Mathematics After The Fall

Archive for the ‘Musings After Midnight’ Category

Birthdays, Logistics, and Deathdays

I had my birthday on Thursday, another one, for which I’m thankful. (Thanks for the messages.) If I hadn’t, this piece wouldn’t be written. I’m not yet ready for death. Someone found it strange that one of my common morning prayers is Thank You for the day, even the ones with a futile meeting and two classes and homework to grade. Yes, even the mediocre hand scribbled, copied, piles of homework.

As I woke up for my birthday, people were dying. They always are. Sometimes it’s massive and sudden. For instance, did the people of Port-au-Prince think about an earthquake two weeks ago? Likely not. There is no possible way to bring relief quickly enough. PAP airport has one runway, space for about a dozen planes, and no normal tower. From less than 20 daily planes, it now handles 140.

It doesn’t surprise me that people have complained from afar. It’s the French way. Occupation? Why would the US want to invade Haiti? Seriously? What would we want? I’m also angry with people like this
Huffington Post idiot who somehow imagines that logistics happen. Looking at his biography explains things. He’s worked as a policy analyst, not on the ground!
He has a degree in Economics, where people believe that men are rational and the market is efficient! We’d be better off listening to George Clooney, who has shown how to organize something. And we’d be better off reducing the number of reporters and government leaders. Quit talking and transport water filters and Plumpy’nut!

Haiti is an example of terror and death. Maybe it will improve American preparation. I’m checking my supplies. Today I recharged my powerpack. I have a water filter- do you? – but my stock of prepared liquids are a little low right now, so I’ll add another case of water. Stuff like that.

At the same time as the large events, I don’t want to neglect simpler deathdays. Again, as I awoke Thursday, one of my former students was on the road. Maybe she was in a hurry to get to a 9:25 class. Noel crashed, and as this short Courier-Journal article notes, she died.

I had Noel in the fall for Math 200. Though she and her buddies were not particularly enthusiastic about statistics, she was pleasant in our interactions. And I know she was happy with the grade she earned. I remember her jeans. Apparently, now ripping the knees out of jeans is somewhat fashionable. I never understood why people would want to look sloppy and poor, but some do, like Noel did. I wouldn’t call Noel the most memorable student I had. She wasn’t. She was one of many stories. Now, on this earth, she’s no more.

There will be some memorial at Bellarmine, which I’ll likely attend. As with Haiti, maybe this will spur people to individual action. We’ll appreciate our birthday mornings, and all the other mornings, a little bit more. Maybe my Thank You prayers will be a little longer. Eventually, they’ll run out, just I hope not yet.

Life and Death and One Second After

It’s been not the best summer in my Louisville. Most people I know in this town are associated with Bellarmine, and in the summer I don’t see them as often. I don’t receive as much invigorating interaction with students. It’s lonely. The pressure of the PhD increases daily. Furthermore, I’m having trouble working because I have an ear infection this week. (That’s why there are three posts in 10 days.) Completely clogged I am, so sleeping is tough, and I can’t research in Chicago. I don’t trust my hearing to drive long distance.

Things could be much worse, nevertheless. For instance, I read a post last week that was both seriously loving and seriously painful. Here it is. It’s from the wife of the Survivalblog founder, and it begins thusly:

I am in a very unusual situation. I’m in my mid-40s, but I’m dying. My doctors have told me that I have less than two months to live. So I have been working on my “bucket list.” One of the items therein is finding a new wife for my husband, to marry after I go to be with the Lord.

What a tough choice, eh? I’ve been thinking about that post since I’ve seen it. One small response, well, isn’t envy, but I wish someone would care enough about me to write an ad for someone “sincerely seeking a life-long commitment with a loving husband”. Plus, I would need enough daily page views to get responses. twelvefruits.com has fewer visits in a year than survivalblog.com has in a day. Despite my hosting company, the very competent Lunarpages, offering $25 in Facebook ad credits, and $25 in Google adwords credits, I think I’d need a bit more notoriety.

