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When I interviewed people for #TheLastStargazers I always asked them about which second/third/tenth-hand observing story I should be sure to include.
By a MILE the most common answer was “Do you have the one about the telescope that got shot?”
When I interviewed people for #TheLastStargazers I always asked them about which second/third/tenth-hand observing story I should be sure to include.
By a MILE the most common answer was “Do you have the one about the telescope that got shot?”
This is one of those stories that’s entered into the legendarium of astronomy, complete with that slow creep of embellishment that always accompanies any good tall tale.
However, the first TRUE detail is that it happened in Texas.
However, the first TRUE detail is that it happened in Texas.
The year was 1970. The victim was the newly-built 107-inch telescope at McDonald Observatory. True and true.
The gunman morphs from story to story. Depending on the version it was an angry astronomer, a disgruntled student, or in one fanciful version, a vengeful spurned lover.
The gunman morphs from story to story. Depending on the version it was an angry astronomer, a disgruntled student, or in one fanciful version, a vengeful spurned lover.
In truth, the shooter was a recently-hired observatory employee (from Ohio, Texans will take care to point out). On that fateful evening in 1970 he was supposedly inebriated and suffering a mental breakdown.
Whatever the reasoning, he became hellbent on destroying the 107-inch.
Whatever the reasoning, he became hellbent on destroying the 107-inch.
Just before midnight he entered the telescope, drew a 9mm pistol on the operator, demanded they lower the telescope, and fired seven bullets directly into the primary mirror.
He was presumably hoping for a result like this.
But.
We need to talk about telescope mirrors.
He was presumably hoping for a result like this.
But.
We need to talk about telescope mirrors.
Like most modern telescope mirrors, the 107-inch was made of nearly four tons of fused borosilicate glass.
Basically, imagine your sturdiest Pyrex baking dish and then make it more than a foot thick.
Sending a bullet into that is going to roughly resemble this:
Basically, imagine your sturdiest Pyrex baking dish and then make it more than a foot thick.
Sending a bullet into that is going to roughly resemble this:
So, a bit underwhelming for the shooter, who moved on to Plan B: hammer.
Fortunately, around this time he was subdued and the sheriff was called to the mountain. He peered into the telescope and was HORRIFIED by what he saw.
Let's go back to telescope mirror design again...
Fortunately, around this time he was subdued and the sheriff was called to the mountain. He peered into the telescope and was HORRIFIED by what he saw.
Let's go back to telescope mirror design again...
The 107-inch, like many telescopes, was built to use instruments at the Cassegrain focus. Light bounces off the primary, up to a secondary, & then down through a hole in the center of the primary to a detector behind it, like so.
The sheriff? Was not up on his telescope optics.
The sheriff? Was not up on his telescope optics.
He saw the giant hole that let light through to the Cassegrain focus and immediately concluded that the telescope had been destroyed.
(I’ve always wondered WHERE he thought this giant perfectly round hole in the mirror came from. Did he think the shooter was firing a bazooka?)
(I’ve always wondered WHERE he thought this giant perfectly round hole in the mirror came from. Did he think the shooter was firing a bazooka?)
To the contrary, the observatory was able to simply dig the bullets out of the mirror and resume observing the following night with the mirror largely unaffected.
The joke was that the 107-inch was now a 106-inch.
You can still see the bullet holes in the mirror today.
The joke was that the 107-inch was now a 106-inch.
You can still see the bullet holes in the mirror today.
However, word of the Texan telescope destroyed in a shootout spread through the astronomy community to the point that the observatory director had to release a quick report on the incident, reassuring people that the telescope was fine: http://www.cbat.eps.harvard.edu/iauc/02200/02209.html
And that’s where the title of the fifth chapter in #TheLastStargazers comes from:
Finally, I use this story when talking to other astronomers as an example of how tales like this, beyond being wacky and sensational, can actually communicate science.
You need to provide some background on telescopes and astronomy in order for people to really get this story...
You need to provide some background on telescopes and astronomy in order for people to really get this story...
What’s a Cassegrain focus? Why are the mirrors so thick? What does a telescope operator do? Are telescopes so rare that it's really a big deal if one is destroyed?
Even the telescope's NAME - the 107-inch - requires explaining the crucial importance of primary mirror sizes.
Even the telescope's NAME - the 107-inch - requires explaining the crucial importance of primary mirror sizes.
Storytelling is one of my favorite ways to teach, particularly for folks who aren't that into math/science or wouldn’t normally pick up a space book.
They read a wild story, but they also come away with a slightly better mental picture of how telescopes and observatories work.
They read a wild story, but they also come away with a slightly better mental picture of how telescopes and observatories work.
There’s a lot more of this in #TheLastStargazers (read more and preorder at http://thelaststargazers.com ), blending the weird tales and shared (or, in some cases, thoroughly unique) human experiences of astronomy with the science behind why we all do what we do!
