Essay 29
TWO POEMS
The following two poems were written on the ship THORFINN, near the island of Dublon, in the Truk (now Chuuk) Lagoon, on August 12, l991.
The first was written by Don Pettit, then of the Los Alamos National Laboratory, now an astronaut. The second was my spur of the moment response.
Indeed, Don was “stranded” in space when the Columbia shredded, and on one occasion I sent to him while he was in space the poems we had written.
Don’s poem
I wonder why the sky is up.
And why the stars abound.
And why the sun comes up each morn
And why the earth goes ‘round.
I wonder what the sun on Mars
Would bring at dusk or dawn?
I wonder what the moons would say,
Earth lit, when sun is gone?
I wonder if Mar’s mountain crags
Would be a sight to hold?
I wonder if I’d dare to climb.
How could I be so bold!
I wonder when man’s mind will grow,
And cease to be so small.
I wonder when we’ll venture forth.
I hope before we fall.
I wonder if we’ll ever dare
To reach and touch the sky,
Forever doomed to live on earth?
And this, I wonder why.
RRB’s response
No wonder that he wonders
About the starry sky.
Of what is up, and what is down,
And if in space, there’s pi.
Does light grow weak, or very tired?
Is expansion illusion?
Might it be so those in the know
Are really in collusion?
Now Entropy is not that hard
As a subject one must cover.
And revolution and evolution
We can explain to one another.
But look at man, and see him think.
Now there’s a scene to ponder!
For surely that’s the biggest thing
About which man can wonder.
But really, if I do my best
To figure it all out,
Can I understand, and then explain
Just what it’s all about?
The chance of that is mighty small
And growing even smaller.
The grant required, though fun to size,
Transcends the finite dollar.
Is what we see, reality,
Or is it only fluff?
Should I spend time to improve my mind?
Perchance I’ve learned enough!!
P.S. I’ve sometimes wondered how many poems have been sent to men in space.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Essay 28 Roads and the Standard of Living
Essay 28
ROADS AND THE STANDARD OF LIVING
While on a trip to a somewhat remote part of Turkey, I learned that the United States had funded some power generating plants in that region, and that available electricity was beginning to have a significant effect. There is no doubt that such activity represents progress, and impressive progress, too. I'm sure that such U.S. aid was well received.
But I observed, as I traveled along a moderately acceptable road in the rural regions not too far from the power plant, that many people had hauled their agriculture products to the sides of the road, and were awaiting customers. Some were in animal-drawn carts, but others were afoot. There were few dwellings within sight of the road, suggesting that most people had come a considerable distance. Many were well removed from any village or city.
Both of my grandfathers arrived on the Kansas Plains in l870s, miles from anywhere. One of my maternal grandfather's early visions was to have the railroad come near the homestead, and he labored for more than a decade to accomplish that. As a member of the State Legislature he fought for a rail network throughout the state, and the main line of the Santa Fe Railroad now runs but a mile from his original homestead. Among other endeavors, he organized a number of farmers to raise $700 to pay for a railroad spur at the closest approach--and that became my home town. Hence my parents grew up with a railroad nearby, but only used horses for power. A quarter of a century later, when I was growing up, we had tractors and other power machinery, and a standard of living that was relatively high. But my father oft-times pointed out to me that tractors and other machinery were not solely responsible for our wealth, nor could it have been electricity, since that arrived on the farm five years after World War II. Rather it was due to our access to roads, not only in our local area but also across the nation.
So at an early age I began to understand my grandfathers' and father's great interest in roads and railroads, their concern for their maintenance, and their eagerness to reestablish them after storms or floods. They knew that without means to transport agricultural products to the consumer, there was no need to grow more than we could consume ourselves, and no possibility of buying other products we might like to have.
Is it possible that support to Turkey from the U.S. might have been allocated better, first to roads, and then to power generators?
Roads into space will almost certainly determine the development of space, rather than the reverse. For wealth to be realized, and then shared, distribution networks must necessarily exist. Many kinds of secondary activities, interests and occupations will spring up along the roadsides of such systems, and eventually those "secondary" locations will become prime ingredients in a mature, functioning, wealthy, societal network. Commerce which can make wealth, integrates. The lesson, as experienced in the U.S., might be summarized as follows:
1) Fight for roads--lots of them.
2) Build as many as you can, almost before anything else. Use government
subsidies, and private investment.
3) Be amazed at the unexpected wealth that flows along them.
A final observation. The community at the end of a dead-end road is rare, expensive to live in and to maintain, and is almost certainly of a temporal nature. Ironically, this is the situation of Los Alamos!
ROADS AND THE STANDARD OF LIVING
While on a trip to a somewhat remote part of Turkey, I learned that the United States had funded some power generating plants in that region, and that available electricity was beginning to have a significant effect. There is no doubt that such activity represents progress, and impressive progress, too. I'm sure that such U.S. aid was well received.
But I observed, as I traveled along a moderately acceptable road in the rural regions not too far from the power plant, that many people had hauled their agriculture products to the sides of the road, and were awaiting customers. Some were in animal-drawn carts, but others were afoot. There were few dwellings within sight of the road, suggesting that most people had come a considerable distance. Many were well removed from any village or city.
Both of my grandfathers arrived on the Kansas Plains in l870s, miles from anywhere. One of my maternal grandfather's early visions was to have the railroad come near the homestead, and he labored for more than a decade to accomplish that. As a member of the State Legislature he fought for a rail network throughout the state, and the main line of the Santa Fe Railroad now runs but a mile from his original homestead. Among other endeavors, he organized a number of farmers to raise $700 to pay for a railroad spur at the closest approach--and that became my home town. Hence my parents grew up with a railroad nearby, but only used horses for power. A quarter of a century later, when I was growing up, we had tractors and other power machinery, and a standard of living that was relatively high. But my father oft-times pointed out to me that tractors and other machinery were not solely responsible for our wealth, nor could it have been electricity, since that arrived on the farm five years after World War II. Rather it was due to our access to roads, not only in our local area but also across the nation.
