Remembering Kay Sears

Kay G. Sears

1922-1999

 

It was the spring of 1976 when I met Kay Sears. Little did I know, as a fifteen year old kid walking on the railroad tracks behind Kay’s house with my buddy, Ed Conroy, how my life would be affected. Ed and I often walked past Kay’s backyard and puzzled over what the strange contraption made of steel pipe and pipe fittings that sat out in the middle of the yard could be. Ed said he thought it was a telescope, but I insisted that there was no it could be a telescope. I had a telescope and it didn’t look anything like what we saw in that backyard along the tracks. My telescope looked like a telescope was supposed to look. It had a long metal tube with a lens at one end and an eyepiece at the other, and sat on a wooden tripod. In reality, my telescope was cheap 2.4 inch department store refractor that Ed and I used to set up in my yard, pointing at the moon, or at stars that we attempted to identify using the star charts in an old science encyclopedia. We were both fascinated by the night sky, but could never seem to really get a handle on learning the constellations in spite of our valiant efforts to match those star charts to the real sky. We had a lot of fun anyway, exploring and discovering things like lunar craters and double stars. We thought we were hot stuff with that telescope, but neither of us dreamed at what could really be seen through a good telescope until that day.

That day, as we walked past the yard, there was someone outside. We began the usual debate with each other about the pipe sculpture again, and decided to settle it once and for all. We called over the bushes and got the attention of the man in the yard. We asked him what the strange object was and discovered that Ed was right after all, or almost. It wasn’t a telescope, but a telescope mounting. As was typical of Kay Sears, rather than leaving it at that and having us continue on our way, he generously asked us if we’d like to see the telescope. So we walked over and Kay got the scope out of his shed. It was the same 6 inch f/8 homemade Newtonian reflector that he would use right up until the end of his life. It was the biggest telescope either of us had ever seen, and it dwarfed my puny refractor. He attached it to the mount and described its equatorial motion to us. He described the workings of the telescope itself and talked about the things that could be seen through it. We were impressed, but even more amazed to discover that he had built the telescope himself. We told him about my telescope and talked about our interest in astronomy, and about our discoveries and our frustrations in learning more. Again, in typical Kay Sears fashion, he invited us over to the house that night to look through the telescope and get familiarized with the constellations. We jumped at the opportunity.

Ed and I returned that evening after the sky darkened and the stars came out. We stood in the backyard as Kay pointed out some of the constellations that were visible: Cygnus, Lyra, and Aquila to name a few. Then he asked us if we’d like to see Saturn through the telescope. He swung it around and skillfully found the planet, which we would have never known was not just another star. And then he invited us to look through the eyepiece. With that one look, I became an amateur astronomer for life. There, suspended in a round sea of blackness hung a tiny, crisply focused image of the ringed planet. As small is it appeared (we were probably using about 50X), the disk and rings were clearly visible, like a miniature reproduction of the many photographs I had seen in books . I couldn’t believe the amount of detail that was visible. The idea that I was seeing the actual planet with my own eyes had an everlasting impact on me. Next he showed us M11 (the Wild Duck star cluster) in Scutum. I still remember how beautiful the cluster looked, the myriad of pinpoint stars strewn, fanlike, across the field with one brighter star which stood out near the apex, contrasting with the rest. I think of this first impression every time I see M11, which is still my favorite deep sky object. He showed us the Ring and Dumbbell nebulae and several other Messier objects that night. I was amazed that such things existed, let alone the fact that they were clearly visible in a homemade telescope. Right there and then I was hooked. I wanted to see more things like this and learn my way around the night sky. Kay would help me.

Kay became our astronomy mentor. We would go to his house as often as possible to observe and talk about astronomy. When we discovered that my 2.4 inch refractor, which had a fixed eyepiece and sliding barlow drawtube with click stops to vary magnification, suffered from severe optical aberrations, Kay offered to modify it with a new focuser that could accept interchangeable eyepieces. He machined a new drawtube focuser for me on his lathe that could accept some microscope eyepieces that I had, and transformed the refractor into a useable telescope. In the process, he taught Ed and I things that we probably wouldn’t have learned anywhere else – things about machining and optics and astronomy. We were amazed at his knowledge and abilities. Before this, neither of us had ever seen a lathe or had any idea of what could be done in a machine shop. We had never looked through a decent telescope or understood how they really worked. Now, thanks to Kay, we were learning all sorts of new and wonderful things like this.

When we outgrew my refractor, Kay inspired Ed and I to build our own telescopes. Ed was first with a 4 ¼ inch Newtonian reflector built from parts from Jaegers Surplus Optics and Edmund Scientific. I hung on with the refractor for a bit longer before embarking on a slightly more ambitious project – grinding a 6 inch mirror. Kay explained the basics to me, and loaned me his ATM Volume 1, and gave me a 6 inch Pyrex mirror blank he had lying around in the shed. My father brought home a 6 inch plate glass porthole from work that I used as a tool, and with some abrasives and other supplies from Edmund, I spent the summer of 1978 grinding , polishing and figuring my 6 inch mirror, consulting with Kay through each step. When it came time to star test the polished but still unfigured and unsilvered mirror, we put it in Kay’s f/8 tube assembly and pointed it at Vega, and were both excited to see a sharp image form in the eyepiece. I was, of course, excited about the mirror I had just made, but now I know his enjoyment came mainly from helping me along. I went on to figure the mirror and finish the telescope, which I still use today.

