Asimov PP: 7/1989: "The Importance of Pitch"

I'm going through Isaac Asimov's F&SF essays in reverse order by date to share the Personal Paragraphs with which he invariably opened each essay.

When I was 22, I married a beautiful damsel. (She was not my present dear wife, Janet, but that's another story.)

I was a little nervous about it. After all, I was neither handsome nor athletic nor wealthy nor sophisticated nor many other things that were likely to be attractive to women, and I was dreadfully afraid that the young woman would suddenly realize this.

I knew that I was intelligent, but I wasn't sure if that particular quality was very apparent (we had known each other only a few months) or, if it was, that it was of any importance. It seemed to me, then, that I must lose no chance to do something spectacular with it, something that might impress her.

Consequently, during our honeymoon at a mountain resort, when it was announced one day that there would be a quiz contest that evening and that volunteers would be welcome, my hand went up at once.

I didn;t think there was the chance of a snowball in Hades that I would fail to win and I felt sure this would be bound to impress my new wife.

That night, I was third in line, and after the first two people had answered their questions, I stood up for my turn. At once the audience broke into spontaneous laughter. They hadn't laughed at the first two contestants, but I was very anxious, you see, and when I am anxious my face takes on a look that is even more intensely stupid than the one it wears in repose. So they laughed.

(My wife, who was in the audience, winced noticeably.)

The master of ceremonies then said, "Use the word 'pitch' in various sentences in such a way as to demonstrate five different meanings of the word.

The look of anxiety on my face grew more pronounced, and the audience responded with wild hilarity. I paid no attention and merely collected my thoughts. When the laughter quieted down, I said as loudly and as clearly as I could, "John pitched the pitch-covered ball as intensely as though he were fighting a pitched battle, while Mary, singing in a high-pitched voice, pitched a tent."

And then, in the dead silence that followed, I said (with a sly grin, I'm afraid) "One sentence does it."

Of course, I went on to win the contest and greatly impressed my wife. Interestingly enough, the affair won me considerable hostility from all the other guests. I gathered that there was a widespread feeling that I had no right to look so stupid without actually being stupid.

The reason I mention this now is that that little adventure of nearly half a century ago popped into my mind when I began to plan an essay in which I intended to describe how pitch (in the fourth sense used in that sentence of mine) told us a great deal about the size and the age of the universe.

It's interesting to read this essay - in particular if one has not read the first volume of his autobiography in which he goes into the courtship of Gertrude Blugerman, who will become his first wife.

In all the time they were courting...what did she do that gave him the impression that she would say "yes" if he asked her to marry him? From the essay above, it's not at all clear.

They were married in the early 1940s, back when women were not expected to work outside the home and their sole reason for existence was to get married and have kids. So it must be admitted that any woman who wanted to "leave home" could only do it in one way, by getting married. And presumably she would marry the first man who asked her, regardless of how she actually felt about him.

Asimov PP: 8/1989: "Long Ago and Far Away"

I'm going through Isaac Asimov's F&SF essays in reverse order by date to share the Personal Paragraphs with which he invariably opened each essay.

Several months ago, I walked out at the close of a banquet and found it to be raining briskly. It was plain there would be no taxis, so two other banqueteers and I made our way to the nearest subway entrance, got on a subway train, and trundled northward.

As it happened, my stop came first. I bade my friends farewell and got off the train. The next day I found out what had happened to them after I got off.

Three youngsters walked up to where my friends were sitting, and towered over them in what seemed to be a threatening manner. My friends were well aware of the violence that sometimes takes place in the subway and they were naturally apprehensive.

One of the youths said something in a low voice and one of my friends, plucking up courage, said, "I'm sorry, young man, I didn't hear you. Would you repeat it, please?"

Whereupon the young man, in a louder voice, said, "What I asked was: Was that Isaac Asimov that just got off the train?"

In a flash, the youngsters had changed from three threatening hoodlums into three concerned fans of culture with impeccable taste, andmy friends answered cheerily that indeed it was, and all was wine and roses thereafter.

I don't know if those intelligent young men on the subway ever read my science essays, but if they do, this one is dedicated to them.

Asimov then goes on to talk about the study of the galaxies with radio telescopes.

Asimov PP: 9/1989: "The True Rulers"

I'm going through Isaac Asimov's F&SF essays in reverse order by date to share the Personal Paragraphs with which he invariably opened each essay.

I have always found the history of ancient Greece to be a gold mine of good stories, and for some reason, I remember them all.

Asimov then goes on for another page and 6/8ths, to tell the story of Themistocles, the Athenian leader who persuaded the city to invest in a fleet while they waited the attack of the Persians (which would culminate in the Battle of Salmis.)

