But for the Grace of God

By William R. Pogue

The amazing memoir of astronaut Bill Pogue, long-time holder of the world record for most days in space.
Praise from the experts...

"Bill Pogue has had an amazing career: Oklahoma farm boy, Korean war fighter pilot, elite Thunderbird slot and wingman, mathematical whiz, and eighty-four days of science studies as a Skylab astronaut. He guides the reader through a half-century of technological advance, always in the forefront, but modestly so."
—Mike Collins, Command Module Pilot, Apollo 11

"Bill has had a remarkable life, and his autobiography is a pleasure to read. He is a superb storyteller."
—Alan Bean, Apollo 12 Astronaut, Fourth Man to Set Foot on the Moon

"Bill Pogue successfully coped with the challenges of career and life, and he relates them in a captivating narrative. My memory is consistent with his recollections. Thanks for some pleasant memories. Well done!"
—Ed Gibson, Science Pilot, Skylab 4

"This is one of the two best memoirs ever written by an astronaut. He packages his adventure-filled life into easy-to-read, inspiring tales that move swiftly."
—Walter J. Boyne, Author/Historian; Former Director, National Air & Space Museum; Enshrinee, National Aviation Hall of Fame

"A country boy from the heartland of America surpasses his wildest dreams in aviation and space. It makes me proud to know this country can produce such patriots, aviators, and space explorers."
—Ed Buckbee, NASA Public Affairs for Wernher von Braun; Founder, U.S. Space Camp

"Bill is a superb writer who has lived a very special life. I'm grateful he is sharing his experiences with us. He is a great pilot, an excellent astronaut, and an outstanding representative of our nation."
—Jerry Carr, Commander, Skylab 4

• Language: English
• Publisher: ReAnimus Press
• Release date: Dec 16, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310652844

William R. Pogue

Astronaut Bill Pogue was the long-time holder of the world record for most days in space.

Book preview

Dedication

I must acknowledge my parents and two wives who were greatly influential in enriching my life and inspiring me to give my best throughout my life.

Alex W. Pogue and Margaret Frances (McDow) Pogue

My parents imbued me with the values that kept me out of trouble and inspired me to do my best at every opportunity. Mom’s prayers preserved my carcass in spite of the grim reaper’s grabs at me over decades of risk exposure.

Nita Pogue

My wife, Nita, was a wonderful wife and mother to our three children. I remember her loving ways and wisdom in raising our kids, and I am grateful for her presence in my life.

Jean Pogue

My wife of thirty years brightened my life and assisted me in many projects, not the least of which were three books and one video/DVD. Our first book, How Do You Go to the Bathroom in Space? now is in its third edition. A DVD, Living in Space; a book, Space Trivia; and our last book, But for the Grace of God (an autobiography) were fun to do, although I got a bit tired finishing the last book. All these projects were a team effort and her suggestions greatly improved the quality of the end products.

Jean was a constant source of inspiration and encouragement. Her enthusiasm and zest for life made our thousand-plus adventures together a priceless bonanza of golden memories. Our compatibility, mutual respect, and genuine love for each other was obvious to all our friends and family members, and they were amazed at the affection we shared. She was a rare find indeed. More than once, she thanked me for letting me be me. My darling Jean, I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

My Grandchildren

Prescilla Vargas

Mathew Hu Pogue

Thomas J. Pogue

Alex Pogue

Sheila Pogue

Diana (Pogue) Tinsley

Michael Pogue

Steven Pogue

Steven Baird

Taylor Baird

Mitchell Baird

Cooper Baird

Afton Baird

My Great-grandchildren

Trevor Vargas

Dylan Bliss

Jacob (Jake) Bliss

Ethan Pogue

Brooklyn Hitchcock

Cooper Pogue

Chloe Pogue

Danielle Tinsley

Sgt. Christopher T. Monroe

Sgt. Monroe made the ultimate sacrifice on October 25, 2005, serving our country in Iraq. I chose him to symbolize the thousands of patriots whose lives were cut short when they died while serving their country in Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, and many other lands.

