A Modern Odyssey. The Saga of Heroes.

From high atop Mr. Olympus they came in a shimmering chariot called Galileo. These immortals landed in a small obscure hamlet in a place called Utah. Their quest was to live among us and learn the mortal ways. At Zeus’s bidding they were commanded to give the children of men a moment of time in a silver chariot forged in Hephaestus' fire.

Hundreds of mortals experienced the Galileo, this Olympian Chariot of Fire. Its true immortal identity hidden and its glory diffused so as not to overwhelm their senses - thus causing them to immediately transfigure and reappear on the golden, windswept Elysian Fields.

The Olympians took mortal names and form. Referring to themselves as Kyle, Stacy, Taylor, Emily, Jon, Megan and perhaps others whom I never saw. And so they lived for days with us.

Now they are gone. The place where the Galileo stood is empty with no marker or stone to commemorate the supernatural event which transpired there. The immortals have returned to Olympus to make their report to Zeus.

Are we not all blessed for their visit? For in the end, the memory of what we saw, heard and touched will remain with us until the last breath leaves our lungs and the boatman appears at our bedside to ferry us across the dark waters of the river Styx to join our brethren in the land of eternal twilight.

________________________________________________________

Friends, I want to thank Kyle Herring and those that responded to his call (Stacy Carroll, Taylor Thomas, Jon Parker, Megan Warner, Emily Perry, Spencer Robinson and others whom I may not know about) for assistance. They performed the impossible. They worked tirelessly, nearly around the clock to prepare the Galileo for the Utah County Fair this past weekend. The ship was dismantled and trucked to Spanish Fork, then reassembled under a canopy. This was the first time the Galileo was dismantled, then reassembled. Much was learned and changes will be made. We learned a large truck with a hydraulic lift is a necessity (their broken backs, ribs, fingers, heads, and spirits all agree). We learned setting the Galileo up on asphalt is a no no. The ball bearing wheels created divots in the pavement as the daily temperatures climbed. We relearned the lesson about never trusting Mother Nature. This was an event requiring dry weather. Instead we got rain three of the four days we were down there.

I was there Thursday afternoon when the Galileo officially opened for tours. There were many excited children waiting in line. The tours continued over the weekend, one after the other, in an endless stream of the curious. Questions were answered and pamphlets distributed.

A group on tour during the Fair in the Galileo

Every evening the staff went home to sleep except for Kyle. Kyle couldn’t leave the safety and security of this new simulator in the hands of Fairground security. Kyle decided to sleep in the Galileo Wednesday through Friday nights. That is dedication. That is the definition of going the extra mile. There is nothing more I can do than to say “Thank you Kyle,” and leave it at that.

Kyle made a video journal of his Fairground sleeping experience he posted to his Facebook account. I’m included them in this post. (Reminded me a bit of the Blair Witch Project.....)

Once again, a sincere thank you and congratulations to our Space Center team for pulling something off I thought couldn’t be done in the short amount of time we had to do it.

Mr. Williamson

Troops. The Daily Herald did an article on the Galileo at the County Fair (included below in this post). The article appeared in Sunday's Paper.

New mobile flight simulator debuts at Utah County Fair

Kira Johnson - Daily Herald | Posted: Sunday, August 16, 2009 12:10 am

With the neon blue glow of overhead lights purpling her lips, the low ceiling making her look abnormally tall, flight director Emily Perry grins at 11-year-old Colin Collyer who's currently perched in tactical.

"What we do is we take people just like you and we give you guys a mission objective and we send you off into space and each one of you has a position," she says. "We give you these jobs so that you and your team can fly around and blow stuff up and you save the universe."

Perry, 20, a Provo resident studying history education at BYU, is giving a tour of the Galileo Mark VI, The Christa McAuliffe Space Education Center's newly commissioned mobile flight simulator, which is two weeks shy of final completion. The Galileo Mark VI, built with the help of a team of BYU students, is meant to replace the Galileo Mark V at the Christa McAuliffe space center, located at Central Elementary School in Pleasant Grove.

The space center staff spent this past week on its debut flight, a trip to the Utah County Fair in Spanish Fork.

"We needed to test the moveability of the center," said concept creator and manager David Kyle Herring. "We thought it would be a great opportunity to test it and show it off and maybe even raise some money to help finish the project." The space center is still about $5,000 short of their final goal.

Collyer, his Dad, Brian, and his two sisters, Regin and Bryn, are seated in leather chairs bolted to the floor facing a large flat-screen monitor mounted in the front bulkhead. At each of the stations where the Collyers sit, brackets mark where future touch screen monitors will convey information pertinent to each simulation. Behind the bridge of the ship is a short compartment flanked by a pair of padded bunks.

It's a tight space, made to stimulate the imagination and approximate what it feels like to serve onboard a space shuttle.

Originally the Galileo Mark V was built in 1999 with a life expectancy of three years, said set director Stacy Carrell. Ten years and nearly $40,000 later, the center is finally ready to replace the original with a lighter, more tech savvy version. With the help of a team of manufacturing engineering technology and mechanical engineering majors at BYU, the space center team has designed a module that can be taken off campus.

"The simulator is the most sophisticated one that we have so far," Carrell said. "We're using a lot of new technology that we've never used before, upgrading things and advancing things, taking what we've learned building other simulators and bringing them to this one."

The BYU team of seven students who built the frame began the process last September as a capstone course.

"When we were finished we had a structural skeleton that could be taken apart and put back together so it could be loaded on a trailer and hauled around," said Terri Bateman, a part-time faculty member in the mechanical engineering department.

Bateman was the faculty mentor for the capstone team that constructed the frame.

"When we first started working on the space ship program, Kyle told our team that we should experience the missions ourselves," Bateman said. "I recognized right off the bat how complex this program that they've put together is," she continued. "There are TV screens that are telling you what to do, there's lights and sound. Each child has their own computer. It's really complex all the things they've put together to make it a multi-sensory experience."

The Galileo is the only one of five simulators at the center that has the exterior representation of a space module.

