In the early morning hours of July 16, 1969, more than one million people had camped out along the highways and rivers of north-eastern Florida. Twenty thousand dignitaries and 3500 international media representatives had been situated at vantage points within the Kennedy Space Center complex and an estimated seven hundred million plus viewers – a record at that time – were glued to their television sets around the world.
The anticipatory, anxious silence was palpable as Launch Control counted down the final minutes and then seconds before the towering Saturn V rocket lit its engines at 9:32 a.m. The six million pound vehicle rose agonizingly slowly from pad 39-A vectored into its roll program then soared into the sky toward Africa on the first mission to place a man on the surface of the Moon and return him safely to Earth.
After midnight on March 11, 2008, as thick clouds, invisible in the black velvet night, hung over that same pad 39-A, scatterings of automobiles and recreational vehicles dotted nearby highways and rivers, some 1500 NASA guests filled reviewing stands three miles from the launch site on the Banana River.
A small media contingent  were on hand to record and write about the Space Shuttle mission and only the most dedicated space buffs saw the launch live, while others caught brief video clips on news coverage the following day.
This year marks the 50th anniversary of NASA, a half century of stunning accomplishments and a very few terrible tragedies in the brief history of one of mankind’s most ambitious and complex undertakings, the conquest of space.
Like most human activities, much of the excitement and novelty of the space program’s early years – the days of Mercury, Gemini, Apollo and the first shuttles – has waned.  Nonetheless, the ability of thousands of scientists, engineers, mechanics and, yes, even politicians, to work as one to send brave, resourceful and highly skilled astronauts beyond the bonds of Earth and return them safely remains one of the true wonders of modern times.
 I had the privilege to be present on that morning in 1969 when Apollo 11 launched.  I was working on ABC News’ television coverage and had been commissioned to write a commemorative book on the mission.  I also covered the launches of Apollo 12 and the ill-fated although not tragic Apollo 13. Those missions remain indelibly etched in my memory. I later left the news business and my career path took several different turns, but I always felt a strong affinity for space exploration.
In the mid-1990s, at my office in Los Angeles, I received a call from one Richard Linnehan, who identified himself as a veterinarian and astronaut and offered to host the founder of my company and his children at his upcoming Space Shuttle launch. That visit as Linnehan’s guest never transpired, but Rick and I became friends and he visited many times in California.
We learned that Rick had received his DVM from The Ohio State University. He had been commissioned in the Army as a captain and soon had a cross-service assignment as the chief clinical veterinarian for the U.S. Navy’s Marine Mammal Program. He was serving in that capacity when he learned that his application for the astronaut corps had been accepted. (Subsequently, he would earn many other honors including three NASA Space Flight Medals and the NASA Outstanding Leadership Medal. He would also be named one of the 50 Most Eligible Bachelors in America by People Magazine).
Self-effacing, gracious and low-key, Rick never boasted of his accomplishments, although he was clearly proud to be among the very few men and women who could meet the enormously demanding requirements for space flight. Each time he was scheduled for a new mission, he invited my wife, Judy, and I to attend.
My work and the uncertainty that accompanies the timetable for every launch window made it impossible to take him up on his offer, although we were able to accept a very special tour of the Kennedy Space Center which gave me far greater insights into the intricacies of the program than I had ever dreamed of even as a privileged member of the news media.
When the crew for STS-123 was announced, Rick Linnehan was tapped for his fourth, and final flight.  A valued leader in the shuttle program’s scientific experiments and EVAs, or spacewalks, he will have logged 59 days in space at the conclusion of the current mission, giving him more days in space than any astronaut except those few assigned to long stays aboard the International Space Station.
This time, now retired from the corporate world and living and working as a freelance writer in Mount Pleasant, I was able to accept his invitation.
Judy and I had already been cleared through an FBI background check and received preliminary mission information from NASA when Linnehan casually asked if we could arrive a day or two before launch to have a bite to eat with him at “the Beach House.” Not knowing what that entailed, we nonetheless accepted readily. His was a far more special invitation than we could have imagined.
To most people who have not had the good fortune to become friends with an astronaut, these extraordinary individuals may appear to be distant, solitary individuals, going about their important and dangerous work in splendid isolation. That view, however, is 180 degrees from the truth.
All of the members of the astronaut corps have families, friends and non-astronaut colleagues who care deeply about them and prepare for their missions with a mixture of pride and anxiety. This was nowhere more apparent to Judy and I than at Cape Canaveral in the days just preceding the STS-123 launch.  In addition to a significant roster of “ordinary guests,” each crew member is permitted five “extended family” guests, who are accorded special privileges such as being able to be with their loved ones until approximately 30 hours before launch.  This is a major change from the early Apollo missions, for which the crew members were effectively quarantined for weeks before their launches.
Rick Linnehan’s group included Judy, myself and actor and nationally syndicated radio talk show host Jerry Doyle (whose weeknight broadcasts can be heard in the Charleston area on WQSC 1340 6-9 p.m.). Other guests included astronaut wives and children, military and college buddies, favorite professors, the president of JAXA, the Japanese space agency, and a Houston area pastor whose mega-church ministers to many NASA personnel.
A day and a half before launch, tradition has it that the astronauts and their extended families meet for a final meal and good wishes. This takes place at the aforementioned Beach House, located at the furthest reaches of the Cape Canaveral Air Force Base which itself is at the far end of the sprawling complex commonly known as Kennedy Space Center.
A lonely structure on a completely undeveloped stretch of sand at the rim of the Atlantic, the Beach House is a curious oasis of warmth and camaraderie in the midst of earthly nothingness as the astronauts share last jokes, kisses, hugs and prayers before they are launched into the infinitely greater nothingness of space.
