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Listed below are the names
of our members who have passed on. Like the light of stars shining on to
illuminate distant and future skies, the good work and thoughtful
contributions of these men and women will
continue to
illuminate
our profession.
They remain a guiding
example of what characteristics and gifts to emulate; for these things we
are all vastly richer.
James Henry Sharp
?
– March 1, 2010
by Steve Russo
11,369. A number that forever will live on in
my head. All because of one person. One of our colleagues who just
passed away. James H. Sharp.
I only met him once, maybe twice, in person, but through a
planetarium he helped build, I felt as if I worked with him. In June
of 1971, the planetarium that he designed, the Vanderbilt, opened to
the public in Centerport, New York.
I had the privilege to work at the Vanderbilt as an intern back in
the early 1980's, and as an adult education instructor in the early
2000's. This planetarium, even though it was designed and built in
the early 1970's, is still in many ways superior to those built
today. When Jim designed it, he designed it with not only the public
in mind, but also the staff.
The building was totally self-sufficient containing wood shops, art
studios, photo studios, electro-mechanical shops, classrooms and
offices. The workspace behind the dome was so designed so that you
could have all the lights on and it would not be noticed in the 60
foot dome. All projectors could be serviced from the walkways
without using a ladder. Even the HVAC system was designed to almost
immediately change the temperature in the theater by many degrees to
simulate different temperatures of outer space. Everything was done
in house from start to finish. Even the star machine was "custom
made" to his specs by GOTO and supplied by Viewlex.
Jim Sharp wanted a star machine that would produce the sky as
accurately and as realistic as possible. That's where the 11,369
comes in. The number of stars, according to Jim, that a person could
see who had perfect vision, no light interference from the Moon or
lights, and no clouds. I heard two stories on how this number was
arrived at, but honestly don't know which one, or if either are
true. One story was that he spent a year or so before the GOTO was
built travelling around the globe actually counting stars. The other
story is that he did it all mathematically and came up with the
number of stars that could be seen down to 6.75 magnitude.
It doesn't really matter how he derived this number, but the end
result was a starfield that would rival today's planetarium
technology. The planets Mercury through Uranus were projected and
Jupiter and Saturn had built in 1:6 zoom capability. Variable stars
such as Mira and Algol actually varied their magnitude. And Sirius,
although slightly exaggerated, showed the star's parallax-aberration
ellipse. The Pleiades had six stars visible to the naked eye, but if
you looked through binoculars, you could see 21 of them. Even the
GOTO's Moon projector was able to show perturbations. Solar and
Lunar Eclipses could be projected, and the Sun could travel around
the entire ecliptic in only 20 seconds! Twenty-one deep sky objects
were projected. Due to some 'custom-designed' features that
Jim wanted, the machine, actually a model GOTO GL-20, was known as
the GOTO JHS Custom; the JHS standing for James H. Sharp.
Now I know what you are all thinking. Heck, we can do all of that
stuff with today's digital/video star machines. But remember folks,
this was all done with just the star projector, back in 1971! This
13 foot long, almost four ton projector was way ahead of its time.
Such was the mind of Jim Sharp, to design a planetarium that even by
today's standards, Four decades later, could hold its own in the
field of Astronomy education. A long time member of our profession,
he will be missed.
Rest in Peace Jim.
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Mr. Arthur W. Gielow, Jr.
March 1, 1947 – January 30, 2010
by Paul Krupinski
The
planetarium community is truly saddened by the passing of a friend
and colleague, Arthur W. Gielow, Jr., director of the Buffalo State
College Whitworth Ferguson Planetarium, who died in Buffalo, New
York on January 30, 2010. Art, who earned a M.S.Ed. in secondary
education in the geosciences, joined the Buffalo State College
community in 1970 as a technical assistant in the General Science
Department. He became assistant director of the Ferguson Planetarium
in 1980, associate director in 1982, and director in 1984.
He also
served as an instructional support specialist from 1995 to 1998. Art
fostered the participation of students in all aspects of the
planetarium, and he assisted them in the creation and presentation
of programs. He organized and oversaw many planetarium programs
annually, with more than 8,000 visitors and students attending each
year. Art also served as the adviser to the Buffalo State Astronomy
Club and the Buffalo State Alumni Astronomy Club, and he was a
generous contributor to many campus fundraisers and events.
