Challenger Disaster | What Really Happened | 4
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Hi, this is Lindsey Graham, host of American Scandal. Our back catalog has moved behind a paywall. Recent episodes remain free, but older ones will require a Wondery Plus subscription. With Wondery Plus, you get access to the full American Scandal archive, ad-free, plus early access to new seasons and more. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. It's January 29th, 1986 at NASA's Marshall Space Flight Center in Huntsville, Alabama.

Outside the sprawling Operations Support Center, Morton Thiokol engineer Al McDonald flashes his security badge to a guard and types in a code on a keypad to enter the building. It's been just over 24 hours since the space shuttle Challenger exploded, killing all seven astronauts on board. The public is demanding answers about what caused the disaster, which was witnessed by millions, including schoolchildren, on live TV. But so far, NASA has been tight-lipped.

The agency has issued statements saying that the cause of the explosion is still unknown, while simultaneously claiming that the unusually cold weather played no role.

But McDonald has doubts. Just hours before the astronauts were strapped into the shuttle, McDonald and his fellow Thiokol engineers pleaded with NASA and executives at their own company to delay the launch. They presented data showing the thin rubber gasket O-rings inside the joints of the shuttle's solid rocket boosters were unsafe to use at anything below 50 degrees.

But the decision-makers chose to go forward with the launch when the temperature was barely above freezing, and the Challenger was destroyed in a fireball just 73 seconds after liftoff. Now, as director of Thiokol's rocket booster program, McDonald has been assigned to the team responsible for figuring out if it was indeed the O-rings or any other component of the boosters that caused the tragedy.

And he just received word that the team has obtained a crucial piece of evidence, new high-resolution film of the explosion. Arriving at the door of the investigation's high-security war room, McDonald flashes his security badge again and steps inside.

The other engineers on the failure analysis team are seated in front of a large projector screen. McDonald turns to one of them, a NASA rocket engineer. I haven't missed the screening, have I? No, you're right on time. The new footage was just flown in from Houston. And it's different from what they've been showing on TV. This footage hasn't been seen by anyone outside NASA. It's from a high-speed 70-millimeter movie camera mounted just a few miles north of the launch pad. Hit the lights, and we'll all take a look. McDonald flips off the light switch and takes a seat.

As the footage rolls, McDonald leans forward in his seat, eyes fixed on the shuttle's two rocket boosters. He watches as the booster's engines ignite, kicking out trails of white smoke as Challenger slowly lifts off the launch pad. Hey, you guys see that? Just after ignition. Puff of gray smoke. It kicks out from a nozzle joint near the bottom of the right-hand booster. Yeah, you're right. That's strange. Roll it back. I want to see the ignition again. This time, can you play it in slow motion? I want to get a real close look.

McDonald rises from his chair and stands with his face just feet away from the screen. A few frames in, something catches his eye. Yeah, just after liftoff, more puffs. They travel upward toward the nose while the smoke from the engines is shooting down toward the ground. What could cause that? Based on the dark color of the smoke, it must have been rubber from the O-ring. Oh God, the boosters failed before the shuttle even left the pad. Those poor souls. They never had a chance.

McDonald turns away from the screen. This is the first tangible piece of evidence that his team's boosters caused the explosion. He finds himself wracked with guilt. Even though he tried to prevent the launch, it was the very equipment he oversees that seems to have caused the Challenger to explode.

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From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American Scandal. From the moment NASA first introduced the reusable space shuttle in 1981, the U.S. government pressured the agency to offset the cost of the program with an increasingly rapid launch schedule, working around the clock to refurbish the shuttle's orbiter and rocket boosters to be used in subsequent flights. But as NASA raced to keep up, flaws in the shuttle's design emerged.

One of the most concerning issues was the synthetic rubber O-rings that sealed the joints of the rocket boosters that propelled the shuttle from the launch pad into orbit. On multiple occasions, when the boosters were examined post-launch, engineers discovered that the O-rings had come perilously close to failing, and they seemed to be less reliable in colder weather.

So when word started to spread that the weather forecast for the Challenger's next launch predicted sub-freezing temperatures, a chorus of engineers at the company that made the boosters, Morton Thiokol, begged NASA to delay. They were ultimately overruled.

