Herb Desind was one of those teachers that you never forget
Like so many youngsters in the early 1980s, I once had dreams of becoming an astronaut. I remember the thrill of visiting the nearby Goddard Space Flight Center with my parents, and of course, the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum. For a while in elementary school, I proudly carried a Space Shuttle lunchbox. And by middle school, there was talk of the International Space Station being operational by 1990—the year I would graduate from high school. So for a while there, it actually seemed like the proverbial stars were aligning for a future career in space.
The biggest thing that had fueled my interest for years had been collecting NASA photos and publications. One of my older cousins had told me that I could write to various NASA offices for “space stuff,” which they would mail to me free of charge. There was nothing more exciting than opening our mailbox and finding a thick manila envelope emblazoned with the iconic NASA logo. Inside were official photos of Space Shuttle crews, brochures about planetary studies, stickers, and just all kinds of cool stuff that I couldn’t get enough of. As soon as I’d go through my new cache, I’d start writing to the next NASA office for more.
Admittedly, my astronaut aspirations took a major hit while I was in the eighth grade. That January of 1986 saw the explosion of the Space Shuttle Challenger, which left an indelible impression on practically everyone from my generation.
The next year, my freshman year at Laurel High, I found myself in a unique classroom—room 132—with an even more unique Earth Science teacher. His name was Herbert Desind—a lanky, fast-moving force of nature. Mr. Desind would be teaching us about space, and the first thing we learned was that it was a subject he was extremely well versed in. In fact, he had been one of those considered for the Teacher in Space Project, which had resulted in the tragic death of Christa McAuliffe that previous January. His rejection letter from NASA explained that he was actually overqualified—a blessing in disguise.
Desind had an easygoing way of teaching that engaged students without pressuring them; a relaxed style that ensured a fun, stress-free environment. His baritone voice greeted you in the hall unfailingly with, “Hey ol’ buddy!” Equally important was his sense of humor, which became apparent early on and appeared frequently. If a student arrived late to class or missed a homework assignment, “punishment” was to go to the corner of the classroom where a large Star Wars poster hung prominently. There, the student had to salute and pledge allegiance to Darth Vader while promising to never repeat the bad behavior.
Desind routinely brought in photos and other materials from his vast collection of aerospace ephemera to share with the class. When I recognized that some of these items were the same pieces I’d received from NASA, I told him about my hobby of writing away for the space materials. It turned out that he had been doing the same for decades, and was a voracious collector. Enthusiastically, he invited me to bring in my collection and generously offered to help fill in some missing pieces. Sure enough, he had duplicates of every single Space Shuttle crew portrait, and thanks to Mr. Desind that day, I suddenly did, too.
As he flipped through my meager stack of photos and brochures, one thing in particular stood out to him. It was a small yellow international envelope that I had received from what was at that time the National Space Development Agency of Japan. Inside were about a dozen color and black and white photos of their rockets and personnel. I’ll never forget the look on Desind’s face when he saw it. I don’t use the word “gobsmacked” that often, but he was genuinely gobsmacked. “How did you get this?!” he asked, admitting that his letters to NSDA had gone unreturned for years. “I just wrote to them and asked if they had any space stuff,” I replied. Desind had once received a visit from FBI agents in response to his extensive worldwide requests for information and photographs of rocketry programs, asking him about the nature of his activities. And here I was just an innocent kid looking for “space stuff” from Japan and got it.
I could tell it was a very big deal to him, and that he was very diplomatically trying to find a way to ask if I’d be willing to part with the photos. When I happily insisted that he take them, it was like he’d won the lottery. And I felt like I’d given a rare gift to someone who otherwise had everything.
Desind’s interest in all things aerospace made him a natural in the field of model rocketry, and he formed numerous student rocket clubs during his years teaching at both Eisenhower Middle School and Laurel High. (One of the original teachers at Eisenhower when it opened in 1969, he transferred to Laurel High in 1983). Model rocketry grew into a passion that took him all around the world, and he became a pioneer in aerial video photography. Using the Estes Cineroc, a model rocket with an 8mm movie camera mounted in the nose, Desind could film an entire flight and descent from the rocket’s perspective. It was yet another unique thing he would bring to the classroom, and students were delighted to see video from high over Laurel landmarks in those decades before Google Earth. Footage from some of his launches can be found on YouTube.
While his rocket clubs were often snubbed by the so-called “cooler” students, Desind’s popularity was never in question. He would open his classroom at lunch and after school, allowing students to watch edgy movies like The Terminator and Lethal Weapon. He would also regularly bring in videotapes of pay-per-view sporting events, like WrestleMania, which would fill the classroom.
Desind was an avid professional wrestling fan who’d been attending local matches with friends for decades, typically getting front row seats where they could engage in playful heckling with the performers. He would frequently organize group trips to the Capital Centre, Baltimore Arena, and DC Armory—often buying a full front row of tickets himself and allowing students to pay when they could. He would also find ways to merge his favorite pasttimes, like when he attached a Hulk Hogan action figure to the cone of what he dubbed “The Rocket-Wrestling Connection” before launching it a thousand feet into the air.
In 1991, Desind was named Science Teacher of the Year by Prince George’s County and the Potomac Electric Power Company. He was one of those rare teachers that students wanted to stay in touch with long after graduation. He probably could have counted hundreds of former students as friends, and I can only imagine the fun he would’ve been at milestone reunions. But sadly, a long life wasn’t in the stars for the beloved astronomy teacher. Desind passed away on October 16, 1992 after a brief battle with colon cancer. He was only 47 years old.
Desind had been living a quiet life in Silver Spring, taking care of his aging father who owned a Bethesda art gallery. The cluttered but quaint house on Armistead Road was filled with the elder Desind’s collection of paintings, including artworks that were between exhibits at his Capricorn Galleries. A spare room was literally filled with unopened model rocket kits courtesy of the Estes company—Desind referred to the heap as “Mount Rocket” and regularly drew from the supply to ensure that students in his rocket clubs had plenty to spare.
Also in the home was Desind’s massive collection of aerospace photos and ephemera—a staggering 109 cubic feet of material. In 1997, Desind’s sister, Barbara, donated his collection to the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum Archives, where it is now stored in 309 boxes at the Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center in Chantilly, VA and available to researchers worldwide.
On November 17, 1994, the Herbert Desind Memorial Space Awareness Center, a state-of-the-art facility, was created and dedicated at Laurel High School. It housed the Cooperative Satellite Learning Project (CSLP) class as well as other science classes. The CSLP is a business, government, and educational partnership, focusing on space sciences and engineering and sponsored in part by NASA.
I think Mr. Desind would be extremely pleased knowing that his life’s work is still being felt and celebrated today. Not only having his collection be part of the Smithsonian, but knowing that many of his former students went on to have rewarding careers with NASA, the U.S. Air Force, and other aerospace organizations thanks to the inspiration they first gained from this unforgettable educator.
Richard Friend is a founding member of The Laurel History Boys, and creator of LostLaurel.com.
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