In the early years in Wales, frequent boat and ferry crossings to and from France, Belgium, Ireland, Scandinavia, and even the Isle of Man were always exciting.
I'm devoted to these commentaries, not simply because they chronicle your remarkable journey as a youngster launched on a singular road to academic fulfillment, but because, for our generation, they record the turbulence and insecurities of a long-ago experience. I was surprised to learn that in your field of study, the British system differed significantly from that in US universities. When I took off my uniforms, I sought out graduate study at the University of Chicago, aware that while the competition was fierce, the faculty, many escapees from the Manhattan Project, tended to a more fluid approach that tolerated independence. As the dean of Physical Sciences told me, that while my background was totally unsuited for study at the University, I was welcome to make the attempt. He gave me a month. Then there is the hostility of students violently opposed to Vietnam. It was well known that I was a Veteran (worse, a West Pointer!) and when I went to various meetings or demonstrations out of curiosity, I was often informed that my presence was not welcome. I was in a constant state of depression and anxiety as I learned of the death of comrades and classmates. Finally, a classmate serving in Vietnam broke with his commander and was arrested preparatory to a court-martial. He was eventually released and called me and asked me to join the Vietnam Veterans Against the War. I could not bring myself to do it. But the following year, on joining the University Faculty, I drove with friends and stood in protest opposite the White House. Sometime later, attending a congress in Madrid for the IAEA, Sharon and I dallied intending to arrive at the congress site late to miss the arrival of Franco. Unfortunately Franco arrived just as we did and I was forced into the IAEA reception line and was obliged to shake hands. And to complete the parallels, I, too, was briefly imprisoned when, serving on an IAEA/WHO mission I was forced by circumstances to land in Kano Nigeria en-route to Lagos and promptly ushered to a holding cell. Who said the academic life is serene and contemplative?
The parallels are remarkable. On that first visit to Franco’s Spain I had a sustained sense of uneasiness about the subtext of suspicion and violence. Even more, the care free attitude of the tourists there at the time. They seemed oblivious of what was really going on, or didn’t care.
Yes. That was my good luck.
I'm devoted to these commentaries, not simply because they chronicle your remarkable journey as a youngster launched on a singular road to academic fulfillment, but because, for our generation, they record the turbulence and insecurities of a long-ago experience. I was surprised to learn that in your field of study, the British system differed significantly from that in US universities. When I took off my uniforms, I sought out graduate study at the University of Chicago, aware that while the competition was fierce, the faculty, many escapees from the Manhattan Project, tended to a more fluid approach that tolerated independence. As the dean of Physical Sciences told me, that while my background was totally unsuited for study at the University, I was welcome to make the attempt. He gave me a month. Then there is the hostility of students violently opposed to Vietnam. It was well known that I was a Veteran (worse, a West Pointer!) and when I went to various meetings or demonstrations out of curiosity, I was often informed that my presence was not welcome. I was in a constant state of depression and anxiety as I learned of the death of comrades and classmates. Finally, a classmate serving in Vietnam broke with his commander and was arrested preparatory to a court-martial. He was eventually released and called me and asked me to join the Vietnam Veterans Against the War. I could not bring myself to do it. But the following year, on joining the University Faculty, I drove with friends and stood in protest opposite the White House. Sometime later, attending a congress in Madrid for the IAEA, Sharon and I dallied intending to arrive at the congress site late to miss the arrival of Franco. Unfortunately Franco arrived just as we did and I was forced into the IAEA reception line and was obliged to shake hands. And to complete the parallels, I, too, was briefly imprisoned when, serving on an IAEA/WHO mission I was forced by circumstances to land in Kano Nigeria en-route to Lagos and promptly ushered to a holding cell. Who said the academic life is serene and contemplative?
The parallels are remarkable. On that first visit to Franco’s Spain I had a sustained sense of uneasiness about the subtext of suspicion and violence. Even more, the care free attitude of the tourists there at the time. They seemed oblivious of what was really going on, or didn’t care.
At least you didn't have to shake his hand. As an IAEA official I didn't have the courage to demur.