The Birth of Sands and Stars

Are there more grains of sand on all of the beaches of the world, or are there more stars in the night sky?

It's this sort of mind-boggling query that, in a roundabout manner, led me to select Sands and Stars as the name of my new blog.

Few things equal the excitement of a child looking through a telescope.

Sands certainly is evident. After all, I am retired and living on the Gulf Coast of Florida. It's easy to sink my toes into the sands of the beach. And to me, it's also a reference to the sandlots on which baseball is played; there's a game that's held my interest, somewhat, for decades.

Stars also play a big role in my universe. I see them (and adore them!) everywhere I look in the night sky. And astronomy and I are very old friends. Most of you know that. I started very young, but one incident brought things together for me.

Allow me to share with you a short biography I had been asked to write for The Guide Star, the monthly newsletter of the Amateur Astronomers Association of Pittsburgh. A portion of this sketch appeared in the July, 1991, edition, when I was a nominee for the club's Nova Award, presented annually to the organization's top new member (the voting ended with me in a tie with two others).

I remember waking early one morning during the mid-1960s. I was among a bunch of boys who were sleeping beneath the stars in my parents’ backyard in northern Beaver County, not far from Ellwood City.

Someone had left the radio on – it was tuned to WKBN-AM in nearby Youngstown, Ohio — and the song on the air perfectly fit the starry scene that unfolded above my sleepy eyes:

“Good Morning Starshine.”

It could not have been a more perfect moment. I was mesmerized.

That did it: I was hooked.

That 1969 moment, appropriately, has become etched solidly in my memory, and that’s when I decided astronomy would become a permanent part of my life.

Often I’d sneak outside during the cold winter with my not-so-trusty Tasco refractor, and though I didn’t know what the heck I was looking at 90 percent of the time, it really didn’t matter.

Yes, I was hooked.

After I graduated in 1971 from Riverside High School and in 1974 from Point Park College, I landed a job with the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette where, after a short while I was able to write several astronomy articles.

During an interview in the early 1980s for a science page story, I spoke with Tom Reiland of the AAAP, who recognized my interest and told me I should join the organization. I waited. I should have listened to him then.

Almost a decade later, I was feeling sorry I put off becoming a member. Why? Not just for astronomical reasons, but because of all of you.

You have taught me astronomy is more than a hobby, more than a science. It is unique in the universe, and not only offers an explanation of what is out there, but what is in here, inside of us.

The camaraderie that pervades this association is heartwarming, inspiring. I hope I can give back to you what you have given to me.

I’d like to thank you, too, for considering me as one of the three Nova awardees. To be thought of in the same vein as Larry McHenry and Phil Breidenbach (the other recipients) is quite an honor.

Let me just ask one thing of all of us – please, let’s find a way to turn down these lights. For good. Not only are we losing our precious heritage, but our children are being robbed by these vandals who pollute the night sky. The children never will see, nor be inspired by, what we have been given.

So that's my story and I'm sticking to it, as my dear friend Colleen Nelson so often says.

I share this with the hopes that any readers would be intrigued by my story. Please come along with me for more tales that I promise will be more than astronomical!

Oh! And grains of sand on the beach vs. stars in the sky? Here's an article that will, uh, enlighten you! Clear skies my friends!