Challenger Disaster | Bigger, Faster, Cheaper | 1
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It's January 28, 1986, at NASA's Kennedy Space Center at Cape Canaveral, Florida. June Scobie is standing on the roof of the Launch Control Center building with her two adult children by her side. They're here to watch the launch of the Space Shuttle Challenger. And today is a special occasion for them, because June's husband Dick is the commander of the mission.

Watching her husband fly is nothing new for Jim. During their 26 years of marriage, Dick has served as a combat pilot, test pilot, astronaut, and today will be his second launch on the Challenger. And it's certainly the coldest. So cold, in fact, that the launch has already been delayed by several hours to clear icicles from the shuttle.

Looking around at the family members of the other six Challenger astronauts, all huddled together on the roof, June can see a familiar mix of excitement and trepidation on their faces.

Over the years, June has learned to accept the danger inherent in Dick's line of work. But still, watching her husband get launched into space by rockets is a uniquely nerve-wracking experience. So she's relieved to know that her husband has decided to make this his final mission. The couple recently became grandparents, and she's looking forward to a more peaceful life together.

But it's also bittersweet to know that her family's adventures with NASA are coming to a close. So she puts aside her jitters and tries to savor the thrill of seeing one more launch. June wraps her arm around the waist of her son, Rich, who is a pilot himself in the Air Force Academy. Just think, Rich, that could be you flying the shuttle someday. That's a decade away, Mom. It's not an easy job to get, either. Well, maybe that's for the best. It'll be nice to have all the SCOBY men here on Earth for a while.

Your father isn't even in space and already I can't wait to have him back. At least we've been blessed with a sunny day. Perfect for launch. The sun is great, but it's awful windy. This must be the coldest day ever for a launch. I'm surprised they're even attempting it. Okay, here we go.

June sees a massive burst of white smoke billow from underneath the shuttle as the engines ignite. The sight is electrifying. The roof trembles, and the crowd cheers as Challenger slowly rises into the air. The shuttle gains speed, and within a minute, it's 30,000 feet in the air.

June smiles and waves to her husband as the craft rolls to head east over the Atlantic. But then suddenly, a large white light flashes on the distant shuttle. It's unclear what happened, but June can see that there are now two separate trails of smoke in the sky, moving apart in the shape of a letter Y. The cheers of the crowd give way to a quiet murmur, and the families of the other astronauts make their way over to June. They know she's witnessed launches before, and they want to know if what they're seeing is normal.

But June has no answers. She suggests that maybe the flash came from one of the shuttle's rocket boosters as it became detached. But a moment later, the voice on the loudspeaker returns, informing the crowd that there's been a major malfunction. June is stunned into silence. Her children collapse into her arms, and all around her, the families of the astronauts begin to gasp and cry. But June's eyes remain fixed on the sky.

She knows that the lives of the astronauts on board are in jeopardy. But she refuses to believe that her husband and his crew are gone. She tells herself they're okay, that they're trained for emergencies like this. She repeats these words out loud, willing them to be true. But somewhere in her heart, June knows that she and the other family members around her are never going to see their loved ones again. American Scandal is sponsored by Noom.

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From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American Scandal. When the space shuttle Challenger exploded in January 1986, it wasn't only seen by the people in Cape Canaveral that morning. Millions of people were watching live across the country, including scores of schoolchildren who had turned in to see Krista McAuliffe become the first teacher and civilian in space.

It had been nearly 20 years since NASA had lost an astronaut during a launch, and stunned viewers were left wondering how a tragedy like this could have happened. In the months-long investigation that followed, the public was shocked to learn that the disaster was preventable.

Executives at both NASA and the company that manufactured the shuttle's rocket boosters, Morton Thiokol, were aware that problems with the boosters could lead to catastrophic failure. Still, they decided to push ahead with the launch, and the culture of institutional hubris that led to this decision stretched back decades.

In the years since the first moon landing, the U.S. government's ambitions for the space program had changed. They pushed NASA to make flights cheaper, more frequent, and capable of carrying large payloads into orbit, including spy satellites and other military equipment.

These pressures led NASA to abandon the modest-sized capsules that carried astronauts to the moon on the Apollo missions. And in their place, NASA developed a fleet of space shuttles, massive space planes capable of making regular trips into orbit and landing back on Earth on a runway so they could be reused again and again, much like a commercial aircraft.

