SPUE Theory

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Johnny J. Weissmuller

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

April 2004

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dedication

 

 

 

 

 

This work is dedicated to my wife Nancy.

You are the Wind Above my Wings.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

April 25, 2004

Acknowledgements

 

 

When you hear a truth from God’s Universe,

It resonates within your souls.

 

Note to My Daughter Holly Krystal on her 18^th Birthday:

 

 

Blame no one but me for the heresies that follow.

 

I’ve always considered myself an avid student of the English language.  I’ve read many books and papers on creativity however and, in most, world-changing visions are just that – visions – with words bringing up the rear.  Whether we speak of Newton’s Apple story or Einstein’s Elevator, “that moment” of inspiration is related as an immersion in the thought experiment – with words used to help convey the innovator’s immense sense of awe as he or she saw the universe unfold a new dimension for our view – much like seeing your first child born. 

 

For many people, this notion of “mystic revelation” is very unsettling, sort of like watching sausage being made just before lunch.  The majority of people want to believe that science and religion are “givens” – truth immutable.  In reality, the language of modern institutions, be they science or religion are more about our own piece of mind than simple “truth.”  Truth doesn’t keep people in line, it sets them free.  “The party line” or dogma, if you prefer (and I don’t), for the most part is designed to keep you off balance.  Their “discipline” sets out a line for you to follow.  Typically this line contains some “nonsensical dynamics” or articles of faith that make you doubt your fundamental and common sense understanding of the universe.  The net effect is to make you feel that you need a “connected representative” -- be it called a “scientist” or a “priest” -- to ensure you don’t step in it by stepping out of line (yes, this IS part of SPUE Theory – in about fifty more pages, I will draw the connection!)

 

“Whoa!” you say, “What is this? – Some kind of lunatic fringe conspiracy theory?” – Well, I don’t think so.  The intent here is not to attack our bedrock institutions because they are just that – bedrock.  These institutions provide the framework and security which have gotten us to where we are today – and I am very thankful for where we are today.  It is important, however, to understand the REACTION of these institutions to perceived threats.  Study Carl Sagan and the Velikovsky Affair as a recent example

 

SPUE Theory is not a threat to religious people nor to scientifically minded people.  My greatest wish is that SPUE Theory be viewed as another unfolding of the universe – brought about by humankind’s ability to change perspective on how things are viewed.  This is not to say that previous perspectives or even measurements were wrong.  What is offered is a different vantage point for understanding that part of the bedrock that we know to be true but unprovable. (See the cover picture on Gödel, Escher & Bach – The Eternal Golden Braid)

Chapter One – From whence does this Heresy Flow?

 

You’ve got to ask yourself, “Would YOU buy a used Unified Field Theory (UFT) from this author?”  If you don’t know me, you ought to be asking that question.  I don’t ask for faith in me.  I ask you to exercise your common sense.  The late, respected, Carl Sagan strove to convey the intricate and complex ideas flowing from the scientific establishment to the common man.  Right off the bat, as Herbert Hoover once said, “No one nowadays thinks of himself as the common man.” In this light, my goal is to act as the “Anti-Carl Sagan” of the twenty-first century.  I want to serve as a student of the universe relaying the lessons of everyday common sense experience back into the scientific community. (Making a complicated thing simple, not the other way around.)

 

Different people accept different kinds of information as evidence and proof for validity and soundness.  I present you with the following choice – do you want to know “Who AM I?” or “Who I AM?”  The difference may be subtle but it is important (that old focus on English & semantics).  The question “Who ARE you?” is an interrogative put forward by Inquisitors whose purpose is to discredit you and make you feel unworthy.  The only answer to THAT question is to list family connections and degrees and publications from “accepted” institutions.  My answer to that challenge is: “Read my lips one-page summary with links to my resume with publications as well as a personality profile: About Me (Including "Who Am I") http://www.codap.com/jjw/index.html

 

If you really want to know “Who I AM,” that’s an entirely different flavor of question.  The next twenty pages or so should give you an idea of who I am.  If you are a PhD scientist type, you will probably want to skip to Chapter Two which begins with the Metaphysics and Epistemology of SPUE Theory.  I ask you to forego that urge and read on in this chapter.  The currents in my life-river have prepared me to see how SPUE Theory is a spin-off of the sum total of my experiences and thereby “hangs together.”

 

I am the product of Nature, Nurture, Experience and Choices.  I define who I am everyday by the choices I make, for the reasons I choose to cite and based on my memory of the paths that I’ve traveled.  This is a long, not yet ended, journey.  I am following that future path towards the point on my horizon where science and religion become one and provide guidance for this one common man.

 

** WHO I AM **

 

If you are amused by the cosmic ideas contained herein, give credit to the people, places and things mentioned below that helped shape me into the person I am today.  These people influenced me, sometimes in ways they will never know, to observe, interact, ponder, postulate and evaluate the world around me.  I sit in awe of God’s infinite universe and it is a wonderful, not a frightening, place.  Still, in all, it is the human dynamic which still mystifies me – and that’s a good thing.

