Joan Mofenson Friedman remembers her dad:
In the eyes of an adoring little girl, a father can do anything. Mine, for example, could touch the moon. It was perfectly plausible. Imprinted on my young mind was a photograph of a ladder-like contraption, pointing up to the sky. Plus, my father, as people often remarked, was very tall. 6’4” to be exact. Soon enough, I understood that my father had touched the moon, not with his fingertips, but with something called radar.
Jack Mofenson began his engineering education at Cooper Union, but legend has it that it was brief and took a back seat to basketball practice. Fortunately, he found his way to City College. There he developed a true love of learning and enormous gratitude for the fine, free education he received. He spoke often to my brother and me of what a blessing CCNY had been.
My father’s role as part of the Project Diana team was a source of immense pride for my family; in Borough Park, Brooklyn where he grew up, Jacob Mofsenson, son of a carpenter, was known as “a great scientist.” A modest individual, he was undoubtedly embarrassed by this.
About 1948, my father was offered a job as an electronics engineer at Raytheon in Waltham, Massachusetts. It was far from the Jersey Shore, but close to my mother’s family. My parents bought a small house in Medford where they quickly became immersed in community life. My father served in several highly respected positions: as President of the Jewish Community Center and as a Trustee of the Medford Public Library.
It is interesting to me that my father, whose life had been so shaped by the STEM disciplines as a young man, in mid-age revealed his humanistic side. He became deeply interested in classical music. He read and pondered history and philosophy; he took up gardening, loved ice skating, singing, whistling, and, of course, the Brooklyn Dodgers.
Sadly, my father developed cancer at the age of 53. He lived to see his son graduate from law school and his daughter enter teachers college. And he lived to see Apollo 11, the first manned mission to the moon, a few weeks before he died in August of 1969.
In the eyes of an adoring little girl, a father can do anything. Mine, for example, could touch the moon. It was perfectly plausible. Imprinted on my young mind was a photograph of a ladder-like contraption, pointing up to the sky. Plus, my father, as people often remarked, was very tall. 6’4” to be exact. Soon enough, I understood that my father had touched the moon, not with his fingertips, but with something called radar.
Jack Mofenson began his engineering education at Cooper Union, but legend has it that it was brief and took a back seat to basketball practice. Fortunately, he found his way to City College. There he developed a true love of learning and enormous gratitude for the fine, free education he received. He spoke often to my brother and me of what a blessing CCNY had been.
My father’s role as part of the Project Diana team was a source of immense pride for my family; in Borough Park, Brooklyn where he grew up, Jacob Mofsenson, son of a carpenter, was known as “a great scientist.” A modest individual, he was undoubtedly embarrassed by this.
About 1948, my father was offered a job as an electronics engineer at Raytheon in Waltham, Massachusetts. It was far from the Jersey Shore, but close to my mother’s family. My parents bought a small house in Medford where they quickly became immersed in community life. My father served in several highly respected positions: as President of the Jewish Community Center and as a Trustee of the Medford Public Library.
It is interesting to me that my father, whose life had been so shaped by the STEM disciplines as a young man, in mid-age revealed his humanistic side. He became deeply interested in classical music. He read and pondered history and philosophy; he took up gardening, loved ice skating, singing, whistling, and, of course, the Brooklyn Dodgers.
Sadly, my father developed cancer at the age of 53. He lived to see his son graduate from law school and his daughter enter teachers college. And he lived to see Apollo 11, the first manned mission to the moon, a few weeks before he died in August of 1969.