The late O. Richard Norton was a gifted and dedicated science writer. He wrote with a concise clarity that brought the most complex of concepts warmly to life. He was also an admired personal friend. His seminal work Rocks from Space, published in 1994, was the first popular book to bring the study of meteorites to a large audience. It remains an important, engaging, and informative work to this day, as do his later books, The Cambridge Encyclopedia of Meteorites and The Field Guide to Meteors and Meteorites (with Lawrence Chitwood). Richard’s wife, Dorothy Sigler Norton, also a personal friend, worked closely with Richard on all of these titles and — an accomplished scientific illustrator — she provided much of the artwork for the books.

I, myself, provided numerous images for Dorothy and Richard’s new book, What’s So Mysterious About Meteorites?, as did my staff photographer, Suzanne Morrison. We offered these photographs gladly because everyone wanted to see Richard’s last work come into the world, under Dorothy’s guidance. As such, some might think me a little biased towards this new publication, but I am not. With a wealth of fascinating new books seeing print each and every year, I choose not to waste time discussing works I did not enjoy. So, this review is mixed with delight at holding Richard’s posthumous final work in my hand, and sadness at the realization that there will be no more.

In Dorothy’s introduction she writes:

“O. Richard Norton passed away before he completed work on What’s So Mysterious About Meteorites?, a book that meant a lot to him. He had always wanted to provide a basic introduction to his beloved meteorites that could be read by young adults and anyone else interested in the subject of rocks that fall from the sky. While finishing it, I could hear his voice in my mind, explaining some detail about meteorites to students or to the many people who showed up at our door with boxes of rocks. He was a wonderful teacher, a great husband, and a generous friend to all who studied and searched for these curious rocks.”

Amen to that.

What’s So Mysterious About Meteorites? (Mountain Press, 2012) runs exactly 100 pages, is 8 3/8 x 9 inches and, with its lively, colorful cover, is clearly aimed at younger readers. And that’s good news because I already have two overly large shelves filled with highly technical tomes on my favorite subject; works that will not appeal to any but the most eccentric school kids (I’d be a little concerned if anyone under the age of fourteen was, for example, tackling Buchwald’s Handbook of Iron Meteorites). What’s So Mysterious About Meteorites? is packed with pictures of meteorites in the lab, in studio settings, under the microscope, in the field, as well as images of me and my more-than-a-little-offbeat comrades doing what we love best — scouring the wilderness for space rocks. The most amusing of these images is a picture, on page 46, of my friend Tim Heitz gazing rapturously into the sky, while sitting atop a 37-ton South American iron meteorite known as El Chaco.

Many times, over the years, I have been told: “Geoff you really should write a children’s book about meteorites!” I chose not to pursue such a thing because I knew Dorothy had already embarked upon a similar project, and because I was already busy with existing book projects, but mostly because I knew that with Dorothy’s caring spirit, extensive knowledge of the subject, and attention to artistic detail, she would do a much better job than I could.

An image on page vi, opposite the “Table of Contents,” admirably sets the tone for the book. The full-page color photograph depicts Manuel, a young Argentinian boy, pointing at a just-found specimen of the Berduc meteorite (fell April 7, 2008) lying in the dirt. I well know that look on Manuel’s face. It is awe and wonder, mixed with amazement and triumph; the expression of a successful meteorite hunter who has, against all odds, discovered that most elusive of quarries.

In a clear and friendly tone that will be easily assimilated by younger readers, Dorothy begins the book with a brief explanation of what meteorites are, how they differ from meteors, comets, and asteroids, and later adds pleasant doses of astronomy and space exploration to the mix. She jumps straight into the action with an account of the Park Forest fall (March 26, 2003), the only meteorite shower in recorded history to have landed within the confines a major city, that being Chicago. 14 year-old Robert Garza narrowly escaped injury when a loaf of bread-sized space rock crashed through the roof of his family’s suburban home. Thousands of other smaller meteorites landed nearby. Robert’s father called the police, believing some mischief-maker had thrown a rock through the roof of his house:

“But who could throw a rock with that much force? The police took the rock away and put it in an evidence bag. Under ‘offense’ they wrote, ‘N/A (Act of God).’ The rock in the bag at the police station was soon joined by more mysterious rocks. One had hit the roof of the local firehouse. It quickly became clear that these trespassing stones were meteorites. As word got out, people started looking for them. And they found them all over the place.”