In the
Western New York community, Art served on the boards of the WNY
Science Congress, Science Exploration Days, and the Museum Education
Consortium of Buffalo. He was also an active member of the
Geological Society of America. He taught courses and presented
programs at the Buffalo Museum of Science and for the Office of
Continuing and Community Education in the Kenmore-Town of Tonawanda
School District. Art was very proud to serve his country and was a
former quartermaster with the United States Navy from 1967 to 1973
and with the Naval Reserves from 1973 to 1997.
On a
personal note, Art was one of the most kind and gentle individuals
I’ve ever known on this good Earth. I will sincerely and truly miss
the many times Art and I stood under the stars together on the
rolling hills of the Southern Tier, here in Western New York. We’d
gaze in sheer amazement, just wondering about the secrets and
mysteries the heavens had to offer…those were indeed memorable
times, with a very special person. May Art Gielow rest in peace
among the beauty of the stars.
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DR. FRED C. HESS
1920-2007
by Joe Rao
Well
known astronomer and popular lecturer at New York's Hayden
Planetarium, Dr Fred C. Hess, passed away last Thursday morning
after a three-year battle with cancer. He was 87-years old.
Among those of us who
promote the science of astronomy in the Tri-State Metropolitan
area, Dr. Hess had a status worthy of Joe DiMaggio. Let me
explain with this analogy: It was back in 1999 that I was
delivering a slide presentation on the Leonid meteors at the
Andrus Planetarium in Yonkers. Somewhere in the middle of my
talk, I mentioned that when I was 10-years old I attended a sky
show at Hayden, and the lecturer behind the console provided a
dialogue that literally lifted me right up out of my seat.
As I said those
words, I brought up a slide of Dr. Hess and before I could say
anything else, the entire audience applauded spontaneously.
They obviously were
among his disciples.
The next day I called
Fred and told him that if Joe DiMaggio was baseball's greatest
living ballplayer, then certainly – so far as the general public
was concerned – he was the greatest living planetarium
astronomer!
Indeed, to some, Dr.
Fred Hess was the "Evangelist of Astronomy." To others, he was
the Dean of New York stargazers. His "official" title at Hayden
was Instructor of Astronomy and Navigation, although he was
well-versed in all aspects of science. He was a long-time
professor of physical science at SUNY Maritime College at Fort
Schuyler in the Bronx, and even authored a very popular book, "Chemistry
Made Simple" back in 1955. For four years, during the late
'60s and early '70s he also served as the Science Editor and
on-camera weathercaster for WPIX/Channel 11.
And as a testimony to
his abilities as a lecturer, in 1975 he was the recipient of the
prestigious SUNY Chancellor's Award for Excellence in Teaching.
Truth be told, nobody
ever fell asleep at a Fred Hess lecture. Actually, some of
Fred's presentations were more along the lines of a sermon as
opposed to a formal lecture. He was without a question of
doubt, one of the most dynamic and powerful speakers you would
ever hear.
Many of his
colleagues at Hayden recognized this as well.
In 1984, Long
Island's Custer Institute arranged for Fred and his long time
friend and colleague, Dr. Ken Franklin (who passed away in
June), to have asteroids named for them (respectively, 2844 Hess
and 2845 Franklinken). At the ceremony, Dr. Franklin remarked
that at many speaking engagements he had always had the
unenviable task of having to follow Dr. Hess. "But," he added,
"should my asteroid have a smaller orbital eccentricity than
his, then at long last I will finally catch him!"
Yet, it wasn't only
Fred's resonant voice that made him a popular raconteur. I once
asked him if he would reveal his secret on how he was always
able to hold an audience's attention and he answered with four
words:
"Just tell a story."
And under the stars,
Fred was a masterful storyteller!
At Christmastime, for
instance, he would describe Orion not as a mighty hunter, but as
a ". . . large package in the sky, tied with a pretty bow
across the middle."
