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Timothy Ferris
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March 21, 2000 | Science is fast. It is also frighteningly accurate: Using equations provided by 16th
century astronomer Johannes Kepler, we sent a tiny hunk of metal called Voyager on a billion-mile journey to the outer planets and beyond. Our aim in sending Voyager is as accurate as that of a sharpshooter firing a bullet from
Earth and hitting a 1-foot target on the moon. It's not easy to get one's mind around science's achievements, and most of us -- who left science behind
when we lost our high school textbooks -- regard science with a mixture of suspicion and the cold fear that it's generally over our heads.
Here's how he introduces Tycho Brahe, a contemporary of Kepler's, in "Coming of Age in the Milky Way": Tycho was an expansive giant of a man who sported a belly of Jovian proportions and a gleaming metal alloy nose -- the bridge of his original nose had been cut off in a youthful duel. Heroically passionate and wildly eccentric, he dressed like a prince and ruled his domain like a king, tossing scraps to a dwarf named Jep who huddled beneath the dinner table.Ferris goes on to tell how Tycho died of a burst bladder at a formal dinner in his honor because it would have been impolite to excuse himself. Oh yes, and another distinction: Of the billions of human beings who had lived on Earth up until his time -- all of them looking up at the same night sky -- Tycho was the first to document the positions and motions of the stars and planets with scientific accuracy. Such precision allowed Kepler to write the equations that the National Aeronautics and Space Administration used to send Voyager to the outer planets and beyond. Ferris' own nose sits on a handsome and rugged face beneath a wavy frame of brown hair. Sixteenth century lordly airs are hard to come by in these times, and it would be wrong to call the 56-year-old Ferris haughty. But the man has a solid and confident look to him -- the writer at the top of his game. He is given to tweed jackets and khakis that always smell of cigar smoke (he says he has never written a worthwhile sentence without a lighted cigar in hand), and he works from a grand, book-lined office on the bottom floor of his house in San Francisco. It's a remarkable setting: His house is the highest-set private property under Coit Tower, which crowns San Francisco's Telegraph Hill. His view of the Bay Bridge is stunning, and the four floors he shares with his wife, Carolyn Zecca, and son, Patrick, are tastefully rich -- with colors chosen by design guru Don Kaufmann and paintings by his talented wife. He is king of a castle in a sense, and his fellow royalty are such grand-vizier writers as Annie Dillard, Joyce Carol Oates, Hunter S. Thompson and Jim Harrison -- all of whom he considers friends. Like each of them, Ferris has carved out his own literary niche. But while reading a Ferris book may be as easy and entertaining as reading a Dillard book, it's important to remember that the underlying subject matter is very different.
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