Fortunately, most of my thoughts have not been so narcissistic. I pray a lot for them, as I do for couples in trouble. I wish them well.

Because I’ll be flying a lot this month of August, including my first other continent, I’ve also been checking out flyer information forums. At flyertalk, travelers demand upgrades out of coach. “Friends don’t let friends fly coach,” one says. One thread is “New meaning to battlefield upgrades”. They’re wrong, of course. I’m not looking forward to so much time in a small seat, but that’s not This plane is a battlefield upgrade, part of this well written sad tale. I’m crying not just because it might help clear my Eustachian tube.

Then, I can make two clicks on the Esquire.com site and reach pictures of curvy Christina Hendricks. What a strange thing, this Internet.

A strange thing, indeed. Saturday morning I was walking to the bank to pick up my rand for the trip, a little annoyed because I got charged about 10%, worse than the fee at most currency exchanges. I’ll know better next time. Anyway, my path takes me by a church; people were walking out and the bells were ringing. Saturday morning meant wedding or funeral, most likely funeral. Then I saw the hearse. On the way back, the procession headed to the cemetery. I realized that I could figure out who I was silent praying for, via the Internet. William Meredith Pierce it was. 83 years old, married 58 years, a healthcare administrator he was.

And I remembered that I have to write my will before I head to South Africa.

Today’s book review sort of continues the summer theme of harsh choices (previously including World’s Most Dangerous Places, Patriots, and the Great Influenza). For once, I’m in line with Hollywood, I guess. Right now you can even Choose Your Own Apocalypse.

The book is One Second After, a novel about survival after an EMP attack. The main author is history professor Bill Forstchen. If you’re worried about the other name on the front cover, it’s not so bad. Yes, I know that Dr. Newt Gingrich is sorely misguided, a so-called champion of conservative values despite divorcing twice and carrying on an affair while attacking President Clinton. Apparently, he was this year received into my Catholic Church despite the divorces, affairs, and other nasty stuff. I’d like to believe in transformative power, but then again there are plenty other evil elements in the Church.

That said, it’s alright because Dr. Gingrich wrote just the forward, not the whole book. Main author Dr. Forstchen is a widower, I think.

As for the book, there are a lot of good points. Because the author writes about the area where he lives, including the college where he teaches, geographic detail is excellent. Black Mountain, North Carolina reads like a place I can see. The people, which I suspect are fictionalized real folk, also have interesting qualities. They might show their emotions heavily, bringing up old grudges too quickly, but they distinguish themselves easily. Things seem fun for a bit, then get nastier and nastier. The people are interesting, enough to get me to read the book in one four hour sitting. That’s rare, and makes the book well worth a 3 out of 5. It’s not for everyone, and has a couple flaws, but for horror, survival, or alternate fiction fans, I would recommend it.

Let’s discuss the issues that made me think, EMP and choices. The book assumes a very strong EMP effect. To explain, EMP stands for Electromagnetic pulse. A nuclear device detonated at the right low space height will release a very strong wave of electromagnetic radiation. High voltages passing through the atmosphere will cause electrical equipment to burn out, including power stations and transformers. Is this a real threat? YES! As part of a nuclear test in 1962 called Starfish Prime, a US bomb caused streetlights to fail and other electrical damage in Hawaii, 900 miles away. A different test damaged early communications satellite Telstar 1, and the Soviets also had internal results. Countries built simulators. There’s a government EMP Commission and there was a hearing in 2008.

The problem is knowing exactly how much damage would be dealt by an attack, and at what distance. Unclassified estimates vary widely; I suspect the good stuff is under wraps. In the book, Dr. Forstchen assumes very severe results. Basically everything with computers and electrics is broken, including almost all post-1970 cars and communications equipment. This adds to the desperation of the tale. Unfortunately, it detracts from the plausibility. For instance, there are standards for emergency buildings. The metal shells of cars and buses provide decent cage protection. Even a metal file cabinet is a potential Faraday Cage that might deflect some of the pulse. Don’t get me wrong here. Lots of damage will occur. Long distance power lines are in serious peril. Phones might survive, but the transmission towers will likely be burnt. Things will be a terrible mess. However, the book’s catastrophic mess requires a failure of all communication, including radios and military preparation. That’s a bit much, and a weakness of the text.