Or, he might tell the
story about the night assistant at Sicily's Palermo Observatory,
who quietly entered two strange star names into the
observatory's star catalogue in 1814; it wasn't until many years
later that it was realized that in actuality, those two odd
names were the first and last names of that same night assistant
– spelled backwards! So Fred chose two adjacent stars,
designating one "Derf" – Fred spelled backwards – while he named
the other for his good friend, astrophotographer, Robert Little:
"Bob" – that's Bob spelled backwards.
Then there was the
one about the constellation Lyra, the Lyre, with Fred explaining
that a Lyre was a smaller version of a harp; musical instruments
that hundreds of years ago were strummed by young men who would
court dewy-eyed young ladies under the cover of darkness. Fred
would then say that, believe it or not, this custom was still
being practiced today. Using a homonym for his final word, he
always got a huge pop from his audience by stating that: "I'm
sure that even as I speak to all of you tonight, that at this
very moment, there, are countless young ladies out there,
listening to liars."
Another amazing
ability that Fred had, was to be able to take a subject and make
it understandable for all ages.
Once, back in the
late 1970s, I was in attendance at a lecture that Fred gave at
the famous Mohonk Mountain House. His topic was the eclipse
saros cycle. About ten minutes into his slide talk, who walked
into the room and sat down to listen, but the famous comedian
and actor, Jerry Stiller. As Fred continued to expound on the
mechanics of eclipse prediction, I periodically looked back at
Mr. Stiller who appeared absolutely spellbound by Fred's
presentation. When Fred had finished, Mr. Stiller came right up
to him and said that if viewing an eclipse of the Sun was half
as good as Fred's slide talk, it probably would be a great thing
to try and see. What a complement!
Indeed, talking about
eclipses of the Sun was perhaps Fred's forte. He traveled
around the world, to 18 of them, accumulating more than half an
hour, as he would put it, "basking in the shadow of the Moon."
On another occasion,
in 1983, Fred was conducting a class for a group of 6 to 8-year
olds in one of the basement classrooms of the old Hayden
facility. It was a Saturday morning affair, commemorating the
annual family Astronomy Day. I was there to help conduct
outdoor solar observing in front of the Planetarium, but I made
it a point to run downstairs to say hello to Fred amidst a group
of about 20 kids, running in twenty different directions while
making a noise somewhat similar to a squeal amplified about 20
times. Through the din I asked Fred what he planned to talk
about, thinking that it might be something elementary along the
lines of "What is the Moon?" or "How to find the North Star."
"No," he said, "I'm going to talk to them about the Hertzsprung-Russell
Diagram." For a moment, I thought he was pulling my leg, but
no, that's absolutely was what his topic was going to be about.
I left that room quickly, thinking to myself that Fred had
finally bitten off more than he could chew and that he would
soon be completely overwhelmed in that room of urchins.
About a half hour
later, I decided to run back downstairs and see how Fred was
making out. I was certain he was going to need someone to help
bail him out and I would be the one to come to his rescue.
Except . . .
When I got back to
the classroom, every child was sitting down in rapt attention as
Fred was bringing the class to a close. He was asking them what
color a cool star would be and every kid enthusiastically
shouted back: RED! He then asked what color a hot star would be
and 20 voices yelled back: BLUE! He had those kids eating out
of his hand and just before he dismissed the group, every kid in
that room gave him a hardy round of applause.
Twenty more
disciples.
It was at that moment I shook my head and swore that I would
never, ever doubt Fred again; as someone recently stated: "He
was
one who could converse with a
child in one breath and Einstein in the next."
This is perhaps the
greatest tragedy of this wonderful man's passing: That so many
young people, astronomy neophytes and budding young amateur
astronomers will never have the opportunity to hear Fred's
booming voice. Fortunately, over the years I accumulated a
small collection of audio tapes made from lectures, planetarium
shows, as well as interviews that I conducted with Fred for
radio broadcasts.
One such tape that I
just finished listening to was a recording of a half-hour
program that aired on WPAT radio back in 1985, about Halley's
Comet. During that interview, the moderator asked Fred about
how to correctly pronounce the comet's name: Is it Hail-lee or
Hal-lee? Fred pointed out that the latter is the proper
pronunciation, adding that "Hail-lee is probably derived from a
certain musical group and a wonderful song-and-dance man (Jack
Hailey) who played the Tin Man in The Wizard of Oz."