So at an early age I began to understand my grandfathers' and father's great interest in roads and railroads, their concern for their maintenance, and their eagerness to reestablish them after storms or floods. They knew that without means to transport agricultural products to the consumer, there was no need to grow more than we could consume ourselves, and no possibility of buying other products we might like to have.
Is it possible that support to Turkey from the U.S. might have been allocated better, first to roads, and then to power generators?
Roads into space will almost certainly determine the development of space, rather than the reverse. For wealth to be realized, and then shared, distribution networks must necessarily exist. Many kinds of secondary activities, interests and occupations will spring up along the roadsides of such systems, and eventually those "secondary" locations will become prime ingredients in a mature, functioning, wealthy, societal network. Commerce which can make wealth, integrates. The lesson, as experienced in the U.S., might be summarized as follows:
1) Fight for roads--lots of them.
2) Build as many as you can, almost before anything else. Use government
subsidies, and private investment.
3) Be amazed at the unexpected wealth that flows along them.
A final observation. The community at the end of a dead-end road is rare, expensive to live in and to maintain, and is almost certainly of a temporal nature. Ironically, this is the situation of Los Alamos!
Essay 23 Bringing In A Pope
Essay 23
BRINGING IN A POPE
In the fall of 1978 I was to attend a scientific meeting in Bad Urach, Germany, and did so after visiting England and France. Addie Leah and daughter Wenda were with me, and after the meeting we visited Switzerland and Italy.
Planning for the trip really began in August, and I discovered that it was possible to stay in Rome at a hotel just outside the Vatican gates that was built as a Cardinal’s Palace in the 1400’s. The plan was to find a vacancy there when we arrived, and enjoy seeing the Vatican.
On August 26 there was a new pope in Rome, and we were dashed that we had missed this big event. But when Pope John Paul I died on September 28, we were just ready to leave for Europe. What might it be like to find some place to stay in Rome? We arrived at the railroad station just as the Cardinals were being locked up in the Sistine Chapel to select yet another Pope, on October 14. Rome had been filled with Catholics and Cardinals from all over the world just one month earlier, but most could not make it back for yet another great moment in history. Thus, when from the railroad station I called the hotel that was once a palace to ask about a vacancy, I was told there was one room available, for three people. Imagine that! We immediately signed on. What a tremendous piece of luck! We could now make the very short distance to the Vatican plaza to participate as we chose to enjoy this moment in history.
This hotel was the usual choice for visiting Bishops and Archbishops from all over the world. It was Catholic beyond all imagining, and not exactly where one could find three visiting Presbyterians. Furthermore, visiting prelates frequently brought young priests with them, and that is how we met such a man from Minneapolis who was making his first trip outside the US. He was completely dazzled. The guests ate family style. We had time to talk!
The Cardinals were unable to select the new Pope on the first seven votes taken over two days. After each one everyone waited to see the color of the smoke rising from the chimney of the Sistine Chapel. If it was black—no Pope yet. The Vatican crowds were quite enthusiastic, different parts cheering the name of their Cardinal candidate. Enthusiasm reigned. The difficulty was that whoever controlled the smoke’s color was not at all practiced at it, and the smoke color would vary from black to almost white, alternating several times, so that each vote elicited cheers and groans, and laughter.
On October 16 the smoke appeared nearly white, but we were not quite sure about it until there was an announcement that the smoke was white. A huge cheer went up.
For this particular moment we had managed to be well to the front in the crowd, standing remarkably close, almost directly under the balcony from which the Cardinal of choice would be announced. A very excited senior cardinal deacon appeared, the huge Vatican Banner was unfurled, releasing many birds (pigeons?) that flew in all directions, and in Latin he gave the new Pope’s name, slowly, Karol-Cardinal-Wojtyla. After the word “Karol” a huge roar began for Carlo Confalonieri, Dean of the College of Cardinals. Cheers faltered and died when they heard “Wojtyla”. The people around us began going through the Vatican newspaper’s list of Cardinals, printed alphabetically of course. Finally we began to hear repeated all around us, over and over, “Polacco, Polacco!” (The Pole). But that word was translated by many to mean that the new pope was Cardinal Ugo Poletti. It was maybe a minute or so before the truth finally dawned—the first non-Italian Pope in four hundred fifty five years! The crowd was obviously stunned. The L’Observatore Romano, the Vatican’s newspaper, that day had published that there was no chance at all of a non-Italian Pope and there was a zero chance that the paper could be wrong. The news was very big, and crowd behaved like it! A full moon rose in a clear sky, and it was blood red! (The atmosphere in Rome is makes it hard to determine if the sky is clear). I thought perhaps that explained everything but was unable to communicate this opinion in the Italians surrounding us.
About an hour passed, and we were told that was necessary to give all of Rome the time to be present. Then Pope John Paul II appeared on the balcony, spoke in Italian, mispronounced a word, said the right thing, and then the roar of about a quarter of a million people was just what we expected to hear. What a moment!
Returning to our hotel we had a late dinner, and with us was the young priest from Minneapolis. He asked me if I had heard of the Pope’s first miracle. I had not. “He made a blind man lame!” Thus began our collection of Polish Pope’s jokes—jokes to be treasured for the next 27 years.
We spent a day at Pompeii, enjoyed the ruins immensely, but here’s advice to the reader—be present in Rome for the selection of a new Pope if you want to have unique memories.
BRINGING IN A POPE
In the fall of 1978 I was to attend a scientific meeting in Bad Urach, Germany, and did so after visiting England and France. Addie Leah and daughter Wenda were with me, and after the meeting we visited Switzerland and Italy.
Planning for the trip really began in August, and I discovered that it was possible to stay in Rome at a hotel just outside the Vatican gates that was built as a Cardinal’s Palace in the 1400’s. The plan was to find a vacancy there when we arrived, and enjoy seeing the Vatican.
