The Construction of Space Shuttle Launch Complex 39-B
A very personal and technical written and photographic history, by James MacLaren.
Page 58: Lost Worlds.
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Gene Lockamy.
This photograph is out of sequence, but it does not violate the chronological flow of the narratives, because there's nothing showing in the image that misleads, or otherwise goes against, that which you have already seen, or that which you have yet to see.
And I include it now, because of what we saw on the previous page, and what we saw on the previous page was Gene, along with an as-yet unnamed coworker, plus a long story that involved myself, and Sag Rod (no, I never learned how that name got hung on him, and the business of how Union Ironworkers hang names on each other, names that will follow them around for a full lifetime, wanted or unwanted, is a whole separate field of endeavor, worthy of its own historians and story-tellers, and I am not qualified for it in the slightest), and the PCR Girts.
And in this image, lo and behold, loud and clear, sitting right there, two of those PCR Girts, gray W12x26's laid over on their side, transect the image side-to-side, directly behind Gene, one above his head, and the other, 3'-0¾" beneath it, on-center, directly behind his smile.
And it seemed fitting to include this image here, and so I did.
Lost worlds.
And the people who inhabited them.
And these are worlds that you would want nothing more than to be able to simply enter.
To look around, no more than that.
At the miracle and wonder within.
And meet the people.
The commonplace of whose daily lives braided that miracle and wonder.
But it's gone.
Gone forever, never to return.
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