But in order to meet the program's increasing demands, compromises were made in the shuttle's design and construction, making launches considerably more dangerous. And in 1986, the seven astronauts aboard the Challenger paid the ultimate price for those decisions. This is Episode 1, Bigger, Faster, Cheaper. It's December 14, 1972, 14 years before the Challenger explosion.

Astronaut Gene Cernan is driving a vehicle called the Lunar Rover across the surface of the Moon. Cernan is commander of the Apollo 17 mission and the 11th man to set foot on the Moon. For the last three days, he's been sitting behind the wheel of this space-age dune buggy, surveying the lunar surface and collecting rock samples.

Slowly rolling to a stop, Cernan parks the rover. And through the visor of his spacesuit, he takes a moment to enjoy the incredible view. The low-slung, silver-colored mountains framed by the backdrop of endless black space. Getting to be here and experience all of this has been the greatest privilege of Cernan's life. But now it's time to head home. So today's tasks will be the last that Cernan, or perhaps any American, will perform on the moon, at least for the foreseeable future.

Back on Earth, the excitement people felt when Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin first walked on the moon three years ago has given way to apathy and even resentment. The American public and their elected representatives have grown increasingly concerned about the Apollo program's enormous costs, and they're eager to redirect that money toward more pressing issues. As a result, NASA was recently forced to cancel all of its remaining lunar missions. It's a development that's left Cernan heartbroken.

So as he exits the rover to perform his final tasks, bouncing around to the back of the vehicle in the moon's low gravity, his heart feels heavy even as his steps feel light. Cernan works to position the rover's video camera, pointing it in the direction of the lunar module, the craft that will carry him back to the command module for the ride back to Earth. He prepares the camera to record the module leaving the moon's surface for the last time and then beam the video back to Earth.

As he aims the camera, Cernan watches his colleague, Mission Pilot Harrison Schmidt, ascend the ladder into the lunar module. But before he joins Schmidt, Cernan takes the chance to perform one final, more personal act.

He drops to one knee and uses the stubby index finger of his glove to carve the letters TDC into the dust, his daughter's initials. With no atmosphere, weather, or wind on the moon, Cernan knows these initials will last decades into the future, waiting patiently for the next moonwalker to find them. But he wonders just how many decades that will be. When the Apollo 17 astronauts return to Earth, the American space program is at a crossroads.

For the first decade of its existence, NASA had enjoyed nearly unlimited federal funding. At its peak, the Apollo program employed 400,000 people and had an annual budget of nearly $30 billion.

But that support began to waver soon after Richard Nixon was elected president in 1968. It was no secret that Nixon was bent on undercutting all of John F. Kennedy's most beloved programs, including the space program, even at the height of its popularity in 1969. So the engineers at NASA began working on a plan to keep space exploration alive. The idea was to curb the cost of manned space travel by making the process more routine and easily repeatable.

To this end, they began developing a new type of spacecraft that could be flown over and over again, just like a commercial airplane. And to help finance this new space shuttle, NASA turned to private companies and the U.S. military. They successfully brokered contracts that would fund the future of space exploration in exchange for hauling commercial communications satellites and heavy military equipment into orbit, including spy satellites and eventually space-based weapons and defense systems.

But NASA quickly realized that these new partnerships came at a cost. To accommodate its commercial and military cargo, the space shuttle needed to be much larger and heavier than any craft NASA had built before. And that meant the rockets that carried the shuttle into orbit would also need to be more powerful and run on a different kind of fuel.

Against the strong objections of the shuttle's original designers, NASA transitioned from liquid rocket fuel to the more powerful and dangerous solid fuel. Once this solid fuel was ignited, there was no way to stop it from burning in case something went wrong. It was considered so risky that the rival Soviet space program refused to use it.

And to further reduce the weight and cost of the new shuttle, NASA also removed safety equipment from their early designs, including a rocket-powered escape system. Finally, in 1975, after these and many other compromises, NASA receives approval for the construction of its first space shuttle. But now they face a new issue over the question of who will fly it.

For years, NASA has fielded complaints about the lack of diversity among its astronauts, nearly all of whom had been white male military pilots. But now that the space shuttles are more spacious and capable of accommodating larger crews with more varied science and engineering backgrounds, NASA decides it's time to make some changes. So they launch a new astronaut recruiting effort, hoping to field the largest, most diverse class in the agency's history.