 

Scientists talk of “standing on the shoulders of giants.”  I understand that sentiment.  My unique take on the matter is, I stood on their shoulders facing the opposite direction (backwards) – an apparently unique and oddly productive stance for a child of the ‘60s.  The most influential non-family members in my life were my teachers, either in school or on the job.  As I relate this (now very long) narrative, understand that this is what I REMEMBER about what happened – not a carefully researched documentary.  The influences on who I am is not necessarily the result of what HAPPENED in reality, only I what I THINK happened.  If I mention you in these following pages and you know I got the facts wrong, it doesn’t matter.  Send me a note correcting the record, but realize that I am who I am I because of the following memories, and the choices I made based there-on and not the mere facts of the matter.

 

They say (and it’s true in SPUE Theory too) “There’s no going home again.”  I understand.  I attended Wilcox Elementary school (K-6^th) at Six Mile Road and Middlebelt in Livonia Michigan.  Like my high school (10^th -12^th), Bentley at Five Mile and Merriman, it no longer serves as a school, simply as a municipal support facility of one type or another.  As far as I know, the junior highs I attended (Riley -7^th & Bryant 7^th-9^th) are probably still functioning.  What I remember most about junior high is that it interfered with my outside reading – science, philosophy, science fiction & utopias.  Being in advanced placement in junior high meant that I had an interesting, non-standard curriculum.  I got to study World Literature rather than English Lit (Shakespeare et al) and I got to study advanced sciences (like current views on nuclear structures and the conjectures about mitochondrial-level biology) rather than dissecting frogs.  This was the first time I dodged the “mainstreaming” bullet.

 

 

My first memory of my time at Wilcox comes from the second grade when I was in Mrs. Alchuler’s class.  I’ve always been a stickler for attention to detail.  I played a non-speaking role as “first mate” in our class play presented at a large, evening Parent Teacher Association (PTA) meeting of faculty and parents.  All I had to do was walk out and stand there while Christopher Columbus spoke his line to Queen Isabella.  We had rehearsed and our second grade play of few lines should have gone off like clockwork.  When Christopher’s big line came (and the kid’s real name was Christopher – how lucky was that!), he bellowed out with a clear and assured voice – “Your Majesty, Give me Ships and I will prove that the World is FLAT!”  -- Yes, he said “FLAT!”.  I looked at him with all the consternation that a second grader can muster and shouted “No, ROUND STUPID!”  I delivered my non-speaking line with such gusto that some of the parents actually thought it had been rehearsed that way, but Christopher, Mrs. Alchuler, and the Queen knew better.  The Queen, a stickler for detail herself, ignored the slight digression and commanded, “You shall have your ships!”  I don’t remember much of what happened next, except that it brought the house down. 

 

The next day on the playground, Christopher found me doing the hand-by-hand crossing of the Jungle Jim bars (Aside – Yes, Johnny “Tarzan” Weissmuller, holder of 5 Olympic gold medals, and “Jungle Jim” in about a dozen “B” movies is my grandfathers first cousin – they were the sons of bothers and shared the same Grampa Weissmuller).  As I crossed the Jungle Jim bars, Christopher commanded “GET DOWN HERE!”  I said “I’m not across yet.” Being that Naval officers didn’t like to be kept waiting, he grabbed on my pant legs and tried to pull me down.  I, however, had a really good grip on the bars.  I had a tighter grip with my hands than the elastic bands in either my corduroy pants or my jockey shorts had with my waist.  His one good tug left Tarzan without so much as a loin cloth.  Discretion being the larger part of valor, I released my grip on the bars in favor of a grip on my clothes bunched at my ankles.  What did I learn that day?  To this day, I have never met a naval officer where the first thing you noticed was his (or her) sense of humor.

 

The earliest school memory of a teacher at Wilcox is that of my fourth grade teacher.  My teacher, Mrs. Delhany, said my handwriting looked like chicken scratches.  I took her message to heart – I stopped writing cursive and printed everything I wrote until I could take typing class.  My self-imposed printing crusade served me well when I went into drafting class and worked for an engineering firm shortly during college.  The typing prepared me for the computer revolution which was to follow a decade later.  Thank you Mrs. Delhany, but not for reasons you might have imagined – I still print when I can’t reach a computer!

 

The teacher who had the largest impact on me was Mr. Sydney (Si) Morris, my fifth grade science teacher and my main teacher in sixth grade.  Mr Morris arranged trips to Henry Ford’s Greenfield Village (real historical houses moved, brick-by-brick and board-by-board from their original locations to his site in Dearborn Michigan.)  I love that place.  We also had a trip to the Ford Rouge River plant where they made automobiles.  During that trip we received a complimentary copy of the Periodic Table, dated 1959.  I use that Table to this very day although I know more elements have been added, the ones that affect me and SPUE Theory the most are covered in adequate detail.  I am going to claim later that reading George Orwell’s “1984” scared me into collecting and hording documents like this periodic table, but the truth is, I am, and always have been, a “black hole” for paper – it comes into my hands and never leaves.  Today, however, I am working my two-step cure.  When I get a valued document, I scan it and store it on the Internet so I can a) find it and b) access it when needed from anywhere on the planet.

 

Anyway, back to Mr. Morris -- In a parent teacher conference, Mr. Morris told my grandmother, “Johnny is more interested in helping other students to do their work than in doing his own.”  My Grandmother shook her finger at me, but Mr. Morris continued, “Johnny would make a great math teacher.”  From that point until my third year of college, everyone in my family (including me) assumed that my destiny was to teach mathematics in junior high.

