by Dianne
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:
They have been married for 72 years.
He is 94; she turned 95 in February.
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 America 's unforgettable hero.
He has never really bought that.
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, 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.
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| Wedding picture. |
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:
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
Glenn's, 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 Glenn's 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.
