Kayaking the Hudson

Unleash the hounds! Rex, a water dog, of course, joins me for a swim in Haverstraw Bay, the widest point on the entire Hudson River. And on a 95 degree day, neither one of us has to be coaxed into the water!

My perspective on one of the small back channels that run all along the Hudson. They display a spectacular variety of wild life from birds of all kinds, to fiddler crabs, to deer. to fox, to many species of fish. And all of it within site of the US Gypsum plant and Indian Point - Remarkable!

It can't get more beautiful that this! And just 35 miles north of mid-town.

This is looking north, up the River to the peninsula known as Stony Point. There was a crucial Revolutionary War battle fought here. And that small, white tower in the center is Stony Point Light House, the OLDEST light house remaining in New York!

Self portrait - The Old Man and The Sea, or The River, or Something like that!

Photo of the Day

Muslim women share a photograph and a chuckle in front of the Tokapi Palace in Istanbul.

Photo: F LoBuono/ all rights reserved.

Photo of the Day

Laissez les bons temps rouler!

Street Scene, Mardi Gras. New Orleans (circa 2008)

F. LoBuono photo/all rights reserved

Creative Writing: The Wish List

photo: F LoBuono/ The Roman Cistern, Istanbul

The Wish List

7/29/11

I wish I had the power in my pen (or cursor) to vanquish all the misogynistic, misanthropic, myopic, and moronic misinformation that’s spewed on the Internet and on TV to the ghoulish hell in which in belongs

I wish I had the words to lift the spirits of those who are suffering

I wish I had the means to clothe the naked

Feed the hungry

House the homeless

I wish I had the courage to challenge injustice wherever I find it

I wish I had the foresight to build a stronger future for the world

I wish I had the compassion to treat everyone and everything with respect

I wish I had the wisdom to always make the right decisions all of the time

I wish I had the understanding to know that I never will always be right

I wish I had the passion to create great works of art

I wish I had the patience to truly listen to others

I wish I had the knowledge to understand all things

I wish I had the strength to stop all those who would do harm to others

I wish I had the love to embrace the world as it is

I wish I had the time to be all of these things

And more . . .

Words to Live by 7/28/11

photo: F LoBuono/ The GWB at sunrise

The unexamined life is not worth living . . .

Socrates

Social Commentary: What Recession?

photo: F LoBuono

In a recent (7/25/11) front page article in the NY Times, titled To Reach Simple Life of Summer Camp, Lining Up for Private Jets, reporter Christine Haughney writes of the virtual explosion in the use of private jets to ferry kids and their parents to exclusive summer camps in Maine, New Hampshire and Upstate New York. The article goes on to quote one private jet broker that his summer camp business had jumped 30 percent over the last year. The flights are, of course, catered, with requests ranging from peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to a fruit cup with only one strawberry in it. The cost of a round trip from the NY area to Maine generally runs from $500-$600 per person. A seven person turboprop plane can be had for a mere $3,800. These prices do not include the cost of the some of the higher-end camps that can set you back more than $10,000 for a seven week stay.

WTF?! Recession? What recession? Obviously, these people feel they have enough discretionary income to indulge themselves AND their children in this type of convenience. If they can afford it, they have a right to do it. There certainly is no law against it. However, at the same time, it can be seen as the root of the conflict between what President Obama is trying to accomplish with his debt reduction plan and what Republicans want to do with theirs.

What Obama is saying, as recently as his address to the Nation last night (7/25/11), our debt crisis must be addressed. It WILL BE addressed. However, how we accomplish this makes the difference in how our lives will be lived and how our generation will be perceived. As part of his vision, he HAS asked the wealthy Americans to bear even more of the burden to sustain our society. In not some many words, he has asked the wealthiest Americans to choose between the necessity of transporting their children via private jet to exclusive, private summer camps and providing aid to the sick, infirm and elderly. He would address the deficit by cutting governmental spending without dismantling social programs and increase taxes (slightly) for the wealthy. The Republicans have steadfastly rejected ANY proposal of ANY kind that includes ANY tax hike-even on those wealthy enough to spoil themselves and their children with private jet flights to summer camp.

