Science News mourns the death of Jonathan Eberhart, one of our most illustrious alumni. Jonathan covered the space program from 1960 to 1991 with an enthusiasm as great as that of any scientist or astronaut and an intelligence that engendered the sincere respect of everyone who met him. The formal recognition that he received for that effort—the American Association for the Advancement of Science-Westinghouse Science Writing Award for Magazines first-place award for 1976—brought glory to the magazine, as well as salary raises to all of us writers. This week as we wrote Jonathan's obituary forScience News, we received far more fascinating reminiscences than we could squeeze onto the printed page. So on this Web page, we list additional comments from scientists, space science writers, and finally some of his colleagues at Science News.

Jonathan was not only a superb science writer. He was also an accomplished folksinger and songwriter and a valued member of the music community. His enthusiasms intersected when he wrote songs about the space program. One of these songs, "Solar Privateer," was published on the cover of the Nov. 21, 1981, Science News.

We provide the lyrics of some of Jonathan's songs after the reminiscences on this Web page. To hear him singing, click here.—Julie Ann Miller, Editor

I will always remember Jonathan for his passion for reporting science. . . . He did it with a combination of childlike enthusiasm, a sense of wide-eyed wonderment about the things he saw and heard, and a remarkable desire to "get it right". He always took the time to check back on his facts, to make sure that any nuances were at least not inconsistent with what you told him. He had a knack of asking good questions, the kind that got to the core of an issue. He also asked them in a way that guided the interviewee to frame responses in ways that would be intelligible to most readers. Jonathan was a professional in the broadest and truest sense of the word. He will be missed.

David Black
Universities Space Research Association
Houston, Texas

I can't recall the Voyager flybys and the week-long news conferences that were held during every one without thinking of Jonathan Eberhart.

It was Jonathan who was single-handedly responsible for the intellectual, Socratic atmosphere that permeated these intense but always stimulating encounters between scientists and reporters. Bearded and pony-tailed, he had a seeking, inquisitive nature, and his questions at these events were the most penetrating and thought-provoking of all. It was clear he was as enthralled as we were. To engage him in discussion was pure pleasure.

What I remember most fondly about Jonathan were his songs. He and I were both members of an impromptu musical gathering called The Titan Equatorial Band, which re-grouped every Voyager flyby and did our best to entertain and have fun. Jonathan wrote his own songs, and his compositions melded the facts and insights of planetary exploration with the music and lore of a bygone seafaring era. My favorite was "Odd Jobs," about a migrant worker several hundred years from now, whose livelihood takes him from the dusty reaches of Mars to the sulphur-surfaced plains of Io. Jonathan romanced us, and put our business to song. What a great gift.

He was an original, for sure. There'll never be another one like him. It makes me sad to think he won't be there with us when Cassini gets to Saturn. He would have loved it.

Carolyn Porco
Southwest Research Institute
Boulder, Colo.

August 1981 NASA photo of the Titan Equatorial Band during the Voyager 2 spacecraft's trip to Saturn. Jonathan's impromptu pickup band, with floating members, reassembled at various NASA functions. Members here include Kelly Beatty on drums/vocals, Jonathan on keyboard/vocals, Dave Pieri of JPL on sax, Dave Diner of JPL on guitar, an unidentified member on bass, and Steve Wall of JPL on vocals/guitar/wine-jug carrier. At other times, the group included Frank O'Donnell of JPL on guitar, David Grinspoon on guitar, and Carolyn Porco on vocals/guitar. Notes Wall, "we rehearsed at various times, but mostly whenever there was a Voyager [spacecraft] planetary encounter—the only times we were all together." What did they perform? "'Love Potion #9', some blues that may have never had a name, a few Eagles songs—stuff like that," he recalls.

Jonathan was fundamentally a very bright scientist, even if he lacked some of the formal training. He did far more than listen at Viking and Voyager events: He thought deeply about the issues, asked penetrating questions, and when appropriate offered his own hypotheses. Discussing the missions with Jonathan resembled talking with another team scientist, not a reporter. In the end, of course, his excellent reporting was objective and fair. But he was more than an observer—he himself became part of the process of discovery in NASA's golden age.

And don't forget the Titan Equatorial Band—one of the extra pleasures he brought to Voyager and the DPS (Division for Planetary Science) in the early 1980s.

David Morrison
NASA Astrobiology Institute
Moffett Field, Calif.

Jon was a wonderful writer and a brilliant, creative person who brought fun and insight to everything he did. His solar sail song ["Solar Privateer"] will be the high point for me, but the fun we had during the days of Voyager with his music and his writing helped create in everyone with whom he worked a great sense of vision—and understanding for where we were heading.

Louis Friedman
The Planetary Society
Pasadena, Calif.

I dealt with Jon over many years but my most vivid memories are of the Voyager era. For us scientists on VGR [Voyager], Jon was both fascinating and a little terrifying (in a nice way). When he got up in a press conference to ask one of his questions, we all took a deep breath since we knew he would most likely ask a question we couldn't answer. His questions were sometimes as long and complicated as the briefing that we had just given, and a typical response from the targeted scientist was frequently along the lines of "Good question, Jon. Why don't you see me after the briefing and we'll write the paper (or proposal) together."

I've often thought it a shame that during the Voyager 1 Jupiter encounter we broadcast the incoming pictures on the monitors using a real-time stretch program to make them look as good as possible. The problem was that, unbeknownst to us, this was also a perfect anti-volcanic plume filter. If we had gone with the old nasty raw data, the plumes would have been easily seen by everyone. Jon would likely have "discovered" them before anyone else and called up from the press room to tell us to open our eyes and look at the data.