And amazingly, as I
listened to Fred utter those words from over two-decades ago, I
immediately thought of that part of the movie where the Tin Man
receives that ridiculous, albeit beautiful, heart-shaped clock.
Like me, you've probably seen it dozens of times in your life.
But in thinking about it more, I also realized that what the
Wizard said to the Tin Man, probably best sums up the life of
Fred Hess:
"And remember, my
sentimental friend,
that a heart is
measured not by how much you love,
but by how much
you are loved by others."
So
true! He gave so much of himself and enjoyed sharing his
knowledge of astronomy with people of all ages. He will be
sorely missed.
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DR. KENNETH L. FRANKLIN Ph.D.
1923-2007
by Joe Rao
It is with great sadness that I
announce the passing of astronomer,
Kenneth L. Franklin.
This afternoon, I received an
E-mail from his daughter, Julie, who
said that Ken passed away last night
in Colorado. Two weeks ago he
underwent heart surgery and was in
intensive care ever since. Last night
his systems just shut down completely
and there was little they could do for
him except make him comfortable and
without pain. His wife, Charlotte was
at his bedside. He was 84.
Dr. Franklin obtained his Ph.D. degree
in Astronomy in 1953 at the University
of California, Berkeley, California.
He was a Research Fellow in Radio
Astronomy at the Department of
Terrestrial Magnetism of the Carnegie
Institution of Washington, D. C., from
1954 to 1956. While there, staff
member Bernard F. Burke and Ken
discovered radio emissions from the
planet Jupiter, announcing their
discovery on April 6, 1955 at a meeting
of the American Astronomical Society.
In 1956, Dr. Franklin joined the
staff of the American Museum-Hayden
Planetarium as Assistant Astronomer.
Ken later became Chairman of the
Hayden Planetarium and Department of
Astronomy of the American Museum of
Natural History from 1972 to 1974. From
1956 to the time of his retirement as
the Planetarium's Chief Scientist at
the end of 1985, Ken’s duties included
presenting, and often writing,
innumerable sky shows for the
planetarium sky theater, teaching
popular and technical courses in
astronomy several times each year, and
answering questions from the public.
Ken was frequently consulted by local
industries engaged in the space
program, and by the news media and
publishers. As the Planetarium's
Chief Scientist, he was often
interviewed on local and national
radio and television. During the
1960's and '70s, Ken was highly
regarded by the New York news media as
"The Man" to go to whenever a
celestial event of special interest
was due to occur.
From 1973 to
1979, Ken was the Public Affairs
Officer of the American Astronomical
Society. For two decades, Ken also
served in the Society’s Harlow Shapley
Visiting Lecturer Program, visiting
one or two colleges each year. Ken
was a fellow of the American
Association for the Advancement of
Science, of the Royal Astronomical
Society, and the Explorers Club. He
was also a member of the American
Astronomical Society, the Astronomical
Society of the Pacific, the Institute
of Electrical and Electronics
Engineers, the New York Academy of
Sciences, Sigma Xi, and the Trap-Door
Spiders.
Dr. Franklin served as the
Astronomy Editor of the World
Almanac from 1970 to 1995, and,
from 1980 to 1992, he provided all of
the astronomical calculations for the
Farmers' Almanac, and others,
through his association with the Hart
Wright Company, Lewiston, Maine.
Dr. Franklin contributed daily
almanac information to the New York
Times from 1975 to 1997. As a
columnist from 1983 to 1997, Ken
originated and wrote the weekly “Sky
Watch” feature that appeared in the
science section of the New York
Times.
Asteroid Number 2845 is named
FRANKLINKEN in his honor.
Since 2004, Ken and his wife,
Charlotte, have resided in Loveland,
Colorado. Ken is survived by his
wife, Charlotte, and his daughters
Kathleen Williams, Christine Redding,
and Julie Jones.
On a personal note, I first met
Ken in 1966. One of Ken's astronomy
students at the Planetarium asked
him if he would be interested in
meeting a 10-year kid who had a
budding interest in astronomy. It
probably would have been easy enough
for Ken to say no; that he couldn't
fit it into his busy schedule.