The positive counterweight, though, is that the author follows through on consequences. Even in a more moderate scenario, electricity remains unavailable for weeks to months as lines get replaced. People that rely on refrigeration, like those with insulin, will have issues. Phone service does not exist. While the satellites still circle the Earth, we have trouble communicating through them. Things will change. Food delivery will be spotty. Things will change. Cities will have serious trouble. New York and Chicago and Louisville do not exist at this size without transport and electricity. Lots of people would die.

As things fall apart, choices have to be made. Who can enter a community? Who gets fed? How much? It seems strange in a land where we consider taxing soda pop to fight obesity. Yet only 70 years ago, food was not secure. It wouldn’t take long. What about justice?

These are tough questions, and I appreciate how the book ponders these issues. In that way, it’s better than the classic Alas Babylon which has less struggle with government. Things just happened in the 50s; this text has much for political scientists. It’s not easy to read the Day 10 food discussion, or the riots, or the need for communication, or how things degrade. In a year, 80 percent of the town dies. And, as the last chapter points out, that’s not bad. To many people now, when drowned cats merit a big story, this is shocking. For me, it’s not, but if you do fall into the shocked category, you need this more.

It’s dealing with the sadness of life and death, starting one second after.

Eurovision 2009

I was listening to the BBC World Service tonight while reading. They ran a little segment on the very popular Eurovision song contest. One of the great things about modern life is that I can quickly see most of the videos, thanks to Youtube. So I took a gander. I’ll include a few links. As a warning, none of the songs are lewd, but some of the Youtube comments are. Such is unmoderated life.

Eurovision songs tend towards high energy pop numbers. For instance, the third and fourth place songs, from Azerbaijan and Turkey, are clear pop songs with light lyrics, female dancers, and a very attractive female singer. Not that I mind, but these aren’t that memorable.

Another interesting fact is that English is the most common language. 19 of the 25 songs in the final included some English, including the top 5. The Internet and economics have made a difference. There can even be controversy about lyrics, as with the Georgian selection, We Don’t Wanna Put In. A little accent work makes that Russian czar Vladimir Putin. Russia, as host, was not happy, and the Georgians got tossed.

A little more interesting are the other three Top 5 songs. After finishing last in 2008, the UK went with an Andrew Lloyd Webber creation, sung by Jade. She sings well. I wonder what musical can use this song. Maybe a Disney animated feature? It’s nice.

More remarkable are the two victors. Second place went to Is It True? by the youthful songstress Yohanna. Her first album was at age 10, and her experience shows. It’s different. To American ears, this is a country-pop ballad that could immediately play on CMTV. I thought of Carrie Underwood as I listened. Look at these lyrics, from the chorus and bridge. They’re sad. Ouch!

Falling out of a perfect dream, coming out of the blue
Is it true? Is it over?
Did I throw it away?
Was it you?
Did you tell me you would never leave me this way?

Did I dream it?
Will I wake from this pain
Is it true? Is it over?
Baby did I throw it away?

The winner, in almost a rout, was Fairytale by the Norwegian Alexander Rybak. It’s a very good song from the 23 year old. He was born in the USSR, and moved to Norway with his musician parents at the age of 4. Yes, 1990, as the USSR broke apart. His violin skills and folk knowledge are both on display here. Admittedly, this is a pop song, but the dancers are male folk dancers, and it’s a little different. The lyrics are a little sadder. It adapts traditional folk songs to the 21st century pop world. I could see myself singing this at karaoke night.

I’m in love with a fairytale,
even though it hurts
‘Cause I don’t care if I lose my mind
I’m already cursed.

I’m not going to claim that the world will be changed by any of these songs. There’s no political meaning like We Shall Overcome. And there’s no repeated kicking like Hurt by Johnny Cash. There’s not supposed to be. That doesn’t take away from what it is; Eurovision 2009 isn’t going to solve Somalia or Kosovo. Not everything is.