The other four are built into the school campus, one of which doubles as a computer lab during the day.

When finished, the Galileo Mark VI will take the previous module's place in the school's cafeteria.

Together the five simulators can handle up to 60 students a day.

This trip to the fair was the first time the ship had been disassembled, moved and reassembled, and already the team is learning that the new model poses its own set of challenges.

Victor Williamson, the center's director, said the Galileo is merely an extension of a student-driven program that has been working for years to enhance the learning experience by simulating real-world situations.

"Instead of a unit taught out of a book, now there are simulations where students are thrown into experiences that are as close to real life as possible," Williamson said. "It takes longer to teach in a simulation, but the learning stays much longer than when it's taught in traditional methods."

The space center has hosted nearly 220,000 students, teachers and parents over the past 19 years.

"We put these kids in these adult roles, and they have adult situations," Herring said. "We do a really good job at throwing problems at them and doing it in such a way where we don't overstress them out. We have made kids cry before. There's a lot of stress on one of these missions because they have to work as a team."

Personal Log: Adrian Stevens, Quartermaster - Entry 8

This is just for fun. Any resemblance to people who work at the space center is intentional, although these characters aren't really them. Any resemblance to an actual mission is your imagination.

Aleta Clegg, desk slave for the space center Supreme High Commander of the Universe, and guest blogger

Personal Log: Adrian Stevens, Quartermaster - Entry 8

Del’Brugado spat curses as he retreated. “Take them!” He shoved his men our way.

They hesitated. Anyone with a touch of sense facing five angry Klingons would turn and run. Del’Brugado’s men had no sense. They muttered threats as they slowly advanced.

I raised the rifle and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. The marauder grinned, showing a prominent gold tooth. I charged forward, slamming the rifle butt against his teeth. He staggered, holding his now bleeding mouth. One of the Klingons picked him up, tossing him into the bulkhead. He crumpled to the floor.

I switched my hold on the rifle, grabbing the barrel. Another marauder ducked Rakrr, picking me as the easier target. I swung the rifle, crunching the butt into his skull. He dropped.

Another one grabbed me from behind. I kicked, scraping my boot along his shin. He howled and jumped but he didn’t let go. I tossed my head back, cracking it into his chin. He swore. I kicked again. He grabbed my elbows, pinning them back. He lifted me off my feet. I wriggled like an angry cat, kicking and screaming insults, too angry to feel the pain.

Another pirate attacked me, thinking me helpless. I landed my boot in his belly. He reeled into a Klingon fist and went down.

The man holding me shifted his grip just enough I could slip free. I turned on him, clawing his face and kicking his shins. He retreated with his hands held protectively in front. Hruk’Tal clobbered him from behind. I kicked him as he fell.

“Small, but fierce.” Hruk’Tal nodded his approval.

“Duck!” I launched myself to the side as a marauder opened fire.

Hruk’Tal roared as the beam bit into his arm. The thick sleeve of his coat smoldered. He spun, fists and feet flying. The marauder disappeared under a heap of angry Klingons.

“Clear for the moment.” Herring’s crisp voice cut through the sudden silence.

Hruk’Tal lifted the limp marauder. “What shall we do with these?”

“Lock them in a storage closet.” I slapped the closest door control panel.

“Kill them,” Rakrr growled. He spat Klingon insults and kicked the nearest unconscious body.

“They may have information we can use.” Herring stroked his chin. “We lock them up for now.”

Hruk’Tal motioned the Klingons to gather the marauders. “We kill only in the heat of battle.”

They shoved the pile of limp bodies into the storage closet after stripping off any useful weapons.

“How do we keep them from escaping?” Rakrr asked. “I see no lock.”

“Like this.” I wedged a knife stolen from a marauder under the door controls, popping it clear. I twisted the wires inside until they tore free. “No one’s going through that door until they put those back.”

“I trust you know how?” Herring raised his eyebrow.

I shrugged. “We leave that to Carroll and her crack troops. Where are they?”

The ship rocked.

“The ship is under attack. Now is the time to strike!” Hruk’Tal slammed his fist against his chest. “Today is a good day to die.”

“Not if I can help it,” I muttered.

The lights turned red. Sirens wailed through the hall. We staggered as the ship lurched. Smoke billowed from vents overhead.

“Shields are down,” Herring observed.

“We shall take the bridge.” Hruk’Tal raised his head and howled his battle cry.

“What about Taylor and the control unit?” I asked Herring.

“The shuttle bay is just down the hall. With this,” he shouldered a very large phase rifle, “I should be fine. Keep them distracted, Stevens.”

“Come, small warrior.” Rakrr clapped his hand on my back almost knocking me over. “We shall avenge our fallen comrades.”

All five Klingons howled, a hair-raising chorus. They raised their weapons over their heads. I lifted the belt knife into the air and howled along with them. I wanted my own share of payback.

Someone shot a pulse of phaser fire into the hall. The six of us charged towards it, howling all the way.

Del’Brugado had at least fifty troops on the ship. It took the Klingons less than an hour to beat them all senseless. We left them locked in rooms all over the ship. Del’Brugado barricaded himself on the bridge. That stopped the Klingons.

“We cannot breach the doors,” Rakrr complained after a fourth failed attempt to beat his way through.

Hruk’Tal raised his hand for silence, cocking his head to one side. “They are starting the engines.” His forehead ridges deepened as he frowned. “Small warrior, can you open a door or just lock one?”

“I can try.” I edged forward, peering around the corner. Del’Brugado wasn’t above taking potshots at us if we showed our faces.

The twenty feet of hall stretched empty to the closed door to the bridge. I wiped a nervous hand on my leg and clutched the knife tighter in my other hand. The Klingons crowded behind me, pushing me into the open. I ran for the door, the Klingons on my heels.

I popped the cover from the controls, twisting the knife under one edge. The tangle of wires inside mocked me. I yanked a handful free. Sparks spat from the panel.

“That did not open the door,” Hruk’Tal said.

“I’m guessing,” I snapped. “I’m not an engineer.” I tapped the bare ends of two wires together. Nothing happened. I tried another pair.

