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It is a special pleasure to present Baerbel Koesters Lucchitta for the Gilbert Award. The great breadth of her interests and scientific contributions mirrors the breadth of Gilbert himself; her scientific career has unfolded in the same organization for which Gilbert served as the first Chief Geologist--the Geologic Division of the U.S. Geological Survey. She can fairly claim to be a direct intellectual descendant of Gilbert.
Little Baerbel Koesters lived in Weimar in eastern Germany during the waning days of World War 2, not far from infamous Buchenwald. She had some hair-raising experiences as the area was occupied first by American and then by Soviet forces. Ultimately, her family fled to the West, where she remembers a happy childhood playing in the bombed-out ruins of Muenster. A bright student with a very strong classical training in languages, she entered the University of Muenster, where she studied both "old English" and geography. A Fulbright scholarship enabled her to come to Kent State, Ohio, by which time she had switched her focus from geography to geology. Fortunately, she graduated at Kent State before the student upheavals of the mid-1960s. She was attracted to Penn State for graduate work by the presence there of P. D. Krynine, famous for his claims (only moderately exaggerated) that you could read the geologic history of a terrain from the petrology of a sandstone.
After she arrived at Penn State, Baerbel switched to structure and tectonics, because a grant was available to support a thesis. This led to her first brush, all unaware, with astrogeology. She mapped a part of the overthrust belt near the southwestern border of Montana. There she saw and described peculiar conical fracture surfaces decorated with horse-tailing lineations. Alas, neither her advisor nor anyone on her committee told her what they were. Mind you, this was at Penn State, one of the few academic institutions, at that time, where there was a strong interest in impact craters. Two decades later, the shatter cones of the Beaverhead structure, the largest known impact structure in the United States, were rediscovered by Rob Hargraves while searching for gold prospects in the heart of Baerbel's thesis area.
An event that ultimately brought Baerbel into planetary geology was her marriage in 1964 to fellow Penn State student Ivo Lucchitta. After Ivo was offered a job in the Surface Planetary Exploration Branch of the USGS, Baerbel and their daughter, Maya, came to Flagstaff to be with him in 1966. Baerbel, with her newly acquired Ph.D., was offered the princely position of a GS-7 Physical Science Technician by the Branch of Astrogeology. (This, as you will have noted, was before the days of Affirmative Action and Equal Employment Opportunity.) She quickly rose, however, from photoclinometric studies of potential Apollo landing sites to geological investigations of the North Polar region of the Moon and the Apollo 17 landing site, as a full-fledged geologist (GS-11).
It was Baerbel's involvement with Apollo 17 and her characteristically thorough study of the geology of the site that led to some of her most enduring contributions to lunar geology. She very early recognized the genetic relationship between the dark mantle deposit in the floor of the Taurus-Littrow Valley and the more extensive dark mantle deposits of the Sulpicius Gallus Formation on the other side of the Serenitatis Basin. After the mission, she published her famous paper with Jack Schmitt that identified orange and red, as well as black, pyroclastic material in the Sulpicius Gallus Formation, thus linking the origin of these vast deposits (and others like them elsewhere on the Moon) to the laboratory results obtained from the Apollo 17 samples of the orange soil. Moreover, the geologic relationships of the Sulpicius Gallus unit showed unequivocally that the deposits were pyroclastics and not produced, as some people thought, by impact splash in a puddle of molten mare basalt.
Another major contribution was Baerbel's identification and proof of the occurrence of Tycho secondary craters and secondary deposits in a swath across the Apollo 17 landing site. This enabled a firm date to be established for Tycho from the Apollo 17 samples, which, in turn, provides a key datum for the cratering history of the Moon. I use the age of Tycho and the density of superposed craters on the Tycho ejecta blanket as one of the linchpins in the argument that the cratering rate in the Earth-Moon system has increased, perhaps by a factor of two, late in geologic history, a result that carries implications for the rate of comet impact and the history of the z-oscillation of the Sun in its travels around the galaxy.