It's hard to say, flat out, that the Republican vision is just wrong. We are a pretty heavily taxed society as it is. And we'd all like to hang onto as many of our hard-earned dollars as we can. However, as we all well know, it is the MIDDLE CLASS that bares the heaviest tax burden, not the wealthy. For their own reasons (so-called "trickle down" economics), the Republicans STILL refuse to tax the wealthiest Americans. Now, this to me IS wrong. There is no true balance.

But there is also something more esoteric here. We have to ask ourselves "what type of society do we want to represent us? What will people see in our souls"? Do we want a more balanced society where there is not such a huge gap between the top and bottom of it? I see this is as "The Obama Way". Or do we want one where the top earners, no matter how they got there, to reap ALL of the fruits of their labors without, simply, sharing? I see this as the "Republican Way". Do we want to see a compassionate society where the sick and elderly are cared for and cherished? Or do we want one where wealthy parents spoil their children with a sense of entitlement created by private plane rides to exclusive summer camps?

For someone like me, the choice is pretty simple: I never went to summer camp anyway. That was always for the rich kids! We were to busy working summer jobs and hangin' in the 'hood.

The landing of the Space Shuttle Atlantis on it's and the Shuttle program's final mission was not as spectacular as the launch but certainly awesome in it's own right. The landing was scheduled for 5:48 .m., so it would still be dark. This meant we would not actually see the craft until it was just about to make the runway. But you know it's coming when, about 4 minutes before the actual touchdown, you hear two loud "BANGS", much like the blast of a rifle, one immediately after the other. BANG, BANG is the sound of the shuttle breaking the sound barrier just above the field. I've been told that you hear 2 bangs because the Shuttle is so large and heavy that you hear the nose breaking the barrier first, followed by it's tail.

It then circles the runway in a series of figure 8's, gradually slowing from its top speed of 17,000 mph to 190 mph, the speed at which it will hit the tarmac. Then, suddenly, right on schedule, like a giant, ghostly specter it appears out of the blackness, bathed in the enormous vapor lights that illuminate its way, and streaks across the landing strip, trailing an enormous parachute. It eventually comes to rest at the far end of the strip.

I made this photo using a slow lens. And with little available light, my only option was to open the shutter, hold the camera as steady as possible, and hope for the best. If you look closely at the results you can see the blurry image of the Atlantis, trailing its parachute, in the lower right corner of the frame.

Creative Writing: A Simple Pleasure

Photo: F LoBuono, Cocoa Beach, Florida

It was a simple pleasure that I was going to make damned sure I was not going to miss. I had just finished working a grueling 36 hour period covering the return of the Space Shuttle Atlantis. During that stretch our news crew only slept about 2 or 3 hours. We labored through Florida's brutal heat and humidity, as well as the night time mosquito onslaught (I swear I saw a bunch carry off an infant into the swamp! LOL), to provide "live" coverage on what was the final mission of NASA's Space Shuttle Program. I was indeed ready for a break.

Our hotel was located in Cocoa Beach and was just one block from the Atlantic Ocean. I could clearly see the beach and water from my fourth floor balcony. I could hear it. I could smell it. But, ah, here's the rub; I was so damned busy I couldn't get to it!! However, on my last day, if I planned my schedule right, I might have an hour or so to get there.

On our last day there, as is my custom, I rose early. A coworker and I had to organize some of our equipment for shipment back to NY. As he is an early riser, too, we got that accomplished first thing. Afterwards, I went back to the room, packed, and got all of my personal things ready to go - except for one last thing - my bathing suit. I was heading for the beach!!!

It was just about 9 a.m. when I first set foot on the sand. Even though it was realtively early, the sun was already potent. I felt the intense heat radiate from the sand under my feet. But it wouldn't be long before all of that sweltering heat and cloying humidity would be a distant memory. The Atlantic beconed. To quote The Who, "I want to drown in cold water"!