There were many projects over the years, and many nights spent both under the stars and in the shed talking over the sound of metal being turned off some piece of stock being transformed into another telescope or mounting part. Projects we worked on together that come to mind include a solar movie camera we built for the 1979 total solar eclipse, finderscopes, barndoor camera mounts, and various components for telescopes and telescope mountings. We sat at his kitchen table many nights, bouncing endless ideas off each other and making sketches, some of which would be brought to life in the shop.

Then there was our observing – sometimes together, and sometimes separately in our backyards in Keyport, after which we compared notes.   We observed for both fun and for science.  We observed lunar occultations in the backyard to the sound of WWV playing over Kay’s WWII surplus Hammerlund shortwave receiver. We observed variable stars through hot humid summer nights and bitterly cold winters after we had shoveled a pathway through the yard to a spot where the equatorial pipe mount sat frozen to the ground.   Throughout all of these activities we had fun, enjoying the camaraderie and the shared discovery of new things.

Kay was always patient, generous, encouraging, and eager to help. He brought Ed and I with him to S*T*A*R meetings and to observatories like AAI’s and NJAA’s where we looked through the biggest telescopes we had ever dreamed of. We were usually the only kids in this adult world, but Kay was always patient. He answered all our questions and taught us about astronomy and optics and so many other things. He became part friend, part father, part mentor. He talked with us – but never down to us - about electronics, mechanics, aviation, computers, mathematics and so many other topics. I learned trigonometry through Kay before I learned it in high school. He talked to us about things like stocks and investing. He regaled us with stories and home movies about his adventures in Alaska during WWII. He was like a renaissance man, and we soaked in all that he had to offer.

When high school graduation came near, I would talk to Kay about career choices. I wanted a technical career, and I could discuss all the options with him in way’s I couldn’t with my parents, who while loving and supporting, didn’t understand the world I wanted to be a part of. Kay understood, and was part of that world. He was an electrical engineer, like I would become too, in large part because of my friendship with him. Other than my parents, Kay is the one adult who had the most influence on shaping my life as I grew into adulthood. In some ways, he had more influence than my parents. I will always be grateful for all the things Kay did for me. For all the advice and counseling and teaching. For always listening to me and respecting my opinions and ideas in spite of my youth.

As the years went by, and I matured, we became peers, and I could give him advice and teach him about things that I came to learn more about, like computers or flying and even a few things about optics and astronomy. When I got my pilot’s license in 1987, Kay was one of the first passengers I took flying after my parents. He had always wanted to learn to fly himself, but never had the opportunity. He enjoyed talking about his experiences flying with bush pilots in Alaska, and with his son Bob, during his visits with him in Indiana, so he was thrilled to go flying with me that day. Mostly, though, he was happy and proud of me for my accomplishment. We never talked about such things, but I know that Kay thought of me like another son, just as I thought of him as a second father as well as one of my closest friends. Like a father, he always wanted the best for me and was happy in my happiness. Like when I was married. My own father never got the chance to celebrate my joy that day because he had died six months before. But even though he was well into his 70s and had to travel 250 miles, Kay was there. There was no question he would be there. And having Kay there, especially in the absence of my dear father, meant the world to me.

The last time I saw Kay was two days before he died. He had been out of the hospital for about a week and had been pronounced in good health by his doctors after his angioplasty. The last time I had seen him before that was the day I drove him home from the hospital, where he had been for at least two weeks. That stay in the hospital took a lot out of him and he looked so tired, and for the first time I can remember, really began to show his age. But being at home made him feel and look like himself again. That last day I saw him, he had invited my wife and I out to dinner with his wife, his son Bob, and our mutual friend Dick Huber. We went to a local restaurant and sat around a big round table. We all had a drink and toasted to good health and good friends. We had a nice meal and shared in good conversation. It was a happy time - a celebration of our friendship over many years. When the evening was over and we parted, we never dreamed it would be the last time we would see Kay alive. He died in his sleep, peacefully, two days later, after preparing for a S*T*A*R meeting which would take place the following evening. It was such a shock, and such a surprise that even now, six weeks later, it is hard to believe he is no longer here to talk to, to ask advice of, or to observe with. But what wonderful memories remain.

I am especially glad that I was able to share one last happy evening with my good friend Kay, and to see him as I will always remember him – enthusiastic and full of life. My friend is gone from this world now, but I will always remember the experiences we shared and the time we spent together. I consider myself lucky to have had my life touched by Kay and think how different it might be had I not by chance wandered past his yard that summer day twenty four years ago. He gave so much and asked for nothing because he enjoyed giving. Kay was one of the most genuinely good persons I will ever know, and I will miss him very much. And when I am under the stars with my telescope, or turning metal on the lathe, now in my garage, I will think fondly of my good friend and be thankful for being able to know him. I can’t help think that he is now somewhere among the stars he loved so much, and am comforted by that thought, and that as I observe the starry heavens, we continue to do it together.

 

(The above essay was written in March 1999)

 

Frank, Dick and Kay at Everglades National Park in April 1987

after a night of observing and photographing Halley's Comet

 

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