Launch Day

The launch day for Columbia and the STS-107 mission finally arrived on January 16, 2003. The mission had been rescheduled 13 times since NASA first announced it in 1999.

Commander Rick Husband, pilot Willie McCool, payload commander Mike Anderson, mission specialists Kalpana “KC” Chawla, Laurel Clark, and Dave Brown, and payload specialist Ilan Ramon had been training together as a team for several years. The mission delays, while frustrating, gave them time to bond even more closely as a family. They were ready to fly.

This was Bob Cabana’s first mission as the head of the Flight Crew Operations Directorate, and he was happy to be with his friends on the 107 crew as they suited up in the Operations and Checkout Building. Astronauts Kent “Rommel” Rominger (chief astronaut) and Jerry Ross (heading the Vehicle Integration Test Office) were also on hand on this joyous occasion. Robert Hanley from the Vehicle Integration Test Team taped the proceedings with Dave Brown’s video camera. Brown had been compiling a video documentary of the crew’s training and time together.

Before they exited the O&C Building for their ride to the launch pad, Husband gathered his crew in a circle for a moment of prayer. He recited the verses of Joshua 1:6-9, concluding with, “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”

The ebullient crew strode out of the O&C Building. Husband and McCool reached over their heads and patted the door frame in yet another launch day tradition.

Crew walkout for STS107Credit; Scott Andrews/NASA
The STS-107 crew and their entourage leave the O&C Building. (NASA photo KSC-03PD-0109)

The Astrovan stopped at a checkpoint near the VAB. Rominger left to fly the Shuttle Training Aircraft to check on conditions aloft in case the crew needed to fly an abort that would return them to the Shuttle Landing Facility. Cabana, Ross, Hanley, and the flight surgeon left to go to the launch control center. The surgeon went to man the medical console in the firing room. Cabana, Ross, and Hanley joined the crew’s families.

At the launch pad, the closeout crew strapped in the crew and said their goodbyes. The crew went through the pre-launch checklist. Everything looked to be in great shape.

The countdown proceeded smoothly. There was a scare just before the count came out of the final T minus 9 minute hold. An unidentified blip appeared on the radar—something that appeared to be headed toward the launch pad. With security at its highest point for any shuttle launch and an Israeli astronaut on board, Mike Leinbach came as close as he ever had to telling the crew to punch out. However, the issue cleared up in time for the count to resume. (This situation is described in much more detail in our upcoming book.)

Leinbach got on the comm loop with the crew: “If there ever was a time to use the phrase, ‘Good things come to people who wait’, this is the one time. From the many, many people who put this mission together: Good luck and Godspeed.”

Husband replied, “We appreciate it, Mike. The Lord has blessed us with a beautiful day here, and we’re going to have a great mission. We’re ready to go.”

A few seconds before 10:39 a.m., Columbia’s three main engines ignited. The ship “twanged’—rocked forward by the off-center impulse—and then returned to a vertical position. At that instant, the solid rocket boosters ignited, explosive bolts were fired, and Columbia roared off into a beautiful blue sky.

It was the last time anyone at KSC would see her as an intact vehicle.

Next: The foam strike

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Columbia blasts off on her final mission, January 16, 2003. (NASA photo KSC-03PD-0116)

Telling Columbia’s Story in “Real Time”

Time is a fascinating phenomenon. Setting aside discussions of special relativity, it’s pretty safe to say that objectively, time flows at the same rate every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every week of every month of every year.

Subjectively, though, we perceive time’s passage as highly variable. It can zip past or drag on endlessly. Ask a ninth-grade student sitting in a boring class at 2:10 in the afternoon how long he feels it will be until school lets out, and he’ll say “forever.”

For us more senior folks, it’s a different story. I saw a post on Facebook the other day that said, “I was taking a surprise spelling test in tenth grade. I closed my eyes for a moment, and now I’m an old person.”

One of the challenges faced by an author of narrative non-fiction is how to capture the flow of time as perceived by the participants in the story, while contrasting that with what was actually going on in real time.

By the afternoon of the day of the Columbia accident, FEMA, the FBI, NASA, and the Texas Forest Service set up a command center in the Lufkin, Texas civic center. Mark Stanford led the TFS contingent. He found the windowless environment to be like the inside of a casino, with no cues as to what time it was. The frenetic, non-stop pace of responding to the emergency caused him to completely lose track of time. “I told someone I hadn’t slept in almost 72 hours,” he told me in an interview, “but then I learned that it was less than 24 hours since the accident.”