Instead, Ken extended the
invitation to me to come down --
late on a Friday afternoon, no less
-- where, in the confines of his
private office, we chatted about
astronomy for some 45 minutes! I'll
never forget that day; that was the
start of a friendship that lasted
for over four decades.
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DR. ROLF ERIK ZIMMERMANN, PhD.
1941-2007
by Asbury Park
Press
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DR. ROLF ERIK
ZIMMERMANN, Ph.D, 65, of MIDDLETOWN,
passed away Friday, Jan. 26, at
Hackensack Medical Center after a
courageous and lengthy battle with
multiple myeloma. Erik was the son of
the late Rolf and Elinor Zimmermann, and
stepson of Marge Zimmermann, Palm
Harbor, Fla. Erik married the former
Gayle M. Stephens on June 19, 1971, and
recently celebrated their 35th wedding
anniversary. Erik was born Oct. 29,
1941, in Newark and raised in River
Forest, Ill., where he developed a
life-long interest in astronomy. In
junior high, Erik built a small
planetarium to give star presentations
at home, and built his first telescope
while in high school. He also founded an
astronomy club in high school called "Serius,"
after the star of the same name. Erik
was a National Merit Scholar and
Illinois State Latin champion in high
school. He attended Pomona College,
Claremont, Calif., and earned his degree
in astronomy. He received his Ph.D. from
UCLA in astrophysics, becoming the first
to do so at UCLA "With Honors." While
still an undergraduate, he was a
lecturer at the historic Adler
Planetarium in Chicago during summer
vacations. After receiving his
doctorate, Erik was a professor at
Michigan State University, East Lansing,
Mich., Kean College, Union, and Ocean
County College, Toms River. Erik
continued to teach in his retirement,
teaching astronomy at OCC and physics at
Brookdale Community College in Lincroft.
Erik was the
director of the Robert J. Novins
Planetarium at OCC since its founding in
1974 until his retirement in 2001. While
the director of the planetarium, Erik
wrote most of the scripts for the
planetarium shows, many of which were
later used by prestigious planetariums
throughout the United States. Erik was a
founding member of ASTRA, the
Astronomical Society of the Toms River
Area, serving as its president from 1977
to 2001. Erik also was a member of the
Middle Atlantic Planetarium Society and
held several positions on the executive
committee in that organization, and was
a member of the International
Planetarium Society. Erik was passionate
about bringing astronomy and science in
general to the public forum,
participating in ASTRA's annual
Astronomy Day at the Ocean County Mall
in Toms River as well as developing
astronomy programs at the Novins
Planetarium for schoolchildren of the
Shore area for over 30 years. Erik also
was the president of the Lincroft Soccer
Club, as well as a member of the board
of directors of Lincroft Little League
for several years. While president of
Lincroft Soccer, he was instrumental in
bringing the Challenger Sports program
to the club, which provided a way for
disabled children to participate in
soccer. Erik was a loving husband,
father and brother, a master
storyteller, and devoted to the
education of astronomy his entire life.
Surviving are
his wife, Gayle; his sons, Brad,
Brendan, Stephen and Erik; a sister,
Leni Patten of Mundelein, Ill.; eight
grandchildren; and many nieces and
nephews.
At the request
of the family, funeral services will be
private. In lieu of flowers, please make
donations to the Susan G. Komen
Foundation. In charge of arrangements is
the John E Day Funeral Home, Red Bank.
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HELMUT K. WIMMER
1925-2006
by
Kenneth L. Franklin, Former Chair and
Astronomer Emeritus of the American Museum-Hayden Planetarium |
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Planetarium art --
indeed, astronomical art – owes a great debt to Helmut Wimmer.
After a recommendation from long-time Hayden Planetarium
lecturer Henry Neely, Helmut was brought on to the American
Museum-Hayden Planetarium staff as Art Coordinator in 1955.
Neely had encountered Helmut by chance, and was impressed by his
obvious talent and personality. At the Hayden, Helmut developed
many innovative art techniques for the Hayden sky shows. It was
there that he began to perfect his use of the airbrush. Only
superlatives can describe his ultimate career.