And when she hears about it, 27-year-old Judy Resnick is eager to apply. Resnick has been an overachiever all her life. She was a math prodigy and one of only three female electrical engineering majors at Carnegie Mellon University, where she graduated at the top of her class.

But in the summer of 1977, Resnick finds herself looking for a new direction in life. She's finishing her Ph.D. in electrical engineering and recently divorced. So when an old friend tells her about NASA's new recruiting effort looking specifically for women, Resnick jumps at the chance. She travels to the Johnson Space Center in Houston, Texas, where NASA puts her through a rigorous testing process.

They measure her mental and physical abilities, engage her responses to stress. Resnick feels confident she did well. But after two months without hearing anything, Resnick decides she has to stop fantasizing about becoming an astronaut and focus on real life. So when the phone starts ringing in her Southern California apartment on the morning of January 16, 1978, she decides to ignore it.

It's 6 a.m., and she's preparing to leave for her new job at Xerox. Anyone calling at this hour is probably either a telemarketer or her family back east, who always seem to forget she's three time zones behind. Resnick stuffs a work binder into her briefcase and heads to the front door. But when the phone keeps ringing, she hesitates. There could be some sort of family emergency, so she reaches into the kitchen and grabs the phone off the wall.

The voice on the other end is one she recognizes. It's George Abbey, NASA's Director of Flight Operations. He's the man responsible for recruiting and selecting the new class of astronauts. Resnick's heart skips a beat. What Abbey says next could either change her life forever or leave her feeling crushed. It seems like Abbey might know this because he gets right to the point. He congratulates Resnick on being selected to the newest class of astronauts and Resnick is overwhelmed.

She manages to mutter a simple thank you as her eyes begin to well up. Abby reminds her that she now has a shot at being the first American woman in space. Resnick replies that she doesn't care much about that. She just wants to do her job and be part of the team. But after Resnick hangs up, Abby's words run through her mind. First American woman in space does have a nice ring to it.

The same day Judy Resnick gets that phone call, NASA announces to the public its largest and most diverse class of new astronauts, totaling 35 new recruits. In the group are six women, as well as Japanese-American engineer Ellison Onizuka and African-American physicist Ron McNair. Over the next several weeks, these new recruits are inundated with requests for interviews from reporters. And for Resnick, it feels like something out of a movie. She still can't believe she's going to be an astronaut.

But once she travels to Johnson Space Center in Houston to begin orientation, it finally starts to feel real. In an office surrounded by dozens of her fellow recruits, Resnick gets fitted for her first flight suit and helmet. Throughout the process, Resnick is giddy with excitement, but outwardly she tries to maintain a steely expression. She's well aware that as one of the first women in the program, all eyes will be on her, and she's determined to show she's just as tough and prepared as the men.

As the fitting wraps up, the recruits are divided into smaller groups to be given tours of the space center, led by a veteran astronaut. One of the first stops is the mission control room. As Resnick steps inside, she marvels at the room packed with computers, monitors, and all sorts of cutting-edge technology. Her fellow recruit, Ron McNair, looks even more blown away.

God, Judy, can you believe all this? I mean, I've seen it on TV, but there's nothing like really being here. I'm half tempted to just start hitting buttons and see what happens. Well, don't press any big red ones. But yeah, I know what you mean. When I was an engineer at RCA, we did some work on the software that runs their rocket and telemetry systems. Getting to see it in action is pretty cool.

The tour leader hands headsets to Resnick, McNair, and the other recruits, explaining that they're going to listen in to a recording of the final moments of Apollo 1 back in 1967. Resnick shudders because she knows all about Apollo 1. Three astronauts were killed by a fire that broke out inside their capsule on the launch pad. It was the darkest day in NASA's history. Resnick grits her teeth as a technician rolls the tape. Hey! I was down far in the cockpit.

Hey crew, can you egress at this time? Bad leader, get in there and help him.

As the tape ends, Resnick removes her headset and tries to shield her eyes. When she looks up again, McNair is giving her a look of concern. Hey, you okay? I'm fine. No need to worry about me. Can't believe they made us listen to that. No, I think it was good to hear. I mean, we need to know the risks, right? I mean, really know them. If we can't accept them, we shouldn't be here. Man, they didn't even get off the launch pad. Well, NASA's come a long way since then. Things are much safer.

