I’ve long been a subscriber to the timeless theory that for any great man you can name, I can show you a great woman standing right next to him. Wife, mother, sister … it doesn’t matter, she’ll be found if you just search long enough. My best proof of this theory is Annie Glenn, whose husband John, fifty years ago, gave the United States of America one of the best shots of adrenalin in our nation’s history when he became the first American to ever orbit the globe in space.

I can remember it vividly but, back then, I was too young to grasp how huge the ramifications were. In 1962 we were at the height of the Cold War with Russia and the Soviets had a cosmonaut named Yuri Gagarin who had already done it the April before. The chips were huge – the Berlin Wall had just been built – and the country desperately needed the patriotic boost that finally came after the nation had sat glued to its TV sets before celebrating the greatest ride since Paul Revere.

John Glenn, a handsome fighter pilot in both World War II and Korea, was the ultimate hero, or so one would think, until you asked him himself. His reply has never faltered, not in 90 years – “Annie.”

C'mon, here’s a Marine who was once nicknamed “Magnet” because of the anti-aircraft flak he would attract in enemy skies. After one mission the ground crew counted 240 holes in his plane’s fuselage. In Korea his wingman was a guy named Ted Williams, who could also rather famously clobber a baseball for Boston, and none of us who watched on this day a half-century ago will ever forget that blinking heat-sensor light in the space capsule.

So what’s the big deal with Annie? She stuttered. That’s right, even gave up a music scholarship at Julliard because she was too mortified to talk. You’ve got to be kidding? How can a speech impediment dare compare to 240 pieces of flak hitting a jet plane or burning alive in a claustrophobically-cramped capsule upon re-entry? That is the story’s most beautiful point – John Glenn knows. And in a 1980 issue of People Magazine he wrote:

“I saw Annie’s perseverance and strength through the years and it just made me admire her and love her even more. It takes guts to operate with a disability; I don’t know if I would have had the courage to do all the things that Annie did so well.”

Well, that’s nice but the better truth is we still cannot begin to comprehend it. John also wrote, “For Annie, stuttering meant not being able to take a taxi because she would have to write out the address and give it to the driver because she couldn’t get the words out. It would be too embarrassing to try to talk about where she wanted to go.

"Going to the store is a tremendously difficult and frustrating experience when you can’t find what you want and can’t ask the clerk because you are too embarrassed of your stutter. The telephone is another devil for a stutterer. Most stutterers just won’t call anybody. Annie couldn’t just pick up the phone and call a friend to chat, or even 911,” he wrote.

“I was in the Marine Corps and was overseas while Annie was at home with our two young children. When I went away, we always made sure that there was a neighbor available in case there was an emergency since Annie would probably not be able to use the telephone.”

On Feb. 20, 1962, the entire nation heard fellow astronaut Scott Carpenter famously say, this just at lift-off, “Godspeed, John Glenn,” but his wife Annie would say nothing. That’s how bad it was. Annie stuttered on fully 85 percent of the words she would try to say. None of us can imagine such pain, humility or anguish. Think of it, just the fear of asking for a dress size spoiling many a shopping trip.

Time and time again she tried, seeing experts and reading studies and praying mightily to overcome her malady until, in 1973, she almost secretly sought out an expert in Roanoke, Virginia. After working 11 hours a day for three straight weeks with Dr. Ron Webster at Hollins College, 53-year-old Annie Glenn finally slayed her dragon. Yes, she might have had to rehearse for three days afterwards but finally she could give a speech with nary a stumble.

John Glenn, whose valor we renew on this day, never had any doubt she could do it. She never doubted him either. Every time he would leave the house on a lengthy deployment or a mission, the two had a ritual that only those in love will understand. They would embrace at the door and then John would finally say, “I’m going down the street for some gum.” Annie would look back and say without a skip, “Don’t be long.”

Yeah, it turns out that one of the greatest heroes of my lifetime had a hero every bit as big. In the 1980 magazine article about his personal hero, John Glenn wrote this about such unknown heroes, “They not only demonstrate tremendous personal strength, but they also choose to use that strength to benefit other people. Despite great difficulties and daily struggles, these individuals don’t expect anybody else to take care of them.

"We tend to think of heroes as being those who are well known, but America is made up of a whole nation of heroes who face problems that are very difficult, and their courage remains largely unsung. Millions of individuals are heroes in their own right. In my book, Annie is one of those heroes.”

I guess that’s the reason that every time I hear the now-famed words that were first spoken exactly 50 years ago, “Godspeed, John Glenn,” I always like to add a silent, “You too, Annie.”