He ends it with:

But my favorite Themistocles story is the one in which he pointed to his infant sun and said, "There is the ruler of Greece."

"That child," said someone in amazement.

"Certainly," said Themistocles. "for Athens rules GReece, and I rule athens, and my wife rules me me, and that child rules my wife."

So let's find out who rules the Earth.

Asimov then goes on to talk about ... bacteria.

Asimov PP: 10/1989: "The Nearest Star"

I'm going through Isaac Asimov's F&SF essays in reverse order by date to share the Personal Paragraphs with which he invariably opened each essay.

You would think that a person like myself is immune to frustration where the writing of books is concerned. The total number of my published books stands, at the moment, at 459. Therefore, it might seem that there isn't a book that I would like to write that I haven't written.

Yet it's not so.

In the 1970s, I wrote a series of astronomy books for the general public, each one of them being full of tables and figures. The titles of four of them are:

1) Jupiter, the Largest Planet
3) Mars, the Red Planet
4) Saturn and beyond
5) Venus: Near Neighbor of the Sun

In these four, I managed to cover every planet in the Solar system and to say a few words about their satellites, the asteroids and the comets.

The second book in the series is Alpha Centaur, The Nearest Star.

Well, Alpha Centauri is not the nearest star. Our Sun is. So I was planning to write a sixth book in the series that would deal with the Sun, both to round out my description of the Solar system and to correct the mistitling of my book on Alpha Centauri. I even have a contract, somewhere, for that book.

But it never got written. Other books intervened. They still intervene.

The next best thing, then, is to write essays on the Sun for this series, and that I now plan to do.

And thus he segues into writing about the Sun.

Asimov PP: 11/1989: "Massing the Sun"

I'm going through Isaac Asimov's F&SF essays in reverse order by date to share the Personal Paragraphs with which he invariably opened each essay.

When I was young, I read a great deal of poetry. Partly, that was because poetry was pushed at me in school. (I don't know if it is anymore, but I certainly hope it is.) And partly it was because I didn't know any better. My immigrant parents, as I have frequently explained, did not know enough about English literature to guide my reading, so I read everything. I even read stuff like poetry, because no one told me I was supposed to hate it.

In any case, I remember much of the poetry I read in those days because I have always had trouble forgetting anything (except things that are vital, like the instructions my dear wife, Janet, gives me, in her hopeless attempt to make me live forever.) And some of the poetry has persisted in coloring my view of the world even today.

For instance, there is a poem by Francis William Bourdillon (I won't lie to you - I had to look up his name), who wrote a short poem, of which the first verse goes as follows:

The night has a thousand eyes
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.

Nothing I have read, either in literature or in science, has given me so unfailing an appreciation of the importance of the Sun as those four lines.

As a result, I was not the least surprised to find, a little later in my youth, that the first monotheist we know of in ordinary secular history, who was the Egyptian pharaoh Akhenaton (reigning 1372-1362 BC) chose the Sun as the one supreme god. (Good choice, Akhenaton, I thought. Very logical.)

So I will continue with my discussion of the Sun.

And with that, Asimov segues into his discussion of, "How heavy is the sun" - and explains the difference between "mass" and "weight".

And as an aside, here's the rest of that poem:
The Night Has A Thousand Eyes
by Francis William Bourdillon

The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying of the sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.

Asimov PP 12/1989: "What Are Little Stars Made Of?"

I'm going through Isaac Asimov's F&SF essays in reverse order by date to share the Personal Paragraphs with which he invariably opened each essay.

My dear wife, Janet, and I have a small ritual that consists of tracking each other. We are almost always together, but occasionally one or the other of us is forced to venture out into the wide world alone. Since we grow uneasy if we are at opposite ends of the apartment, you can well imagine that this separation is traumatic.

First, there are the preliminary anxious injunctions about "being careful" and references to madcap traffic, falling cornices, and dubious bystanders. Then, when either of us gets to where he or she is going, a phone call reporting safe arrival is considered de rigeur. And finally, an estimate of the return time having been made, we know when to put are worry machines into high gear. So far, I must say, nothing has happened to either of us, but each new time is a new risk.

Janet is particularly good at this and manages to begin being concerned about half an hour before the time I have set for my return. I sometimes miss because I may get involved in my writing, and when that happens, I often, quite literally, don't know what time it is.

Janet, as it happens, goes out on many Monday evenings to meetings at her psychoanalytic institute, and invariably comes home between nine and nine-fifteen.

Then came one Monday when I was busily involved at the word processor and I happened to look at my watch and notice that it was 10 pm. Janet had not yet returned, but I had forgotten about that. What clicked in my mind was that it was time for "Newharrt," one of my favorite TV shows, so I turned it on.

