"The stars are far brighter
Than gems without measure,
The moon is far whiter
Than silver in treasure."
-- JRR Tolkien's The Hobbit

Though just an excerpt, these four lines from one of the acclaimed author's poems manage to further beguile the would-be astronomer. But if Greek mythology suits one better than, say, Bilbo, Gandalf and Thorin (a hobbit, old wizard and dwarf lord respectively), then stargazers in the Northern Hemisphere may find a close kinship -- and perhaps some drama -- with things celestial.

There's Cassiopeia, a rather vain queen, according to mythology, married to King Cepheus and the mother of Andromeda, who in fact has her own galaxy.

Peter Lee, an eight-year faculty member at Western Reserve Academy who teaches physics, astronomy and astrophysics, says of Cassiopeia: "She got in trouble because she went around flirting with all of the young princes. It's kind of a soap opera that goes on up there."

While Cassiopeia's marital fidelity may have been questionable, her daughter Andromeda lays claim to something far less racy but perhaps more alluring.

"When you look at the Andromeda Galaxy, it's 150,000 light years across, which means it takes that length of time for light to cross that galaxy," he explains.

So for those inclined to peer at Cassiopeia and her family through a telescope, Lee conducts free astronomy viewings for small groups at the academy's Frost Observatory. (Another WRA observatory that opened 167 years ago but no longer in use is the illustrious Elias Loomis Observatory.)

Winter, with its clear, starry nights, typically would be a good time, "when the atmosphere is cleaner and you don't have all that heat distortion," Lee says.

Along with Cassiopeia and Cepheus, one may find three other notable constellations: Ursa Major (Great Bear), which includes seven stars that comprise the Big Dipper; Ursa Minor (Little Bear), containing the Little Dipper; and Draco the dragon.

The five constellations are circumpolar; that is, they trace circles around the celestial poles -- in this case, the north celestial pole -- and never sink below the horizon, Lee says, affording the viewer a year-round observation.

What stargazers without telescopes are missing from the light above, which is "thousands and thousands of years old," Lee says, may prove even more captivating.

"Once you move into the telescope realm, you can start studying some of the individual craters on the moon, which are breathtaking," Lee says. "And Saturn's rings are amazing ... just unreal."

Old space
In 1836, a well-known Connecticut mathematician and astronomer arrived from what was then called Yale College to the 10-year-old Western Reserve College, now the Western Reserve Academy.

His name was Elias Loomis. He joined the faculty with a commitment from the administration that a campus observatory would be built, says Tom Vince, WRA's archivist and historian.

Loomis also was a noted meteorologist who advocated placing weather stations across the country, an author of many math and astronomy books, "and just a man of wide accomplishments," Vince says.

The observatory commitment came to fruition in 1838, when the Elias Loomis Observatory was dedicated.

That was just a few months after another observatory, the Old Hopkins Observatory, opened at Williams College in Williamstown, Mass., making Loomis one of the very first academic observatories in the country, Vince says.

Facing College Street, the venerable Loomis Observatory is a structure of craggy mortar and brick with a copper dome bearing the same rich green patina as the eavespout that wraps around the roof.

Upon entering the single-floor observatory with Lee, one encounters a sizable framed likeness of Loomis, a creaky wooden floor and the familiar smell of paper, wood and antiquity.

"This is the warming room," Lee says.

A small potbellied stove in the room is a reminder that viewing the stars can be a chilly affair under the sometimes cold night sky with the observatory's roof open.

In the next room, Lee points to an elevated rounded platform, much like a gazebo, under the domed roof housing the brass Newtonian telescope -- attached to a foundation that "goes down 23 feet into the Earth, the major bedrock, so it's pretty stable," Lee says.

The roof is on rollers and has black iron handles attached to allow the entire dome to be manually turned in a circular fashion to line up with the lateral opening for viewing.

In a corner of this room is a tall chair with open wooden slots on both sides and an adjustable square seat, designed like that of a typical slotted oven with a rack that can be raised or lowered.

"It's the original observatory chair," Lee says. "And it adjusts to whatever you're looking at."

He elaborates further and adds, "When looking low on the horizon, the scope's tipped down, so the seat will be higher."

And conversely, when looking at something above the horizon, the telescope is pointed higher, at which time the seat would be inserted into lower slots.

Vince recalls a group from an organization of antique telescope lovers who visited a few years back.

"They literally ran from the bus to the door," Vince says. "They were so enthralled to see the Loomis Observatory."

In the third and last room of the observatory sits another much smaller brass telescope, its structure reminiscent of a Civil War cannon, with a large wheel on either side and the scope in the middle.

Unlike the Newtonian telescope, this one moves only up and down, not left or right, because "you have to go north and south because the Earth tilts throughout the year," Lee says.

"This was the telescope used to determine the time, and there was a telegraph station in here," Lee says. "Back then, time was set on sidereal (si-DER-e-al) time, using the stars, before converting to solar time."