From her careful study of the mare ridge and related scarp in the floor of the Taurus Littrow Valley, Baerbel showed that this feature and related ridges and scarps can be produced by offset on nearly vertical faults, a result still not fully appreciated by students of mare ridges. She also thoroughly examined the ages of graben around Serenitatis and other basins and showed that they formed after the emplacement of the older mare lava but before the youngest lavas of the basins. This ties the circumferential graben to the episode of lithospheric bending on basin margins during loading of the basins by the mare fill.
The next major extension of Baerbel's scientific horizons occurred when she was assigned as an observer during the Mariner 9 mission in 1972. This inaugurated her long and continuing involvement in the land forms and surface processes of Mars. Unlike some of the rest of us, Baerbel's favorite holes in the ground are not craters but the various valleys of the Valles Marineris. With the aid of the Viking images, she has probably spent more time "peering" into the Valles Marineris than anyone else. She was early intrigued by the giant landslides originating on the valley walls, and she has argued, I think convincingly, that they were lubricated by ground water. She has also been responsible for identifying various volcanic deposits on the valley floors, including diverse light-colored flows as well as young dark patches, very likely formed by pyroclastic outbursts, that are aligned along faults. She has shown that the great Marineris rift valley developed in multiple stages and had a prolonged history of evolution.
Elsewhere on Mars, Baerbel has focused on the abundant evidence for ground ice and on the role of ice or ice-lubricated flow in the sculpting of the terrain. She showed how ice facilitated flow, probably shaped the fretted terrain, and may have formed rock glaciers on the Martian volcanoes. Always willing to challenge accepted wisdom, she has championed the flow of ice as a primary agent of erosion of the huge outflow channels on Mars. By careful attention to scale and to the detailed features of the channels--longitudinal grooves, hanging valleys, the forms of the islands--she has made a strong case. Before you jump to the conclusion that the channels were all formed by giant floods, you had better read her papers. Perhaps the truth lies somewhere in the middle--a combination of both floods and ice shoving (which is what she really suspects).
When the Voyagers flew past Jupiter, they opened another chapter in Lucchitta's career, as they did for so many of the rest of us. She became the guru of Europa and the mother superior of Ganymede geologic mapping. Her description, with Larry Soderblom, of the geology of Europa remains the standard reference. She published the first detailed description of the grooved terrain on Ganymede and recognized that it was formed by replacement of the old cratered terrain. She also documented evidence for lateral displacement in the grooved terrain. She later did an outstanding job of mapping of Ganymede.
In 1982, Baerbel planted one foot firmly back on earth-in Antarctica. She does not regard her work on the Antarctic ice sheet as planetary geology, but I do. Earth is a planet, and the areas of blue ice she defined as a part of her mapping project of Antarctica from Landsat multispectral images are the key collecting areas for meteorites. Undoubtedly, there was synergy between her study of Antarctic glaciers and her continuing work on the role of ice in the evolution of the Martian landscape.
Lucchitta was chief of a project that produced very popular multispectral images of Victoria Land, Marie Byrd Land, the Antarctic Peninsula, and special maps of selected quadrangles and ice streams. By analyzing crevasse patterns, she realized that the velocities of outlet glaciers could be measured, and she successfully promoted an international campaign to reacquire Landsat images over Antarctica. She measured the velocities of numerous glaciers from the displacement of the crevasse patterns and, in some cases, documented accelerations. She found that the tongues of glaciers draining the West Antarctic ice sheet are moving significantly faster than those in East Antarctica. These observations may be relevant to the possible breakup of the West Antarctic ice sheet.
After 28 years with the USGS, Baerbel elected to retire this year along with her husband, Ivo. In fact, she came to receive this award straight from Cancun, where they were exploring the ruins of Yucatan. But is she really going to abandon planetary geology? When the Galileo images of Europa come in, I'll bet that you know who is going to be there.
Madam Chairperson, I proudly give you Baerbel Lucchitta for the G. K. Gilbert Award.
