GOLDEN, Colo. - Linda Ham seldom worried about the future during a 21-year career that saw her become one of NASA's most powerful space shuttle managers.
Since a year ago today, however, when the Columbia accident claimed the lives of seven astronauts, the future is never far from her mind.
For the past two months, the former shuttle executive has been working in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains outside Denver - about 900 miles from her husband and sons in Houston - to help organize a government energy initiative. That temporary assignment will end by this summer. Beyond that, Ham has no concrete plans.
"Usually," she says wistfully, "I know where I'm going."
Before the Columbia accident, Ham's reputation as a smart, decisive manager put her on a course headed straight to the top of the shuttle world at the Johnson Space Center in Houston.
After the disaster, however, investigators determined that the mission management team, or MMT, that oversaw Columbia's final flight had made bad decisions and failed to recognize possible warning signs of the impending catastrophe. Ham had led the team.
As the most visible of the mission's senior managers and the person in charge, her fall from grace was complete and immediate.
Almost overnight, the 43-year-old engineer went from being one of the National Aeronautics and Space Administration's best and brightest to a lightning rod for media criticism and the personification of problems in the agency's management culture.
"If people say there are problems with the NASA culture, I will admit that I am part of it," Ham said. "I grew up there. I was there when I was 21 years old and spent 21 years there. So besides growing up in Wisconsin, the only other thing I ever knew was NASA."
A year after the accident, Ham remains haunted by it, her life changed forever. In the weeks leading up to the first anniversary, she spoke to the Orlando Sentinel in her first extended interview since the disaster.
"There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about Columbia and the accident," Ham said softly. "I am accountable and fully responsible for any decisions made at the MMT.
"We did the best we could with what we knew," she added. "I'm at peace with my decisions. I think everyone in the program feels that way."
It didn't take Ham long to begin moving up in Houston. Her first job was in Mission Control's back room as a flight controller monitoring propulsions systems. She was quickly promoted to a position on the floor of the control center, then became the group's first female section head. In the all-male bastion of Mission Control, Ham was a true pioneer.
"She had so much talent and her intellect was so strong she could compete with the best in assessing the facts," said Ron Dittemore, NASA's former shuttle program manager and Ham's former boss. "She rose through the ranks fast at a young age because of her ability to assimilate information."
Along the way, Ham earned a reputation as a tough, authoritative leader, someone who focused on problems with laser-like precision and wasn't afraid to quickly and unilaterally make hard decisions - qualities essential for success in Mission Control.
In May 1991, she became NASA's first female flight director and was soon given responsibility for the critical launch and landing parts of the mission.
The year before, she had married Ken Ham, a Navy officer who flew aboard the so-called Vomit Comet airplane NASA uses to simulate weightlessness. The couple had two sons by 1994. Ham was a single mother for months at a time as her husband drew combat assignments overseas as a carrier pilot.
Four years later, Ken Ham was selected as an astronaut. She decided to apply also, going so far as to have laser surgery to correct her poor eyesight. NASA wouldn't accept candidates who had undergone the procedure, however, and she focused on her duties in Mission Control.
Ham loved her job as a flight director. When managers began coaxing her to leave Mission Control for a promotion into the shuttle program office, it took lots of convincing.
Finally, she agreed. After less than a year as Dittemore's technical assistant, she was named the program's integration manager in 2001, responsible for making sure each mission's requirements were met. As part of the job, she led the MMT meetings that oversaw every flight while in orbit.
Things fall apart
Within hours of Columbia's launch on Jan. 16, 2003, engineers examining images of the liftoff discovered that a briefcase-sized piece of foam insulation had broken free from the shuttle's external fuel tank and smashed into the leading edge of the ship's left wing.
There was immediate concern that the strike could have damaged the tiles and panels that protected Columbia from 3,000-degree temperatures when the shuttle re-entered Earth's atmosphere. Some engineers wanted to take photos of Columbia in orbit using top-secret military telescopes to pinpoint the damage.