On Sunday, March 9, before we extended family guests could be transported by special NASA bus to the Beach House, we each underwent a physical examination by a team of flight surgeons and were certified as “Principal Contacts” — free of any disease or condition that could be transmitted to the crew prior to launch.
Once at the Beach House and after all the heartfelt introductions have been made and a host of serious as well as zany group photos taken, we enjoyed a hearty meal — in this instance a barbecue buffet — while the crew members, who had been on a day sleeping, night awake schedule for a week to prepare for their night-time launch, dug into a hearty breakfast. Then, it was onto the NASA bus and back to the civilian world as family and friends return to our hotels to rest up for a day that would not end for us for nearly 24 hours . We followed the countdown that would culminate in the early morning hours when the STS-123 crew would leave the bonds of Earth and hurtle into space and a rendezvous with the International Space Station.
On Monday, March 10, as KSC overflowed with men, women and families eager to experience a taste of the space program before viewing the launch from distant sites, the astronaut families and friends held barbecues and cocktail parties at locations throughout the Cocoa Beach area.  Rick Linnehan’s contingent joined forces with flight engineer Garrett Reisman’s group (Reisman will be remaining at the Space Station when STS-123 returns) at a park in nearby Titusville.
Our last images of the two astronaut buddies was a hilarious video of them sitting in a hot tub drinking beer and cracking jokes about their exploits in space.
After an early evening nap, we headed back to Kennedy Space Center at 10 p.m., received additional credentials and queued up for NASA buses that would take us to our viewing site adjacent to the Saturn V building three miles — the absolute minimum for safety reason — across the water from Pad 39-A. While in line, we struck up a conversation with a genial guest of crew member mission specialist Michael Foreman. Our new friend looked familiar, as well he probably should have. He was Dennis Haskins, who played the Principal, Mr. Belding, on the long-running television sitcom “Saved by the Bell.”
The busses rolled at 11:30 p.m. and we were at the viewing site well before midnight.  Then, the long, tense wait began as we stared at the distant Space Shuttle and the gantry superstructure it was still attached to as the pre-launch countdown over the public address system periodically punctuated the night.
The atmosphere in the stands was one of nervous high spirits. New friends were made on the spot; stories about the astronauts were exchanged; the goals of this particularly aggressive and lengthy (planned for 16 days) mission were discussed; jokes were shared; but an undercurrent of concern was always present.  Everyone knew and remembered that even with the most scrupulous preparation and care a fiery disaster was always a possibility.
A built-in hold – a common occurrence pre-launch for technical reasons — stopped the countdown clock until 2:19 a.m. — T minus nine minutes.
As the final countdown resumed, the crowd murmurs turned to silence. Only the occasional brief announcement from Mission Control and the clicking of hundreds of camera shutters reverberated in the night.
At T minus four minutes, a spotlight shone on a huge American flag and everyone joined in singing the national anthem, undoubtedly all concluding with a “Godspeed” and a silent prayer for the seven men aboard Endeavour.
Precisely at 2:28 a.m. the huge booster rockets fired and a light brighter than the sun at noon consumed the darkness for hundreds of yards in every direction from Pad 39-A.  Unlike its ponderous predecessor, the Saturn V, Endeavour sprang from its moorings, eager to leap into the sky.  As the vehicle quickly rose from Earth, it was impossible not to react in wholly unexpected and involuntary ways. Men and women screamed, shook and cried at the awesome sight.  
In an eyeblink, Endeavour had pierced the thick quilt of clouds, parting them with its searing brilliance.  Then, it was gone, leaving behind an enormous pillar of smoke and a rumbling, crackling tsunami of sound that shook the earth, snapped at the viewers’ clothing and washed over us for nearly a full minute. The Space Shuttle was on its way.
Almost before the great sound wave had died out, we were required to evacuate the viewing site and board our busses. One after-effect of the explosive launch is the release of a massive cloud of hydrochloric acid – acid rain – which would drift across the river in minutes.  While not deadly in itself, this cloud could cause some medical problems and would most assuredly eat through our clothing.
Sleep was long in coming after the adrenalin rush of the launch, and we arose around noon to head for a nearby waterfront park and one more gathering with Rick Linnehan’s family members and other guests. Many of them were professors of veterinary medicine or chief veterinarians for some of America’s most esteemed zoos. Over barbecue and beverages, we shared our experience and pledged to stay in touch during and after the mission.
During STS-123, Rick Linnehan will participate in three of the five planned EVAs, as the crew delivers and installs at the International Space Station the Japanese Experimental Module, “Kibo,” and the Canadian external robotic system, “Dextre.”
The mission is scheduled for 16 days, returning to Kennedy Space Center on Thursday, March 27. On many cable and satellite television services in the Charleston area, the NASA channel is available and provides frequent updates on the mission as well as live coverage from inside the Space Station and outside in space during the working EVAs.
The Space Shuttle program itself is in the process of winding down.  
Only 12 more missions are planned between now at 2010. After the Space Shuttle program is phased out, NASA will embark on the Constellation program. Future astronauts will ride to orbit on Ares I, which uses a single five-segment solid rocket booster, a derivative of the space shuttle's solid rocket booster, for the first stage. A liquid oxygen/liquid hydrogen J-2X engine derived from the J-2 engine used on Apollo's second stage will power the crew exploration vehicle's second stage.
And, as what goes around truly does come around, a primary goal of Constellation by the year 2020, is once again to carry men – and mankind- back to the Moon.