The Stockdale Paradox

It’s not a secret that I think very highly of heroic women and men. One of my favorite posts is Medals and Goodness, about medals, virtue, and evil. From time to time I read tales of Carnegie Hero Medal award winners. And every American should read every citation of new Medal of Honor recipients. I might suggest Michael Murphy, whose story appeared in the New York Times. Let’s look at part of the official citation.

On 28 June 2005, operating in an extremely rugged enemy-controlled area, Lieutenant Murphy’s team was discovered by anti-coalition militia sympathizers, who revealed their position to Taliban fighters. As a result, between 30 and 40 enemy fighters besieged his four member team. Demonstrating exceptional resolve, Lieutenant Murphy valiantly led his men in engaging the large enemy force. The ensuing fierce firefight resulted in numerous enemy casualties, as well as the wounding of all four members of the team. Ignoring his own wounds and demonstrating exceptional composure, Lieutenant Murphy continued to lead and encourage his men. When the primary communicator fell mortally wounded, Lieutenant Murphy repeatedly attempted to call for assistance for his beleaguered teammates. Realizing the impossibility of communicating in the extreme terrain, and in the face of almost certain death, he fought his way into open terrain to gain a better position to transmit a call. This deliberate, heroic act deprived him of cover, exposing him to direct enemy fire. Finally achieving contact with his headquarters, Lieutenant Murphy maintained his exposed position while he provided his location and requested immediate support for his team. In his final act of bravery, he continued to engage the enemy until he was mortally wounded, gallantly giving his life for his country and for the cause of freedom.

Another such recipient is James Stockdale, perhaps most famous for his terrible performance in the 1992 Vice Presidential debate. That’s a shame, because his story is much better than what he showed that one night, against professional politicians with less than two weeks’ notice. Let’s summarize Stockdale’s courage:

He was held as a prisoner of war in the Hoa Lo prison for the next seven years. Locked in leg irons in a bath stall, he was routinely tortured and beaten. When told by his captors that he was to be paraded in public, Stockdale slit his scalp with a razor to purposely disfigure himself so that his captors could not use him as propaganda. When they covered his head with a hat, Stockdale beat himself with a stool until his face was swollen beyond recognition. He told them in no uncertain terms that they would never use him. When Stockdale heard that other prisoners were dying under the torture, he slit his wrists and told them that he preferred death to submission.

Wow.

After his return from captivity, Admiral Stockdale became a leader, author of four books, and philosopher. You might consider his writings at the Naval Academy’s Stockdale Center for Ethical Leadership. The big lesson here is about how he survived the years in Vietnam, a terrible situation. It’s much worse than anyplace I’ve been, or expect to be. It was a brutal place. He described his philosophy to Jim Collins in the book Good to Great. The story, not long and well worth reading, is quoted on Mr. Collins’ website. Mr. Stockdale said that the optimists never made it out of the POW camps. “They died of a broken heart.” We come to the most important quote, the Stockdale Paradox.

You must never confuse faith that you will prevail in the end — which you can never afford to lose — with the discipline to confront the most brutal facts of your current reality, whatever they might be.

Ever since I’ve read that quote, I’ve been struck by its importance. Like most people, I’ve been in difficult, troubling situations. The most recurrent was biochemical depression pain; another was a messy Church situation; there is at least one I don’t talk about out of respect for others.

It’s taken a long time to understand the Stockdale Paradox. It’s manmade, so it’s not as tough as the Holy Trinity, but it’s not easy. It’s both passion and realism, examining both Happily Ever After and Homelessness in America, holding simultaneously hope and logic. What a pair, faith and discipline. Both are not simple. Faith requires believing in what can be, but is not; Discipline requires ignoring what can be, focusing on what is.

