Wubbo Ockels, gone too soon

Wubbo Ockels, 1946-2014 (Photo: HP Photography)

A cruel thing about cancer is its randomness. There's no justice, no explanation. The tumors are like snipers that randomly seek out their victims. Everyone a target. You feel it when a dear one is hit, like happened last year when the news got out that Wubbo Ockels was diagnosed with an aggressive kind of kidney cancer. Two years the doctors gave him - one year it was. Today, after a year of relentless fighting, his body could no longer. My thoughts go out to his wife Joos and their children and grandchildren.
In 1985, Wubbo became the first Dutch astronaut, flying aboard the Spaceshuttle Challenger. His space flight launched him onto the national stage. He never left. He leveraged his fame to advance the issues he deeply cared about: sustainability and new technology. It never tired him to explain how his experience in space had made him realize that his mission was on the ground. From space our planet looked so beautiful yet so vulnerable. Looking down from the shuttle it sank in that the earth is our only home and that it is habitable only thanks to an atmosphere that, as seen from space, is ridiculously thin. There is no escape planet. Earth is our spaceship and we are all astronauts, so we’d better not break it. That became his mission, which he pursued until this day he died. Too soon for all of us.
Wubbo displayed an uncommon kind of optimism and drive to act, which, I think, he recognized in young people much more than in adults. He had a strong love for and believe in technology. Young people developing spectacular sustainable technology, that is how Wubbo thought the planet was to be saved. And that is how I met him.
When I was a student at Delft University of Technology, studying Aerospace Engineering, Wubbo was a (the part-time) professor and adviser to the Nuon Solar Team, a group of students that had just won the World Solar Challenge in Australia with their self-designed and self-built solar-powered race car. I joined the project for its second campaign to develop a brand new car with a brand new team. Afterwards, Wubbo became my thesis supervisor and enabled me to write it on the solar car project. The collaboration has impressed me indefinitely. His drive to win, his intelligence, and the calmness to manage crises I had never experienced before. When he couldn’t make it to my graduation ceremony, he made a little video clip in which he spoke to me sitting in our solar car and dressed in his professor's gown. It made me feel proud. When a few of the solar team had the idea to take the car on a tour through Europe, from Greece to Portugal, Wubbo made it possible for us to work on it. He helped to attract sponsors and arranged assistantships so we could pay our rents. At one point, the Austrian road authorities were refusing to grant permission to drive on their roads with the solar car. Wubbo then picked up the phone and called his well-connected Austrian astronaut friend, to explain what was the problem. Shortly after we got the OK to drive in Austria and would even be escorted by police into the city of Vienna.
The solar team now has completed seven campaigns and many parallel initiatives have sprung from Wubbo’s mind, always revolving around young people and sustainability. Solar powered boats, a super fast electric bus (Superbus) and an energy self-sufficient yaught to live on now grace the roads and waters. His innovative ‘laddermill' wind power concept is in development. Ironically, when the system’s abilities were demonstrated by making it power an open-air performance of the Jan Akkerman band, it weren’t the energy companies that showed interest in the system but bands from all over the world that wanted to use it for their own gigs!
Over the years, Wubbo has grown a small army of techno-entrepreneurs, instilled with the drive to make a difference and the conviction that they can do it, because they have seen it and they have done it. The best thing they can do to remember Wubbo is to continue his work, to do what he has always done: go create the solutions for a sustainable tomorrow and have fun doing it.

Muesli

I walked around Brussels, looking for muesli, but no supermarket anywhere. I’d already given up when I spotted a tiny neighborhood grocery just a few doors from the AirBnB address I’m staying at. Inside, an older Indian-looking woman behind the counter. I browsed the shelves for a while. No muesli. Then I looked up. There, on the top shelf, about 10 feet from the floor: corn flakes, cruesli, and chocopops. A box of oatmeal caught my eye while my thoughts went back to the muesli I recently bought at Leclerc and which was more than a year past its expiration date. The woman sensed my hesitation and asked if she could help. I told her I was looking for muesli. Yes, she said, it’s over there, in the corner, next to the coffee filters. I looked but didn’t see muesli. There, she said, mousline! It was a package instant mashed potatoes. A slight misunderstanding. I said that I wanted the oatmeal, but that despite my 6'2'' there was no way I could reach it. The woman dove behind her counter and one second later re-emerged holding a full-size field hockey stick. She handed over the weapon to me, her potential robber. I was astonished, but touched by the gesture of trust. I lifted the stick and pulled the box of oats from the top shelf and caught it as it came flying down, almost smashing the jam jars in the act. I handed back the stick to the smiling lady, but kept the oats and let the expiration date hidden under the dust.

Au Laboureur

The bar at the end of the street I’m staying at in Brussels this week is called “Au laboureur.” That's French for “peasant” or “yokel.” Behind the glass windows I saw people behind foamy brown brews on bare tables. Locals, clearly. Unpretentious, pleasantly imperfect. Perfect, it seemed, for a tasty ale before sleeping. I walked in and ordered a Leffe blonde. It wasn’t crowded. One party looked like a group of volunteers having a project meeting. Another was just three friends chatting. Two or three men were standing at the bar. Another was outside, stacking chairs for the night. I found a table to the side of the room, close to a man and a woman with violin cases next to their table. I sat down on the bench that was fixed to the wall. After staring at the curiosities that decorated the walls for a while, I pulled out my book and tried to read. A young man came standing next to me. He looked down at my book, wandered away a bit, returned. He had a drink or two too many. He wasn’t looking at me but stared ahead and made strange faces. He murmured french words too soft for me to understand. I tried to ignore him, but then he touched my neck. He said something like “you’re eating your book, you.” And I thought I heard “dégage.” That means “get out of here,” I found out later. Like this, I couldn’t read. Aggression is often a deficit of love, so I laid down my book, took a good sip from my pint and said: please, have a seat. Bartender, please, poor my new friend a ‘pintje.’ He hesitated a moment, but then sat down. I said: Hi, my name’s Mark. What’s your name? He said he was Guillaume, so I said I would call him Bill then. I told him that I was from Grenoble and was visiting Brussels for business and that tonight I thought I’d better enjoy a nice beer than linger lonely in my apartment. I asked him how he was doing. Why is that any of your business?, he responded. I said that it wasn’t but that I liked to know. For a moment, he rocked on his chair uncomfortably. His eyes showed internal struggle. Then he calmed, sighed, looked me in the eye and said: I’m single, since yesterday, for god’s sake. She was formidable…Then we talked, about love, life and lumberjacks….

That's how it could have gone. In reality, after I laid down my book I finished my beer,  took my coat and left. If it happens again, though, I will have a strategy.