I was one of those people. I found seventeen Park Forest meteorites, and gave one each to my meteorite-hunting colleagues, Professor Jim Kriegh and Twink Monrad, both of them also close friends of the Nortons.

Later chapters discuss, in considerable detail, where meteorites come from, what they are made of, and explain meteorite-specific scientific terms such as ablation, strewnfield and rollover lip. The “Fireball Observer’s Checklist” is a handy reference for those fortunate enough to witness a very large meteor in flight. Other sections include “Mars Has Meteorites Too,” a comparison of different meteorite types, and a look at impact craters. The chapter “How Can You Find Meteorites?” provides tips for the would-be searcher, and there is guidance on how to start a collection. What’s So Mysterious About Meteorites? is rounded out by a list of helpful print and online resources, and a glossary of terms.

One of the many interesting space rocks featured in the book. This meteorite is Canyon Diablo from Arizona. Photo by Suzanne Morrison © Aerolite Meteorites LLC

During the past three years I have hosted an international television adventure series called Meteorite Men. The show has sparked a great deal of interest in space rocks, especially — to my considerable glee — among younger viewers. Parents often telephone, or email, and tell us how thankful they are that our series has inspired their kids to walk away from the box and go dig for rocks, instead, in the fresh-air world. Well, except for one slightly frustrated parent who complained: “My garden now looks like the surface of the moon, thanks to you guys!”

For those who want to learn more, we often recommend my first book, Meteorite Hunting: How to Find Treasure from Space, which is a technical, hands-on field guide for those smitten with the desire to go out and recover their own cosmic visitor. My books are written for an adult audience, although they have been enjoyed by some precocious young readers, one of whom reportedly carries a heavily dog-eared copy around with him, daily, at school. His mother told me that he sometimes gets teased by other students and called a “nerd.” I asked her to pass along to him that he should not worry about any of that, because he is a whole lot smarter than the other kids, and they will all be bitterly envious, anyway, when he finds his first thousand-dollar meteorite.

Musings aside, my point is there has been a vacuum in the meteorite world until now. What’s So Mysterious About Meteorites? is not a technical book, but it covers the technical aspects of the complex science of meteoritics in a kid-friendly manner. It tells the amazing story of meteorites in an easy-to-read and easy-to-understand manner that will engage children and young adults who yearn for something more cosmically puzzling and stimulating than reality television or Xbox.

So, parents of kids who dream of being astronomers, or astronauts, or meteorite hunters when they grow up, here is your chance. What’s So Mysterious About Meteorites? will make a wonderful gift for your science-curious progeny and, who knows, perhaps it will ignite a spark that will send them — a couple of decades from now — rocketing across the globe (or into space) on the adventure of a lifetime. What could possibly make for a better present than that?

All photographs and text © Geoffrey Notkin and/or Aerolite Meteorites LLC.
Book cover © by Mountain Press.
All rights reserved. No reproduction without written permission.

Tucson is the astronomy capital of the world, I am told by Astronomy Coordinator Michael Terenzoni during a recent visit to the Flandrau Science Center. “People come here from all over the world to do astronomy; to build observatories.”

Michael also informs me that people identify a planetarium as a source of valid information and I, of course, agree with him. “When we have an event in the skies, people come here to find out about it.”

So what happens when they arrive at Tucson’s wonderful Flandrau to find it closed?

In front of the Flandrau Science Center: The large white dome houses the planetarium, and the smaller dome, far right, is the observatory. The U of A Mineral Museum is located in the basement, and the Henry Moore-like sculpture on the lawn cradles a splendid iron meteorite. This internationally recognized institution must be kept alive at all costs. Image courtesy of Flandrau Science Center.

Author Grace Flandrau could informally be described as the Science Center’s mom. A successful novelist, columnist, radio show host, and frequent visitor to Tucson, she died in 1971, and a year later the University of Arizona used a bequest from her estate “to fund a facility that would increase public understanding and appreciation of science.” The official website goes on to say:

Originally known as The Grace H. Flandrau Planetarium, the facility was part of the UA Department of Astronomy. Its location on campus, near the Astronomy Department, Optical Sciences Center, Lunar and Planetary Laboratory and historic Steward Observatory, reflects its continuing connections to the research community. The Planetarium was designed by Tucson architectural firm Blanton and Company and opened its door to the public in 1975.