On August 26 there was a new pope in Rome, and we were dashed that we had missed this big event. But when Pope John Paul I died on September 28, we were just ready to leave for Europe. What might it be like to find some place to stay in Rome? We arrived at the railroad station just as the Cardinals were being locked up in the Sistine Chapel to select yet another Pope, on October 14. Rome had been filled with Catholics and Cardinals from all over the world just one month earlier, but most could not make it back for yet another great moment in history. Thus, when from the railroad station I called the hotel that was once a palace to ask about a vacancy, I was told there was one room available, for three people. Imagine that! We immediately signed on. What a tremendous piece of luck! We could now make the very short distance to the Vatican plaza to participate as we chose to enjoy this moment in history.
This hotel was the usual choice for visiting Bishops and Archbishops from all over the world. It was Catholic beyond all imagining, and not exactly where one could find three visiting Presbyterians. Furthermore, visiting prelates frequently brought young priests with them, and that is how we met such a man from Minneapolis who was making his first trip outside the US. He was completely dazzled. The guests ate family style. We had time to talk!
The Cardinals were unable to select the new Pope on the first seven votes taken over two days. After each one everyone waited to see the color of the smoke rising from the chimney of the Sistine Chapel. If it was black—no Pope yet. The Vatican crowds were quite enthusiastic, different parts cheering the name of their Cardinal candidate. Enthusiasm reigned. The difficulty was that whoever controlled the smoke’s color was not at all practiced at it, and the smoke color would vary from black to almost white, alternating several times, so that each vote elicited cheers and groans, and laughter.
On October 16 the smoke appeared nearly white, but we were not quite sure about it until there was an announcement that the smoke was white. A huge cheer went up.
For this particular moment we had managed to be well to the front in the crowd, standing remarkably close, almost directly under the balcony from which the Cardinal of choice would be announced. A very excited senior cardinal deacon appeared, the huge Vatican Banner was unfurled, releasing many birds (pigeons?) that flew in all directions, and in Latin he gave the new Pope’s name, slowly, Karol-Cardinal-Wojtyla. After the word “Karol” a huge roar began for Carlo Confalonieri, Dean of the College of Cardinals. Cheers faltered and died when they heard “Wojtyla”. The people around us began going through the Vatican newspaper’s list of Cardinals, printed alphabetically of course. Finally we began to hear repeated all around us, over and over, “Polacco, Polacco!” (The Pole). But that word was translated by many to mean that the new pope was Cardinal Ugo Poletti. It was maybe a minute or so before the truth finally dawned—the first non-Italian Pope in four hundred fifty five years! The crowd was obviously stunned. The L’Observatore Romano, the Vatican’s newspaper, that day had published that there was no chance at all of a non-Italian Pope and there was a zero chance that the paper could be wrong. The news was very big, and crowd behaved like it! A full moon rose in a clear sky, and it was blood red! (The atmosphere in Rome is makes it hard to determine if the sky is clear). I thought perhaps that explained everything but was unable to communicate this opinion in the Italians surrounding us.
About an hour passed, and we were told that was necessary to give all of Rome the time to be present. Then Pope John Paul II appeared on the balcony, spoke in Italian, mispronounced a word, said the right thing, and then the roar of about a quarter of a million people was just what we expected to hear. What a moment!
Returning to our hotel we had a late dinner, and with us was the young priest from Minneapolis. He asked me if I had heard of the Pope’s first miracle. I had not. “He made a blind man lame!” Thus began our collection of Polish Pope’s jokes—jokes to be treasured for the next 27 years.
We spent a day at Pompeii, enjoyed the ruins immensely, but here’s advice to the reader—be present in Rome for the selection of a new Pope if you want to have unique memories.
Essay 22 A Cold Night and a Colder Morning in Fairbanks, Alaska
Essay 22
A COLD NIGHT AND A COLDER MORNING IN FAIRBANKS ALASKA
It was deep winter in Fairbanks, Alaska, and I was making an official visit to the University for discussions about Amchitka, where we had three nuclear tests, in 1965, 1969, and 1971. It was bitterly cold, and one night it was -52 degrees, Fahrenheit. I not only remember that as being cold, but that was the night some of the University boys chose to streak from their dorms through the Student Union in order to get the record for streaking in the coldest temperature.
The following morning I arrived at the airport in plenty of time, and the outgoing plane was late, so I was about the only traveler to be found. I had some reading to do, so I went to the gate, and through security. There was only one security guard present. After I passed through the usual machine, I sat down. Deciding to be friendly, I asked the gentleman if he had heard about the streakers. He had. I then said that I was curious. If a naked man were to run through the screener, would he make the man come back and walk through?
The conversation ended with these words.
“It is against the law to joke about screening, and one more word and I’ll have you arrested!”
I obeyed, but it was a difficult moment! I kept wondering if one more word included laughing!
A COLD NIGHT AND A COLDER MORNING IN FAIRBANKS ALASKA
It was deep winter in Fairbanks, Alaska, and I was making an official visit to the University for discussions about Amchitka, where we had three nuclear tests, in 1965, 1969, and 1971. It was bitterly cold, and one night it was -52 degrees, Fahrenheit. I not only remember that as being cold, but that was the night some of the University boys chose to streak from their dorms through the Student Union in order to get the record for streaking in the coldest temperature.
The following morning I arrived at the airport in plenty of time, and the outgoing plane was late, so I was about the only traveler to be found. I had some reading to do, so I went to the gate, and through security. There was only one security guard present. After I passed through the usual machine, I sat down. Deciding to be friendly, I asked the gentleman if he had heard about the streakers. He had. I then said that I was curious. If a naked man were to run through the screener, would he make the man come back and walk through?
The conversation ended with these words.
“It is against the law to joke about screening, and one more word and I’ll have you arrested!”
I obeyed, but it was a difficult moment! I kept wondering if one more word included laughing!
Essay 16 My Aunt Pish
Essay 16
MY AUNT PISH
In January, 1980, the Stafford Courier, the home town newspaper where I went to high school, published the following article.
