John Glenn’s Hero
John Glenn's Hero...
For half a century, the world has applauded
John Glenn as a heart-stirring American hero. He lifted the nation's spirits
when, as one of the original Mercury 7 astronauts, he was blasted alone into
orbit around the Earth; the enduring affection for him is so powerful that even
now people find themselves misting up at the sight of his face or the sound of
his voice.
But for all these years, Glenn has had a hero
of his own, someone who he has seen display endless courage of a different
kind:
Annie Glenn. They have been married for 68
years. He is 90; she turned 92 on Friday (in 2012).
This weekend there has been news coverage of
the 50th anniversary of Glenn's flight into orbit. We are being reminded that,
half a century down the line, he remains
Because the heroism he most cherishes is of a
sort that is seldom cheered. It belongs to the person he has known longer than
he has known anyone else in the world.
John Glenn and Annie Castor first knew each
other when -- literally -- they shared a playpen. In New Concord, Ohio,
his parents and hers were friends. When the families got together, their children
played.
John -- the future Marine fighter pilot, the
future test-pilot ace, the future astronaut -- was pure gold from the start. He
would end up having what it took to rise to the absolute pinnacle of American
regard during the space race; imagine what it meant to be the young John Glenn
in the small confines of New Concord. Three-sport varsity
athlete, most admired boy in town, Mr. Everything.
Annie Castor was bright, was caring, was
talented, and was generous of spirit. But she could talk only with the most
excruciating of difficulty. It haunted her. Her stuttering was so severe that
it was categorized as an "85%" disability -- 85% of the time, she
could not manage to make words come out. When she tried to recite a poem in
elementary school, she was laughed at. She was not able to speak on the
telephone. She could not have a regular conversation with a friend.
And John Glenn loved her. Even as a boy he
was wise enough to understand that people who could not see past her stutter
were missing out on knowing a rare and wonderful girl. They married on April 6,
1943. As a military wife, she found that life as she and John moved around the
country could be quite hurtful. She
has written: "I can remember some very painful experiences -- especially the
ridicule."
In department stores, she would wander
unfamiliar aisles trying to find the right section, embarrassed to attempt to
ask the salesclerks for help. In taxis, she would have to write requests to the
driver, because she couldn't speak the destination out loud. In restaurants,
she would point to the items on the menu. A fine musician, Annie, in every
community where she and John moved, would play the organ in church as a way to
make new friends. She and John had two children; she has written: "Can you
imagine living in the modern world and being afraid to use the telephone? 'Hello' used to be so hard for me to say. I worried that
my children would be injured and need a doctor. Could I somehow find the words
to get the information across on the phone?"
John, as a Marine aviator, flew 59 combat
missions in World War II and 90 during the Korean War. Every time he was
deployed, he and Annie said goodbye the same way. His last words to her before
leaving were: "I'm just going down to the corner store to get a pack of
gum." And, with just the two of them there, she was able to always
reply: "Don't be long."
On that February day in 1962 when the world held
its breath and the Atlas rocket was about to propel him toward space, those
were their words,
once again. And in 1998, when, at 77, he went back to space aboard the shuttle
Discovery, it was an understandably tense time for them. What if
something happened to end their life together? She knew what he would say
to her before boarding the shuttle. He did -- and this time he gave her a
present to hold onto: A pack of gum. She carried it in a pocket
next to her heart until he was safely home.
Many times in her life she attempted various
treatments to cure her stutter. None worked. But in 1973, she found a
doctor in Virginia who ran an intensive
program she and John hoped would help her. She traveled there to enroll and to
give it her best effort. The miracle she and John had always waited
for at last, as miracles will do, arrived. At age 53, she was able to talk fluidly,
and not in brief, anxiety-ridden, agonizing bursts. John has said that on
the first day he heard her speak to him with confidence and clarity, he dropped
to his knees to offer a prayer of gratitude.
He has written: "I saw Annie's
perseverance and strength through the years and it just made me admire her and
love her even more." He has heard roaring ovations in countries around the
globe for his own valor, but his awe is reserved for Annie, and what she
accomplished: "I don't know if I would have had the courage."
Her voice is so clear and steady now that she
regularly gives public talks. If you are lucky enough to know the Glenns, the sight and sound of them bantering and joking
with each other and playfully finishing each others' sentences is something
that warms you and makes you thankful just to be in the same room.
Monday will be the anniversary of the Mercury
space shot, and once again people will remember, and will speak of the heroism
of Glenn the astronaut.
But if you ever find yourself at an event
where the Glenns are appearing, and you want to see
someone so brimming with pride and love that you may feel your own tears start
to well up, wait until the moment that Annie stands to say a few words to the
audience. And as she begins, take a look at her husband's eyes.
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