Log Cabin Chronicles  
Goolies
CHAPTER 1
The two men entered the Great Hall of Princeton University to a standing ovation from the audience. They both carried violins and were dressed in tails and white ties. The taller man bowed to the boisterous throng, then stepped aside to allow his shorter companion to address the crowd comprised mostly of students and professors.
"Good evening, ladies and gentleman," he said, smiling at the well-appointed assembly. He spoke English with a strong Germanic accent. He was of medium height, slightly corpulent, with long white hair that stuck out from his head in all directions. He was in his mid to late fifties.
"It is my pleasure," he said into the microphone, "to be Master of Ceremonies for the 1934 Princeton University Christmas Pageant. Before we begin allow me to introduce, although he needs little by way of introduction, my friend and colleague, Professor Frank Fredrickson."
The tall man stepped forward with his violin in his left hand, raising his bow with his right hand in a salute to the audience. He was just under six feet tall with black hair. He possessed the broad shoulders, deep chest, and slim waist of a professional athlete. He was in the prime of life, forty-one years of age. The young women in the crowd cheered him more loudly than the young men, though both were generous with their applause and vocal approval.
"Coach, coach, coach!" The cheer started with a group of young hockey players in the front row and quickly spread through the rest of the audience.
"Coach, coach, coach!" continued members of the Princeton Tigers hockey team.
Fredrickson dipped his head to acknowledge their enthusiasm, then took the older gentleman's hand in his, and raised it before the cheering crowd.
"I think," Fredrickson said into the microphone, "my colleague needs no introduction. Professor Einstein, as you well know, is the most famous mathematician and physicist in the world today. It will be my great pleasure and honour to accompany him on the violin this evening to celebrate the beginning of the Holiday Season at Princeton. Please give Professor Einstein the ovation he so deserves."
The clapping and cheering reverberated around the Great Hall. Students climbed on their seats or jumped up and down to get a better look at the renowned man. Though more restrained in their applause, many of the professors, especially those attached to the Institute for Advanced Study, looked as if they might weep, so great was their admiration for their famous colleague.
"Thank you," said Einstein, a modest man who was taken aback by the tumult. "Thank you," he said again, looking down at his feet. "You are most kind. Thank you so much."
The more he thanked the audience, the more vocal it became.
"Thank you, thank you," he said shyly, acknowledging with a little wave a friend, a student, or a colleague among the mass of faces.
As the audience continued to applaud, the beleaguered genius held his hands over his head to signal for silence. He spoke into the microphone, pleading with the friendly mob to take its seats.
"Thank you! Enough, please. We have a marvelous evening of entertainment planned. We must begin at once if we are to finish before midnight. Please be seated now, all of you."
The audience began to sit down, arranging itself, one person at a time, into a well-behaved group of practiced symphony-goers ready for the much publicized evening to begin.
"We will start tonight's pageant," continued Einstein, "with a violin concerto in D major by Bach. Herr Fredrickson and the Princeton University Student Orchestra will accompany me in this classical tribute to the holiday season.
"Before we begin, I would like to make a brief statement about what music means to me. As a physicist, I believe that God does not play with dice. I believe that in his universe there is no part for randomness or chance. Music, in its absolute mathematical perfection, is to me a human evocation of God's plan for all of us. And just as the creation of music does not happen by chance, neither does the universe operate on the whim of some cosmic gambler."
Einstein turned and took his position as first chair in violin section. The conductor counted out the time, and the opening notes of the concerto filled the hall. The audience was enthralled by the sight of Einstein and Fredrickson, the physicist and the hockey coach, playing together, side by side.
Einstein performed with precision, his finger work on the violin's ebony finger board meticulous, his bow strokes across the strings skilled and controlled.
Fredrickson played with passion. His prominent chin held the violin firmly but gently against his left shoulder. His big hands swaddled the instrument, coaxing out sounds of exquisite beauty and pathos. His eyes were febrile, like some mad musical genius's; at the same time, they were contemplative, perhaps sad. For such a big and powerful man, he played with a gentleness of soul that belied his physical prowess. They played for three hours with only one intermission. By the end of the evening, the musicians were fatigued, yet buoyed by the beauty and passion of the music. The audience called for encore after encore. At the end of the fifth, Einstein and Fredrickson waved goodbye and retired from the stage.
The audience, realizing there would not be a sixth encore, gathered together its collective finery and headed for the doors. Outside, the December sky was bright with stars and constellations. A planet was prominent in the east, while Cassiopeia blazed overhead. Lincolns, Cadillacs and big navy-blue Ford sedans with polished stainless steel grilles, whitewalls, and V8's idled in the cold night, waiting like beasts of burden for people to pack inside for the ride home.
Fredrickson and Einstein watched the crowd disperse as they walked together toward their own homes on the Princeton campus.
"It was a successful evening, don't you think Herr Fredrickson?" said Einstein.
"I suppose it was."
"You suppose?"
"Sometimes when I play, I become lost."
"That, I think, is a good thing."
"Yes."
"You don't seem very sure, Herr Fredrickson."
"It is good, and it is bad."
"Why is that?"
"Because sometimes it makes me sad…and bitter."
"Sad I can understand, Herr Fredrickson. But bitter? What does a young man of your accomplishments have to be bitter about?"
"Music."
Einstein stopped to stare at his companion.
"You are joking, Herr Fredrickson?"
"No."
Einstein shook his head and continued to walk.
"Music can evoke sadness, joy, even elevate us to a level of spiritual sublimity…but never can it evoke bitterness, Herr Fredrickson!"
"That is true, Professor Einstein, for most people."
"But it is not true for yourself?"
"No…at least not all of the time."
"Why?"