God

Most of all, I thank God who has guided me at times when I didn’t know where to go or what to do and has forgiven me of transgressions beyond measure.

Acknowledgements

Donald (Don) Boggs of Boggs Spacebooks® in Anderson, Indiana provided many highly constructive suggestions and spotted a lot of potentially embarrassing errors. I’m very grateful for his sharp eye. At times, it seemed like the book never would be finished, and Don’s encouragement was always welcome.

I’m very grateful to Dr. Burton Hoffman, who provided photo documentation of our five-week tour of Central Asia in 1975. In 1978, Burt and Betty Hoffman were bursting with pride when their son, Jeff, was selected in the seventh group of astronauts. Jeffrey A. Jeff Hoffman had a very active career at NASA serving on five shuttle missions, including the highly successful STS-61 Hubble Servicing mission which corrected a serious optics problem.

Jim Vertrees was a big help and made several suggestions that corrected some weak areas of the manuscript. His unselfish devotion of energy to polish up the text and suggestions for promotion of the end product are very much appreciated.

My wife, Jean, provided extensive suggestions for improving the manuscript and was my filter to remove overly technical jargon when she relied on the principal of KISS (Keep It Simple, Stupid!).

My publisher, Carrie Perrien Smith, has been outstanding in embellishing the content and in prodding me to get the most out of captions for the photographs. Thanks!

I am grateful to North American Aviation (NAA) for many of the photographs in the section on the Thunderbirds. NAA sent a team of photographers to Nellis Air Force Base in June 1956 and took hundreds of still shots and many movie sequences which were a valuable contribution to our public affairs database. I still see some of the movie sequences of the F-100s in historical documentaries.

Finally, I’d like to extend a big Thank you! to Mike Gentry at the Johnson Space Center for his help in locating just the right photograph.

Foreword

I primarily wrote this book for my thirteen grandchildren and seven (and counting) great-grandchildren. Some I know well and several I don’t see frequently because of geographical separation, but I love them all. Looking back almost eighty years, I quickly perceive that life is a lot different today, and some of the changes are dramatic.

In the 1930s, we were not affluent but comfortable, and the communities were stable, safe places to live. On the farms and in the small towns, nobody ever locked their houses when they went to bed at night, and people were universally civil to each other. At school, we sang hymns, recited the Lord’s Prayer and said the Pledge of Allegiance to the American flag.

During my life, science and technology have flourished and contributed greatly to the improvement of medical care, communications, transportation, and an increase of leisure time. When I was five years old, an airliner that cruised at 150 miles per hour was a boon to travel from coast to coast. Supersonic flight was achieved in 1947—forty-four years after the first flight by the Wright brothers. Just fourteen years later, a spacecraft orbited the earth at five miles per second (17,500 miles per hour) or twenty-five times the speed of sound.

When someone is critical of the space program, I say, The next time you’re at a hospital, look around at all the equipment doctors and caregivers have at their disposal. Forty years ago, it didn’t exist. The automated monitoring of patients that saves nurses countless hours was a direct spin-off from NASA. The NASA doctors fashioned the first space biosensors on a kitchen table.

I also tell them NASA discovered that medical databases were full of incorrect data. When they used a medical reference that provided metabolic rates for various levels of exercise, they turned out to be incorrect. Those data were used to design the cooling system for spacesuits, so the system was totally inadequate. The astronauts became overheated when doing even light work or exercise while enclosed in the suit. A bibliographic search revealed that the data originally came from a reference book written in the mid-1800s. NASA did its own evaluations and produced correct data. I made a space walk of more than seven hours in 1973 and had no problems with overheating or chilling. The temperature in Earth orbit ranges from 250 degrees Fahrenheit in direct sunlight to a frigid minus 250 degrees Fahrenheit in full shadow (the night side of the Earth).

I was in the fifth group of astronauts selected in 1966, and we were supposed to fly Apollo missions. I was scheduled to go to the moon on Apollo 19, but Apollo missions 18, 19, and 20 were canceled. Instead, I was very fortunate to fly on the final visit to Skylab (our first space station) and spent eighty-four days in space studying the Sun, the Earth below, and ourselves. Every third working day, one of us served as a test subject for a range of physiological and medical experiments or studies. The work was sometimes tiresome and tedious, but the view was spectacular.

