Many years ago, when I started recovering and researching meteorites, and chronicling my adventures for various scientific publications, I never imagined that I’d one day be co-starring in a television series about my unusual profession.

Two years of work have finally come to fruition. Tonight at 7 pm local (9 pm Eastern and Pacific) my new series, Meteorite Men has its world premiere on Science Channel and Science Channel HD. I have a lot of friends and colleagues in Arizona who have some interest in my work and—much as I trust them to behave—it seemed a little impractical to hold a screening party at my house. Also, my cat, Bonnie, doesn’t really enjoy visitors as much as I do.

So, a meeting was arranged with Tony Vaccaro, a handsome and enthusiastic gentleman who owns Tucson’s stellar Brooklyn Pizza Company (a favorite of mine; yes it is real New York-style pizza, and I should know). Tony recently acquired the property that used to be North nightclub on Fourth Avenue, and transformed the space into a wonderful astronomy-themed and solar powered club by night and cafe by day —Sky Bar. With a telescope on the roof beaming space images downstairs onto widescreen TVs, Sky Bar was clearly, and immediately, the best possible location choice for a series of Meteorite Men screening parties. The first of those is tonight: 6 pm pre-party with live music courtesy of Sky Bar’s open mic, followed by the series world premiere at 7 pm sharp. I have done a lot of television, but there is something different about this: it is exciting, and somewhat bewildering.

One of my most satisfying professional projects in recent years was to design, edit, and publish the Oscar E. Monnig Meteorite Collection Catalog, in association with eminent meteorite scholar and geologist Dr. Arthur Ehlmann of TCU, Fort Worth. Oscar Monnig was one of the greatest meteorite collectors of all time. His family owned a chain of department stores in Fort Worth; Oscar was a successful, admired, and well-liked businessman, but his true passion was space rocks. During the 1940s, ’50s and ’60s, Oscar amassed one of the largest private meteorite collections in the world. In an act of amazing generosity he left the collection, along with a sizable cash endowment, to TCU. His friend—and now my friend—Dr. Ehlmann became the custodian of the collection, and a portion of the endowment was used to build a truly beautiful meteorite museum at TCU.

The great Oscar Monnig. Photograph courtesy of Nancy Arnold.

Oscar didn’t have any children of his own, but in the course of my work, I happened to meet Oscar’s goddaughter, Nancy, who now lives here in Arizona. A charming and gracious lady, she immediately became a great supporter of our Monnig catalog project, and made available to me a series of historic, and never-before-seen photos of Oscar. We included them in the book, and they added a splendid personal dimension to it.

At the Tucson gem show a couple of years ago, we held a publication party for the catalog, and Dr. Ehlmann traveled out here from Texas to sign copies. Nancy drove down from Phoenix for the event, and brought with her a most extraordinary gift: Oscar’s favorite cufflinks. Elegant, sliver and black, and speckled with a field of small stars they are, for me, a tangible connection with one of my personal heroes.

Yesterday, Nancy sent me an email from Phoenix. She congratulated my co-host, Steve Arnold, and myself on the premiere of Meteorite Men. She also wrote: “Oscar is smiling at you from heaven.” I’m a scientist, and perhaps not the world’s most spiritual guy, but her comment was extremely moving for me.

So, tonight, when I watch the most important project of my career sparkle onto the widescreen TV at Sky Bar, I’ll be wearing Oscar’s cufflinks. I said to Nancy that if Oscar really is watching over us we cannot fail.

Please come down to Sky Bar tonight, say hello to the Logical Lizard, and raise a glass with me to Oscar and the other pioneers who dreamed of holding a fallen star in their hands. Without them, I would never have made it here.