NASA pushed forward, and on the morning of January 28, 1986, the Challenger exploded less than two minutes into its flight, killing all seven astronauts on board, including teacher Krista McAuliffe, who'd been slated to be the first U.S. civilian in space.

While the public mourned the fallen astronauts, NASA issued vague assurances that they were investigating the cause of the explosion. But before long, both the press and the White House were growing increasingly distrustful of the space agency's ability to investigate itself. So on February 3rd, President Ronald Reagan announced that he was launching an independent commission to look into the Challenger disaster. And what the commission learned was even more damning than the public could have suspected.

This is Episode 4, What Really Happened. It's February 6th, 1986, nine days after the Challenger disaster. Inside NASA's Marshall Space Flight Center in Huntsville, Alabama, a budget analyst named Richard Cook flips on the TV in his office. Today is the first televised hearing of the Presidential Commission investigating the disaster, and Cook doesn't want to miss a minute of it. In the year leading up to the explosion,

Cook worked closely with engineers at Morton Thiokol, the contractor responsible for the shuttle's rocket boosters. And he learned a lot about the problems they discovered with the O-rings. But when he relayed that information in a memo to his superiors, Cook's concerns were brushed aside. And in the days following the explosion, he's watched in dismay as NASA officials have tried to direct the public's attention away from the rocket boosters as a possible cause.

That's why Cook was heartened to hear that the official inquiry was being handed to a commission outside of NASA's control, and that it featured a number of impressive names, including Neil Armstrong, the first man to walk on the moon, Sally Ride, the first American woman in space, and Richard Feynman, the Nobel Prize-winning physicist who worked on the Manhattan Project. But now, as Cook begins to watch the hearing, he quickly sees that the commission's chairman, William Rogers, is in over his head.

Rogers' resume includes stints as both U.S. Secretary of State and Attorney General, so he knows how to handle an investigation. But the moment he begins asking questions, his lack of scientific and engineering knowledge becomes apparent. Rogers also seems to be showing extraordinary deference to the NASA officials who testify. He allows some questions to go completely unanswered, and even apologizes to NASA for not giving them enough time to prepare their testimony. Then Cook hears something that truly shocks him.

Judson Lovingood, a NASA manager from Cook's own office, is called to the stand. When he's questioned about the joints in the rocket boosters, Lovingood says that although NASA was aware of some cases where the primary O-rings experienced damage, they had never seen any erosion in the secondary backup O-rings. But Cook knows this is a lie. Because in the memo he wrote, he clearly explained that the backup O-rings had been partially burned away during launches on several occasions.

So to Cook, it appears that NASA has gone beyond evasiveness, that they're attempting a full-blown cover-up. Cook opens the drawer to his desk and finds a copy of his memo tucked into a folder. And as he looks it over, he ponders what to do next. In his hand is a document that could change the course of the investigation and bring the truth to light. But handing it over himself could mean the end of his career at NASA.

So to get this information out to the public, Cook will need to do it in a way that doesn't leave his fingerprints on it. And he'll need to do it fast.

After the first hearing of the Rogers Commission, Richard Cook places a call to the New York Times under the assumed name of Richard Lee. He leaves a message with a newsroom clerk offering to provide previously unseen information about the Challenger from inside NASA. And Times journalist Philip Boffi picks up the tip. But when Boffi opens up the NASA staff directory, he finds no record of a Richard Lee. Still, Boffi is intrigued, so he calls the mysterious tipster back.

On the call, Richard Lee quickly confesses that his real name is Richard Cook and that he has some documents that could shed light on the Challenger explosion. Boffy convinces Cook to meet him in person, and the following day, Cook arrives at the Washington, D.C. Bureau of the New York Times. Approaching the front door with a briefcase in hand, Cook can feel his palms begin to sweat. He pauses to look over his shoulder, making sure nobody from NASA is watching as he slips inside the building.

And when he does, the receptionist directs Cook to Boffy's office, where he finds the reporter seated behind his desk. Hey, Mr. Lee. Thanks for coming down to meet me. You're a brave man. I don't know about that. Right now, I'm scared to death that someone will see me here. I understand. I'll try to keep this short and show you the back way out when we're done. Now, I take it you have something for me in that briefcase? Yes, I have a few documents.

Cook slides his briefcase onto the desk and opens the combination lock. The first one is a memo I wrote to my superiors at NASA, July of last year. And as you can see there in the second paragraph, I clearly state that in some of the joints of the shuttle's rocket boosters, not only was the primary O-ring destroyed, but the secondary ring was also damaged as well. And you think these O-rings were the likely cause of the explosion? I do. And frankly, it looks a lot like NASA suspects this as well.

But in yesterday's hearing, I watched a manager from the shuttle project's office testify that no one had ever seen any damage to the secondary O-ring.

It's just a flat-out lie, and your memo would appear to be proof of that. Yeah, and I've got more. There's a paper trail going back several years, showing time and again that NASA was informed about the serious risk posed by faulty O-rings. You can see it in this list of critical items from 1982 that they could lead to, quote, a loss of vehicle, mission, and crew. Wow, you really brought the goods here. I'd like to get this into the Sunday paper, but I have to ask a favor. What? I need to put your name in the story.

We don't have to say you're my source, but I need to be able to quote you from your memo and your name as the author. Cook sits back in his chair. Oh, I don't know. If you use my name, NASA's going to connect the dots. If that happens, I'm going to lose my job. You have the documents, right? Isn't that enough? Well, without a name attached, it would be easy to cast doubts on the significance of this memo. NASA could say it was written by some random guy who doesn't know what he's talking about.

But with a name, your name, it would be legitimate, airtight. It could change the course of the investigation. And isn't that what you want? Cook pauses to think it through. He knows it's a huge risk, letting his name be associated with the story. But then his mind drifts to the seven astronauts who were killed on the Challenger. He thinks of their families and their right to know what happened. So with a deep sigh, Cook agrees to let Buffy use his name.

On Sunday, February 9th, Philip Boffi publishes his story in the New York Times, quoting extensively from Cook's memo that warned NASA about the faulty O-rings. Within hours, the article lands in the hands of Commissioner Chairman William Rogers, and he is furious that he had to learn about the memo from the press and not NASA themselves. Rogers schedules an emergency meeting to be held the following day, and unlike the previous hearing, this one will be closed to the public.

Rogers hopes a more private setting will allow him to get more candid answers from NASA. And only hours later, Thiokol's Al McDonald receives an urgent call from his company, asking him to fly to Washington, D.C. to be on hand to answer any technical questions about the boosters in tomorrow's now closed-door hearing. So the very next day, McDonald finds his way into the old executive office building in Washington and takes a seat in the back of the room.

As the meeting begins, Chairman Rogers makes his frustration clear. He announces that he's disappointed about the leaked memo, but he hopes it serves as a warning to NASA. The truth will come out one way or another, so they might as well tell him everything they know now. But as the meeting progresses, McDonnell can see that the warning has had little effect on the NASA representatives in the room. They keep sticking to their talking points, insisting that they had every reason to believe the O-Rigs were safe.

Rocket booster project manager Larry Malloy is among those who testify for NASA. And when he's asked about the emergency teleconference with Morton Thiokol the night before launch, he explicitly says that everyone on the call concluded that low temperatures would not be a problem. McDonald can't believe what he's hearing. He clearly remembers a dozen Thiokol engineers, himself included, unanimously recommending against the launch. And he also remembers Malloy pressuring Thiokol's executives to overrule their own engineers.

So McDonald raises his hand to correct the record, but nobody seems to notice. And as Malloy continues to dominate the meeting, McDonald only grows increasingly frustrated. Finally, he stands and waves his arms in the air to get the commissioner's attention, but that doesn't work either, and it appears that Rogers is beginning to wrap up the meeting. Desperate, McDonald walks toward the commissioners on stage, demanding to be heard. All eyes in the room turn toward McDonald, and his hands begin trembling.

He realizes that what he's about to say could cost some of the most powerful men at NASA their careers, but there's no turning back now. So in a quiet voice, he explains that he was the one who organized the teleconference the night before the launch. And he was sitting next to Malloy when Thiokol engineers faxed over data showing that it was clearly a risk to launch in cold weather. In fact, the engineers insisted that they not launch in anything under 53 degrees.

A member of the commission asks what the actual temperature was on the morning of the launch. Lloyd checks his notes and replies, "It was 29 degrees." The room goes silent as McDonald turns and walks back to his seat, avoiding eye contact. No one asked him to speak. And as he settles himself into his chair, he realizes what he just did may be seen as an unwelcome outburst at best.

But a moment later, Chairman Rogers asks McDonald to rise again, and this time to speak louder. McDonald stands, this time with more confidence. And as he unspools the story of the teleconference the night before launch, he goes into more detail, noting that the company's executives had also recommended against launching, but that they'd reversed their position under pressure from Malloy.

The commissioners are all clearly taken aback by this. This is the first time they've heard about anyone changing their minds about the launch. Chairman Rogers asks McDonald to provide any documentation he has from the teleconference that he expects to hear testimony about it from Thiokol's executives in future hearings. So as McDonald returns to his seats, still trembling from his moment in the spotlight, he can see Malloy and the other NASA leaders staring at him.

He knows that the fallout from his revelations could be severe, but he feels he owes it to the late crew of the Challenger to make sure the truth behind this tragedy comes out. Designed for working professionals, Georgetown's Executive MBA features a hybrid format that delivers community on campus and convenience at home. Classes are held in person one weekend per month on our Washington, D.C. campus and one Saturday per month online, helping you balance work, life, and

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Thanks to Morton Thiokol engineer Al McDonald, the Rogers Commission now knows that NASA executives were aware of the risks of launching in cold weather and pressured Thiokol to greenlight the Challenger launch anyway. McDonald's revelations cast a shadow of doubt over the testimony given by NASA representatives. And that night, Commissioner Member Richard Feynman decides he's no longer going to sit back and let NASA continue to cloud the public's perception of what happened.

Feynman is a Nobel Prize-winning physicist, but he's also a teacher, lecturer, and best-selling author. He's known for his ability to break down complicated scientific ideas into language that's easily digestible for the public. And with the Commission's next public hearing scheduled for the following day, Feynman prepares to do just that.

The meeting begins just after 10 a.m. on February 11th, 1986. Feynman takes his seat on the stage of the auditorium alongside his fellow commission members.

NASA Project Manager Larry Malloy returns to the witness stand to deliver a presentation about the solid rocket boosters. For nearly 90 minutes, Feynman watches him pace back and forth, moving between a miniature model of the shuttle and a handful of other exhibits, explaining in detail how the boosters' engines are manufactured and refurbished.

But Feynman is unimpressed. What he really wants to hear is a simple explanation of how the cold temperatures at launch may have affected the O-rings inside of Challenger's boosters. And he gets the impression that Malloy is trying to obscure that crucial topic by burying the commission in unrelated technical details. So when the commission breaks for a recess, Feynman approaches Rogers and gets the chairman's permission to conduct a brief experiment after the break.

Rogers concedes, and Feynman starts to prepare. He takes a small, one-inch sample of an O-ring that's been provided to the commission for the inquiry. Then he pours a fresh glass of ice water into a styrofoam cup and takes a small metal clamp out of his pocket. He folds the O-ring over several times, then locks the folds in place with the clamp and dunks the whole thing into the ice water.

And as the hearing resumes, Feynman makes his move. Mr. Chairman, with your permission, I'd like to share something with Mr. Malloy. With all eyes on him, Feynman pulls the clamp and the O-ring sample out of the styrofoam cup. Now, Mr. Malloy, during our recess, I took this stuff that I got out of your seal and I put it in ice water.

I discovered something very interesting. When you put some pressure on it, like I did with this clamp, and then release that pressure, it doesn't stretch back. In other words, there's no resilience in this material when it's at a temperature of 32 degrees. I believe that has some significance for our problem.

Feynman passes the hardened O-ring material around the stage for his fellow commissioners to examine as he continues to question Malloy. Now, we've established in previous hearings that if the rubber is hardened, it might not expand to fill the joints of the booster properly. Is that right? Low temperature increases the time that would be required for the O-ring to fill the seal of the joint. Yes, sir. So, was there some kind of temperature limit on when you would say a seal was safe enough to fly? Well,

Well, right now we're running extensive testing to understand the response of the seal under the specific conditions during the launch of the Challenger, but the specification for the material says it will operate anywhere from minus 30 to 500 degrees. So you are certain it would work fine all the way down to minus 30 degrees. Thi-Cal did present some data indicating a possible reduction in resilience if the temperature was down to 20 or 25 degrees, but that was lower than what we had at launch.

Now, just to be certain, we are running controlled tests under the specific conditions of the launch to understand it better. I guess I'm not really concerned about tests you're running after the explosion. I just want to know, before the launch, from information that was available, was it fully appreciated everywhere that this seal would become unsatisfactory at some temperature? Yes, sir, but we felt under the conditions we had on launch day, the seal would function appropriately, and that was the final judgment. Right.

Clearly, that was your final judgment, but you're saying none of the engineers at Thiokol thought differently? Well, some engineers at Thiokol suggested that the shuttle shouldn't be operated below any temperature that had been seen on previous lines. All right, thank you. I have no further questions. Feynman leans back in his chair, satisfied he's done his job, and hopeful that when he watches tonight's news coverage of the hearing, he'll find that his simple demonstration with the O-ring has reached the public as well.

For the next 48 hours, video of Richard Feynman's impromptu O-ring experiment gets replayed by news networks all across the country. Through his ice cup demonstration, the public begins to understand that the O-rings may have caused the explosion. And through Feynman's interrogation of Larry Malloy, they also learn that the explosion may have been preventable. In the wake of this breakthrough, more Thiokol executives and engineers are asked to testify before the commission.

But two of those engineers, Al McDonald and Roger Beaujolais, grow increasingly paranoid as their scheduled appearances approach. Both men fought hard to prevent Challenger's launch, and they have evidence that could prove damning to both NASA and their own bosses at the company. But they worry about the retaliation they might face if they go public about their experiences.

In the days following the disaster, Beaujolais was ordered by Thiokol to turn over all documents relevant to the launch. But instead of following those orders, Beaujolais hid some documents in a locked drawer in his desk. Now, fearing for the safety of those files, and even his own life, Beaujolais quietly retrieves the documents and mails a duplicate set to his wife. And as he awaits his chance to testify, he begins sleeping with the original copies underneath his pillow in his hotel room.

As for McDonald, he spends the next few days preparing detailed notes about everything he remembers from the pre-launch process and leaves a copy with a trusted colleague.

And when he's officially called to testify on February 14th, McDonald's testimony lands like a bombshell. He recounts the late-night teleconference in detail and walks the commission through the charts the engineers presented to NASA. McDonald tells the commission that he was so vigorously opposed to the launch that he refused to sign his name to the recommendation, forcing Thiokol executive Joseph Kilminster to sign it in his place.

Following this hearing, McDonald becomes something of a national hero. And Commission Chairman William Rogers is so moved by McDonald's testimony that he decides to pivot the focus of the investigation. He wants to determine not just what is to blame for the disaster, but who.

Up until now, the Rogers Commission has treated NASA officials as partners in the inquiry. But now, Rogers bars participation from anyone involved in the Challenger launch. And when the next open-door hearing is called to order on the morning of February 25th, there's a palpable shift in the tenor of the proceedings. And as Roger Beaujolais waits his turn to be called to the stand, he watches his boss, Thiokol Senior Vice President Jerry Mason, squirm under the Commission's adversarial questions.

Armed with information they learned from McDonald, the commissioners hammer Mason about the teleconference the night before launch. Astronaut Sally Ride and physicist Richard Feynman are especially forceful, homing in on how Mason came to recommend the launch despite dire warnings from his engineers.

Beaujolais feels mixed emotions about this scene. He's saddened to see his company's failings exposed like this in a public setting. But he's also gratified to see Mason, the man who refused to listen to Beaujolais' warnings time and again, finally getting his comeuppance. When Mason's testimony is concluded, Beaujolais is called next. As he takes his seat on the stage, he feels his nerves getting the best of him. But then Beaujolais takes a deep breath, and he thinks back to the days leading up to the launch.

He remembers all the times he pleaded with Thiokol's management to do the right thing, put the safety of the astronauts first. And then he decides that if his testimony destroys his company or costs him his job, then that's a price worth paying for the truth.

Beaujolais begins his testimony by recounting his trips to Cape Canaveral in the years leading up to the launch, where he personally inspected the shuttle's spent rocket boosters after they were recovered from the ocean post-launch. He explains the damage he documented in the boosters' O-rings, and he shares photos showing how the damage became more severe in the year leading up to the disaster.

Then Beaujolais testifies about the teleconference the night before the launch. Referring to notes he took immediately after the call, he tells the commission that he believed Thiokol's engineers made an overwhelming case that launching in temperatures that cold could not be considered safe, but NASA's Larry Molloy seemed to reverse the agency's safety policy on a whim. Beaujolais notes that Molloy explicitly stated it was Beaujolais' burden to prove the O-rings would fail, rather than NASA's burden to prove that they were safe.

Next, Beaujolais recounts the poll taken by Mason, where the Thiokol executives voted on whether or not to recommend a launch. Beaujolais explains that Mason excluded the engineers and pushed his fellow executives to make a business decision, not an engineering one.

As he talks, Beaujolais looks into the faces of the dozen commissioners across the stage, trying to measure their reaction. He narrows in on Commissioner Neil Armstrong and sees the former astronaut's lips purse seething with anger. It's a striking moment for Beaujolais, watching the first man on the moon boiling with contempt for the very agency that made him a household name.

And as Beaujolais' testimony nears its conclusion, Chairman Rogers asks him to read aloud from a memo Beaujolais had written to his bosses in July of 1985, six months before the disaster. Beaujolais nods. He's been waiting for this moment. Of all the documents he locked away in his desk in the days after the explosion, he considers this memo the most damning.

The room goes quiet as Beaujolais reads the memo in its entirety. In it, he begs his bosses for more time and resources to redesign the O-rings. He writes that if shuttle launches continue with the O-rings as currently designed, then the result could be a catastrophe of the highest order, including loss of human life.

Coming to the end of the memo, Beaujolais reads, With Beaujolais' testimony now concluded, he stands and leaves the stage and takes a seat to watch his fellow engineers give their account. And as he listens from his seat in the crowd, Beaujolais feels a weight lift from his shoulders.

He's relieved to know that the documents he had gone to such great lengths to protect are now part of the public record. Now he just hopes that NASA and Thiokol will do the right thing and hold people accountable for the decisions that cost those seven astronauts their lives.

I'm Jake Warren and in our first season of Finding, I set out on a very personal quest to find the woman who saved my mum's life. You can listen to Finding Natasha right now exclusively on Wondery Plus. In season two, I found myself caught up in a new journey to help someone I've never even met. But a couple of years ago, I came across a social media post by a person named Loti. It read in part, Three years ago today that I attempted to jump off this bridge, but this wasn't my time to go.

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The effort is led by Robert Crippen, the astronaut who piloted Columbia on NASA's first-ever space shuttle mission. Heartbroken by the deaths of seven of his fellow astronauts, Crippen volunteered shortly after the explosion, looking for a constructive way to deal with his grief. And the recovery is a massive undertaking. Dozens of ships, planes, and helicopters from NASA, the Navy, and the Coast Guard scour a vast expanse of ocean looking for pieces of debris.

Each recovered piece is laid out meticulously in a warehouse near the launch site in Cape Canaveral. And as NASA engineers begin to puzzle the Challenger back together, they look for definitive evidence of what caused the explosion. But NASA is searching for more than just mechanical debris. They are also eager to recover the bodies of the fallen astronauts to bring closure for their loved ones. And on the afternoon of March 7th, a recovery diver named Mike McAllister makes a grim discovery.

McAllister has been working on the Challenger salvage operation from the first hours after the disaster. It's been a long and often tedious process, using sonar to scan the ocean floor and then diving down to retrieve even the smallest pieces of debris.

Today, McAllister and his partner, Terry Bailey, are searching a new area, a small section of the Atlantic about 18 miles northeast of the launch site. Sonar on their recovery vessel recently picked up what looks to be a large metallic object, so McAllister is hoping to find something significant.

The two men swim along the bottom of the ocean, 90 feet underwater, dressed in black wetsuits and goggles and scuba tanks strapped to their backs. McAllister carries a bright orange inflatable buoy used to mark debris sites. Bailey has a sonar gun. Together, they move slowly, struggling to navigate through the cold and turbulent water.

They only have about 10 feet of visibility. So just ahead of him, McAllister barely is able to see Bailey aiming his sonar gun at the ocean floor, searching for wreckage. After a long while, Bailey looks back at McAllister and shakes his head no, he's not picking up anything. Then he points to his watch, asking how much time they have left on their tanks.

McAllister checks the watch on his wrist and holds up 10 fingers, indicating 10 minutes left. McAllister uses a hand signal to suggest they do one more sweep of the area, and Bailey nods in agreement. McAllister follows behind Bailey. But before long, he sees Bailey point, indicating he's picked up something on sonar.

Through the murky water, McAllister begins to see small chunks of shiny metal and wiring sticking out of the sand beneath him. It's definitely a debris field from the Challenger. Then McAllister sees his partner stop swimming and begin pointing frantically at a larger piece of wreckage. For a moment, McAllister can't figure out what's wrong. Then he's able to look closer and sees it. A pair of white legs bobbing slowly in the current.

McAllister swims ahead of Bailey and quickly realizes that what he's looking at is the bottom half of a spacesuit. He knows there's nobody inside it. The spacesuits weren't worn by the astronauts during the flight, but they were stored nearby in the crew compartment for use in spacewalks. McAllister turns back to his partner, but Bailey is nowhere to be found. McAllister figures he must have been so spooked that he headed back to the surface.

Checking his watch, McAllister sees he's only got six minutes left in his tank. He needs to work fast. He frantically ties the marker buoy to a chunk of nearby wreckage with a long nylon string. He unspools it, then releases it, letting the buoy float to the surface to mark the location. Then McAllister turns upward and begins his ascent.

He's relieved that he didn't actually come into contact with the remains of an astronaut, but he knows what that spacesuit means. They've found the crew compartment, and the astronauts must be nearby. The day after Mike McAllister and Terry Bailey's discovery, the recovery team begins pulling the astronauts' bodies from the ocean. From there, they're transported to an Air Force facility where pathologists begin performing autopsies on the crew, hoping to determine the definitive cause of death.

Meanwhile, more equipment from the shuttle is recovered, including computers and audio recording systems from inside the orbiter. And as these components are examined, investigators make a shocking discovery.

In the moments after the explosion, one of the astronauts could be heard saying uh-oh over the orbiter's internal communication system, and three of their emergency oxygen packs were switched on as they fell toward the ocean. This is the first evidence that some and perhaps all of the astronauts actually survived the explosion and might have been alive for the full two and a half minutes before the crew cabin made impact with water.

This discovery leads to speculation that the astronauts may have survived the disaster if there had been an emergency escape system installed on the shuttle. But years prior, such a system was deemed unnecessary and cut from the shuttle's design in a push by NASA to make the craft lighter, more efficient, and able to carry larger payloads.

Weeks later, in June of 1986, William Rogers delivers his commission's final report to the White House, and it is damning. There is much blame to go around, but NASA's Larry Molloy receives the harshest criticism. The commission cites Molloy's years-long failure to take the O-ring issue seriously, or to report what he knew about it to his superiors as primary contributors to the disaster.

Molloy is also criticized for his effort to reverse the Thiokol engineers' recommendation that the Challenger launch be postponed due to cold weather. Soon after the report's release, Molloy resigns from NASA. The commission's final report also has repercussions at Morton Thiokol. Jerry Mason, the Thiokol executive who ignored the warnings from his engineers, takes an early retirement from the company. And several other executives from the rocket booster program are reassigned to different divisions.

But rank-and-file Thiokol employees also suffer from the Challenger disaster. With the shuttle program now on indefinite hiatus, 200 Thiokol workers are laid off and more than a thousand are moved to part-time. The engineers who tried to stop the launch are treated as heroes by the American public, but become pariahs within their own company. They're seen as termcoats and blamed for the mass layoffs of their colleagues.

Roger Beaujolais takes everything especially hard. Not only does he find himself ostracized by his colleagues, but he still blames himself for not doing more to stop the launch. He suffers from nightmares and is diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder. Soon after, he leaves Thiokol and never works in aerospace again. Joseph Kilminster, one of the Thiokol executives who changed his launch recommendation the night before the disaster, is left equally haunted.

One evening, in the fall of 1986, he's in the living room of his home in Utah, playing host to his old friend Brian Russell, a Thiokol engineer. For now, both men's jobs have been spared, though Kilminster has been transferred to the company's automotive division. Still, Kilminster can't stop thinking about some of the employees under him who've lost their jobs, not to mention the fallen astronauts and their families.

As Kilminster leans back in his recliner and begins staring out the window, watching the sunset over the mountains, Russell checks in on him. So, Joe, how's automotive? It's all right, I guess. I mean, I'm lucky to have any job, right? After all that's happened. Do miss seeing you and the other guys from the booster plant.

Well, you're not missing much. Honestly, I wish I was let go. I dread going in every morning. It's nothing but dirty looks all the time. Me and the other engineers who testified, we're calling ourselves the five lepers. You don't deserve that. You guys did the right thing. That launch should never have happened, and you said so. And then all you did is tell the truth. I'm sure the history books will call you heroes.

Not me, though. What do you mean by that? You see the graffiti on the bridge outside town? One that says Morton Thiokol murderers? Yeah, they're talking about me. No, they're not. I don't think that's true. You were with me in that conference room the night before the launch. When Mason took that poll, he told us to make a business decision, not an engineering decision.

I never should have listened to him. I should have been thinking about the astronauts. Oh, come on, Joe. Mason put you in a terrible spot. You weren't the only one who voted to launch. But all it would have taken was one vote to stop it. I could have saved those astronauts' lives. And then I was the one who had to sign the recommendation. In 100 years, people are going to look at my signature on that letter, and that's how I'll be remembered. The guy who made the wrong decision for the wrong reasons.

Kilminster puts his head in his hands and begins to sob. A moment later, he feels Russell's hand on his shoulder trying to comfort him. But there's nothing his friend can do to take away the guilt. In the wake of the Challenger disaster, NASA paused all shuttle launches for nearly three years.

And during that time, the agency made some significant changes. The joints of the rocket boosters were reinforced to prevent the type of gas leak that caused the explosion. An escape system was added to the orbiter, allowing astronauts to exit the shuttle and parachute to safety in an emergency. And to reduce the number of missions, the shuttles were no longer used to carry commercial satellites into orbit.

Space Shuttle launches resumed in September 1988 and had a successful safety record until 2003. That year, the original shuttle Columbia broke up during reentry, killing its entire crew of seven astronauts. Following that disaster, President George W. Bush announced the shuttle program would be retired after it had completed its final mission helping to complete assembly of the International Space Station.

On July 21, 2011, the shuttle Atlantis touched down at Kennedy Space Center in Florida, marking the end of the space shuttle program. All told, the space shuttle fleet conducted 133 successful missions over the course of three decades. But the program never quite achieved NASA's vision of making journeys into space as safe and routine as commercial air travel.

Today, most manned spaceflight is conducted by private companies like Virgin Galactic, Blue Origin, and SpaceX. But in 2026, NASA hopes to return to one of its former glories, putting astronauts back on the moon for the first time in more than 50 years. From Wondery, this is Episode 4 of the Challenger Disaster from American Skin. On our next episode, I speak with Steve Leckart, co-director and producer of the Netflix docuseries Challenger The Final Flight.

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. If you'd like to learn more about the Challenger disaster, we recommend the books Challenger by Adam Higginbotham, The Burning Blue by Kevin Cook, and Challenger The Final Flight, available on Netflix. ♪

This episode contains reenactments and dramatized details. And while in most cases we can't know exactly what was said, all our dramatizations are based on historical research. 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 Joe Florentino. Senior producers Andy Beckerman and Andy Herman. Development by Stephanie Jens. Executive producers are Jenny Lauer-Beckman, Marshall Louis, and Erin O'Flaherty for Wondery.