Surrounded by perhaps the most captive audience he ever mystified, Harlow Shapley slowly explained to the pensive Congressmen that even small rocks contain tremendous explosive energy. Then Shapley suddenly announced that he had actual evidence, and quickly pushed a black and white stone onto the table bordered by his listeners. Every Congressman bolted backward as the guards unbolstered their revolvers. Several minutes passed before the flustered Congressmen heard the advice of a beamed Shapley for wording atomic energy legislation.

Although the demand for Shapley's knowledge has led him into a number of unusual situation's the former director of the Harvard observatory likes to disclaim most of the legends about him. "It's as Holmes wrote," he muses, "half he lies they tell about me aren't true." As Shapley talks, his frequent smile and darting eyes reflect his good nature. Students recall his rapid speech and movements, unslowed by the passing of 69 years. Shapley could stop his work now with full assurance that he would be remembered as one of the leading astronomers of this era. But one assistant claims that he is still so busy he keeps a dictaphone in his cr. "Not so," says Shapley. He admits to three recording machines however, including "one by my bed for getting down letters and sudden ideas."

All of Shapley's life, in fact, is a register of curiosity and energy. As a boy in Missouri, he enlisted as police reporter to earn money for college. "I had to cove some grisly sights," he reflects, "and I didn't like the idea of newspapers compromising ethics and advertising." Writing continued to intrigue him, nevertheless, and it was only a temporary shutdown of Missouri University's Journalism School that tempted him to try astronomy.

The temptation changed to a passion, and Shapley promptly published in "Popular Astronomy," won a scholarship to Princeton, and dashed through his Ph.D. in a year. His brilliant work attracted the Mr. Wilson Observatory staff, on which he served from 1914 to 1921. "During this period," Shapley recalls, "I developed my ideas for measuring the vast distance of the Universe." His theory prompted fellow astronomers to call him a "modern Copernicus" for the discovery that the sun is at the rim of the Milky Way Galaxy and not near the center. "I've been attacked for lots of reasons," Shapley remarks, "but the charges against my basic theories are still without good grounds."

From the field of theory, Shapley stepped into administration as the Director of Harvard's Observatory. For 31 years he crusaded for challenging projects and placed the Observatory's telescopes as far away as Africa. He has also written numerous books, "not like my newspaper copy," Shapley says. "To make the book accurate I sometimes sit half an hour wondering whether to use perhaps, possibly, or probably."

His fine sense of precision also went into the post-war organization of UNESCO and other groups for international cooperation. But a visit to Russia's Science Jubilee and his stand against rough treatment for the soviets brought charges of "sympathizer," and an eventual clash with Congressman Rankin's Un-American Activities committee. "The insinuations were unbelievable," Shapley recalls, "I'm as strong an anti-communist as the average American, probably more so." With a grandfather who was an underground slave runner, Shapley believes in "vigorous citizenship--and I've got three hundred years of ancestors to back me up."

Full clearance came from the Tydings senate Committee in 1950. Perhaps more significant, fellow scientists showed their faith in Shapley by electing him President of the American Association for the Advancement of Science a month after his wrangle with Congressman Rankin.

In addition to his honor as Association President, Shapley has won awards from 12 foreign countries and is present Chairman of the International Observatory Commission. His achievements in Who's Who take up nearly six inches of fine spring, and new obligations fill his desk each day. Many of the bids are for speaking engagements, for his is a witty, articulate, even impassioned lecturer. He spices authority with delightful anecdotes from his numerous activities.

Among Shapley's interests are his ant theories--"I've picked the creatures off stone walls in dozens of counties"--and his debunking of pseudo-science. At a faculty gathering, for example, a fellow professor recalls Shapley's pacing about the lawn with a divining fork, "only to reveal a Princeton instructor's hidden bottle."

But Shapley's major pursuit is charting the heavens. He has great enthusiasm in his cosmography course for non-scientists, requiring only a "persistent curiosity" for this inquiry into man's place on Observatory Hill. Here, lighting a cigar, writing to his science friends who include the Pope, or plotting some new star, he shows himself to be a man and an astronomer of the first magnitude.