Neither of the two parts is difficult to understand, and most people can handle one or the other. Both at the same time, however, is the tricky part. In my struggles, I had to bifurcate my thoughts, almost, dividing them into branches. I built detachment into my thoughts. I got better, and then could combine the future and the present. Well, eventually I got there, mostly. There are still times where my mind can bounce quickly, from the concept of future joy to the pain of a current problem. It’s still a little strange that I can laugh and be happy, then shift to tears within a minute, then come back to happiness in under five. The control is not yet total.

For me, when I fail I generally lose the light of faith, surrounded by the darkness of realism and the funk of depression. I keep trying to gain the lesson given by Admiral Stockdale. I really should read his writings – there’s likely much more there. Right now, in Holy Week, people think a little more about the multiple expression of Jesus, divine and human. In general, people tend not to get that. Maybe the minority that understands some of that dual nature understands some of the Stockdale Paradox as well. Maybe the do, but in the general majority, I think not. There’s too much despair around, topped with hedonism masking despair.
I hope that I can gain more knowledge of how to act and what truly matters, and that I don’t have to go through what Mr. Murphy or Mr. Stockdale did to gain it. Their stories, and their heroism, have helped me, and for that I salute them. Maybe it is enough. Faith and discipline, together, is the lesson.

JFK’s Portrait

About a month ago, political analyst Chuck Todd spoke on MSNBC. To paraphrase, he noted that “you go into the homes of Central Valley (CA) Latinos and you’ll see two portraits on the wall: one of the Pope and the other of JFK.”

I saw a portrait of JFK, in a Hispanic house, though I don’t remember seeing any photos of the Pope. There were Matchbooks in that house, too. It’s been a long while.

The Advantages of the Post

I adore letters. Next to a big check, the best thing I can see in my mailbox is a handwritten address and stamp from someone I correspond with. Letter writing is in strong decline nowadays, according to the statistics and comments I hear; for some people, I might be the only person that sends them notes anymore. This makes me sad. Sure, the telephone is more convienient. Then there’s the cellphone and the text message in case the phone is too slow. With all of these, but there’s no sense of permanency, no record of what we said. Of course, sometimes that’s good, but not always. Electronic mail, like to my address adam@twelvefruits.com (and if you mail there use a headline like “From MATF”, because that has a strong spam filter), lets one send quickly, but eliminates the touches of imperfection. I can’t draw on the envelope of an email, or point out where I dropped a lettuce piece from my sandwich, or change pen colors. I like letters so much that I even care about signatures, and wrote a short page about that.

I wonder if, in fifty years, people will publish books of emails, like the old books of letters? I doubt it. Email leads itself too quickly to the short four-line reply agreeing or disagreeing, not the lengthy passion of a good paper mail. Although, I really love the ability in email to quote from what the correspondent said, and I wish I had an immediate way to do that with pencil. I’m not a total Luddite. To sit, and take the time to compose for someone (I average one letter page per hour) shows care and friendship, and I enjoy doing that. A twinge of sadness enters occasionally, that I can’t see my friend in person, but generally it’s good.

I probably do my best thinking in letters, because of the time involved. Despite my math abilities, and my speed in schoolwork, I’m really a contemplative in my soul, and need the patience that pen provides. Often, I consider phone calls too quick; I need time to articulate feelings. By focusing, what comes to pencil represents purity, in some way; no intermingling with logistic regression or 2NT overcalls or dinner plans or whatever else is on my mind in a day.

If anyone could ever get my envelope doodles on email, that would be great. Until then, I will hope for the post.

Vulnerability

One of the good things about being a professor, I always say, is that
professors are allowed to be quirky.  Expected, even.  To explore, to
sort through what hasn’t previously been discovered or categorized,
takes me out of the typical and ordinary and mundane.  It has to.  The
ordinary things have already been found.
So I walk around the corridors of my classroom building, because I need
to occupy my motor skills to let the logical parts of my brain work
unfettered.  I refer to the Mandate of Heaven when explaining
statistical significance, because the requirement to get exactly 0.05 is
like a rule handed down from above that can be taken away, and I think I
can get my students to understand it better.  I might watch Dancing with
the Stars and get distracted by the scoring system.  Not because it
matters whether Apolo or Joey wins a trophy, but because we might better
prioritize public projects through better voting and expert advice.

