The Endeavor has another chance to launch today at 6:03 pm EST from the Kennedy Space Center (you can watch the launch at NASA TV online). Since the shuttle program is coming close to it's end I wanted to post this article in honor of all those who worked on the program (including my much loved father). It originally ran after the catastrophic reentry of the Columbia in 2003.
In Praise of the Guys in Skinny Black Ties
By Dan Neal, Palm
Beach Post Staff Writer
Tuesday, February
4, 2003
Like
children frightened by a father's tears, we have to worry when engineers cry.
Amid the weekend's terrible images -- the flaming shuttle,
the blasted debris, the ruined families -- the one that troubled me most came
from the most unlikely place: a news conference with the scientists in charge
of the mission.
Swallowing
tears on Saturday, shuttle program director Ron Dittemore grappled with his
grief before a devastated nation.
"There's
a certain amount of shock in our system," he said. "We have suffered
the loss of seven family members."
Granted,
it was a mild reaction, given the circumstances. Oprah Winfrey can gnash more
teeth over a set of sit-ups. But somehow the engineer's brave understatement
cut deeper than O will ever go.
When the guy with the pocket protector cries, when the
catastrophe is so shattering that even the egghead cracks, we know
instinctively that there's more at stake than personal loss. We never know why,
never know exactly what's going on, but we know enough to fear that it might
mean the end of the world, as we know it.
Because
the world as we know it belongs to the engineers.
They
built the cars we drive, the roads we drive on. They designed the homes we live
in, developed the crop system that keeps our bellies full.
They
invented the TVs we worship, the phones we yak on and every one of the silly or
suddenly indispensable gadgets that prop up our lives. From umbrellas that save
us from the rain to medical equipment that saves us from death, engineers are
the ones who make our world possible.
They
do it without fanfare. They demand no pats on the head. And for their efforts,
generally, we mock them. They can send a man to the moon, we gripe, but they
can't make a VCR you can program, or a computer that doesn't crash, or a
you-fill-in-the-blank.
We
don't know -- we aren't even interested in -- how VCRs, computers and
"blanks" work, so we can't be expected to help solve these problems
ourselves.
But
like teenagers tooling around in Dad's Corolla, we can make fun of the folks
who feed us: Look at the geeks and pinheads in the skinny black ties, we say.
They don't care about clothes, they never get dates, and they aren't "in
touch with their emotions."
These
guys are so out of it, we jeer, they think calculus is fun, and studying and
working are the only things worth doing in the world.
And
when that world breaks, of course, the engineers are the ones we blame -- and
the ones we count on to fix it. While the rest of us stand by and wring our
hands over the latest calamity, we expect them to get to work and make
everything whole again.
Usually, they do. Because, by nature, they are the fixers, the
problem-solvers, the men and women behind the scenes who make the trains run on
time, no matter how they might feel at the moment. They don't resent the role,
they treasure it and believe in it -- believe with the indomitable optimism
that keeps this country moving forward that no matter how bad things get,
there's nothing that human ingenuity and hard work can't fix.
"This
is a bad day," chief flight director Milt Heflin said at the news
conference, his eyes red with grief. "I'm glad that I work and live in a
country where... when we have a bad day, we go fix it."
We
have no choice but to believe him. Yes, we're shaken when the ones who are
supposed to be calm and logical and in control are reduced to tears, and, yes,
we've had a bad day.
But
while people like us can't fix it; we know people like Milt Heflin probably
can.