The text reads
“SPACE OBJECTS?? No. They're just ordinary of golf balls. The strangest thing about these golf balls is where they were found. Alfred Taylor of Stafford farms a piece of ground 1 mile north, one West and 1/2 north of Seward, Kansas. Over the past six or seven years he has found nine golf balls out in the middle of his field. The balls have all been found near the center of the section and usually one or two at a time. No one near Seward knows anything about the appearance of the balls, and there is no golf course or driving range nearby. The ground is level and sandy, and Alfred usually has it in wheat or milo. The balls are of various brands, Titalist, Spalding, Dunlop, Turfmaster and Tournament, just to name a few of them. Most of them seem to be fairly new and in good shape, except where a plow or disk has nicked them before Alfred saw them. Alfred reports that many years ago there was an oil well in the field, but the balls appear to be too new to have been lost or put there 30 years ago. If anyone has any ideas on where these golf balls might have come from, write us at the Courier, box 276 and maybe we can help clear up the mystery of the roving golf balls. (Courier Photos by Mike Sat) (Story by Debbie Trock)”
In February, 1979, there was a solar eclipse visible from the US, and Paul Mutschlecner, a long-time fellow student at Indiana University and colleague at Los Alamos and I decided to go to Montana to see it. We thought that might be about the best place. Fortunately in the summer of 1978 son Chip had worked for a farm family there, and we were invited to stay with them for this major event.
The senior patriarch of the family was Grandfather, he supplied us with truly magical stories, and we had a wonderful time. In many of these stories we heard of the fabulous doings of his Aunt Pish.
After we were back in Los Alamos, we reviewed these Aunt Pish stories, and realized that we had never asked for her real name. Might it have been Priscilla? We could only guess. But it was clear that she was such an outstanding aunt, that we concluded every American family should have an Aunt Pish. If they did not have one, she should be invented.
The question arose, how would you go about inventing an aunt? As time permitted, this question was reviewed on occasions.
My final conclusion was a simple one. It would be sufficient to make Aunt Pish a real person if one could get her name published in the home town newspaper.
I did not have an Aunt Pish though we had many aunts in the family, so I tried to think about a variety of ways of inserting her into the family history. Suddenly the Stafford Courier requests letters from readers about possible origins of the golf balls in Stafford County, Kansas.
I fashioned a letter to the Editor; Points I made in it follow.
Golf Balls—Everything You Ever Wanted to Know And Were Afraid to Ask.
It is quite clear to some of here in Los Alamos that the discovery of those golf balls by Mr. Taylor over a period of five or six years near the center of a section of land presents a problem of considerable interest and importance. Unfortunately we have insufficient data to enable us to come to definitive answers. We have decided, however, not to let the paucity of information interfere with our speculations, and indeed, in the spirit of the age, we feel that we have every right to believe what we wish without regard to the detailed facts.
We have decided to approach this problem with a series of questions.
First, is it possible to approach this matter scientifically? Answer, Yes.
For example, let us assume the laws of physics hold for this problem. One of them speaks to the inevitable increase of entropy with time. This means that what is ordered will become increasingly disordered; that what is gathered will become scattered, etc. Since golf balls have discrete sources, and certainly do become scattered with time, this particular law appears to be relevant.
Let N equal the number of golf balls produced in the United States each year. In six years the number of golf balls produced will be 6N. If A is the area of the United States in square miles, then 6N divided by A will be the number of golf balls per square mile if they were to be evenly distributed. For Mr. Taylor’s golf balls, there appears to be three possible situations;
a.) 6N/A is much greater than 9
b.) 6N/A is roughly equal to 9
c,) 6N/A is very much less than 9
When N is known, it will be clear which of these categories applies.
It is instructive, however to examine each possibility.
Suppose that a. is the situation. This leads to the curious circumstance that golf balls, evenly distributed, will number many more than nine to the square mile. So the problem is immediately shifted away from the question “Why the 9 balls?” to “Where are all the others?” This is of course a fascinating, but utterly different question.
If b. is the situation then one would expect roughly nine balls per square mile, and there is no problem.
If c. is correct, grave question might arise as to the reality of the found balls, for categories of highly improbable events contain miracles, misunderstandings, and hoaxes, not necessarily in equal parts!
For the sake of further discussion, let us assume that the balls are real, and that no hoax is involved.
So, secondly, are these golf balls ordinary, i.e., normal?
Answer: NO! Notice the following points
1. Normal golf balls are always associated with golfers—a point not necessarily to their credit. But these balls are utterly without this traditional association.
2. Normally golf balls in sand are abhorrent especially if they are in that circumstance for long periods of time—say periods longer than 1 hour. Normally this is not to be permitted.
3. Ordinary golf balls have a history of being lost. These balls have only a history of being found. Strange, indeed.
Conclusion: These are not normal golf balls!
Thirdly, and a principal question nowadays, Are these golf balls radioactive?
Answer: Almost certainly!
1. For normal golf balls, this question would not be necessary. For non-normal golf balls it is fundamental.
2. The existence of these balls is sinister, for why else would so many of us be concerned?
3. Sinister things border on evil.
4. In today’s society, evil things are usually radioactive. (The fact that one’s spouse is radioactive is suppressed for purposes of this discussion.)
5. If the question arises about anything being radioactive, ever more and more careful measurements will finally reveal that it is.
6. Bad news is always forthcoming if you insist upon knowing.
Conclusion: These balls are much more apt to be radioactive than not.
Fourth: What possible reason could anyone have for distributing radioactive golf balls in hard-to-spot places throughout the country?
Answer: There is a very good reason why this might be true.
1. The government has a big nuclear waste problem, right?
2. The government only embraces evil for good reason.
3. There is not a lot of nuclear waste, so a little dab here and there will do it.
4. Probably only the government has the means to distribute waste in golf balls without being detected. (Notice that much of what the governmental departments do goes undetected. Consider the Departments of Interior, Agriculture, Labor and Education. Usually it is just the Departments of Defense and Energy that call themselves to the public’s attention, and they always regret it!)
Conclusion: At last all this becomes plain. The government is using golf balls to get rid of its nuclear waste.
Fifth: Are there no other alternatives to the government’s nuclear waste dilemma?
