(Note: Regular readers already know how I feel about coincidences. After all the words that have been said on this sad occasion, maybe the following ones will bring comfort and hope. And a greater understanding of what it is that drives our best and brightest to risk their lives in the pursuit of knowledge.)
P.J.: A Memoir
Chapter Seven
“Some day, I would like to stand on the moon, look down through a quarter of a million miles of space and say, ‘There certainly is a beautiful Earth out tonight!’”
- Lt. Col. William H. Rankin
Ever since the end of World War Two, military retirees had been discovering the West Coast of Florida. Most settled along the Gulf beaches or near one of the proliferating golf courses. Colonel LeRoy Wellington Parkins, however, had other ideas. He had grown up in Missouri along the banks of the broad Mississippi and his concept of a retirement paradise included river frontage. Tall, distinguished, and courtly, he beguiled Molly Kathleen Jimson into selling him ten acres of land just to the west of the old Jimson mansion. He built a great barn of a house, anticipating major invasions of children and grandchildren. A seawall protected the property from the occasionally rowdy river and a wooden pier extended beyond the low tide line, a not insignificant distance in the shallow Manatee. On the “back five,” he planted oranges and grapefruit.
One of Parkins’ hobbies was woodworking and he built several flat-bottomed boats in his well-equipped shop. These punts were ideal for poking about in the mangrove shallows of the tidal river. Parkins graciously allowed the neighborhood kids to fish and swim from his pier as long as he was around to keep an eye on things. P. J. Dowd, being a next-door neighbor, was allowed on the pier anytime. He was also allowed to pick oranges and grapefruit anytime he wanted and was always a welcome assistant in the Colonel’s woodshop.
Parkins was so kindly and soft-spoken that one would hardly have guessed him to be a highly decorated soldier. P. J. had asked him several times about his war experiences, but Parkins always managed to change the subject. The Colonel became the grandfather that P. J. lacked. P. J. became the grandson the Colonel craved. Thus P. J.’s special privileges on the Colonel’s estate.
After dinner on this August evening, P. J. carefully requisitioned Benny’s binoculars and headed across Sixteenth Street to the Colonel’s pier. The first American satellite had been launched into orbit earlier in the year and another was scheduled to lift off from Cape Canaveral. The Cape was directly across the relatively narrow Florida peninsula and P. J. was determined to take advantage of the clear weather to see if he could witness the launch.
P. J. had been space-happy for several years now and spent many an hour with his nose buried inside books by Asimov, Heinlein, or Clarke. To P. J., it wasn’t just science fiction; it was a reality that was as near as the Cape. Clear nights would usually find him scanning the Milky Way with Benny’s binoculars and he had an extraordinary knowledge of the skies for one so young.
The breeze off the river had died with the sun and the atmosphere was clear as P. J. wended his way out to the end of the pier. The brilliance of the stars nearly distracted him to the point of taking an unplanned swim, but he regained his balance and made it safely to his goal. The rocket wasn’t scheduled to go up for a while, so P. J. took his time surveying his corner of the universe. The first “star” he visited was the brightest in the sky. Not a star at all, of course, but the planet Venus, which chased the sun into the west.
Like few kids his age, P. J. was too scientifically sophisticated to believe in Venusians, but the mysteries that lay shrouded in the planet’s scalding clouds were quite sufficient for some serious fantasizing. Mars, however, was a much more promising venue. P. J. knew that the planet had traces of atmosphere and he had strained his eyes trying to discern Schiaparelli’s canals. The possibility of life on the red planet had not yet been ruled out.
Tonight, though, Captain Dowd was content to roam at random through the infinite starfields, easily picking out Ursa Major and Orion. He was piloting his ship through the Pleiades when he heard and felt footsteps approaching along the pier. Col. Parkins entered the observatory carrying a plate of cookies and a pitcher of milk furnished by his wife, Constance.
“How did I know you’d be out here tonight,” Parkins asked rhetorically.
P. J. just grinned and dug into the cookies.
“Do you think we’ll be able to see the rocket launch from here?” He had been asking the question for at least a week.
Col. Parkins hmmmmed thoughtfully.
“Well, it’s about a hundred twenty miles away,” he said, “so we won’t be able to see the actual liftoff because of the curvature of the earth. However, once it gets up a couple of thousand feet, we should be able to see something. Provided, of course, that the atmosphere is clear all the way across the state.”
He shined a small flashlight on his watch.
“It’s supposed to liftoff in about fifteen minutes, but even if we can’t see the rocket, I have a feeling that we won’t be wasting our time out here tonight.”
P. J. immediately took him up on it.
“Is something else supposed to happen tonight?” he asked excitedly. “What is it?”
The Colonel smiled at the boy’s enthusiasm, but refused to reveal the mystery. P. J. made sounds of frustration and scanned the eastern sky intently. The Colonel was busy consulting a professional-looking compass. He pointed east and slightly north.