“This is taking much too long.” Rakrr tried to wedge his massive hands in the door to force it. The surface was too smooth, too tightly closed.

I shoved a handful of wires into another tangle. Lightning danced across the panel. I jerked my hands back, not fast enough to avoid a shock. Smoke billowed from the wall. The door slid open just far enough for Rakrr to jam his fingers inside. His muscles bulged as he shoved it open.

Phaser beams caught him, tossing him backwards. His hair smoked as he crashed to the floor of the ship. The other Klingons charged inside.

I dropped to my knees next to his limp body. I wasn’t sure where to check a Klingon for a pulse. He twitched, muttering guttural curses. I patted his shoulder. If he was still growling, he should recover. Klingons were tough.

I dove through the door into the chaotic bridge. The Klingons were beating the bridge crew. Del’Brugado edged away from the battle. I slipped behind him.

“I really don’t like you.” I slammed the pommel of the knife into his head. Del’Brugado, leader of the Fellucian Marauders, dropped like a rag doll.

I yanked his boots off, throwing them through the door into the hall. I used his tunic and trousers to tie him securely to the railing. He glared as I finished, waking up enough to yank at the bonds. I waggled the knife under his nose.

“Nice underwear. I hope you don’t mind everyone seeing it.” I grinned at his angry scowl.

“You’ll never...”

I shoved his socks into his mouth and tied them in place with his sash. “I think we won and you lost.”

“We have control of the ship,” Hruk’Tal announced. “Victory is ours!”

I joined in the chorus of Klingon howls.

***

Admiral Williamson steepled his fingers under his chin. I shuffled my feet, unnerved by his measuring stare.

“A most interesting report,” he said after a very lengthy silence. “Am I to understand that you have been granted the singular honor of receiving a Klingon warrior name?”

I blushed. The victory party on the bridge of the captured cargo ship had gotten slightly out of hand. Del’Brugado would never forgive us for the picture we’d sent long range to every contact listed in the ship records. The Klingons appreciated the joke.

“Klingons have a strange sense of humor, sir.”

“They claim it was your idea. They wanted you to have the credit.”

“That was generous of them.”

“They also requested you be sent as the Federation Ambassador to the Klingon Empire.” Admiral Williamson leaned back in his chair, rocking slightly. “I am almost tempted to send you.”

“I don’t know the first thing about diplomacy. I know supplies and a ship galley.” Me? Ambassador to the Klingons? I’d start a war within five minutes of arriving.

“We found a polite way to refuse. Tensions are high enough without adding you to the negotiation table.” He tilted his head, watching me like a bird eying a juicy worm. “Captain Herring requested you as his quartermaster. You are assigned to the Voyager. The refitting is almost complete.”

The Voyager, flown by Vasha and the handful of crew left aboard, had shown up just after Commander Carroll finished installing the remote driver for the cargo ship. We’d transferred prisoners to the Voyager and set course for Starbase 14 with the Galileo and the cargo ship.

“I’m afraid the Delphi project will have to be scrapped, though,” Williamson continued.

“What was Delphi?” I asked. He seemed in a mellow mood, maybe he’d answer.

“An experiment in AI controlled ships. We haven’t got the bugs worked out yet. So, your job is safe. We still need humans to fly our ships and humans require food. You have six hours before the Voyager leaves drydock. And, Stevens, prepare for a long flight. Captain Herring is investigating the marauders. They are too well organized for pirates.”

His chair thumped back into place as he bent over his paperwork.

I saluted the top of his balding head. Quartermaster on the Voyager under Captain Herring. What would he ask of me on the next mission? I shook my head, unable to even guess.

***

The story will continue in a new private mission, War Games, for the Odyssey and Galileo. It should be ready to fly by summer 2010.

If you enjoyed reading this, check out some of my other stories on www.jaletac.com

An Updated Video on the New Simulator Gaileo

A Bit of Fun on the New Galileo

Behold, the Book of Names.

Troops,
We pause for a moment and consider the retiring of the Book of Names. This book was brought forth the first week of August 2008 when the Book of Names for 2007 was retired. For 360 days it sat under my desk lamp at the Space Center. On its pages are listed all the private missions and camps run through the last year (August 2008 - July 2009).

Did you book a private mission last year? If so, then your name and phone number is in the Book of Names. Did you attend an Overnight, Edventure or Super Saturday Camp during the last year? Then that camp was listed in the Book of Names. Did you bring your class on a field trip? Then you may be listed in the Book of Names (we have a special page for out of control classes and teachers that sit on their backsides during their field trips and do nothing to keep their students in line).

Flight Directors consult the Book of Names daily for their work schedule. I check it daily as I review the staff and volunteer schedule. It’s pages are written and spilled on. If its been one of those days, you may even see a few tear stains here and there.

We retire the Book of Names in solemn ceremony the last day of July. I dim the office lights. The Set Directors gather in robes bearing torches. I chant something in Latin. It’s amazing what you find on the internet. One year, after my rather lengthy chant all the lights when out and the room grew bone chilly. Voices were heard under or feet, emanating from the school’s cellar. Megan screamed. That started a chain reaction of screaming - ending only when I joined in and blasted them all out of the water. A few days later I doubled checked my Latin source and found my error. I took the ceremony's verses from the Catholic Book on Exorcism. This year I’m using verses from the Prayer Book of 1534, just to be safe.

After the verses, the Book of Names is passed from Flight Director to Flight Director. Each is given a moment alone with the one object that ruled their lives so completely for one year. I stand at the end of the circle and accept the book from the last FD. I walk to my desk, open the drawer nearest my chair and carefully slide the book into its place beside all the other Book of Names from years passed.

The ceremony ends when I pull the new Book of Names from the same desk drawer. I hold the new book up over my head and show the congregation its unblemished pages. Everyone bows three times as I place the book in its proper place under the lamp.