How do you write about less frantic periods? Stephen King insists that writers “leave out the boring parts.” Well, sometimes things just plain are boring. Days drag on while you wait for something to happen. Likewise, days melt into each other while you repeat the same process over and over, chipping away at the block of stone until the statue gradually appears. The writer must honor the work being done, somehow conveying the sense of tedium experienced by the participants, without also boring the reader!

Looking back over the first draft of the manuscript for Bringing Columbia Home, I see that we spent 20% of the words in the book describing the events in the 15 hours following the accident. The next two days take 10% of the book. The next two weeks take 15%. And the next two months account for 20% of the word count. That will give you some concept for the pace of activity in the recovery and reconstruction of Columbia.

And it’s interesting to note that the first day’s activities we describe are several hundred people reacting quickly to the crisis. But by the middle of the spring, it’s tens of thousands of people executing very methodical processes.

Going into the new year, Mike and I are going to use each week’s blog posts to highlight some of the events that were going on during the same time period in 2003. This weekly account over the period of a year will take us up to the release of Bringing Columbia Home and the 15th anniversary of the Columbia accident.

If you were a participant in the recovery and reconstruction—or even a bystander—we welcome you to share your recollections via comments on the blog pages.

We hope you will enjoy seeing this story unfold in real time.

We will also keep you informed on the progress of the book‘s publication, release date, book signings, etc.

Wishing you a very happy and prosperous New Year –

Jonathan and Mike

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Columbia on the launch pad prior to the March 2002 STS-109 mission (NASA photo)

Interviews and truth

Bringing Columbia Home is my third book. Other than the obvious similarity with my other two books, in that it deals with the American space program, it shares another key element: it relies heavily on oral history and interviews.

I can’t adequately describe what a thrill it is to interview people who were on the scene during important times and events in history. Some people had “bigger” roles than others, consistent with their job titles or the scope of their responsibilities. However, events like the Columbia tragedy profoundly shaped people’s lives, no matter what their role or scope. Everyone who was involved has their truth about how the event and their reactions to it were turning points in their lives.

One question I like to ask in my interviews is: What did you learn about yourself in going through this experience? That never fails to make people reflect on the importance of what they did when they were put to the test. Many people break into tears when it suddenly strikes them how deeply they were affected by all that they went through in a critical period. I feel profoundly honored to be present with people as they recall such moments.

My last corporate job was as a consultant in organizational effectiveness and change. In big companies, it’s physically impossible to talk to everyone, but you also want to get as many perspectives as you can. My usual approach was to interview a “diagonal slice” of people in an organization—talk to a representative sample of people from all levels and all job functions within the organization I was studying.

In a situation like the Columbia accident, where there were 25,000 people directly involved in the search for the shuttle’s debris, and hundreds of people in the reconstruction hangar at KSC—not to mention the hundreds of thousands of people who were residents of the area where Columbia‘s debris came to Earth—I had to use a somewhat similar approach.

I did a quick tally of the interviewees for our book the other day, and here are some examples of the kinds of people I talked to:

  • Senior NASA officials (Administrator, senior staff, Center directors, etc.)
  • Senior officials from FBI, FEMA, US Forest Service, Texas Forest Service
  • 14 former astronauts
  • Managers, engineers, and technicians from NASA, Boeing, United Space Alliance, Spacehab, and other organizations
  • Consultant to the Columbia Accident Investigation Board
  • Forestry workers with the US Forest Service and Texas Forest Service
  • A County Judge, sheriffs, law enforcement officials, a special agent for the FBI, a city manager, and other local officials
  • Residents of Sabine County, Texas who volunteered as searchers or volunteered to help the recovery operations in other ways
  • A school principal and teacher
  • A Baptist minister and two funeral directors
  • Hotshot firefighters contracted by the US Forest Service
  • NASA and contractor engineers and technicians who deployed officially (and also unofficially) to assist in the search and recovery operations

All told, I’ve talked to about 100 participants, and I’m still talking to more. We have over 600,000 words of interview transcripts from conversations over the past 20 months. Obviously, we’ll soon reach the point where there isn’t time to include information for additional interviews, or we’ll never finish the book.