In seconds, I was bounding with long strides and hops into the crashing waves. When the waves reached my waist, I took the plunge. AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! I swear that you could hear the hiss of steam created as my body was swallowed by the ocean. In one orgasmic moment, all of my ills, all of my worries were released into the healing waters. After the initial sting from the salt, even the hundreds of mosquito bites on my body and the blisters on my feet were healed. The stress of so many hours, in such a short period of time, was washed away with each subsequent wave. My body was rejuvenated, my soul revived. I was alive again.

Water in general, and the ocean in particular, have always been very special to me. My entire lineage is Sicilian. And Sicily is an island dependent on the sea. So, in a sense, it's already in my blood. My entire family spent summers at my Grandmother's house in Brooklyn so we could walk to the beach at Coney Island. My grandmother would actually wade into the surf there to scrape fresh muscles off the jetty to serve at that evening's dinner. Fresh fish, right from the fishing fleet at Sheepshead Bay, were a summer staple. Some of my fondest memories are of my time at the beach with my whole, extended family.

I could only spend 10 or 15 minutes in the water. I still had to back to go my room to shower and get to the airport for my return flight. But that was just enough. Just enough to remind me that the simple pleasures are the best pleasures.

Douche of the Day: the GOP

They're at it again- The Party of No - a.k.a. The Grand Old Party, a.k.a. The Republicans.

I have heard those of you who have said, "but you are not non-biased if all you do is bash Republicans" and I have responded, hopefully with wit and good humor; "I am an equal opportunity basher". However, still, with that said (or written), I just can't help it. They're all such Douche Bags, earning today's nod as D.O.T.D.

In the latest round of so-called negotiations (so-called because NEGOTIATION implies a certain level of give and take and, therefore, COMPROMISE) between the Republican controlled U.S. House of Representatives and President Barrack Obama, Speaker John Boehner (I'm resisting calling him bonner, because he's constantly pulling one!) suddenly broke of talks. Once again, Boehner had a bad case of economis interuputus: i.e. he pulled out too soon! Boehner stopped returning the President's repeated phone calls, citing rank-and-file Republicans' complete lack of support for the President's plan to attack the county's staggering deficit by limiting spending on certain social programs (like Medicaid) and raising taxes on the wealthiest Americans. The GOP, supported by The Tea Party, refuses to support the President in ANY WAY, SHAPE, or FORM, if his proposal includes ANY increase in revenue by raising ANY taxes. They also demand that the President hamstring many social safety programs through outrageous and unnecessary cuts in their funding.

The GOP has claimed that they have at least put something on the table while the President has offered no viable plan in return. WTF?! From what I've read in various sources, the President has consistently offered various plans to reduce the deficit and raise our debt limited. However, because they include tax hikes for the wealthy and will NOT cut social programs to the point of their demise, the GOP will NOT support him.

Well, folks, it's pretty simple. We all dislike paying taxes. Hell, I work hard for my money and often feel that I shoulder too much of the tax burden. However, I also have a conscience and that conscience leads me to compassion. I understand that if we are truly to live in a great society, those of us who, for whatever reason, have achieved a certain level of financial success, must be willing to aid those who have not. In the long run, it's beneficial to ALL. Compassion leads to a healthy society where the privileged are proud of their ability to contribute and those who benefit from those contributions are uplifted to the point of self-sufficiency.

I remember a comedy routine by Richard Belzer a few years back. He offered his version of Reaganomics (of course, we all know that Ronald Reagan is the gold standard among the GOP). When describing its impact on Planned Parenthood (another, current GOP target), Belzer presented this example: "hey, unwed teenage moms, next time, suck dick"!

It's time to choose again. Do we want the few to control ALL of the wealth? Or, do we want a certain level of balance, established through compassion and compromise. Simple, isn't it.

