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By Rex Walheim ’84 On my recent Space Shuttle flight, there were two people from Stanford on my crew. You might think this would provide ample opportunity for me--a highly partisan Cal grad--to get in a few jabs at their suspect educational background. However, I wasn’t always in the most advantageous position to do so. On my first space walk, for example, I was attached by my feet at the very end of a 58-foot robotic arm. This arm moved me around to all the different work sites, often in close proximity to very large metal objects. And who was driving that robot arm? Stanford grad number one. My spacewalking partner, who visually verified I had clearance between these large metal objects, was Stanford crewmate number two. So even if a great zinger came to mind, I figured I should bite my tongue or they might smack some sense into me very quickly. But, of course, now that I am safely back on the ground, and the Axe is back at Cal, my Stanford cohorts have heard plenty from me. Let me share with you some of the things I learned on my path to becoming an astronaut. The first thing I learned was that things don’t always go according to plan. After I graduated from Cal and was commissioned as a second lieutenant, I thought I had everything pretty well mapped out. I was going to go to Air Force pilot training, fly fighter jets for a while, become a test pilot, and then try to be an astronaut. This grand plan went perfectly for about two weeks. One of the first things they do at pilot training is to give you a physical. I had passed military physicals before, but this time the doctors said I had a heart murmur, which might cause problems in high-performance jets. It was enough to eliminate me from pilot training--my lifelong dream of becoming a pilot was in tatters, right out of the gate. Becoming an astronaut was obviously out of the question. Fortunately, I had an engineering degree from the greatest university in the world to rely on, so I took a new career path as an Air Force engineer and was sent to North Dakota, where I was assigned to a small missile warning radar site near the Canadian border, 15 miles from a town of 1,500 people. We were definitely out in the sticks. Some of the Air Force folks were miserable up there in North Dakota and they let everyone know it. But I decided to make the best of it. I enjoyed the outdoors, went on hikes in the country or skiing (when it was warm enough), and worked with the youth group of a tiny church. Most importantly, even though it seemed like a dead end, I did my job as best as I could.
After North Dakota, I decided to try to become a flight test engineer. A flight test engineer flies in the back seat of jets and helps the test pilot evaluate the aircraft and its systems. As a backseater, I could get a waiver for my heart murmur. But the first time I applied, I wasn’t accepted. I worked harder, and was accepted two years later. When I went to get my medical waiver, an interesting thing happened--the doctors said I didn’t have a heart murmur. Their equipment was better, they said, and their criteria had changed. So, seven years after I was eliminated from pilot training, I finally had the opportunity to fly in the supersonic Air Force jets I had always dreamed of. In my new career, I was doing something I truly loved, and I was able to gain the experience that NASA looks for in applicants. But it is still a little daunting to take the final step and submit an astronaut application. I could easily have come up with a lot of excuses--the odds are so long, the paperwork is a hassle, and so on--but I decided to try. Once again, I wasn’t accepted. It was hard to motivate myself to go through the whole process a second time, but I knew that if I didn’t apply at least once more, for the rest of my life I would have to wonder, “what if....” So I went through the blizzard of paperwork, the medical tests, and the grueling interview process yet again. Then, early one morning in April 1996, I got a phone the call from NASA to tell me I had been selected to join the astronaut corps. When I achieved my goal and was flying on the Space Shuttle, you might think that my time in exile would not even come to mind. But one day during our flight I noticed we were flying over North Dakota. My crewmates weren’t tremendously impressed, but I grabbed a camera and was snapping pictures right and left. I had a lot of fond memories of my time in North Dakota--even though it was difficult, it had become a part of me. In your lives, you may end up in a place you don’t want to be or with a job you don’t want, but when you achieve your dreams, you too will look back at your personal version of North Dakota and think, “You know, that wasn’t so bad. I learned a lot, and it is part of what made me who I am.” I would like to close by sharing with you what it was like to take that last step. On the afternoon of April 8, 2002, I was strapped into the Space Shuttle Atlantis. The countdown had gone smoothly and now, at T minus two minutes, it was time to really focus. We closed our visors and turned on the oxygen to our spacesuits. As the countdown clock reached T minus six seconds, I could feel the three main engines start, and the vehicle rumbled. The computers made a final check on the health of the engines and, at T minus zero, our huge solid rocket boosters ignited. The Atlantis jumped off the pad with a jolt. I got a big surge of adrenaline as I realized this was it...we were really going! As we cleared the launch pad, I used a small mirror on my wrist to look out the window behind me. The scene was amazing. I watched in awe as the Florida coast dropped away. The brilliant blue Florida sky turned to pitch black in about a minute as we reached the upper atmosphere. The solid rocket boosters burned for about two minutes before they were jettisoned and fell down into the ocean. On TV it looks very serene as the boosters drop off gracefully, but inside the shuttle it was quite the opposite. There was a loud explosion as the connections to the rockets were severed; a fiery orange glow surrounded the vehicle, and the separation thrusters left a good splattering of rocket exhaust on our front windshield. Everyone felt a little more comfortable when the solid boosters were gone. The ride got a bit smoother, and the G-forces dropped off for a little while. The main engines continued to burn for another six and a half minutes, and the G-forces gradually built up to the highest level of the flight. A smile crossed my face when I noticed that we had passed 50 miles in altitude, which officially earned us our astronaut wings. As we approached the end of powered flight, the G-forces--three times the force of gravity--went straight into my chest. It became difficult to breathe, but I knew the end was in sight. Finally, our main engines shut down and we went from 3 Gs to zero G in an instant. We had gone from 0 to 17,500 mph in eight and a half minutes, and were now coasting at a comfortable Mach 25. It was hard to believe we were really in space. It was 18 years after my last all-nighters at Cal, but what a thrill it was to make my big dream come true. Although I had achieved my goal of becoming an astronaut, the path I took was one I never could have imagined. As you graduate, you are starting your own great adventure. It may not go exactly as you had planned; but, as my story shows, persistence can be more important than the path you take. |
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