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 now 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. But 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, caring, talented, and 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.
But 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 sales clerks 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 travelled there to enrol 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
valour, 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 works to the audience. And as she begins,
take a look at her husband's eyes.
