Every weekday at noon, a group of eminent scientists gathers for lunch at a round table in the middle of the dining room of the Athenaeum, the slightly musty faculty club at the California Institute of Technology.
The group often includes two or three Nobel laureates among the four currently on the Cal Tech faculty. The professors are occasionally joined by Cal Tech's president, David Baltimore, who won a Nobel Prize in 1975 for his work in virology.
On any given day, the table might be, to paraphrase John F. Kennedy, one of the most extraordinary collections of scientific talent ever gathered together, with the possible exception of when Einstein dined alone.
PHOTO: NY TIMES
The discussions range widely, from the latest advances in particle physics to the freshest campus gossip. When Richard Feynman, the brilliant theoretical physicist who died in 1988, participated in the lunches, fellow faculty members and graduate students hovered around the table hoping to snare one of his place-mat doodles as a souvenir.
The Cal Tech discussions could be compared to the celebrated Round Table at the Algonquin Hotel in New York, where leading literary wits of the 1920s traded quips and well-crafted insults.
But the round table at the Athenaeum is a more sober and discursive affair. The discussions are notable for their spirit of inquiry, lack of intellectual pretension and absence of verbal one-upsmanship.
On a recent Thursday, Baltimore joined seven senior faculty members around the table for a lunch of salads and light sandwiches. They drank nothing stronger than iced tea and lemonade.
The participants ranged in age from 49 to 90, and among them they had hundreds of years of scientific expertise. They wore thick-soled shoes and tweed sport coats and sweaters that were probably older than most of their students.
Much of the discussion centered on the Rover expedition to Mars, run from the Jet Propulsion Laboratory, which Cal Tech operates in conjunction with the National Aeronautics and Space Administration.
"Supposing they find water; does this change the whole picture of life in the solar system?" asked Francis Clauser, a 90-year-old emeritus professor of engineering and aeronautics and an amateur yacht designer.
Baltimore, 65, whose biological research has led to significant advances in cancer and AIDS treatment, replied: "There is no certainty that the existence of water means the existence of life. The other way around is probably true, though."
The curious Clauser inquired, "Would you expect to find fossils of some kind?"
"That's a lot to ask," Baltimore replied. The conversation then turned to fossil formation and lipid envelopes of various thicknesses, way beyond the ken of a fly-on-the-wall newspaperman.
The conversation then turned to more earthbound concerns -- the conflicts in Northern Ireland and the Middle East, Iraq and Afghanistan. Jack Richards, a 73-year-old biochemist, noted that Clauser had traversed "nearly every square foot of the planet, most of it in a Volkswagen." Clauser, then in his 70s, drove over the Khyber Pass into Afghanistan when the Russians still occupied the country.
"I thought I was crazy," Christopher Brennen, an avid mountain climber, said under his breath.
The discussion then took a detour through the landscape of American politics, an area where the professors had decidedly less expertise than fluid dynamics and molecular biology. The conversation could have been overheard in any hotel bar or student lounge.
"Is Bush going to hold onto Cheney?" asked Robert Christy, 87, a leading researcher on the Manhattan Project and an emeritus professor of theoretical physics.
"Bush is going to need a scapegoat," Brennen said.
Talk then circled back around to the American space program, and to President Bush's recent announcement of a new round of manned planetary exploration. The professors were skeptical.
The adventurous Brennen said that he would go to Mars. He was asked if he would go if he knew he could not come back.
"I still want to go," he said, the mountaineer. "The highest mountains in the solar system are on Mars."
In the March 9 edition of the Taipei Times a piece by Ninon Godefroy ran with the headine “The quiet, gentle rhythm of Taiwan.” It started with the line “Taiwan is a small, humble place. There is no Eiffel Tower, no pyramids — no singular attraction that draws the world’s attention.” I laughed out loud at that. This was out of no disrespect for the author or the piece, which made some interesting analogies and good points about how both Din Tai Fung’s and Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Co’s (TSMC, 台積電) meticulous attention to detail and quality are not quite up to
April 21 to April 27 Hsieh Er’s (謝娥) political fortunes were rising fast after she got out of jail and joined the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) in December 1945. Not only did she hold key positions in various committees, she was elected the only woman on the Taipei City Council and headed to Nanjing in 1946 as the sole Taiwanese female representative to the National Constituent Assembly. With the support of first lady Soong May-ling (宋美齡), she started the Taipei Women’s Association and Taiwan Provincial Women’s Association, where she
It is one of the more remarkable facts of Taiwan history that it was never occupied or claimed by any of the numerous kingdoms of southern China — Han or otherwise — that lay just across the water from it. None of their brilliant ministers ever discovered that Taiwan was a “core interest” of the state whose annexation was “inevitable.” As Paul Kua notes in an excellent monograph laying out how the Portuguese gave Taiwan the name “Formosa,” the first Europeans to express an interest in occupying Taiwan were the Spanish. Tonio Andrade in his seminal work, How Taiwan Became Chinese,
Mongolian influencer Anudari Daarya looks effortlessly glamorous and carefree in her social media posts — but the classically trained pianist’s road to acceptance as a transgender artist has been anything but easy. She is one of a growing number of Mongolian LGBTQ youth challenging stereotypes and fighting for acceptance through media representation in the socially conservative country. LGBTQ Mongolians often hide their identities from their employers and colleagues for fear of discrimination, with a survey by the non-profit LGBT Centre Mongolia showing that only 20 percent of people felt comfortable coming out at work. Daarya, 25, said she has faced discrimination since she