By Alexander Carbone
I arrived at the Paramus campus’s parking lot like I always do, only this time it was dusk. Seeing the area nearly abandoned compared to the morning rush was new. I got a lead from The Torch about the weekly Public Viewing nights in the Technology building’s observatory. After wandering around for 30 minutes and inadvertently informing two people that the event was not happening, I talked to Public Safety, who informed me that it was starting in five minutes.
I walked back to the TEC building with other Public Viewing attendees. We signed in on the computer by the door in Room T-222 and ascended the spiral staircase up the tower. The stairwell was lit only by a few dim, red bulbs along the cylindrical wall. At the top were Professor Sean McLearie and two people in white lab coats who had arrived before us. McLearie was preparing the telescope, which was pointed toward the large opening in the metal-domed roof. More eager faces arrived after us as McLearie explained that it would be difficult to view Saturn right now because of tonight’s atmospheric vapor.
McLearie served as a worldly conductor for our journey through the cosmos, both in letting us know where to stand so as not to disrupt any of the observatory’s moving parts, as well as being an invaluable, cornucopian source of astronomy facts and humorous quips that further engaged us as an audience.
When it was my turn to view the various celestial bodies, I was awe-struck by the circular images before me. Saturn’s rings could be seen as a thin line extended beyond the top and bottom of the gas giant, subverting the typical horizontal angle I was used to seeing in books and pictures online. Sure, it was blurry and shaky, as McLearie said. But to still be able to make out that familiar shape beyond the haze was a reassuring and comforting experience.
Our transition from one point in the sky to the next was consistently determined by the locomotive “chug-chug-chug” of the roof above us as it turned to accommodate the dutiful, WALL-E-esque whirring of the rotating telescope below. Our next stop was the moon, craters and all. McLearie informed us that the smallest craters we could see were about a mile in diameter, leaving me feeling humbled by the scale of it all. We would go on to see various stars and galaxies, each with its own stories for our encyclopedic guide to tell. The night concluded with one more attempt to view Saturn. This time, it was much easier to see, as it had risen higher into the sky, overcoming the haze with its light. We could even make out Titan, the planet’s largest moon, as McLearie reflected on the wonderful story of NASA’s Cassini mission.
The atmosphere under the dome was reserved and polite, with everyone unsure of how to take turns going up the three-stepped ladder next to the eyepiece.
“Who’s going next?”
“Are you waiting?”
“Well, if no one else is going…”
The consensus of reactions on top of the ladder were hushed expressions of awe. Many a “Wow!” “Whoa!” and “So cool!” permeated the subdued chirping of the local fauna and distant, dulled blares of commuter trains. The whisperings and overall tranquil environment we contributed to reflected a certain reverence we all shared for the infinite expanse.
As I left and thanked McLearie for allowing us to take this journey with him, I thought about how grateful I was to be able to experience all of this and how I hoped more people would consider attending in the future.
The next Public Viewing night will be on Friday, Oct. 31 at 7:30 p.m. but expect to wait a bit for the viewing to start. Patience is a virtue, after all, and it is very much worth it.