Resnick walks ahead of McNair, joining the tour group as they head out of mission control. She looks straight ahead and keeps her chin held high. But as she enters the hallway, she can feel a tear sneaking down her cheek. She quickly wipes it away before any of her colleagues notice. And Resnick makes sure to maintain a resolute exterior through the rest of the tour. But as the sounds of the astronauts' final screams play again in her head, she's forced to admit that while she's excited about becoming an astronaut, she's also scared.

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As NASA's new recruits work their way through the grueling astronaut training program, the agency struggles to deliver their first space shuttle on budget and on time. The design and construction of this ambitious new type of spacecraft is extraordinarily complicated, which forces NASA and its contractors to invent new systems all while the agency continues to scramble for more money.

In previous years, when NASA tinkered with new designs for their rocket engines, they began by testing each component individually. Now, in an effort to save money, they elect to test the engines only after they've been fully constructed. But the plan backfires. Many of the engines melt down or explode during testing, each one costing upwards of $40 million. NASA's engineers also struggle with the heat-insulating tiles on the exterior of the new shuttle.

Unlike the Apollo capsules, which were made with stainless steel, the first space shuttle will be constructed with aluminum to make it lighter and cheaper. But this aluminum frame will also leave the orbiter more vulnerable to the extreme temperatures generated by hypersonic flight. So to protect the vehicle and its occupants, the orbiter will have to be covered with more than 30,000 heat-shielding tiles, each cut to precise, unique dimensions and placed in specific locations on the craft.

It's a frustrating and time-consuming process for both NASA and Rockwell, the aerospace contractor in charge of constructing the orbiter. And by March of 1979, Congress is growing impatient with the space shuttle program's lack of progress. So NASA decides to cut the assembly process short at Rockwell's production facility in California and bring the orbiter to Kennedy Space Center in Florida for the finishing touches.

When the still-incomplete craft is rolled out of a hangar in Palmdale, California for a public viewing, it looks terrible. It has no engines, and it's missing several thousand heat tiles. And during its flight to Cape Canaveral on the back of a modified 747, it loses thousands more.

But once the shuttle arrives at Cape Canaveral, NASA hopes to get the project back on track. They reassign hundreds of staffers to complete the tile process, including 36-year-old engineer Larry Kuznets. Kuznets worked in mission control during the first moon landing a decade previous, but he spent most of the last 10 years getting his Ph.D. and hasn't been involved in the shuttle program.

So when Kuznets arrives at the Orbiter Processing Facility at Cape Canaveral in April 1979, he's shocked by what he finds. Inside the 100-foot-tall hangar, Kuznets is met by a hive of activity. Hundreds of workers are buzzing around, performing a dizzying array of tasks. And at the center of everything stands the gargantuan orbiter, surrounded by layers of scaffolding.

As Kuznets tries to take it all in, he feels a slap on his back and turns to see astronaut Bob Obermeyer, who's been overseeing the tilework. So, Larry, what do you think of your new home? It's overwhelming. You don't know the half of it. Let me show you around.

Kuznets follows Overmeyer to the nose of the shuttle, where he's taken aback by its slipshod appearance. Bob, what's all this green stuff on the nose? Well, that's the primer. Those red lines are the grid indicating where the heat shielding tiles are going to be placed. Awful lot of tiles missing. Looks like some of them are already starting to fall off. Yeah, about 7,000 still need to be glued on. The ones you see dangling there have to be replaced. Those were temporary tiles that were just put on for the big dog and pony show when they unveiled the shuttle in California.

A bunch of them came loose as they were flying the shuttle here. And now you're in charge of fixing all this stuff? Well, that's complicated. We've got six overlapping teams working on the shuttle. They don't tend to get along, but beyond that, NASA has flown in about a thousand workers from Rockwell to finish their work. Then we've got Lockheed at a separate facility making the tiles. Sounds like a mess. But, you know, I'm happy to help however I can. Well, good. I'm putting you on a tile team to work alongside the Rockwell guys.

I need to understand what's taking them so damn long, and you're going to be my man on the inside, my eyes and ears. Well, sure, but what am I supposed to do? Like, take notes? Yeah, and do it quietly. Go about your work, but commit what you see to memory, and if anything catches your eye, excuse yourself to the men's room or something, and then write it all down. So you want me to be like a spy? Well, yeah, let's try not to use that.

