How do you Know You’re Meeting a Crazy? You Don’t

Astronauts are the modern scientific celebrities of our time. They are the explorers into new terrains; they are the delegates of their country, the flag bearers, and the heroes. They go into space with no guarantee of ever coming back; we were reminded of that by the 1986 Space Shuttle Challenger crash, a disaster that resulted in the deaths of seven crew members. That in mind, astronauts perhaps can even be seen as dare devils. Six-year old “Tommy” says he’s going to be Evel Knievel when he grows up; “Michael”, Tommy’s friend, says he’s going to be Neil Armstrong (as if to one-up Tommy.) For whatever reason, almost everyone, at some point in their childhood, fantasizes about joining these elite ranks. Now to meet one of these heroes is almost like meeting a celebrity on the red carpet; a moment to glimpse and perhaps even talk to someone who had seen Earth as a god would, a large bluish green marble fired from somewhere in the eternal distance that is the universe. I stumbled into one of these meetings but little did I know what was to come a few weeks after that evening with the astronaut, Lisa Nowak.

My older sister, Kelly, had invited me to the National Women Service Academy Conference sometime in December or January of my senior year of high school. Kelly was in her “plebe” year at the United States Military Academy and since she had spent the previous year at a prep school in Marion, Alabama, our opportunities to spend time together were few. The conference brought female cadets from all of the service academies to Washington D.C. to hear the inspiring story of a graduate of the Naval Academy, attend a banquet, and escape for a little while from the regimen and structure that is Academy life. Kelly and I saw it as a means of seeing each other so I, a suburbanite of the metropolitan area, braved the traffic of I-95 in order to attend the conference and spend some time with my sister.

The conference took place at a new museum erected in order to honor women who have served in the armed forces. There, surrounded by busts of female soldiers who died in the line of duty, we ate crab cakes, salad, rolls, and cheesecake for dessert. A sea of women in uniform were our dinner companions. Many times that night, I was asked, “So are you going to West Point as well?” I just bit my lip to force back a sharp retort. I had heard that question many times before and it never ceased to irritate me. My dad is a West Point graduate of the class of 1979 and every time I’d reveal that to someone, the next question that they would pose to me, the high school senior, would inevitably be, “So are you going to West Point as well?” I would then shake my head emphatically, my grin a mask to the vexation that I really felt; I didn’t want to be rude.
The speaker that evening was Lisa Nowak, the much-admired U.S. Naval Academy graduate turned astronaut. I was looking forward to her speech as I sat down in the small, dark auditorium next to my sister. She stepped onto the stage with a confident smile and waved to the audience. Our applause died away as she stood at the podium, poised to speak. If I remember correctly, she spoke about her career, her experience as an astronaut, something about female heroism (considering the audience was largely comprised of females), and her close knit family life. I was entranced by this woman’s confidence; her hands would often pound the podium for emphasis and she seemed to be making eye contact with everyone in the room at once.

I often wondered if she was aware that just by being an astronaut, she was a celebrity, one I was determined to meet. Her speech ended, everyone applauded and stood up to leave. I grabbed Kelly’s hand and weaved my way delicately through the crowd; it’s not the easiest thing in the world to maneuver through a crowd in a khaki skirt and dress shirt. Finally we made it to the front. There was already a line formed of people waiting to speak to her. I was a bit impatient while we stood there, not wanting to lose this rare opportunity. When it was Kelly and I’s turn at last, I mutely held out the large glossy photo of her in her astronaut’s uniform which had somehow found its way into my hands. She signed it in large black scrawl and handed it back to me. I managed to stammer out, “it-it’s such an honor to meet you. I’m so inspired by your story.” My cheeks were flaming and for some reason that I can’t explain, my hands were shaking as well. I don’t remember exactly what she said but it was surprisingly dismissive. I felt embarrassed and a bit humiliated. I don’t say this to villanize her considering the aftermath of our meeting but I simply mean to describe to the fullest extent, our brief exchange.

A few weeks or maybe even a month after the conference, news headlines raged about a U.S. astronaut who had driven across the country wearing the diapers that astronauts wear during take-off and landing to kidnap a love rival. That astronaut was Lisa Nowak. My government teacher, Mr. Prowell, had a good long rant about how this is another indicator of the state of the world. In his lisping voice, he came to the conclusion that our puritanistic morals have created a rigid code of behavior that dictates what is and isn’t acceptable in our society (or something like that.) By this time, Lisa Nowak had national infamy. I reluctantly admitted that I had met her a few weeks prior to a few people and that I even had her autographed photo. That photo looks remarkably different from the one that was featured next to all the headlines: her hair mousy and disheveled, her forehead deeply creased, and no smile on her lips. I don’t know why she did what she did but I will say this, I did not see this coming. I will end with a fine maxim: how do you know you’re meeting a crazy? You don’t.