When You Think About It: But For The Grace of God

Photo: F LoBuono

But For The Grace of God

7/17/11

As is my rather bizarre custom, I was wide-awake at 3 a.m. For some unfathomable reason, I never sleep more than 5 or 6 hours at a single stretch. Since I fell asleep around 11 . . . Well, do the math. It was a warm, still, moonlit night, and, so, the front door was open to provide a little more ventilation. My house is on a tall hill that sweeps down from the front yard all the way to the River. The moon was nearly full and bathed the entire vista in bright light. The sky was crystal clear. The night air outside was cooler than the stifling atmosphere in, making it a perfect night for standing in the open doorway and soaking in the atmosphere

While I marveled at the moonbeams dancing on the shimmering Hudson in the distance, I noticed a shadowy figure at the end of the block. I was not alarmed. There is a rehabilitation facility for mentally damaged people located on our corner. Patients can regularly be seen wandering the neighborhood at all hours of the day and night. These people are at the facility because they have suffered some form of mental, emotional, and physical collapse. But they are not “prisoners” and are, therefore, allowed to not only stroll the grounds of the facility, but the surrounding neighborhoods as well.

Because of their diminished state of mind, they are often medicated to the point of near catatonia. Many of them exhibit ticks and yell out obscenities. They can be pretty easy to spot. I’ll have to admit that it can be a little freaky. However, my wife and I disagree on the degree of danger they pose. We both see them as tragic figures and I find them to be mostly harmless. By and large, they keep to themselves. I also see them as part of the pattern of life that makes up this diverse neighborhood. While my wife has equal empathy, she worries more about the wisdom and safety of letting severely damaged people wander unattended on the corner of Fairmount Ave. and ROUTE 9W, where cars wiz by at 60 mph! She also has obvious concerns about seriously ill people, heavily medicated, roaming a neighborhood filled with families and children. I’m sure that she’s right. We have actually had one man come to our front door on a number of occasions looking for the father he cannot find. He stands in the doorway, hands shaking at his side, when he asks simply, “is my father in there”? It’s so very sad to have to tell him, “No, we’re sorry. He is not here”. He turns away and walks silently back down the driveway.

It certainly is not the best location for all parties concerned. But at the same time, I can’t help but empathize so strongly with some of the lost souls that I have encountered there. More than once in my life, I’ve felt that a place like that would be my ultimate destination.

Even though the figure was a few hundred feet away and heavily silhouetted, I recognized him immediately. His drooping head and heavily stooped-shouldered, shuffling gate quickly identified him to me. He was indeed one of our “special neighbors”. I have seen him at various places in the neighborhood. A middle-aged black man, he carries a worn bible in his left hand. He never lifts his eyes off the ground or utters a single word. I’ve never seen him make an attempt to read that bible. He just shuffles along, head down, eyes down, shoulders down. When I saw him walking alone, in the middle of the night on a deserted street, it filled me with sadness and made me think of that old saying the nuns at Madonna Parochial School drummed into our heads; “there but for the Grace of God, go I”! As I watched him shuffle back up the street, I thought more deeply about exactly what that statement meant and rejected it.

"There but for the Grace of God, go I" is said to make us aware of the good things in our lives and how, perhaps in an instant, it could be taken away. It is supposed to generate empathy in us. I get it. However, for me, this proves an inadequate explanation given the question: “if God is ALL Merciful, why then does he allow such cruel things to happen to people”? When I once posed that question to one of the good sisters, the answer came back, “you must think and pray, there but for the grace of god, blah, blah, blah, blah.

I couldn't relate to that thinking then and I still can’t today. And if I live to be as old as Methuselah, I still won’t believe that. I understand that some might take it as a “positive” message i.e. it makes us aware and appreciative of our own good fortune. But, to me, that is narrow thinking. It fosters a feeling of pity rather than compassion, therefore preventing us from achieving a higher level of understanding of what it means to be human. And isn’t that what the ultimate purpose of religion and spirituality is all about?

When you think about it, the whole statement is really an oxymoron. We’re talking about a god of mercy who teaches us a lesson about mercy by not showing any mercy to certain indiscriminate individuals. Really? Forget faith. This makes no sense at all. Whoever thought of such flawed logic? How can one be merciful by using another’s misfortune as counter point to their own bounty? This is a contradiction in terms.

However, compassion not withstanding, we are still left with the practical issue of what do with a situation that really can be seen as an unsafe. Certainly, I want to live by practicing what I preach (or write!). But I also need to know that my loved ones are truly in no danger (I THINK that they are but this may not be enough). I suppose that the difference will be made in our approach to it. When you start to change a situation like this you must begin with a foundation that’s built on the bedrock of compassion. After all, we ultimately want what’s best for ALL parties. We have approached the owners of the facility with our concerns and plan to continue to encourage them to exercise more care in the movement and behavior of their patients.

