Return to Content

Christa McAuliffe's Messenger

Christa McAuliffe’s Messenger
6 votes, 4.83 avg. rating (94% score)
Print Friendly

The last time most people saw Grace Corrigan, she was looking skyward, her husband Ed beside her, in the bitter cold of a Florida morning, January 28, 1986. When Space Shuttle Challenger roared off the launch pad with six astronauts and their daughter Christa McAuliffe–a Concord, New Hampshire, high-school teacher and the first private citizen selected to experience space flight–aboard, Grace Corrigan was gripped with fear and pride and hope. All of those emotions tumbled out on her face in the cold, her cheeks brushed by her white fur coat, as she strained to follow the rocket. Then Mission Control announced, “Go at throttle up”–and, a heartbeat later, the sky erupted.

No picture captured the anguish of that moment more than the image of Grace and Ed Corrigan, holding each other, searching those chaotic clouds of billowing white smoke against the achingly blue sky. She is crying and in shock, and still you see the will to keep something together, to not believe what she’s seeing, to not believe the words her husband chokes out: “She’s gone. … She’s really gone.”

And now I sit facing Grace Corrigan, with Christa’s official NASA portrait on the wall behind me. “It just doesn’t seem possible that it’s 25 years. But it is,” she says. We’re in the living room of the home where she and her husband raised five children, in a family neighborhood in Framingham, Massachusetts. It’s a late-summer morning, and through the picture windows her lawn bustles with birds and squirrels. I see a wall covered with photographs, so many it’s as though family albums have emptied onto the wall.

Here are Grace’s parents, who died when she was a small child; her grandparents, who raised her; her husband, Ed, who died in 1990; her children; her grandchildren and great-grandchildren; and, of course, her firstborn, Christa: Christa as a baby, as a child, in Girl Scouts, in high school, in college; Christa the young wife, the mother, the teacher; Christa in astronaut garb, the woman who swept a country off its feet.

And there’s a photo of Grace herself, giving a commencement speech at Framingham State College (now University), the school from which both mother and daughter had graduated. “The commencement speech Christa was supposed to give,” Grace says. I look at the photo and ask, “How do you do it?”

She is well into her 80s now, but her voice is rich and animated, her eyes sparkling. I tell her that in the days before this visit, I watched videos of the Challenger on the Internet, and each time I heard “Go at throttle up,” my heart raced, and soon I couldn’t watch it anymore. So I ask, “How do you keep looking at that day?” She’s done that hundreds of times, speaking to thousands of teachers and children, almost within weeks of the day her daughter disappeared from her sight; writing A Journal for Christa; answering reporters’ questions on anniversaries; answering reporters’ questions when the crew of Space Shuttle Columbia died in 2003 (“I’m not doing very well,” she said then); and when Barbara Morgan (Christa’s alternate for the Challenger voyage) completed her successful shuttle mission in 2007.

On this day, for example, she has just come home from Huntsville, Alabama, home of Space Camp, just down the road from where Christa spent part of her training. “I haven’t even unpacked,” she says.

She laughs lightly, and her laugh has the timbre of a delicate bell. She returns every year to Space Camp for the special week when “Teachers of the Year” from across the country and around the world converge to explore the mysteries of space travel. Her speech reminds everyone that her daughter was neither astronaut nor thrill seeker. “I tell them that Christa was a teacher,” she says. “That was the most important job for her. When she came back, she was going to go back to teaching. This was the thrill of a lifetime for her, but she felt it was going to focus on education and that it would get the kids excited.”

I tell her I find it remarkable that she can do this for all these years; I say I doubt I could. She laughs gently. “You know how I do it? I know Christa would say, ‘Hey, Ma, I’m not here. It’s a good message. What did I give my life for? You know, I should be there doing it. I’m not. You can do it.'”

Christa’s mother smiles. “I just feel she was doing so much good for those kids,” she says. “If I can help, just by carrying her message, that’s what she was striving for. If you remember at that time, teachers had a bum rap, and she was trying to make everyone know they were important.” She looks at me with an expression that says, It’s clear why I do this.

“I had a good message,” she adds. “And my husband felt the same way. He did a lot of speaking with me, even though he was so ill. It was something we believed in, and we were doing it for her because she wasn’t there. You know, if we weren’t going to do it, who would? Who would make people stop and think, This is important? School is important. Teachers are important. It was something she just couldn’t finish. And those teachers down in Alabama were so pleased to hear the message. You know, I don’t go looking for it. But if a school calls and wants me to talk, there’s no way I should just sit home, not if I can still carry Christa’s message.”

I ask whether she has ever wanted to just stop, to do as others close to Christa have done, to close the curtain on that time.

“Oh,” Grace says, “in my family, everybody was in pain. I mean everybody. I knew they probably wished I’d just left it alone. But look at it this way: It happened. There was nothing I could do about it. I couldn’t take it back. So I did what I thought she’d want. Nobody else agreed with me. I didn’t explain myself to anybody. I did what I wanted to do. And Christa would have done what she wanted to do. I haven’t regretted it. I know I helped make people feel good.”

I go with Grace to see the Challenger Learning Center at Framingham State University. The director, Mary Liscombe, was Christa’s college classmate, and the women hug. “I feel Christa on my shoulder every day,” Mary says. She guides me through the center, shows me how students work together in a simulation, landing on Mars and returning to Earth. “There are no failures on these missions,” she says. Later I e-mail her; I ask her what I first asked Christa’s mother.

Please Note: This information was accurate at the time of publication. When planning a trip, please confirm details by directly contacting any company or establishment you intend to visit.

Give the Gift of Yankee Magazine and get a Gift in Return!

Send a one-year gift subscription of Yankee Magazine for only $17.99 a 50% savings. In return we will send you a free 2016 Scenes of New England Calendar (a $9.95 value)!


No comments yet.

Leave a Reply

We reserve the right to remove or edit comments that are offensive or disrespectful to our readers and/or writers, cannot be verified, lack clarity, or contain profanity. Your comments may be republished by Yankee Magazine across multiple platforms.

Register Sign In

©2015, Yankee Publishing Inc. All Rights Reserved.
Yankee Publishing Inc., | P.O. Box 520, Dublin, NH 03444 | (603) 563-8111

< Prev

Annie B. Copps on the TODAY Show

Yankee food editor Annie B. CoppsTune in to the TODAY show on Friday morning, December 24, when Yankee Magazine's food ...

Related Articles

Next >