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In the back-and-forth over recent weeks between my columns and readers' letters to the editor, some questions have been raised about my background.

So please forgive me for speaking openly about myself — I want to set the record straight.

I am not a professional scientist. Never have been. Never pretended to be. But I have worked with some of the top scientists in the world, including Professor Hans Bethe, the man who figured out what makes the sun shine. Meeting him was much more of a thrill to me than meeting any of the stars in the worlds of sports and entertainment that I've encountered (except for the members of the Philadelphia Piano Quartet, but that's another story).

I got turned on to science when I was about 10 years old, the first time I went to a planetarium show. Growing up in the narrow streets of South Philadelphia, I never had much of a view of the stars. When the planetarium dome suddenly sprang out with the full glory of the night sky, I was turned on to astronomy for life.

Through that interest in astronomy I became interested in rocketry and astronautics and, eventually, in science fiction.

I obtained a bachelor's degree in journalism from Temple University in 1954, the only college I could afford. At that, I had to work my way through, although I was still living with my parents and didn't have to shoulder the burden of room and board.

Just before graduation, I landed a job as a reporter/editor at a weekly newspaper in suburban Philadelphia. But when the U.S. government announced it would attempt to place an artificial satellite in orbit around the Earth, I talked my way into a job with the company that was building the satellite launching rocket. I became a technical editor. That company is now Lockheed Martin, one of the aerospace giants.

Although the Soviet Union's Sputnik I became the world's first artificial satellite on Oct. 4, 1957, we got three Vanguard satellites into orbit, starting on St. Patrick's Day 1958 — with a St. Christopher's medal welded to the rocket's guidance section.

Soon afterward, I was recruited to join a new organization that had been spun out of the MIT physics faculty: the Physical Sciences Study Committee. PSSC's goal was to create a new course in physics for high school students. I was hired to write teaching films. My on-camera "talent" consisted of Nobel Prize-winning physicists, doing high-school experiments with home-made equipment.

I had been writing science fiction stories without much success, but in 1959 my first novel was published. My editor became intrigued with the astronomical background of my fiction, which I assured him was authentic. He asked me to write a nonfiction book about stellar astronomy for the general reader. Thus, my first nonfiction book was published.

From PSSC I moved to a position at the Avco Everett Research Laboratory. The Cold War was very scary in those days. The Soviet Union's achievements in space had proved to the world that the U.S.S.R. had rockets capable of delivering hydrogen bombs on any city in the world. The United States was pushing desperately to catch up in the missile race.

Avco Everett's scientists solved the re-entry problem for ballistic missiles. Eventually, a different division of Avco Corporation built the heat shields that protected our Apollo astronauts as they returned from the moon.

My job at the lab was to help the scientists write their research papers. From this, I founded a marketing department for the laboratory. My task was to find government or private agencies to fund the research that the lab's scientists wanted to do.

Avco Everett's scientists developed a new kind of electrical power generator that could turn out multi-megawatts of electricity from coal without causing undue air pollution. They invented the first high-power laser. I arranged a top-secret briefing in the Pentagon where our people revealed to the Department of Defense's top scientists that it was now possible to build lasers that could shoot down ballistic missiles.

We also developed one of the earliest artificial heart devices, but that too is another story.

While I was traveling the world to sell our scientific research, I was also writing science fiction. And nonfiction about science. I began to acquire a reputation for fiction based solidly on the latest scientific discoveries.

The top editor in the world of science fiction died unexpectedly, and I was asked to take over his position. Thus I left the aerospace industry and became a magazine editor in New York. I edited Analog Science Fiction magazine from 1971 to 1978, and then Omni magazine for the first four years of its existence.

In 1982, I gave up "the day job" to devote myself full time to writing. I earned a master's degree in communications from SUNY-Albany, and then a doctorate in education from California Coast University, a pioneer in "distance learning."

I have always been interested in the ways that scientific research affects our lives. Back when I first started newspaper work, we used to run a box score about polio on the front page all summer long: how many children died of the disease, how many were crippled, how many had to be placed in iron lungs because they could no longer breathe on their own.

Then one spring, we ran a story about kids being vaccinated with the Salk vaccine. And we never had to run a box score about polio again. Science is vitally important. It can be the difference between life and death for us.

Thomas Jefferson once wrote to a friend, "I have sworn upon the altar of God eternal hostility to every form of tyranny over the mind of man." He was speaking of those who use religion as a tool to prevent people from searching, from learning, from finding new knowledge.

I stand with Jefferson.

Naples resident Ben Bova's latest novel is "Mercury," part of his acclaimed Grand Tour series. Dr. Bova's Web site is www.benbova.net