Torrence V. Johnson
Jet Propulsion Laboratory
Pasadena, Calif.

Jonathan was the dean of science writers who covered planetary science and the "golden age of planetary exploration." A straightforward man, Jonathan was cowed by nobody. Modest in asking his questions, his intellect penetrated to the core of the issue, making him as valuable a synthesizer of planetary science as a reporter of planetary results.

Beyond his formal role as a reporter, he became an integral member of the community of researchers and hangers-on that followed Voyager's epochal journey through the solar system.

A connection between planetary science and his other vocation as a folksinger is the wonderful song he wrote—"Lament for a Red Planet"—featured on his record "Life's Trolley Ride." That record was one of my then-young daughter's favorite music records when she was in grade school.

One of my most remarkable dining experiences was with Jonathan, when he and I went to a sushi bar in Baltimore. I'd often had sushi before, but Jonathan was expert in many things Japanese. I was incredulous when he insisted that I not order a particular combination of sushi, but he allowed me to continue —as a scientific experiment—to see if his predicted response from the sushi chef would indeed be borne out. I placed my order and, just as Jonathan had predicted, the chef briefly glared at me as though I had offended him, turned away, and never served what I had ordered.

It is sad that disease should have diminished Jonathan's full participation in life in his later years, but the legacy he left us all will be always remembered.

Clark Chapman
Southwest Research Institute
Boulder, Colo.

Jonathan was an amazing man who always seemed to be living life to its fullest. Jonathan's science reporting was legendary. Amid an ocean of posters and talks at scientific conferences, he had an uncanny ability to find things of importance and interest to the educated layperson. And beneath that "hippie-like" and seemingly carefree exterior lay a deeply inquiring mind and a laserlike intellect. Once he had decided you were doing something of interest, he was relentless in uncovering it, converting it from "scientist-speak" to accessible English, and in being sure that he (and the readers) understood it correctly and that he did not misrepresent it.

In being the subject of his 'interrogations' from time to time, I always found it exciting and interesting, because the questions he asked and the probing he did always opened my eyes to connections to other fields and broadened my view of what I was doing in my own field. Yet he had so much more to offer in his friendship. His musical talents were many, and it was always a pleasure to sit around with him listening to him singing sea chanteys, playing the guitar, and generally having a good time.

I think of an infamous dinner we had at the Lunar and Planetary Science Conference in Houston many years ago, when we went to the Crazy Cajun restaurant with about a dozen scientists from the Soviet Union. I asked Jonathan to come along and sing and play the guitar. Needless to say, he immediately hit a responsive chord with the Russians and, due to the unique influence of Jonathan, the dinner grew into an unforgettable party of friendship, singing of American and Russian folk songs, and wonderful shared experiences. People like Jonathan are unique and special individuals, and we will all miss him dearly.

James W. Head III
Brown University
Providence, R.I.

I had not seen Jonathan for a few years, but the last time I visited him, he was still very much engaged in what was happening in the program and had surrounded himself with its souvenirs. He sure kept me going through the often-long hours of our missions. . . .

For me, the tie that he created between the science of space exploration and its music is as valuable and significant as his contribution to the public awareness of space exploration is. Both his prose in Science News and his music tell us all that space is an exciting, dramatic, and very human enterprise. He accurately imagined that space is a place for the worker and the work song. Many of the songs he wrote and others' songs he sang reflected that theme: "I've traveled all over the system/Prospecting and digging for ore/I've lasered, hydraulicked and waldoed/Been baked, frozen, tired, and sore. . .but cloning new arms is a nuisance, and insurance can cost you a leg." Or "It's a long way out and a long way back, just drifting on the Sun/Your lover's hair will all grow long a-pinin' for your fun."

Someday we will get there, Jonathan.

We will not forget the Titan Equatorial Band—in which he invited some of us to join him—or "The Viking Rag" or "Lament for a Red Planet." He wrote of so many NASA programs; he created and played music for so many JPL events and encounters; he rejoiced and was sad with us over our successes and failures; he is a part of the space team and space legacy as much as anyone.

Stephen Wall
Jet Propulsion Laboratory
Pasadena, Calif.

I got acquainted with Jonathan during the Voyager encounters of the outer planets. He was a prominent fixture at all the press briefings and was noted and respected for his pertinent, in-depth questions that displayed an understanding of the science that went far beyond that of most of the other members of the press corps covering Voyager events.

On one occasion, Jonathan took me aside and complained that the Voyager scientists were being far too secretive about their findings about (I think) the satellites of Saturn. He stood close to me and said in quiet tones, "Don't let this get around among the scientists, but here's what I think is going on with those moons. . .", whereupon he proceeded to tell me his own idea about the craters and cracks of the icy satellites of Saturn. I don't remember if his idea made any sense, but I was amused at the twist in the situation.

Jonathan frequently reported on the annual meetings of the Division for Planetary Sciences (DPS) of the American Astronomical Society. At the meeting in Palo Alto in 1991, as the Chair of the DPS, I had the honor of presenting Jonathan with a special award and recognition of this faithful and respected relationship to our profession. Part of that recognition was the announcement of the naming of asteroid 4764 "Joneberhart" by the International Astronomical Union. This action had been initiated by the Committee of the DPS to honor Jonathan in a way that we thought would be particularly meaningful to him.

To receive the recognition at the banquet event, Jonathan came forward in his wheel chair, while I read the citation. With a smile and feigned admonition, I told him that, if it were his asteroid that someday hit the Earth and wiped out civilization, the DPS could not be held responsible. He agreed to this "condition" and happily accepted the certificate we had prepared.