If you were involved in the Columbia search, recovery, or reconstruction, I strongly urge you to write down your memories! Mike and I would of course love to hear about your experiences. Feel free to contact us at the links on this site. We can’t guarantee that we will be able to use your stories in the book. However, we do vow to share the collective experiences either through this blog or some other means of preserving Columbia‘s history.

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Jonathan with Mrs. Marie “Little Granny” Nelson, who fed and supported the searchers in Hemphill, Texas during the Columbia recovery. (Photo taken October 21, 2015 at the Patricia Huffman Smith “Remembering Columbia” Museum in Hemphill.)

Schirra and Lovell tour the hangar

 

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Former astronauts Wally Schirra and Jim Lovell (at right) inspect a recovered elevon actuator from Columbia in the reconstruction hangar, March 3, 2003. Looking on with them are (from left) Mike Leinbach, Lisa Malone, Steve Altemus (kneeling), and Jon Cowart. (NASA photo)

One of the many things NASA does really well is attending to worker morale. Since the 1960s, the Space Flight Awareness program has helped workers at every level of the program understand the importance of their jobs and connect their roles to the “big picture” of manned spaceflight.

On March 3, 2003, barely one month after the Columbia accident, former astronauts Wally Schirra and Jim Lovell came to Kennedy Space Center to encourage to workers who were still grieving over the loss of Columbia.

Both men were well acquainted with the risks inherent in manned space flight. Schirra was one of the original Mercury astronauts and command pilot of the Gemini 6 mission, which had the first launch pad abort of America’s manned space program. When the engines of his Titan II booster ignited and then shut down, all indications in the capsule were that the vehicle had lifted off. Rules said that Schirra and Tom Stafford should have “punched out,” ejecting from the capsule. However, Schirra believed he had not felt any motion, so he stayed put. His gutsy call saved the capsule and allowed the mission to fly again a few days later. Schirra later commanded Apollo 7, NASA’s first manned mission after the fire that killed the three-man crew of Apollo 1.

Lovell had flown on Gemini 7, the first two-week spaceflight, as well as Apollo 8, the first mission to circle the Moon. Lovell was commander of Apollo 13 and was supposed to walk on the Moon. Instead, a deep-space explosion led to a harrowing several days in which the world watched anxiously and hoped that the crew would make it home alive.

Schirra and Lovell toured the hangar where debris from Columbia was being examined and reconstructed. Mike Leinbach recalled, “They thanked everybody in the hangar for their devotion to the cause. It was as close to a pep talk as you can have in that kind of situation. It was really good, almost like having your grandfather come and talk to you.”

The two men also visited several other sites at KSC to talk to people who were working on the remaining three shuttles. Later, they spoke to a gathering of KSC employees hosted by KSC Director Roy Bridges. They offered their thoughts on the accident and the future of the manned space program.

Lovell said he was at the airport when news of the accident broke. The prevailing mood he observed was not resignation, but rather one of loss. He said, “The public had become complacent with the routine of space launches, but every once in a while it comes back to remind us that this is a risky business. Everyone I talk to says this should not stop the program, we should find out the cause. We have an obligation now not just to our own country but our international partners.”

At the conclusion of the program, Schirra encouraged KSC’s team with Gus Grissom’s famous “Do good work.” Lovell added, “We have a great program. Keep charging. Don’t give up.”

Such words may seem trite to some people, but they were a much needed balm to the still-shaken workers at Kennedy Space Center.

In times of tragedy and self-doubt, it never hurts to be reminded that what you do matters—that it’s important to refocus and give your all, even when the situation seems hopeless or desperate.

Thanks to tens of thousands of people who each did their part as individuals and supported each other in their teams, the collective willpower of the NASA family got the shuttle flying again.

White powder from outer space?

Over the course of the 100 days following the Columbia accident, NASA and the EPA responded to 12,000 calls from residents in Texas and Louisiana about space shuttle debris sightings.

Representatives from NASA and the EPA personally investigated every call. The EPA was responsible for checking the debris for hazards, rendering it safe, and then transporting it to one of the four collection centers along the debris path in Texas. The NASA representative made an initial determination whether or not the debris was likely from the space shuttle.

Many of the items found by local residents were either extremely hazardous (like pyrotechnic devices or pressure vessels with hypergolic propellants) or turned out to be crucial to the accident investigation. NASA was deeply indebted to the citizens who called in such findings.

However, some of the items were of more dubious origin.

