A touching
story
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.
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.
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 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.
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