Up and Down (29 page)

Then it was time for each citizen astronaut to say a few words. My heart rate spiked until it became clear that Eugene Crank would go first. He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and then leaned into the mike placed on the table in front of him. The vibrating paper in his hands, along with his stilted delivery, betrayed his anxiety.

“Good morning, everyone. My name is Eugene Crank and I’m from Wilkers, Texas, where, um, as the little lady already said, I’m a deputy sheriff. I truly believe I’m the right man to fly on the shuttle. I live with danger every day. I’ve been decorated for bravery on the job. I’m an outstanding athlete, and keep myself in tip-top physical condition. I can handle whatever the good folks at
NASA
can throw at me. This training is going to be very demanding, and I worry some about my elderly colleague beside me here. But even if there’s an empty seat next to me on launch day, I will be on that shuttle when it heads up to the space station in eight weeks. And I’m doing it for God and country. Thank you.”

He carefully folded his cheat sheet and returned it to his pocket, his hands still trembling a bit. Landon just stared at him for a few seconds before turning to face the horde of reporters. Eugene ignored her and looked straight ahead. She had no notes and appeared calm even after listening to Eugene. My heart started pounding again, and I was clenching every part of my body that could be clenched as Landon began to speak.

“Well, that was some opening, Mr. Crank. I certainly do
appreciate your concern for me, misguided as it is. And I can report that these nice journalists, the rest of the world, and I are very excited to learn that you’re an outstanding athlete. Thank you for letting us in on that,” she opened with a smile to Eugene.

Some reporters smiled, others snickered, still others laughed out loud. None of them missed the shot across Eugene’s bow. His face clouded over but he managed a weak smile for the cameras as Landon continued, still turned towards him.

“I sincerely wish you well in the arduous training ahead and I truly hope we’re both on the shuttle when it launches. I should add I certainly hope we’re both on it when it lands, too.”

She paused like a pro until the laughter in the room subsided. Next to her, Eugene looked liked he’d just started a drug-free colonoscopy.

“My decision to enter this contest and my boundless gratitude to
NASA
for this opportunity are driven by the very simple fact that I have always been more at home above the Earth than on it. As Ms. Bradstreet kindly outlined already, I’ve been flying the mountains and lakes of northern B.C. for fifty-seven years. I’ve been a physician for forty-five years. Looking at me, I know it’s hard for all of you to accept that I’m actually seventy-one – I can scarcely believe it myself – but I know it to be the truth. I freely admit I’m not happy about my age, so I just don’t dwell on it much. I’ve wanted to travel to space for, well, for a very, very long time. I remember my father and I would lie on our dock on Cigar Lake, British Columbia, and look up into the night sky. I just wanted
to be up there among the stars, the moon, the planets, and everything else that inhabits the world beyond our own. I applied to become one of Canada’s first astronauts when that door opened back in 1983. But I didn’t make the cut. Now, nearly thirty years later, fate has given me another shot. So, here I am, for my father, for anyone in the world who feels that age has cheated them out of a dream, and I’m here for me. I’m grateful for the chance that has been given me, and I don’t intend to waste it.”

Landon sat back from the microphone. I’d like to say that I coached her through that perfectly balanced and beautifully delivered statement, that we’d rehearsed it together until it rang true with the intended power. But alas, I had nothing to do with it. Nothing. I’d tried to offer her direction on what she ought to say. I even provided her with draft talking points so that we might get out of the gate smoothly. I gave her some unsolicited tips on public speaking and how to deal with tough questions from reporters. She thanked me, smiling, but rather firmly told me she had it well in hand and that I was not to worry.

Not to worry? Sure. No problem. I proceeded to worry so much I’d barely slept that night. But I did learn all I ever wanted to know about acne on an overnight infomercial marathon. I lay there analyzing why I was so anxious. I decided I just didn’t want to give Crawford Blake the satisfaction of watching the wheels fall off on our very first day. I wanted to get through at least a week or so before we had to wave the white flag. So you can imagine how surprised I was when Landon spoke with such
simple eloquence, passion, and even a little emotion. To put it kindly, she’d blown Eugene Crank and his self-centred soliloquy right out of the water.

While the reporters were clearly impressed, they didn’t let the silence after Landon finished hang for too long. Kelly stayed at the podium to field the questions and maintain some kind of order in the proceedings. Landon looked serene. Eugene towered over her, even when seated. He looked relieved now, as if the doctor had finally pulled out the scope. The reporters’ questions were, for the most part, predictable, run-of-the-mill queries, including the vacuous classics “How do you feel?” and “Are you excited?”

Kelly answered the more technical questions about the program itself and the rules governing it, but referred most questions to Eugene and Landon. When the news conference seemed to be winding down, Kelly called for a last question to keep us on schedule. Always beware of the last question.

“Phillip Lundrigan from
The Family Word
,” said the middle-aged, balding, average-looking guy towards the back. “Question for Landon Percival.”

I’d taken a quick look at the media sign-in sheet but had not remembered a reporter from
The Family Word
listed. This publication had become a popular vehicle for the Christian right in the U.S. I had no idea why they might be interested in the Citizen Astronaut program unless it was to suggest that a woman’s place was in the kitchen, provided that kitchen was not orbiting the Earth.

“I was doing some online research in preparation for this news conference, and I stumbled upon a photograph of you, purportedly from 1968. It’s a shot of you holding hands with another woman. No big deal, right? But the caption on the photo, which incidentally is posted on a public Facebook page, reads:

“Dr. Percival, my question is a simple one. Are you a lesbian? Is that your sexual choice in life?”

There was much murmuring and sharp inhalations from the other reporters.