Here’s a story about a Columbia debris sighting that won’t make it into our book, but I think it’s worth sharing. Pat Adkins, who was a KSC quality inspector, was deployed to Sabine County, Texas to aid with the recovery of Columbia debris. Here’s his story:

“We responded to a call about some unusual debris. A policeman was holding back a crowd and had placed crime scene tape all around this mound of white, crystalline-looking stuff. And it had one little blue dot in the middle of it. There was nothing else near it—no cylinders, no containers, no nothing.

“The woman who lived there was with him, and the policeman was kind of rolling his eyes. And so that kind of set the tone for us when we looked at him.

“I pulled her aside, and I questioned her. The woman said, ‘This was not here the night before.’ And I said, ‘There’s just nothing from the shuttle that this could possibly be. It didn’t come from the experiment packages.’ But she was insistent.

“I started looking around at all the other stuff that’s in the back area. It’s on the lip of the woods, in back of all of their places, and it’s like everybody’s junkyard back there.

“I said, ‘So tell me something: Do you have a water softener?’ She said, ‘I don’t, but my neighbor does.’ I said, ‘Well, you know, you use rock salt in water softeners.’ And she responded, ‘Yeah, I know you use salt. But this isn’t salt, ’cause it didn’t taste salty.’

“I chuckled a little bit. The poor EPA guy with me is starting to lose it. And even the cop was laughing. I said, ‘So let me get this straight: You think this came out of a spacecraft that has broken up in the upper atmosphere, and you saw it, and thought it was odd enough to call people about. But yet you tasted it?’

“And she got indignant and said, ‘Well, y’all think we’re a bunch of bumpkins anyway.’ Those were her words, I’ll never forget it. And I looked at the EPA guy, and I said, ‘I don’t remember ever saying that.’

“I said to the EPA guy, ‘Look, the only way that this lady is gonna have peace of mind is if we take this, so let’s get a bag.’ And so we dug it up out of her yard, and then smoothed her yard over.

“It was rock salt. The EPA guy had that bag of rock salt in the back of his truck for three weeks. He didn’t know what to do with it. I certainly didn’t want it in my collection area!”

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Actual shuttle debris near Etoile, Texas on February 1, 2003. (Courtesy of Jan Amen)

Columbia’s Nose Landing Gear

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Columbia‘s NLG (Boeing photo)

One of the most remarkable pieces of wreckage to make it to the ground after Columbia‘s destruction was her nose landing gear (NLG). The NLG was instantly recognizable to anyone who had worked with the space shuttles, and it was a sobering and saddening reminder of the once-proud ship and her crew. The NLG would have been the last part of Columbia to touch down on the runway had she made it home on February 1, 2003.

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Pat Adkins (left) hoses mud off the NLG at the Hemphill collection center. (Photo courtesy Texas Forest Service)

Someone found Columbia‘s NLG just inland from a cove on Six Mile Bay on the Toledo Bend Reservoir on February 18, 2003. The NLG arrived at NASA’s collection center at Hemphill, Texas in the bed of a pickup truck that afternoon. Pat Adkins, a quality inspector from Kennedy Space Center, serving on NASA’s Mishap Investigation Team, hosed down and scrubbed the mud off the once-pristine piece of the shuttle. The tires were deflated, the bead was burned off, and the steering actuator arm was missing. Adkins could see where one side of the strut had been exposed to the effects of plasma and hypersonic re-entry.

As with many of the other pieces of Columbia‘s debris, the sight of the landing gear was enough to cause some NASA workers to break down into tears. It was a “whack on the side of the head with a two-by-four” that caused people to confront the reality of the shuttle’s violent destruction.

Everyone from Kennedy Space Center who worked on Columbia‘s recovery and reconstruction had a similar encounter and reaction at some point in the process. No matter how “professional” you try to be, at some point your deepest emotions will come to the surface. It is an unavoidable part of our human reaction to such tragic events. One of the most remarkable parts of the story is that people were able to support each other through their individual and collective grief and then get on with the work of figuring out what caused the accident.

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The nose landing gear on the floor of the reconstruction hangar, March 7, 2003. (NASA photo KSC-03pd-0612)

The NLG arrived at the reconstruction hangar at Kennedy Space Center in early March, and was placed on the floor grid near the front of the vehicle.

