Learning from the hard lessons of the Challenger
“I decided that that’s better than thinking about what could’ve been and should’ve been—is to make sure it never happens again.”
- Allan McDonald, Former Director of the Space Shuttle Solid Rocket Motor Project, Morton Thiokol
Do you remember where you were on January 28, 1986?
I will never forget.
It’s that way for most big tragedies, I suppose.
Where were you when you heard about the Space Shuttle Challenger exploding not even two minutes after liftoff?
I remember where I was and the date of the tragedy, and I can tell you how many years it’s been off the top of my head, because the Challenger exploded exactly one month after my wedding day.
While I don’t shy away from talking about hard things, I want to be clear before I go any further that I am by no means trying to find a bright side to this horrible tragedy.
But I do have a tendency to ask this question when it comes to difficult things:
What can we learn from this?
I find at least three powerful lessons from the 1986 space shuttle disaster.
Having just immersed myself this evening in a variety of videos, discussions and data about the Challenger disaster, I have had a quick technical enlightenment as well as some philosophical revelations that might indeed be beneficial, whether you’ll ever work for NASA or not.
As is my custom, here are some of the lessons I see:
One part of the whole always matters.
Communication plays a role in every success…and every disaster.
Taking time to figure out what went wrong is worthwhile.
One part of the whole always matters
According to a NASA document, the unique vehicle system that we refer to as the “space shuttle” is made up of about 2.5 million moving parts. In the subsequent and thorough investigation into what happened to cause the dreadful result of that mission, it was determined that a “seal on one of its boosters failed and hot gas burned through the external tank, igniting the propellants and causing the shuttle to break up in the resulting explosion.”
“A seal”—one part—mattered a lot that day.
If the parts of the shuttle were made into animated characters for a movie, I kind of doubt that the O-ring seal would be cast in a starring role. Completely hidden inside the solid fuel booster, who even knew it was there? Probably just the design team. After the accident? Everyone. Whether the part was known or seen, it was a vital part of the construction of this amazing craft.
It’s easy for us to feel like that one part of 2.5 million sometimes. We may convince ourselves that our roles, our jobs, our gifts, our talents, are insignificant in the whole scheme of things. But what we cannot know is what part we will play in the big picture the Designer has in mind.
It seems to me that the best choice is to do the best we can in our roles, our jobs…and with our gifts and our talents. In each successful orbit we make around the sun, we impact others in ways seen and unseen, known and unknown—to us; but always known to God.
Don’t ever let yourself feel insignificant. Whether you’re one in 2.5 million or 2.5 gazillion, you are part of a whole and you matter.
Communication plays a role in every success…and every disaster
On January 27, 1986, the night before launch, Allan McDonald, director of the Space Shuttle Solid Rocket Motor Project for the engineering contractor Morton Thiokol, refused to sign the launch recommendation over safety concerns. He played a key role in the investigations and paid for his unpopular objection with his job.
He wrote a book called "Truth, Lies, and O-Rings" to shed light on the story behind the story of how the disaster happened.
An article from NASA’s Langley Research Center’s website* stated:
In his book and lecture, McDonald talks about being removed from his job and demoted in the wake of the Challenger incident. His decision to tell the truth was not taken well by his employers. But the Presidential commission eventually vindicated McDonald, who chose to stay on with Morton Thiokol. He was reinstated to his position and put in charge of the redesign and requalification of the solid rocket motors.
“I decided that that’s better than thinking about what could’ve been and should’ve been—is to make sure it never happens again,” he said. “And I felt very good about that.”
The resulting improvements led to 110 shuttle missions in which the boosters came back pristine. McDonald says that because of the improvements, shuttle astronauts felt that the boosters were the safest piece of equipment on the shuttle. That was a rewarding result for McDonald, of course, but also emotionally therapeutic in light of the Challenger accident.
McDonald, who retired from ATK Thiokol Propulsion in 2001 as vice president and technical director for advanced technology programs, discussed some of the important lessons that have come out his experiences. He placed particular emphasis on communication.
“In my career, I don’t know how many times people have raised their hand and said, ‘This may be a dumb question, but…’ I always stood up and said, ‘In my entire career I’ve never, ever heard a dumb question. I’ve heard a lot of dumb answers,” he said.