Fredrickson stopped to raise the collar of his fine wool greatcoat against the north wind that stung his cheeks. He considered the starry night before he answered.
"Have you ever had misgivings, Herr Einstein?"
"What sort of misgivings?"
"Misgivings about the path you have chosen in life. Misgivings that at a critical juncture you chose the wrong route…that you perhaps failed to realize your true destiny in life?"
Einstein considered as they continued to walk.
"This is a terrible question, Herr Fredrickson. "You are too young and accomplished a man to harbour such self-doubt."
"You are right. Sometimes I am ashamed of myself for thinking this way. My life has been blessed. I have won an Olympic gold medal for my country. I have played in the National Hockey League, and now I am a hockey coach at Princeton University. I have lived a life millions of young men can only dream of…and yet, at the end of it all, I wonder if I have lived the life intended for me?"
"God does not play with dice, Herr Fredrickson. Subtle is the Lord, but malicious He is not."
"Are you absolutely sure, professor?"
"Of course!"
"How can you be so sure?"
"Let's take a walk to my laboratory and I'll show you how I know, Herr Fredrickson."
The two men veered to the left, taking a narrower walk that led to Fine Hall, where the Institute for Advanced Study was housed, including laboratories, seminar rooms, and offices.
"Tell me, Herr Fredrickson, if you had not been a professional athlete, what would you have done with your life?"
"I would have been a professional musician, a violinist."
At the entrance to Fine Hall, Einstein produced a set of keys, selected one, and used it to open the massive white oak door. Inside, the tiled hallways were being polished by a janitor on his hands and knees, moving a cloth in a circular motion to buff the jade-colored marble slabs. The solid brass door handles already gleamed, as did the Honduras mahogany wall paneling.
Einstein led the way to his laboratory on the first floor. It was a big room with many desks covered with sheets of paper with mathematical notations scribbled on them. On the north wall, there was a large, slate blackboard on which Einstein had carefully written three equations in chalk. As the men removed their heavy coats, scarves, and leather gloves, Einstein motioned to the equations.
"What do you make of these, Herr Fredrickson?"
Fredrickson studied the equations. They were all very similar; the differences were subtle. They equations were: F = G mm' , F = C qq' , and F = K MM' .
"I'm no mathematician, professor, but they all look almost identical in form."
"Yes, precisely, Herr Fredrickson. These three equations are very much alike in form, and yet, mathematically, they express three different and entirely unrelated phenomena."
Einstein stepped up to the blackboard and underlined each formula with chalk for emphasis.
"These three types of force equations, representing gravity, electricity, and magnetism, were derived by different scientists working independently of one another. And yet the similarity between them is so striking, it appears that all three must be branches of a more fundamental phenomenon of nature. I am searching for a theory that unifies all three equations, a unified-field theory if you like."
"That is fascinating," said Fredrickson, who continued to study the equations on the blackboard. He was awed by their beauty and their simplicity; they looked the same as Mozart's notes on a staff. It seemed impossible that the three most basic yet complex forces in nature could be expressed with a few deft chalk strokes. And yet there they were for him to behold, like hieroglyphs on an artifact.
"The Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost," he said to himself.
He reached out to touch one of the chalk letters and his hand smudged the letter G. When he stepped back to look again, the gravity equation was spoiled. But that wasn't the only change. The tiny defect somehow interfered with all the equations, destroying their three-fold unity and symmetry. Fredrickson was at once astonished and embarrassed by his mistake.
"Forgive me, professor," he said. "I have been careless with your equations."
"They are not my equations Herr Fredrickson. "They are God's."
"Yes, I suppose they are," said Fredrickson, who studied philosophy when he wasn't coaching hockey.
"Do not suppose anything until it is well considered," said Einstein. "Take another look at the equations and tell me what they suggest to you?"
Fredrickson stared at them for long moments. Finally, he spoke.
"I am no mathematician or physicist, as I said, Dr. Einstein. But to me they speak of wholeness, of symmetry, of unity of purpose. They suggest there is design to the universe…and a designer."
"Yes! A brilliant designer who gives order to chaos. A designer who has combined the three most basic and profound forces of nature to create a universe of infinite complexity based on forces of finite simplicity."
Fredrickson thought about the statement.
"If everything can be reduced to a few simple forces of nature, then what becomes of the idea of free will, of the struggle to be human, of the concept of destiny? Surely free will and destiny must have some role?"
"As I said, Herr Fredrickson, God does not play with dice. Free will and destiny are encompassed in God's universe. We simply cannot comprehend the beginning and the end."
The two men said nothing more. They put their heavy winter garments back on and left the building. Outside the north wind had increased. They walked briskly toward their respective homes, at a fork in the pathway they stopped to say goodnight.
"Some day you must tell me about your life in Canada, before you came here to Princeton. Why you became a great hockey player, not a great musician." said Einstein. "I understand you grew up in Winnipeg. I have never been there, but I have been told it is very cold. Even colder than here tonight."
Fredrickson smiled to himself.
"You heard correctly, professor. It is very cold in Winnipeg."
"Goodnight, Herr Fredrickson."
"Goodnight," said Fredrickson.
As he walked on into the bitter wind, Frederickson's thoughts turned to his boyhood in Winnipeg, a small prairie town populated mainly by Anglophones when he was young. But there was also a growing Icelandic community which had taken root in the city's west end. For the most part, Fredrickson had good memories of his early life on Victor Street, the center of Little Iceland, as it was known. He recalled his violin teacher, the gentle Mr. Arnasson, and the skating rink he helped his father make every winter in the backyard. And of course the Lutheran Athletic Club and the winter hockey games played against the Anglophones on the frozen Assiniboine River.
Copyright © David Square 2003 Log Cabin Chronicles/11.03 |
