He will be missed by the wide circle of friends who loved his quick mind and his stories, but most of all he will be missed by his family, his children, and his lovely wife and best friend, Maureen.


(Earlier this morning, Maureen passed this along to me with the note: “I’ve attached a flyer that John’s children, their mother and I created… to help everyone learn about who John was and what he did.”)

It was there to find evidence of life.

After a dangerous descent through the Martian atmosphere, Phoenix finally came to rest in the Green Valley region of Vastitas Borealis near the Heimdall Crater on May 25th, 2008.

Heimdall, of course, is the Norse God who guards the bridge between Midgard (Earth) and Asgard (the home of the Gods). He will be the one who blows his horn to warn the Gods that Ragnarok has begun and their doom has come.

Heimdall is destined to be the last Aesir standing at the close of the final battle, when he and Loki will slay each other.

On May 31st, 2008, Phoenix reached out and first touched the soil of Mars with its robotic arm. It soon began analyzing samples from the surrounding surface using an ingenious series of on-board ovens and laboratories, sending data back to us here on its work.

It didn’t take long to confirm that, at some point in the past, Mars likely hosted an environment which would support the presence of liquid water. Later in its mission, NASA announced that Phoenix found evidence of perchlorate as well. While these salts are can occur naturally as well as in manufacturing, some believe they could preclude the possibility of life. There is also a chance that the presence of perchlorate is a by-product contamination from the Phoenix’s retro rockets.

Next to the American flag on the outer deck of the lander is a disc made of silica glass specially designed to last for thousands of years. On the disc are messages from Earth — including the works of H.G. Wells and Ray Bradbury as well as messages from Arthur C. Clarke, and Carl Sagan.

It is a remarkable achievement, to be sure. But you might well ask, why am I telling you all of this?

While Phoenix was still in transit, NASA began posting updates about the mission on the social networking site Twitter. The first of these appeared on May 7th, 2008: “Less than 20 days till I land on Mars!”

Note the usage of the first person — someone decided to personalize the voice of Phoenix and it was an inspired decision. It didn’t take long for @MarsPhoenix to amassing a following well over thirty-five thousand Twitter users.

I was one of them. I’d been on Twitter for a year or so and one of my friends there posted a message to @MarsPhoenix, which is how I first found out that it was on Twitter.

In the intervening months, I read @MarsPhoenix’s updates with growing enthusiasm and delight. It especially impressed me how it answered questions asked by other users, sharing in the ongoing dialogue and community of Twitter.

As odd as it sounds, it didn’t take long for me — for most of us on Twitter — to view @MarsPhoenix as one of us, just another person out there posting updates about their life. In the common parlance of the community, @MarsPhoenix was one of us. They were a friend.

And we were all shocked a few weeks ago when we got the news: Winter was coming. Without the solar power it needed to keep running, the Phoenix lander was going to shut down.

@MarsPhoenix, our friend, was going to die.

On October 30, 2008, @MarsPhoenix posted a few final words:

“In case we don’t get this chance again, thank you all so much for the questions, comments & good wishes over the mission. It’s been awesome.” [2:56 p.m.]


“Take care of that beautiful blue marble out there in space, our home planet. I’ll be keeping an eye from here. Space exploration FTW!” [3:55 p.m.]

I was at work when these messages came through and I managed not to cry at my desk. Driving home, though, I had to pull over because I just couldn’t see the road for the tears.

Later that night, with my wife holding me, I finally let loose the sadness that had been building inside since that afternoon.

Silly as it might sound, I was in mourning.

I suppose I still am.

But this is what we do, all of us. We live and make connections with each other, we reach out and try to make sense of things. We share who we are and what we have found. And, when winter comes, we grow cold and we fail. And then we die.

And the ones who are left, they mourn.

Apart from a few brief posts over the past few days, the account at @MarsPhoenix has gone silent. There is a slight possibility that NASA may be able to reawaken the lander once winter has passed — a “Lazarus Effect” built into the design — but it is a slim hope at best.

And yet, I’d like to believe that it’s possible — that this is not the end, that this winter will pass… that Demeter will be kind and reach out her warm hand to touch the face of Phoenix and bring it back to life once more.

@MarsPhoenix may be lost to us, but there are others: Cassini is cruising around Saturn and sharing what it sees with all of us. And Phoenix’s siblings, Spirit and Opportunity, are roving the surface of Mars even still.

Because this is what we do, even in mourning, we look to the life that has been left behind and we take hope in the future.

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Addendum — In researching a few things for this post, I ran across an interesting piece of information about Phoenix that I did not know before: After a preliminary planning process, the mission received full approval from NASA to proceed on June 2, 2005.

Which means we share a birthday, my friend and I.

One of the bad guys who was, it turns out, a good guy in real life. The few times when I saw him speaking in interviews, he always seemed like a clever, decent fellow with considerable talent and experience . . . who didn’t mind it that his claim to fame was due to an insane giggle and a green unitard.

S’funny, I can still hear his voice in my head. That strangely resonant escalation he used whenever The Riddler spoke of a scheme he was hatching or a trap he had laid. If I had to write it out, I’d want a musical notation to map out the rise and fall of his voice, that strange Beat Poetry tempo of his words.