Cayuga Heights / Ithaca, New York

December 27, 1996

Cayuga Heights --- December, 1996 --- and beyond.

Ithaca, this lovely confluence of scholarship and all-city America entwined in exquisite embrace.

And now, here in Cayuga Heights, above the commerce, fast food eateries, and congested streets, academia and elegant neighborhood are at one, and at peace.

This is a place serene enough for any travel weary Odysseus to return to. He too had begun his epic travels at another place, another distant Troy.

The name of the cemetery in the newspaper obit must have been noted incorrectly, because there is no 'Lakeside' cemetery in Ithaca. Intuition demands that it must be 'Lakeview', because that name does appear on my list of possible Ithaca cemeteries, and it is near the street given in the obit as the cemetery's address.

So, after what seems like hours of map reading, hilly and tortuous roads, and the frustration of being able to see Lakeview on top of the hill, my laboring vehicle and I finally reach the caretaker's building.

But, it's a one-way-out street, narrow and at a steep incline up. The caretaker is nowhere to be found. The prospect of walking and searching, all uphill, does not appeal to me. Obviously I need an entrance, not an exit.

Well, back to the city streets.

Another half an hour of Ithaca's gorges and One way streets brings me abruptly to a small sign announcing that I've found Lakeview Cemetery. This time I've found an entrance. The narrow entrance driveway brings me almost immediately to a tiny, but adequate, parking spot, which I arrogantly fill to overflowing.

For the small city of Ithaca this is quite a large cemetery. And how do they keep it so well hidden? It's odd; it appeared so much smaller from the outside? Sort of a "Dr. Who" arrangement? But, I guess that's fitting for the traveler I seek.

Now then, where do I start looking? And the answer, as always, concerns beginnings and delicacy.

I am here on the 27th; death occurred on a Friday, the 20th, a continent and a lifetime away, with burial here on the 23rd. To take care of all the arrangements in a scant three days implies, at least to me, that we are dealing with a cremation. The small box to ship, the small amount of frozen earth to scrape open in the winter; this all makes sense. And I expect some sort of marker. I will be wrong on all accounts.

This is one of the nicest late December days I can ever recall in the Finger Lakes region of New York. It is more like an early October day, sunny with temperatures easily in the fifties. Calm, no snow on the ground, no wind. It is a perfect day for exploring a cemetery, especially downhill. And, as far as I can see, it appears that I am entirely alone.

It could take a couple of hours to search if there are no other clues. I have all day. The mere presence of a small bulletin board next to my parked car promises the possibility of quick results. Perhaps a notice of where burial has taken place for those arriving late? A registry? Perhaps some sort of computer print out showing which sections are new?

No such luck. So I start walking.

I have not walked even a hundred feet before I see it

A full length burial, no cremation this, and no marker. But, there is no doubt that I have found Carl Sagan's final resting place. Because, to the immediate left, there are stone markers set in the ground over his parents' graves, with their names engraved. At the head of his plot are only two things, a small bouquet of still fresh flowers and a scale model depiction of a radio telescope fashioned from a Lego block set. No name is needed.

He and Annie have a son, Sam, age 5. The probable connection to the Lego toy set is inescapable, and I am not emotionally prepared to handle it. Through the barren trees of December in the distance, a quiet, blue lake is just visible.

An odyssey to the stars and back is complete. Odysseus is home, and amongst friends.

I feel like some triumphant Schlieman unearthing the treasures of the Troad.

I return later in the day to leave a small candle flickering its message near the radio telescope.

Like all messages to the stars, we cannot yet know if any have been received.

Over the next few months I return several times with friends who also wish to pay their belated respects. We leave small white stones of remembrance. And, I leave stones for others, in absentia, their love radiant from across a continent.

By August, a lush mantle of green grass covers this Renaissance man, this mortal man.

If you seek Odysseus, look around you; he sails the solar wind.

We shall not forget this warrior; Carl Sagan's eternal spirit permeates us.

And, the Earth IS small, AND blue, AND beautiful.

David Bodner,Tully, NY

August 14, 1999

Sunrise; The Commons at Ithaca.

It is the late morning of November 8th on the Plain at Ithaca. Little more than a month remains until the first anniversary of Carl Sagan's death. Only one day remains until what would have been his 63rd birthday.

This celebration will be about that birthday, about Science, and about democracy.