There are many in the neighborhood who feel that the only solution is for it to leave for a more appropriate (and safer) area. I’m not so sure that I entirely disagree. However, in the meantime, when I see our special neighbors, I’ll keep in mind THEIR humanity as well as MINE. Because, when you think about it, “there but for the grace of god, go I” has just got to go.

Pic of the Day: Mounted Police at Haverstraw Bay

photo: F LoBuono

Two Mounted Police Officers from the Rockland County Sheriff's Department patrol Haverstraw Bay, the widest point on the entire Hudson, at dusk.

Creative Writing: A Small Act of Kindness

photo: F LoBuono

A Small Act of Kindness

7/15/11

My father was dying a terrible death. The onset of Alzheimer’s disease had been creeping into his life for about two years. Now, he had it at its full-blown, most insidious worst. He was not quite 70 and not in good health. He suffered most of his adult life with severe asthma. Treating that malady led to other health issues. The medications prescribed by the doctors were always robbing Peter to pay Paul. What was he do? It was so difficult to watch him struggle for breath on warm, humid summer nights. He would do almost anything, ingest almost anything to take one, pain-free breath. But, as in all things in life, there are consequences to every action. Those consequences for my old man were a cascading litany of health issues: heart, blood pressure, circulation, arthritis, etc., etc..

Although his Alzheimer’s was becoming more apparent as he aged, it was slow and gentle at the outset. But that all changed rather suddenly.

About 3 months before his death, he was cleaning the gutters on our home in Fort Lee when he took a misstep off the ladder he was using and landed awkwardly. Almost immediately, he began complaining about pain in his legs. Of course, we took him for X-rays, which were negative. Still, he complained almost incessantly about pain in his legs. Also, with each passing day, in addition to the constant complaints of the pain, my father became more confused. His ability to communicate clearly became increasingly difficult. It soon became too difficult for him to elaborate on what might be wrong with him. Because of this, the doctors who saw him dismissed his continuing complaints about his legs as the confusion of a “crazy old man” . After all, the X-rays were negative. Finally, after being cruelly rebuffed by a number of doctors, one MD had a brainstorm: “what if the issue was not really with his legs, but in another area of the body, perhaps his back”? An X-ray of my father’s lower back revealed a small broken bone in his spine, causing severe pain in his legs! So, he was not so crazy after all.

Ultimately, the issue of the broken bone in his back became completely insignificant compared to what was happening in his mind. It was explained to us that a normal, healthy mind could deal with multiple challenges. We can be in pain and still articulate our thoughts. In my father’s diminished mental state, it was one or the other: deal with the pain or articulate his thoughts. His mind chose the former.

As the weeks went bye, he became less and less lucid. He developed so-called “sun downers syndrome”. At dusk, he would get restless and take his favorite dog for walks that went on for miles. A friend once spotted my father and the dog walking together a few towns away from where he lived – an astounding 8-10 miles away! Although peaceful at first, he seemed to grow more agitated as his confusion increased. He was rapidly losing his mind. Much to my mother’s agony, it became painfully apparent that we would have to find some type of facility that could care for my father.

Because of the various, other infirmities my father suffered with, he was often shuttled back and forth between hospitals and convalescence homes. This was the mid-1980s and Alzheimer’s care (if you could really CALL it that) was virtually unheard of. The quality of the care was just atrocious. Because my father could be agitated from time to time, one hospital felt that they would deal with that by either sedating him or restraining him! I remember one visit to him while he was in the hospital when I found him bound to a steel chair! On other occasions, he would be so sedated that even if had had all his mental faculties, he still wouldn’t have recognized us.

