James C. Anderson; rocket scientist, musician

"He grew up in a tiny house, the kind they live in in Kansas, with one little bathroom for the family, and he would go in there and read the encyclopedia," said his wife, Thomasine Berg. "He read the whole thing. That's when his mother knew he was a smart kid."

With whimsy and without irony, Dr. Anderson could wear a T-shirt someone gave him that proclaimed, "Actually, I am a rocket scientist."

At Lincoln Laboratory in Lexington, his research delved into areas such as air traffic control, speech-recognition devices, and developing ways to make computers talk. He also held patents on hearing aids.

Dr. Anderson, a talented musician with a range from rock to Gilbert and Sullivan, collapsed at his Westwood home and died early Sunday in Caritas Norwood Hospital. He was 55 and had probably suffered a heart attack, though test results are pending.

Using his prodigious memory, Dr. Anderson tucked away more than just the details he accumulated on scientific projects, among them confidential endeavors for the government.

"He had the most nerdy, pun-filled sense of humor," said his wife, an editor with the Globe's "g" section. "He was the king of puns and would save them up, so when the opportune time came, he would come out with one that you just knew he had been waiting to use."

At work, "he was like a one-man Google," said Robert Grappel, a colleague at Lincoln Laboratory. "His file system was amazing. If you wanted to know what we did on a project 20 years ago, he'd say, 'Oh, yeah, I've got that.' "

The same was true with music, said Grappel, who performed occasionally with his friend of some 30 years. An accomplished trumpeter, Dr. Anderson was always ready to put together ensembles and kept certain tools of the trade at his fingertips.

"It was, 'Do you have any sheet music for "Stars and Stripes Forever"? And he'd say, 'Yeah, I have that over here,' " Grappel said.

When Dr. Anderson chaired the music committee at Lincoln Laboratory, he shouldered everything from booking concerts at the lab's auditorium to arranging for posters and making sure that recordings were available afterward.

"Jim took over the job of introducing all the performers, and he was really good at that," said Jerry Welch, a senior staff member at the lab who formerly chaired the committee. "He was very, very funny and witty and somehow at the same time had the appropriate level of formality. And he never, ever forgot a joke, so he always had one that could put the musicians at ease up there when he was introducing them."

A musician since fourth grade, James C. Anderson grew up in Wichita, Kan., the third of four sons.

The jazz-rock group Chicago, with its horn section, became popular when he was a teenager, and he put himself through college playing trumpet in a like-minded Wichita band called Majestic Mood, which once opened for the Guess Who at the Kansas State Fair.

Performing in a band made for some late evenings when he went to Wichita High School North, where he met Berg, who was behind him when they were seated alphabetically.

"He would come in and sleep, because he was being a rock musician at night, and I would poke at him," she said.

After graduating from high school in 1971, he received a bachelor's degree in electrical engineering in 1975 from Wichita State University. In the same field of study, he received a master's degree from the University of Michigan in 1977 and a doctorate from MIT in 1984.

Dr. Anderson and Berg married in 1975 and moved to Acton in 1977, when he began working at Lincoln Laboratory. They moved to Westwood in 1985.

As their sons, Peter and Benjamin, and their daughter, Jamie, were growing up, Dr. Anderson turned birthday parties into one of the biggest draws in town for children. At the lab, he worked on satellite technology; at home, he dazzled children by helping them launch model rockets.

When it was his turn to speak about his career for his children's school classes, Dr. Anderson put on the head-to-toe safety garb worn at the lab to prevent contamination.

"Jim would show up in his bunny suit and talk about being a rocket scientist, and the kids loved that," his wife said. "He would take the Boy Scouts out with telescopes and tell them all about the stars. He was brilliant, and he was the most open-hearted person that I've ever met."

Just as generous with musical friends, he joined the Lexington Bicentennial Band and performed in the gazebo on summer Tuesday evenings.

"He always had 20 irons in the fire," Grappel said. "How he juggled it, I have no idea. He never seemed rushed; he never seemed harried. He always had time for you. He was an amazing fellow."

A fan of Gilbert and Sullivan, Dr. Anderson decided to put together a no-rehearsal fun performance of "HMS Pinafore" for his 50th birthday, drawing performers from the extensive music community contacts he and his wife, a flutist, had cultivated. Things went so well that he donned a tuxedo and staged "The Pirates of Penzance" last year for his 55th birthday.

"It was like the adult version of 'let's get together and put on a play,' and Jim organized the whole thing," his wife said. "We had a full orchestra, and he got some wonderful soloists. Nobody else could do this but Jim, pull it all together and conduct it, because he knows everybody, and everybody loves him."

In addition to his wife and three children, Dr. Anderson leaves two brothers, Charles and Thomas, both of Wichita.

A memorial service will be held at 10 a.m. tomorrow in First Parish Church of Westwood. Burial will be in New Westwood Cemetery.