It is a solemn occasion that marks the end of one season and the start of another. It is a time to remember that life goes on at the Space Center. There are missions to fly and campers to tend. There are messes to clean and noses to wipe. There are fears to console and tempers to dampen. There are egos to tame and screams to subdue. It is our work cycle.

Welcome Book of Names for 2010. May your pages bring us happiness and joy.

Mr. Williamson

The Path to Flight Directing. A Road Less Travelled.

Kevin Robert on his First Solo Mission in the Phoenix.

Hello Troops,
A small percentage of the Space Center’s volunteer force step forward to train as Flight Directors. I worry about these individuals. I spend many a sleepless night wondering why anyone would volunteer to undergo Flight Director training. Do these gentle souls have their feet grounded in reality? Do they have a slightly perverted need for punishment? Do they thrive on pure unadulterated adrenaline? Or could it be a longing for attention? Perhaps they are all middle children, never getting noticed because the oldest and youngest in the family soak up whatever spare time their parents have to give. I’m inclined to commission a university study on the subject.

Now, putting aside all queries concerning the sanity of my Flight Directors, I’m happy to say that I’m please we have volunteers willing to put in the time and work to become flight directors. Flight Directing is the hardest job at the Space Center (besides mine. I’m a Flight Director with the additional responsibility to administer the place). Let me remind our kind readers that our Space Education Center is a one of a kind. There isn’t another Center like ours anywhere in the world. Being a one of a kind means we are automatically the best in the world at what we do. It also means you can’t go to school to learn to Flight Direct. You can’t read it in a book or take an online course. It all must be done here working side by side our experienced Flight Directors.

We’ve stepped into the Way Back Machine on this. We’ve adopted the work training scheme of the Middle Ages. We have our Master Craftsman (The Flight Directors). They in turn select their apprentices. The apprentice trains under the Master Craftsman until he or she is ready to venture out and practice the trade. The title Master Craftsman is earned after creating a masterpiece, as judged by other Masters.

Our Set Directors select who will be trained to Flight Direct. The new apprentices work side by side with their sponsoring Flight Directors, leaning the missions and the proper technique to starting, shutting down and operating a simulator. They learn to troubleshoot the ship. Our simulators each have their own personality and must be treated differently, sometimes with kid gloves, to ensure a mission free of glitches. Our apprentices are required to develop multiple personalities and accents. This helps create the illusion that the participants are in a multi deck ship with many other crew members besides themselves.

One important aspect of Flight Director training is learning to be political correct. We can’t risk the Center’s reputation on a Flight Director that doesn’t follow social norms and doesn’t know how to behave in public. Being PC means knowing what to say and when to say it so people aren’t offended by an offhand remark. Again, that takes training and time.

After months of training our apprentices are ready to take the microphone and fly solo. Such was the case a few weeks ago. Pictured above is Apprentice Kevin R. Kevin has been training to Flight Direct the Phoenix simulator for several months. During our last camp the Phoenix’s Set Director, Megan Warner, decide it was time to hand him the microphone and let him demonstrate his new found skills. Megan sat behind him taking notes for a lengthy debriefing and post flight review.

Because my desk sits at the crossroads of the Center I’m able to hear much of what happens in the Phoenix, Odyssey and Voyager. I heard Kevin and, to be honest, I thought he did a good job. I wasn’t privy to the post mission debriefing so I don't know what Megan thought, but I thought it was very good for his first solo attempt.

In closing, I want to thank all our Flight Apprentices for going through the torture of FD training. Thank you for the patience you show every mission and the willingness to go above and beyond the call of duty for your training. I appreciate you and your effort.

Congratulations Kevin on your first solo Phoenix mission. May the wind be at your back and may all the seats be filled with happy, enthusiastic campers ;)

Mr. Williamson

The Baby Blessing and Feeding of the Five Thousand. Another Day in Paradise.......

Hello Troops,
Day two of the Space Center’s two week vacation. Day two of no responsibility. Day two of not having this uneasy feeling hanging over my head that I need to be at the Space Center dealing with scraped elbows or vomit or the occasional foul child whom everyone in his /her life caters to morning, noon and night.

You know, I haven’t had one bout of acid reflex since this vacation started. It is fantastic. Take away a bit of stress and my body stops torturing me. Who knows, I may decide to spend a year in some Buddhist monastery in a far distant land on a religious year long retreat. I’ll chose a monastery built on a cliffside accessible only by rope and ladder. I’ll return once I’ve accumulated the knowledge of the ancients. Oh, I want to learn how to levitate as well. Anyone else interested? Perhaps we can put a group together.

Today I had the privilege of going to a double baby blessing. How lucky can a guy get? My two nieces had baby girls and decided to bless them at the same time in Nicole’s ward in south Provo. Jasmine lives in California and is here for a month or so and thought the idea was fantastic. So, there we are - let me guess - nearly two thousand family members here from all the families related to my nieces and their husbands. I have my sister (the grandmother) and her husband staying with me. The others are spread out all over northern Utah, southern Idaho, western Colorado and eastern Nevada.

My Sunday started with my mother’s recognizable call. “Victor!,” she shouted. She wanted to know if I had crazy glue. I wondered why my 70 year old mother wanted crazy glue. Perhaps to mend something broken due to her failing eyesight or lack of concentration (or both).
“I broke the tooth off my denture and need to glue it back on.” she said matter of factly. I looked out the window wondering if I had mysteriously and unknowingly been transported to some alternate reality during the night. But all seemed normal here at Wits End.
“I don’t have super glue. I still have all my teeth,” I answered.
“Would Jilane have any,” she asked. I could tell she didn’t have her teeth in by the way she spoke. You know the sound someone makes as they gum out words.
“I don't’ know mom, here let me ask her. Jilane, do you have super glue? Jilane won’t answer me. Could it be that she doesn’t live here. You’ll have to call her to ask her.” I said.
Now I don’t want to sound like a smart A and a rude son so I changed my tone and took a more apologetic approach. “I’ll call her for you.”

I called my sister. She had crazy glue. I told her why mom needed it.
“Whatever,” was her answer.

