Set up by Project Rain Dance in 1969 after prejudice against women going into space had abated, the Astronette Training Center had for its purpose the finding, training, and conditioning of six female pilots for a series of six manned weather-control satellite shots, the first of which was scheduled to take place some time in February of '71. After exhaustive screening, one hundred volunteers were accepted. Fifteen of them passed the exacting physical and psychological tests, and from the ranks of the fifteen, the six astronettes were chosen. Incredibly, when one considers her delicateness (and fails to consider her patriotic fervor), Rosemary not only made the grade but was selected to accompany the first weather-control satellite to be placed in orbit. All of this is history now--faded words on newsprint, old photographs, a dozen dusty articles in as many magazines--but at the time, it captured the attention of the whole wide world. It is said that Madison Avenue nearly went out of its mind trying to circumvent the regulation that prohibited astronettes from underwriting testimonials to toothpaste, cosmetics, and cigarettes. This is not to be wondered at. If Rosemary could have been legally enticed, for example, into letting her picture appear in a cigarette ad, cigarette consumption probably would have doubled overnight. It is one thing to be an obscure Barbara Frietchie and quite another to be a famous one, and the patriotic devotion shining in a person's eyes can, through the thaumaturgy of photography and touch-up, be transmuted into a sensual gleam. February of '71 arrived at last, as all months must, and a specific date was set for the launching. Psychological winter had come and gone, but no singing of birds could be heard. Even as far south as Canaveral, gray skies were the rule, and gray rain fell intermittently. Countdown was begun regardless. And then, miraculously it seemed, the skies cleared, and the day of the launching dawned bright and clear. There is a photograph of Rosemary standing in her snow-white spacesuit at the base of the gantry, her space helmet resting in the crook of her arm. The photograph is in color, and the blueness of her eyes is not one whit different in shade and texture from the blueness of the sky behind her. This is as it should be. Looking at her hair, one thinks of sunrises and sunsets. This is as it should be too. When remembering Rosemary, it is fitting that one should think of the sun and the sky. It is equally fitting that one should think of the snow and the rain. For Rosemary is nothing if she is not all of these things. * * * * *