASA’s organizational culture and pressure to maintain an aggressive schedule contributed to unsafe decisions, including downplaying known risks.
On the morning of January 28, 1986, unusually cold temperatures (launch ambient ~36°F, with overnight lows colder and ice on the pad) fell near or below the O-ring temperature qualification limits (engineers from contractor Morton Thiokol had warned that colder conditions could cause the rubber seals to lose resiliency, delaying proper seating and allowing hot gas blow-by).
Despite Thiokol engineers’ overnight teleconference objections (recommending against launch below ~53°F based on prior data showing O-ring issues in cold), NASA managers overruled them, influenced by schedule pressures, prior erosion incidents not being catastrophic, and a “prove it’s unsafe” mindset rather than “prove it’s safe.”
The O-ring failure in the right solid rocket booster’s aft field joint—exacerbated by the cold stiffening the seals and wind shear during ascent—allowed hot gases to escape, leading to the structural failure and explosion 73 seconds after liftoff.
In short: The costly and lengthy STS-61-C delays did contribute to schedule pressure on NASA, which—combined with the high-visibility Teacher in Space element, ambitious manifest, and flawed decision-making—helped push the launch forward despite the cold-weather risks that proved fatal. The Rogers Commission concluded this was not the sole cause (the flawed O-ring joint design was primary), but schedule pressures were a key contributing factor in the organizational failures.