Reading History as It Happened: Challenger, 1986

This week, I found myself thinking back to January of 1986.

I was a college student at Boston University, studying communications, and radio was my passion. I volunteered at the student-run radio station, WTBU. (Yes, WBUR was based at BU, but at the time it offered no opportunities for students to be on the air. WTBU did). And so there I was, a newscaster, tucked away in the basement of Miles Standish Hall, not far from Kenmore Square.

The studio revolved around an old Associated Press news machine. If you’ve never seen one, imagine a giant typewriter with an endless roll of paper feeding through it, connected by a live cable to a telephone line. It printed constantly—clack, clack, clack—the news of the world spilling out in black ink. The room always smelled faintly of oil and ink. There was no internet, no scrolling headlines, no push alerts. Just that machine.

My job was simple: “rip and read.” Tear off the latest copy and, between songs and commercials, go on the air and read the news.

That morning, the routine broke.

The AP machine began printing a short item: the space shuttle Challenger had experienced some sort of difficulty shortly after liftoff. Contact has been lost.

At first, it sounded like a technical issue—concerning, but not alarming. Then the updates kept coming. Line by line, the story changed. The language shifted. What had been a “problem” became a “catastrophic failure.” Slowly, it became clear that the shuttle—and everyone aboard—had been lost.

I remember sitting at the mic, reading those words as they emerged, realizing in real time what they meant.

I had no television, no video feed, no way to confirm anything visually. Just the AP machine and the need to report what it was telling me in a calm voice. I was so young, alone in that basement, and suddenly carrying news that would shake the country.

Of all my college memories, that one rises to the surface most often.

It taught me something fundamental—not just about journalism, but about humanity. About the courage it takes to explore, to push boundaries, to risk one’s life in the pursuit of knowledge and inspiration.

The Challenger mission wasn’t only about science; it was about possibility.

I never met Christa McAuliffe. But in that moment, reading her fate as it unfolded, I felt a strange connection to her. A New Hampshire teacher reaching for the stars, and a young broadcaster learning, abruptly, what it means to tell the harsh truth no one wanted to hear.

That morning changed me a bit . It left me with a deep respect for those who take risks in service of something larger than themselves—and for the responsibility of bearing witness when everything seems to

go wrong.

Some stories stay with you. That one always will.