Previous directors have included my friend, the late O. Richard Norton, a highly respected science writer and astronomer, and Richard R. Willey author of the short book The Tucson Meteorites: Their History from Frontier Arizona to the Smithsonian, which chronicles one of Tucson’s most enduring and mysterious legends. What the Flandrau website doesn’t mention is that the planetarium and mineral museum were almost forced to close their doors permanently earlier this year, and manage to maintain minimal opening hours due to the generosity of donors and supporters.

My initial plan was to conduct an interview with Alexis R. Faust, the current Excecutive Director of the Flandrau, then make a short visit to the superb U of A Mineral Museum, housed in the Flandrau’s basement. I thought I might get two interesting columns out of the one visit. I was late for my meeting and waited, briefly and comfortably in the conference room, for Alexis. I was graciously served good coffee, cold spring water and some snacks. My misguided belief that I would be satisfied by a short visit to these two astonishing resources was just that—misguided. I was there for half the day.

“The greatest economic value is the intelligence of people,” Alexis told me within the first couple of minutes. “Knowledge is the currency of the future.” And I was immediately and entirely captivated by her devotion to learning and her observations and predictions—both remarkable and numerous—about the future of education. “The mind is an amazing thing before we beat it to death with rote memorization, prejudice, and fear.”

To my surprise I did not hear any complaints or bitterness about budget cuts and the partial closing of the Science Center. Although the remaining staff have contracts that only run until December, the pervading view seems to be that when cuts need to be made, the money has to come from somewhere. But there is plenty of optimism among the few determined educators who walk through the quiet and nearly empty buildings.

Under the dome: The science fiction-like projector generates astral light for planetarium shows. Image courtesy of Flandrau Science Center.

“We’re not just sitting here,” Alexis elaborated. “We’re writing grants and raising funds so we can bridge this period of time. We are dedicated to finding it, and we are competing against the rest of the country for those funds, so we have to be as good as we can be.” With their their passion for education, their portable planetarium shows, a fine meteorite collection, and “the largest to-scale model of Mars anywhere in the world,” the Flandrau’s protectors are keeping it is as good as it can be, but the public gets to enjoy their best for only two days a week.

Alexis left me with this thought: “A lot of people still come by and knock on the door. They haven’t even heard about us closing. It’s not the university’s fault. I am incredibly grateful that we’re as alive as we are. Education is not getting funded the way it needs to be funded, and education is in the midst of a revolution. We need to keep up with it. That’s why institutions like this are so important.”

So, Alexis isn’t just hoping for better times ahead for the Flandrau, she intends to be part of a global change in not only how we teach, but how we learn. Tucson needs brilliant people like her, and Michael Terrenzoni, right here doing what they do best.

University of Arizona please take note: When times are tough, and we tighten our national belt, some will suffer, but Tucson’s venerable science center, with its international network of colleagues and collaborators, its long history of education and sharing the wonders of astronomy and the natural world, is too important, and too unique a resource to be one of those left to die in a wasteland of economic cutbacks.

The scientific community suffered a great loss last week with the passing of O. Richard Norton. A prolific and brilliant science author, Richard specialized in astronomy and meteorite studies and wrote a number of important books including: Rocks from Space, The Cambridge Encyclopedia of Meteorites, The Planetarium and Atmospherium: An Indoor Universe, and The Field Guide to Meteors and Meteorites. Richard was a former director of the Flandrau Planetarium here in Tucson, served for many years on the editorial board of Meteorite magazine, and was a regular visitor to the annual Tucson gem shows. The gem show will never quite be the same for me, as I’ll always be expecting to find Richard exclaiming about the beauty of some type of rare meteorite he’d found in one of the show rooms.

Richard Norton accepts a Harvey Award for outstanding contributions to the field of meteoritics, during the 2003 Tucson gem show. His wife, Dorothy (smiling in background), was co-recipient of the award.

Richard was a friend and colleague and a great personal inspiration to me in my own writing. In fact, he edited my second-ever published science article, many years ago. He was one of those rare science writers who had the ability to share his enthusiasm and vast store of knowledge in a way that made it accessible and engaging to the non-academic reader.

In recent years he lived in Bend, Oregon where he worked closely with his wife Dorothy — a popular and accomplished scientific illustrator.