I consider myself to be very fortunate to get a ride into space. The experience allowed me to participate in the design of the International Space Station and to work with the Boeing Company in Huntsville, Alabama, for fourteen years. Now, I write and make public presentations. It has been fascinating to witness all the changes that have occurred in the last eighty years. I was both spectator and participant in a lively part of history.

A popular expression among fighter pilots was, God takes care of little boys and fighter pilots, alluding to the predisposition that both tend to get themselves into trouble. Well, not only did He take care of me, but He has also been a faithful companion by my side throughout my life.

I hope you enjoy the book.

CHAPTER 1

 A Rough Beginning

In the winter of 1930, my family lived in a community in Oklahoma called Mason, where Dad was an elementary schoolteacher and shared living quarters with several of the other teachers.

That particular winter was marked by heavy snowfall. In fact, on January 22, the temperature was fifteen degrees below zero, and there was already three feet of snow on the ground. Unfortunately, that also was the day my mother went into labor. The nearest town with a doctor and medical services was Okemah [oh-KEE-mah], Oklahoma—a town just seven miles south of Mason. Unfortunately, my father’s Chevy sedan was no match for the brutal winter weather. After several unsuccessful attempts of trying to drive the car in the snow, Dad realized that he needed another mode of transportation. Dad borrowed a farm wagon and team of mules from a neighborhood farmer.

The Home of My Birth

That seven-mile trip to Okemah (normally a ten-minute drive in a car) took a grueling thirteen hours in an old wooden wagon. I’ve ridden in a lot of farm wagons during my life and often wondered how Mother even survived that trip. Maybe the snow helped cushion the ride.

Despite the rough ride, my parents and four-year-old sister, Margaret Helen (her nickname was Skeeze), finally reached their destination—the home of Dad’s cousin, Pearl Yokam. Pearl and her husband, Ace, arranged for a doctor to come to the house.

Birth Announcement for Bill R. Pogue. My father, Alex Pogue, didn’t like his first name so when I was born, he wanted my name to be simple. Although the name on my birth certificate is William, he wanted Bill used on the birth announcement. In fact, everyone called me Billy until I was promoted to the fourth grade–at which time I asked to be called just plain Bill. That surely sounded more mature to me. It doesn’t take much to make some people happy.

A few hours later, Dr. Cochran delivered me at 12:30 p.m. on January 23. At that time, a diluted muriatic acid solution was used instead of silver nitrate to treat the eyes of newborns. Unfortunately, I had an allergic reaction to the muriatic acid. My eyes turned red and my whole face was blotchy and swollen. My sister thought I really looked a mess. Dr. Cochran saw my sister’s disappointment and said, "I have some new puppies. Do you want to trade him for one?" My sister was more than willing to accept his offer. To my sister’s disappointment, the deal fell through, and my family was stuck with me.

In their later years, Mom and Dad would call me every year on my birthday and reminisce about their winter wagon trip of 1930 and the difficult circumstances surrounding my birth. We always were grateful for the Yokam’s hospitality during that time of dire need. My family and I enjoyed visiting them in Okemah whenever we could, and we stayed in touch with them over the years.

In 1973, I invited Pearl Yokam to my Skylab launch. The invitation was more of a gesture of respect and gratitude because Pearl was in her eighties. I thought that more than likely she would be unable to attend. However, Pearl, who may have developed her spunky attitude and pioneering spirit from being born in Indian Territory, was bound and determined to drive herself to Florida to see my launch. Luckily, Pearl’s daughter, Modine, was able to drive her. After the delay of a week that we experienced with the Skylab 4 launch, they finally were able to see it.

