The evening after the Challenger shuttle explosion, Ronald Reagan addressed a grieving nation from the Oval Office. He ended his speech with these words: “The crew of the space shuttle Challenger honored us by the manner in which they lived their lives. We will never forget them, nor the last time we saw them, this morning, as they prepared for their journey and waved goodbye and ‘slipped the surly bonds of earth’ to ‘touch the face of God.'”
By day, he is just Barry, a mild-mannered Eastern Bluebird with a penchant for mealworms and cheerful warbling. But Barry harbors a dark past. Seasons ago, during the Great Famine of Mid-February, Barry watched helplessly as the notorious “Bushy-Tail Syndicate”—a ruthless gang of gray squirrels—raided the neighborhood’s prime feeder. They didn’t just eat; they destroyed. They spilled the premium black oil sunflower seeds onto the muddy ground below, laughing their chittering laughs. The carnage changed Barry. He realized that being just another pretty songbird wasn’t enough. The backyard needed a guardian. A symbol. Scavenging a scrap of highly durable, weather-resistant blue fabric dropped near a human’s clothesline, Barry fashioned a cowl to mask his identity and a cape to aid his aerodynamic dives. He trained in the shadows of the deck, honing his skills: stealth gliding, super-avian vision capable of spotting a whisker twitch at fifty yards, and the “Beak of Justice”—a rapid-peck technique that can disarm a rodent three times his size. Now, when the sun sets and the nocturnal pests emerge, Barry leaves his nest. He perches silently on the yellow Bird Buddy feeder, a lone sentinel against the chaos. He is the terror that flaps in the night. He is the guardian of the grain. He is… The Caped Cruseeder.
The sky over Cape Canaveral was a piercing, deceptive blue forty years ago today. It was the kind of sky that invites you to look up, to dream, and to believe that the limits of our world are just temporary suggestions.
For most of the world, January 28, 1986, is a date frozen in history books. I was already in college but one of my high school teachers was Walt Tremer. He was one of the ten finalists for Teacher in Space. He could have been on that space craft.
Today marks the 40th anniversary of the Space Shuttle Challenger disaster. While the nation mourns the seven heroes who slipped the surly bonds of Earth to “touch the face of God.”
The Teacher Who Dared to Fly
In 1985, NASA announced the Teacher in Space program. The goal was simple but revolutionary: send an educator into orbit to communicate with students from the ultimate classroom. It wasn’t just about science; it was about democratizing the stars.
Mr. Tremer wasn’t just a name on a list; he was a force of nature in our school in Pennsylvania. When the announcement came that he was a finalist—chosen as one of the elite educators from thousands of applicants—the energy was electric. We weren’t just watching NASA; we were watching him. He went through the screenings, the interviews, and the rigorous selection process that narrowed the field down to the very best.
He often spoke about the “Teacher in Space” program with a mix of awe and determination. He made us feel like our small corner of the world was connected to the launchpad in Florida.
73 Seconds That Changed Everything
On the morning of the launch, the air was unusually cold in Florida, famously freezing the O-rings that would seal the shuttle’s fate. In classrooms across America, televisions were rolled in on A/V carts. Students watched Christa McAuliffe, the woman who ultimately won the seat, wave to the cameras. She was the “everyteacher.”
And then, 73 seconds into the flight, the cheers turned to confusion, and then to a silence so heavy it felt like it had physical weight.
The announcement came: “Flight controllers here looking very carefully at the situation. Obviously a major malfunction.”
The “What If”
For the families of the Challenger 7—Dick Scobee, Michael Smith, Ronald McNair, Ellison Onizuka, Judith Resnik, Gregory Jarvis, and Christa McAuliffe—the loss was absolute.
For my teacher, Walt Tremer, and for us, his students, the grief was complicated by a chilling realization: It could have been him.
Walt Tremer later described the experience in interviews as being “a phone call away” from that seat. He watched the tragedy unfold with a divided heart—devastated by the loss of his colleagues, yet keenly aware of the twist of fate that kept his feet on the ground.
That kind of “survivor’s proximity” changes a person. It changed how he taught, and it certainly changed how his students learned. We realized that exploration isn’t free. We learned that the people who push boundaries—whether they are astronauts or the math teacher down the hall—are risking everything to expand human knowledge.
40 Years of Legacy
Four decades later, the scar on the American psyche has healed, but the mark remains. The Challenger Centers for Space Science Education were born from that tragedy, continuing the educational mission that Christa McAuliffe started.
As we mark this 40th anniversary, I honor the seven who were lost. But I also honor the teachers like Walt Tremer who raised their hands. They reminded a generation of students that teaching is the most optimistic profession in the world—because it’s always about the future.
We are still looking up, Mr. Tremer. We are still looking up.
😳 😱 I am so on the same page with you @StephenM! The fact that they have not cure Hyperopia by the 32rd Century is an abysmal oversight on the writers!😤
When you look at the map of ICE enforcement across the country, a distinct pattern emerges. States with Republican governors—like Texas, Florida, and Georgia—are putting up some of the highest arrest numbers in the nation. In the first ten months of 2025 alone, Texas saw over 54,000 arrests, and Florida recorded more than 23,000.
Given the sheer volume of enforcement activity, you might expect these states to be hotbeds of tension, protests, and public outcry. But the reality on the ground is starkly different. While headlines in other parts of the country often focus on clashes between activists and federal agents, Republican-led states have remained remarkably calm.
The question is: Why?
The answer lies in a fundamental difference in governance and community expectations. In these states, the absence of unrest isn’t an accident—it’s the direct result of a culture that prioritizes the rule of law and cooperation between local and federal authorities.
The Power of Cooperation
In many Democratic-led “sanctuary” jurisdictions, local law enforcement is often barred from communicating with ICE. This friction creates a chaotic environment in which federal agents are forced to operate in the shadows, often leading to high-profile, contentious operations that spark public outrage.
In contrast, Republican states generally embrace a philosophy of seamless cooperation. Sheriffs and local police departments work hand in hand with federal immigration officials. Because this partnership is established and transparent, enforcement actions are routine rather than disruptive. When local law enforcement treats federal immigration laws as valid and enforceable—rather than something to be resisted—it sets a tone of legitimacy that permeates the community.
A Community That Respects the Process
Perhaps the most significant factor is the residents’ attitude. In states like Texas, Tennessee, and South Carolina, there is a prevailing belief that law enforcement agencies should be allowed to perform their duties without interference.
You don’t see residents forming human chains to block ICE vans or local politicians encouraging non-compliance. Instead, there is a general understanding that maintaining public safety involves enforcing all laws, including those at the federal level. The lack of protests isn’t a sign of apathy; it is a sign of a citizenry that respects law enforcement’s operational authority.
Conclusion
The data from 2025 makes one thing clear: high enforcement numbers do not have to equal social instability. The stability seen in Republican-led states proves that when local leaders cooperate with federal partners and communities respect the rule of law, the system works as intended—efficiently, quietly, and without chaos.