Thank you, Gene, for these gracious words, and thank you, Planetary Geology Division, for presenting me with the G. K. Gilbert Award. I am very honored. In fact, I was stunned when chairperson Odette James informed me that I was to be the recipient of the award. I could not comprehend why I should have been chosen, when there are so many more deserving candidates. Was it that I am one of the old-timers, who started out by researching the Moon? Was it that I just officially retired from the government, even though I have no intention to quit research? Was it that I am a woman, and no female has yet been so rewarded? Was it that I have been active in the Planetary Geology Division for several years? Or was it that somebody actually did appreciate my scientific contributions? I like to think that perhaps it is a combination of the above. Even though my papers may not have been of earth- or, rather, planet-shaking importance, when I look back, perhaps I did contribute something to the understanding of the Moon, Mars, the Jupiter satellites, and even the Earth. And I am proud to be a field geologist of sorts in the planetary program, where my contributions are mostly based on careful inspection of the images returned by the missions and on subsequent mapping of subtle relations that are otherwise readily overlooked. I am proud that I always strove to place observations first and interpretations and models second, even though we are all subject to bias governed by our experiences. And of course, as many of my predecessors in this award expressed, I was extremely lucky by falling into a part of history when the space program was in full swing and anything one noticed on another, newly encountered planet was bound to be a discovery.
As the first woman recipient of this award, I will take the liberty to look back in a personal way upon my path as a woman in science, and upon the obstacles and rewards and occasional humorous encounters I had to face as a woman. But first I want to acknowledge the many men and women who helped in my career. These include my parents, a geologist husband, university professors, colleagues, assistants, secretaries, and students. There are so many, I cannot mention them all by name.
As Gene mentioned, I grew up in war-torn Germany. My first encounter with Americans was terrifying. They came in the sky, silver with planes, dropping bombs. But then, 50 years ago on a beautiful spring day (Armistice Day), the future seemed suddenly bright and life secure. The American occupation soldiers became our friends and freely dispensed a sweet white substance from small gray cartons. It was pronounced "soogaar" (sugar), my first English word. Eventually, I swore to myself I would go to America and partake in those riches. Adventure stories were my favorite literature as a child, and I suppose my appetite for travel, exploration, and finding-out stem from that time. I resented being a girl, partly because I sensed that exploring distant worlds would be more difficult for a girl than for a boy, but mostly because in those days of limited toilet facilities, boys had a distinct advantage. Schooling was in all-girl schools, which fostered individual development, unencumbered by male competition. From amongst many interesting sounding disciplines ending in "-ology," I eventually chose geology as having the prospect of actually making some money. After I finished high school, the cozy unisex atmosphere was quickly dispelled, and realty, including societal pressures, set in: at the university, males aggressively dominated the classes and totally intimidated me. My mother, Fridel Koesters, a very intelligent woman who only wished for the best, nevertheless strongly recommended that I become a grade school teacher, just to have a profession to fall back on in case my future husband died. She was certain I would get married to a wealthy man. My father, Bernhard Koesters, an architect, actively supported that I pursue a professional career; yet even his underlying bias showed in one instance, later, when I was already an established geologist. When asked what his children were doing, he cheerfully announced that his son was a civil engineer, and his daughters were married in America. The university teachers uniformly told me that geology was not for women. Should I have been bitter about those attitudes: No, because they also brought opportunities. Rather than being pushed into a money-making career to support a family, as happened to my brother and many young men of the times, I was free to pursue what I wanted, because a profession for women was considered just frills. I was free to pursue geology.
Then my dream came true and, at age nineteen, I obtained a Fulbright scholarship to study in the United States for one year. Again, being a woman may have been an advantage: I was the only female applicant, and in my final interview I was interrogated, in English, by a contingent of very serious men. One of them inquired why, on the application form, I had written the name of my hometown when asked for my citizenship. I explained that citizenship obviously pertains to "city." The men were so impressed by this unparalleled feat of logic that they gave me the scholarship. I was placed into Kent State University because it was considered a typical, middle American school. Contrary to my expectations, America was not the great land of freedom. As a woman, I was beset by 10 p.m. curfews and dress codes, and, much to my disgust, my sponsoring sorority forced on me pleated skirts, bobby socks, sneakers, and Bermuda shorts, all of which I considered rather ugly. I was the only woman in my geology classes and sometimes felt quite isolated.
