Being a Contrarian
When I was 7 years old, and my younger brother, Eric, 5 or 6, a similarly aged girl living on our street in Norwalk, CT, walked up to my brother and me and told us that her mother thought we were the bad boys of the neighborhood. My brain did a Spock-like “Fascinating”, and it stuck in my memory banks. But – and this is the point – it had utterly no effect on my behavior, nor my brothers. It’s quite possible she was right, but it was our nature to be that way. We did not have genes for behave-normally-and-responsibly. We were just who we were.
A couple years later we were living in Redding, CT, and the elementary school we attended would give out yellow slips to misbehaving students. These meant detention. In our first year I got 7, and Eric 5. Called into the principal’s office one day, the principal looked at Eric, and said, “Another of the Dixon boys.” (We were not incorrigible; the remaining 2 years at that school we never exceeded 1 or 2 yellow slips.)
My first year in college I grew my hair long (1966), overdosed on LSD, then dropped (and flunked) out, leaving my family in the dark as to where I’d gone. As it turned out, along with a friend, I headed to California, seeking a kind of Haight-Ashbury environment. But I had just turned 18, was largely clueless as to how widespread California’s hippy movement was, and we ended up at Newport Beach, devoid of hippies, but having some excellent body surfing waves.
After 3 months I returned home, now Wilton, CT, much to the delight of Eric. I behaved, went to 3 different colleges of increasing prestige, and finally graduated, with dual mathematics and physics degrees. I spent 2 years in NJ getting an MS in mathematics. I did not behave well, and not for the first or last time was warned that my misbehavor would go on my permanent record, and so mar my future. It never did, but it could have, I suppose.
I then became aimless for a while, and – long story short (it’s all in the book) – ended up entering Brandeis University as a physics graduate student.
The physics theory faculty was getting into SUSY at the time, and one professor in particular was keen that I get involved and build an academic future in – what I even then considered – this very misguided notion. I did publish a paper or two that contained a smidgeon of SUSY, but by and large I ignored my mentors’ advice, got interested in division algebras, then proceeded to build a PhD degree based upon these mathematical objects, being completely mentor-less for the rest of my years as a graduate student. The arc of my graduate career was viewed with opprobrium by at least one faculty member, and curious unconcern by the rest, including my advisor.
Then, for the next 40 years, plus or minus, I continued to badly misbehave by researching the (obvious) link between the division algebras and the standard model of elementary particles. I published many articles, with few exceptions against great resistance (bad Geoffrey), and two books. I never collaborated, and at the time I did not understand exactly how much of an outsider I was considered by the mainstream … at least not until prior to my talk at a conference at Notre Dame I was introduced as “the maverick”. What?
The point I’m making, I think, is that those 40 plus years of working way outside the box of what is considered proper theoretical physics were not an act of rebellion. I didn’t even realize it was considered outré until that conference at Notre Dame. That moment was akin to being told at age 7 that my brother and I were thought to be the neighborhood bad boys. As was true at that time, when labeled “the maverick”, I did not immediately understand why that should be thought to be true. But upon deeper reflection, all of my publications were single author, and while they likely never would have existed without the prior works of Gürsey and Günaydin (Yale, late 1970s), they veered sharply from their work, which attempted to shoehorn division algebra mathematics into the box of proper theory. I ignored the box. Not intentionally, but it was 100% clear to me what role the division algebras are intended to play. Nature wrote the script. I just translated it.
Fewer and Fewer Fucks to Give
A recent internet meme:
“How many relationships are you willing to ruin because you won’t shut up about freedom?”
“All of them.”
I worked many jobs to keep myself financially above water after receiving my PhD, and after 3 postdocs, one of which ended acrimoniously because I resisted doing the mind numbing work I was supposed to do (there were no problems with the other two as no one gave me instructions to do anything other than what I wanted to do). But now I am retired. I live in a university town. I briefly taught at the local university, one, that it is generous to say, is not highly ranked. Some of the old timers from that university gather for a biweekly lunch at a nearby restaurant. I am close enough to one of them (a fellow nerd) to cadge invitations to these friendly meets. It periodically bordered on pleasurable, and Francesca felt I needed socializing, so she used to push me to attend, despite my frequent reluctance.
I am not like these people. They are politically liberal in an academic bubble sort of way. As is frequently true of many MAGA conservatives, I try my best to hide my beliefs. This necessity is annoying. It grates. And at a recent luncheon my pent up frustration burst forth and I released some prime opinions. Francesca was there, and in the ensuing conversation she got very annoyed with the replies generated in response to my vituperative verbal vomit. She no longer thinks that my attendance at these meets is necessary. It’s the wrong sort of socializing, akin to banging my head against a wall. Not fun, at least not anymore.
I’m not going to add political bumper stickers to my car, for rabid liberals feel they are doing the world a service by damaging property they deem aligned with conservative values (like firebombing a Tesla dealership … I mean WTF). I saw a pickup truck the other day sporting big ass American and Trump flags. But I strongly suspect the rabids would think twice about damaging that vehicle, for it exudes fuck-with-me-and-I-will-respond-violently, maybe-even-lethally. My Subaru does not exude much of anything of the sort. Its two bumper stickers label it as the Rocinante, Legitimate Salvage. I will not explain.