Sky & Telescope January 2000 [antikvár]

spectrumMy Always Bossy predecessor, Joe Ash-brook, once quipped that astronomers shouldn't live too long after they retire. Their contributions will soon be forgotten, and contemporaries to write incisive obituaries will die off.I'll bet only one reader in 100 recognizes the name Charles Federer, and I'll bet only one in 1,000 can ^ describe his contributions to astron- ^ omy. It wasn't that way in the '40s, '50s, and '60s, when "everyone" knew who Charlie was.As told on page 21 of last month's issue, Charlie, with his wife, Helen, founded Sky Telescope. He died last September at age 90.In my opinion he was a 20th-century astronomical giant because of his vision and evangelism. Even before SiS:7 was born, Charlie was one of the principal promoters of a national organization of amateur astronomers, which we know today as the Astronomical League. By melding The Sky and The Telescope, two failing magazines, Charlie supplied the glue that joined scattered members of the astronomical community throughout North America and uhimately the world. It was an enormously risky venture in 1941, for there were very few amateurs and almost no commercial venders (thus no advertising). And the odds of success were lowered dramatically when Pearl Harbor was bombed a month after the first issue appeared. But Charlie's gamble paid off, and StT quickly became astronomy's magazine of record.At the core was Charlie and Helen's dedication to accuracy and disdain for gee-whiz journalism. Until the end, whenever he saw a word, picturc, or design he didn't like, I'd get a phone call and a piece of his mind. To me it was amazing and wonderful that someone could maintain a six-decade-long love affair with an inanimate object. The upside of these conversations was that I'd have an opportunity to tell him what was going on around the shop, for he remained keenly interested in the details of our operations.Charlie was not an easy person to work for, but if you could stand the heat, he taught you a nonpareil work ethic. He was highly opinionated and had zero tolerance for error. And he had one job description for everyone: "Do what I tell you toEditor in Chief Leif J. Robinson with ST founder Charles A. Federer.do and don't ask questions." But that's how our tiny staff got the magazine out every month.Charlie was very conservative, yet he had a keen sense of when it was time to try something bold. I had my first editorial-policy brawl with him when he decided to put color in every issue. "Where the blazes are we going to get the pictures?" I argued. "And how are we going to afford to print them?" Obviously, Charlie's decision was the right one. Once again, he saw the future.Charlie controlled everything: from the words, to the selection of images, to the positioning of each illustration and line of type on a page. He was quick to change his mind whenever he felt we could do a better job on behalf of readers even when a press deadline would be hopelessly missed or editorial chaos was guaranteed. Long-time managing editor Bill Shaw-cross dubbed him chairman of our Decision Revision Division.It would have been easy to be stifled by such an authoritarian, except that he had so much to pass along from typography selection, to evaluating paper and printers, to English usage, to insights about astronomy and the world at large. Every day was a broad and fulfilling education, whether you agreed with him or not.Curiously, he wasn't a hard-nosed businessman; he ran the company out of a "cookie jar" and without any formal business plan. Perhaps that was why working for him was so much fun: no memos, reports, meetings, and other management trappings that sap creativity. Charlie's was a simpler era, one that I miss.Although my always boss is gone, his philosophy and dedication to our mission live on with the magazine he loved.RS. I was delighted to see Charlie's as the illustrated lead obit in the October 2nd New York Times. He respected that newspaper immensely, even as a youngster.