Against the Fulbright agreement, I stayed in the United States for a second year, teaching German, and obtained my bachelor's degree in geology from Kent State. Then I went to Pennsylvania State University, where I met my husband, Ivo Lucchitta (to some now, Mr. Grand Canyon). I also met my thesis advisor, Robert Scholten, a former Dutchman ill-treated by the Germans during days of the Dutch resistance in his youth. I am grateful to Rob that he extended to me a hand of reconciliation with the past, and, not insignificantly, a grant to study the Rocky Mountain thrust belt in Idaho and Montana. It is to my husband's credit that he pushed me into accepting the grant, in spite of my fear of bears. I was the first female Ph.D. in the geology department at Penn State, and I was accepted as an equal by students and professors.
At that time, discrimination tended to be in my favor. "Patronizing women" is a curse or an asset, depending on the situation. I made the best of it. Young women of today would fault me for selling out, but at the time women were not hung up on modern principles. For instance, my then fellow graduate student, now colleague and good friend John M'Gonigle (recently retired from the USGS), gave me the better of two available ancient jeeps; ranchers, sheepherders, and cowboys fell all over themselves to help me, gave me horses to ride, let me have access on roads that were otherwise closed to the public, and rescued me from ditches when my jeep got stuck. However, all of this attention on occasion backfired. One evening an irate woman rolled into camp with the intent to beat me up because I had allegedly seduced her husband. I had never met her nor the man, and can only guess that he fabricated the story to arouse her jealousy. Also, an enamored sheepherder threatened to shoot my then boyfriend Ivo, when he came to visit at the end of the summer. Ivo and I moved across the continental divide to the Idaho side of my field area, as a precaution.
As Gene mentioned, my field area was in the Beaverhead Range, which is riddled with thrust faults. The area is now acclaimed to include the largest impact structure in the United States, as deduced from shattercones. Of course in 1962, when only a handful of geologists had ever heard of shattercones, I had no idea what I was looking at. I assiduously described those peculiar hashed-up rock chips as having "conchoidal fracture surfaces with fan-shaped grooves on them." I thought I was looking at a breccia zone with strange fault striations. Of course, I never searched for and thus never saw the one outcrop that shows immense shattercones in their full glory. Too bad.
Marriage brings rewards and difficulties to a woman embarked on a career. Our landlady decided that living in sin was not to be condoned, so Ivo and I got married. Then the inevitable happened, and I became pregnant. My well-laid plans were to have my Ph.D. thesis defense first, then take two weeks to study up on babies, and then deliver. You guessed it, my plans were foiled. Much to the relief of my thesis committee, who envisioned me going into labor during the defense, the baby arrived the night before the scheduled exam. We took the baby home and had no idea what to do. It screamed, but a frantic phone call to a friend with kids quickly alleviated the situation: he suggested we change the diapers. Miraculously, the screaming stopped. In spite of all, my daughter survived.
The next obstacle we encountered is faced by many two-career couples: how to find employment for two professionals. In 1966, Ivo, got hired to work on the Apollo Program at the USGS in Flagstaff, and I stayed home for a year as an illegal alien fighting for an immigration visa after my exchange student status had terminated. After I received the visa I did what many women did then and still do, I sneaked in through the back door. I first worked part-time as a technician and then worked my way up to become a geologist. My assignment was to make maps of the Moon. Contrary to many of my predecessors in this award, I was not entirely thrilled by the prospect. As a field geologist, sitting in an office with a bunch of pictures was not my idea of fun. Yet, adaptability, which I consider a virtue possessed by many females, soon paid off and I discovered that many treasures were hidden in those images; my interest was aroused. Don Wilhelms, the foremost lunar mapper, taught me the fine points of mapping other planets, and I am very grateful that he kept encouraging me even in some of my more outrageous ideas.
