motion
n. a movement
narrative
n. sth. told as a story
obit
n. =obituary 讣告
option
n. sth. offered for choice 选择
orbit
n. the path travelled by an object such as a spacecraft which is moving around another much bigger object such as the Earth
orbiter
n. =space shuttle orbiter 航天飞机的载人载货舱
originally
adv. in the beginning
pad
n. launch ～: a base from which a rocket or missile is sent up into the sky
paralyze
v. to make sb. unable to move part or all of their body or to feel anything in it
periodically
adv. happening at regular times; happening repeatedly
plume
n. a small cloud of smoke which rises up into the air
profile
n. a short description that gives impressive details about a person 个人简介
puff
n. a sudden small movement of wind, air, or smoke
punch
v. ～ in: to put information into a computer by pressing buttons or keys
rattle
v. to shake with quick repeated knocking noises
resume
v. to go back to the position where it was before
scanner
n. 通常指扫描器，这里指记者用以监听特定频率上某一场所或某些人群谈话的无线电接收器
shuttle
n. a spacecraft that can fly into space and return to Earth and can be used more than once 穿梭机；航天飞机
site
n. a place where sth. important happened or is happening
skyward
adv. up in the direction of the sky
spacecraft
n. a vehicle able to travel in space 宇宙飞船
sparkle
v. to shine in small bright flashes
spotlight
n. a light with a very bright beam which can be directed at sb. or sth. 聚光灯
steam
n. the mist formed by boiling water
subconsciously
adv. having feelings and desires hidden in your mind that you are not aware of 下意识地
tank
n. a large container for storing liquid or gas
thunder
v. ～ to life: to start working with a loud noise
trailer
n. a vehicle that can be pulled behind a car used for living and sleeping in during a holiday
twin
adj. being two things closely resembling each other
veer
v. to change direction suddenly
vertical
adj. pointing directly upwards in a line and an angle of 90 degrees with the ground
virtually
adv. almost
wheel
v. ～ about: to turn around suddenly
Proper Names
Judy Resnik
朱迪·雷斯尼克
Kennedy
肯尼迪
Al Rossiter Jr.
小阿尔·罗西特
Christa McAuliffe
克丽斯塔·麦考利夫
Harris
哈里斯
Trott
特罗特
Text A
Space Shuttle Challenger
William Harwood
Read the text once for the main idea. Do not refer to the notes, dictionaries or the glossary yet.
I witnessed the launch from the Kennedy Space Center press site just 4.2 miles from Pad 39B. It was my 19th shuttle launch but my first without the comforting presence of UPI Science Editor Al Rossiter Jr., a space veteran with all of the experience I lacked.
I arrived at the UPI trailer around 11:30 p.m. Monday night, Jan. 27. I always came to work before the start of fueling on the theory that any time anyone loaded a half-million gallons of liquid oxygen and liquid hydrogen into anything it was an event worth staffing.
It was bitterly cold that night. I remember turning on the drafty UPI trailer's heaters in a futile attempt to warm up while I started banging out copy. I was writing for afternoon newspapers that would hit the streets the following afternoon. Because Challenger's launch was scheduled for that morning, the PM cycle was the closest thing to "live" reporting that print journalists ever experience... I had written my launch copy the day before and, as usual, I spent most of the early morning hours improving the story, checking in periodically with NASA public affairs and monitoring the chatter on the bureau's radio scanner. I would occasionally glance toward the launch pad where Challenger stood bathed in high power spotlights, clearly visible for dozens of miles around. Off to the side, a brilliant tongue of orange flame periodically flared in the night as excess hydrogen was let out harmlessly into the atmosphere.
As night gave way to day, the launch team was struggling to keep the countdown on track. Problems had delayed fueling and launch, originally scheduled for 9:38 a.m., for two hours, to make sure no dangerous accumulations of ice had built up on Challenger's huge external tank. Finally, all systems were "go" and the countdown resumed at the T minus nine-minute mark for a liftoff at 11:38 a.m. Battling my usual pre-launch nervousness, I called UPI national desk editor Bill Trott in Washington about three minutes before launch. I had already filed the PM launch story to UPI's computer and Trott now called it up on his screen. We shot the breeze. I reminded him not to push the SEND button until I confirmed vertical motion; two previous launches were aborted at the last second and we didn't want to accidentally "launch" a shuttle on the wire when it was still firmly on the ground. But there were no such problems today. Challenger's three main engines thundered to life on schedule, shooting out blue-white fire and enormous clouds of steam. Less than seven seconds later, the shuttle's twin boosters ignited with a ground-shaking roar and the spacecraft rose skyward.
