Gabby_ A Story of Courage and Hope - Alison Hanson [116]
There were fifteen hundred requests for media credentials at the launch, in large part because of Gabby’s presence. Journalists kept asking Gabby’s congressional staffers how she was doing. Their answers were true: She was extremely excited to be there. Just the fact that she was able to make it to the launch was an uplifting story. But those feel-good stories were only part of the picture. They couldn’t possibly convey all the emotions Gabby was experiencing—that her excitement at times was tinged with sadness, and even despair.
Those escorting Gabby to and from various events around the Kennedy Space Center learned to make sure there were predetermined restroom breaks. One stop was at a police station in Cocoa Beach. Gloria told me that what seemed like the entire force came out to say hi to Gabby. Gloria wrote in an e-mail: “As we were leaving, a new face appeared—a bike cop. While Darlene and I have differing opinions on what color his eyes were, we both noticed his physique. He said hello to Gabby, and she responded, ‘Hot Daddy!’ He really was a hottie.”
I read that e-mail, alone in my quarters. It would be an interesting wrinkle in our story if I returned from my sixteen days in space and Gabby had run off with a bike cop.
Before each shuttle mission, there typically would be a barbecue for the entire crew and a small group of family and friends. (All attendees first had a physical to make sure they were healthy.) For the STS-134 barbecue, each of us got to bring five guests. I brought Gabby, Gloria, Claudia, Claire, and Pia.
As commander, I emceed the evening. I invited everyone to stand up and introduce themselves. At previous missions, Gabby liked to ask people to talk about the first concert they attended. “I won’t make you all do that,” I said, and Gabby laughed.
We toasted all our loved ones who had supported us. We toasted for a safe flight. Then, as the get-together was ending, I asked Gabby, “What do you think? Do you want to go see the shuttle on the launchpad?”
“Yes!” she said.
“OK, it’s a good thing your hair is now short, because we’re taking my convertible,” I said.
By tradition, NASA rented convertibles for astronauts to drive around Kennedy Space Center in the days before their flights. NASA got a good government rate, and it was nice for us to have a car available. For this mission, NASA got us all matching silver Chrysler Sebring convertibles. (In the glory days of the space program, back in the 1960s and 1970s, astronauts were able to lease Corvettes for a dollar a year because Chevy dealers liked having them on the road, showing off their products. Those days are long gone.)
Gabby’s nurse helped her into the front seat of the car. Gloria and the Capitol Police supervisor, Lu Cochran, hopped in the back. (Like Gabby, they’d been given medical clearance to be with me.) We took off, fast, with Aerosmith’s “Dream On” on the car radio and Endeavour and its launchpad tower rising ahead of us.
When we showed up at the gate, the security officer was surprised to see me. “You can’t drive all the way up to the pad,” he said. I told him I’d just do a loop or two around the inside perimeter. He let me through.
It was a blast as we sped around the shuttle with the wind in our faces. Gabby’s close-cropped hair was undisturbed, and she loved looking up at Endeavour, just hanging there off the side of the big orange external fuel tank and the solid rocket boosters. Seeing the space shuttle up close at the pad is always an awe-inspiring experience.
Later, I got a call from one of my managers at NASA. She had heard I was driving around the launchpad and wanted to know why. That was a time when technicians were fueling the orbital maneuvering engines, and it was considered a hazardous operation. Unessential vehicles