A Stone Marks the Spot

In 1975, the Oklahoma Heritage Association placed a stone marker in the yard of the old Yokam house to identify the location as my birthplace. I was unable to attend the dedication, but about ten years later my wife, Jean, and I were driving to Arkansas and were heading east on I-40 when we saw the exit sign for Okemah. On a whim, we took the exit and drove to the city hall. I asked a helpful woman about the location of the old Yokam house and marker. Not only did she give me the directions to the home, but also a complete synopsis of the Pogue family saga of 1930. I was flattered, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her who I was lest she think I was an egomaniac. We located the house, took a picture of the plaque with the house in the background, and continued our trip to Arkansas.

Birthplace Marker. At the place of my birth in Okemah, Oklahoma, the Oklahoma Heritage Association placed a stone marker in the yard next to the house. My parents attended the dedication in the summer of 1975 along with a man from the newspaper in Sand Springs (my hometown). In 1994, I was invited to Okemah for a ceremony to rededicate the marker, which had been moved to a more prominent location in the town square. While there, I made presentations at Okemah High School and Middle School. I enjoyed the company of several military veterans who attended the ceremony.

Occasionally, people who lived in Okemah would call me to ask me about the circumstances of my birth. Nobody in Okemah could remember me, so I explained that even though Okemah was my birthplace, I had never actually lived there. In the late 1980s, I gave a speech at the Okemah Middle School while doing school programs for the High Flight Foundation.

During the program, a young boy tapped Jean on the shoulder and, beaming with pride, told her he lived in the house where I was born.

CHAPTER 2

Big Pond

During the summer of 1930, when I was less than a year old, we moved from Mason to a community called Big Pond. It was the site of a small oil field that had been recently discovered. Big Pond was approximately seven miles south of Depew [di-pyü], Oklahoma. The heart of the community included a small general store at the crossroads of two unpaved roads, a small grade school (also called Big Pond) where Dad was the principal, and only three or four houses. I remember our neighbor who lived directly across the road from us because they had a huge Victrola record player that fascinated me when they played records.

Vocabulary Expansion

Our house was on the school grounds, so I played with a lot of the kids when they came out for recess. I was just learning to talk then. A couple of girls took me under their wings and thought it would be fun to teach me naughty words. Showing off my newly expanded vocabulary at home, I tried to impress my mother. However, it was Mom who impressed upon me the importance of knowing the definitions of words before speaking them.

I also learned the hard way not to speak such vulgar words. After Mom paddled my behind and washed my mouth out with soap, I avoided the schoolgirls completely. However, not only did the soap leave a lingering aftertaste in my mouth for that day; it also left a lingering effect on my life.

To this day, whenever I occasionally slip and use profanity, I experience a decidedly unpleasant taste in my mouth and feel a Pavlovian pang of guilt!

Christmas Memory

One of my earliest memories is celebrating Christmas at Big Pond. One of my gifts that year was a wind-up train that traveled around a small oval track. Another gift was a small wind-up Army tank complete with rubber tracks on the tires. The train could travel on the oval track only, but the tank could drive in any direction that I pointed it.

I soon tried to set up a competition to see which vehicle—the tank or the train—made the bigger bang when they collided. My sister, Skeeze, saw what I was trying to do. And, as was the duty of an older sister, she tried to foil my plans. Every time the tank was about to hit the train, Skeeze would pick it up to prevent the collision.

Years later when I read the Peanuts comic strip, I understood just how frustrated Charlie Brown felt after Lucy grabbed the football out from under him at the last second and caused him to trip and fall when he tried to kick the ball.

Miracle of Reading

When I was just a three-year-old kid, I used to sit on my Dad’s lap and listen to him read me the comics. I was fascinated that the small black markings on the paper represented words that anyone could learn to read. After Dad finished reading the comic strip to me, I would point at a word and ask, What’s that word? Then Dad would pronounce the word slowly while sounding out each letter. I couldn’t wait till I could go to school so I could learn to read. In fact, I started first grade when I was only four years old. I actually did quite well in school even though I wasn’t as mature as the other kids (especially the girls) in my class.

