“The flame grew in intensity, deflected down in the slipstream of the rising spacecraft until it made contact with the external fuel tank, close to one of the three steel struts securing the bottom of the booster to the spine of the shuttle stack. Yet neither the instruments on Challenger’s flight deck nor the readings on the consoles in Houston gave any indication that anything was wrong. The onboard computers, struggling to keep the orbiter flying true, swiveled the nozzle of the left-hand booster outward to compensate for the loss of pressure in its malfunctioning twin.
‘Challenger, go at throttle up,’ the CapCom radioed from Mission Control.
‘Roger, go at throttle up,’ said [Dick] Scobee.
Burning at more than 6,000 degrees, in less than three seconds the errant flame escaping from the booster encircled the circumference of the giant external tank, incinerated its insulation, cut through its aluminum skin, and ruptured the welds of the pressurized fuel tank membrane within. A plume of liquid hydrogen burst into the slipstream of the rocket engines, where it ignited…”
- Adam Higginbotham, Challenger: A True Story of Heroism and Disaster on the Edge of Space
The explosion of the Space Shuttle Challenger on January 28, 1986, is literally one of the earliest memories of my life. There is no good reason for this. I was not at the doomed launch; I didn’t know anyone onboard the craft; and Christa McAuliffe was not my teacher. Rather, it just so happened that the story of the Shuttle’s demise, seventy-three seconds after liftoff, interrupted my cartoons, and I ended up watching endless replays of the midair explosion.
Later, my dad – utilizing our brand-new VCR in ways that seem quaint today – recorded the footage. My brother and I rewatched it so often that we could recite all the lines spoken by Mission Control, the Shuttle itself, and NASA public affairs, right down to the understated conclusion: “Obviously a major malfunction.” In one of those flukes of memory, the Challenger’s death imprinted itself on my consciousness, where it never really left.
Given this background, I snapped up Adam Higginbotham’s Challenger the moment it came available. My expectations for it were enormous. After all, in his excellent Midnight in Chernobyl, Higginbotham showed that he has a deft touch with the disasters of 1986. Having concluded, I can truly say that my hopes were met – and often exceeded – in this epic saga of high technology, executive agency politics, and bureaucratic incompetence.
***
Despite its title, Challenger is about a lot more than the abruptly terminated flight of STS-51-L, the 25th mission of NASA’s Shuttle program. In fact, it starts all the way back in 1967, with the launchpad fire that killed Apollo I astronauts Virgil Grissom, Edward White, and Roger Chafee. From there, Higginbotham moves forward through time, showing how the seeds of eventual disaster were planted, tended by ineptitude, and finally bore a deadly crop nineteen years later, in the skies over the Atlantic Ocean.
To that end, Challenger’s 450-pages of text are broken into three large sections. The first broadly covers the end of the Apollo Program, and the knotty question of what’s next? that NASA had to answer to remain in business. The second section involves the genesis of the Space Shuttle Program, born of the dream of a reusable spacecraft that could make routine flights to space and back, thereby decreasing costs and normalizing travel outside of our globe. The final section covers the loss of the Challenger, and the search for answers from a once-transparent agency that now sought to cover its backside.
***
The backbone of the narrative is the checkered career of the Space Shuttle. According to Higginbotham, the Space Shuttle became the most complicated machine ever constructed. With so many moving parts, there were numerous points of failure, all of which were subjected to enormous physical stresses. Two points in particular would eventually result in calamity: the delicate carbon-carbon heat tiles covering the underside of the shuttle, which would absorb the fantastical furnace of reentry; and the O-ring seals at the joints of the Shuttle’s solid rocket booster, which were meant to keep hot gasses from escaping.
As he did with Midnight in Chernobyl, Higginbotham does a masterful job explaining the technologies involved. He finds that exquisite balance between too much detail and not enough. I am not – you may have gathered – a rocket scientist. Yet I felt like I understood the basic mechanics of Morton Thiokol’s solid rocket boosters, how they worked, and the deadly flaw woven into the powerful engines.
