The origin of my interests in the planets and the Solar System is uncertain. When I think back on it, my earliest recollections point to the biblical story of creation as it unfolded in Sunday School in grades 4, 5 and 6 in the small community of Anamoose, North Dakota. I'd badger the poor teacher with questions about how the Earth and heavens were formed and she'd read passages from the bible to try to supply answers. I was never satisfied. She'd tell me that I had to have faith. Meanwhile, I found a couple astronomy books for children in the classroom bookshelves and I poured over them with the greatest interest. I distinctly remember being entranced by a telescopic photo of Saturn. What a magnificent and mystical sight!
Alas, my early interests seemingly came to nothing. I can't remember a single thing along planetary lines through Junior High, High School and the first year of college. Then in my sophomore year I enrolled in a beginning geology course. I'm not sure why. It just seemed like the right thing to do. I had the choice of a course for non-majors or majors. I chose the one for majors. Within a few months I knew that I had found a life-long interest. So what does this have to do with planets and the Solar System? Well, the Earth is a planet, isn't it? What better background could you ask for?
My education in geology was a wonderful experience. Altogether, I studied under about 20 professors and I can't recall a single bad one. However, some were better than others and some were more in tune with my own developing personal interests. When I now look back on my formal geological education all those many years ago, I can clearly see that my main influences came from six professors and they are commented on below. All others played an important, but subordinate role. Interestingly enough, none of my professors had any direct role in my interests in Planetary Geology. The subject did not exist when I was in school and such matters were barely even topics of conversation.
Harold E. Koerner University of Colorado
Professor Harold Koerner provided my first introduction to Physical Geology.
Our class was intended for geology majors only and had about 200 students
in it. The mid-50s were one of those boom times for geology and perhaps that's
why I drifted in. Who knows? Our class met at 8:00AM and Dr. Koerner was
something of a dry monotone with a low-key droll sense of humor. I had trouble
staying awake, even though he was a very interesting professor. He was always
very methodical and well organized and covered a deceptively large amount
of material in a short span of time. Every day he'd bring in trays of materials
for us to look at. He'd also bring in geological items in the news. The pace
at which he covered material exceeded my assimilation rate. I gradually fell
way behind and the course became a real struggle for me, despite being the
most interesting subject on my schedule. The struggle was good for me. I
needed it. I gradually learned how to study. The next semester got off to
a much better start and Historical Geology forever locked me in as a geologist.
Later, in my senior year, I took a year-long course in Vertebrate Paleontology
from Professor Koerner. In looking back, I would now regard the Freshman
course and the Vertebrate Paleontology course as the two greatest educational
experiences of my undergraduate education. Nothing else comes close.
George Gamow
University of Colorado
Geology students had to take a variety of supporting-science courses, and
a year of physics was one of them. We could take the "high" or "low" freshman
physics (high was advised) and I opted for the "low" because of an onerous
experience with high school physics. I wasn't looking forward to the course.
On the first day in walked Professor George Gamow. I had no idea who he
was, but I heard one of the students say he had won a UNESCO prize for the
popularization of science and had written several books. Professor Gamow
stood out as a character on a campus known for characters. He was a big,
somewhat scruffy man with a Russian accent and a raspy voice. He chain smoked
his way through all lectures and became very nervous when having to open
a new pack of cigarettes while lecturing. He was said to be a very important
person who enjoyed teaching the most basic beginning classes. Unusual, but
obviously true.
Professor Gamow had a very matter-of-fact, common-sense way of explaining
physics. He called upon our daily experiences and observations and only rarely
used scientific jargon or mathematics. Everything he talked about seemed to
be obvious and easy to understand, plus it was interesting. I began to enjoy
going to my physics classes and hearing his explanations for things. I don't
really know how much physics I learned from Professor Gamow, but he made
science interesting, enjoyable and accessible. That's for certain! These
days I lecture a lot before Physics and Astronomy departments and I try to
handle it in the manner of Professor Gamov. The audiences apparently have
no idea I've only had freshman physics and they express interest and enthusiasm
for my explanations. Professor Gamow would be proud of me.
Theodore Walker University of Colorado
Professor Theodore Walker was a new member of the CU faculty, just fresh out of graduate school at the University of Wisconsin, when I took his course in Sedimentation in my junior year. My geological interests were already strongly focused on fossils and sedimentary rocks, so the course was a natural. I didn't do particularly well, but it's one of several instances I could cite where the influence of the course far exceeded the grade in the course. We went over not only the general principles of sedimentology and ways of dealing with sedimentary rocks but we also delved into some detailed aspects, such as textural indications of carbonate replacement of quartz. This same ultra-detailed approach has come back to me in several research projects in my career, particularly in one dealing with a process called "salt weathering." Professor Walker brought a high degree of interest and enthusiasm into his teaching and no where was it more evident than when he talked about red tropical soils and red sedimentary rocks (commonly referred to by geologists as "red beds"). Without question, my interest was piqued and has stayed with me throughout my career. Evidently others picked up the same feeling and I noted that he was referred to as "Red Bed Ted" in alumni newsletters in succeeding years. It fit perfectly! Some things like this are just never forgotten, and when I give lectures involving the red coloration of the Martian landscape I know exactly where the beginnings of my ideas originated almost 45 years ago.
