“Surely You’re Joking, Mr. Feynman”: Adventures of a Curious Character

I have to sign that I was suitably employed as a professor—to ensure, of course, since it’s a city thing, that no jerk at the other end was hiring his wife or a friend to come and not even give the lecture. There were all kinds of things to ensure, and the signatures kept mounting.

Well, the guy who started out laughing got pretty nervous, but we just made it. I signed exactly twelve times. There was one more left for the check, so I went ahead and gave the talk.

A few days later the guy came around to give me the check, and he was really sweating. He couldn’t give me the money unless I signed a form saying I really gave the talk.

I said, “If I sign the form, I can’t sign the check. But you were there. You heard the talk; why don’t you sign it?”

“Look,” he said, “Isn’t this whole thing rather silly?”

“No. It was an arrangement we made in the beginning. We didn’t think it was really going to get to thirteen, but we agreed on it, and I think we should stick to it to the end.”

He said, “I’ve been working very hard, calling all around. I’ve been trying everything, and they tell me it’s impossible. You simply can’t get your money unless you sign the form.”

“It’s OK,” I said. “I’ve only signed twelve times, and I gave the talk. I don’t need the money.”

“But I have to do this to you.”

“It’s all right. We made a deal; don’t worry.”

The next day he called me up. “They can’t not give you the money! They’ve already earmarked the money and they’ve got it set aside, so they have to give it to you!”

“OK, if they have to give me the money, let them give me the money.”

“But you have to sign the form.”

“I won’t sign the form!”

They were stuck. There was no miscellaneous pot which was for money that this man deserves but won’t sign for.

Finally, it got straightened out. It took a long time, and it was very complicated—but I used the thirteenth signature to cash my check.

It Sounds Greek to Me!

I don’t know why, but I’m always very careless, when I go on a trip, about the address or telephone number or anything of the people who invited me. I figure I’ll be met, or somebody else will know where we’re going; it’ll get straightened out somehow.

One time, in 1957, I went to a gravity conference at the University of North Carolina. I was supposed to be an expert in a different field who looks at gravity.

I landed at the airport a day late for the conference (I couldn’t make it the first day), and I went out to where the taxis were. I said to the dispatcher, “I’d like to go to the University of North Carolina.”

“Which do you mean,” he said, “the State University of North Carolina at Raleigh, or the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill?”

Needless to say, I hadn’t the slightest idea. “Where are they?” I asked, figuring that one must be near the other.

“One’s north of here, and the other is south of here, about the same distance.”

I had nothing with me that showed which one it was, and there was nobody else going to the conference a day late like I was.

That gave me an idea. “Listen,” I said to the dispatcher. “The main meeting began yesterday, so there were a whole lot of guys going to the meeting who must have come through here yesterday. Let me describe them to you: They would have their heads kind of in the air, and they would he talking to each other, not paying attention to where they were going, saying things to each other, like ‘G-mu-nu. G-mu-nu.’”

His face lit up. “Ah, yes,” he said. “You mean Chapel Hill!” He called the next taxi waiting in line. “Take this man to the university at Chapel Hill.”

“Thank you,” I said, and I went to the conference.

But Is It Art?

Once I was at a party playing bongos, and I got going pretty well. One of the guys was particularly inspired by the drumming. He went into the bathroom, took off his shirt, smeared shaving cream in funny designs all over his chest, and came out dancing wildly, with cherries hanging from his ears. Naturally, this crazy nut and I became good friends right away. His name is Jirayr Zorthian; he’s an artist.

We often had long discussions about art and science. I’d say things like, “Artists are lost: they don’t have any subject! They used to have the religious subjects, but they lost their religion and now they haven’t got anything. They don’t understand the technical world they live in; they don’t know anything about the beauty of the real world—the scientific world—so they don’t have anything in their hearts to paint.”

Jerry would reply that artists don’t need to have a physical subject; there are many emotions that can he expressed through art. Besides, art can be abstract. Furthermore, scientists destroy the beauty of nature when they pick it apart and turn it into mathematical equations.