 

While in junior high, I tutored 4^th graders in math.  Much to my dismay, the Catholic school students I tutored were being taught about “functions” which was the same topic as my public school 7^th grade work – though in simpler terms.  If you want to learn a subject, try teaching it to someone else.

 

Anyway, back to Mr. Morris and sixth grade for a moment.  What I didn’t know was what Mr. Morris wrote in a later report card dated June 15, 1961.  Several months ago (late-2003), my parents, in cleaning out their archives, decided to send me some of my old personal documents which, in and amongst other things included my final sixth grade report card  .  Here I am, forty three years later, reading for the first time what Mr. Morris had written in June 1961 (less than one month after President Kennedy’s commitment speech to “go to the moon, before the end of the decade”):

 

 

Not knowing his final thoughts, I felt like I was betraying his trust when I later fell in love with physics.  I eventually got back on the math bandwagon for the sake of “the plan” - my math teacher career path he had laid out for me in that face-to-face meeting with my Grandmother.

 

Speaking of physics, years later, at the close of ninth grade, my physics teacher, Mr. Robert Dean (BA, Ohio State University) told me I was on the verge of failing physics because I hadn’t turned in key lab write-ups.  I explained to him that the results weren’t really close enough (by my standards) to what the formulas predicted and I would turn them in when I figured out why.  I eventually decided that the apparatus we were using had some design flaws.  Taking the corrections upon myself, I sawed and filed-down key components.  The powers that be were not amused.  (Quick aside – when I got my first tool kit at age four, my first task was to saw off the legs of the couch in the living room because it was too high for me – my Dad was not amused then either! – Now back to physics in high school--) My new results matched well with predicted values.  To my surprise, I was awarded the outstanding student in Science in my graduating class of over 900 students on June 15, 1967.

 

I had many high school teachers who, by their example and choice of career made an impression on me.  These were my math and science instructors as well as those who specialized in “instructional design” and forensics  These included Mr. Peter Moloney, Mr. Benjamin Ray, Mr. Ronald Fedraw, Ms Sandra Sutherland (See Forensics below), and Mr. Paul Abar.  While in high school at Bentley High in Livonia, Michigan, I took an electronics class from Mr. Abar.  We used a Navy training manual which I thought was great – if I hadn’t been college-bound, I probably would have joined the Navy after that class.

 

During my high school years I operated a paper route for the Detroit News.  I lived at the edge of a new subdivision so I got the route nearest all the new construction.  I won contest after contest for signing up new members and had a great report with all of my customers.  Because the Detroit News was an afternoon delivery on weekdays, I was not able to participate in many after-school activities.  I did find time to be in the Future Teachers of America (FTA) and the Forensics clubs as well as a year in the Spanish club.  In the FTA I was treasurer one year and President the next.  In the Forensics club I served as Chairman of the Discussion Groups because of my ability to talk with people of varied backgrounds, sooth ruffled feathers and actually come to group decisions relevant to our starting purpose.  Focus and finesse – what a combo!

 

The Forensics club gave me an opportunity “to hang with” my friends – you would know them as the eggheads or the advanced placement crowd.  They were also all in Student Council, the Model United Nations, and the Debate Team but my schedule did not afford me the time needed to properly engage in those activities. 

 

I was the 31^st student on the roster for the 30 student advanced placement English group.  At first, I said “OK, I don’t like to write and they require a paper a week. It’s for the best.” Then, one of the students who was selected said she didn’t want the extra work and dropped out of the program.  This is where I learned the meaning of “discovery checkmate” – the situation in which the result of moving one seemingly insignificant piece allows a previously shadowed force to bear down with overwhelming impact upon the objective.  I agonized over the writing assignments, but it prepared me for later missions when writing became the instrument of my crusades.

 

Being in advanced placement English kept me in with my close friends like Marge McCullough.  I could write a book just about her and our years in high school and all the letter we sent back and forth over the years that followed (yes, I still have them – ran across them yesterday as a matter of fact!)  Marge M. was my intellectual muse.  I refer to her as Marge M because my most significant cousin is also Marge – designated Marge B for Marge Blanding.  While in high school I was a flaming liberal – which means I KNEW I was smarter than the population and they needed my close guidance and control to flourish.  I have 1966-67? audio tape of myself deciding to be President – for the sake of the country.  Fortunately, for the country, I grew up three years later on June 15, 1970.

 

It was 1966, the first year of Captain Kirk’s Star Trek, when I began to write my own “Books of Johnny”.  The first saying read, “When planning any revision to any social, political, or economic system, always work within the rules of the system until a decisive attack can be administered.”   Each “book” of Johnny had ten sayings.  Another example is Book II, number one: “Guard carefully everything you write, in the wrong hands it is considered evidence and proof.” –(II-1).  You will see more of these as the occasion warrants.  I have always had a tongue-in-cheek sense of humor and the Books of Johnny reflect that. 

 

I bought a spirits-duplicator machine for under $100 from Sears & Roebuck to reproduce my insights. This was before the age of a Xerox/Scanner/Fax in every office or a Kinko’s Copy Shop on every corner – Star Trek not withstanding.