However, my career was slow in taking off. I succumbed to"the good-girl syndrome," an attitude that afflicts many women: you hope that doing a good job will bring rewards. It does not necessarily. My first attempts at being assertive were off to a false start. I took all my courage and walked into the branch chief's office, asking for a raise. I timidly pointed out that Odette James, then as now of the USGS and, of course, the current chairperson of this Division, had just received a raise and that maybe there was room for advancement for others. My ever so tactful branch chief rebuffed me with the remark: "But she is smart!" Eventually "Equal Employment Opportunity" came along and with it peer promotion panels that looked at the records. Within a few years I advanced through the ranks to pull even with male colleagues of similar achievements.
A more important part of one's career is, of course, the research one enjoys. My first break came with Apollo 17. My female intuition served me well. At a meeting where future Moon landing sites were debated, I sensed that Jack Schmitt, the Apollo 17 geologist astronaut, badly wanted to go to the geologically interesting Taurus Littrow Valley. I quickly changed my geologic mapping assignment to that site, and thus joined the ranks of only a few geologists who had their lunar maps field checked. Those were exciting days. Astronauts were "big-hero" stuff, and I was absolutely thrilled to be flown to the Cape, to have supper with the astronauts in their quarters, and to give informal after-dinner lectures. And when the big day of the Apollo 17 landing came, I was right there in Houston, near mission control, hanging on every word uttered by the astronauts on the Moon, hoping to influence the action, being elated to be part of such momentous history. And things did not slow down for many years. Mars turned out to be a most interesting planet with many Earthlike features. I went to JPL for every new mission and encounter, and I watched in fascination as the first images ever of other planetary surfaces slowly built up on the screen, sometimes line by line. Imagine, to be there when landscapes emerge that no human being has ever seen before! I tried, but never succeeded to become a formal mission team member. Perhaps I was too junior, a woman, or simply not considered good enough. But I always managed to get into the action, either as backroom researcher, as guest investigator, or as research assistant. I thank Larry Soderblom of the USGS, who repeatedly made such assignments possible. And I also thank my assistant Holly Ferguson, now retired, who steadfastly supported my work.
However, a woman's scientific career also brings frustrations. First there is the never ending task of juggling career and family; even though it's better now, the major chores of child rearing still fall on the woman. The high visibility of women in male-dominated fields brings rewards and dangers. One cannot blend into mediocrity; one stands out and has to perform well, both for oneself and for one's gender. One is judged more harshly. One has to work a bit harder. One is frustrated when ideas expressed at workshops are politely ignored, only to be acclaimed loudly when expressed later by male colleagues. One used to be excluded from the "Boys' Clubs" that went out at night and discussed shop. One was not part of "the gang." Recently, things have changed much for the better, and women are included in activities once considered a man's domain. But let us not spoil these gains and let us be tolerant when men, sometimes inadvertently, transgress the fine line between friendly advances and what is now called sexual harassment.
To conclude, my childhood dreams of discovery were amply rewarded. I had new worlds to explore. There were secrets to be probed in craters, plains, and landslides on the Moon. There were cold-climate features on Mars, and mysterious channels, volcanoes, and huge tectonic structures. There was the Jupiter moon Europa displaying strange lineations, the moon Ganymede racked by ice tectonism, and there is Antarctica, whose environment is close to that on other planets and gives invaluable clues. I am grateful to John Behrendt, Jane Ferrigno, and Richard Williams of the USGS, Olav Orheim of the Norsk Polar Institutt, and my assistant Christine Rosanova for enabling the Antarctic connection. There is the excitement of learning new subjects such as remote sensing and image processing and glaciology. There is the challenge (and trepidation) of dealing with specialties in many scientific fields, often having only marginal knowledge. There is the hope that, as a woman with laterally well connected brains (as they say), one will be well equipped to make those intuitive leaps that are so important in advancing science. And above all, let us not forget, research and finding out, exploring and discovery, are a lot of fun.
