Sky High in Florida (twice)

Dabbling in little matters concerning outer space - 2 explosive experiences a quarter of a century apart

1998. Then

The rocket went up and up. A plume of smoke followed it. It was almost out of sight before it began to dip back. At that point a parachute should have slowed its descent, but it failed to open. We (the boys) watched in horror as the rocket started to plummet to earth. It was heading straight for an old man with a metal detector.

This was America, the land of the litigator. We froze, but the rocket did not. It kept falling. In the distance the space shuttle Discovery sat on its launch pad, hundreds of tons of fuel and metal straining to go into orbit. We had driven a hundred miles to join tens of thousands of others on the Florida coast to watch what television had for days been describing as a great historical event: John Glenn in space again – at the age of 77. All roads had become jammed and, hours before the launch, traffic had slowed to a crawl.

The action was at Titusville, an all-American town with clapper board houses, front porches, netball hoops on garages, the camper in the driveway; huge bill boards and fast food never far away. It is spread thinly along Highway One which snakes up the Florida east coast. The verges were lined with cars and buses. Flags festooned the central reservations and hung proudly from roof tops. Overhead the helicopters from the news corporations cruised up and down the coast, beaming pictures of us to the world. A small airship hovered above us.

Air force jets painted giant good luck messages in the sky. The natives, true to this home of free enterprise were cashing in. John Glenn T shirts, busts and badges were being sold from makeshift stalls and wheelbarrows. Small kids towed trucks full of coke (75 cents but free to police officers - they're investing for the future).

Every front garden was opened up for parking ($20 "and free use of our restroom"). The Fat Boy Barbecuerestaurant announced in large letters "Astronauts over 75 eat free".

At the same establishment I watched an altercation between customer and manager.

Customer: "You mean you don't begin lunch till 2.30. That's disgraceful...." [and I could feel that the next move was that he would be seeing his attorney about the matter]

Manager: "No, lunch is on now. They launch at 2.30"

Customer: "Launch after lunch. That's swell"

Manager: "Yes lunch then launch" With litigious thoughts fading he clasped his turkey sandwich and went back to the shoreline.

And what a launch it was: first a belch of vapour from the engines, then a huge surge of steam as the rocket blast lifted the shuttle and its boosters off the ground. It seemed to start so slowly, but then like an expensive Guy Fawkes rocket it shot into the air, trailing a massive wake of smoke. The flame from the engines was a rich golden colour, brighter than the sun, dazzling us as the entire contraption streaked into the air. Many seconds later its deep roar enveloped us.

Long after the shuttle had disappeared from sight, the crowds continued to applaud before eventually dispersing and causing traffic jams in the opposite direction.

Nine of us made the trip to Florida and we were "the boys" (the outnumbered males of the party): Tom (11), Nick (16) and me (fifty something). We were the ones who, while the girls were trying to find fashion bargains in Florida's ubiquitous factory outlet stores, discovered the rocket under a pile of Barbie dolls in a liquidation toy shop. This was the real thing, albeit in miniature form. It had a real rocket motor packed with explosives and claimed it could reach 1000 feet. With the same care as NASA scientists we set about assembling the mechanism, carefully connecting wires, slotting on fins, erecting the launch tower.

The next problem was the launch site. The country has plenty of open spaces but in Florida they are either full of alligator infested swamps or  surrounded by high fences and have menacing notices pinned to them warning, in no uncertain terms, that trespassers will be shot (or that at least seemed to be the implication).

Our first chosen spot was in the middle of what looked deceptively like a village green in a neat  township. Nobody seemed to notice as we set up the tower, connected the detonator and started the countdown.

The first three attempts failed when nothing happened, but on the fourth, the rocket joyfully leapt into the air. It was then that we noticed the golf carts. Converging from different directions was a posse, driven by people who made John Glenn seem like a youngster. With thoughts of a shoot out never far from our minds we retrieved the rocket and made ourselves scarce.  But that still left us with three unused rocket motors, and no chance of taking them on our flight back to England without the risk of putting us and the rest of the passengers into orbit. The search for a golf free launch site proved elusive and, came the last day of our vacation we still had the rocket. The solution was elegant and obvious. There was time to carry out our last launch between checking our baggage and returning our car to the hire company. Airports have clear skies and plenty of open spaces.

Found another site. Jammed the remaining three tubes of rocket fuel into the fuselage. Counted down. Pressed the button. Worked first time. Not the Shuttle, but with extra fuel, close to the real thing.

Fortunately it missed the man with a metal detector, but it buried itself so deep in the ground that we had to leave it there.

Happily, the shuttle had come down more gently a few days later, even though it too had lost its parachute. On our way back to the terminal we passed the launch site. The metal detector man was still there, but who was that with the uniform and the gun, and why was a Sheriff car parked nearby with its lights lazily flashing? A coincidence maybe, but nonetheless the boys sunk down in our seats.

I can see it now -the sad report of the Solicitors Disciplinary Tribunal that Barr R E had been guilty of conduct unbecoming to wit: had wantonly launched sky rockets to the annoyance of Florida sheriffs and golfers. Penalty: all rockets to be confiscated and sentenced to do probate work for 6 months.

2024. Now

We were back on Highway 1, this time heading away from the delights of Disney. It was our last day – in fact the day after our last day as our flight home had been cancelled (an increasingly frequent occurrence apparently). It was Sunday. Along the Highway, billboards screamed at us alternately from lawyers to hand our damages cases to them and casinos encouraging us to spend our compensation. Interspersed were well maintained churches with full car parks.  

It was goodbye to America again after a long absence.

Only one of the little boys went to Florida this time. He is now a successful businessman. The other little boy was doing his own flying as he is now an airline captain. And the middle-aged man is now an old man.

We returned to Florida to do a special family Disney trip built around a disabled member of the family. Disney was err….. Disney, but included in our itinerary was a return visit to the Kennedy Space Centre where we were able to be up close and personal with a real Shuttle (and even be shaken about in a shuttle simulator).

Once again I marvelled at the Saturn V rocket that had delivered the first men on the moon. It seemed even bigger than it had first time round.

But it was the rocket launch at the end of the afternoon that really held our attention.

A Falcon 9 Rocket was due to blast off at 5.10 pm. The Kennedy space centre had arranged tiers of seats (they call them bleachers) so that we could all watch. They had also placed a large TV screen so that we could see the action live, though in the bright sunlight it was difficult to watch. There was tension as it could not take off in high winds and the threshold was quite close, but as the minutes ticked by it became clear that it was for real. At precisely 5.10 a glowing red streak shot into the sky on the other side of a row of power cables followed a few seconds later by a deep rumbling roar.

From our vantage point the take-off seemed no more impressive than our own venture into space in 1998.

Then it vanished from view, leaving only a puff of smoke to show that it had taken off here. 

As the rocket slipped the surly bonds of earth I did wonder whether I should have been invited to go up in it. After all I am, at 77, the right age. On the other hand, it was not carrying people and if I had been strapped to the outside I might have fallen back down with a nasty bump. Besides, our earlier attempts to get into space were decidedly less successful than those of John Glenn.