The community of planetary scientists, with whom he interacted so effectively during his writing career, will miss Jonathan.

Dale Cruikshank
NASA Ames Research Center
Moffett Field, Calif.

Like many other scientists, I got to know Jonathan Eberhart during the Voyager encounters. He was a remarkable individual. His ability to get complex ideas right and to put them nicely always amazed me. When he was asking questions—many of them seemingly silly ones—continually, I would often wonder how this story could possibly come out right. But his stories were always on the mark, catching the essence of the science while putting it in an interesting and proper context. He realized that space exploration was something special and that our generation was blessed to be the ones to leave Earth for the first time. That excitement and fascination come through in every one of his stories.

Jon was also an engaging dinner companion who loved exotic foods. He was funny and interesting. His command of language and the foundations of languages was impressive. He could recount stories about his time in Japan. He was active in the Washington folk scene and did a "gig" on Cornell's folk-song stage when he was in Ithaca to cover an IAU [International Astronomical Union] meeting on planetary satellites. Many of us got one of his gravelly-voiced records at that time. On other occasions, when we all gathered in a bar in the evening at some encounter or scientific meeting, Jonathan would lead us in song.

Space exploration wasn't quite the same once Jonathan's MS made it too difficult for him to travel to meetings. He was missed then, and he'll be missed now.

Joe Burns
Cornell University
Ithaca, N.Y.

Jonathan Eberhart was a delight and inspiration as he covered American Astronomical Society meetings and press events at Goddard Space Flight Center. There's a photo of him covering the ICE spacecraft encounter with Comet Giacobini-Zinner at Goddard that hangs on the wall of my basement office.

I understood that his real forte in the news area was in covering planetary encounters at JPL, and I believe that he entertained the scientists on such occasions by playing the guitar, but I never overlapped with him out there.

Steve Maran
NASA Goddard Space Flight Center
Greenbelt, Md.

Jonathan (right) with Steve Maran in the Building 8 auditorium at Goddard Space Flight Center on Sept. 13, 1985, following a briefing on the encounter of the ICE (International Cometary Explorer) spacecraft with the Comet Giacobini-Zinner. The picture, taken by a NASA GSFC photographer, shows that while other journalists and VIP guests had already left, Eberhart was gathering additional information in his ever-present reporter's notebook. On his chest pocket is the special badge that was created for reporters and other guests on the occasion of the first encounter of a spacecraft with a comet.

Jonathan's style set the standard for science journalism: probing questions, accuracy, completeness, and equal coverage to all opinions. We can still see Jonathan's signature in [Science News] magazine, which in my opinion is the best general audience science publication.

Jonathan was a pleasure to work with, and he had the utmost respect from the science community.

Bonnie Buratti
Jet Propulsion Laboratory
Pasadena, Calif.

Although he wasn't the oldest member, Jonathan was informally regarded as the "dean of the Voyager press corps" throughout those memorable first encounters with the gas giants in the 1980s. He was an active and acute questioner, and he wasn't interested in quotable quotes or glib clichés. He spoke for the sophisticated nonspecialist, and personally wanted—passionately—to understand what we were learning and why it mattered. This honest, earnest, persistent questioning sharpened our presentations and our thinking in general.

Jonathan's vitality supported an active, creative life outside journalism, in which his interest in space exploration was complemented by his interest in the music of the era of sailing ships. While most of his sea shanties were meticulously researched and historically accurate, the one I remember best was one he sang late one night, which described a sailing voyage to the stars.

In 1991, Jonathan received a special award from the Division for Planetary Sciences of the American Astronomical Society for his service to science through journalism. While already reliant on his motorchair and touched by his award and the appreciation of the large crowd, Jonathan remained his unsentimental, solidly grounded, clear-eyed self. I didn't see him after that week, but even though he has been missing from the press pool, I still prepare for the media as if he would be there, wanting substance instead of froth.

We could use more like him.

Jeff Cuzzi
NASA Ames Research Center
Moffett Field, Calif.

Jonathan Eberhart was a trusted journalist who is remembered for his penetrating questions that brought clarity of understanding both to his readers and to the scientists themselves. Through his years of covering planetary exploration, Jonathan became a close friend of the planetary science community. We mourn his loss and extend our condolences to his family.

Richard P. Binzel
Massachusetts Institute of Technology
Cambridge, Mass.

Jonathan and I go back to the Viking days, when I was working the photolab at JPL. During that long mission he stayed longer than any other science writer and became part of the family. Those were the days he composed and sang his "Lament for a Red Planet." He was one of the very few people who could browse through my photo-files without having to ask for it, because I knew, whatever pictures he needed, they would appear promptly in a great piece of writing. It was always a pleasure to hear him ask questions after the press briefings. It showed that he had a deep understanding of the science that was presented that day.

When the Voyagers, on their long journey to the outer planets, met Jupiter for the first time, I remember talking to him one day. I said, "Jonathan, why don't you get your degree. You could be sitting up on the podium in Von Karman Auditorium with your friends." He smiled and said, "Nah, then it would be a job, and I would have to argue with my friends. Now I am having fun".

When it became apparent that Jonathan's illness would prevent him from coming to JPL again, he was presented with an engraved plaque of appreciation, signed by Dr. W. Pickering, Dr. Bruce Murray, Dr. Lew Allen, and Dr. Ed Stone—all four Directors of JPL during those exciting years Jonathan covered for Science News. This had never happened before and has not happened since.