“See that red light on top of the water tower across the river in Ellenton? Look just to the right of it and that should be where the rocket goes up.”
P. J. was so afraid of missing the launch that he tried not to blink. Naturally, his eyes got dry and when he finally did blink, it was some time before he could see clearly again. After the third time this happened, the Colonel nudged him and pointed. Right where Parkins had predicted, a point of light was rising into the sky. P. J. quickly found the light with his binoculars. His excitement made it difficult to hold the binoculars steady enough to track the missile. What he saw looked like an inverted candle flame and no amount of effort could resolve the missile itself
The rocket quickly gained speed and the shape of the flame changed as the launch vehicle angled out over the Atlantic. Minutes after the flame disappeared, P. J. stared after it with soul-deep longing. He swore he would follow that shining path someday. He lowered the binoculars and saw colored spots before his eyes. He realized he had been holding his breath the entire time and exhaled with explosive force.
Gasping for air, he turned glowing eyes to Col. Parkins, but the older man was lying flat on his back staring at the sky directly overhead. For one terrifying moment, P. J. thought his friend had expired from excitement. Then he realized Parkins was still breathing. He lay back, following Parkins’ intent gaze. Just as he raised his eyes, he thought he saw a streak of light flash from east to west.
“What was that?” He was still breathless.
“That, P. J., was a meteor. Some people call them shooting stars or falling stars, but that’s quite inaccurate.”
Another meteor streaked across the heavens. P. J. was spellbound.
“They are actually very small chunks of metal and rock that are traveling through the solar system at tremendous speeds. When they hit the atmosphere of Earth, they burn up and leave the streak you see across the sky.”
There was a long silence while several more meteors wrote their epitaphs.
“Where do they come from,” asked P. J.
“Well,” said Parkins, “there are several theories. Some scientists think they may be remnants of a planet that broke apart millions of years ago; perhaps the same planet that could have produced the asteroid belt. Others think that meteor showers, like this one, happen when the Earth passes through the tail of a comet. These meteor showers occur at the same time each year.”
The heavens were starting to look like a shooting gallery. P. J. gasped and pointed at each new streak.
“These meteors are known as the Perseids because they appear to come from the constellation Perseus. They usually put on a pretty good show.”
There was another long silence while the two watched the display, then:
“Do all the meteors burn up before they hit the ground?” P. J. asked.
“Most of them do,” answered Parkins, “but some of the larger ones survive the atmospheric encounter and occasionally land on earth. When they do, they are called meteorites.”
“Wow,” exclaimed P. J., “have they ever hit anybody?”
The Colonel chuckled.
“Not as far as I know. The odds against it are pretty high. But a few have left their calling cards. There’s a crater in Arizona where a huge meteorite fell that’s nearly a mile across!”
P. J. tore his eyes away from the sky and stared intently at the Colonel.
“Have you ever been there?”
“As a matter of fact, I have,” Parkins said, “and as soon as this show is over, we’ll go inside. I’ll show you a piece of the meteorite that made the crater.”
P. J. was incredulous.
“You mean you really have a rock that came from outer space?”
Parkins nodded and turned his eyes back to the sky. The two stayed out under the dazzling light show for another half-hour until the meteors gradually tapered off. The Colonel got slowly to his feet and gestured for P. J. to follow. P. J. picked up the tray with the empty pitcher and followed.
For an old Army man, the Colonel sure had a lot of nautical artifacts. There was a large, barnacle-encrusted anchor near the front door. Parkins’ den held a shiny brass binnacle and a ship’s clock kept nautical time. There was also a huge old floor-standing globe and a complete weather station. The chairs were of rich leather and the walls consisted of books. Set into one corner of the room was a large wooden cabinet with dozens of small drawers. The Colonel went over to the cabinet and withdrew a drawer that he took to his desk.
Parkins removed a covering of tissue paper with a flourish and there before P. J.’s hungry eyes was a very ordinary-looking lump of reddish-brown rock. The boy had trouble hiding his disappointment.
“You mean, that’s what a rock from outer space looks like?”
The Colonel smiled and nodded. He picked up the rock and handed it to P. J. It was unusually heavy.
“It’s mostly nickel and iron,” said Parkins, “but there are small amounts of many other elements in there, too. Most of the meteorites that have been found have just about the same composition.”
P. J. turned the pitted, irregular rock over and over, looking for something unusual. He could find nothing, but it gave him an eerie feeling just knowing that the rock he held in his hand came from the distant reaches of the solar system and perhaps beyond. He shivered involuntarily as the ultimate cold of space touched his bones. He handed the rock back to Parkins and there were galaxies in his eyes.
“Someday I’m going to go up in a rocket ship like the one we saw tonight and I’m going to get me one of these rocks where it comes from.”
The old soldier placed the meteorite back in the box.
“I believe you will,” he said.
3:20:20 PM 
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