At 10:05 pm Janet returned, having been kept late by some sort of prolonged discussion at the Institute, and in a semi-frenzy, thinking that I was half-dead with worry, she was about to apologize feverishly when she noticed that my eyes were on the TV screen and that I was waving to her absently.

She said, rather sharply, "Weren't you worried?"

I'm an old hand at the marriage game, of course, so I knew better than to admit I had lost track of time. I said, indignantly, "Of course, I was worried/ Fearfuylly worried. Desperately worried."

"And what were you going to do about it," she wanted to know.

"I was going to call the institute, ask where you were, and if you were still there, I was going to come down and get you."

She said, "When were you going to do that?"

And I said, pointing to the TV, "Just as soon as "Newhart" was finished."

Fortunately, Janet has a sense of humor, so she burst into laughter and said she was glad to know her place in the scheme of things.

Well, after the two previous essays, I am still trying to place the Sun in the scheme of things, so let's continue.

Asimov then goes on to continue to talk about how the solar system and how information about the various planets was discovered.

Asimov PP 1/1990: "Hot, Cold and Con Fusion"

I'm going through Isaac Asimov's F&SF essays in reverse order by date to share the Personal Paragraphs with which he invariably opened each essay.

My dear wife, Janet, is, for some reason, incredibly solicitous over my well-being. If there's a single cloud in the sky, it's umbrella time. If a mist has faintly bedewed the streets, I must slip into my rubbers. If the temperature drops below seventy, on goes my fur hat. I won't even mention the close watch kept on my diet, the inquisitional cros-examination at the slightest cough, and so on.

You may suppose that I am very grateful for all this care. I put it up to any husband in similar straits. "Are you grateful?"

I thought not.

In fact, I complain a great deal about the matter, and I can be very eloquent, too, when I feel aggrieved. And do I get sympathy?

I do not.

To all my complaints, all my friends and acquaintances look at me coldly and say, "But that's because she loves you."

You have no idea how irritating that is.

So one time recently I was in a limousine being ferried a moderate distance to give a talk. The driver was a foreigner of some sort, who drove with perfect accuracy, and who was clearly intelligent, but he had only a sketchy command of English. Being aware of this, he took the trouble to practice his English on me and I answered carefully and with good enunciation so that he might learn.

At one point, he looked at the smiling sunshine, felt the mild breeze, enjoyed the sight of a nearby park, and said, "It - is-vair byootiful - day."

At this, my sense of grievance rose high and I said, in my normal manner of speaking, "Yes, it is. And so why did my wife make me take an umbrella?" And I raised the offending instrument and waived it.

Whereupon the driver, choosing his words carefully, said, "But your -wife-she lahv you."

And I sank back defeated. The conspiracy was cross-cultural.

Which, believe it or not, brings me to the subject of the present essay.

Asimvo then goes on to talk about - eventually - cold fusion.

Asimov PP 2/1990: "Business as Usual"

I'm going through Isaac Asimov's F&SF essays in reverse order by date to share the Personal Paragraphs with which he invariably opened each essay.

Note I post these PP every other day.

I love giving talks, but I can't give as many as I would like. For one thing, the business of my life is writing, and I cannot sacrifice too much writing time for the pleasure of talking-even at the high lecture fees I routinely extort. In the second place, I don't like to travel, so I don't accept engagements that are more than a few hours distance from my home, especially in the winter months.

But if the talk is close to home and comes at a time when I can spare an evening, I refuse to turn it down simply because I don't know anything about the subject. After all, I can always brush up on it quickly, and since I like to think of myself as a person of infinite resource and sagacity, I am always sure that I can think of some approach I can handle.

Thus, it came about earlier this year that I was asked to give a talk on the future of "smart cards."

I drew a complete blank. Smart cards?

However, the fee was right, the place was right, the time was right, so I had no intention of refusing. I wrote the people a letter and said, "I'll be glad to oblige, but tell me-What are smart cards? Card that play poker by themselves?"

I was promptly deluged with material on the subject. Smart cards are objects very much the size and shape of credit cards, but are so thoroughly computerized that they carry enormous amounts of information about you and your affairs and can greatly simplify the financial transactions you might wish to undertake.

That was a relief. After all, I had written a brief essay on the subject back in 1975, strictly out of my head. I just didn't know the things were called "smart cards". So I gave the talk with confidence and it was very successful, I'm glad to say.

In the process, though, I had to do some thinking along lines I had not ppreviously dealt with much, and I would like to share some of those thoughts with you, for what they're worth.

Asimov then goes on to talk about the history of the development of money.