He was a very competent professional and a valued friend, and I will miss him more than I can express.

Jurrie van der Woude, retired
Jet Propulsion Laboratory
Pasadena, Calif.

When I think of Jonathan Eberhart, I remember his wonderful presence at the Voyager planetary encounters at JPL. Whether performing one of his rollicking space-faring shanties or discussing, with some high degree of erudition, the exploration of the outer solar system, he was unfailingly modest, good-humored, and dear. My late husband, Carl Sagan, had a great deal of affection and respect for him. I'm so sad to learn of Jonathan's untimely death.

Ann Druyan
Cosmos Studios
Los Angeles, Calif.

I was saddened to hear of Jonathan's death. There was a time, during much of the 1980s, when I would receive cheery phone calls from him perhaps once a week—more than from any other reporter—as he sought input for stories he was writing for Science News. I recall in particular explaining to him about the orbits of the comets observed dropping into the sun by the SOLWIND* and SMM*: What fun he would have had with the hundreds more such comets found by SOHO* during the past few years! I met him just once, when I was giving a talk at the National Air and Space Museum and had been asked to invite two people from the Washington area for a dinner there beforehand. Jonathan was one of the two people I invited, and he struggled manfully to get there via the Metro [Washington's subway system] in his wheelchair, regaling us all with his entertaining stories and even a sea shanty.

Brian G. Marsden
Smithsonian Astrophysical Observatory
Cambridge, Mass.

*SOLWIND was a Defense Department satellite, ultimately shot down in 1985. SMM is Solar Maximum Mission. SOHO is the Solar Heliospheric Observatory, which still orbits the sun.

Jonathan was a true catalyst for science. He called me when I had just finished my dissertation and was a post-doc at Goddard Space Flight Center in the early 80s. He told me about some results from a spacecraft studying Venus where a scientist, Chris Russell at UCLA, had correlated the magnetic signals from the sun and their interaction with an asteroid. In my dissertation, I had studied the color of this asteroid and couldn't understand it. We still don't understand this particular body and what makes it so unusual.

Jonathan connected scientists to scientists and made them think in new ways. . . . I don't have Jonathan's gift of pen, but my point is that Jonathan facilitated science through his writing.

I also remember evenings at various meetings when a number of the scientists would get together and play music with Jonathan. He contributed to our community in many ways.

Please remind people that the community named an asteroid in his honor. It was discovered on Feb. 11, 1983, and named by Ted Bowell of Flagstaff, Ariz.

Lucy McFadden
University of Maryland
College Park, Md.

I cannot look back to the many Mariner, Viking, and Voyager press conferences without recalling fond memories of Jonathan Eberhart. The routine fielding of questions from the press corps was usually a simple matter of getting a scientific concept across to journalists, many of whom had little more than a layman's background in science. Not so when Jonathan was handed the microphone. When he raised a question or made a comment, I became instantly alert. I knew that he was capable of probing uncomfortably deeper into our interpretations of spacecraft data or, worse yet, of exposing flaws in our conclusions. He kept all of us on our toes and maybe even left us a bit embarrassed at times. Jonathan was a scientist's journalist. He was a good friend.

Brad Smith
Institute of Astronomy, University of Hawaii
Honolulu

In 1974, when I joined the staff of Sky & Telescope, Jonathan Eberhart was already a fixture on the space-science scene: a respected journalist, widely read, and often quoted. Early in my career he was an unwitting mentor and a role model. And why not? When it came to covering solar-system exploration, he was simply the best.

Science writers are by nature a collegial bunch, and in time we became good friends. The Jonathan I knew had three passions in life: science, food, and music. As for the science, his breadth of knowledge ran deeper than I think he himself realized. At meetings and news conferences, he had an uncanny knack for asking the sharpest, most perceptive questions. And, oh, how he loved Mars. In 1976, he camped out at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory for six months to wring everything he could out of the historic Viking landings. That devotion later won him the prestigious AAAS-Westinghouse Science Writing Award.

Dining with Jonathan was always an adventure, as he went far, far out of his way to find unusual cuisine. In 1982, when officials at NASA's Johnson Space Center wanted to fete some high-ranking Russians at an authentic American restaurant, Jonathan convinced the group to head for a rustic (OK, grungy) joint called the Crazy Cajun. That "banquet" was unforgettable—we ate and drank late into the night, and toward the end Jonathan snuck in a guitar and swapped folk songs with Valeriy Barsukov, head of the Soviet delegation. To this day the Crazy Cajun remains a favorite among planetary scientists.

Without question, music was Jonathan's first love. An accomplished songwriter, singer, keyboardist, and guitarist, he researched the roots of sea chanteys and other "work" songs. Some appear on a 1981 solo album, and he recorded many others with his group, The Boarding Party. Space travel frequently flavored Jonathan's music, and in "Lament for a Red Planet" he openly pines for a long-ago Mars with blue skies and babbling brooks.

Lots of folks were drawn to Jonathan's musicianship, and sometimes a few of us would gather in a local home to jam with some folk tunes, impromptu blues, and ageless rock standards. In time our group became known as the Titan Equatorial Band, named for a cloud feature seen on Saturn's big moon. We were decently good, given that we got together only every year or so, and during Voyager 2's flyby of Saturn in 1981 we even played "for real" at a Caltech party packed with scientists and students.