Answer: Yes. But none are being pursued.
1. We can think of no other alternatives involving golf balls.
2. It is important to note that other kinds of radioactive objects have not been found in fields. (Radioactive objects have been found occasionally along the roads, but this is too dumb to be planned. It is most likely due to incompetence.)
Conclusion: No help here.
Sixth: Surely it is possible to invent another explanation.
Answer: Yes.
1. The radioactive waste explanation is newsworthy. Even movie stars will like it.
2. To have the balls dropped from satellites is not competitive with the Soviets.
3. Blaming crows is too prosaic.
4. The whole thing has been too quiet to be associated with the Iranian crisis.
5. The Department of Agriculture may know a lot about golf and fields, but to suggest they could do this is unkind.
6. Teen-agers get blamed for everything.
Conclusion; Ho-hum.
Seventh: Can one, by the introduction of but a single fact, overthrow the above logic?
Answer: Yes
1. The fact is that in the United States there are over 200 million golf balls manufactured each year. In six years 1.2 billion are about. The area of the United States, including Alaska, is about 3.6 million Square miles. Therefore, if these balls were evenly distributed, there would be 300 per square mile.
Conclusion: Now we have a real problem! Where are all of these golf balls??
The best possible summary of this is the old saying Aunt Pish used to have for every imponderable, “These Things Happen!”
And, there it was! Aunt Pish’s name was published in my home town newspaper when they printed my letter. For some years thereafter I would bring up the name of Aunt Pish in large family gatherings, and was never questioned about her. Apparently each person thought she was from the other side of the family.
This story does not really end here, for the printed letter was picked up by small newspapers throughout the Midwest, and I began receiving letters from long-time acquaintances asking just what I was trying to do. Chip, in college, had a friend bring him a copy of HIS home town newspaper asking if Chip was any relation. Chip conceded, but also wondered why. A number of us from the lab departed in a Boeing 707 for Africa not too many weeks later, and when I opened my airplane mounted scope in Kenya, to my amazement there was a sack of golf balls, each with its own radioactive sticker. (See below.) The original plan was to drop them from 30,000 feet as the plane flew over Stafford County, but it was decided that having them in Kenya would be more fun. The question then arose; do we leave them in Kenya? What a splendid international incident. But could we smuggle them back into the US? We thought we would try, and we did.
Hence, the picture.
It was many years before I confessed to the family the true origin of Aunt Pish.
However, it happens that I have her picture. Bill Ogle was going through ancient pictures of his family, and there was one picture no one could identify. His conclusion was that it was a picture of Brownlee’s Aunt Pish, so I now own her picture as well.
MY AUNT PISH
In January, 1980, the Stafford Courier, the home town newspaper where I went to high school, published the following article.
The text reads
“SPACE OBJECTS?? No. They're just ordinary of golf balls. The strangest thing about these golf balls is where they were found. Alfred Taylor of Stafford farms a piece of ground 1 mile north, one West and 1/2 north of Seward, Kansas. Over the past six or seven years he has found nine golf balls out in the middle of his field. The balls have all been found near the center of the section and usually one or two at a time. No one near Seward knows anything about the appearance of the balls, and there is no golf course or driving range nearby. The ground is level and sandy, and Alfred usually has it in wheat or milo. The balls are of various brands, Titalist, Spalding, Dunlop, Turfmaster and Tournament, just to name a few of them. Most of them seem to be fairly new and in good shape, except where a plow or disk has nicked them before Alfred saw them. Alfred reports that many years ago there was an oil well in the field, but the balls appear to be too new to have been lost or put there 30 years ago. If anyone has any ideas on where these golf balls might have come from, write us at the Courier, box 276 and maybe we can help clear up the mystery of the roving golf balls. (Courier Photos by Mike Sat) (Story by Debbie Trock)”
In February, 1979, there was a solar eclipse visible from the US, and Paul Mutschlecner, a long-time fellow student at Indiana University and colleague at Los Alamos and I decided to go to Montana to see it. We thought that might be about the best place. Fortunately in the summer of 1978 son Chip had worked for a farm family there, and we were invited to stay with them for this major event.
The senior patriarch of the family was Grandfather, he supplied us with truly magical stories, and we had a wonderful time. In many of these stories we heard of the fabulous doings of his Aunt Pish.
After we were back in Los Alamos, we reviewed these Aunt Pish stories, and realized that we had never asked for her real name. Might it have been Priscilla? We could only guess. But it was clear that she was such an outstanding aunt, that we concluded every American family should have an Aunt Pish. If they did not have one, she should be invented.
The question arose, how would you go about inventing an aunt? As time permitted, this question was reviewed on occasions.
My final conclusion was a simple one. It would be sufficient to make Aunt Pish a real person if one could get her name published in the home town newspaper.
I did not have an Aunt Pish though we had many aunts in the family, so I tried to think about a variety of ways of inserting her into the family history. Suddenly the Stafford Courier requests letters from readers about possible origins of the golf balls in Stafford County, Kansas.
I fashioned a letter to the Editor; Points I made in it follow.
Golf Balls—Everything You Ever Wanted to Know And Were Afraid to Ask.
It is quite clear to some of here in Los Alamos that the discovery of those golf balls by Mr. Taylor over a period of five or six years near the center of a section of land presents a problem of considerable interest and importance. Unfortunately we have insufficient data to enable us to come to definitive answers. We have decided, however, not to let the paucity of information interfere with our speculations, and indeed, in the spirit of the age, we feel that we have every right to believe what we wish without regard to the detailed facts.
We have decided to approach this problem with a series of questions.
First, is it possible to approach this matter scientifically? Answer, Yes.
For example, let us assume the laws of physics hold for this problem. One of them speaks to the inevitable increase of entropy with time. This means that what is ordered will become increasingly disordered; that what is gathered will become scattered, etc. Since golf balls have discrete sources, and certainly do become scattered with time, this particular law appears to be relevant.