He also emphasized the importance of feeling comfortable speaking up and offering one’s professional opinion. He illustrated that point—and laced it with a bit of humor—when discussing his fateful choice not to sign the launch recommendation.
“I made the smartest decision I made in my lifetime—I’d say second smartest if my wife was here,” he said.
I agree wholeheartedly with McDonald’s statement about asking questions and speaking up. It’s possible there are those around me, who wish I weren’t such an advocate for open communication; but I see in families and in organizational life too many instances of silence that lead to problems, and that silence usually happens when people do not want to stir up conflict.
The problem is, even if you don’t stir it, it’s still there. You might as well stir it up a bit to see what you’re really dealing with.
I have been to meetings—at work, at church—where I spoke up and felt pretty alone doing it. And then after the meeting, people would come up to me and say, “I’m so glad you said something.”
While I appreciate the affirmation, what I always want to say back to them is, “Why didn’t you say something, too?!?”
How much more positive change might happen if more people would find the courage to communicate, especially when things are difficult? Plus, a lot more disasters could be avoided.
Taking time to figure out what went wrong is worthwhile
Finding out the cause of what happened to the Challenger could not bring back the seven people who perished that day. But figuring out what happened and working to prevent it was one of the most important things that could have been done to honor their loss, so that such preventable disasters could indeed be prevented in the future.
I once had lunch with two women who went to my high school. Although we didn’t know each other well back then, we knew lots of people in common, and over lunch we talked about our friend circles to see where there was overlap.
The conversation made me think of my friend Peggy, and I said somewhat wistfully to my lunch mates, “I was really close to Peggy for a good part of high school, but then something just seemed to happen, and it wasn’t the same. I never did figure out what went wrong.”
I wish Peggy were the only person in my life about whom I could say that. I try not to live with eyes in the rearview mirror and a heart of regret, but if I knew then what I know now, I would not let a friend just drop out of friendliness without trying to figure out what went wrong.
I would want to learn if, perhaps, I had done something unintentionally or unknowingly that caused offense or hurt. Or if I had been calloused or inattentive. Or maybe I just missed some clues that there was something wrong and by not questioning it, she assumed I didn’t care about her. Regardless of the reason, I think it’s healthy to learn to provide a chance to improve.
But another reason to figure out what went wrong may be that they really still want to be in relationship but don’t know what to do. My initiative might be all it takes to restore a relationship. At the very least, my initiative gives a chance for me to affirm a person and let them know they are worthy and that they are cared for.
A lesson from Disney
In the 1998 remake of Disney’s "The Parent Trap," two long-divorced parents living on opposite sides of the ocean are at romantic dinner after their identical twin daughters’ mischievous plot brings them together.
Part of the conversation goes like this:
Nick Parker: You know, I may never be alone with you again. So about that day you packed, why’d you do it?
Elizabeth James: Oh, Nick. We were so young. We both had tempers, we said stupid things so I packed. Got on my very first 747, and you didn’t come after me.
Nick Parker: I didn’t know that you wanted me to.
So somewhere between “You didn’t come after me” and “I didn’t know you wanted me to,” four lives in the immediate family and countless others in their sphere of influence had their destiny changed. (I know, that’s a little melodramatic, but you get the point.)
Well, I guess I jumped to relationships for point number three about taking time to figure out what went wrong, but once again, it applies to organizations, projects, and of course, space shuttle launches.
What you fear can lead to disaster; what you face leads to hope
The longer I live, the more I see that consequences of feeling inconsequential, being silent when a voice is needed, and fearing finding out what went wrong, are far greater than they may seem.
I encourage you to know that no matter where you are in life, you matter; and your Designer, our loving God, has a purpose for you.
Know that good communication is worth the struggle and poor communication will have consequences.
And know that when things do go wrong, the best thing you can do is find out how and why and learn from it.
You never know, you might just save a life.
Nancy Z.
This post originally appeared on January 28, 2016, on The UpSide, a personal blog formerly hosted by Nancy Z.
*The original source article for this section is no longer available online.