Depew’s Main Events

By the summer of 1933, the United States had plunged into the Great Depression. To encourage people to visit the city and spend their money, the nearby town of Depew hired a hot air balloonist who would orchestrate his liftoff from the center of town. People flocked in from surrounding communities to see the pilot take the balloon up. We drove into town to see the spectacle, and the trip itself was quite a treat. When we arrived at the launch site, a large crowd of people was already waiting there and watching the preparations. The balloon was the simplest sort of aircraft without any of the sophisticated equipment used in today’s balloons. A fire was lit on the ground, and the balloon was positioned so that the hot gas would enter the balloon through a makeshift duct system.

The balloon had the usual tie-down ropes and a simple basket for the pilot, but it did not include any instruments associated with the preparation. When the pilot was satisfied that enough air had accumulated inside the balloon, he climbed into the basket. As he did so, I noticed that he was wearing some ungainly looking garment that I soon realized was a parachute.

After the pilot was inside the basket and gave the go ahead, the balloon’s ropes were released. The wind blew the balloon away from us and climbed fairly rapidly. Soon, it was floating high above and away from the on-looking crowd. I thought the balloon would then descend and land a couple of miles away. However, what I didn’t understand was that the pilot had no control over the balloon’s descent. After the balloon had risen fairly high (probably around 2,000 feet), I saw something fall from the basket. It was the pilot! The parachute opened and enabled him to safely float down to Earth. We lost sight of him as he neared the ground, but an announcer stated that he had landed safely and would be picked up by the rescue crew. However, I wondered how they would recover the balloon and the basket. Although the entire demonstration lasted less than five minutes, the excitement I felt after witnessing such an awesome event lasted for days.

Dad then drove us to the train depot so we could see a steam locomotive up close. Because I never had seen a train, I didn’t know quite what to expect. The steam locomotive was an impressive, noisy monster that hissed steam like a mechanized dragon, and was larger than anything I ever had seen. With wide eyes, I watched in amazement at the wheel-driving mechanism on the locomotive, and I wondered how anybody could dream up such a complicated piece of machinery.

Dad took me down the depot-loading platform toward the engine and pointed out the cowcatcher at the front of the locomotive. He explained that cowcatchers were introduced when trains arrived in the western United States, and they were designed to prod cattle and bison off the tracks to let the train make its way through herds of animals blocking the way. As we drove home, I enjoyed thinking about the day’s events, seeing the crowds, and learning about trains. But the thing that captured my attention most was watching the hot air balloon and marveling over the pilot’s bravery as he jumped out into thin air with nothing but a parachute strapped on his back. I had no idea at that time about how important a parachute would be to me someday.

Bill at Eighteen Months. My Aunt Pauline called me Judge because I always had such a serious, sober expression. It took awhile—but I eventually developed a healthy sense of humor.

Bank Heist at Depew

The 1930s were the heyday of bank robbers such as Bonnie and Clyde, Pretty Boy Floyd, and John Dillinger. When someone asked Floyd why he robbed banks, he said, Because that’s where the money is! But aside from these more notorious and infamous characters were a lot of wannabe robbers. It was that type of robber who decided to steal the money from the bank in Depew.

Two men stole as much money as they could stuff in a couple of money bags and kidnapped the bank’s president in order to discourage a chase. They fled south in their car with their loot to Big Pond. When they reached Big Pond, the men released the banker, unharmed, at the little general store. Then they set out for parts unknown. The incident stimulated conversation for several days throughout the neighboring communities. As far as I know, the two robbers were never caught, the money was never recovered.

CHAPTER 3

Shady Glen

In the summer of 1933, before I started school, we moved from Big Pond to Shady Glen. The community was small and consisted of a two-room schoolhouse, a small house for the teacher, and the school ground. The whole area seemed completely surrounded by forests of Blackjack oaks. Mother referred to our rustic setting as living in the sticks. Life at Shady Glen was a bit primitive. Although I don’t recall our life there was unpleasant, Mother had a different opinion of our low-comfort situation without any modern conveniences.