As Obermeyer leads him up a metal ladder into the scaffolding, Kuznets glances back at the orbiter and the mosaic of tiles half covering its surface. He knew the shuttle was behind schedule, but he had no idea it was this bad. And he's just starting to realize how contentious the relationship between NASA and its contractors has become.

Over the next two years, the first shuttle, Columbia, is beset by seemingly endless delays. And on March 19th, 1981, the shuttle program suffers its first fatal accident. Five technicians asphyxiate after they climb inside an engine compartment, unaware that it had just been filled with pure nitrogen. One technician dies en route to the hospital. Two others later succumb to their injuries.

But NASA presses forward, continuing to work around the clock to affix tiles to the orbiter. And on April 12, 1981, Columbia finally becomes the first space shuttle to carry astronauts into orbit. The launch is an exhilarating moment for both NASA and the public, and thousands gather to watch it live. It's the first manned American spaceflight in six years, and marks the first time that solid rocket fuel is used for a crewed launch.

But inside mission control, the excitement quickly turns to tension. Once in orbit, the two astronauts aboard, Robert Crippen and John Young, report a problem. More than a dozen of the heat-shielding tiles have been torn off the orbiter's tail, knocked loose by the massive shockwave created by the solid rocket boosters, which was 10 times more powerful than engineers had anticipated.

The two days the astronauts spend in space go off without a hitch. But as the clock ticks down to re-entry, NASA begins to worry about how the compromised shuttle will handle the heat. And considering the engineers' previous miscalculations about the rocket booster's shockwave, there is worry that other errors may have also been made. So as astronaut Crippen makes final preparations to return, there's no guarantee that the craft or its human passengers will survive.

On April 14, 1981, Crippen straps himself into his ejector seat and begins guiding the orbiter toward its final destination, Edwards Air Force Base in the desert north of Los Angeles. Crippen and his partner Young need to do something no pilot has attempted before, return a spacecraft from orbit and land it gently on a runway like a commercial airplane. And they'll attempt to do so while missing more than a dozen of the craft's critical heat-shielding tiles.

So as Crippen guides the orbiter high above the Indian Ocean, moving east toward Australia, he and Young keep a close eye on the monitors displaying telemetry. Everything looks good, so Crippen begins their final descent toward California.

The process is largely automated, relying on a system of computers newly designed for the shuttle program. But just like the tiles, this system has never been put to the test in a return from orbit before. And there's not much Crippen can do for this portion of the flight but watch and pray. As the orbiter hurtles across the Pacific Ocean at nearly 18,000 miles per hour, the craft begins to shake and Crippen holds on tight.

Through the cockpit window, he can see an otherworldly pink glow enveloping the orbiter, caused by the immense pressure of air pushing against the craft upon reentry. Crippen takes a deep breath and tries to push away his anxiety for a moment. This is his first trip back from space, and he wants to enjoy this once-in-a-lifetime sight.

But as Columbia descends lower, into denser atmosphere, it begins to shake even more violently, and Crippen's mind turns to the tiles. He knows that during this part of their descent, temperatures along the leading edge of Columbia's wings can reach over 2,700 degrees Fahrenheit. And if the tiles fail, the whole shuttle could break apart in seconds.

As they descend closer to Earth, the computers begin swerving Columbia back and forth in a series of S-shapes to help slow them down and diffuse the heat. The pink light fades, replaced by bright sunlight. Then clouds rush in by a blur, and Crippen gets a sense of their unbelievable speed. Then, in the distance, Crippen spots the coastline. Overcome with joy, he exclaims, "'What a way to come to California!'

He grips his seat tightly as the computers push Columbia's nose nearly straight down, dive-bombing the orbiter towards the Air Force Base. And as they get closer, Crippen can see that thousands of people have gathered on the ground to welcome them home. Now at an altitude of just a few hundred feet, Young takes manual control of the orbiter and flattens out the descent as they approach the runway. Moments later, they touch down in a perfect landing, and Crippen breathes a sigh of relief.

He then removes his helmet, unclips from his seat, and jogs down the stairs toward the ground, just behind his partner. The return to Earth's gravity weighs heavily on his legs, but it doesn't slow him down much. He's met by a half-dozen NASA crew in white jumpsuits. Smile beams across his face as he vigorously shakes each of their hands, grateful to be back on solid ground.