Now a word of advice for all. Don’t ever follow a grandmother who thinks she’s going to be late for her grandchild’s blessing. We had a small caravan stretching for twelve miles following first my sister Annette and then my sister (the grandmother) Janice. None of us knew where the church was, and being like most blessings, it would be at church located at the very center of an elaborate labyrinth of streets and dead ends. You’d think we’d use Google Maps or something and get the directions ourselves but not the Williamsons. We need to do things the old fashion way - we play ‘follow the leader’.

Annette lead for the first part of the journey from Pleasant Grove to Provo. Her choice of streets to get to the freeway was interesting, perhaps creative would be a better way to describe it. She lost us a few times because of traffic lights but was considerate and pulled over each time to wait. Once we got on the freeway Janice pulled into the lead. She saw the time and decided my estimate of the time needed to get to the blessing was way off. She pulled ahead in a cloud of blue smoke. The race was on! She had us all weaving in and out of lanes traveling 85 mph in a 65 mph zone. The Battlestar had no problem keeping up but I thought we’d lost my dad several times. We exited the freeway near the Provo Mall and sped east on Slate Canyon Road. I noticed the posted speed limit was 35 mph. The Battlestar’s speedometer read 65 mph. I prayed the Provo police had better things to do than clock cars on that road at that time on a Sunday morning.

We found the church. That’s a stroke of luck. Finding a specific church in Utah County can be difficult. There are LDS churches on every corner and they all look the same. We’ve all had the experience of attending a blessing and thinking you’re at the right church only to find you’re not after sitting in the pew and working your way through the opening hymn and then straight into the Sacrament hymn. Isn’t that embarrassing having two entire pews stand and exit the chapel while the hymn is being sung whispering to row after row of total strangers that you’re in the wrong church. Its fun to tell the deacon usher at the door that you were looking for the Baptist Church and did he know where it was.

Most true blooded Williamsons sit in the back of every chapel they visit. We automatically seek out the last row of chairs and set up camp. Of course, we are always ready to move to the new back row of chairs if the curtain into the chapel overflow is opened. We do this as an act of Christian charity - always willing to give up the better seats (those closest to the front) in church to those more righteous and deserving. The back seats are good enough for our kind. Of course, that only applies to church. You should see us at a buffet - or better yet at Disneyland. We will fight and claw out way to the front of any line in all matters non religious. It’s every man for himself in those situations. Many a younger Williamson has found himself in a row of bushes after getting elbowed out of a better place in a line by an elder Williamson. Imagine the cheek of taking a better spot in a queue and leaving someone like me one or two places further down the stream. I won’t have it. Respect, that is all I ask for anyone that has peaked in life and is on the slippery slope into oblivion.

The Sacrament Service started. The first hymn was announced. The chorister stood before the congregation to lead us in the hymn. I loved her. This grandma, judging by her appearance, must have known Joseph Smith personally. She waved us into singing with one arm. Her other hand held her spit rag. Her method of leading music reminded me of someone trying to keep a wasp at bay. I’m positive the congregents in the front row enjoyed the breeze created by those exaggerated arm movements. I also loved the fact that she never looked up once. She probably couldn’t see us anyway so why bother. I guess we were fortunate she stood facing us.
I really got a chuckle because the music stand kept slowly dropping in front of her, thus forcing her to stop waving away the wasp and pull it up. It was great.

You know, I wonder what the record is for the number of priesthood holders used to bless a baby. If there is one then I’m sure we shattered it today. I felt it best to stay out of the fray and kept to my encampment at the back of the chapel. From my distant vantage point the crowd of white shirts surrounding that poor helpless child resembled the photograph of an Atlantic hurricane in full force just before slamming into Cuba with the baby at the calm surface. It was amusing watching family members jostle and squeeze and shuffle and grunt as they circled and then inched forward closer and closer to the baby in an attempt to get at least one finger into the scrum. My poor frail 73 year old father was sandwiched between two gentleman with rather large girths. I could see by his distressed look that half way through the prayer he was struggling to breath. I wondered if they kept spare oxygen in the pulpit for such an occasion. Luckily my great niece's blessing was just short enough for the circle to break just in time for him to get enough air to bring color back into his face. Two people were carried back to the front pew, the baby and my father.

I was concerned for my second great niece blessed that day. Her father (giving his first baby blessing and rightfully nervous) blessed her to have a good husband that would teach her. He didn’t elaborate but I thought I could hear my sisters, no matter where they were in the world, squirm at that instant. Most females with Williamson blood rule their homes. It is a fact that can be looked up in any reference and history book. It is just one of those things their husbands learn to live with.

After the blessing and sacrament my mother and I slipped out of the chapel and secretly met inside the Battlestar (my house sized Lincoln) which I had parked in the furthest parking place possible. I listened to the radio while mother performed surgery on her dentures. I couldn’t watch so I kept my eyes focused on the steeple and mind on the radio. She pulled out her mini surgery kit and set it on the arm rest. She held out her hand for the super glue my sister gave me to give to her when she arrived late for the blessing. She reached into her purse and pulled out a knife which could easily be used to skin a bear. With tools in hand the repair started. I remember her grunting a few times followed by this sickening scraping sound. Half way through the procedure my curiosity got the best of me and I looked. Her top plate was in her left hand. The missing tooth in her right. She was preparing to super glue it into place. That was enough for me and I refocused on the steeple. Fifteen minutes later I heard a clamp and a slober and the deed was done. Her smile was nearly normal. She was good for another 10,000 chews.

Pictures followed the blessing and then another multi family picnic at the park. There was a another feeding of the five thousand miracle with a few muffins, cantaloupe, and a squished croissant or two and then everyone retired to their homes.

It was a good day 2 of my two week summer vacation. I may stop by the Space Center tomorrow to get the deposit ready and answer a few emailsl or I may decide to sleep in until 3:00 P.M. (if that were ever possible). We shall see.

Volunteers and Staff. I’m hoping your summer holiday is as eventful as mine. All of you be good, mind your manners and eat your peas and carrots.

Mr. Williamson

Space Center News Flash.