The weather is wet, cold, and generally miserable. No one seems to notice.

The Planets are waiting to speak.

But first, numerous dignitaries deliver their festive messages inside, in the Atrium at Center Ithaca. A standing crowd of about 300, some hanging precariously over the balcony of the Atrium, hear Bill Nye speak of greatness and of gratitude. The greatness of the Cosmos, the greatness of mankind, and the greatness of a particular mortal, our friend and neighbor, Carl Sagan. Bill Nye speaks of the gratitude of a thankful, blue planet.

Most of the Sagan family is there. They will be comforting us, more than the other way around, on this bittersweet occasion. This birthday party without a cake.

Mrs. Sagan sits behind the podium, facing us, on our left. Ann Druyan hangs on every word, her head bobbing up And down in silent agreement as the notables give their remembrances of Carl. Her personal thoughts of her husband will come later.

Cari Sagan Greene, Carl's sister, who three times gave Her bone marrow, who three times suffered that painful procedure, who three times saw medical failure, sits silently, nearly anonymously, amidst the three rows of family and close friends between us and the podium. Carl's and Annie's children, Sam, about 6, and, Sasha, mid teens, sit next to their mother. A mother now brushing away tears, tears of loss and tears of joy. Approximately 20 other children sit directly facing the podium, on the floor, between the family seating and the podium. This is a day or children. A crowd of those children, of all ages, now waits for Ithaca to become the center of their universe, at least for this day.

After about a 45 minute program, which includes flowers for Ann Druyan and for Ithaca artist, Erin Caruth, who has done much of the art work for the Sagan Planet Walk, the ceremonies are adjourned. We are to meet again, outside, in about 30 minutes.

Now, people scurry about to pick up their passports to the Planets, in anticipation of a voyage of discovery from The Sun to Pluto.

It is close to Noon on a dismal day in Ithaca. But The Sun is about to shine to guide us on our journeys. We gather in front of The Sun monument, donated by Ann Druyan and about to be dedicated by her. She delivers a short speech about her wonderful husband and their wonderful life.

The Sun is ready, cloaked within an ornate cloth cover. It is a quantum previous to Noon, but sunrise yet approaches on the Plain at Ithaca.

Using a pulley system attached to the top of a nearby utility pole, Annie pulls the covering from the monument.

A Star Ignites.

The drizzle continues, but our spirits are warmed by this gorgeous monument.

A Star Ablaze.

This celebration of life also has its warts. This day is Also about democracy, and the free expression thereof. But within limits. Across the plaza, a small group of protesters has been holding up a large sign in opposition to the placing of five, out of a total of ten monuments, on The Commons. They would have preferred that The Sun and The inner planets be at the other end, at The Sciencenter, With Pluto at this end. They are making a point that, with This many monuments, The Commons looks like a graveyard! Even cynical I had not thought of this; now we appreciate Annie's courage even more.

The point IS that Carl would have wanted his common people to see the central monument, The Sun, in all its glory, here. Here, at The Commons, where they work and shop and live. Not for those already interested enough to go to a museum, but for all. To start the wonder process. To connect with The People.

It is notable that when Annie begins speaking the protesters voluntarily lower their sign, to raise it anew after she finishes. Lowering it during her remarks is fortunate, because we would possibly have lowered it FOR them had they not themselves. It is apparent that they, too, respect this good woman.

She sends us on our way, on our voyage of discovery to The far-flung reaches of the solar system, promising to greet us again at Pluto.

The Planets, set in their own individual transparent Plastic chambers in the monuments, each monument about three feet high, cover a distance of a mile. Done at an incredible distance and size scale of five billion to one, some of the planets and moons are barely visible.

Now we walk, passports in hand, outward through the Commons, the terrestrial planets, through the streets filled with happy travelers, stopping to have our passports stamped, evidence of a mission of hope.

The first four planets, assembled for our inspection on The Commons, should take only seconds to cruise through.

But, with all these people, we feel as if we're going through Customs at each stop. So the times are not accurate, and we will just have to come back sometime when the crowds are gone to get accurate walking times.

Each planetfall has its own unique inspiration to share with us.

Miniscule Mercury is but a speck of magnetic iron. It delivers its message of defiance and hope, hard-by a frightful fusion furnace.

Venerable Venus, shy beneath perpetual, poisonous clouds, beckons the unwary who would dare come.

