tonight i went to an amazing interview with Richard Garwin. he was interviewed onstage by an NPR reporter whose name i forget at the moment. Garwin has had an absolutely amazing career, 56 years and counting since finishing his PhD in 1949 at the age of 21 (yes, twenty-one). he's published extensively in many fields, and advised presidents since the early 1950's. he was the architect of the hydrogen bomb (as opposed to inventor), but has never seen a nuclear detonation and does not wish to - he viewed his contribution as a problem to be solved, as something that someone else would do if he did not (though he permitted that someone else may not have done it as quickly or inexpensively). he struck me as, clearly, extremely intelligent, but also as a very levelheaded, kind, and even gentle person. i'm not a physicist or a defense person or anything similar, but i enjoyed the event more than any other since i've been here.

but one thing stands out in my mind the most. the man who introduced Garwin took more than 10 minutes to do so, and that without even getting into personal stories - just recounting his achievements and reputation. Garwin sat onstage with the interviewer and listened impassively the whole time - almost as if the accolades were for someone else. towards the end, the introducer read several praiseful comments about Garwin from the highly esteemed likes of Fermi and Dyson. the comments were read in the past tense, every one. i thought a cloud fell over Garwin's face then - but couldn't know, of course, if it was my own sadness and sudden recognition of mortality conjured by the use of past tense that i projected onto Garwin. but i suspect that sitting center stage and listening to 78 years of your life be recounted, with countless eulogistic remarks in the past tense, would make anyone pensive.

and no, i didn't have time to go to the talk tonight, or to write this now, but it made an impression on me.