I'm not going to go into full analysis mode of the space shuttle Columbia disaster, as to be honest there's not much I could say right now that's not being said by a reputable (or even non-reputable) on- and off-line information sources. Instead, I have an odd personal parallel between Columbia and Challenger.

I found out about both at lunch.

Flip back 17 years ago. I was at lunch during our school's ridiculous "split shift" lunch, where you went to twentysomeodd minutes of class, had lunch, and then went back for the rest of class. It was OK for my intro BASIC computer course (it gave the teacher some time to try to learn enough to keep ahead of us), but for an honors European history course it didn't help with discussion or flow.

In any case, I got to lunch and the lunch ladies had the radio on, which was unusual. It was often on in the morning when they were cooking, but they generally had it off when we were there. I noted it was talk, but didn't really pay attention. It wasn't until I got to a table that someone mentioned that Challenger had exploded on take-off. I originally had the same reaction I had today on hearing of Columbia: someone was yanking my chain.

But, sadly in both cases, that wasn't so. We could hear the radio in the cafe (the subdued atmosphere that allowed this should have told me something), and listened to the coverage. We were all pretty stunned, which should probably go without saying.

It was the reaction of teachers that most surprised me, though with Christa McAuliffe on board perhaps that surprise should have been muted. Our history teacher, Ernie Shepard, spent the second half of class in the small storage and office area in his classroom, unable to compose himself to face us. He merely wrote what had happened on the board and took his leave. In retrospect, one of us should have checked in on him, but the teenage fear of embarrasment (both for the person who undertook the task and for Mr. Shepard) was probably too high. That and none us really knew what to do in such a situation. So we sat quietly.

Quiet discussion also marked my English class with Tim Averill, who had applied for the program that put McAuliffe on the shuttle. He had made it into some level of the program beyond application and summary rejection, though not too deeply. I'm not sure how the "there but for the grace of God go I" aspect of things weighed on him. He was pretty well composed in class (all things considered), perhaps because as an applicant he may have actually considered the dangers.

Both incidents made me think of my own nascent dream of becoming an astronaut, one which I never held very deeply past, say, fifth grade, but one that lay dormant for some time. I've always been a fan of space exploration, highly enjoyed the coverage that seemed to sprout from National Geographic as Voyager made its trip, and even had the space motive for starting the application process for the Air Force Academy (derailed pretty quickly due to asthma). I suppose to some level I'm a wannabe, not so bad that I'm contacting NASA about the need for putting more bulky higher ed administrators in space, but enough so that I perhaps become a little too self-involved when things like Challenger or Columbia happen.

In any event, it's been pretty grim following things today, and once I heard about the recovery of "body parts and personal effects" I figured it was time to tune in to something else. But I needed to write something about this, so thank you for your indulgence in reading along.