And as Crippen waves to the massive crowd, his mind turns to his family, his wife and three daughters. He can't wait to wrap his arms around them and tell them about everything he's just seen. But for now, he just tries to take in the moment. He and John Young are now part of NASA history. And with the first successful flight of the Columbia, the future of space travel looks bright.

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Credit Karma is your evolved financial assistant, making managing your finances simpler and more tailored to you. Join us at CreditKarma.com to start your personalized financial journey today and continue to grow with our innovations. Credit Karma. Evolve your finances. On April 14th, 1981, the two astronauts aboard Columbia's maiden flight, Robert Crippen and John Young, are welcomed home as heroes.

One month later, they're honored with a ticker tape parade in Chicago. And then the astronauts visit the White House, where President Ronald Reagan presents them with Distinguished Service Medals. For NASA, the celebrations feel reminiscent of their glory days. And now that they've demonstrated their ability to send a spacecraft into orbit and then land it safely on a runway, the possibilities for the future of space travel seem almost limitless.

And the public's love for space travel is rekindled further the following year, when in April of 1982, NASA announces that Sally Ride will become the first American woman in space. Ride beats out several other high-qualified female astronauts for the honor, including Judy Resnick.

President Reagan seizes on the renewed enthusiasm and casts the shuttle program as a shining example of America's ability to develop world-leading technology and conquer new frontiers, much like the pioneers of old.

And to usher in this bold new era, Reagan appoints a new administrator for NASA, James Beggs. Beggs is a former executive at General Dynamics, the country's largest defense contractor. And Reagan hopes he can transition NASA from an agency focused on research and science into one that can serve a growing array of military and commercial interests.

But in order to do that, the shuttle program will have to ramp up and quickly. NASA will now be expected to maintain a demanding new schedule of up to two launches a month compared to the current pace of about two a year. It's a lofty goal, and the pressure to achieve it falls squarely on the shoulders of Beggs, who now oversees the construction of a growing fleet of new space shuttles.

The next to be put into service will be the space shuttle Challenger. It's designed to be both lighter and stronger than its predecessor, Columbia, capable of hauling an even bigger payload of satellites and military equipment into space. And July 4th, 1982 is chosen for Challenger's public unveiling. So that Independence Day begs joins President Reagan and his wife Nancy at Edwards Air Force Base to celebrate.

As the event begins, Beggs walks onto a stage painted patriotic blue with a large red NASA logo across the front. He joins President Reagan, the First Lady, and a handful of astronauts. Beggs shields his eyes in the bright desert sun as he takes in the crowd of half a million people lining the runway.

Beyond them, thousands of RVs are parked along the outskirts of the base, belonging to people who've made the trip from all over the country. Well, Mr. President, this is quite a turnout, and it's wonderful to see the American people so excited about NASA again. Couldn't have happened without your support. Well, there was never a prouder moment for me than the day we put a man on the moon, especially because we beat the Russians there.

And it's important now to show the world that we're still number one. The space shuttle program is a great way to do that. I couldn't agree more. We're going to do things in orbit the Soviets could only dream of. I know you will. And God forbid if this Cold War ever turns hot. We need to be dominant on every front. If the Russians knew we could use space-mounted lasers to shoot down their nukes in flight, it could be the ultimate deterrent.

The Defense Department's already working on it. Well, if you can build those lasers, we'll get them into orbit, sir. Well, glad to hear it. But Jim, there's one thing that concerns me. It's already July. We've only had two launches this year.

Are we going to finally turn the corner here with Challenger? No more delays? Well, absolutely, Mr. President. The Challenger will be operational after just four test flights. We've got two more shuttles in the pipeline that will be even better. But if you take a look down the runway, sir, right now, you can see the Challenger has arrived. It's ready to fly, Mr. President. Would you please do the honors when you're ready? Beggs watches as Reagan steps to the microphone and gives the ceremonial order for takeoff.

Soon after, Challenger, strapped to the back of a jumbo jet, races down the runway and lifts into the air on its journey to Cape Canaveral. A crowd erupts in applause and the band begins playing God Bless America. A moment later, as the jet circles over their heads, Beggs sees the First Lady wipe a tear from her eye. Beggs is overcome with a similar emotion, taking in the masterfully choreographed scene of pure patriotism.