Alzheimer’s is the cruelest of diseases – worse than cancer, worse than diabetes, worse than heart diseases – because it robs you of your essence. It steals your memories and, so, your inner life. After a few weeks shuttling back and forth between care facilities, my father had no outward recognition of ANYONE in the family. In the beginning, he could hold simple, polite conversations. Now, he could barely speak at all. This was, of course, particularly hard on my mother. For her, not only was she losing her husband, 36 years of their time together had been COMPLETELY erased. It was also ironic that this disease should have taken someone like my father. He had such a wonderful, curious mind. He loved to read, he loved to learn, and he loved to talk. These are all traits I would be most flattered to know he bestowed on me. How sad that it was now all gone . .

On one visit to him at the convalescence home, he seemed to be particularly out of sorts. He was even more delirious then usual. And he was physically struggling. When the doctor saw him, he told us that my father was extremely dehydrated and would need to be immediately transported via ambulance back to the hospital for treatment. We eventually found out that his condition was caused by his over-sedation by the hospital staff. I asked if I could ride with him in the back of the ambulance. I was told that there would be no problem with that. They loaded my father’s gurney into the back of the ambulance and I took a seat on a bench right next to him. As the EMTs were completing their paperwork before we would get started, I was stroking my father’s hair (he had the coolest hair – it looked like wire but was really incredibly soft). I can still smell it to this very day. I noticed that, due to the dehydration, my father’s lips were so dry and cracked. I asked the doctor if it would be OK if I gave him some water. The doctor said, “sure, of course”. I cupped his head with one hand and lifted it gently. With the other, I began pouring water on his lips, slowly at first, then more rapidly as he recognized the water and began to eagerly gulp it down. His eyes were closed. Then, suddenly, just as he finished the last drop, he turned his face towards me and opened his eyes. He looked right at me, deeply into my eyes, something he hadn’t done in weeks, and in a weakened but clear whisper said “good”. Just that; “good”. And then, he looked away and closed his eyes again.

He never looked directly at me ever again or uttered another intelligible word to me. But I’ll always have that moment. It was as if he was releasing me from HIS bondage. With one simple word, “good”, he was saying that all would be fine in the end – life still had its joyous, simple and yet profound moments.

When he died, 2 weeks before his 70^th birthday, I was relieved. The suffering ended and his spirit was released and all WAS good again.

Street Life: Haverstraw, NY at dusk on a Saturday night.

The streets of downtown Haverstraw, NY, made while strolling through on a warm summer night.

All photos: F LoBuono

Creative Writing: A Last Mission

The night before the launch. Atlantis lies bathed in light, in the pouring rain.
The Vehicle Assembly building at the KSC. It's where the shuttle is stored
Our broadcast area was like the Tower of Bable. The crews came from Russia, Japan, Australia, as well as from all over the US.
And there goes Atlantis, in sequence:

The Final Mission: The Space Shuttle Atlantis

July 8^th 2011

I’ve always been ambivalent about NASA; its various space programs, and Outer Space in general. I love the achievement but wonder about the justification of its cost. The technical achievements have been staggering but the expense has been equally so. Sometimes I feel that if we put the same effort into improving the quality of education in this country as we did in reaching the stars, life ON EARTH would be greatly improved. I suppose it’s consistent with my birth sign – Taurus – you know, feet firmly planted on the ground. However, I have to admit that as a kid I was a complete fan of the TV series “Lost In Space”. I dreamed of being Billy Mummy and becoming a teenage astronaut, using my vast technical knowledge to advance science and save mankind. But that only lasted until my teenage years and I discovered girls.

I had experienced one other Space Shuttle flight before, the so-called “Return to Space” by the Shuttle Discovery. It was the first mission for the Shuttle since the tragic explosion of the Columbia and, so, had historic significance. NASA needed to reassure the public that the Shuttle program was indeed safe and still viable. So, they took every precaution to ensure a perfect mission. This caused numerous cancellations in lift-off until the right conditions were achieved and Discovery was sent on her way and completed a successful mission

As a member of the media, I’m just about as close to the launch site as any non-NASA private citizen can be: about 3 miles. So close, in fact, that not only can you see the blast off with amazing clarity, you can feel it, too! I have written and published an account of my experiences with Discovery in “The Nyack Villager” (www.nyackvillager.com/archives). It was one of the high lights of my career as a journalist.