The NLG is now in the Columbia Preservation Room in KSC’s Vehicle Assembly Building, one of the first items that visitors see upon entering the secure facility. There is a pan underneath the strut to catch hydraulic fluid that occasionally seeps from the piece. It’s hard not to think of the landing gear as a holy relic that still bleeds.

As with all of the other pieces of Columbia‘s debris on display, it serves as a stern reminder that spaceflight is extraordinarily difficult and very risky—every decision has consequences.

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The nose landing gear in the Columbia Preservation Room, February 1, 2004. (Photo courtesy Robert Pearlman, collectSPACE.com)

Astronaut Veterans

On this Veterans Day, I found myself wondering: How many astronauts served in the US military?

America’s first astronauts were all active-duty military servicemen. Of the original  Mercury Seven, three were Navy men (Shepard, Carpenter, and Schirra), three were from the US Air Force (Grissom, Cooper, and Slayton), and one (Glenn) was a Marine. The next group of astronauts included America’s first civilian astronaut (Neil Armstrong), although he was a former Naval aviator, a veteran of the Korean War.

Test pilot experience was a requirement for the first two groups of astronauts. Military pilot experience was allowed as a substitute for test pilot experience in the third group. It wasn’t until the fourth group of astronauts, “The Scientists,” selected in 1965, that NASA waived military pilot experience for astronauts—although astronauts in that group had to train to be pilots if they didn’t have flight experience.

The last class of astronauts selected, 2013’s “8-Balls,” has six active-duty military officers among the eight members of the class.

All told, 219 of the 330 former and current American astronauts served in the armed forces. All branches have been represented, but there have been more astronauts from the Navy and Air Force than the other branches.

It’s hard to beat the knowledge and experience gained in military service. Courage, commitment to public service, teamwork, maximum performance despite physical and emotional hardship, calm focus in the face of danger, comfort with complexity, attention to detail—traits that make a good serviceman or servicewoman are those which also make a good astronaut.

The crew of STS-107 included five active-duty US military astronauts and one active-duty Israeli military astronaut. Commander Rick Husband and Mission Specialist Mike Anderson flew for the US Air Force. Pilot Willie McCool and Mission Specialists Dave Brown and Laurel Clark had extensive experience with the US Navy. Ilan Ramon had flown combat missions with the Israeli Air Force, including the attack on Iraq’s Osiraq nuclear reactor. All told, the five aviators on Columbia‘s crew (Husband, McCool, Brown, Anderson, and Ramon) had over 17,300 hours of military flight experience.

I’m the proud father of an active-duty Army officer with three deployments to Afghanistan under his belt, and my brother served for several years in Vietnam. I’m deeply humbled by the sacrifices undertaken by brave men and women in service of their country. I can never adequately express my gratitude to the members of our armed forces who help keep our world safe and our country free. And I offer a special “thank you” to those whose sense of service and courage took them into outer space for the betterment of mankind.

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Perpetual Practice, Perfect Performance

I’m not a huge baseball fan, but I did tune in to the end of Game 7 of the World Series the other night. I couldn’t help but be fascinated by watching how the players, as individuals and as a team, responded to the mounting pressure as the game progressed into the final innings.

Everything was on the line. It was here and now. The endless months of training, a whole season of games—it all came down to those last few minutes of play, with the whole world watching.

How do you put the pressure out of your mind and just do your job?

There are of course all sorts of analogies about sports and “real life.” If you haven’t read Tim Gallwey’s seminal book, The Inner Game of Tennis: The Classic Guide to the Mental Side of Peak Performance, you really should! I’m greatly oversimplifying here, but Gallwey says that every match has two aspects: the Outer Game—the one played against your opponent—and the Inner Game, the one you play against yourself in your mind.

The Inner Game is nicely summed up in the Astronaut’s Prayer: Dear God, please don’t let me screw up! 

It’s tremendously expensive to fly a space mission. If something doesn’t go right, you may never get another shot at it. Everything you’re going to do in orbit has to be ingrained in your brain and your muscle memory. Your crew, the scientists on the ground, your country—they’re all depending on you to do your job. You simply can’t screw up due to a mental lapse or being unprepared.

Astronauts typically spend two solid years training for a mission. They endlessly rehearse every aspect of every moment of a flight. The commander and pilot run hundreds of landings on simulators and in the Gulfstream Shuttle Training Aircraft. Spacewalkers practice with their tools and mockups of the equipment they’ll be working with. They run at least seven full simulations of every spacewalk in the Neutral Buoyancy Lab’s giant swimming pool near Houston. The mission specialists needs to understand how everything on their vehicle works and how all the experiments operate. They simulate the different ways something can go wrong, so that when things go right, it’ll be a cakewalk.

