Jack Horkheimer, We Will Keep Looking Up

There are some human beings to whom you wish the Universe could grant two lifetimes’ worth of days to live, because of their unique gifts that have made the world a better place. Jack Horkeheimer, Director Emeritus of the Miami Museum of Science and Space Transit Planetarium, was one of those people, and it is with tremendous sadness that I learned of his passing on August 20, 2010.

Since the 1970s, Jack Horkheimer’s 1 and 5 minute public television spots, Star Hustler/Star Gazer, have been watched with interest and fondness by millions of Americans who were privileged to learn about the fascinating pursuit of naked eye astronomy from this brilliant and friendly man. Each week, we were treated to a short lesson of what to look for in the night sky, be it a constellation with an exciting history, an especially visible planet or a beautiful seasonal moon.

I first saw Star Hustler/Star Gazer over 20 years ago, and like many people, I was immediately captivated by the celestial-sounding theme song, ‘Arabesque #1′ by Claude Debussy performed by Isao Tomita, the low-budget starry graphics through which the host would float and fly, landing on a ring of Saturn to chat with you, and most especially, by Jack Horkheimer’s funny, personable approach. As a very small child, I was often taken outside to look at the night sky by my father, and finding this television show as a teenager felt immediately comfortable and familiar. Later on, I even purchased two of his video tapes so that I could have the enjoyment of tuning into this friendly show whenever I needed a little brightening up. I sometimes dreamed about being able to travel to the planetarium in Florida, to get to learn from him in person, but it didn’t really matter; even without ever meeting, he somehow he felt like my friend. I imagine many people felt this way. It was simply a pleasure to learn from Jack and the knowledge he so generously shared broadened and enriched my comprehension of our place in the cosmos.

As an adult, there have been so many times in my life when I have wished that all my fellow humans could study astronomy; the humility gained from learning about our own smallness in the grand scheme of things is a good lesson for a species that too often errs on the side of our conception of our own importance. Watching a unique show like Star Gazer, aimed at the lay person and filled with such a warm invitation to go outside at night and contemplate the heavens, could be a form of therapy from which Western man could derive such benefit.

My sense of wonder and reflection has always been switched on high in those hours of my own life when I’ve been looking through a telescope or talking about space with family, friends and acquaintances whom I’ve met at observatories. Star gazing folks are often some of the most interesting, intelligent and thoughtful people you could ever hope to know. In my eyes, Jack Horkheimer’s eagerness to share his knowledge about astronomy typifies the kind of joyful back-and-forth that I’ve experienced with others, under the roofs of planetariums or dark glittering skies, drinking hot chocolate at a frosty two-in-the-morning while seeking nebulae. Everyone becomes a friend, connected by our awe at what we perceive in the great Universe. I wish that all people could experience what I have. It’s truly special.

There’s a psalm in the Old Testament of the Bible which reads:

The heavens declare the glory of God,
The vault of heaven proclaims his handiwork.

To me, those lines sum up the wonder we can feel about the place we mortals inhabit. Looking at skies filled with stars, planets, constellations, objects, and mysteries, something calls us to marvel at all of creation, and if we spent more time, as a species, marveling, we would have far less time to make enemies any plan wars. Ours would be a much better world.

I suppose its that wistful longing for global friendship that made me cry when I heard that Jack Horkheimer had died. His theme song and images of him suddenly filled my mind. I could hear his deep-belly chuckle and just see him smiling as he turned to go tripping along that beam of light before disappearing into the cosmos. Some part of me feels bereft, cheated that Jack only got 72 years here – so brief a time for a such a fine storyteller to be given. And how frustrating, how mortal that his life was claimed by a nothing more than a respiratory illness, according to the news. The hurt part of me feels his life should have been spared so that he could keep on sharing his simple, much-needed message. It’s hard to bear the thought that the astronomical years will continue to cycle by but that no new episodes of Star Gazer will ever be made now. No more Jack to interpret the sky for future generations of potential star gazers. And the loss to his family and his professional colleagues must be so deeply felt. It’s really hard to say goodbye.

But some other part of me feels glad for Jack. I have to believe that he is now receiving the answers to all of the astronomical questions which filled his life with wonder and purpose. Now Jack knows the number of the galaxies in the Universe, the count of the stars. He can truly walk along the Miky Way, delighting in all he is seeing. When I look at it this way, I can scarcely conceive of the happiness he must be having now.

I remember an episode of Star Gazer in which Jack talked about an older friend who had inspired him to start looking at the stars. When she passed on, he felt sad, but consoled himself with a memento of her in the sky – the constellation Cassiopeia which is shaped like a ‘W’ and reminded him of the last name of his friend Bea Williams. Whenever he saw that constellation, he remembered her with affection and gratitude. Perhaps there is something out there on the star map that I can pick to remind me of Jack. Perhaps the curvy tail of Scorpius – it looks rather like a ‘J’ and Jack frequently said it was his favorite summer constellation . But even without signs in the sky, I won’t ever forget this special man and the good things he gave to my life and I will sorely miss him. And I promise, Jack, I will do what you asked and always remember to keep looking up.