Stars and Community: Finding Connection at GTCC's Observatory

By Alyssa Parker, Editor

Image by Alyssa Parker

When I took an Uber to TriStar, GTCC's annual astronomy conference, that morning, I didn't expect the conversation to start with the sun, but it did. "It's so bright today," my driver commented, squinting slightly and putting down the visor while we headed east. This brought up the conversation about the best times to drive without being blinded and how the sun's position changes with seasons. He was telling me about it, not realizing I was the perfect conversationalist for the topic. Then, I decided to ask him if he'd ever seen the sun through a telescope before. He said he hadn't; he had watched the solar eclipse with solar glasses, but he didn't realize it was possible to see the sun through a telescope.

With special filters that block 99.99% of the sun's light, we can safely observe our nearest star—revealing sunspots, prominences, and surface details invisible to the naked eye. So, naturally, I found myself inviting this complete stranger to come see it through a telescope at our solar viewing later that day. "You should stop by around noon if you're free," I told him. "You'll never look at the sun the same way again."

I don't know if he ever came because I was busy that day, but that brief exchange revealed what makes astronomy different. It transforms ordinary small talk into something meaningful. It creates a bridge between people who might otherwise remain strangers. This happens all the time in astronomy—one moment you're discussing the weather, the next you're sharing the universe.

The Science Hall at GTCC has become my home for exactly this reason. During observatory nights, we all gather in the darkness—students, faculty, community members—waiting for our turn at the eyepiece. In those moments of waiting, conversations spark that wouldn't happen anywhere else on campus. People ask questions they've wondered about for years but never had anyone to ask. They share memories of their first telescope or a night they saw a meteor. The barriers between strangers dissolve under the stars.

Tom English, our astronomy professor and observatory director, has cultivated this environment intentionally. When I interviewed him about TriStar, he shared that creating these opportunities for connection has been a career-long mission. "I remember the first time I ever heard a public lecture by a visiting astronomer," he told me. "I was in college—it was Frank Drake. It was so cool to be able to be up-close with a famous researcher and to even ask him questions. In my professional career I've always tried to provide similar opportunities for my own students."

I remember a young boy, maybe five years old, standing silently beside me at the telescope. He couldn't reach the eyepiece but seemed determined to see. No adult was there to help him in that moment. When I asked if he wanted to be lifted up, he nodded, arms outstretched. With his puffy jacket and hood up, he looked like a tiny South Park character. After I helped him see Saturn, all he could say was a quiet "Whoa." Then he ran back to his group, never to be seen again. That single moment of wonder explains everything about why we do this.

At this year's TriStar event, I staffed the International Dark-Sky Association table with two other volunteers. Throughout the day, I handed out stickers and had countless conversations about light pollution. As English explained, "Amateur astronomers are significantly affected by light pollution—they have to travel farther and farther away from their homes as the years pass to get to truly dark sites." Our table provided resources for people to make changes in their own communities, from installing properly shielded lights at home to speaking with local governments about better lighting ordinances.

The event's success didn't happen by accident. "TriStar is actually the second regional amateur astronomy conference I've organized," English told me. "At the school where I taught before, our observatory was closely allied with the local astronomy club and we partnered to build an event very similar to TriStar. When I came to GTCC, I reached out to the Greensboro Astronomy Club to do the same thing here." The structure has remained consistent because, as he put it, "everyone seems to like it, so we don't want to change the winning formula."

What's particularly impressive is the behind-the-scenes coordination. "As the years have passed, we have gotten better at staging the event," English said. "I've got reliable support from Steve Desch and Kellie Sayers, who really keep things running smoothly behind the scenes." The quality shows—one of this year's speakers, Eve Vavagiakis from Duke University, commented that "she was really impressed by how we run things," English told me. "She said that many events she attends are already in failure mode by mid-morning, but we really had it together."

The speakers at TriStar aren't chosen randomly. English described it as "a year-long process. I'm always looking for potential speakers, and when I hear that one of the regional universities has brought in a new astronomer, I check them out to see if they might be right for our audience." This careful curation explains the diverse topics covered this year, from cosmology and astronomy history to space missions and stellar spectroscopy.

Perhaps most touching is how the event has come full circle for some participants. "I'm especially proud of the fact that we were able to bring back a couple of speakers who had attended early editions of TriStar as students," English shared. "Elise Weaver, who was a GTCC astronomy student and observatory volunteer, did gamma ray burst research after graduating from here and gave a presentation on that work. Ward Howard, who as a local home-schooled kid attended observatory public viewings and several of our visiting speaker presentations, including TriStar, came back to present his graduate dissertation work on habitability of exoplanets."

This cycle of learning, growing, and returning to share knowledge embodies what makes the astronomy community at GTCC special. English noted that "one thing I've noticed from the beginning is that many of our visitors are first timers who did not know about the observatory until recently. We're a community asset that is continually discovered by the local public."

In future columns, I'll explore specific astronomical topics—the alignment of planets often misreported in media; our namesake moon Titan visible in fall skies; ancient constellation stories; and the ongoing challenge of finding truly dark skies. But underneath these topics will always be the human connections they create.

The Science Hall has become my sanctuary not by isolating me from others, but by connecting me to them in deeper ways. In a world where meaningful interactions feel increasingly rare, the simple act of looking up together creates a shared experience that crosses all boundaries.

"The key term is community," as English put it. "Just as community colleges are important training grounds for their communities, an active community outreach program at a school like this can provide inspiration for future STEM students." So, whether you've been stargazing for decades or haven't looked up in years, consider this your invitation to join us. The next time the observatory dome is open, or you see a flyer for an astronomy lecture, come find us. The universe—and a community that understands the power of wonder—is waiting.