Even though I knew what to expect from a launch, eager anticipation still filled the press compound. This would be THE LAST MISSION in the Space Shuttle Program. It would be the last time any of us, or ANYONE at all, would witness the awesome power and crowning technical achievement of a Space Shuttle launch. The attitude of even jaded, experienced journalists, who witnessed virtually all of the launches, was a mixture of sadness for the program's end with the excitement of once again witnessing history. The overall atmosphere at our broadcast position could be compared to a “seventh game playoff” one. This would be it.

The weather was the biggest issue in deciding if, and when, the Atlantis would launch. It poured the day before and lightning, the Shuttle’s biggest enemy, was spotted near by. The weather report for launch day (Friday, 7/8/11 at 10:40 a.m.) was even worse, 70% chance of showers and thunderstorms. Knowing how cautious NASA had become, we all thought that Atlantis had a snowballs chance in hell to launch. However, the day dawned only partially overcast. The rain had stopped at about 3 o’clock that morning and the sky was indeed showing partial clearing. As we prepared for our broadcast we kept an eye on the sky. The rain held off for the entire morning and our attitude towards the launch became more positive; perhaps they would actually light that candle!

There is a digital countdown clock in the field that lies before our broadcast area that tracks the time until launch. Rather than continuous, it features a series of scheduled “stops” until it reaches the true 9-minute mark before the actual lift-off. We all checked our personal watches, waiting to see if, at 9 minutes before the scheduled launch, the counter would move. At exactly 9 minutes before, the electronic clock did indeed begin. It continued: 8 minutes, 7 minutes, 6, 5, 4, 3. We all looked at one another and exclaimed almost simultaneously, “this is really gonna’ happen”! “:35 seconds, :33, :32, :31”. Then, inexplicably, it stopped at :31 seconds. Everyone looked around in disbelief. “We couldn’t have come this far to be stopped now”, I blurted out. Everyone grunted in agreement. Then we heard an announcement that the launch had be halted because one of the support arms on the launching pad seemed to be stuck in position. However, after closer inspection, NASA engineers determined that the sensor was wrong, the support arm had indeed retracted and the countdown would resume in 2 minutes. A collective sigh of relief could be heard from the crowd of journalists and VIP’s that had gathered to witness history.

Finally, :5, :4, :3, :2, :1. “We have ignition”.

Because of the difference in speed between light and sound, you see the enormous plume of smoke generated by the firing of the rocket engines long before you hear their roar. But if you’ve been there before, as I have, you know that it’s coming. It fills you with a sense of excitement and anticipation that leaves you with goose bumps. Gradually, the Shuttle escapes its nest and begins to rapidly accelerate towards the heavens it will soon occupy. The smoke is now replaced by the glow of the rockets that rival that of the sun. Suddenly, the ship is away from its berth and gobbling up sky, accelerating to 17,000 miles/hour. You see the shock wave from the initial blast of its engines rapidly flying through the trees that separate the press area from the launch pad. It will be only a few seconds before you hear and FEEL it. BOOM! The shock wave is upon you. The railings of the building where we were stationed started to shake and you felt the air pressure increase from the shear power of the thrust of the ship’s engines. The blinding glow from the rockets’ engines was clearly visible, burning thousands of gallons of liquid oxygen and hydrogen every second. The roar was deafening but shouts of glee and “go, go, GO!” could still be heard above it. I’ve been told that the “popping” sound often associated with the roar is the water vapor in the atmosphere exploding from the intense heat generated by the engines!

Because the day was mostly overcast, we could not track Atlantis for long before it disappeared into the cloud cover. I’m sure that it was less than a minute. But, even so, it was one of the most intense moments outside of sex that one can experience (I’m sure there are some drugs that provide the same sensation, but let’s not go there!). It is in every way a masterful feat of engineering and fortitude that serves as a testament to American ingenuity, resolve, innovation, and aspiration. In many ways, it is the best we have to offer and no other country in the world can rival it for its complexity and over-all achievement. On that day, I was very much a fan of NASA.

Simply put, it gave me goose bumps. I still have them.