Asimov PP 3/1990: "Smashing the Sky"

I'm going through Isaac Asimov's F&SF essays in reverse order by date to share the Personal Paragraphs with which he invariably opened each essay.

Note I post these PP every other day.

When I was a very young lad-I couldn't have been more than seven at the time-I found a map of Greater New York. I had never seen a map before and I hadn't the faintest notion what it was.

There were curious shapes, and there were lines crossing here and there, and small print everywhere. However, as I studied it with puzzlement and curiosity, I came across some fairly large print which said BROOKLYN.

That excited me. After all, I knew that we lived in Brooklyn. The common conversation I heard from grown-ups around me made it clear that Brooklyn was home. I therefore looked eagerly for other words that made sense, and eventually I discovered the names of streets that were familiar to me.

I remember the feeling of awe and gladness that I experienced. After all, my horizon was very close to my center, and I hadn't the faintest idea what lay beyond it. I therefore strongly suspected that the map I had which listed the streets I knew and many, many that I didn't know in dim faraway places like Queens and Manhattan must be a guide to the whole world-even the whole Universe.

I soon learned better, for in school, I eventually received geography books with maps covering more ground and I found that Brooklyn and even all the five boroughs of Greater New York are but an insignificant patch on an inconceivably larger world.

I felt the loss. For a brief period of time I'd thought I had a clear representation of everything there is, and that my knowledge was (at least potentially) total. To be introduced to misty distances plunged me into a rather fearful unknown.

From this introduction, Asimov segues into a discussion of how mankind learned about its existence in the universe - not as the center of the "musical spheres", with the sun circling us, but as us just an insignificant speck whirling around in a galaxy, which was whirling around other solar systems in other galaxies.

Asimov PP 4/1990: Worlds in Order

I'm going through Isaac Asimov's F&SF essays in reverse order by date to share the Personal Paragraphs with which he invariably opened each essay.

Another long PP (in his later essays he did go on and on...) of which I'll share just the beginning:

"I was at a small science fiction convention here in Manhattan a month ago, as I write this, and I was accosted by a young writer. The following conversation took place:

WRITER: Dr. Asimov, I've been trying to write for a number of years and I've managed to sell a couple of items.

ASIMOV: Congratulations! I'm happy to hear it. Keep it up.

WRITER: I've used you as my model. I've read a lot about you and I thought that I would try to write the way you do. Easily. Copiously. All that sort of stuff.

ASIMOV: (cautiously) And have you managed it?

WRITER: No, I haven't. I have to keep thinking about what I write, and more thinking. And rewriting. And starting over. And getting stuck for periods of time.

ASIMOV (uneasily): I'm sorry

WRITER: (perceptibly angrier) I couldn't figure out what was wrong with me. So I talked to other writers, and I found they all have the same trouble. Just like me. There's nothing wrong with me.

ASIMOV (relieved): I'm sure there isn't.

WRITER: (pointing his finger in a controlled fury): But I'll tell you what. There is something seriously wrong with you!

ASIMOV (wincing): If you had consulted me in the matter, I'd have told you that to begin with. (But he turned and stamped away).

Asimov PP 5/1990: "Just Say "No"?"

I'm going through Isaac Asimov's F&SF essays in reverse order by date to share the Personal Paragraphs with which he invariably opened each essay.

This is a rather long, personal essay in which Asimov - a dedicated Democrat, castigates Reagan and blames him (and Republican policies) for the rise of unemployment and crime and drug use among African Americans and other legal immigrants. (Which I find interesting considering that Asimov came from a poor immigrant family, a Jewish family so facing plenty of discrimination - though not as bad as African Americans, admittedly - and by working their butts off they achieved middle classness without resort to drugs to make themselves feel better. (Except perhaps the drug of chocolate.) But then, perhaps drugs weren't "pushed" in the 1930s as they were in the 1960s onward....)

Indeed, the whole essay is series of "Personal Paragraph". I therefore will only share the first two paragraphs of the anecdote with which he opens the essay:

"Some weeks ago, I was attending a function in New York and a friend of mine from the sticks was present. He had once lived in New York City but was now living at a place I shall call Sleepy Hollow, because that is not its name.

My friend favored me with with a long tirade on the nastiness and unpleasantness of New York City-mentioning its noise, its dirt, its crowds-and contrasted it with the bucolic charm and rustic delights of Sleepy Hollow.

I listened with pained patience. I am used to people from outside the city who come to the city (in order to do something with their lives, since the chief intellectual activity in Sleepy Hollow is collecting a tan) and then throwing scorn upon it.

Afterward, though, I thought: Why should I listen I listen with pained patience and endure the insults? Why don't I answer with something like the followings--