Emily kneeling before Stacy for the blessing of the microphone.
Her welcome into the world of Galileo Flight Directing

Emily (on the left) smiling politely while trying to wrestle the Galileo
microphone away from the Set Director in a failed coup attempt.
Stacy smiles as well hoping not to show fear or weakness.
Disciplinary action may be taken.

Recent news from the Space Center. Warning, this should not be read while driving. It could cause drowsiness. Other symptoms related to the reading of this Blog include dry mouth, exhaustion, loose bowels, upset stomach, near sightedness, hives, excitability, pink eye, and psychosis. Some readers report a false sense of hope for mankind after reading two to three entries. While encouraging - we must caution that these are unsubstantiated claims and should be taken with a hefty dose of skepticism.

Emily Perry. A One of a Kind.

Emily Perry (age unknown) recently received her Galileo Flight Director credentials from Galileo Set Director Stacy Carroll (also unsure of her age). The ceremony (the highlights of which were captured digitally for prosperity) was held behind the Galileo at the completion of her first solo mission. Emily became the first Space Center Flight Director with flight passes in all five simulators. This is a remarkable accomplishment. Not even I, Supreme Director and Overlord of the Universe, can fly five ships! I know that may come as a shock to many of our younger readers but I assure you it is true.

Emily has reached level 5 on the Space Center Ascension Index. Her skin has a faint pink luminescence. Her smile’s width, recently measured after ascension, was three millimeters wider. Her IQ, previously impressive, is off the charts. News of which reached the Depart of Defense. Scientists were dispatched - they will arrive tomorrow.

Just a few days ago Emily was stopped by a tour of senior citizens while walking across BYU’s campus . Those close enough to shake her hand reported a strange sensation pass through their bodies. Afterwords, while eating at the Cougar Eat, those within Emily’s influence reportedly had stronger appetites. Three successfully ate sirloin steak, something they hadn’t done in years because of falling teeth.

Emily wishes to thank all the little people for celebrating her ascension. She wants everyone to know that she really is a better person than most and will do all in her power to impress that fact upon you.

Good Job Emily! I quake in your presence. And don’t be offended if the youngest volunteers rush from your company. Just standing in your shadow can cause young ones to lose control of their bodily functions.

Mr. Williamson

Personal Log: Adrian Stevens, Quartermaster - Entry 7

This is just for fun. Any resemblance to people who work at the space center is intentional, although these characters aren't really them. Any resemblance to an actual mission is your imagination.

Aleta Clegg
Space Center Educator
Chief Cook and Bottle Washer
Supreme Master of the Universe

And Now the Continuation of Aleta's Story........

Personal Log: Adrian Stevens, Quartermaster - Entry 7

I huddled in the lee of a rock, shivering uncontrollably. My teeth chattered. Fredericks moaned, curled up in the snow next to me. I patted his arm with hands so numb they felt like clubs.

Herring slipped into our hiding space. Snow plastered his eyebrows and hair. “Two more patrols. Hruk’Tal thinks they’re running low on reinforcements. Apparently the riot in the mines is completely out of control.”

“So we’re going to sit out here and freeze to death? At least we were warm in the mines.”

“Rakrr has gone to scout the communications dome. If enough guards have left, we’re taking it. You’ll have shelter soon.”

“I’ll survive. It’s Fredericks I’m worried about.”

Herring peered over the rock into the swirling storm. “There’s the signal. Let’s move!”

I grabbed Fredericks’ arm, pulling him to his feet. The two of us stumbled after Herring.

A structure loomed out of the snow, rounded and barely darker than the frozen wasteland. I pulled Fredericks around the side, following the quickly fading footsteps of the others. The rifle I’d stolen from the guard banged against my back.

Hruk’Tal’s battle howl sounded above the roar of the storm. I dragged Fredericks through the door, letting it bang shut behind me. Fredericks collapsed to the floor. I unslung the rifle and edged farther into the building. Shouts rang through the hall. I ran faster.

Smoke boiled from the main room. Thuds and screams echoed against the concrete dome overhead. Something crackled, spitting sparks through the doorway. I slipped through.

Hruk’Tal held a Fellucian guard over his head. The other Klingons pounded two more guards against the equipment panels. Herring and Carroll stood nose-to-nose in the center, arguing.

Hruk’Tal tossed the guard into a corner. “Enough. We cannot hold long here. We must leave. Where is this vessel you promised?”

Carroll planted her hands on her hips. “You promised him the Voyager, didn’t you?”

“If all went according to plan, the Voyager should be in far orbit. We just have to call and let them know we are ready.” Herring kept his voice reasonable.

“Call with what?” Carroll smiled grimly as the comm bank threw sparks across the room.

The four Klingons dropped the unconscious guards.

Carroll pulled a communicator from her pocket and flipped it open. “Galileo, come in.”

The comm crackled with static. “Warner here.”

“Any sign of the Voyager?”

“Negative.”

“Stand by for an extraction.” Carroll flipped the communicator shut.

“You’re going to fit all eight of us on a stealth shuttle?” Herring shot a frown my way. “Where is Fredericks?”

“By the entrance. I’ll go get him.” I turned for the door.

Fredericks crashed through, eyes wide and rolling. “They’re coming!”

“Incoming vessel,” Rakrr announced. “A cargo ship bearing Ferengi registration codes.”

“The supply ship,” Carroll said. “They’re a day early.”

“Good thing.” Herring shifted back half a step. “Get us up to that ship and we will take it for you.”

“How?” Carroll tugged at her hair.

“Why not use the transport ring?” I asked, pointing at the circular control inset in the center of the floor.

Carroll slapped her forehead. “Get inside the ring. I’ll get to the Galileo. Once you’re on board, get control of the docking bay. I’ll drop Taylor and the controller module there.”

Fredericks waved his hands wildly, mumbling to himself. Thumps echoed down the halls from the outside door.

“What about him?” I asked.

“I’ll take him with me,” Carroll said. She tapped her communicator. “Warner, bring her down on this signal.” She waved at the rest of us. “Get in the ring.”