***
Beyond the hardware, Higginbotham embraces many other topics of interest, including the labyrinthine decision-making process employed by NASA; the fraught relationship between management and engineers, especially between NASA managers and the private contractors from Morton Thiokol who constructed the solid rocket boosters; the recruitment of black and female astronauts into a world once dominated by white test pilots with crew cuts; and the sustained public relations campaign waged by NASA, culminating in the Teacher in Space Project.
Expertly threaded into this tale is the lives of the Challenger Seven: Francis Scobee; Michael J. Smith; Ronald McNair; Ellison Onizuka; Judith Resnik; Gregory Jarvis; and Christa McAuliffe. The crew represented a new breed of astronaut. These were not the drunk driving quasi-assholes of Tom Wolfe’s The Right Stuff, the hotshot products of an only-recently desegregated military. Instead, they were extremely smart, extremely high functioning, but also chosen for their abilities to get along with others in close quarters, a long, long way from home.
They also – it should be noted – represented a true cross-section of the United States, with a black man, an Asian-American man, and two women part of the crew. Thus, when the craft came apart at an altitude of 46,000 feet, it truly seemed that America itself had blown apart.
***
To me, Higginbotham’s long leadup to the actual disaster – it takes him 300 pages to get to January 1986 – is a virtue, not a flaw. It answered all the questions I had, while presenting a compelling story that is emotionally engaging, intellectually satisfying, and more than a little infuriating. This is done with strong prose, an elegant structure that seamlessly combines all the different elements mentioned above, and Higginbotham’s signature research, which is collected in 62 pages of annotated notes.
I recognize, however, that my big-book bias is not shared by all. Accordingly, it’s worth mentioning. If you’re looking for a concise and streamlined take, this is not it.
***
A single thought kept recurring as I made my way through Challenger: how many geniuses does it take to kill seven Americans on live television? Turns out, it’s quite a lot. The men and women who played roles in the destruction of both the Challenger and Columbia were not evil. They were part of a process in which high risks became acceptable ones. Aeronautical engineers talk about an aircraft’s “flight envelope,” representing the operational limits for safe flight. When a craft goes outside its envelope, problems follow. What Higginbotham describes – with a thrilling, forensic deconstruction – is problems with the “thought envelope,” especially among senior members of management.
For them, each close call – and there were several – gave them more confidence, when it should have given them less. Each time the Shuttle went up and came down, despite scorched O-rings or falling insulation or damaged heat tiles, they became more certain that nothing would go wrong, rather than recognizing that things were already going wrong, in very serious ways.
There is – of course – inherent risk in space travel, as there is inherent risk in everything we do in life, whether it’s cross the street, drive a car, or eat fast food. When you are riding 500 tons of propellant at Mach 1.92, things can go south. Nevertheless, the Space Shuttle program eventually reached a point where the odds of a lethal event – “loss of vehicle, mission, and crew” in the sterile parlance of NASA – were estimated to occur once every eighteen to thirty missions.
Upper management tweaked these numbers, and ignored their implications, because to acknowledge them meant the end of the Shuttle Program, and perhaps the end of NASA.
***
Today, NASA is moving forward with the Artemis Program, a successor to the Space Shuttle that has a design not unlike Apollo. I have no idea how that is progressing, and Higginbotham makes no comment about it. I wish it the best, though, because I feel like America loses something if it entirely cedes space to China, Russia, or a private corporation. There is something inspiring about flinging oneself boldly at the stars.
Even if things go wrong sometimes.
The Challenger Seven did not want to die in a horrific chain of events that tore their orbiter to pieces, and slammed them into the ocean with dismembering force. Certainly, they did not deserve to die. Ultimately, though, they were willing to risk death for the rare opportunity – granted to an infinitesimal fraction of a fraction of a fraction of all those who’ve ever lived – to look back on earth from the heavens.