 

I never just “handed out” copies of the Books of Johnny, and not because of the expense and effort to produce each numbered copy.  I always sat by and watched people as they read it.  By responding to their complaints and protestations I learned more about them than they learned about me.  For as it says in xxxx, “If you believe what I said in here is untrue, you are right, I intended to lie to you.”  -- Talk about covering your bases!  I used the Books of Johnny to ignite discussions on whatever rankled people the most – getting to know more about what people think and value and how deeply they’ve thought their own positions through.  I found it interesting that people would typically object to a saying contradicting a belief that they professed, but for which they felt a sense of unease about its core truth.  On the other hand, a contradiction to one their truly accepted beliefs was typically dismissed as me being misguided.

 

Marge M was both my muse and my Editor-in-Chief.  She evolved into this role because of her quick wit, keen insight, and the ability to play with ideas without being offended.  She sat behind me in English class.  After reading my first hand-written (i.e. printed) draft, she asked how I came up with these things.  I told her, lessons can be learned from anything, if you approach it from the proper perspective.  She picked up the pencil in the little groove at the front edge of her desk and handed it to me asking, “What is the lesson here?”  I looked at it a moment, then I replied, “On specialization:  The pencil with the sharpest point is the most easily broken.”  She said, “OK, I’ll buy that.”  We were (and are, in my mind) still the best of friends though it may be decades between conversations now – and those still center on the meaning of existence with the added discussion about how our respective kids are doing.

 

I am only the second generation of my family born in this country, raised by my Grandmother, and have old, German stick-in-mud values and will-power.  Let me be clear on one topic, my intellectual love-affair with Marge M, has been just that. “intellectual.”  To this day, the only two women I’ve ever had sex with, I married.  My first wife (Priscilla, aka “Kris”) and I were married for seventeen years which produced my two wonderful children and lasted until she tired of my boring existence and needed to “find herself.”  I said, “Vaya con Dios (go with God) and we are still (not-so-close) friends.  We used one lawyer for the divorce – which really upset the lawyers!  The woman who was to become my second wife (Nancy) and I met nine months after my divorce was final.  We have been married for going on twelve years so far. 

 

I’ve had crushes on perhaps five other women, but learned a lesson there-in – the Greek Eros form of attraction has more to do with your own state of mind and body than with the target of your affections.  Time will heal the very real, very deep hurt, but eventually you realize, intellectually at least, that your “imprinting” was not meant to be.  This I also shared with my daughter on her 18^th birthday – letting her know that I was telling her now, but, when it happens, this is the last thing you will want to hear.

 

Throughout my life, forces have unfolded in strange and mysterious ways – perhaps irritating and confusing at the time, but eventually to the purpose of getting me to where I am today. High school was no exception to this rule.

 

(Class of 67, FTA Pin, & Science Award)

 

My first year of college (1967-68) came at a time when my Dad’s company was bought-out by a large corporation and was planning to move the engineering office from Detroit to Denver.  For this reason I didn’t follow my friends to the University of Michigan or Michigan State University – I started on paperwork for the University of Colorado at Boulder.  In the meantime I went to school at Henry Ford Community College and took standard freshman courses plus Philosophy & Logic from Mr. Law.

 

I lived at home in Arvada Colorado for most of my college years.  I commuted from west of Denver (near Golden & the Coors plant) to Boulder, up the back road, past the Rocky Flats Nuclear Facility Shoe-Lace Factory. There was one gas station on the way to school in Boulder – luckily it was 1968-1971 and gas was $0.25 per gallon at times.  From the University of Colorado (CU) in Boulder, I would drive to my part time job at the engineering firm in east Denver – the industrial park in Aurora Colorado near Stapleton International Airport.  I knew Lowry Air Force Base was around there somewhere, but I never noted its exact location – the Air Force had nothing to do with me.  My daily commute was 20 miles to school, 25 miles to work and 15 miles to home – 60 miles and plenty of time to think.

 

Upon completing my first year at CU (which was my second year of college) I had to start selecting upper-level courses to complete my degree.  The math courses were fairly well-laid out, but now it was time for electives and a minor.  While I was on the “math teacher” track, it was time for me to start taking “education” courses in the fall of 1969.  The world, however, was changing around me.  You know the saying, “Stupidity is the act of doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result?” Well, when the world around you is transforming, “doing the same thing” MAY HAVE different outcomes.  I was in the opposite boat – I kept doing the same thing my role models had done to become teachers, but signs indicated that my outcome would NOT be the same as theirs.

 

My educational career to that point was channeled to become a math teacher in junior high.  I started on that journey at the outset of the manned-space race to the moon.  That summer in college, July 1969, the United States won that race.  It was the greatest moment of my life up to that point to see the moon walk and listen, with billions of others, to Neil Armstrong’s “That’s one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind.”  But the moment came and passed.  National priorities had shifted from space and science & technology for exploration to a war footing – guns or butter mentality. 

 

U.S. News & World Report had an article on the future employment prospects for teachers, especially math and science teachers.  They predicted that in three years hence (1972 when I would be entering the workplace) we would have a glut and excess of math and science teachers.  Having been born in 1949, I was the trailing end of the Baby Boom – and “da!!!” as I graduated college, the school systems that had geared up for the population blip had to start to down-size.  The glamour and prestige of “math & science” had fallen by the wayside in the wake of the “Great Society” vision.  I would arrive too late for that train. I learned the value of a 10 year look ahead!