A pale blue dot signifies to all the hope and togetherness that must be our Earth. We have arrived at the first and foremost of the two binary planet systems of System Sol.

Earth is all that Luna cannot be. Earth speaks of humanity and of their destiny.

Mysterious Mars tells tales and haunts all with each new visit. This walk-by visit is no different. Mars waits for humankind and contemplates its coming. Mars speaks of glories past and glories yet to be.

We have reached the edge of the Ithaca Commons, only A few hundred feet from The Sun.

Now, across an enormous gulf of space, of but a few moments walking time, we encounter magnificent, jovial, Jupiter. Lavishly colored, awash in moons, this Planet speaks with lightning, storms, hurricanes, and worlds uncharted above its cloudtops.

A few minutes pass as we walk onward through the dreary weather, though not as unpleasant by far as actually being where we would seem to be.

Splendid Saturn, rings reminiscent of an early Earth that we cannot recall. We would now be more than an hour away from the Sun, even traveling at the speed of light. But we have done it in less than a = hour. Such is the power of walking and the correct scale factor!

Ungainly Uranus, reclined on its side in orbit, some colossal collision no doubt inspiring this wayward motion.

Nefarious Neptune, blue, beckoning us as would home. But trust not this as a water world, for it is not. We are seeing its atmosphere and clouds. Hydrogen, Helium, Methane; no home here. We're far out at this outpost; but there's another yet waiting that's further still, at times.

Pint-sized Pluto, along with even smaller Charon, representing another binary. Another set of specks in the plastic. But here, where the warmth cannot be from Sol, it IS from reaching our destination at The Sciencenter.

A festive reception assures the intrepid travelers That this has been a virtual trip only. The warmth of humanity, here in Ithaca, shines brightly at this last outpost.

My wife and I, and our two friends, enter orbit about Pluto/Charon. This day, Pluto/Charon has multitudes of fellow travelers. A tent has been set up outside the Sciencenter to accommodate the expected crowd. Free entrance to the museum is available to all those bearing a proper passport.

It soon becomes apparent to us that a guiding rule of planetary behavior must be that all Planetary Binaries, at least in this System, provide food. This last outpost is well stocked with complimentary munchies.

We realize that this day has been, indeed, a party planned for US. And we thought that we were just observers! The cheese is there, but without those pesky toothpicks. I won't be digging those stale memories out of my pocket six months from now. Large slabs of cheese, four or five inches long, maybe a couple of ounces each, plenty to go around. And they'll need plenty; several hundred hungry space voyagers descend on the tent and the Sciencenter. Cider, apples, coffee, doughnuts, Mars Bars (what else!). And No music; we can actually converse with each other.

The time for remarks draws near again. The head of The Planetary Society, Louis Friedman; Our Science Guy, Bill Nye; Mrs. Sagan, Ann Druyan; the Executive Director of the Sciencenter, Charles Trautman; these and many more make comments.

We position ourselves only a few feet from the podium. Our lady friend, who's come to Ithaca today with us, smiles big and actually makes eye contact with Annie, who smiles back and winks at her. Neither lady is apt to forget that exchange.

I break all my own rules for taking pictures and use flash at close range. It is such a dismal day outside, and we are so far from The Sun, that not enough light permeates this open tent to make pictures possible. Even though I'm using 400 speed film. I pray that the people on the podium understand. Flashes abound from many cameras, and it must be a tough day in some ways for those caught in that glare.

After their remarks, the speakers mingle with the crowd. Some of us overcome our initial hesitancy and ask for autographs and handshakes. One of those I meet is Annie, just briefly; an autograph and a handshake, a few words, and hen she's on to someone else. Our lady friend meets Annie, and Annie mentions the eye contact with the good vibes that they'd made. This highest temporal point is an emotional apoapsis. Strangely enough, this is also a spatial periapsis in our orbit of greatness.

Later, inside, the four of us are just getting ready to walk back to where our car is parked. A small group of people whiz by us, including a lady with a big smile. She waves at us, saying goodbye. We wave back at Carl Sagan’s wonderful wife and wish her a good day, also.

Carl would enjoy the trip. Carl has made the trip.

Wonderful Husband,

Wonderful Life,

Star Ablaze,

Wonderful Wife.

David A. Bodner, August 14, 1999 Tully, New York

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Essays on Carl Sagan, by 4Carl Club Founder Dave Bodner