Helmut Karl Wimmer was born in Munich in 1925. At the age of
fourteen he was apprenticed to a sculptor and architectural
model maker. While serving in the German army at eighteen, he
was captured by Czech partisans and turned over to the Russians.
As a prisoner of war, he was sent to Gorky where his talents
were noticed by the overseers. He was soon assigned to a team to
repair the ornamental plaster works of the government buildings
in Gorky. He was freed in 1949 and made his way to Munich, a
story in itself. Seeking what he hoped would be a better life
for his wife, Francie, and their daughter, Monica, he made his
way to New York in 1954. A second daughter, Nina, was born a few
years later in the U.S. He soon began his career at the American
Museum-Hayden Planetarium, retiring from there in 1987.
Though skilled in painting, his seeking a view of the third
dimension required something beyond the ordinary paintbrush. He
could achieve better results by using the airbrush, even though
it was unfamiliar to him at the time. He used masks and
templates to get sharp lines, like edges of spherical stars and
planets. Raising the masks would permit a softening of the edges
for nebular boundaries. Helmut was bold in his experimentation
with different materials and techniques. When an astronomical
concept was explained, he visualized its illustration. He then
transferred his view to paper. To experiment with composition,
Helmut often sprayed plastic over the finished portion of a
work. If unsatisfied, he could wipe it off without damaging the
good part and add something different. The result was always
closer to the desired concept.
Over the years, Helmut drew so many pictures of the earth that
he could paint it from any point of view, no longer needing a
globe or map. He could also represent constellations from
memory. Of course, Helmut learned his English along with his
astronomy while he did all the art illustrations for the shows.
A problem, however, surfaced in Germany. He could not tell his
family and friends there about his astronomical work, because he
didn’t have the technical German vocabulary.
One of the Hayden staff members, Franklyn M. Branley, was a very
successful author of science books for children. Many of his
astronomy books were illustrated by Helmut. This exposure got
Helmut numerous assignments from other authors and publishers,
including illustrating several textbooks. His skill often earned
him a co-author credit on the books he illustrated. His work
frequently appeared in the American Museum magazine, Natural
History, as well as many others. His colorful schematic concept
of black hole phenomena has been copied extensively, sometimes
without proper credit. But those of us familiar with Helmut’s
work can identify it almost immediately in any publication.
It was the practice at the Hayden to change shows over one
night. Technicians would change the various projectors and
special effects. Helmut would change all the slides in the
several slide projectors, and everywhere else a slide was
needed. What went where was in his head. For hours each change
night, Helmut would climb a ladder scores of times. It was
ultimately made easier when a wheeled scaffold was used, but he
had to climb it, too, just not so often. There were times when
the staff tried to make the work a bit less onerous by playing
his favorite song, "Dark Moon" by Loretta Lynn.
One show was entitled, "Six Men Who Changed the Universe". For a
hallway exhibit, Helmut made busts of the six, Ptolemy,
Copernicus, Galileo, Newton, Einstein, and Hubble. He was a
sculptor again, perfecting the clay busts before casting them in
plaster. He worked from illustrations of each of the men, except
for Ptolemy, of course. In Ptolemy’s case Helmut was accused of
making him look suspiciously like Helmut himself.
His humor was infectious, and once used in a show. We had wanted
to have a movable earth projected onto the dome. He coated a
glass ball with wax. In the wax, he scraped the geographic
features. Fluoric acid was to be used to etch the exposed glass.
He had almost finished it Friday afternoon, but the technicians
etched it Monday morning before he got to work. In shows, we
were able to joke that our German artist had succeeded where
Hitler failed: He had wiped the British Isles off the map.
Helmut’s last years were troubled by Alzheimer’s disease, and he
had suffered a stroke. Although his vigor failed him toward the
end of his life, his lively work will last for years, well
beyond the end of our own. His significant contribution to the
reputation of the Hayden, and to the field of astronomical art,
cannot be suggested by this brief note. He is most definitely a
pioneer in the field. His name may not have been listed among
the staff members of the Museum, but he was always a
well-respected colleague of ours.
Helmut Wimmer is survived by his wife, Francie, daughters Monica
and Nina, and by three grandchildren.
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Last Updated April 16,
2010
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