I’m awkward at times, because I’m not noticing what’s typically done.
The sky is still blue on my world, but sometimes it’s medium blue and
sometimes cerulean blue and sometimes there’s these white puffy things
and sometimes it’s dark and why is that?

Professor is an extremely vulnerable position. First, I’m leading mostly
teenagers 11 hours a week, who are often distracted, sleepy,
unmotivated, or scared, and my job is to get them to understand and
apply something new and difficult.  Plus, I have to enforce the
penalties when they’re not doing so well, even when I like them and they
try.  One of the hardest things I do is give diligent, friendly,
pleasant students B- and C grades because they really don’t know the
material.  That sucks.  Then, the rest of the time, I’m supposed to
explore, not knowing if I’ll ever find anything.  Plus, I gave up piles
of money, which I remember every time I look at my 1999 Pontiac and
small apartment where I’m still single.

Given that, why not go take that nice bank job and look for a nice wife
and a nice suburban house in a nice subdivision?  Because in my world
it’s acceptable to make wild plans to have ballroom dancing stations in
airports, where people waltz while waiting to fly to Topeka.  It’s OK to
give away buckets full of daisies because I’m quirky.  It’s fine to try
really hard things, like identifying factors that destabilize marriages
to help reduce abuse and divorce.  My modeling ability can look like
magic.
Even with vulnerability and difficulty, many troubles, my world has
sweetness and intimacy and heroism and celebration.  From what I see,
much more than most.  It’s not a fairy tale, because I’d make myself
more handsome, for one.  The great thing is that my professor world has
joy.  That’s me.

Million Dollar Free Throw

(Written on March 5) For those of you that don’t follow college basketball, Butler University in Indianapolis has a good men’s basketball team this year. They are good enough to receive a non-automatic bid into the tournament, even though their conference, the Horizon League, is not very strong. If Butler wins the automatic bid as league champion, no other team from the Horizon will enter the tournament. The Butler players have a big responsibility on their hands: they will play for a million dollars a game.

Don’t believe me? I will quote from the
Official NCAA document on revenue distribution:
The basketball fund provides for money to be distributed to Division I conferences based on their performance in the Division I Men’s Basketball Championship over a six-year rolling period (for the period 2001-2006 for the 2006-07 distribution).  Independent institutions receive a full unit share based on its tournament participation over the same rolling six-year period.  The basketball fund payments are sent to conferences and independent institutions in mid-April each year.
One unit is awarded to each institution participating in each game, except the championship game.  In 2005-06, each basketball unit was approximately $164,000 for a total $122.8 million distribution. In 2006-07, each basketball unit will be approximately $177,000 for a total $132.6 million distribution.

Each tournament game not only pays next year, but for five more years after that. This year’s event pays out in 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and 2013. Men’s version only, please; winning in the women’s tourney earns nothing. For every game Butler wins, the conference makes one unit for each of the next six years. At $177,000 this year, times six years, that’s about $1,000,000. If Butler loses in the conference tournament, and gets in as an at-large selection, the conference gets $1,000,000 for the other team and $1,000,000 for Butler. How much of the $1,000,000 do the players get for winning? Nothing. Supposedly, the players are paid through their scholarships. But being away from school for more time means more missed classes, more makeup work, and lower grades. If a degree is the only payment, then the players lose money with each game.

And $1,000,000 a game is small potatoes in college football. Take Boise State football, for instance. It’s a uplifting story. The smaller school team has to win all its games to get to a top game, where they play big school Oklahoma. They surge ahead, fall behind, but score in the final minute on a trick play to head to overtime. In overtime, the opponents score a touchdown and one point conversion easily. The Boise State final down consists of another trick pass to score a touchdown. Doing the right thing and trying to win the game, the 2 point play is a trick run, a Statue of Liberty play, which works. Boise State wins. In the joyous celebration, the winning running back proposes to his girlfriend, the head cheerleader. No, I am not making this up. You can see video clips of the key plays here and then don’t miss the postgame proposal. I’m sure there will be a movie, but the actual stuff is better. I’m sort of sorry I missed it live.