Once he became wheelchair bound, Jonathan tried gamely to continue his science writing, but soon the rigors of travel overwhelmed him. I know how much it pained him to close his reporter's notebook for the last time, but I can only imagine his despair over having to give up music. Quietly stoic to the end, he captured the essence of life's worth in the chorus for a song he'd written in 1974:

When you come to the end of your life's trolley ride,
Just recall all the rails you have known.
In the carbarn you'll find rest and sweet peace of mind—
God's conductor won't strand you alone.

Ride on, Jonathan, ride on.

J. Kelly Beatty
Sky & Telescope
Cambridge, Mass.

I first met Jonathan in June of 1976 at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory, where we had come to cover the Viking landings on Mars. I was writing my first book, covering my first mission, and was as green as the grass. I kept waiting for someone to tap me on the shoulder and say, "Okay, kid, how did you get in? What are you doing here?" But Jonathan accepted my presence in the press room as the most natural thing imaginable. Of course I was there—where else would I be? Where else would anyone be if they cared about Mars and space science and planetary exploration? So I took a seat next to Jonathan and spent nearly every day for the next 5 months at his side, learning the ropes of science writing from the best in the business.

Jonathan was a big bear of a man, with a beard and ponytail, a hearty voice, and an engaging manner. He had innumerable friends, and yet he was, in some ways, a difficult man. He was uncompromising and insisted on getting things right, whether he was writing about complex science or simply tuning a guitar. As a mutual friend once said of him, "Jonathan is a great guy, but it's a good thing there's only one of him."

One was more than enough. Jonathan filled whatever space he was in and made himself at home anywhere he found himself. During idle hours at JPL (and there were many of them during Viking), he would sometimes take out his guitar and sing, just for the sheer pleasure of it. An old-time folkie from Cambridge in the early '60s, he knew just about every song ever written and composed a few of his own. During Viking, he came up with "Lament for a Red Planet," a haunting elegy to a world he truly loved. Long-term cyclical climate change was the popular theory at the time (and seems to be again!), and Jonathan's song memorably concluded:

My ochre cliffs and rusted sands
Stand regal and serene,
But, oh, my wan and wasted world,
I miss your blue and green!

Even in his music, Jonathan strove for precision. He wanted to include a reference to a Martian sunset but didn't know what color it would be: If the sky was pink all day, what hues would it assume at dusk? Jonathan bugged the mission scientists until they finally took a color image at sunset to provide him with the data he needed (sort of a bluish-green, as it turned out).

Jonathan was always a hard-science guy, perpetually digging for factual details and subtle nuances of interpretation. Yet he also delighted in getting scientists to do some "arm-waving," prodding them into going beyond their data and speculating about the Big Picture. That was especially true during the Voyager mission, when the science was so mind-boggling that only a reporter with Jonathan's deep factual background and soaring imagination could be sure of getting it right.

His writing was factual and precise, yet occasionally lyrical or whimsical. He had an instinct for the telling phrase. When we got our first look at color images from the Viking landers, Jonathan described the Red Planet's surface as being about the same shade as "an embarrassed brick."

Throughout Viking and Voyager, Jonathan was practically an ex-officio member of the mission teams. Other reporters relied on him for guidance, and scientists trusted him. Late one night during one of the Voyager encounters, Jonathan and I shared a table in the half-lit JPL cafeteria with the late Gene Shoemaker. Always one of the more voluble scientists, Shoemaker delighted in explaining to us his theories about the mayhem that had characterized the early history of the outer moons. As Shoemaker went on, Jonathan unobtrusively but unmistakably unpinned his press badge and laid it face down on the table; this was his way of going "off the record." We were no longer journalists digging for a story but simply friends talking shop over coffee. Shoemaker, confident that he wouldn't be misquoted or made to look silly, opened up even more, and Jonathan and I got to hear the latest thoughts of the world's leading authority on impacts, straight from the horse's mouth.

Jonathan continued covering missions even after he began suffering serious effects from MS. At the last Voyager encounter, Neptune in 1989, Jonathan got around JPL in an electric go-cart and his unmotorized "acoustic" wheelchair. We managed to get him into sushi restaurants as usual, and even if his mobility was somewhat limited, his passion for good writing, good science, good music, and good food remained unrestrained. There were even a few advantages to his situation; I pushed him in his acoustic chair through a mob on the JPL plaza, and everyone made way for us, giving us a front-row spot for Chuck Berry's "Farewell Voyager" concert.

I had so many great moments like that with Jonathan that I could write many pages more, but it would be a sad and, ultimately, futile exercise. If you didn't know him, you missed an indescribably unique individual; if you did know him, you've got as many great stories to tell as I do.

When I came home from Viking, I tried to describe some of my fantastic experiences to a friend who, unknown to me, had followed the mission through Jonathan's award-winning coverage in Science News. When I happened to mention Jonathan, my friend looked deeply impressed for the first time. "Jonathan Eberhart!" he exclaimed. "You know Jonathan Eberhart?"

I was proud then, and I am proud now, to say that I did.

Mark Washburn
Philadelphia, Pa.

It has been a long time since I saw Jonathan at work. I don't think he knew who I was, but I could never forget him. Nobody could. He was one of the few reporters I knew I could never equal. He didn't just write about space. His spirit seemed to inhabit some kind of higher plane; he had an affinity for space and the scientists who explored it that few could match. Perhaps his musicianship and his ability to put the people and places of space science into verse made his specialness obvious, but there was more to his art than that. When he spoke up at press conferences, we all listened carefully, as his questions often had more meaning than the answers he got. Then we'd all wait to see what he wrote but we missed.

Charles W. Petit
USNews & World Report
Washington, D.C.