“Hey!” somebody shouted from the back. Wait, I recognized that voice. Okay, it seemed that I had just shouted “Hey!” from the back.

Luckily, Kelly leapt in from the podium before I had time to finish the sentence I had started on pure instinct and anger.

“Mr. Lundrigan, I’m going to rule that question out of order …”

“Ms. Bradstreet, it’s fine,” said Landon over the din. “This was bound to emerge. I almost raised it myself, but when Mr. Crank didn’t comment on his sexuality, I decided not to comment on my own. But let me respond – I hope only once – to this extraordinarily invasive question so that we don’t have to deal with it again.”

Kelly paused, unsure of how to proceed. Eventually, she waved her hand to cede the floor to Landon.

“Mr. Lundrigan. First of all, whether or not I am a lesbian is none of your business or anyone else’s and certainly has no bearing on my ability to fulfil my obligations as a citizen astronaut. Secondly, yes, I am a lesbian and have been since I was born. And thirdly, please do not ever again refer to it as any kind of a ‘choice.’ Your words reveal a profound ignorance of human sexuality. Do you have any other questions?”

“My understanding of human sexuality is not on trial here,” Lundrigan sputtered. “If, as you say, your own sexuality is no one else’s business, why did you just confess to being a lesbian?”

“As Ronald Reagan once said to great effect, ‘There you go again,’ ” started Landon. “ ‘Confess’ is your word, not mine. I merely
stated
that I am a lesbian in the same way as you might state that you are balding, for neither of us has control over these two realities. As for why I announced this in a news conference rather than keeping it to myself, which is everyone’s right, well, I just didn’t want to be spending the next two months dealing with it. I’m a physician. I’ve always been inclined to lance the boil rather than wait and watch it fester.”

“A final supplementary, if I may,” Lundigran said, pushing his luck with Kelly. “Are you a Christian?”

“I’m more of a humanist, but some of my best friends are Christians,” quipped Landon. “I do think there’s plenty to commend in the Good Book, and I even have a look at it now and then. But I’ve always believed you should be judged on what you do in life, and not what you read.”

Another reporter piped up just before the curtain was to fall.

“Connie Cranston,
MSNBC
. Mr. Crank, how do you feel about the possibility of flying in space with a lesbian?”

Relieved that his colonoscopy was over, Eugene had been looking more relaxed, at least until the Lundrigan question. Now he looked like he’d just been presented with the hospital’s bill for the procedure. He seemed to be trying to create as much space as possible between Landon and him while remaining seated in his chair. So he actually appeared to be leaning away from her at the table.

“Well, I’m a good Christian boy with a nineteen-year marriage to my high school sweetheart. As far as I’m concerned, anything other than love between a man and woman is what my preacher calls an abomination of the Bible’s teachings. So I guess I’m not thrilled about all this, but I aim to be on that shuttle when it lifts off, with or without her.”

“Although, given how much time we’ll be spending together, Mr. Crank, I imagine your wife might be quite relieved to hear that I bat for the other team,” interjected Landon with a smile.

The rest of the day had been spent doing a series of taped interviews from a smaller satellite media studio at the Johnson Space Center. Because of the number of interview requests, Kelly had wisely split up Landon and Eugene so they were not appearing together on talk shows, although that might have
been interesting. I was there for every one of her twelve interviews that afternoon. For a couple of the early ones, she was joined by the mission commander, Lee Hainsworth, who had zipped over from the Kennedy Space Center for two days of briefings before returning to Florida. All of the interviews were double-enders, meaning that she was usually alone in the studio, staring into a camera and using an earpiece so she could hear the questions. The talk show hosts were all on their own sets with Landon appearing on a
TV
monitor. I was exhausted just watching the interviews from the control room but Landon was energized, gracious, articulate, and animated for every one of them. It was an impressive performance.

I was the only
TK
person on site, so as we’d agreed, I stayed in touch with Amanda throughout the day, and she kept Diane and Crawford in the loop. I was quite sure that Crawford had gone from apoplectic to homicidal as he watched the news conference unravel. I was quite happy to be half a country away from him.

We didn’t see Eugene for the rest of the day, and neither of us was unhappy about that. After a late dinner that Landon and I ate on our own in the dining room down the hall from our rooms, I suggested we watch the media coverage together to see how the story was playing. Landon declined, saying she was “hitting the sack.”

The coverage went pretty well as I expected it would. Most
TV
networks led with the Lundrigan question and Landon’s
pitch-perfect response. Other than airing Eugene’s homophobic reaction, it was really the Landon Percival show. Under the circumstances, the media play wasn’t too bad for us, though I decided not to watch any Fox News coverage. I figured I’d soon be hearing from Crawford and was a little surprised he hadn’t called already.

I shut down the
TV
and fired up my laptop. I went straight to Facebook and typed in “Landon Percival” in the search bar. I couldn’t understand how I’d missed the photo that jackass Lundrigan had found. I’d scoured the web for any and all references to Landon Percival and come up with precious little. I’d tried Googling “Landon” but had been inundated with images of Michael Landon from
Bonanza
and
Little House on the Prairie
. After scrolling through fifteen pages of images of him, I’d given up. The Facebook search engine had nothing for me. Then I remembered Lundrigan’s words from the caption, “Auntie Landon.” I pumped that into the search engine and was rewarded. It was the Facebook page of a niece of Samantha Sharpe. The photo was as Lundrigan had described. A much younger Landon Percival was holding hands with another young woman, obviously Samantha Sharpe. The shot seemed very familiar and I suddenly realized why. I immediately emailed Sarah Nesbitt.