Let N equal the number of golf balls produced in the United States each year. In six years the number of golf balls produced will be 6N. If A is the area of the United States in square miles, then 6N divided by A will be the number of golf balls per square mile if they were to be evenly distributed. For Mr. Taylor’s golf balls, there appears to be three possible situations;
a.) 6N/A is much greater than 9
b.) 6N/A is roughly equal to 9
c,) 6N/A is very much less than 9
When N is known, it will be clear which of these categories applies.
It is instructive, however to examine each possibility.
Suppose that a. is the situation. This leads to the curious circumstance that golf balls, evenly distributed, will number many more than nine to the square mile. So the problem is immediately shifted away from the question “Why the 9 balls?” to “Where are all the others?” This is of course a fascinating, but utterly different question.
If b. is the situation then one would expect roughly nine balls per square mile, and there is no problem.
If c. is correct, grave question might arise as to the reality of the found balls, for categories of highly improbable events contain miracles, misunderstandings, and hoaxes, not necessarily in equal parts!
For the sake of further discussion, let us assume that the balls are real, and that no hoax is involved.
So, secondly, are these golf balls ordinary, i.e., normal?
Answer: NO! Notice the following points
1. Normal golf balls are always associated with golfers—a point not necessarily to their credit. But these balls are utterly without this traditional association.
2. Normally golf balls in sand are abhorrent especially if they are in that circumstance for long periods of time—say periods longer than 1 hour. Normally this is not to be permitted.
3. Ordinary golf balls have a history of being lost. These balls have only a history of being found. Strange, indeed.
Conclusion: These are not normal golf balls!
Thirdly, and a principal question nowadays, Are these golf balls radioactive?
Answer: Almost certainly!
1. For normal golf balls, this question would not be necessary. For non-normal golf balls it is fundamental.
2. The existence of these balls is sinister, for why else would so many of us be concerned?
3. Sinister things border on evil.
4. In today’s society, evil things are usually radioactive. (The fact that one’s spouse is radioactive is suppressed for purposes of this discussion.)
5. If the question arises about anything being radioactive, ever more and more careful measurements will finally reveal that it is.
6. Bad news is always forthcoming if you insist upon knowing.
Conclusion: These balls are much more apt to be radioactive than not.
Fourth: What possible reason could anyone have for distributing radioactive golf balls in hard-to-spot places throughout the country?
Answer: There is a very good reason why this might be true.
1. The government has a big nuclear waste problem, right?
2. The government only embraces evil for good reason.
3. There is not a lot of nuclear waste, so a little dab here and there will do it.
4. Probably only the government has the means to distribute waste in golf balls without being detected. (Notice that much of what the governmental departments do goes undetected. Consider the Departments of Interior, Agriculture, Labor and Education. Usually it is just the Departments of Defense and Energy that call themselves to the public’s attention, and they always regret it!)
Conclusion: At last all this becomes plain. The government is using golf balls to get rid of its nuclear waste.
Fifth: Are there no other alternatives to the government’s nuclear waste dilemma?
Answer: Yes. But none are being pursued.
1. We can think of no other alternatives involving golf balls.
2. It is important to note that other kinds of radioactive objects have not been found in fields. (Radioactive objects have been found occasionally along the roads, but this is too dumb to be planned. It is most likely due to incompetence.)
Conclusion: No help here.
Sixth: Surely it is possible to invent another explanation.
Answer: Yes.
1. The radioactive waste explanation is newsworthy. Even movie stars will like it.
2. To have the balls dropped from satellites is not competitive with the Soviets.
3. Blaming crows is too prosaic.
4. The whole thing has been too quiet to be associated with the Iranian crisis.
5. The Department of Agriculture may know a lot about golf and fields, but to suggest they could do this is unkind.
6. Teen-agers get blamed for everything.
Conclusion; Ho-hum.
Seventh: Can one, by the introduction of but a single fact, overthrow the above logic?
Answer: Yes
1. The fact is that in the United States there are over 200 million golf balls manufactured each year. In six years 1.2 billion are about. The area of the United States, including Alaska, is about 3.6 million Square miles. Therefore, if these balls were evenly distributed, there would be 300 per square mile.
Conclusion: Now we have a real problem! Where are all of these golf balls??
The best possible summary of this is the old saying Aunt Pish used to have for every imponderable, “These Things Happen!”
And, there it was! Aunt Pish’s name was published in my home town newspaper when they printed my letter. For some years thereafter I would bring up the name of Aunt Pish in large family gatherings, and was never questioned about her. Apparently each person thought she was from the other side of the family.
This story does not really end here, for the printed letter was picked up by small newspapers throughout the Midwest, and I began receiving letters from long-time acquaintances asking just what I was trying to do. Chip, in college, had a friend bring him a copy of HIS home town newspaper asking if Chip was any relation. Chip conceded, but also wondered why. A number of us from the lab departed in a Boeing 707 for Africa not too many weeks later, and when I opened my airplane mounted scope in Kenya, to my amazement there was a sack of golf balls, each with its own radioactive sticker. (See below.) The original plan was to drop them from 30,000 feet as the plane flew over Stafford County, but it was decided that having them in Kenya would be more fun. The question then arose; do we leave them in Kenya? What a splendid international incident. But could we smuggle them back into the US? We thought we would try, and we did.
Hence, the picture.
It was many years before I confessed to the family the true origin of Aunt Pish.
However, it happens that I have her picture. Bill Ogle was going through ancient pictures of his family, and there was one picture no one could identify. His conclusion was that it was a picture of Brownlee’s Aunt Pish, so I now own her picture as well.
Essay 15 Finding a Wayward Son
Essay 15
FINDING A “WAYWARD” SON
One summer, I'd guess when Wayne was about l8, he worked at the Long's Peak Inn, at the foot of Longs Peak. This is a most beautiful location, but he and a roommate apparently thought they needed more money, and quit to find other work. The roommate was from Iran, Texas, near Odessa as we knew, and we also knew his name, but that was all. One day when I called the Inn from Los Alamos, I was told that Wayne and his roommate had quit the week before, and no one knew of their whereabouts.
