And Now For Something Completely Different.....

Me and that Fat Feller in the Red Suit's Funny Looking Sled Dog

“Don’t ya know...... When you get me mad the kettle boils and the pressure builds. Something’s gotta give. Now that little fat feller in the red suit that lives in some sort of tax free status in northern Alaska got me a mite angry when my holiday wish wasn’t granted. I wished for The White House and what did I get? A white house, my home buried in snow on Christmas Day. Well, ya don't mess with me or you and my Huntress 9000 here are going to have a problem. That jolly dwarf took a side and as far as I was concerned needed to be Palinized. Ya take something from me and I take something from you - but I take it one step further so ya learn the lesson. Enough said, now I’m going to the coastline and see If I can’t practice some Alaskan diplomacy and shoot me down something Russian.”

Sara with her laser guided 'Huntress 9000'.
Rudolf didn't have a chance.
Santa escaped without injury but had to violently change course.
Over 35,000 Anchorage children had no Christmas

(Sorry, but another imagination seizure on my part...... Mr. Williamson)
P.S. You Irish better be ready. Santa let her down and St. Patrick's Day is next. Sara feels she is owed a favor. Guard your leprechauns. She is locked and loaded and has a flight booked to Dublin.

Saint Sheila and the Storm of the Century. A Hero's Tale.

Sheila and Hercules

Hello Troops,
We are going to pause a moment and celebrate The Savior of Lehi, our very own Sheila Powell, Teacher Extraordinary at the Space Center. While many in this small Utah town were buried under 90 inches of snow, huddling around their fires and praying for deliverance, Sheila took matters into her own hands. Realizing she would be facing Winter’s frigid wrath, Sheila layered herself in warm clothing and moved toward her front door only to discover it was blocked by several feet of snow. Winter had entombed her and was in no mood to entertain an early release. What old man winter didn’t know was Sheila’s stage name - Sheila ‘Houdini’ Powell. There isn’t a cage built that can hold Sheila Powell.
Sheila opened a second story window, braced herself in the windowsill and jumped. It was a belly flop into the powdery snow below. The force of impact left her four feet below the snow's surface. She fought and clawed her way to toward the light.

Her sun glasses surfaced first followed by a hand and then a knitted cap. A minute later a nose emerged searching for oxygen. With snow shoes in place she eventually surfaced like a submarine jumping free of the ocean.
Wind propelled ice darts swarmed around her and yet she continued toward her tractor. Darkness descended like death and yet she continued. Neighbors, watching from their windows, shouted at her to turn back - yet she continued. Soon word of Sheila’s act of heroism spread by telephone. Lehi’s phone exchange was overwhelmed. KSL’s news helicopter braved the storm and moved into place above her home to capture this epic struggle. Thousands watched. Candles were lit and prayers said in churches statewide. A local Las Vegas television station picked up the news feed. Soon every casino’s large screen televisions were tuned to the Sheila Channel. Bet’s were taken. The odds were against her.
“Forward girl Forward,” Sheila said to herself as she moved ahead one foot at a time. Her garage loomed before her - a large dark wall in the distance. She felt the cold penetrating the layers of her clothing. “My shields are down,” she shouted when she realized biting cold had broken through her defenses. Her fingers and toes screamed under the barrage. Then she stopped. The nation’s heart stopped with her. Everyone moved closer to their televisions.
“Mommy is she going to die,” Little Susie Walker said from her warm home in Little Rock Arkansas.
“I don’t know dear,” her mother replied, voicing what parents were saying to their children from coast to coast.
Sheila looked up into the spot light from the news helicopter. “This is it,” she thought. “Death is here. I see the light,” She remembered a sermon from a tent revival she attend as a little girl. She remember the preacher stomping back and forth on the stage, his arms in constant motion as he waved his Bible between heaven and the congregation. She remember him saying that when it was your time Jesus would send a light to show you the way home.
She moved toward the light. "If you want me Jesus I'm yours but not at Winter's hand!” she shouted into the wind. She reached out in prayerful supplication and thump! She hit the wall of her garage. Suddenly Sheila's senses were restored. She had reached the berth of her friend and tractor - Hercules. Her Olympic goal was in reach. “Thank you Jesus,” she said. She tried to open the garage door. It seemed frozen shut. “Lord, one more small favor. I’ll need your help with this door and then I won't bother you again."
The ice holding the door in place cracked and gave way. The garage door swung open. "Thank you," Sheila whispered. She slammed the door behind her to hold back the cold wind. She disappeared from the camera. The world watched and waited. Some used the time for a quick trip to the bathroom and kitchen.
Suddenly the large garage door pulled upward. The roar of an engine was heard moving through the howling wind. Out burst Sheila on her tractor named ‘Hercules’. She looked like a bundled cowboy on a very unhappy bull. The blade was down and in position. Smoke poured from the exhaust pipe. She surged forward at maximum warp. The tractor’s blade slammed into the snow bank. The power of the collision nearly sent Sheila over the steering wheel and into the maelstrom. She retreated. Once back in the garage she firmly belted herself into the seat and reached under the seat to find her mouth guard. She spent a fortune on her chompers and wasn't going to risk them getting damaged. She took a moment to regain her wits. She looked into Winter's wrath billowing in front of her. It was beautiful in its own way like the Siren's song but she wouldn't be deterred. She powered up the engine and slowly took her foot off the clutch. Again she attacked. The blade dug into the white wall. It budged! Almost imperceptibly but it did move.
Winter's dam was breached. The snow was in retreat. Sheila had done it. She conquered the storm of the century.

Saint Sheila of Lehi

Sheila is a hero and saint to all. We are honored to have her teach our visitors. You can meet her daily at the Center from 9:30 to 11:45 A.M. She is shy by nature but if you ask nicely and tell her you enjoyed her lesson she may give a lock of her hair. Keep it in your wallet or put it in a locket. Cherish it and it will bring you luck and perhaps a few years off your time in purgatory.
Friends, Sheila is an example of the kind of people we have working at the Space Center. And you thought we were all just average Joes. Shame on you.
Your penance is one snow angel.
Now take a minute and book one mission in your favorite simulator. Have a nice day and may the road rise up to meet you.

Mr. Williamson

A Major Goal of the Space Center

I've been going back recently to the previous posts we've had on the goals, vision, or finding a mantra for the Space Center. In doing so I was reminded of a conversation with Victor Williamson from a long time ago, which has stuck with me all this time. This was from the early days, when the Space Center was really just the Voyager and the classroom (which now has 2 simulators in it!). It was a time when Vic, Bill Schuler, Dave Wall and I used to get together for brainstorming sessions.
Sometimes Vic would refer to his original ideas for the Space Center's development, and one time he made a profound statement about the real, true purpose of why he built the Space Center and what he hoped it would do. Besides the obvious benefit of inspiring kids to learn about space, science, and mathematics, there was a higher, more subliminal goal: he wanted kids to become space- enthusiast voters!
There's been a saying around NASA ever since its early days: No Bucks, No Buck Rogers. Which means to say, that without the funding, there would be no space program and no astronaut heroes. Vic's idea, which I totally supported, was that we wanted kids to retain their enthusiasm for space exploration even up to their adulthood, when they would become voters who would elect officials friendly to the space program. These days, that vision of Vic's has become even more vital. Because today, there is a war being waged over the relatively little funding that is set aside for space exploration. It can only be won on the political battlefield through the efforts of
participating, and voting, space supporters.
Over a series of posts I want to help all of you understand this battle, how it affects the Space Center, and how you can play a part. Although many of you are not voters yet, this is not going to be a short struggle and you will have your chance to be heard!

Mark Daymont
Asst. Director