Living in the Sticks

At Shady Glen, we did not have natural gas for heating, running water, electricity, or a phone—just an outhouse or privy for a toilet. We had a milk cow that Dad milked morning and evening. For indoor lighting, we used kerosene lamps that Mother had to frequently reposition; otherwise, they would create a ring of soot on the ceiling. She also cooked with a kerosene range and oven that she had to pump up with an air pressure device whenever she wanted to bake.

In order to get water, Dad went to the backyard and lowered a pail into our well and retrieved it using a rope and pulley. We used a large, galvanized-metal washtub for bathing once a week. Throughout the rest of the week, we would take sponge baths when it was necessary.

Mom had a Maytag wringer washing machine that was powered by a gasoline engine that seemed to work well. The washing machine had a wringer to squeeze water out of the clothes after they were rinsed. The wringer consisted of two cylindrical, rubberized rollers. The clothes were then transferred to the tight space between the rollers to squeeze the water out of the clothes.

Being inventive, Dad found another use for the washing machine engine. After rats invaded the backyard, Dad placed one end of a hose over the engine’s exhaust and then poked the other end into one of the rat holes. After a couple of treatments with the exhaust line, the rats decided to find a less noxious environment. Later, after we moved to a house with electricity, Dad replaced the gas engine with an electric motor, and Mom used that Maytag washer for another ten years.

In order to heat the house in Shady Glen, we used a wood-fueled, potbellied stove. When we needed wood for the heating stove, Dad and his friends used a two-man crosscut saw to cut down an oak tree and then used an axe to split the wood into logs small enough for the stove. I enjoyed watching them fell the tree and cut it up and sniffing the pleasant aroma of newly sawed oak. Our potbellied stove really put out the heat too. In fact, after inching too close to the belly of the stove one cold day, I accidentally touched the metal stove with my stomach and suffered a second-degree burn the size of a half-dollar.

We lived in Shady Glen for two years. I enjoyed the casual pace of country life there. But Mom didn’t like living in the sticks, and she especially loathed the night sounds of the country. During warm weather when we kept the windows open at night, the sound of coyotes, hoot owls, screech owls, and whip-poor-wills kept Mother awake.

Shady Glen, 1934. Our dog, Wolf, Margaret Helen (Skeeze), Betty, and Bill (shown left to right). My dad sent this picture to his half brother who lived in Florida. He wrote back and chided dad for not dressing us better. I think that was the last time they ever corresponded.

While in Shady Glen, Mom had earned her teacher’s certificate. She taught grades one through four while Dad taught grades five through eight. I completed the first grade at Shady Glen. Because the school district couldn’t afford a bus, all the students who lived in the country community walked to school. No one ever complained about walking to school. More than likely, they probably enjoyed their walks and viewed them as a relaxing break from their never-ending farm chores.

My First Spanking at School

I attended first grade at Shady Glen, and Mother was my teacher. It was a two-room school with four grades in each room. Mother would teach the first-grade material to a couple rows of students, and then she would move on to the next grade while the first group worked on their assignments.

One day after I finished my assignment, I became a bit boisterous and continually interrupted Mother’s work with the other students. After I had disrupted the class for the third or fourth time, Mother told me to go outside, break off a tiny limb from a bush, and bring it to her. I thought it was neat that I got to go outside.

I went out and did as I was instructed. I quickly returned with not only one, but two or three tiny limbs. Unwittingly, I proudly handed them to Mom who promptly grabbed me and set my legs on fire with the switches. She said, Now sit down and be quiet so the others can learn without any interruption from you. Red-faced and teary-eyed, I listened to her every word while the other students stared at us and sat deathly quiet. There’s nothing like watching a firsthand demonstration of discipline to establish credibility.

An Embarrassing Experience

One day, I was visiting a friend who was just about as mischievous as I was. The other boy and I already had been in a bit of trouble with his mother, so we tried to stay out of her sight. His mother had peeled and sliced a bunch of apples that morning. Covering the apples completely with cheesecloth to keep the flies off, she placed them on the top of a shed facing the sun. After they were dried out, the apples would keep for several months and his mother would have a stash for later.