We crowded into the space, clutching whatever weapons we had stolen.

Carroll twisted controls on a panel. “Good luck. I’ll be at the docking bay in thirty minutes. If you aren’t there, I’ll assume you failed. We can’t stay for more than five minutes.”

“Take care of Fredericks,” Herring called.

Light rose around us. My nose tickled as the transporter activated.

The light faded. We stood in a cargo bay, dimly lit.

“Stop him!” Hruk’Tal shouted, pointing at the man standing openmouthed next to the transporter controls.

His hand crept for the emergency reversal switch. The Klingons rushed him. I followed, caught up by the adrenaline. He lasted less than five seconds. We left him in a bloody heap, moaning quietly to himself.

“We have control of the cargo bay.” Hruk’Tal thumped his chest with his fist. “Where is the docking bay?”

Herring bent over the control panel. “I haven’t had to read Ferengi in years.” He traced the display with his finger. “Down two decks on the starboard side. Looks like it more towards the aft section. Let’s go.”

The seven of us crowded the door into the ship. Hruk’Tal flipped finger signals. I took a deep breath.

Herring hit the button. The door slid open. We slipped into the deserted hall.

We made it to the lift without meeting anyone. Herring opened the doors and we piled inside. I ended up near the front, sandwiched between two Klingons. I stifled a sneeze at their smell. Unwashed Klingons aren’t exactly unpleasant, just very strong.

The door to the lift slid open. We rushed out.

And stopped short. Fifteen heavily armed guards faced us, weapons ready.

“Well, well.” Del’Brugado stepped forward. “If it isn’t Captain Herring. And his obnoxiously competent assistant.” He smiled and twisted the end of his thin mustache.

Hruk’Tal shifted his weapon. “Today is a good day to die.”

“Agreed.” Rakrr lifted his rifle.

“Three?” Herring asked.

“Three!”

We charged into battle.

Lice, The Perfect Way to End Your Week.

Hello Troops,
Saturday, July 25, 2009 ended our last full week of camps at the Space Center. I was ready for a nice lay down when I got home to Wit’s End (the name of my home). I was shutting down my computer and gathering my things when the phone rang.
“Are you sitting down?” my sister Jilane asked. Jilane is one of my five sisters. She lives one block from me in Pleasant Grove.
“Who died?” I responded as I removed my lanyard and whistle. You’re not a real teacher unless you wear a Shrieker 2000 industrial strength whistle around your neck.
“Aidia has lice.” She said as a matter of fact. At first I didn’t comprehend the ramifications of such a statement. My first reaction was to say something like “And that means what to me?”. But after a moment’s reflection I realized why she wanted me to sit down for the news.

Perhaps a bit of a back story. My sister Lisa and her three children are staying at Wit’s End for the summer. They return to California at the start of the school year. Aida is her daughter. She has two sons, Draker and Caden. Many of you that work at the Space Center met 11 year old Draker at camp this summer.

This last week Wit’s End became Wit’s Discount Lodge and Home for the Elderly and Senile. The following extra guests checked in for a week’s stay:

• My sister Annette and her four children.
• My aunt and uncle from Arizona.
• Our permanent residents, my parents Charles and Luella whooccupy a small mother in law apartment in the dungeon. They are still able to function normally, drive and use the toilet but can’t be trusted with electricity and anything that uses electricity.

“Lisa wants you to check Draker for lice but don’t make a big deal of it. It will embarrass him,” Jilane added.
“Yes, I’m going out into the Voyager, take the microphone from Emily and announce to the crew and staff that I’m taking my nephew off the ship so I can check him for lice and other vermin.”
“Just do it.”
“Yes ma’am.”

I found Draker wearing a Voyager’s engineering uniform ready to go out to the Bridge to check the ship for hull fractures. I mentioned for him to follow me. Emily objected saying she needed him to do the acting part first.
“Spread the joy,” I mumbled to myself. “Send him to me when he’s finished.”

A few minutes later he walked up to my desk. I asked him if he knew what ‘unclean’ meant.
“You need to take a bath?” he questioned.
“Yes, in a manner of speaking. Do you understand what happens to little boys that never bath or wash their hair?” His eyes widened expecting me to accuse him of such a thing. I stopped him before he could continue.
“Little boys that refuse to apply water and soap to their bodies can develop diseases like leprosy, scabs, leeches, and lice! I need to check you for lice. Don’t run, it won’t help. Crying will only draw attention to your condition and if word got out that lice could be present within these walls there would be a panic and stampede not even my Shrieker 2000 could stop. Now walk quietly into the nurse’s station.”

He followed me. I put the rubber gloves on and began the inspection. Several minutes later I pronounced him lice free. Draker was happy and wanted to return to the Voyager. I called Jilane and gave her the good news. Her reaction surprised me.
“Do you know what you’re looking for?” she asked. A few moments later I was driving him up to her house for the professional inspection. I’m please to announce that my initial diagnosis was correct. Lice free.

I expected to see EPA agents in full biosuits at my home when Draker and I pulled into the driveway. I was pleased with how Mormony everything looked. Yes, your typical average LDS neighborhood in Utah County. I got out of the car, took in the warm summer air scented with freshly mowed grass and pondered how pleasant everything was in Pleasant Grove.

The calm and serenity came to an abrupt end when I walked into the kitchen from the garage. The kitchen counters and table were covered with every possible cleaning agent, brush and pad used for lice abatement available for purchase at your neighborhood WalMart - all gathered for a major assault on the infestation eating through the hair follicles of innocent Williamson’s, Belnaps and Coronatos. Oh the Humanity!


I carefully walked around the chemical shop and into the living room. I stood in the center of the room afraid to let my body come in contact with anything that might have a moving surface. Lisa saw my predicament and rallied to my cause. She grabbed a can of lung burning Destructall spray in each hand and attacked everything in the that wasn’t moving with stereo shots of spray. Mother was caught in a corner chair. A cloud of Destructall moved in her direction like a death fog.
“Move!” Lisa shouted. Mother saw the fumes, rose to her feet and did a shuffle that, had we had a camera, would have been a YouTube hit.

