Dr. Charles Holmes, 1918-2004
Right: Dr. Charles and Dorothy Holmes, in the late 1980s
Also see Recollections of Dr. Charles Holmes for recollections by
Holmes' colleagues Paul Krehbiel and Gerardo Gross.
by Valerie Kimble
SOCORRO -- Doc Holmes, known more formally as Charles R. Holmes, and to his
friends as Charlie, died in his sleep August 19 of natural causes, following
several years of declining health.
Holmes was a longtime professor of physics and a research scientist in atmospheric
physics at New Mexico Tech. He also served a year as the university's president,
from 1982 to 1983, between the terms of Kenneth Ford and Laurence Lattman.
In the words of New Mexico Tech alumnus Joe Chew, from the book, Storms
Above the Desert (1987, University of New Mexico Press):
“Holmes did not seek the position (of President); he merely failed to
run fast enough when it was thrust upon him. On the surface, he seemed to
be an ideal interim president, a figurehead who would passively allow his
advisors to run things: shy, unassertive, more at home in front of an oscilloscope
than behind a podium.
“(Marvin) Wilkening once observed that anyone who is that good at
electronics has to be an introvert. President Holmes once left a particularly
hectic regents' meeting and went straight to his laboratory in the tower of
Workman Center, locking the stairway door and turning off the power to the
elevator. From his stooped walk to his absentmindedly professorial demeanor,
he looked like the kind of president that power-hungry subordinates dream
of.”
Ah, but that observation is only part of the story.
According to Chew, and to friends and colleagues of Holmes, that mild-mannered
appearance was deceiving.
“Old-timers at Tech have fond memories of his term as President of the
Institute Senate, where in half an hour he would dispose of business his predecessors
would have spent all afternoon on,” wrote Chew.
“Newcomers would occasionally try to bully the ‘meek’ little
physicist, only to find themselves staring in to a pair of protuberant, bloodshot
blue eyes with all the warm vulnerability of glass. When Doc Holmes gave them
‘the look,’ strong and ambitious men suddenly developed the urge
to sit down and shut up.”
In the beginning
Charles R. Holmes was born October 11, 1918 in Kemmerer, Wyo., where in 1946
he married another Kemmerer native, the lovely Dorothy Biggabe. Dorothy wrote
of that period: “Charlie and I were born, grew up, met each other and
were married – all on Sapphire Street!”
Holmes attended the University of Wyoming from 1939 to 1941, but left college
to join the U.S. Army Air Force. He entered the Cadet Training Program in meteorology
where he met a fellow cadet, Charles B. Moore.
In time, the cadets would become colleagues as New Mexico Tech faculty members
and as research scientists at the university's Irving Langmuir Laboratory for
Atmospheric Research in the Magdalena Mountains.
Holmes served two years in England as a base station weather officer and forecaster.
After the war, he returned to college, earning a bachelor’s degree in
mining geophysics at St. Louis University in 1947.
In 1949 he joined the faculty of the then-New Mexico School of Mines under
President E.J. Workman. He left to earn his master’s degree from St. Louis
University and, later, a Ph.D. at Pennsylvania State University
Holmes' son, Bill, recalls that even though his father left Socorro and Tech
several times, he always came back. Holmes didn’t return for the climate
or the scenery; “he came back for Tech.
“He just couldn’t stand to be away from the place,” said
Bill. “He really liked Workman and his fellow colleagues, and after two
false starts, never thought of leaving again.”
His father was attracted to New Mexico Tech because of the intellectual freedom
and research challenges the institute offered to both faculty and students.
A dedicated researcher, he often commented that one of his real joys was teaching
and interacting with young people.
Workman once told the Holmeses to buy themselves a plot in the local cemetery
and settle down. They took that advice and never looked back.
Langmuir Lab
Holmes is featured prominently in Chew’s 1987 history of Langmuir Lab,
which paints an accurate portrait of a typical work day for the scientist.
“(Holmes) designed most of the electronic systems at the lab and built
many of them himself; now he maintains them as well,” wrote Chew. “He
comes up in the morning, puts down his sack lunch, gets a cup of coffee, and
goes to work. It is solitary labor, even more so than most electronics work,
for Holmes would rather do something himself than explain to someone else
what he wants.
“Occasionally, though, Holmes will delegate responsibility to a student
assistant who is handy with electronics. Sooner or later, that student will
get ‘the look.’ It is inevitable, because the schematics for a
dismaying amount of Langmuir equipment are kept in Doc Holmes's head and nowhere
else.”
Work and family
“He was a man of routine, and a very clear and decisive thinker,”
said Bill Holmes, who recently returned to Socorro to care for his aging father.
“When he gave you advice, it was usually well-founded,” Bill said,
adding that his father’s intellectual acumen and mental health were top-notch,
even as his body weakened.
Holmes was a lifelong creature of habit. Bill recalls hearing the crunch of
tires on gravel at the stroke of six o’clock when his father arrived home
for dinner. After his meal, Holmes would return to his campus office until one
minute before 10 o’clock, when he would return home to catch the evening
news.
Holmes also found time for family, taking Bill and younger sisters Margaret
and Emily to all the national parks. Holmes accompanied Emily to an “outdoor
experience” school in Colorado, drove Margaret to her weekly piano lessons
in Albuquerque, and watched his son play basketball for the Socorro High School
Warriors.
He also was devoted to Dorothy, a longtime volunteer and later director of
the Socorro Public Library. Dorothy, who also was elected to the State Board
of Education, died three years ago.
“After he retired, his interest in life became his dog, Lacy,”
said Bill. Holmes would walk the Springer Spaniel daily on the golf course until
poor health forced him to turn the duties over to his friends and neighbors,
Charlie and Wilma Moore.
Lacy died two years ago.
Another person who visited Holmes daily was Gerardo Gross, another Tech colleague
and longtime family friend.
Return to the Langmuir days
It seems fitting to close an article about Doc Holmes by briefly returning
to Langmuir Lab atop Mt. Baldy. Joe Chew leaves us with several colorful anecdotes:
“Doc Holmes is one of the best and fastest drivers at the lab. Hunched
over the wheel with a crooked grin on his face, he sails down the highway
with blissful disregard for the speed limit. On the mountain, he slows down
a bit, but seems to have complete confidence that the small lateral excursions
of the vehicle's rear end have no effect on its course.
“It is entirely possible that he saves wear and tear on his tires
by hitting only the high spots on the road. Another hypothesis, advanced by
Langmuir balloon chief Jack Cobb, is that Doc Holmes's tubeless tires go soft
all the time because he literally beats the air out of them.
“Holmes will respond amiably enough to intelligent technical questions.
A stupid question, though, or one that breaks his concentration during an
all-morning trek through the innards of an instrument, will cause him to glance
up through a cloud of cigarette smoke, soldering iron still in hand, and say,
‘Read the damn manual.’ Then he turns back to his circuit."
At his request, no services will be held for Holmes. Instead, family and friends
will meet over the Labor Day weekend for a private memorial gathering.
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