50 Years of Spaceflight

I never wanted to be an astronaut. Let’s be honest, if I’m chicken-shit when it comes to roller coasters, I didn’t see myself strapped to forty tons of rocket fuel blasting to the outer reaches of our atmosphere, past all hope of rescue. Then, there were all these math requirements, and I’ve never been too fond of numbers, either. Despite all that, I have a bordering-on-obsessive fascination with manned spaceflight. It’s difficult for me to understand how anyone wouldn’t be interested in humans flinging themselves out of our planet’s grasp, never mind the exciting science they perform while doing so. Today, America marks 50 years of manned spaceflight, only a few days after Russia has done the same. The difference between us is that our anniversary feels like a closing, rather than just a milestone in an infinite progression of achievement.  There are only two flights left on NASA’s shuttle manifest, and no solid plans for a new program to follow. There is no national outcry, no tears shed over the passing of an era of American innovation – I would be surprised if the shuttle program died little more than a quiet death, fading into the annals of history.

 

It should be enough that somewhere out there, someone is continuing to explore space. The Russians will still be launching Soyez rockets, and some of them will even carry Americans. The ISS will continue to orbit, and innovations in spaceflight will march on, but in significant way, we will be left on the sidelines. I am rarely a nationalist, but I am proud to be part of a country that is driven to push the envelope, ask big questions, and be capable of producing the technological feats needed to answer them. I know that there are valid concerns out there about the viability of the near-obsolete shuttles, the cost, and the inherent risks to human life, but that’s not what this is about. The lack of interest in the loss of this program smacks of the pervading apathy the American public has toward science in general.  Since when, as a nation, did we lose our curiosity? Why are the only questions we’re interested in asking anymore about what so-and-so did today on facebook, and who won on Dancing with the Stars?  Does there need to be a death involved for us to feel a sense of tragedy?  

 

For me, I will always remember standing at Banana Creek, filled with wonder, watching those forty tons carry seven measly humans into the vast expanse of blue sky and beyond. 



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