Addie Leah and I were both concerned. It had already been about a week since they had left, yet we had heard nothing at all. But recognizing Wayne's ability to take care of himself, I was confident that he would call us at a time he considered proper, and that if there were a problem, we would already have heard something.
This was not Addie Leah's view.
But of course I did nothing but wait to hear. What else could we do?
Addie Leah murmured and fussed for a number of days.
One day as I returned home from the Lab, Addie Leah announced that she had had enough. If I did not do something immediately to find Wayne, she would take steps that would surprise me, and I would regret the day, etc. etc. I realized that something had to be done even though I was sure (well, almost sure) that he was OK. Not knowing anything else to do, I stood up. After a few moments, I walked to the phone. How should I start?
We had talked about the possibility that the boys had gone to Texas, since that was the home of the roommate. Iran was a possibility. So I put through a call to the Texas Rangers, though frankly I wondered why. The person who answered the phone for the Rangers said that they had no personnel in the vicinity of Odessa, and I asked about the Highway Patrol, but apparently the Patrol also had no one in that area. I believed Iran to be a small town kind of place, and so immediately tried to think in those terms.
Small towns have their own charm, and habits. People know things about other people, whether or not they should. So with directory assistance I placed a call to the Iran Power and Light Company, i.e. the company that served that area. A lady answered, and I explained that I was missing a boy, and an Iran boy, whose name I gave her, might know something about Wayne. She told me that yes, she knew that boy, but he was working in Colorado, and his parents were spending the summer in Europe, and their house was closed for the summer. That would appear to be THAT.
The lady was concerned about our not knowing about Wayne, and the concern we must have. She therefore gave me the telephone number of the town’s filling station, for the owner was a man who kept watch, and he might have some information. I called the station, explained my situation, inquiring about the Iran lad. Well, the station owner had seen the boy driving past in his girl friend=s convertible earlier that afternoon, thought it was possible that Wayne was with him, and could be having dinner at the home of the girlfriend even as we were talking; and here's their telephone number.
With a "Thank you very much!" I now called the new number. A lady answered. I asked
"Does a Wayne Brownlee happen to be at your house?"
She said "Why, yes!
I admit that I now sported a huge grin. "May I speak to him please?" In a few seconds Wayne was on the line. I said "Hello Wayne, your Mother wishes to speak to you!" And put Addie Leah on the line.
I have no recollection of the conversation that followed. Wayne of course had explanations at the ready, and they dwelt on his decision to call when he got his first pay check from the job he had acquired in the oil fields. Meanwhile he had been starving, had no money, had suffered untold, perhaps even untolled hardships. Addie Leah was of course quite forgiving, and all was well.
I remember all this with real pleasure. Wayne's respect for parents' abilities to track him down had to be on the upswing. Addie Leah would surely have to admit that I was right, and that Wayne was OK. (But I don't recall that she did!) And what a triumph to solve this knotty problem in only four phone calls, in less than ten minutes, and all within a few steps of my favorite chair.
On the other hand, look at the time I had invested in knowing small towns!!
FINDING A “WAYWARD” SON
One summer, I'd guess when Wayne was about l8, he worked at the Long's Peak Inn, at the foot of Longs Peak. This is a most beautiful location, but he and a roommate apparently thought they needed more money, and quit to find other work. The roommate was from Iran, Texas, near Odessa as we knew, and we also knew his name, but that was all. One day when I called the Inn from Los Alamos, I was told that Wayne and his roommate had quit the week before, and no one knew of their whereabouts.
Addie Leah and I were both concerned. It had already been about a week since they had left, yet we had heard nothing at all. But recognizing Wayne's ability to take care of himself, I was confident that he would call us at a time he considered proper, and that if there were a problem, we would already have heard something.
This was not Addie Leah's view.
But of course I did nothing but wait to hear. What else could we do?
Addie Leah murmured and fussed for a number of days.
One day as I returned home from the Lab, Addie Leah announced that she had had enough. If I did not do something immediately to find Wayne, she would take steps that would surprise me, and I would regret the day, etc. etc. I realized that something had to be done even though I was sure (well, almost sure) that he was OK. Not knowing anything else to do, I stood up. After a few moments, I walked to the phone. How should I start?
We had talked about the possibility that the boys had gone to Texas, since that was the home of the roommate. Iran was a possibility. So I put through a call to the Texas Rangers, though frankly I wondered why. The person who answered the phone for the Rangers said that they had no personnel in the vicinity of Odessa, and I asked about the Highway Patrol, but apparently the Patrol also had no one in that area. I believed Iran to be a small town kind of place, and so immediately tried to think in those terms.
Small towns have their own charm, and habits. People know things about other people, whether or not they should. So with directory assistance I placed a call to the Iran Power and Light Company, i.e. the company that served that area. A lady answered, and I explained that I was missing a boy, and an Iran boy, whose name I gave her, might know something about Wayne. She told me that yes, she knew that boy, but he was working in Colorado, and his parents were spending the summer in Europe, and their house was closed for the summer. That would appear to be THAT.
The lady was concerned about our not knowing about Wayne, and the concern we must have. She therefore gave me the telephone number of the town’s filling station, for the owner was a man who kept watch, and he might have some information. I called the station, explained my situation, inquiring about the Iran lad. Well, the station owner had seen the boy driving past in his girl friend=s convertible earlier that afternoon, thought it was possible that Wayne was with him, and could be having dinner at the home of the girlfriend even as we were talking; and here's their telephone number.
With a "Thank you very much!" I now called the new number. A lady answered. I asked
"Does a Wayne Brownlee happen to be at your house?"
She said "Why, yes!
I admit that I now sported a huge grin. "May I speak to him please?" In a few seconds Wayne was on the line. I said "Hello Wayne, your Mother wishes to speak to you!" And put Addie Leah on the line.
I have no recollection of the conversation that followed. Wayne of course had explanations at the ready, and they dwelt on his decision to call when he got his first pay check from the job he had acquired in the oil fields. Meanwhile he had been starving, had no money, had suffered untold, perhaps even untolled hardships. Addie Leah was of course quite forgiving, and all was well.