Several times over the course of the coming months, we’ll look at some of the training that helps astronauts and ground crews prepare for missions. We’ll focus on some of the training for STS-107 in particular.

We’ll get a glimpse at how astronauts make it look easy. (Hint: It’s because they’ve performed incredibly complex tasks so many times that they can almost do them in their sleep. It also helps that they’re incredibly smart and competent people!)

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The STS-107 crew practices equipment maintenance at SPACEHAB in 2000. (NASA photo KSC-00PP-1838)

(Good) Scope Creep

Anyone who has worked on a project knows the dangers of scope creep—those seemingly inevitable changes or “features” that sneak in along the way, causing a project to balloon far beyond what you originally signed on to do. In the world of project management, with deadlines, budgets, and limited resources, scope creep can ruin your life, bankrupt your company, and cause your project to fail.

Writing a book can also take you far afield from your original intent. Scope creep after you’ve signed on with a publisher means precious time wasted on endless rabbit holes of interesting stuff that ultimately has little to do with what you committed to deliver. Then you face weeks of sleepless nights trying to cram your 200,000 words of brilliant material into a 100,000 word book.

For Bringing Columbia Home, our original intent was to tell a success story about the men and women of Kennedy Space Center who had cared for Columbia before and after missions, but who had to fight shock and grief to spend much of 2003 picking up and re-assembling Columbia‘s broken debris.

It was a dramatic, powerful story, and it would have made an interesting book. But every person we interviewed said the same thing: You can’t tell this story without talking about the people of east Texas and what they did to support us.

Mike and I debated whether this avenue was going to open the book up too wide—to dilute the message somehow. It seemed an important topic to pursue, though.

I contacted the board of the Patricia Huffman Smith Museum Remembering Columbia in the small town of Hemphill, Texas, and arranged to visit and interview some of the townspeople. I was unprepared for the outpouring of hospitality I received from people who had no agenda other than to modestly tell their individual parts of the story and see that the good works of their neighbors were remembered.

Working as I do with oral history, it’s always fascinating to come across people who were at the same event recounted by another person you’ve already talked to. Here, I interviewed dozens of townspeople who had so lovingly embraced members of the NASA family in their time of deepest need—nice folks who walked the thorny woods in the sleet, provided meals, opened their homes for NASA workers to stay in, did their laundry, prayed with them on the sidewalks, and provided daily encouragement to NASA to get the Shuttle flying again.

The bond between the people of the NASA community who came to search for their fallen comrades and the citizens Sabine County, Texas is unbreakable. Their histories are forever intertwined and inseparable. You can’t tell the story of Columbia‘s recovery without celebrating the remarkable work of the citizens of east Texas.

You’ll read a lot about them in Bringing Columbia Home.

Mike and I made the right call. This time, scope creep was a good thing.

25,000 Heroes

Mike Leinbach and I are excited to be kicking off this new project in conjunction with our forthcoming book, Bringing Columbia Home.

Our research for the book over the past year and a half has involved talking to more than 100 participants in the recovery and reconstruction of Columbia. We have interviewed people from all walks of life – from the former Administrator of NASA (Sean O’Keefe), to more than a dozen astronauts, to employees of the FBI, FEMA, US and Texas Forest Services, to people like Marie “Little Granny” Nelson, a volunteer who prepared and served food for the search crews in Hemphill, Texas in February 2003.

We’re amazed at how the loss and recovery of Columbia deeply touched and changed the lives of every one of the 25,000 people involved in the effort. It was an event of critical national importance. The success of the effort required extraordinary personal compassion, commitment, and courage.

The loss of Columbia and her crew was an international tragedy. Equally tragic is that so many people do not know or remember the amazing work done by everyday Americans to recover Columbia. Their courage and sacrifices enabled NASA to get the space shuttle fleet flying again and continue its mission.

The story of Columbia‘s recovery and reconstruction is simply too big to fit into one book. That’s why we started this blog. We hope to shine a light on the incredible events of the first half of 2003, when Americans of all backgrounds united to perform the largest land search and recovery operation in our history.

Please let us know if you or one of your friends or family took part in the recovery and reconstruction. We look forward to hearing from you!