And for a moment, Beggs chooses to be optimistic the Challenger can live up to the lofty promises he's just made. While James Beggs stands on stage with President Reagan celebrating the new Challenger shuttle in California, a crew of engineers at an Air Force hangar in Cape Canaveral are inspecting the solid-fuel rocket boosters from a recent Columbia test launch.

Like each space shuttle orbiter, these boosters are designed to be reusable. So after serving their purpose in the launch, they detach and parachute gently into the Atlantic Ocean just off the coast of Florida before being recovered. This inspection team works for Thiokol, a chemical and aerospace company based in Utah that's responsible for manufacturing the boosters. They're here to disassemble the boosters and note any damage before shipping them back to Utah to be refurbished.

And as the lead inspector walks toward the hangar, he's eager to take a look. This was only the fourth shuttle launch in history, so any data he's able to gather about the booster's performance will be of value. And with NASA dramatically ramping up the schedule for further launches, he has no time to waste in getting these boosters back into use.

Entering the hangar, the inspector spots several other engineers already at work examining the two massive boosters. Lying on their sides, each one is half a football field long and 12 feet tall. They've been pulled into eight different sections ready to be examined.

The other engineers are standing on ladders, peering into each section with flashlights and scribbling in notebooks. One of them calls the lead inspector over to take a look at something in particular. The lead inspector stuffs a flashlight in his pocket and makes his way up the ladder. Reaching the top, he shines the flashlight along the edge of the booster section.

He's examining its O-ring, a thin gasket made of synthetic rubber that seals the joint between two sections of the booster. The O-rings are similar in design and appearance to the gaskets used in kitchen faucets or car engines, but on a much larger scale. They're 40 feet in circumference and resemble giant black rubber bands.

But as the lead inspector moves the flashlight around the O-ring, he's shocked by what he sees. It's been badly burned in several places. And looking closer, he can see that one area appears to be completely vaporized.

The inspectors' mind reels at the implications. These O-rings are simple but crucial components of the boosters. If they sustain enough damage, then a flame from the pressurized solid rocket fuel could leak through at launch, causing a catastrophic explosion. The inspectors know that if it weren't for the backup O-ring attached to the adjoining section, the entire Columbia shuttle and the astronauts aboard could have tumbled into the Atlantic in fiery pieces.

Having seen enough, the inspector pockets his flashlight and rushes back down the ladder. He needs to write up what he's seen and get a report back to Thiokol and NASA as soon as he can. With the next launch just a few months away, they have to be alerted that the boosters may have been designed with a fatal flaw. From Wondery, this is Episode 1 of the Challenger Disaster from American Scam.

In our next episode, as Challengers astronauts are selected and prepare for their mission, NASA presses forward with an escalating pace for shuttle launches. Meanwhile, a growing chorus of engineers sound the alarm on faulty O-rings.

If you're enjoying American Scandal, you can unlock exclusive seasons on Wondery Plus. Binge new seasons first and listen completely ad-free when you join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a survey at wondery.com slash survey.

American Scandal is hosted, edited, and executive produced by me, Lindsey Graham for Airship. Audio editing by Christian Paraga. Sound design by Gabriel Gould. Music by Lindsey Graham. This episode is written by Corey Metcalf. Edited by Emma Cortland. Fact-checking by Alyssa Jung Perry. Produced by John Reed.

Managing Producer is Olivia Fonte. Senior Producers are Andy Beckerman and Andy Herman. Development by Stephanie Jentz. Executive Producers are Jenny Lauer Beckman, Marshall Louis, and Erin O'Flaherty for Wondery.

This is a story that begins with a dying wish. One thing I would like you to do. My mother's last request that my sister and I finish writing the memoir she'd started about her German childhood when her father designed a secret super weapon for Adolf Hitler. Sieg Heil!

My grandfather, Robert Lusser, headed the Nazi project to build the world's first cruise missile, which terrorized millions and left a legacy that dogged my mother like a curse. She had some secrets. Mom had some secrets. I'm Suzanne Rico. Join my sister and me as we search for the truth behind our grandfather's work and for the first time, face the ghosts of our past. Jeez.

Who is he? Listen to The Man Who Calculated Death exclusively with Wondery Plus. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify.