Houston - No Problem!
By: Pauline E. Abbott, WWWT, Wife of the World’s Worst Tourist
The Companion Program is the true cutting edge of exploration of the alien cultures in which the Aeroballistic Range Association conference meets. The scientists, including the WWT, are usually too busy conferring to know much of what really goes on. That is why my accounts of Japan (2002) and Germany (2004) were invited onto the WWT webpage.
At the 56th Aeroballistic Range Association Conference of October 2005 the Companion Program was, through no-one’s fault, but due to acts of God via Katrina and Rita, severely curtailed. Also, it took place in Texas, which some participants might not think of as an alien culture, but rather the center of the material universe and the epitome of God’s perfect plan for right living. Those holding this opinion are mostly Texans, and among the most outspoken of my readers, so all I can say when they read this account is – come visit me in England, write up YOUR trip, and I won’t sue you if you don’t throw rocks at me.
My reasons for contributing this account then are – one, I was asked. Also, I like to write up learning experiences, whether anyone reads them or not.
I had felt regret, before I arrived, to reflect that for this conference there would be no alien culture to experience, no challenging environment to overcome, no strange language to learn and understand. Well, I hadn’t been to Texas before, so I knew no better. The challenging environment hit us as we walked out of the airport. Though we were very late, and it was now dark, the temperature was 84 degrees and the humidity must have been about 99.9%. We wrestled our rental car’s air conditioning to provide a breathable atmosphere, and set off towards Clear Lake, Houston.
Jim and I had left home on the morning of Sunday 2 October from our local airport in Orange County, California, and arrived at the Hilton Hotel, Clear Lake a little late, when registration was over and the evening reception was well under way. For previous conferences, foreign travel has been involved, and we assumed that this journey, within the US, would be relatively routine. Not quite. We made it to Dallas, Fort Worth airport on time, and punctually boarded the small plane due to complete our journey to Houston, Hobby. One `slight computer problem’, one re-routing due to weather over Houston, one lengthy refueling later, we took off. We did see the bad weather – tremendous thunderclouds rearing over Houston, and, as compensation perhaps for our inconvenience, some spectacular lighting effects. A beam of sunlight through a pinpoint in the clouds split into rainbow colors. Later we seemed to fly right into a circular rainbow. Perhaps all approaches to Texas have this?
Clear Lake is in a suburb south of Houston, and we reached it efficiently via Interstate 45, then other roads all with space-related names, like NASA Boulevard, Space Center Drive, reflecting Houston’s pride in its space history. Shortly after we passed the Johnson Space Center we arrived at the Hilton Hotel, Clear Lake, and were assigned to Room 314. A quick freshen-up, a change of clothes, and we are `good to go’ just after eight o’clock (see, I am already learning the strange language).
Though registration had officially closed, we met Justin Kerr, the conference director, at the door, and he re-opened the procedure for us. We quickly acquired nametags, program details, drinks coupons, brochures about the local area, and a conference bag to carry everything. We were promised there was still plenty of food left -`except the shrimp, it was GOOD!’ As we entered Justin whispered to an aide `You know who he is, don’t you? He’s the World’s Worst Tourist.’ Jim’s fame goeth before him.
I was hoping my own fame had been forgotten by now. Since my Companion’s Eye View of the previous two conferences had been added to Jim’s web page I was nervous no one would talk to me again. Jo was the first Companion I encountered, and she smiled and was friendly, so I figured I was in the clear. Not so. The next familiar face to appear was Don. `Are YOU in trouble!’ he greeted me. `I think you were making fun of me!’ I assured him that the compliments I had paid him in my last write-up were meant most seriously, and I would never DREAM of making fun of him. So, we exchanged hugs and decided we were still friends.
No sooner had we sat down to eat than Ed joined us. He had seen my accounts of the Companion Program, and had come to suspect that his scientific program was but secondary to the main purpose of the international goodwill and social interaction it facilitated amongst the Companions – a secret they had maintained until now. Oh, no, had I betrayed my friends and would we now be expected to have less fun? Fortunately, no – Ed was not only willing for the social program to continue, but he hoped to increase his own participation in it. Also, he wanted to link my accounts to the ARA website.
Across the room I caught sight of Lily, Ed’s wife, from the Netherlands, and Rita, from Minnesota. These were two ladies I was very happy to see again, and we spent some time together updating our news, and discussing who was here and who was not. Peggy, they tell me, will join us for the banquet at the end of the week. Ali’s husband has retired, so she won’t be coming. Chieko will not be able to make it. Pamela (I learned later) is in England clearing up a visa problem. No one has heard from Gloria. Sue Ellen is well, but has family and church commitments. Brigitte from Freiburg joined us, and we all began recording our continuing good looks with photographs.
Senior Wives
Time passes quickly. Only three years ago I attended my first conference with the Companions of the Aero-Ballistic Range Association scientists. I coined the phrase then - `senior wives’ – to denote those married to members of the ARA who had experienced many conferences and were graciously welcoming to newcomers. To misquote someone or other, `once I cudn’t spell seenia wyves, now I are one.’ To quote more accurately another famous historical figure `the torch has been passed to another generation.’
Few of the senior wives I have met at past conferences were in attendance this year. In case they read this - we missed you. In some cases retirement has taken the ARA member, and therefore his wife, on to other fields, in some cases responsibility in their own careers has made attendance impossible, and in some cases the unusually rushed arrangements this year, due to the intervention of Hurricane Rita, made travel difficult. For whatever reason, then, in October 2005, I found myself one of a very select group of ladies who, with their husbands, have reached that age where we, who now know everything, graciously welcome the young whippersnappers.
While I had been chatting Jim had discovered dessert, and highly recommended the watermelon dipped in chocolate sauce (see, alien culture!) We ate this while talking to Justin, who recounted his recent experiences with Hurricane Rita. Fortunately, he had been out-of-state when the evacuation was ordered, and his family had all coped well. They had avoided the main traffic snarl by using side roads, and, their property had been spared. We were to discover as the week went on how much disruption Rita had caused, and to hear many stories of danger, damage, and merciful escapes experienced by many. Our Companion Program has been curtailed – the visit to historic Galveston is cancelled. However, we are all glad to be together, and know we will enjoy excellent company whatever we do.
Two hours ahead of Pacific Time, the morning of Monday 3 October seemed to arrive very early. Jim planned to eat the buffet breakfast at the conference center, so I arose slowly, enjoying our window view over Clear Lake, and went down to breakfast in the hotel dining room at about 8:30. There, too, I found a great window view, and was feasting on bacon and eggs when Brigitte joined me. I had enjoyed my stay in Freiburg, so we shared our knowledge of that charming town, and speculated on the delights of Houston. Rita was next to arrive, and took a seat close by. We updated family news – Rita’s mother is now 92 and fit and well, and Rita herself now has eight grandchildren. Some of these, plus parents, are staying in her house while their new home is being built. Rita’s husband, Vern, is retired, but they both enjoy the meetings so much they plan to keep attending as long as they are able. Rita was soon afterwards joined at her table by Georgia. This was an interesting introduction for me, as Georgia has been to many ARA conferences with her husband, Bob, now retired, but they just haven’t happened to be the ones I’ve attended. So, here we were, each senior wives, but never having met before. Georgia is vivacious and friendly, and as we quickly exchange a few life experiences we realize that we can easily, though belatedly, be friends.
The Companion Program this morning calls for us to meet at 9:30 in the hotel lobby, to be taken to a cooking class in the hotel kitchen. Those readers on any kind of weight or cholesterol reduction program had better skip this paragraph – simply reading it will add a thousand calories. The menu was to be Shrimps Romano (battered shrimps served over garlic pasta accompanied by a sauce including butter, wine and heavy cream), Cajun Beef in Bordelaise Sauce served over Cheese Tortellini in Alfredo Sauce, and, for dessert, Bananas Foster (which includes butter, sugar, ice cream, rum and Triple Sec liqueur as well as bananas).
There was some confusion as to whether we were about to attend a hands-on cooking class, a demonstration, or just an excuse to enjoy a really long lunch and a gossip – sorry, cultural exchange. It seemed the kitchen staff suffered the same confusion – as we filed into the kitchen our Master Chef greeted us `Wow! I never had so many hotel guests volunteer for vegetable peeling and dishwashing before!’ Dispelling some of the anxiety this remark created, he led us to a long table, situated in the busy kitchen, but elegantly set out with linen cloth, creative centerpiece, decorator plates and silverware, and no less than four glasses at each setting. Turned out, the kitchen staff had not done this before, and were just as excited to see us as we were to be there.
I sat between Georgia and Brittany. Brittany is the Companion of Justin, the conference host, and attractively represents the generation of young whippersnappers, working at the JFK Space Center in Florida herself. Other cooking apprentices were Violet, Diane, Joanie, Denise, Rita, Lily, Jo, Kathy, Nelda and Cindy. Some of our first exchanges are over our vintages - `Were you in Madrid? – I wasn’t, but were you in Japan? See ya and raise ya.‘ The winner in such exchanges is invariably Rita, who claims the longest ARA pedigree. Other minor contests are conducted over room assignments. Here Rita doesn’t come off so well, being on the third floor – next to us, in fact – though with a lake view, but the winner is Georgia, who trumps us with The Penthouse! (which is what the hotel calls its thirteenth floor).
But enough of this. Our Master Chef calls us to order, and instructs us on procedure. He and his able assistant ( a sous-chef, but, as he admits, the one who really knows what goes on) will cook one complete meal in front of us, describing each component and passing on tips for successful results. Our task is to watch and learn, sniff and taste, drink the contents of the glasses, which will be filled in order, and finally to eat the complete lunch which lesser minions are actually producing en masse in another part of the kitchen. We accept the mission, and begin by sipping the iced tea and water already filling two of our glasses, while a waiter comes around filling the third with white wine. Some of us have not long finished breakfast, and wine at 10:30 is not one of our regular indulgences but, hey, these guys are working so hard, we must do our best!
There were gourmet cooks in the audience, and I unfortunately am not one of them. Some Companions assiduously took notes, and many asked intelligent questions. I figured, let them do what they’re good at, and I’ll contribute the unskilled labor, mostly watching, sniffing and drinking.
Cooking Demonstration
Our Master Chef demonstrated many talents. He and his assistant chopped, mixed, tossed, simmered, all the while keeping up a steady stream of information, tips, and dry humor. At one point a Manager wandered through to check on us, and introduced himself and his exalted job title. As he left our Master Chef translated in a stage whisper `That’s code for Sits in Office all Day.’ The information stream got extremely confusing to a layperson, especially as knowledgeable Companions started adding their own esoteric advice. I can remember only what was at my level – for instance, `warm your lemons before you squeeze them and you’ll get more juice.’ Sounds like Zen wisdom, doesn’t it?
We sniffed a plate of shrimp, we picked at Cajun beef in its marinade, and finally watched as Bananas Foster sent flames up to the kitchen ceiling.
Now came the real test – how much could we eat? More white wine was poured as we each received our own plate of shrimps Romano. They were delicious, and would have been a very sufficient lunch in themselves. But here came the Cajun beef and the cheese tortellini, and our fourth glass was filled with red wine! We struggled manfully (or womanfully) but I know of no Companion who was able to finish this course. And we had to save space for dessert, and coffee. Fortunately we were given lots of time. As we slowly forked, spooned and sipped, our instructors walked amongst us, accepting our congratulations, and also joining in with some conversation of their own. Our Master Chef, for instance, lives in Baton Rouge, and is presently sharing his home with other family members who were displaced by Katrina. Amazingly, unfailingly, in all the stories everyone told, I never heard one disaster story that didn’t end with some words of gratitude for what had been spared, and some acknowledgement of blessings realized.
Perhaps that’s what disasters are for? After 9/11 in New York, after the 12/26 tsunami, and after 7/7 in the subways of London, didn’t you notice an immediate wake of human-interest stories in which people demonstrated previously unexpected heights of heroism, untapped depths of compassion, and a broader capacity for gratitude?
Sniffing and Tasting
Having started at ten, it was only just after twelve when lunch ended. Some of us felt ready to spend our free afternoon taking a nap – but realized, with a Texan barbecue on the agenda for that evening, we had better take some exercise between now and then. And what better exercise than shopping! Nelda volunteered to drive to the Kemah Boardwalk all who would show up in the hotel lobby at one o’clock.
The Kemah Boardwalk is an excellent example of Texas culture. Located on the waterfront, it consists of stores, restaurants, dancing fountains, an amusement park with a Ferris wheel, carousel, rock climbing wall, and a little train, and a walk along the shore from which one can watch sail boats, shrimp boats and pleasure boats.
Now, some Companions who shall be nameless went to sleep and never made it. But Nelda, Violet, Joanie, Rita, Jo, Denise, Brittany and I arrived at Kemah at around two o’clock.
The challenging – if not downright hostile – Texas environment assailed us immediately. Safe in the cocoon of our air-conditioned hotel since last night, we had not realized the heat and humidity that would knock us back as we emerged from our van. And then, the mosquitoes struck! You ain’t been bitten by a mosquito until you’ve been bitten by a Texas mosquito. They say everything’s bigger in Texas? Not only are these guys bigger, and darker, but also they’re also more aggressive than any mosquito I ever met, and they hunt in swarms. Within seconds every inch of Companion skin had its own guest. Jo swatted one on her leg. One mosquito down, but where one goes down, six take its place. I was wearing long sleeves, but that was no protection. These suckers attacked through cloth, and through more than one layer of cloth, too, as I discovered later when I changed clothes.
As quickly as possible, we dived for cover, most of us into the nearest air-conditioned store. This afforded immediate relief, and we kept up the technique of sprinting between doorways, then browsing slowly over souvenir-rich shelves between dives. The group thinned as hard-core shoppers took longer to make purchases. Rita needed presents for her grandchildren, Joanie had a daughter setting up her first apartment, Violet bought bandannas for her dogs, I bought a pair of ear-rings, but my enthusiasm for Houston T-shirts, astronaut-shaped pens and cowboy-hat tree ornaments soon waned, and I tried to walk outside to photograph the attractions. I captured the dancing fountains, a pumpkin patch, and a boat or two, but no store sold insect-repellent, so I soon looked for shelter.
Landry's Bar
I noticed Landry’s bar, and hastened thankfully inside. Who should be there but Denise and Brittany – these whippersnappers had needed no wise advice at all, but had headed straight for the protection of the bar as soon as we left the van! They had made friends with the bar staff by explaining that Brittany needed to celebrate her birthday, and were in the process of sampling as many interesting cocktails as the staff could devise.
`I liked the green one best,’ said Brittany. `Did he call it an Alligator?’
I joined in what was actually a four-way conversation, since the pair texted their men folk throughout, describing their experiments and expressing their opinions. Rather less adventurous, I ordered a margarita, and savored its medicinal properties until it was time to return to our group. Nelda drove us safely back to the hotel as we compared purchases and mosquito bites.
Texan Barbecue
The next exciting event on the agenda was this evening’s Texan barbecue at seven. No anxiety about what to wear, as all ladies had agreed on jeans, and cowboy hats and bandannas were to be provided for non-natives. It wasn’t, strictly speaking, a barbecue, as the meal had been prepared by our friendly kitchen staff this morning, and was laid out buffet-style in the hotel ballroom.
We traveled down in the elevator with Jo and Larry, and joined Rita and Vern at a table.
Spot the Authentic Hat
We dudes looked so good in our western attire we immortalized each other in many photographs, while Texans demonstrated their superiority by looking on from under their authentic brims.
Entertainment included a couple of cartoonists, who would swiftly draw caricatures of anyone brave enough to sit for them. Egged on by each other Larry, Jim, then I and Jo in turn sat for our portraits, taking advantage of the disappearance of the art line when dinner was announced. It made us rather late in collecting dinner, but we were able to show off our art works to those who were finished and walking around.
Further entertainment was provided by a group of cloggers, who performed traditional dancing to country and western music. Watching them move was exercise enough for me, but at the end of the evening Jim still had sufficient energy to go down to the hotel’s workout room.
Tuesday 4th October
Jim set off early this morning to breakfast and to present his paper. We had agreed to meet later, at one o’clock, to visit Galveston. The Companions’ Tour there had been cancelled due to hurricane damage, but we had heard that the roads had become more drivable since the cancellation.
I stayed in bed late, and was called by Georgia at about nine o’clock. She and Rita were thinking of getting together this morning, and I was invited to join them. Having a lunch `date’ with Jim, I declined. At about ten, Jo called. She had been shanghaied by Rita and Georgia to take them to the mall for more shopping, and wondered if I would like to join them. For the same reason, again I said no.
Monument to the 1901 Hurricane
By now I had to leave my room for housekeeping to do their thing, so I went down to the lounge with my crosswords. The three-lady expedition was gathering there, so we all sat and chatted for a while. First, we checked out each others’ sartorial plans and resources for the conference banquet, and decided on FORMAL. We exchanged hints on remedies for mosquito bites, and Rita offered to bring back something soothing for me from their shopping foray. Jo told us her sad story of walking this morning and getting caught in a shower of rain. I confirmed I had made reservations for us all to eat at Perry’s Steakhouse this evening, as recommended by Justin yesterday. After they left I read the newspaper for a while before returning upstairs. My `date’ showed up at 12:30.
By one o’clock Jim and I were in our car and driving along Highway 45 to Galveston. Crossing the bridge, we drove straight down Broadway, which leads down the center of the island. We took Broadway all the way to East Beach. The wind, and hence the surf, was really strong here, and a few foolhardy souls were out in their wetsuits braving both. We observed a monument, and read that it commemorated a hurricane of 1901. Fleeing the ocean breezes, we drove along the shore, noticing that some roads were still partly flooded. We turned back inland to the Heritage Center, where we sought information.
A couple of older ladies were in charge here, and had obviously been starved of tourist company over the past difficult days. They welcomed us with open arms, enquired where we were from, and plied us with leaflets and brochures about all their tourist attractions. One even showed us her home on the map. `Tell all your friends we’re open for business,’ they entreated. Like every other local, they had their own hurricane stories to tell. Both had been in the mass evacuation. One had previously lived in Beaumont, the town that was completely destroyed. We left finally, promising to tell the western world about their survival, and to encourage everyone we knew to drive to Galveston to spend tourist dollars.
Historic Galveston
We walked around the historic Heritage area, and then drove to the residential area on our tourist map, enjoying looking at the ornate buildings, and rejoicing that they seemed mostly intact. The only signs of hurricane damage were tattered billboards, and some homes with windows boarded up, evidently still awaiting their owners’ return.
Passing a wonderful store called Brass on the Strand, we parked briefly to look around, and within a few seconds I spotted this trip’s angel souvenir.
Boarded Windows, Galveston
The 45 brought us safely home again, where we had a brief turnaround time before meeting our party to drive to Perry’s Steakhouse. Driving in convoy, Jim and I were ahead with Larry and Jo, and we managed to spot our destination – just after we had sailed by its entrance. The whole convoy, then, made a graceful U-turn, and we were shown to a large circular table in the center of the busy restaurant.
Steaks were their specialty, and steaks ranged in size from large to humungous. I chose the smallest possible, and it was delicious. The company was excellent, and we commemorated ourselves again in a group photograph.
Perry's Steakhouse
Wednesday 5th October
After the previous night’s revelry it was difficult to get up early this morning, but necessary, as the buses were due to leave at 8:30 to take everyone to the Johnson Space Center. We were not the only group to have spent an evening of debauchery. A group seated ahead of us discussed an evening of bacchanalian experimentation, which apparently included some drink called a Jagermeister. This is served as an ice-cold `shot’ injected into a glass of beer. A German scientist grew pale. `I know of this drink,’ he said, `It contains fruits, and herbs, and ….’ Here his powers of English translation must have failed him, as he trailed off `… and … nasty things.’
Further fascinating revelations were interrupted by Justin taking the microphone and detailing the day’s program, concluding `If you don’t love the space program, you’re going to have a really bad day.’ Fortunately I believe I do love the space program, I’m very interested, and I’m carrying Barnaby, the stuffed bear from my sister’s kindergarten class in England who is on a mission to investigate space and send back pictures and emails, so the day seems full of promise.
Our first call is at the Buoyancy Lab, which is mostly a 40 feet deep pool filled with mock-ups of parts of spacecraft. Here astronauts train to do the extra-vehicular tasks they may have to perform in space, making their mistakes and perfecting their co-ordination in a relatively risk-free reduced-gravity environment. Apparently the ratio is ten hours in training to one hour’s EVA. We could see some shadowy figures in the depths, and occasionally a trainer’s head would splash up to the surface. Here we got the first taste of a phenomenon that is one of my abiding memories of the Space Center tour – everyone is so proud of and totally absorbed in the program. Our tour was privileged to be guided by the deputy director of the Buoyancy Lab. I don’t know how much a regular tour guide tells, but we had the guy who knows everything, and who was bursting with pride in telling us. No matter what question the conferencees asked, he knew the answer, and then some. It was really impressive – and, here was the first of our over-runs. Between him, and Justin, who also liked to add his own information, we were going to have to run to get to the main Space Center for lunch.
As we left the building, we noticed a huge poster of the astronaut, Sonny Carter, in whose memory the building is named. A brilliant man, he was unfortunately killed in an air accident. Jim had known him, since he took part of the astronaut training when he had science experiments going out on the space shuttle.
The bus brought us swiftly to the main campus of the Johnson Space Center. Here again we were reminded that we were not getting the tour taken by the `riff raff’ – we were the technical elite, very important guests who would be shown the inside scoop by experts. So, no rides on the space shute for us, no playing with space-related video games for us, no touching moon rocks for us, no browsing in the gift store for us … wait a minute, what was that last one??? Howls of protest went up from the serious shoppers with grandchildren and other space fans to buy for. Not to worry, promised Justin. There would be PLENTY of time at the end of our tour, before he got us home in AMPLE time to prepare for our evening excursion …. He spoke with forked tongue!
I am so glad there was time for at least a brief concession to the laypersons amongst this technical elite. First we took over the video theatre showing a brief history of the early days of space exploration. At the front of the theatre was the actual podium from which President John Kennedy made his inspirational speech declaring that we would land a man on the moon before the end of the decade, and there was that same podium in the opening scenes of the video. Call me what you like, but I felt Goosebumps at this point. I have felt often the sense of history in ancient places, where rocks or stone walls seem to retain the vibes of the people and events they have witnessed. This seemed to be the same kind of feeling, recreating the idealism and inspiration felt in that more innocent time, the pride of those who took up the challenge, my own remembered youth where all things seemed possible. The video, I thought, was an evocative masterpiece, with shots from each of the early missions, including, of course, the first moon landing, with the real guys standing there in the control room with their real emotions so compelling.
`Houston, this is Tranquility Base – the Eagle has landed.’ Did you know the first word spoken on the moon was Houston? I suppose I did, since I stayed up all night in England, along with all the rest of the television owning world, to witness these events as they happened, but this video brought it all together in an intense `rush’. And, I hadn’t previously heard the urgent ‘ you got to put down, guys, you GOT to put down somewhere’ – then the silence, THEN the simple momentous statement.
The video covered the downs as well as the ups. Who will ever forget that awful stunned silence as Challenger exploded, especially we teachers who stood with our classes and knew that our friend, Christa McCauliffe, was suddenly no more. I felt a great sob rising in my throat even now, with the power of that memory, and I could sense that same kind of feeling in the audience all around me.
Not for the first time, I give thanks for being part of the generation that has experienced these things. How blessed we are in what we have seen, in the spirit of our youth, in the sense of hope in which we lived.
As if to underscore this, we next saw a presentation of the present-day workings of the space program. Nina, an upright, efficient, older lady took us smoothly and efficiently through many statistics, giving us lots of technical detail. And, much of it now seems routine, mundane, housekeeping. I am impressed, even overwhelmed, but not by emotion. I truly hope that the inspiration and pride happens to every generation, and that I miss it only because I’m older.
Meantime, before we rose to the executive dining room where lunch was prepared, we formed a group for the official conference photograph. Those of us more vertically challenged than others were requested to stand at the front, or on the bench seats at the back. These structures, designed for sitting rather than standing, were squishy, and balancing on them in a dignified manner was not trivial. As it happens, I needn’t have worried about dignity. Jim decided Barnaby should be in the picture, too, so held him up behind me. That small white blob on my shoulder is Barnaby, fortunately too small to be distinguished by anyone not actually looking for him.
Building B-9
Our buffet lunch awaited. We chose from the delicious array, and were seated at a table with Rita, Vern, Don and Dennis. There was no time to spare for social chitchat – Justin took the opportunity to give a brief technical presentation, plus, we had to wrestle with dessert. This came in the form of chocolate space cones filled with cream. Absolutely delicious, but tending to squirt cream in unexpected directions when one took a bite of the hard chocolate. A little more design work needed there, NASA.
Rush, rush, again - `follow the purple neon sign’ encourages Justin – and we head out into the air again to catch a tour tram. Hot, damp air surrounded us, always catching me by surprise after an air-conditioned interlude. Everyone rushed for seats, and Jim and I ended up in front of Jo and Larry, who thanked us for running a `bug shield’ for them. How could I so soon have forgotten the mosquitoes! Pulling my collar up, and my hat down, we set off for Building B-9, containing more simulations. These are above ground, so we can see more clearly the various parts of spacecraft again used for training purposes. There is no reduced gravity, but the parts are all actual-size, so movements can be practiced and clearances gauged in a more relaxed environment than that found outside a malfunctioning spacecraft in orbit around the earth. Every conceivable scenario is rehearsed, so in a real emergency training will take over.
This was still really interesting, and once again we had a highly skilled guide, so we were told more than your average family tour would want to know. Once again, we over-ran our allotted time.
Mission Control
The next building was, believe it or not, a designated historical monument – the building housing the Mission Control Room from where the earliest missions were directed. Jim was a little upset to find a building where he had actually worked declared a historic monument, but I assured him it was OK as long as they didn’t declare HIM one. Maybe I’m too suggestible, but again I found this a genuine thrill, to see in the flesh, as it were, this important place in our history. The computers, and the telephones, did look incredibly old-fashioned. I think `how quickly technology gets outdated these days’ then realize how long ago the sixties were, and to my students even a phone needing a wire and a wall is a weird throwback to the past.
(By the way, the movie Apollo Thirteen was not filmed in this building. The moviemakers came and studied it, then built a fake version with more space between the equipment to accommodate their cameras. Otherwise, they were fanatical in their accuracy, even getting a local donut store to reprint sixties versions of their donut boxes.)
Moving right along, our tram brought us next to thermal testing. Now we were really in trouble, as this is Justin’s pet area, he knows everything about it, we were surrounded by scientists who also wanted to know, and, to most Companions, one space tile looks much like another. One young scientist was designated to explain the project to visitors, but we were no ordinary visitors, don’t forget, so Justin took over. I was interested for the first hour, honestly, and peered at surfaces, photographs of surfaces, cracks, photographs of cracks, listened to theories, critiques of theories, looked interested at questions, questions about questions …. I admit, honestly, after a while I’d soaked up rather too much information. Looking round at a few other Companions slumped against shelves, leaning against gantries, and muttering covert rebellion in corners I realized I was not alone. We were also concerned because, as I mentioned, this was a typically hot and humid day, we were destined for an evening cruise for which we wished to appear cool, calm and coiffed, and not only had all the time gone for even a brief shopping run through the gift store, but we were now eating into turnaround time back at the hotel.
Justin was difficult to interrupt, so we started to take it in turns to ask less intelligent questions than the scientists, like, `should we move on?’ or `WHAT time did you say the bus would collect us?’ Alas, Justin called and rescheduled the bus, and informed us that the evening cruise could be `casual – I’m just going in these same clothes.’ Depending on our differing challenges, we ladies now had hairstyles that had collapsed into witch-like strands or exploded into Shirley Temple ringlets, and our perspiring bodies yearned for showers and at least a change of shirt. At long last, we moved out of thermal testing before we became exhibits ourselves.
Buttscape
This was not the end of the tour, however. We moved on to photography. The buildings that followed were not part of the regular tour, and were not designed for large groups of people to see what was going on. In some places we were split into two groups, taking it in turns to be shown mosaics, viewing 3D images through special goggles, lining up past computer screens filled with technical information. Inevitably, those less technically literate became marginalized, finding ourselves often peering through shelving to catch a glimpse of some demonstration, or outside an office doorway craning to see in. Now, I admit, at some point some of us got rather silly, and I conceived the idea of an Alternative Photo Tour taken from the Companions’ viewpoint. No sooner was I down on my knees attempting to compose an artistic shot of the row of scientific butts, which was all Georgia and I could see at the time, than the owner of one butt turned round and caught me.
It will be obvious to an impartial observer that my photograph is a serious attempt at realistic photojournalism, and deserves professional respect. Unfortunately, that is not what I received. For the remainder of the tour I was forced to contend with threats and harassment, advised to watch my own rear end lest revenge should be taken and an unflattering angle of some part of my anatomy posted on the Internet. Not only that, but an eminent scientist (who shall remain nameless, as I’m not sure my safety can yet be assured, but those who know him well may recognize the central – er – feature in my butt-scape) threatened me with the use of some Photo Shop update alleged to further widen the appearance of butts not already abundantly endowed with natural width and curve.
Backing carefully down the stairs and onto the tram, I swung my purse behind me as we walked to the next building, which we learned was Justin’s own. We had been due to leave at four o’clock, and it was now four thirty, so Justin told our guide he must condense his talk to thirty minutes. Despairful, the gentleman nevertheless complied, and swept our half of the group through the entire facility with rapid-fire information processing and about ten seconds to spare. `OK’, he gasped, `we made it. Where’s Justin’s group?’ They were still in the first room, weren’t they!
Finally, we trammed on back to the entrance. The tourist area was long closed, and with it the gift store, but as an act of contrition Justin persuaded them to open at least the store while we waited for our bus to arrive. Never has so much been bought so quickly by so few. For five minutes manic grandparents rushed through the store picking up astronaut teddy bears, NASA pins and pens, posters, any kind of space-related toyware that would protect them from irate family on their otherwise empty-handed return.
We arrived back at the hotel at 5:45, with instructions to be on the next bus at 6:30! All rose to the challenge, and at least LOOKED cool and elegant. Promptly at six thirty we whirled off to board the Spirit of Texas, a paddlewheel boat and restaurant. Downstairs was enclosed and had air-conditioning, but I was with an adventurous group who made straight for the top deck. At first this felt good. We were able to watch the sunset as we left the dock, a gentle breeze blew, and a margarita or two soon mellowed us into relaxation.
Rita and Vern shared our table. From the buffet table downstairs we fetched plates of shrimp, crab cakes, mushrooms, barbecued beef, salad. It was an excellent spread.
Evening Cruise
Our captain also informed us we were a special group, and announced he would take us into a secluded residential area of the bay. From our top deck we were able to admire some palatial Texan homes, and they were able to admire us. A low moon lit the dark sky. Passengers wandered freely from table to table, from deck to deck. Galveston Bay was safely navigated. We became involved in several interesting conversations, and by the end of the cruise found we had settled at a corner table with Larry and Jo, Bob and Georgia. Brittany again celebrated her birthday, this time to cheering crowds on the bow. The lights of Kemah came and went … oh, no, how could I have forgotten the mosquitoes again! Amongst the lights of Kemah we woke our unfriendly neighborhood storm troopers, who descended in clouds to persecute exposed arms and shoulders. Huddled in jackets, shawls and the occasional napkin, we swatted them maniacally as we eased into dock
Rita had kindly supplied me with a mosquito antidote after one of her shopping trips, so I later swathed myself in her healing gel and slid into bed. Jim, amazingly, still had the energy to visit the hotel’s gym before retiring.
Thursday 6th October
To the Moon!
Jim was up in time to join other scientists for breakfast. As I was getting up a little later Rita called to suggest we breakfast together. We chose a window table, where we were soon joined by Georgia, and then by Jo. Our conversation veered around childbirth, motherhood, garage sales, mosquitoes, the space program, fate versus free will …
Rita needed more shopping time, and Jo agreed to drive her. We scattered to our various pursuits. Housekeeping arrived at my room at about ten thirty, so again I took my pursuits to a downstairs lounge. Soon afterwards Jo and Rita returned from shopping, and Georgia passed by on her way to the gift store. Jo wanted some pool time, so Georgia and I accompanied Rita to her room, where Rita was to allow me access to one of her astronaut-suited stuffed bears. We thought with a little adaptation his suit could be made to fit Barnaby for a photo opportunity, and so it proved. Barnaby’s image peering poignantly out of a smart white spacesuit was soon emailing its way to his kindergarten class in England.
Companions at Lunch
Rita is one of the world’s kindest souls, and her genuine interest in people leads them to confide in her any or all pages of their life history that she cares to ask about. My story is now long, so it was perhaps fortunate that the phone rang before I could tell all. Jo was downstairs with Kathy, Peggy had arrived, why didn’t we all get together for lunch? So we did. It was great to see Peggy again, to catch up on more news. We all discussed our preferences for the location of the next conference. Venice wins most of our votes.
Larry arrived. The ARA business meeting had ended unexpectedly early, and Venice is confirmed. I’m not saying our preference made any difference – but then, this account may be leaked to ARA members, and we don’t want to raise any more suspicions about the perceived inequality of importance between the scientific conference and the Companions’ promotion of international understanding and world peace.
At the Conference Banquet
The end of the conference was celebrated this last evening with the conference banquet. Our last bus ride took us back to the Kemah Boardwalk, where we were unloaded into Landry’s, an elegant restaurant overlooking the ocean. For this formal occasion we all looked good, and we hastened to photograph each other looking our best before we got messed up. The food and wine were excellent, the moods mellow, goodwill abundant. Jim and I sat with Rita and Vern, Eberhart and Brigitte, and made a most interesting discovery. Reminiscing over our visit to Freiburg, Jim mentioned his name – Trolinger – and how this invariably impressed locals because of its association with the famous Trollinger wine. Eberhart replied, with some surprise, that he too was impressed, as he had inherited and was still the owner of a vineyard that produced the Trollinger grapes! On the strength of this somewhat tenuous family connection, we are invited to visit Eberhart and Brigitte should we ever be in Freiburg again.
So, new friendships were made. Old ones were even re-made, as Don promised me faithfully that his Photo Shop had no additional features, and he was too much of a gentleman to use them even if it had – less’n he had to, of course. (I wonder, what is the precise meaning of that phrase in Texan?) Young scientists were encouraged with the presentation of awards and cash. Other awards were made, which included signed copies of Buzz Aldrin’s Reaching for the Moon. My eyes lit up at this potential addition to my collection of signed books, and I asked Justin where such copies might be found. To my amazed delight and great gratitude, he presented me with his own! I immediately forgave him every last over-run on the space center tour. Good thing I had already congratulated him on his excellent directorship of the conference, or he might have thought I was biased.
Completely without bias, this has been an excellent conference for at least this Companion. There have been more separate events for Companions on other occasions, and I have had fun describing and re-living them. The organization of this conference was beset with logistical challenges, and the organizers produced a triumph anyway. I am reminded of what I concluded before – its fun to write of experiencing alien cultures, learning strange languages and customs, seeing unusual places and events. Ultimately, though, the Companions are about Companionship, and the pleasures of meeting are often in the quietest conversations, the affectionate teasing, and the genuine interest we have developed in each others’ well-being.
The End of the Conference
The outgoing chairman, Ed, passed his baton to Dennis, and was duly thanked for his good service. All expect to live happily ever after – and hope to meet next year in Venice.