 

I used the collapse of society as I knew it as an excuse (to my family) to deviate from Mr. Morris’ vision of my career as a math teacher.  My Dad continued to say, “But they’ll always need math teachers!”  I told him I agreed, and that I would make a great math teacher, but in the school systems of 1972, who would schools choose to employ – the senior, tried and true math teacher of many years or a green rooky just out of college.  (Remember, we are talking [in 1969] about 1972, when people with time and experience were more valued by the system than a youth with an appropriately lower salary).

 

My excuse begrudgingly acknowledged, though not fully accepted, I began my deviation from “the plan.”  I stayed in math as my major, but instead of education courses, I took computer science courses.  Computer science was still relatively new at the University of Colorado, but they employed an ex-Air Force officer to whip the program into shape.  These courses weren’t all upper-level undergraduate courses, some were graduate courses. I completed all my undergraduate degree requirements for electives with these courses including introduction to computer science, introduction to digital computers, computer applications in the mathematical sciences, logic models of sociological processes, assembly language programming, theory of automata, computable functions and even artificial intelligence – oh yes, with other courses in metaphysics & epistemology, astronomy, astrophysics, abnormal psychology and psychological research methods.

 

Yep! Back in the late ‘60s, early ‘70s, CU was a real party school for me! I wanted, for at least one semester to live on (or near campus). I’d been saving my entire life (OK, the previous five years) for “the college experience.”  I would see all these flyers on campus for various activities and knew that my schedule simply did not allow it.  I wanted one semester where, I could leisurely walk to class, stroll back to my room and study, then take in a lecture or old movie revue on campus.  My final argument was the “F” I got in Physics Lab.  It was only one credit hour, but it met only at one given time on a day that just did not fit into my schedule.  I got an “F” because I just never showed up after the first session.  (What is there about me and physics labs?)  Anyway, my folks finally caved and I got signed up for “living on campus.”  I enrolled in 18 credit hours of courses – three more in a semester than ever previously (or since). I got a weekend job as the guard at the museum (and foiled one robbery attempt).  All in all, however, this was to be my most disastrous semester of college!

 

With the war in Viet Nam raging, colleges and universities were flooded with “extra” students.  What I mean by “extra” students is “people who really didn’t want to be there, but the alternative was much less attractive.”   I was in the first group of the DRAFT Lottery.  I was a number “54” (out of 366 randomly chosen birthdays) which meant I would have been a “sure winner” in about three months if hadn’t had my “2S” deferment – i.e., I was a full-time student in an accredited university with “acceptable grades.”  If I dropped out of school, I would have been drafted in shortly by the Army. 

 

So (story thread #1), I move onto campus (see story thread #2 below).  Once there I get a call from my parents saying that a letter came to the house from my Selective Service (i.e., DRAFT) Board.  I told them to open it and boy, was that a shocker!  It revoked my 2S deferment and ordered me to report to the Armed Services Examination & Entrance Station (AFEES) in Michigan for testing and induction.  My folks wanted to know if this was because of the “F” I got in Physics Lab.  I said I didn’t think so, for gosh sakes, it was only a lab, I got a “C” in the coursework (outside my major) and successfully completed 15 credits without that lab.  Since I’m here in Colorado, not Michigan, I figured I could call and find out what was happening.  Recall that this was 1969 and long distance calls were still an “event.” What I found was that they would not accept incoming phone calls – I had either to appear in person or conduct the matter via the mail.

 

So, my letter writing campaign began.  My dream of leisurely days and evenings on campus evaporated and a truck load of letters and stressful nights took its place.  By the end of this idyllic semester I had gotten two “D”s in my major and probably was now really fair game for revoking my deferment.  The Draft board stuck by their guns – because I had dropped out of junior college after getting “D”s in all four of my classes, my deferment had been revoked!  SAY WHAT!  I wrote back several times and started looking into the price of a round trip ticket to Detroit.  The answer I got back was the same each time – sending transcripts from the CU didn’t seem to impress them.  Finally, I had to start looking into a ONE WAY ticket to Detroit for my induction…  Then, out of nowhere, I got a phone call from a lady that worked in the Draft Board.  She told me that my deferment had been reinstated, that it all had been a clerical error.  Someone had filed information about a “Joseph Weissman” in my Selective Service folder, and all the boards actions had been predicated on that mis-information.  I asked why my earlier letters hadn’t clear this up months ago?  “Well,” she said, “people will say anything to get out of being drafted.  This board just discounts mail from the person unless it is certified and contains certified documents from some other source!  It would have been better if you would have come in in-person and reviewed your file.”  I thanked her for her call and decided to get on with my life.  I resolved that when I got near to graduation I would sign up under the delayed enlistment program to guarantee they wouldn’t mess me up again.

 

So (story thread #2), I moved onto campus – well sort of.  With all these “extra” students, housing became a problem.  The University of Colorado, in response to this need, either had built or rented a 15 to 17 story apartment building with cafeteria for student housing.  It was about a mile off campus.  It had a shuttle service for trips to and from the campus during peak hours.  As this “dorm” was for upper classmen, it was assumed that they had their own alternate means of transportation for other times.  I wanted to live on campus so I could go to my room between classes, grab a snack and perhaps even take a quick nap – instead, I could either wait for the shuttle or hike out to the outer parking lots (on campus) and fight Boulder traffic to get to the dorm.  Once there, it was a 14 story elevator ride to the 15^th floor where my room was located. 