No planetary mission at JPL was complete without Jonathan, his guitar, and his unending willingness to help other reporters from his tremendous store of background knowledge, insights into mission personalities, and jovial company during long nights of waiting for fresh reports from the solar system. I'll miss him, as will scores of other long-time newsroom denizens. I hope his family knows what a splendid contribution he made to the public's appreciation of what those missions meant to our storehouse of exciting new knowledge about our planetary neighbors.

David Perlman
San Francisco Chronicle
San Francisco, Calif.

Jonathan was a bear of a man. He looked like one, and he acted like one when he was digging for details to flesh out what was some of the best reporting in the business on NASA and the space program. Jonathan was a fascinating man whose wide-ranging depth of knowledge and dedication to his job made him an inspiration to the entire staff. Working with him was a pleasure, a constant learning experience, and often a challenge. He could be frustrating when he made us hold the presses while he got NASA to send the latest photos from Mars. But it was always worth the wait. And he more than made up for it when he sang his beautiful ballad about Mars or said, "Let's get some sushi."

Bob Trotter
Washington, D.C.
Colleague at Science News, 1969–77; editor, 1977–81

Jonathan was an unforgettable character and a wonderful writer about the Apollo manned space program and the golden age of early unmanned planetary exploration. Although about the same age as me (both of us young!), he was already a veteran reporter at Science News when I arrived there in May 1969, shortly before the first moon landing, which of course he covered, from first Cape Canaveral and then Houston. Big, bearded, with intense brown eyes and a disdain for a tidy desk and for anything but the most casual clothes, he was an imposing figure, but he had an intense curiosity and incredibly broad interests and knowledge. He covered all the early Apollo missions and became well known and respected in the space community. His passion for space just shined through, and the space scientists loved his company as a result.

The highlight of his Science News career had to be his coverage of the Viking landing on Mars in July 1976. He and I agreed in advance that this was so scientifically significant that he should move from Washington to Pasadena for half a year to be close to mission control at JPL. He found a way to do that inexpensively so we could afford it. From there, he then reported and wrote incredibly well-informed news articles about the continuing discoveries of the two Viking spacecraft on Mars in 30 straight issues of Science News, a wonderful series that was later recognized by his winning that year's AAAS-Westinghouse Science Writing Award for magazines. One of the judges later told me Jonathan's Viking stories stood out far ahead of all the other entries. It was a wonderful recognition of work about which he and all of us were incredibly proud.

In addition to his space writing, Jonathan had almost a second life as an ethnomusicologist, working with folk musicians such as Pete Seeger, doing a weekly middle-of-the-night folk music show on a Washington radio station, and even recording several albums. One of the albums carries his plaintive song, loved by the Viking scientists, about Mars when it once must have had plentiful water and a warm, inviting climate.

Jonathan loved good food, the more interesting and exotic the better. After an extended visit to Japan playing and lecturing about American folk music, courtesy of the USIA (I think), he came back and introduced us all (including many planetary scientists) to sushi. He loved learning and experiencing new things, and that lively curiosity and intelligence to me always represented what was best about those who made Science News what it was. Jonathan will be missed.

Ken Frazier
Sandia National Laboratories
Albuquerque, N.M.
Colleague at Science News, 1969–71; editor, 1971–77

Jon and I shared a passion for music, wordcraft, and all things Japanese. My fondest memories of him involve the frequent retreats we used to take to our favorite sushi bar after a week's deadlines were met. There we would test each other's skill in a challenging word game of his devising: One of us would feed the other the first and third lines of a limerick (thus establishing both the subject and the rhyming scheme), which the recipient then had to complete while observing some complicated rules that kept evolving over the years. I also introduced my children to folk music by sharing his album with them. He was a good friend and an esteemed colleague, whom I will continue to remember fondly.

John Douglas
Palo Alto, Calif.
Colleague at Science News, 1973-1982

Jonathan never suffered fools, which could make him very intimidating. But for the scores who earned his respect, Jonathan's patience and generosity knew no bounds.

I was fortunate to win his close friendship, shortly after joining Science News—a bond that was to endure throughout the 14 years we worked together. Though his office and home were disheveled and chaotic, his mind proved anything but. Jonathan's breadth of knowledge—in science, music, or any other topic that caught his interest—proved nothing less than astounding. Over time, I learned that it reflected the fact that he immersed himself in a scholarly pursuit of even the tiniest minutia about his pet interests. Intensely principled, he was most of all curious.

Our readers knew him as a reporter who diligently covered the birth and adolescence of human space flight and of space exploration. At least an equal part of his life, however, focused on more cultural endeavors. He loved Japanese art, poetry, and ruminating life's eternal riddles over a glass of good brandy.

Jonathan had an insatiable appetite for good foods, especially those from exotic cuisines—we're talking about arcane sushi combinations, Ghanaian stews, and Nepalese birianis. Moreover, he wasn't above pestering restauranteurs to get recipes for some of their more unusual entrees.

Jonathan's idea for one of the dinner parties that we co-hosted came from his favorite Spanish brandy. Once he had settled on the theme, every recipe had to be authentic—to the point that he sent me scuttling to libraries all over town for cookbooks authored by Spaniards (never mind that most of the measurements were metric). After lengthy deliberations on the relative merits of things like white versus green or red gazpacho, and meat versus fowl, he further vetted each recipe that looked promising to make sure it came from the same region as the brandy. To understand what ingredients we might substitute for those that proved unattainable on this side of the Atlantic, Jonathan phoned the embassy and grilled some cultural attaché for 40 minutes. I recall listening to him also phone a chef in town to ascertain how many saffron threads would constitute "a pinch" and where Spanish expats in D.C. hunted down their preferred olives. This research was quintessential Jonathan.

