Everything in Samuel Langley’s world—animals, plants, rocks, air, and water—had its wonder story and its challenge. There was always some question to be puzzled over. Science was not, however, the only passion of his early years. His delight in beauty was just as keen as his thirst for knowledge. He noted with loving appreciation the changing lights and shades of Nature’s face. He had an eye for “the look of things,” which means that he had something of a gift for drawing.
After completing the course of the Boston High School, he turned his attention to civil engineering and architecture. “I did not go to college because I had to think about paying my own way through life,” he said, “and I argued that a chap who was fond of mathematics and drawing should be able to do some good work in the way of building even if he did not succeed in laying the foundation of either fame or fortune. Besides, it seemed to me that while doing work that was not uninteresting, I should be near the things that were already part of my life; there would be chance and encouragement for further scientific study.”
Going to Chicago when he was twenty-three years of age, Mr. Langley worked for seven years in his chosen profession, gaining in addition to a comfortable income, practical business experience and unusual skill in drafting. All this time his interest in scientific problems was pulling him away from the beaten path of practical achievement. His intellect was of the hardy, pioneer sort that longs to press on where man has never ventured—to make new paths, not to follow in the footsteps of others.
In 1864 the young scientist of thirty years determined upon a bold move. He definitely retired from his profession, returned to New England, and for three years devoted his time to building telescopes. He knew something of the magician’s joy as he planned and developed the special features of his “magic glasses.” The boy who had thrilled over the marvels of the starry heavens which his father’s telescope had revealed was alive within him, exulting to find that he could construct instruments many times more powerful.
“I have never outgrown my love of fairy books,” he said. “To one who spends his time with the wonders that science reveals, the immortal wonder tales of childhood seem truer than any other stories. I delight in the adventures of the youth who had found the cap of invisibility; then I turn to my telescope which brings the invisible into the world that the eye knows. Children and men of science belong to the same realm; no one else has the proper appreciation of true magic.”
After his close work with the telescopes, this lover of marvels spent a happy year in Europe, visiting observatories, museums, and art galleries. It was at this time that he decided that astronomy was to be the serious business of his days, and art the chief delight of his hours of recreation. He was offered the place of assistant in the Harvard Observatory by Professor Winlock, in spite of the fact that he had had no university training.
“This self-made astronomer has a seeing eye, a careful hand, and the instinct for observation,” said Joseph Winlock approvingly. “Besides he has, if I am not mistaken, the imagination to use in a large and constructive way the facts that his experiments yield. He has the making of an original scientist.”
His feet once planted on the first round of the ladder of expert knowledge, advancement was rapid. It might well seem to many passing strange that a man who had written nothing, discovered nothing, and who, moreover, had no brilliant university record behind him, should at once win recognition from the most learned specialists of the day.
“What was there about Langley that earned his rapid promotions?” it was asked.
“There was nothing that remotely hinted at influence or favoritism,” said one who knew him well. “He was impersonal and retiring to a degree. But he had in rare combination an open, alert mind and a capacity for hard work.”