Where Was I When I Heard? School, Of Course.

The moment is etched and always will be.

Strange how certain events leave us with automatic memories: JFK, 9-11. And if you're an educator, particularly if you're one, it's today, January 28.

Because in 1986, on this day, the first teacher in space died. The Challenger's O-rings cracked, the fuel leaked out and ignited, and the seven astronauts went up in a horrific ball of flame in full sight of spectators just over a minute after liftoff.

People bring it back every year. They bring it back because a teacher, Christa McAuliffe, died going into space. A teacher would have returned with the best classroom lessons ev-er. There was excitement about it beforehand; the Reagan administration had finally cleared the way. We regarded it with such significance--not only a teacher, but a female. Everyone thought that was totally cool.

I learned about it from a late guidance counselor. It was during one of the lunch sessions. I had decided, in a rare departure from routine, to head down to the office to pick something out of my mailbox.

He was in the back of the office area, next to the copy machine. He saw me and knew I would like to know. "The space shuttle blew up," he said.

I started chuckling, waiting for the punch line. He sure looked dead-panned. "Oh, yeah?" I blurted with an expectation of it.

"No. It blew up," he said quietly.

I don't recall my immediate reaction, but it would have been something like OMG. I walked into the faculty lunchroom, up a couple of hallways.

Lunch time in a faculty room is usually a time of chatter, and probably not about the kids; it's a few minutes to step away from them. You usually talk about the kids during prep periods, when there's more time to flesh out things and get details. The chatter is normally upbeat and quickly stated, much like the pace of the rest of the day. There is laughter and heads shaking. But there is fast eating, too; nobody who has taught for more than a year will tell you that they find it easy to return to eating with a leisurely pace.

Not that day. Food went down slowly. I entered the room and nobody said a word. Teachers like talking to kids, to each other. It takes a lot to stun a bunch of them into silence.

But here's the part that I always found disconcerting and quite disappointing: It took quite a few years to get another teacher up into space. The naming of Christa McAuliffe came after a nationwide search and intense competition, so there must have been a few, even more than a few, teachers who were probably just as qualified as she had been. As obviously good as she was, it's difficult for me to believe that she was that far out in front of the second- or third- or fourth-best candidate.

Why didn't NASA send another teacher up into space as soon as it could, maybe even the next shuttle launch (though that took a while after intensive investigation)? Of all the tributes to McAuliffe, that might have been the best: Life goes on, science goes on, learning goes on. The bell rings, the door closes, and off we go again--just like it does every day in every classroom.

With the long delay, it had the feel that the original thing was something of a stunt. It diminished, instead of increased, respect for teaching. It gave it a label that became more garishly repelling with each year, connecting it with tragedy instead of what happens in science: Sometimes you fail. Then you pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and start all over again. Yes, it had the ultimate price. But we did go on, even losing another shuttle and its passengers in 2003.

There should be a teacher on every shuttle. Then, after a safe return, hold a classroom press conference where they would just, well, conduct class and say: Here's what happened. Here's what it means. Here's what we don't know yet but will if we keep going. I mean, is this cool, or what? Now, think-pair-share: Take two minutes, write down your first thoughts about the possibilities, and share that with the person next to you. We'll ask you what you've come up with.

Think reporters wouldn't dig that? Would be one great science class. And history. Science has a history, too, you know. Making it's pretty fun, I bet. I recently watched a NOVA show about the Cassini Project, which found unknown matter and atmosphere on Saturn. Watching the faces of those scientists was probably the most interesting: They missed the work, the team feeling, and wonder of it all. They teared up when recalling the eventual crashing of the spacecraft into the Saturnian surface. They were most alive when they were learning the most and had lost themselves within it.

It's still at the peak of the human experience, of life itself. We all need more of that, when learning helps us soar to the stars as Christa McAuliffe and those other astronauts showed us. With all else dragging us down, maybe we could answer our wonderings about fascinatingly uninhabitable planets we'll never see.

Who knows? It might help us reconsider what we need to do in saving our own.

Be well. Be careful. I'll see you down the road.


Mister Mark