Finally, as this party was to celebrate a quite-pricey libation, he decided to make it a formal, black-tie affair. Surprisingly, none of our invitees balked—and it may be the only time Jonathan donned a tux (at least willingly).

When this folklorist discovered our shared interest in ethnomusicology, he began regularly playing me recordings from his collection of some 4000 albums—particularly LPs of what is now referred to as world music: To my surprise, Jonathan had written jacket notes for some of those ethnic albums in his collection (and mine), ones issued by Nonesuch as part of its Explorer series. Over the years, we might discuss the seeming African influence in the drumming of southern Indian folk music, the cultural role of the didgeridoo in Australian aboriginal music, or why we liked Balinese gamelans better than Javanese. (Indeed, at his nudging, I for a time joined a Balinese gamelan [orchestra] at the Indonesian embassy.)

Although I attended a number of concerts by The Boarding Party, a sea-shanty ensemble Jonathan helped found, I will most treasure the memories of my friend's melodic baritone-bass voice in solo serenades after work. My favorites were his ballads, especially "Solar Privateer."

In everything he did, Jonathan Eberhart exhibited an inspiring gusto to make things memorable. I think I speak for everyone at Science News in saying we mourn this singularly special man.

Janet Raloff
Colleague at Science News, 1977–91

I have known Jonathan Eberhart since the early 70's. He was a very special friend to me and to my family. I had the experience of working with him for many years in the world of traditional music—on his solo album "Life's Trolley Ride," with The Boarding Party—a sea-shanty (and other songs of the sea and waters) a capella singing group, with the Folklore Society of Greater Washington, and with the Washington Folk Festival. He was an outstanding musician and songwriter, as well as a researcher par excellence for new songs and the history of old songs.

Jonathan's essence is in his songs. His warmth, humor, intelligence, eclecticism, and even his eccentricities are all in his wonderful music. Jonathan had an impact on everyone he ever met, whether a one-time dinner companion at his favorite restaurant or a longtime music or science/space friend.

The memories and messages are pouring in from around the country from his friends in the folk music community and can be read by accessing www.mudcat.org and going to 'Threads'. His music is being played and sung throughout the folk music community. Sounds like he is still with us all.

Mia Gardiner
Falls Church, Va.

Jonathan was a larger-than-life figure and may have been the only true genius I've ever known. The grasp, speed, and depth of his mind were simply astonishing. Jon and I spent more than a decade working together musically, and almost forty years as friends. We sailed on the sloop Clearwater with Pete Seeger, poked around Japan looking for traditional musicians, and shared an interest in music from all over the world. A meticulous researcher of the material he performed, Jonathan was an amazing improviser on stage. He and I shared a remarkable musical empathy, but it took all my wits, and attention to keep up with him. We shared a love of Gilbert and Sullivan, Lewis Carroll, and all sorts of word games. On long trips we'd improvise lyrics to songs from the exit signs along the highway. I delighted in his company and I shall sorely miss him. More than a bit of him will be with me always.

Andy Wallace
American Folklife Center, Library of Congress
Washington, D.C.

Jonathan was the only unmitigated genius I've ever known.

I loved his music, his poetry in song, his power, his drive, his impatience, his continuous curiosity, his bawdy-house piano, his rough-and-tumble voice (which could also gentle down to a heartbreaking tenderness in a song like "Laurel" or his "Lament for a Red Planet "—which is actually a love song, too), his brilliant wit, his vast vocabulary, and his willingness to express himself without reserve. He was larger than life, and now he's gone, and I find myself weeping.

I am glad I was given the opportunity to help capture a bit of his music for all of us to share—his solo work, his part in The Boarding Party, and his extremely important contributions to Folk-Legacy's two recordings of Helen Schneyer.

Fare well, Jonathan. I hope you know how much we'll miss you.

Sandy Paton
Folk-Legacy Records
Sharon, Conn.

Jonathan was just one of those bigger-than-life people. . . . He was a founder of the Folklore Society of Greater Washington in October 1964, one of the founders and proponents of the Washington Folk Festival at Glen Echo (Park). . .and a member of the Ring Shouters [which performed at the United States Pavilion at the 1970 World's Fair in Japan]. He also performed solo and with The Boarding Party [a sea shanty singing group]. . . . He was even a member of the Sunshine Skiffle Band as a jug player. In fact, that was probably the last gig he did. Even in his wheelchair he could play the jug. . . .

He was a gentle man and very independent.

A lot of us loved him dearly.

Mary Cliff
WETA-FM
Arlington, Va.

IN HIS WORDS AND MUSIC. . .

Life's Trolley Ride

To hear Jonathan singing the song, click here.

As a child at half-fare, when your seat you would share
With a traveler foot-weary or old,
You were earning your way on a route that would pay
In a token more worthy than gold.

When you come to the end of your life's trolley ride,
Just recall all the rails you have known.
In the carbarn you'll find rest and sweet peace of mind;
God's conductor won't strand you alone.

Put your fare in the hand of the Lord's motorman,
And ride on toward the end of the line.
The conductor will har as your last stop draws near,
And he'll warn you in plenty of time.

When you come to the end of your life's trolley ride,
Just recall all the rails you have known.
In the carbarn you'll find rest and sweet peace of mind;
God's conductor won't strand you alone.

As the click of each tie marks the years passing by,
Shun all sidings of hatred and crime.
You'll transfer, by and by, to that route in the sky,
Where the streetcars will all run on time.