J. Hoover Mackin University of Washington
Hoover Mackin was a professor's professor. He had a distinguished manner and voice (somewhat like actor Ronald Coleman). If cast as a professor in a movie, he would be instantly believable and portray a positive and likable character. The image was more than superficial. Hoover always had graduate students sitting in the back of his sophomore geomorphology course, because it was so interesting and informative. His Map Interpretation course was a must. It was the only effective discussion-format course I took in nine years of college. He would have us write up reports about maps and we would discuss them in class the next meeting. You might find yourself on the spot and discussing a geomorphic problem with a master geomorphologist. It paid to have well-thought-out answers. Your responses might remind him of something and that might prompt a small lecture. If you were off base with your answer, he would move on to some other person rather than be critical. If someone proved himself a fool, Mackin wouldn't come back. As the quarter progressed, he called on fewer and fewer people, but no one ever felt put down or publicly humiliated. By the end of the quarter Mackin was discussing geomorphology primarily with two or three people and the other 20 were sitting around listening. Everything always seemed extemporaneous, but by the end all students realized they had come through a well organized geomorphology course. He always seemed so casual, but he always had complete control and the class never degenerated into a bull session. Never. I suspect a lot of thought and effort went into his teaching. I tried some of his methods, and I simply couldn't bring them off. But then, I've never seen anyone else bring them off either.
Peter Misch University of Washington
Peter Misch was a short, somewhat gruff and scruffy man with a raspy voice, thick glasses and a German brogue. More often than not he had a short unlit stogie between his teeth. At least several times during every winter season he would appear with an arm in a sling or a leg in a cast from unfortunate incidents on the nearby ski slopes. That didn't seem to slow him down. Peter always had more graduate students than all the other faculty combined and he always seemed to have a couple people waiting outside his office. His courses were well populated and very informative and interesting. Some students thought that he was difficult to understand. I had no such difficulty. His excellent lectures covered very complicated material, but they were crystal clear even with his thick German accent. Peter followed the European method of only having one big examination at the end of the term. A lot of students lived in terror of that event, but if you attended regularly and listened carefully during the quarter he went over everything that was going to be on the exam. Peter was always very supportive of the graduate students, and some said he overprotected his own students (commonly referred to as "The Mischionaries" at the time). Well, I was a student of one of his rivals and Peter always treated me fairly and with the highest respect. I learned a tremendous amount from Peter. His knowledge, sense of geology and worldwide experience were overwhelming, and his ability to convey his vast experience was unexcelled. (for a cartoonist view of Peter, click here. )
Harry E. Wheeler University of Washington
The stratified rocks and their contained fossils were my favorite subjects as an undergraduate, so in the first quarter at Washington I signed up for a course in Mesozoic Stratigraphy taught by Professor Harry Wheeler. It took me a while to adjust. I simply couldn't understand what the man was talking about. He'd never seem to have a prepared lecture. Everything was off the cuff. He'd go uh, uh, uh ten times in a row while he was formulating what to say and he'd seem to wander aimlessly in all directions. He'd crack little witticisms that only he'd understand and only he'd laugh at them. He'd have his own precise definitions and even his own words for all sorts of stratigraphic principles and concepts. He was constantly berating all the sacred work in the literature and all the standard ways of doing things. And then there was the cigarette ash. Harry would smoke in class and as he did he would become aware of the length of his cigarette ash. After it got to be 1/2 inch long, he'd carefully balance it upright so as not to tip it over. This balancing act would then command his attention as he spoke. Before long the ash would be 3/4 and then one inch long and require ever more concentration. After it topped one inch, his lecture would slow to a crawl and the entire class would become aware of the remarkable stunt unfolding. Finally, it would topple and normal class order would return.
All in all, Harry required patience, knowledge and perseverance in order to follow and understand him. It most certainly wasn't easy and a lot of the students suffered. But when you took the time and effort and tried, Harry was one of the most interesting and inspirational geologists I've ever met. He had his own unique explanations for practically everything. His knowledge of stratigraphy was overwhelming. If it was stratified, Harry knew about it. If an idea was expressed, Harry probably had his own better idea. The man was simply amazing. I've seen him back down several visiting speakers to the point that they had to admit that Harry's explanation fit their data better than their own explanation. I've also seen him use a speaker's data to refute the speaker's interpretation, all of which was extremely interesting but did not endear him with visiting speakers. Harry was an extremely controversial man and strong opinions were voiced on all sides.
Harry became my graduate school mentor and I couldn't have made a better choice. He was kind, gentle, understanding, patient, always available, always a good listener and he spent countless hours trying to unravel my tortured prose. Many people used to consider Harry something of an ogre and they wondered how I could possibly work under such a man. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I could freely express my ideas to Harry and we'd spend hours discussing all the ramifications. On several occasions, my explanations ran directly counter to the ideas he had expressed in our courses. As long as my approach was logical, Harry offered nothing but encouragement. He also often offered humorous bits of advice such as "You've always got to be ready to change horses in the middle of the stream." Perhaps my favorite bit of advice was "In this game, you've got to develop a thick skin." It's taken me many years.