 

I was very very specific that I wanted a NON-SMOKING room/roommate.  My first entrance into the room was met with the smell of burning weeds – quite familiar from brush fires in our valley back home in Michigan.  When my roommate finally showed up, we talked.  I told him I had specified a no-smoking room.  He said that’s cool – “I don’t smoke cigarettes.”  I said, well no smoking means no incense nonsense as well.  He says he likes incense, but he won’t burn any in the room if it’s that important to me.  He said he hadn’t burned any incense in weeks anyway. “So?” I continued, “what is that that I smell, something was burning!”  He countered – “I don’t smoke cigarettes, I smoke joints!”  I replied, “I don’t care if you smoke your underwear, if you insist on smoking, I need to get a different room.”  He began to back peddle –“No. No. No. This is a non-smoking room, they are less apt to look for stuff in here.  If you leave, it will set off red flags.  Don’t leave, Don’t tell.”  I stood there in silence for a few moments then I reached a decision.  I have severe allergies and cannot tolerate even the hint of smoke, but he had raised a different matter entirely.  I said, “If you want me to stay in this room as your roommate, you need to take all your joints out of the room, smoking or otherwise – I can’t afford a drug bust on my record, especially if I had nothing to do with it!”  He came back, “I’ll keep it in my car and smoke it there.”  I said “Fine.”  End of topic, or so I thought. 

 

When the week before of finals rolled around, I came back to the dorm after classes and took the elevator up to the 15^th floor – a ride which I detested because it gave me time to think about how pissed off I was at being stranded out here with a drugee roommate.  “However,” I reflected, “my dispute with the Draft Board had been decided in my favor although it cost me two “D”s for the “D”istraction.”  Reaching the 15^th floor I encountered the final straw – as the doors of the elevator opened, a cloud of gray smoke that reached from shoulder level up to the ceiling slowly billowed from the hazy hallway into the elevator.  It glided into the elevator like a rich tenant who feels they own the place and you are an unwelcome transient – a visual nuisance on the otherwise “acceptable” scenery.  I was dumbstruck.  My paralysis turned into coughing and swift action.  In three trips I had everything I valued out of the room and down in my car.  I left and never went back.  I was hoping that the school would sue me for the next semester’s lease, but I never heard from them.  My perfect semester – yeah right! (End story thread #2)

 

My Dad, who has eight patents, couldn’t stand working in the new office in Denver.  It wasn’t so much the office as the new management.  My Dad is creative.  He creates new systems from either new materials (like PVC plastic) or new signaling methods (pneumatic versus electronic or new electronics, like a three-pole magnet).  You would think that when you create something, you get to name it.  Well, sort of – my Dad would develop some new product and have the drawings made.  Later, some clerk would come back and inform him that they did not accept his label for the product.  Were these “distant voices” knowledgeable inventors who knew some deep naming secrets or were these trademark gurus who detected problems with infringement issues – you know, some issue of substance? No. It was a computer Nazi.  The computer Nazi would tell the clerk that the description was “too long” for the computer field.  The clerk was dispatched to tell my Dad he had to give it a shorter name.  My Dad came to loathe computers and the Gestapo that serve them.

 

A little about my Dad’s background is in order.  He was born in Chicago in 1927 and sent to Catholic school.  He enjoyed the nun’s rulers at school so much that he often failed to attend and would spend the time instead at the Museum of Natural History.  His family moved to Dearborn Michigan and he attended Henry Ford Elementary school, where father-figure Henry himself would drop in to see them work in the school garden on his way to the plant or in setting up Greenfield Village. His own Dad, my grandfather (America’s Welter Weight Champion Wrestler in 1929, Sports promoter, Accordion player & Cowboy wannabe), passed away from stomach cancer in 1937, when he was 10. 

 

Later, my Dad attended Fordson High School until he dropped out to attend art trade school.  He was drafted in 1946 and (because of the German name) stationed in the Pacific at Saipan.  Saipan is in the Marianas Island group which includes Guam where, in the previous year, B-52s took off with the atomic bombs for Hiroshima (Aug 6, 1945) and Nagasaki (Aug 9, 1945).  My Dad was a small arms specialist with an Explosive Ordnance Disposal job – using a bulldozer to push leftover ordnance over a cliff. 

 

Upon his return to the states in 1947 he became an electrician’s helper and eventually married the boss’s sister (my Mother).  He became a carpenter during the summer months (like his grandfather before him) and a draftsman during Michigan winters.  As a carpenter, my Dad thought of “good math” coming in two acceptable forms.  The first form was as neat facts (like “an inscribed circle accounts for 78% of its tangent square”, or “the proper slope for stairs is a 9” riser with a 12” step”).  The second form was general trigonometry problems with signs and cosigns.  Algebra, on the other hand, he felt was witchcraft – and up to no good purpose. 

 

Although my college major was “mathematics,” my Dad would always say “math TEACHER” with the emphasis on “teacher,” not the “math” part. His recent run-in with computer Nazi really got him riled whenever computers were mentioned.  Breaking the news that I was still majoring in math, but I was dropping the “education/teacher certification” in favor of computer science almost broke his heart – but he understood the job market needs.