When you come to the end of your life's trolley ride,
Just recall all the rails you have known.
In the carbarn you'll find rest and sweet peace of mind;
God's conductor won't strand you alone.

Words and Music, Jonathan Eberhart ©1980
Also ©2003 Wood Song Ventures

A Solar Privateer

No racehorse ever champed the bit like a solar privateer;
To make flank speed on the sunlight's push is like to take a year.
But when you're out with the stars set right, 'tis a sight to make you cry:
No blast nor flames to rattle your brains—a seagull in the sky.

On a big freightline you can make out fine, breaking orbit furled up tight.
With a hotbox booster on your tail, you can make escape alright.
But the privateer knows the "dead-man's year" on a drift to vee-sub-ee,
With naught to do but sleep and stew till a sunbeam sets you free.

It's when he's out on the dark-and-deep can the solar sailor smile.
No cold LOX tanks or reactor banks—just Mylar by the mile.
No stormy blast to rattle the mast—a sober wind and true.
Just haul and tack and ball the jack like the waterlubbers do.

It's a long road out and a long road back, just drifting on the sun.
Your lover's hair will all grow long, a-pining for your fun,
Till looking upward from the ground, she'll know you've ceased to roam:
A golden spark in the endless dark—the light has brought you home.

Words and Music, Jonathan Eberhart ©1980
Also ©2003 Wood Song Ventures

Lament for a Red Planet

Ten thousand times a hundred thousand dusty years ago,
Where now extends the Plain of Gold did once my river flow.
It stroked the stones and spoke in tongues and splashed against my face,
Till ages rolled—the sun shone cold on this unholy place.

So many stars bedeck my skies where once there were but few,
But oh, to know again the clouds that hid them from my view.
My ochred cliffs and rusted sands stand regal and serene,
But oh, my wan and wasted world, I miss your blue and green.

But it's just the weight of waiting, not a deathwatch o'er a friend;
Tomorrow has a starting as does yesterday an end.
For the water of my river and the air that was my wind,
Though bound in rocks and wint'ry wastes, I pray may flow again.

Words and Music, Jonathan Eberhart ©1980
Also ©2003 Wood Song Ventures

Odd Jobs

I've traveled all over the system, prospecting and digging for ore;
I've lasered, hydraulicked and waldoed, been baked, frozen, tired and sore.
Been baked, frozen, tired and sore,
Been baken, frozen, tired, and sore.
I've lasered, hydraulicked and waldoed, been baked, frozen, tired and sore.

I've sledded for sulfur on IO, gone blasting for water on Mars.
My skin is all crusty and blacked from the rays of the sun and the stars.
From the rays of the sun and the stars,
From the rays of the sun and the stars.
My skin is all crusty and blacked from the rays of the sun and the stars.

While building Space Colony Alpha, I worked on the moon for a year.
The oxygen came from the boulders, and you know what they gave us for beer.
And you know what they gave us for beer,
And you know what they gave us for beer.
The oxygen came from the boulders, and you know what they gave us for beer.

Though asteroid mining is risky, I guess it beats having to beg,
But cloning new arms is a nuisance, and insurance will cost you a leg.
And insurance will cost you a leg,
And insurance will cost you a leg.
But cloning new arms is a nuisance, and insurance will cost you a leg.

I've fought radiation and punctures, breathed poison and lived in a dome.
It's tough at one gee on the green hills of Earth, but by God, there's no place like home.
But by God, there's no place like home,
But by God, there's no place like home.
It's tough at one gee on the green hills of Earth, but by God, there's no place like home.

Words and Music, Jonathan Eberhart ©1980
Also ©2003 Wood Song Ventures

The Viking Rag

On the twentieth day of August in 1975,
Came the big countdown, and the crew on the ground
Said, "The bird is now alive."
They sent me off to old Barsoom, just looking at a planet with some elbow room,
But there's dust and snow—what a crazy kind of place for me to love it so—
More dismal and deserted than the Plain of Jars, but I love it and I call it Mars.

I flew a Hohmann transfer function for nigh on about of a year,
And the folks on Earth tried to find me a berth,
But I though they'd let me rust up here.
I cuddled up close to my RTG's to protect my innards from a fatal freeze—
I wish the journey weren't so slow;
With more specific impulse we could make it go.
So dig out your NERVA, patch up the leaks, we're gonna make the trip in weeks.

On the twentieth day of July in 1976,
I did my number when they hollered "go," but I could have been in a fix.
I got to the bottom of the gravity well,
And it went okay, but I was scared as hell—
How'd you like to see the Chryse Plains with 800 Earthlings picking your brains?
But if there's a message in a mission to Mars, it's gotta be Tomorrow the Stars!

Words and Music, Jonathan Eberhart ©1980
Also ©2003 Wood Song Ventures

Jonathan's Albums

Eberhart, J. 1981. Life's Trolley Ride (CD-82). Sharon, Conn.: Folk-Legacy Records. [includes title cut and "Lament for a Red Planet"]

Eberhart, J., et al. as The Boarding Party. 1983. 'Tis Our Sailing Time (CD-97). Sharon, Conn.: Folk-Legacy Records.

Eberhart, J., et al. as The Boarding Party. 1987. Fair Winds and a Following Sea (CD-109). Sharon, Conn.: Folk-Legacy Records.

Eberhart, J., et al. as The Boarding Party. 2003. (CD-131, due out soon). Too Far from the Shore. Sharon, Conn.: Folk-Legacy Records. [includes "The Solar Privateer"]

Folk-Legacy Records has a Web site at http://www.folklegacy.com/.