Chapter Nine
Nine
Vivian stood next to the camera crew at Rice University, waiting for President Kennedy to speak.
The station’s on-air talent was setting up the shot, standing by for the cameraman to start rolling so he could record an introduction for the audience that would later be played with the prime-time coverage of the speech.
It was the first time they’d sent her to cover a story out of state; lately most of the pieces she worked on—often with Kerry Krieger—were political stories, typically confined to the D.C.
Metro area. But she’d done a few stories on the space program, and President Kennedy’s speech was being pitched as the ultimate rallying cry for America’s ambitions in space.
Kerry should have been in Texas with Vivian, but at the last moment she’d come down with an unfortunate case of food poisoning.
Vivian still had her doubts about the whole program, still believed the money could be better spent elsewhere, still questioned why all of the astronauts were exclusively white men, but she couldn’t deny that there was an energy here today beyond even that which normally surrounded President Kennedy, that America seemed poised to follow him to the Moon and wherever else he dared to take them.
Ever since his inauguration speech, even before that, really, to his time on the campaign trail, President Kennedy had demonstrated an ability to rally the country behind his dreams and ambitions.
There was something infectious about his belief in the possibility of America to be better than it currently was, in the way he called the nation to do their part to realize that potential.
It didn’t hurt that the president had a way with words, a speaking manner and presence that captivated the audience, and that he offered hope and change to a fractured and hurting nation with eloquence and understanding.
Vivian fanned herself with the papers in her hand, the heat of the day getting to her.
Around her, people mopped their brows with handkerchiefs, used hats and fans to seek some relief from the sweltering Texas day.
The weather seemed more suited to the dead of summer than September, but considering this was her first trip to Houston, she hadn’t been sure what to expect.
Vivian hung back as they began rolling, the station’s correspondent, Brian Forrester, reading the copy that she’d written on the long flight from D.C.
to Houston yesterday. She’d been embarrassed to admit it in front of her more seasoned colleagues, but it had been her first time on an airplane, and the flight had awed her.
The food was delicious, the service impeccable, and even though the idea of flying through the sky had somewhat terrified her, when she’d looked out at the clouds below them, she’d felt a sense of amazement and wonder that reminded her of how Joe had described flying.
She’d been surprised by how badly she’d wanted to tell him about the experience, to share with him the fact that on some small level she’d seen the beauty he had spoken of.
She hadn’t heard from him since that night she saw him at Polly and Frank’s engagement party months ago, and like she’d suspected when he had asked her if she was happy with Graham, as soon as she’d told him “yes,” he stopped writing to her.
She’d received the last postcard Joe had dropped in the mail a week after the party, the wave of regret when she realized it was likely the final one she’d receive from him taking her by surprise.
She missed him. Missed the friendship that had developed between them in their correspondence.
“The crowd here is eager to see President Kennedy…” Brian continued in his measured voice, a gleam in his eyes as he spoke to the camera.
They’d worked together twice before, and she liked him well enough.
He was respectful and reliable, and while some would have complained about being paired with a more inexperienced reporter, he’d treated her well on their trip.
Vivian was growing used to the fact that she was often the only woman in the newsroom writing copy, Kerry’s experience and seniority setting her apart somewhat.
Going from working at a radio station where she was surrounded by women took some adjusting, particularly on trips like these, when Vivian was alone in the company of men, but she had learned which of her colleagues treated her with respect and which of them she should avoid.
She’d also learned to work harder than her male colleagues, the bar for proving herself incredibly high considering the preconceived notions that so many in the newsroom seemed to have about women’s roles in the workplace—or lack thereof.
Pride filled Vivian as she listened to Brian deliver the copy she’d written.
She thought back to all the cups of coffee she’d made—and likely would still make—the times when she’d felt like giving up because the chance of being taken seriously in the newsroom had felt like an impossibility.
And yet here it was—she was making a meaningful impact on this story, helping to share the news with the American people.
It hit her now what television had given her: All her life she had felt like she didn’t have a voice, like her place in the world was defined by how she accommodated others, by the fact that she was a woman and society had certain expectations of what role she was meant to fulfill, but this—it felt like television gave her the opportunity to be seen in this world, for her voice to be heard.
It felt good.
Really good.
Brian finished up the intro, and then they moved to their designated places, waiting for the president to take the stage.
Vivian pulled out the little notebook she’d taken to carrying with her, ready to jot down whatever notes and quotes she could glean from the president’s speech.
A flurry of excitement seemingly rippled through the crowd, and Vivian received her first sight of President Kennedy in the flesh.
He was a distinguished man, handsome and hale, with a charisma about him as he smiled and shook hands with the crowd around him.
That same inspiring air that came across when she watched him on television was even more present in real life.
That was the extraordinary thing about television as a vehicle for communicating information to people—most of America would never get to see President Kennedy in person, but thanks to the work they did, to the advancements in broadcasting, people could sit in their living rooms and watch his speech and they could experience the sensation of what it had been like to attend in person.
The ability of a camera to transport someone to another time and place undeniably felt a bit like magic.
The president began to speak, and like the rest of the audience, Vivian was caught up in the cadence of his voice, in the timeline he developed with his words.
Perhaps one of the president’s greatest gifts was that he was a storyteller, and in his speech, he took the audience on a trip through time.
President Kennedy spoke of mankind’s accomplishments, of all the ways scientific advancements had enriched society, of the importance of knowledge in fostering understanding.
He laid out the span of scientific achievements starting with man learning to cloak and shelter himself to the belief that space seemed inevitably like the next scientific frontier for them to explore.
President Kennedy spoke of job creation, of a growing scientific community, of the positive impact space exploration would have on medical and climate programs. He sold space to the nation with grace and aplomb, his cadence building in a way that seemingly had the audience riding the crests of his speech.
It was to be a unifying endeavor for the nation, and while President Kennedy didn’t directly reference his efforts in his speech, he had recently begun an attempt to diversify the space program, even though many—herself included—would say they still had far to go.
It wasn’t until last year that Ed Dwight, a graduate of the elite test pilot school and a captain in the Air Force, became the first Black astronaut candidate to go through the training program at the Aerospace Research Pilot School at Edwards Air Force Base.
And even though the Soviets had sent a female cosmonaut, Valentina Tereshkova, to space months earlier, there were no women in NASA’s astronaut training program.
Space felt not like some uncharted frontier filled with possibility but another place where barriers existed for many.
But despite her reservations, and the undeniable fact that she had been ready to meet the speech with skepticism, President Kennedy was apparently prepared to speak to his critics as well.
He directly addressed those who thought that space was too lofty a goal, that it wasn’t worth the hardship and sacrifice that the program would require.
But who would be the ones bearing the most sacrifice?
It seemed like it was the astronauts and their families who would be risking the most. Vivian had seen the press conferences, read and heard the interviews where the astronauts said that it was worth it, that they were dedicated to this next American dream, but she wondered if they understood exactly what they were signing up for, if any of the nation—or the president himself—truly understood the road ahead of them.
How could they when they were all essentially making it up as they went along?