"And liftoff... liftoff of the 25th space shuttle mission, and it has cleared the tower!" said NASA commentator Hugh Harris.
"OK, let it go," I told Trott when Harris started talking. He pushed the SEND button and my story winged away on the A-wire.
Four miles away. Challenger was climbing majestically into a cloudless blue sky. We could not see the initial puffs of smoke indicating a fatal booster flaw. A few seconds later, the crackling roar of those boosters swept over the press site and the UPI trailer started shaking and rattling as the ground shock arrived. I marveled at the view, describing it to Trott in Washington. We always kept the line open for the full eight-and-a-half minutes it took for a shuttle to reach orbit; should disaster strike, the plan went, I would start dictating and Trott would start filing raw copy to the wire.
But for the first few seconds, there was nothing to say. The roar was so loud we couldn't hear each other anyway. But the sound quickly faded to a dull rumble as Challenger wheeled about and arced over behind its booster exhaust plume, disappearing from view. NASA television, of course, carried the now-familiar closeups of the orbiter, but I wasn't watching television. I was looking out the window at the exhaust cloud towering into the morning sky.
"Incredible," I murmured.
And then, in the blink of an eye, the exhaust plume seemed to balloon outward, to somehow thicken. I recall a fleeting impression of fragments, of debris flying about, sparkling in the morning sunlight. And then, in that pregnant instant before the knowledge that something terrible has happened settled in, a single booster emerged from the cloud, corkscrewing madly through the sky.
I sat stunned. I couldn't understand what I was seeing.
"Wait a minute... something's happened..." I told Trott. A booster? Flying on its own? Oh my God. "They're in trouble," I said, my heart pounding. "Lemme dictate something!"
"OK, OK, hang on," Trott said. He quickly started punching in the header material of a one-paragraph "story" that would interrupt the normal flow of copy over the wire and alert editors to breaking news.
I still didn't realize Challenger had actually exploded. I didn't know what had happened. For a few heartbeats, I desperately reviewed the crew's options: Could the shuttle somehow have pulled free? Could the crew somehow still be alive? Had I been watching television, I would have known the truth immediately.
But I wasn't watching television.
"Ready," Trott said.
The lead went something like this: "The space shuttle Challenger apparently exploded about two minutes after launch today and veered wildly out of control. The fate of the crew is not known."
"Got it..." Trott said, typing as I talked. Bells went off seconds later as the story starting clattering out on the bureau's A-wire printer behind me.
Trott and I quickly corrected the time of the accident and clarified that Challenger had, in fact, suffered a catastrophic failure. While we did not yet know what had happened to the crew, we all knew the chances for survival were virtually zero.
For the next half hour or so, I simply dictated my impressions and background to Trott, who would file three or four paragraphs of "running copy" to the wire at a time. At one point, I remember yelling "Obits! Tell somebody to refile the obits!" Before every shuttle mission, I wrote detailed profiles of each crew member. No one actually printed these stories; they were written to serve as instant obits in the event of a disaster. Now, I wanted to refile my profiles for clients who had not saved them earlier. At some point — I have no idea when — I put the phone down and started typing again, filing the copy to Washington where Trott assembled all the pieces into a more or less coherent narrative.
For the next two hours or so I don't remember anything but the mad rush of reporting. Subconsciously, I held the enormity of the disaster at bay; I knew if I relaxed my guard for an instant it could paralyze me. I was flying on some kind of mental autopilot. And then, around 2 p.m. or so, I recall a momentary lull. My fingers dropped to the keyboard and I stared blankly out the window toward the launch pad. I saw those seven astronauts. I saw them waving to the photographers as they headed for the launch pad. I remembered Christa McAuliffe's smile and Judy Resnik's flashing eyes. Tears welled up. I shook my head, blinked rapidly and turned back to my computer. I'll think about it all later, I told myself. I was right. I think about it every launch.