Once the stars were read, the information was sent via telegraph to set clocks across the nation, Lee adds.

The Elias Loomis Observatory has undergone renovations during its 167 years, with the first in 1908, a second during its centennial in 1938 and possibly a third in the late 1980s, Vince says.

In the 1960s, Vince adds, WRA stopped using the observatory because of "too much ground light in Hudson."

New space
Walking across campus on a late fall afternoon, a strong wind flaps Lee's neat red bow tie.

Lee's an energetic and cheerful man, who, during a summer program in 1976 at Cornell University, worked with the late, famed American astronomer Carl Sagan.

Lee says of Sagan, "He was a great guy and a leader of his time."

Approaching a crest on the walkway leading to the tennis courts, Lee nods toward the Frost Observatory and says, "It's the best kept secret."

He's right. One might interpret the unassuming, cement block observatory as a storage unit.

But once inside, an impressive Cassegrain Celestron telescope takes center stage.

The telescope and observatory were a gift in 1982 from Vance and Elaine Frost, whose son Jerry was a WRA graduate that year, Vince says.

Like the Newtonian model at the Loomis Observatory, the Celestron has an eyepiece on the side for viewing. There's also a warming room, only here it's one floor below underneath the viewing platform.

Unlike the Newtonian, however, the Celestron has a motor, "which when turned on rotates at the same rate the Earth is turning," Lee says.

"Once you lock into your position and turn on the motor, it counteracts the rotation of the Earth and will stay on target," Lee adds.

Lee turns a hand crank. The observatory's metal roof slowly lifts above then creeps backward, resting off one side of the structure. Brisk air swoops in. Autumn for many means a glorious palette of color, but for an astronomer like Lee the season creates some obstacles.

"We tend to have two problems in the fall," Lee says. "We have high humidity and high heat, which gives us a very ugly atmosphere."

The refractive heat waves cause distortion, never good for telescopic viewing, Lee says.

His classes do employ telescopic work in the late fall, when it's cooler. But much like a vehicle's windshield on an autumn morning, the Celestron's upper lens gets its share of dew.

"All of a sudden you're looking at your image and it's getting foggier and foggier," Lee says with a grin. "So we use this highly sophisticated piece of equipment."

He reaches down for a portable blow-dryer at the base of the Celestron.

Along with an education, WRA's astronomy students have experienced a dose of levity from their instructor as well.

"One of my favorite tricks is to get a student up on the [small step] ladder when we're looking at the moon," Lee says. "While the student is looking through the eyepiece at the moon, I reach down and shut off the motor."

Knowing what can happen after the deed is done, Lee stands next to the ladder "because invariably they'll fall off because of how fast the moon moves out of the picture."

The telescope is stationary but the Earth is still rotating, Lee adds, so one's equilibrium is left reeling.

Fun aside, WRA students have seen some momentous displays during classes, such as watching meteors and looking directly at the sun, for which a solar lens cover is used.

"That's always a pretty exciting thing to do because you look at the sun and see this bright disc with jet black behind it," Lee says. "Students keep trying to focus, not realizing the black is the space and all the stars beyond the sun ... a huge revelation."

And for the public, the moon holds just as much fascination as the sun.

"They see the moon in the telescope, and it just blows them away," Lee says. "And Mars is impressive when you see the ice caps. But the whole idea of being upside down takes a little bit to get used to."

The optics of the telescope "flips things over," Lee explains, so you see the inverse of the object.

Plans may be to bring digital photography to the observatory, but nothing is definitive at this point, Lee says.

While such an addition would be a benefit to the observatory, not all things in the name of progress necessarily advance astronomy.

"I will get on my soapbox and say that cities are killing us with their light pollution that's eradicated the bottom half of the Big Dipper," Lee says. "I encourage them to be careful with their light planning."

Lee says he hopes to meet with neighboring community officials at some point to discuss the advantages of using light deflectors, which "use less lumens," save money, improve ground lighting and would not interfere with observatory viewings.

Overall, the response to public viewings at the observatory has been well received, so much so that Lee can only take groups of six or fewer at a time.

They are conducted at 9:30 p.m. on the last Friday of the month. Though they are offered usually beginning in late October and run through April or May, with WRA's closing during the holiday season, January seems to be more realistic to begin the viewings without interruption, Lee says.

Those interested may call WRA at 330-650-4400 beginning only on the Monday or after of the viewing week, not before. On the designated Friday, Lee says it's a good idea to phone him at 216-402-0358 around 9 p.m. to make sure the viewing is still scheduled, as air pollution, overcast skies and high winds can be causes for cancellation.

Along with a greater appreciation of things astronomical, the public can walk away with even more than gossip about a particular Greek family, like this tidbit from Lee: "If the sun were to burn out, we wouldn't know it for eight minutes, the amount of time it takes the light to reach the Earth."