The Nelson Pulpit

The skies were clear and the sun shone on the cold morning of January
28, 1986. Kennedy Space Center was busy preparing the launch of
Mission 51-L. This was one of the most publicized launches because it
was the first time that a civilian, a schoolteacher, was going into
space.

Seventy-three seconds into flight, and eight miles above the earth,
the Challenger exploded, killing all seven of its crew.

All over the country, the millions watching that awful bloom spread
across their television screens realized that something had gone wrong
before they heard the voice of Mission Control: "Obviously . . . a
major malfunction."

The crew of the space shuttle Challenger honored us by the manner in
which they lived their lives. We will never forget them, nor the last
time we saw them, that morning, as they prepared for the journey and
waved goodbye and "slipped the surly bonds of earth to touch the face
of God."

People are always coming up to me at office parties and church socials
and other gatherings and saying to me, "Mr. Nelson... I find your
writing style to be incisive and entertaining, in spite of your
obviously sub-standard spelling ability and your loose adherence to
the rules of grammar. But tell me, why is it you're such a stick in
the mud, always carping and complaining and carrying on? Do you suffer
from some as-of-yet unresolved childhood trauma, or are you really
that much of a niggling asshole?"
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