 

My Dad was so unhappy with his work environment, he started to look around.  There just aren’t a lot of pneumatic tube manufacturing companies around.  One company, however, made him an offer he couldn’t refuse – if he came to work for them, they promised the “clerk” would work for him, not the computer department.  In a dispute over naming conventions, the clerk’s job would be to inform the computer department to fix their stupid oversight in limiting name lengths and “get with the program!”  For this, my Dad was willing to move from beautiful Denver Colorado to not-so-beautiful north central New Jersey.  When I was twenty, home moved away from me, not vice versa.  Arrangements were made with friends to rent a room for me in their house in Arvada for my final year of college.

 

I remember the content of most of my college classes, but nothing much outside of class except for two images.  One image is that of two machines in the attic of the Math building.  This was where I had special access to the room with the Electronic Accounting Machine (EAM) punched card sorter and the Friedens calculators.  I learned to use these machines for tabulating data and computing statistics for my class in Psychological Research Methods.  The other image was from the large window in the stairwell in the Engineering Building – it looks out over a large grassy area used for ROTC marching and its obligatory crew of hippie-looking hecklers.  By nature, as far as the war was concerned, I was a hawk and supported our troops.  The sight of those otherwise gentile, but now screaming long-hairs made me feel sad for the troops marching as well as our country.  Right or wrong, our country was divided and in great pain in those days.

 

Meanwhile, back on the topic of teachers who have influenced me, we come to the last teacher from a school.  I do not remember his name, but I will find it in my files eventually.  My two biggest personal failings are that I cannot remember names and my sense of time (how long ago something happened) is lousy.  In any event, this was the ex-Air Force officer employed by the University to get their Computer Science program up and running.  This professor, (let’s call him Dave), Dave, was an MIT-trained physicist when he went into the Air Force.  The Air Force didn’t need physicists then so they sent him to computer science classes.  Now that he’s out of the Air Force he finds the same thing, not much call for physicists, great demand for computer science skills. 

 

The problem is, he isn’t just designing classes, he’s teaching them.  I had him for the FORTRAN programming class (aka Computer Applications in Mathematical Sciences).  Apparently Dave learned a lot about project management from the Air Force.  There was a new project every week.  He had handouts for each project.  He expected it turned in on time and that was that.  Four weeks had gone by and I hadn’t turned in a single project.  None of them worked and I wasn’t about to give up on any of them until they did work.  Then Dave and I had a talk.  This is where he explained his background to me – another reason to stay away from the Air Force.  In any event, he very rationally explained to me the rules of the class and how this was good preparation for “the real world” – you know, deadlines and all that.  I wasn’t impressed.  I explained to him that he had it BACKWARDS – I was paying HIM to work for ME, not the other way around.  I am here to learn concepts and develop viable skills.  For me to turn in four programs which didn’t work wouldn’t serve MY purposes at all (he wouldn’t “correct” programs, just grade them).  Once I’ve learned and mastered the skills I need, THEN I will offer my services to an employer and respect his needs for not only DEADLINES, but also WORKING PRODUCTS.  Dave was honestly motivated and wanted to turn out acceptable future employees, but I didn’t fit his model.  I spent the next several days preparing sample assignment sheets, project evaluation forms, and tips on programming aesthetics for his use next year.  When I started the fifth weekly assignment I discovered the point I had overlooked in all four previous assignments. Within minutes, all four previous projects were complete and ready for submission.  One of those assignments was to demonstrate the four-color hypothesis – that given any map, you only need four colors to shade all the areas without have two of the same color sharing more than 1 point in common.  The map he gave out in the assignment had about 12 areas to be coded and colored.  For my project, in that second week, I had coded and color coded a map of the entire 48 continental United States.  My overwhelming the original requirements was noted, along with the fact that it garnered no points for the course.  I got a “C” in this course.  But I am prouder of that “C” over any “A” on that transcript. By the end of this course, I was a full-fledged FORTRAN programmer with a solid feel for the language – yeah but where are you going to need that?

 

In early May of 1971 I shopped around for which service I wanted to enter.  Within weeks I would graduate with a BA in mathematics and a minor in computer science.  I wasn’t interested in the Army nor Marines – I still weighed only 90 pounds! The Coast Guard route didn’t seem military enough for me so it was down to the Navy or Air Force.  With my degree, the Navy promised me to become the nuclear engineering officer on the latest submarines in the fleet.  Physics, officer status, six months at a time to read to my hearts content – it all sounded great to me. 

 

Then I went to the Air Force – what a difference! Yes, I had a degree in math and computer science, but the only officer candidates they were accepting had to be either for pilot or navigator positions.  With my eyesight at 20/200 and 20/400 and a well-documented history of allergies, my recruiter informed me that I wasn’t qualified to be an officer in “today’s Air Force.”  I thought to myself, isn’t this the same Air Force that was turning physicists into computer scientists?  It got even better – “No need to worry, however, we can take you in as a cryptographic repair specialist – you know, an enlisted guy who fixes code machines, assuming you pass the aptitude tests”  I asked, are there any enlisted PROGRAMMER jobs?  The recruiter said, flat out- “NO. Programming is a highly sought-after job.  The only way to get a programming job is to cross train into that career field after doing something else for three years. Here, sign here for the crypto job!”  I said, “No, Thank you, No. I need to consider my options.” I left.  I later scheduled and took the Air Force aptitude tests – scoring 95 in each of the four aptitude areas (Mechanical, Administrative, General, & Electronic) and a 97-99? On the Armed Forces Qualifying Test (AFQT).  These were all max scores and did not help indicate a particular career path to pursue.

