I know, in a world so filled with death, it’s a horrible thing to wish for the death of any person, place or thing, but this time I just can’t help myself. Because just a few months ago, Betelgeuse gave off some clear indications that it will die soon — and I have to admit I’d like to see it happen.
If the name isn’t familiar, it probably doesn’t help to tell you that it’s pronounced like “Beetlejuice.” That would just confuse things by making you think I’m talking about that already-dead movie character played by Michael Keaton.
No, the Betelgeuse I’m talking about is a star in the constellation of Orion, the cluster that’s easy to find because it has a line of stars that looks like a belt, with a line of other stars that looks like a sword hanging from it. Above those stars is a bright reddish star — Betelgeuse — that’s supposed to mark the left shoulder of the hunter, Orion.
Astrology books will tell you that it’s the 12th brightest star in the sky — except that Betelgeuse isn’t really all that bright anymore. Just last year, in 2019, it changed its shape and dropped in magnitude by two-and-a-half fold.
To use a technical term for that kind of rapid and drastic change in a star: Yikes!
Betelgeuse is a massive star—more than 700 times larger than our own sun—and it won’t die quietly. When it goes kablooey, we here on Earth will see it flare with as much brightness as our half-moon gives off on a clear night. It will cast shadows under its glare. Birds and other animals that navigate by the moon and stars will be thrown off course. It will be so bright, you’ll be able to see it in the daytime.
And I want to see it die. I know, I’m probably a horrible person to wish such a fate for a star that never did me any wrong, but there it is:
I want to see Betelgeuse die.
You don’t have to worry that you’ll miss it if it happens while you’re watching “Tiger King” or reruns of “Naked and Afraid,” because stars don’t do anything fast — not even dying. The supernova explosion will be visible at daytime for more than a full year, and even longer than that at night. (Even the most avid of binge-watchers go outside once or twice in the course of a year, don’t they? Maybe during commercials?)
You also don’t have to worry that you’ll be blasted to oblivion when it explodes, because Betelgeuse is pretty far away — 724 light years away, to be precise. That means that the light we saw coming from Betelgeuse last night actually left that star 724 years ago, in 1296. Trust me, I did the math. (Well, my pocket calculator did. Like Betelgeuse, I’m not too bright anymore.)
Betelgeuse is so far away, in fact, it may have exploded hundreds of years ago, and we wouldn’t have gotten the news yet, because the light from that big kablooey is still working its way here.
So I’m not really such a horrible person, am I? Because technically I’m not saying that I want Betelgeuse to die. I’m saying that I hope Betelgeuse died sometime in the late 13th century, and that I’m still around to see it croak when the speed of light finally gets around to delivering the news. That’s not so horrible, is it, to hope that something died long, long ago, and to admit that you’re dying to watch its last dying gasp before you die?
Well, OK, maybe it is horrible. But still, you’d like to see it too, wouldn’t you?
Unfortunately, as I said, stars rarely do anything fast. Although the drastic dimming and shape-shifting that we first saw in 2019 is a sure sign that Betelgeuse is dying, scientists say that it may die at any time—or it may take another 100,000 years to kick the bucket. And I don’t think I can wait that long to see it.
So come on, Betelgeuse, don’t disappoint us. Most of us around today have never seen a real celestial light show, the kind depicted in medieval paintings that show comets with tails that stretch across the sky. Halley’s Comet was a dud the last time around, just like all those meteor showers we read about but never get to see.
Betelgeuse, I hope you died sometime around 1296 or 1297, and I hope your ghost is dashing toward us to give us the news sometime soon.
Hey…what if we all went out into the back yard tonight and chanted “Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice” three times, just like those people did in the movie? Maybe that will get the ghost of Betelgeuse to rise up and say, “It’s showtime!”
Author, musician and storyteller TR Kerth is a retired teacher who has lived in Sun City Huntley since 2003. Contact him at trkerth@yahoo.com. Can’t wait for your next visit to Planet Kerth? Then get TR’s book, “Revenge of the Sardines,” available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and other online book distributors.