After working up an appetite catching bugs and doing other things that boys do, we helped ourselves to a few of the apple slices. Unfortunately, after catching us red-handed as we crammed the apple slices into our mouths, she warmed our britches. However, that didn’t weaken our sense of adventure.

My friend then took me to the chicken house and showed me a rotten egg.

It was still in the shell, so I didn’t know how he was sure it was rotten. He said, You can have it if you want it.

Lucky me, I thought. I stuck the egg in a front pocket of my overalls. I was already making plans to take it home and show it to my sisters. You never know when a rotten egg could come in handy. Unfortunately, my luck didn’t last that long.

My friend and I sat down on the front porch, and the egg broke in my pocket. There was no doubt about it now; that egg was rotten, and I reeked from the smell of it.

My friend’s mother told me to take off my clothes so she could wash them. I was mortified as I stood around naked while she washed them out. When she finished, she wrung them out the best as she could, but they were still damp when I put them back on. However, my overalls dried out soon enough when we went outside to play.

To this day, whenever I smell hydrogen sulfide (the smell of rotten eggs), I am taken back in time to the day when I was wearing an old pair of overalls, sitting on that front porch, and enjoying a day of causing mischief.

A Kaleidoscope

One day, my dad and I went to a neighbor’s house to discuss cutting down a tree for firewood. I knew the man’s son, Glen, because we both attended Shady Glen. While our fathers were talking, Glen said, I want to show you something.

He handed me what looked like a round cardboard tube. He told me to look through the end of it and point it toward the sky. After following his instructions to twist the object’s base, I saw all sorts of colors that fell in different patterns as the tube rotated. It was beautiful. Glen’s father made it from a broken mirror and a few broken pieces of colored glass from various bottles. He sealed the ends with plain glass.

I was thoroughly fascinated with the device and asked Dad if he had ever seen anything like it. He told me that he had and told me that it was called a kaleidoscope. I thought that was an awfully big word. But then again, it did deserve a special name because it made such colorful patterns.

Forty years later, I was on Skylab looking down on a solid deck of cirrus clouds and spotted a glory hole—a doughnut-shaped cousin to a rainbow. I saw this phenomenon only twice during my eighty-four days in space. The colors were delicate, but distinct, and reminiscent of mother of pearl. The hues changed slightly with the movement of the spacecraft, and the play of colors reminded me of my first look through Glen’s kaleidoscope.

Making Sorghum

One Saturday in the fall of 1934, Dad told me to go with him so I could see how farmers make sorghum molasses. I didn’t even know what sorghum was. Dad drove to a nearby farm where a crew harvested the sugar cane crop and prepared to make molasses.

They stacked the sugar cane in piles and placed the stalks in a large grinder that was powered by a single horse. The grinder squeezed a thin, syrupy liquid from the cane that dripped into a metal tub that warmed over a fire. As the liquid became hot, wispy tendrils of vapor rose from the surface of the smoldering brew and released an almost sickeningly sweet aroma. One man stirred the batch of molasses with a wooden rake and skimmed off any fibrous cane debris that floated on the surface. The whole process fascinated me.

Some other kids arrived. One boy cut through the sugar cane with a knife, and then he showed me how to eat the inner pulp. After I ate the sweet contents of a couple sections of the cane, my dad told me to stop so I didn’t make myself sick.

After boiling the molasses, the men filled some Mason jars by pouring the molasses through a tap. The work crew divvied up several jars of molasses between themselves to keep and use throughout the winter. The surplus of molasses was a welcome side income for the owner of the cane field during the hard economic times. Dad bought a couple of quarts for our family. Personally, I didn’t like the flavor of straight molasses until I became an adult, but my parents loved it.

As I think back to those difficult and trying days, I am amazed at the way those hard-working people were able to survive. They enjoyed a good quality of life in spite of their tight budgets. Today, they probably would be classified as below the poverty line. However, as proud and independent people, they would have felt grossly insulted by such a characterization.

Peanuts, Possum Grapes, and a DC-2

Later that fall, Dad took me along to visit Mr. Jackson, a school board member. The Jacksons had twelve children, so there never was a dull moment at their house. When we arrived, all the boys and their father were