 

I had to weigh my options and what I really wanted to do with my life.  The Navy training would give me more attractive educational development from studying nuclear reactors.  Officer pay was attractive, but the idea of officer protocol standards finally turned me off.  I was so-so on being in a position of such central importance to the sub, but the visibility and necessity to posture as an officer really wasn’t in my blood.  Moreover, my cousin’s husband was in the Navy and I had gotten to know some Navy folks – I wasn’t impressed and they didn’t seem like my kind of people – maybe it was just that unit, but that and an ex-Air Force officer (Dave) was the only basis on which I had to evaluate. 

 

Dave was bright, personable, focused and exuded a “can-do” attitude.  I wanted to work with people like him.  I went back to the Air Force recruiter to sign up to become a crypto maintainer.  I asked if there was a waiting list for programmer jobs that I could put my name on at that time.  He said, “No. But when you get to Basic Training Career Counseling Day, be sure to tell them that you have a BA in math and that you want to take the EDPT. That’s all you can do.”  I queried, “What is the EDPT?” – “The Electronic Data Processing Test, of course,” he replied. “OK” I said. (As a point of irony, now, thirty three years later, I now work in the Air Force Test Management Section, and updating the EDPT is one of my duties.) 

 

One last time before signing the delayed enlistment papers I asked the recruiter, “Are you SURE there are no programmer jobs open?” He said, “I promise, I’m sure.”  I heard a rumor never to trust a recruiter which, in hindsight, seems like a reasonable outlook on life.  (My first wife was also in the military when we met four years later.  She was just about to convert from an allergy technician to a recruiter.  May be I should have remembered the warning about trusting recruiters – anyway, just a thought)

 

Once I was in Basic Training at Lackland AFB (San Antonio, Texas), I thought my future was set – crypto repair specialist for four years, then back to the real world.  The advice the recruiter gave me was golden.  I raised my hand during the Career briefing and took the EDPT.  Later that week I and another troop in my flight received appointment slips to report to the Air Force Human Resources Laboratory for interviews for programmer jobs.  During my interview I said, “Even if you don’t select me as a programmer, select me to work here – I will sweep the floors in the computer room if I can get access to the manuals after work!”  I had scored in seventh position of eight people taking the EDPT that week.  Luckily, they were looking for nine new programmers.  Within days we received notification that seven of us had been accepted – it turned out that two programmers had been selected the previous week, so only seven openings remained.  Basic Training was nearly over.   We had a “town pass” day.  I used my “town pass” to stay in the barracks and read “Future Shock” by Alvin Toffler. I had my 22^nd birthday in those final days (August 5).  Five days later, Basic was over.  While most of our training flight (Flight 1019) was preparing to leave for the airport on their separate ways to technical school or direct duty assignments, I caught the cross-base bus to the Air Force Human Resources Laboratory about a quarter of a mile west of the dorm.

 

(Continue with about 10+ pages on my Air Force career, including Mike S.)

 

 

Much of my willingness to “play with” new ideas comes from blood and books.

 

 My great-grandparents left “the old country” at the start of the twentieth century (about 1905).  Like the story in “Fiddler on the Roof”, they felt compelled to leave their homes due to ethnic/religious persecution in eastern Europe (has ANYTHING Changed?).  They chose to strike out for the promise of America.

 

My family came from the Banat region of the Austria-Hungary (now in Romania, next door to Transyvania), where you had to speak five languages just to “get along.” As they treasured their heritage, my family ended up in Chicago among the German-speaking community near Halestead street. It was there that my grandparents grew up in the 1920’s.  My grandfather (also Adam) met my grandmother (Marie Elizabeth) in Chicago where they were married in 1924.  Their families had come from the “old country” about the same time.   Interestingly, they came from towns about 60 miles apart, Arad and Ciacova.  My cousin, Johnny (Tarzan) Weissmuller’s family came from the big city in between - Temeswar (now Timosora).  Pictures circa 1925 of my grandfather and my cousin Johnny are on my website.

 

My family, born in the old country, did well in America.  My grandfather became the welter-weight wrestling champion of the United States in 1929 and my cousin Johnny won five gold medals at the Olympics in 1924 and 1928 before playing the first “talking” Tarzan in the movies.  My Dad, born in 1927 in Chicago, has eight patents to his credit.  Change is in my blood.

While bloodline provides raw material, one’s choice in books provide a smorgesborg of blueprints for personal belief systems and directions in which to strike out on ones own.

 

(Add 10+ more pages here on the Books that Changed my life:  W. Ross Ashby’s Design for a Brian, Shufflebrain – the Case for the Hologramic Mind, Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand, Eric Hoffer’s True Believer (and others), Velikovsky’s books (Worlds in Collison, et al), Joseph Newman’s Engine, The on-line Introduction to “The Final Theory”, “Who got Einstein’s Office”, “Science and Technology” Series of audio tapes by Knowledge Tree and last but certainly not least: Gödel, Escher, and Bach – The Eternal Golden Braid by Douglas Hoffstader.