Both my sisters were armed and ready for war. They had their children in bathing suits, lined up at the four bathrooms and ready for the delousing process. Each child was brought in, put in the tub and scrubbed from top to bottom with Nuclear Nix Lice Removal shampoo, cream, ointment, solution, and alixer. Both sisters were in their bathing suits as well so it could all be contained in the tubs.

Once the sandblasting was complete and the children’s bleeding skin bandaged, out came the lice combs and the tedious process of de -nitsing their scalps. The children’s screams were so intense mother had to leave and seek refuge at my uncle’s. I of course wasn’t bothered considering I spend all day in space blowing up children ;)

Once the unclean were proclaimed clean, the delousing of the house began. Destructall Spray was unleashed on the children’s mattresses. All the bedding, towels, blankets, pillows, clothes, etc. etc. and etc. was dumped into the back of the pick up truck and taken to Pleasant Grove’s only coin operated laundry mat. Several hours later and twenty five dollars in quarters lighter the bedding was finished and pulled from very hot dryers.
It was after 11:00 P.M. and all was done. It only took six hours and over one hundred and fifty dollars but the home was safely nuked and ready for habitation.

I was exhausted from sitting and watching these two great mothers scrub, curse, shout, clean, clean and clean. The debate that ran through the entire process was who’s child got lice first, and from where.

Today I sit in my sterilized home feeling lucky to have survived my very first lice infestation. Rest your worried minds - I didn’t have lice and neither does Draker. The Space Center is therefore lice free (unless Brock has lice. We will have to check him out).

All is well and I hope and pray next week will be uneventful. Please, may I ask for boring, dull and mindless. I need boring, dull and mindless.

Mr. Williamson

Jupiter Takes it on the Nose! Breaking News.

By Mark Daymont
Space Center Staff

Congradulations, those of you who missed the big show with comet Shoemaker-Levy 9 back in 1994 have a second chance to witness in your lifetime a major impact event in our solar system! JPL/NASA has confirmed that either an asteroid or comet has slammed into the atmosphere of Jupiter, causing a tremendous detonation and creating a black destructive area the size of our Earth.

Amateur astronomers take heart: this discovery was not made by Hubble, professional observatories nor robotic sentinels of the skies. This discovery was made by Anthony Wesley, of Australia, who was merely observing Jupiter with his own scope. With the sharp-thinking alert from Wesley, scientists on Earth facing Jupiter immediately turned our Hawaiian telescopes toward Jupiter to confirm and study the event.

We'll be watching this event closely as further information comes our way.

On to the Finish and A Call for Assistance

Hello Troops,
We’ve entered the Olympic Stadium and see the end of the Marathon in sight. Thousands are on their feet cheering us on to the end of the season. We are exhausted. We are dehydrated. We stink for lack of bathing but we are still in the race regardless of the many obstacles hurdled down on us by the Fates high atop Mr. Olympus.

A week and a half and we wrap up this summer season. It has been difficult but because of sheer determination and an unwillingness to stay down when hit we are still going. What amazing things we can accomplish with that kind of CAN DO attitude.

Yes we have the best volunteer force in Utah County. Yes we are all above average in something. Yes, we sometimes back out of our parking places and not notice there is a car next to us and then we accidentally hit it and then feel really stupid. Yes we can get on each other’s nerves and YES the campers can drive us into such a state only shock therapy can bring us back from the abyss into a state where we can recognize our loved ones, BUT despite all this we are doing so well and I’m proud of my staff and volunteers.

And now a note to our campers.

Campers, you really have been good this summer. I may tease you and claim you drive us crazy and yes, to be honest ,some of you do - but may I add that the vast majority of you have been wonderful and a delight to have with us as our guests.

Do you realize what goes into keeping you happy at our camps? Do you realize how exhausted our staff are and yet they do an excellent job running your missions and classes? Do you realize that our simulators are elaborate pieces of electronics and equipment and that they go down on a regular basis? Take our last camp for instance. The Odyssey’s core computer was crashing regularly, yet Emily and Christine did a remarkable job hiding its effects from the crew and moving forward bringing you to mission completion.

Did you know the Magellan’s Core Computer completely died on the last rotation of our three day camp. If this were Disneyland the simulator would be closed for repairs. That’s Disneyland, we can’t do that at the Space Center. We buckle down, grit our teeth and get to work problem solving.

Applause for Alex Anderson for dropping everything at home and driving to the Space Center to work on a solution. Applause for Matt Long for dropping everything, walking away from his class and helping. A Standing Ovation to Brittney VanDeBoss, Maren Hale and Warren Nuila for moving the story along outside of the simulator by creating elaborate story elements the campers experienced in the school’s corridors. They saw the crash occurring around them and refused to ‘Go Down with the Ship’.
Applause to Kyle Herring and Todd Hadley of Juicy Development for driving to the Space Center to assist in the solution.

Well, the problem was solved and the mission proceeded. It wasn’t the best mission but it still wasn’t that bad. We pulled it off. Now that’s Space Center Guts.

On a more personal note........

I’ve not been well for the last three weeks. My acid reflux and everything associated with it had me to the point where I was anxiously engaged in an Ebay search for a new esophagus (useless - I could only find used. Nothing new). I’m feeling better now after several visits to the doctor and a lovely throat scope carried out at my local Surgery (butcher) Center.

That, added to very little sleep, made me a bit difficult at times and a tadd ‘out of it’. Thanks to everyone for helping and chalking up my temper to a middle age crisis.

OK, enough of that.

Troops, we are facing a serious problem at the Space Center. We need help with our computer programs. The Odyssey and Magellan need new controls, or perhaps a serious review of the current ones to see where the problems lie. Our young programmers are doing their best but.......
Out there somewhere I’m sure there is someone that knows how to solve our problems in a way where the Space Center could still stay afloat financially. If you are that person please contact me.

Now, I end this epistle with a big thank you to all for everything.

It’s back to the race and to the finish.

Mr. Williamson