I remember all this with real pleasure. Wayne's respect for parents' abilities to track him down had to be on the upswing. Addie Leah would surely have to admit that I was right, and that Wayne was OK. (But I don't recall that she did!) And what a triumph to solve this knotty problem in only four phone calls, in less than ten minutes, and all within a few steps of my favorite chair.
On the other hand, look at the time I had invested in knowing small towns!!
Essay 12 Rolling Rocks in the Andes
Essay 12
ROLLING ROCKS IN THE ANDES
Sometime in the 1960’s I was in South America, and I made it a point to visit Professor John Irwin who was spending a year in Chile. His purpose there was to take atmospheric measurements in conjunction with the establishment of the Astronomical Observatory at Cerro Tololo. Immediately to the south of Cerro Tololo was Cerro Morado, and John and his wife Ruth were living there.
The year I most needed Prof. Irwin him he was on a sabbatical in South Africa. We spent the summer of 1950 working at Mt. Palomar. John and Ruth were inveterate travelers, so it was quite natural for us to develop a habit of meeting together wherever that might be. Places where we met included England, Germany, Greece, Switzerland, Hawaii, Chile, Australia, and a good many observatories scattered throughout the United States.
John had a big van, and he was eager to take me to a very remote part of the Andes well to the south and “up” from Cerro Morado. There was a very primitive road but it was doable. We took fuel, food, camping equipment, and made our way to a spring where there was an abandoned building. (The dry side of the Andes is DRY, for we were in that part where it might rain once in a century.) On our way we came upon a Chilean sheep herder. He was exceedingly glad to see us as we were the first people he had seen in a couple of months. We offered him food, candy, water, clothing—what did he need? He politely turned down all our offers. He just wanted a wife.
The next day we were more than 12000 feet high and the road grazed the edge of an abyss so deep and dark that we could not see the bottom. Indeed we could not even see into it. How deep do you suppose it was? Well, right over there was a teetering rock about the size of the van. It was one of a whole row of rocks destined to fall in the very near future! Do you suppose we could roll that rock into the canyon, count the seconds for time of fall, and determine the depth that way? We had not seen anyone for a whole day except the sheep herder, and were quite sure that no one at all was anywhere nearby. John assured me that there was no way I could roll that rock. That was certainly a challenge coming from a highly respected professor and all, so I went to work.
It took me maybe 20 minutes of digging and thinking before I felt the rock tremble of a moment. Then I knew it was possible. Finally it very slowly began to move, rapidly picked up speed, smashed down the steep slope, rolled horizontally to the canyon lip, then shot into the canyon. There was silence for perhaps seven seconds, and then there was a mighty roar that is difficult to describe. Allowing for the speed of sound coming back to us, the depth must have been more than 2000 feet. Rather than try to describe the sound, I will report that we rolled rocks for the next hour or so, and John worked every bit as hard to do it as I had done on the first one. It was a wonderful moment I particularly enjoy remembering, for I can drive almost any environmentalist right out of his mind with this story. I am one who has made a lasting impression on a magnificent canyon in the Chilean Andes. I know this is true, even if nobody ever sees it!
Bur I must admit that Mother Nature was getting those rocks ready to roll, and would have done it on her own before too long. We were just good observers!
ROLLING ROCKS IN THE ANDES
Sometime in the 1960’s I was in South America, and I made it a point to visit Professor John Irwin who was spending a year in Chile. His purpose there was to take atmospheric measurements in conjunction with the establishment of the Astronomical Observatory at Cerro Tololo. Immediately to the south of Cerro Tololo was Cerro Morado, and John and his wife Ruth were living there.
The year I most needed Prof. Irwin him he was on a sabbatical in South Africa. We spent the summer of 1950 working at Mt. Palomar. John and Ruth were inveterate travelers, so it was quite natural for us to develop a habit of meeting together wherever that might be. Places where we met included England, Germany, Greece, Switzerland, Hawaii, Chile, Australia, and a good many observatories scattered throughout the United States.
John had a big van, and he was eager to take me to a very remote part of the Andes well to the south and “up” from Cerro Morado. There was a very primitive road but it was doable. We took fuel, food, camping equipment, and made our way to a spring where there was an abandoned building. (The dry side of the Andes is DRY, for we were in that part where it might rain once in a century.) On our way we came upon a Chilean sheep herder. He was exceedingly glad to see us as we were the first people he had seen in a couple of months. We offered him food, candy, water, clothing—what did he need? He politely turned down all our offers. He just wanted a wife.
The next day we were more than 12000 feet high and the road grazed the edge of an abyss so deep and dark that we could not see the bottom. Indeed we could not even see into it. How deep do you suppose it was? Well, right over there was a teetering rock about the size of the van. It was one of a whole row of rocks destined to fall in the very near future! Do you suppose we could roll that rock into the canyon, count the seconds for time of fall, and determine the depth that way? We had not seen anyone for a whole day except the sheep herder, and were quite sure that no one at all was anywhere nearby. John assured me that there was no way I could roll that rock. That was certainly a challenge coming from a highly respected professor and all, so I went to work.
It took me maybe 20 minutes of digging and thinking before I felt the rock tremble of a moment. Then I knew it was possible. Finally it very slowly began to move, rapidly picked up speed, smashed down the steep slope, rolled horizontally to the canyon lip, then shot into the canyon. There was silence for perhaps seven seconds, and then there was a mighty roar that is difficult to describe. Allowing for the speed of sound coming back to us, the depth must have been more than 2000 feet. Rather than try to describe the sound, I will report that we rolled rocks for the next hour or so, and John worked every bit as hard to do it as I had done on the first one. It was a wonderful moment I particularly enjoy remembering, for I can drive almost any environmentalist right out of his mind with this story. I am one who has made a lasting impression on a magnificent canyon in the Chilean Andes. I know this is true, even if nobody ever sees it!
Bur I must admit that Mother Nature was getting those rocks ready to roll, and would have done it on her own before too long. We were just good observers!
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