5
Wavefronts that meet the eye or the mirror of a telescope in this way are no
longer plane but corrugated. In sites such as the Canarian summits the stars
do not twinkle and their coruscations no longer blur the distant objects
beyond them. The performance of telescopes is therefore substantially
improved. To further complicate matters, as we increase its diameter, the telescope mirror becomes ever more sensitive to such atmospheric disturbances,
and we must be stringent in our requirements concerning the choice of
observing site.
The preparations for the 1959 eclipse in the Canarian archipelago prompted
many astronomers to recall earlier scientific expeditions that told of the marvels of the sky seen from the island summits. They urged their Spanish colleagues to take steps to ensure that the Canary Islands be included among the
sites under consideration for future large telescopes. For this to occur Spain
needed to get involved immediately by carrying out astronomical site prospection campaigns on the summits of Tenerife.
The task of bringing this international message to the attention of the government fell to José María Torroja, Professor of Astronomy and Geodesy of
the Madrid Complutense University, and Father Antonio Romañá, Director
of the Ebro Jesuit Observatory, a major figure in the then recently created
Upper Council for Science and Research (CSIC, after its Spanish initials).
Both had been trying in vain for three or four years to bring about the creation of an astronomical observatory within the precincts of the Izaña
Meteorological Observatory. With the coming of the eclipse, the Spanish
authorities (more to save face than anything else) finally allowed themselves to
be persuaded, and the Ministry of National Education created—on paper—
the Teide Observatory, to be placed under the authority of the Chancellor of
the University of La Laguna. Professor Torroja was appointed its director.
When it comes to science, our politicians need to be shamed into taking action.
Understanding any story requires that we locate ourselves in the place and
time concerned with all the attendant circumstances. While research was forging ahead in more advanced countries, in Spain it languished. University lecturers did little or no research but were nevertheless regarded as demigods
(students were obliged to attend examinations wearing a tie, and to stand
when lecturers wafted by in the corridor). That was nothing compared to the
chancellors, who were exalted beings until, a quarter of a century later, their
numbers swelled with the explosive growth of universities in Spain. I mention
these details to provide a backdrop to my own entry onto the scene.
I was attracted to research and in my final undergraduate year I was permitted to ‘work’ at CSIC’s Daza de Valdés Optics Institute, a rare privilege at the
1 Perhaps It All Began with an Eclipse (1959–1961)
Wavefronts that meet the eye or the mirror of a telescope in this way are no
longer plane but corrugated. In sites such as the Canarian summits the stars
do not twinkle and their coruscations no longer blur the distant objects
beyond them. The performance of telescopes is therefore substantially
improved. To further complicate matters, as we increase its diameter, the telescope mirror becomes ever more sensitive to such atmospheric disturbances,
and we must be stringent in our requirements concerning the choice of
observing site.
The preparations for the 1959 eclipse in the Canarian archipelago prompted
many astronomers to recall earlier scientific expeditions that told of the marvels of the sky seen from the island summits. They urged their Spanish colleagues to take steps to ensure that the Canary Islands be included among the
sites under consideration for future large telescopes. For this to occur Spain
needed to get involved immediately by carrying out astronomical site prospection campaigns on the summits of Tenerife.
The task of bringing this international message to the attention of the government fell to José María Torroja, Professor of Astronomy and Geodesy of
the Madrid Complutense University, and Father Antonio Romañá, Director
of the Ebro Jesuit Observatory, a major figure in the then recently created
Upper Council for Science and Research (CSIC, after its Spanish initials).
Both had been trying in vain for three or four years to bring about the creation of an astronomical observatory within the precincts of the Izaña
Meteorological Observatory. With the coming of the eclipse, the Spanish
authorities (more to save face than anything else) finally allowed themselves to
be persuaded, and the Ministry of National Education created—on paper—
the Teide Observatory, to be placed under the authority of the Chancellor of
the University of La Laguna. Professor Torroja was appointed its director.
When it comes to science, our politicians need to be shamed into taking action.
Understanding any story requires that we locate ourselves in the place and
time concerned with all the attendant circumstances. While research was forging ahead in more advanced countries, in Spain it languished. University lecturers did little or no research but were nevertheless regarded as demigods
(students were obliged to attend examinations wearing a tie, and to stand
when lecturers wafted by in the corridor). That was nothing compared to the
chancellors, who were exalted beings until, a quarter of a century later, their
numbers swelled with the explosive growth of universities in Spain. I mention
these details to provide a backdrop to my own entry onto the scene.
I was attracted to research and in my final undergraduate year I was permitted to ‘work’ at CSIC’s Daza de Valdés Optics Institute, a rare privilege at the
1 Perhaps It All Began with an Eclipse (1959–1961)