Then comes the interesting part, the piles of money. Being the small school, Boise State receives less money, a little over $3,000,000. Oklahoma’s conference gets around $17,000,000. Things are a little better for the players here. Bowl games are played during winter break, often in nice warm places. Football players get to stay in nice hotels for a few days, since there aren’t course pressure. They can also receive gifts like satellite radios and watches. Still, is that millions of dollars? I would say not.

(March 31) Now the tournament has played all but the final game. It’s been about the best possible scenario for the Horizon League. Butler lost the league title, but got a very good at-large bid. Good enough to get a decent hotel, too. In the tournament, the better teams get the nicer hotels. This article talks about the choices in Spokane, for instance. From that position, Butler won two games and played a very competitive third contest. The Horizon League will earn four units from this tournament.

The idea behind the equalization fund was to eliminate the
million dollar free throw, written by the president of California State University, Fresno. (I know this man. Isn’t that weird? Before he was president at Fresno State, he was president at Indiana University of Pennsylvania. My father was an adjunct professor while he was the boss. I’ve been introduced to Dr. Welty.)
Yes, it’s done that for the institution, but not for the conference. When the committee selected Stanford over Drexel, the Pac-10 conference took a million dollars from the smaller and weaker Colonial. When a guard on Ohio State hit a shot to send the game into overtime, where Ohio State won, the Big 10 conference earned another million dollars.

Why am I writing about this? Two reasons. First, the dollar figures scare me. I teach 18 and 20 and 22 year old boys and girls, a lot like those players. They’re generally not ready to think about that kind of money. I’m barely ready to handle million dollar decisions, and I’m ten years older and more experienced. That’s just too much. There’s too much money. In the past few years, I’ve consciously spent less time with college football and basketball. Sure, they’re great for looking at rating systems, and that’s a lot of statistics fun. Beyond that, though, I have reduced my interest. I don’t do pools with money. I watch way less TV. I shouldn’t support a flawed system.

The second, perhaps more interesting, reason, is the relationship between sports and my current employer, Bellarmine. (See! Lots of things tie into the Bellarmine letters.) Butler is in Indianapolis, about 125 miles up the road. In some ways, it competes with Bellarmine. Students from southern Indiana looking for a small liberal arts school might look at both. Sure, there are other differences – Butler is twice is big, and has pharmacy, not nursing – but a big one is that Butler plays Division I basketball, while Bellarmine plays Division II. Division II schools offer scholarships, a lesser amount that D-I but still a substantial cost. The problem is that instead of 130 Million dollars to distribute, Division II gets about 5. There are no million dollar free throws; there are barely million dollar tournaments. That barely covers expenses.

Should Bellarmine try to move to Division I? Butler is gaining tons of publicity, which means students and dollars. Examine George Mason, an unknown school near where I used to live in northern Virginia. Last year they advanced to the Final Four. Afterwards, the press release notes that freshman applicants increased by 20 percent and donations increased by $3.5 million. Valparaiso in northern Indiana has a profile only slightly better than Bellarmine, but is far better known, because of one good tournament. Three million bucks is enough endowment for two new permanent professors, or several classroom renovations. Plus it would be nice if my parents’ friends or the people in Chicago knew this place.

On the other hand, it’s a big gamble. Moving up costs money, lots of money. There would be more travel, and better facilities, and recruiting changes. Plus, for every Valparaiso or even Texas A&M Corpus Christi, there are plenty of schools like Elon and Montana State that don’t hit the small lottery. It’s likely not a good idea. Tantalizing it is, to head to Spokane or Dallas or Boston, in the silver and red of the Bellarmine Knights, and root for our million dollar free throw. Yet that’s not what academics should be about. Unfortunately, too many people, including I suspect the Butler folks, don’t believe that.

Tenure Track

I signed a tenure track offer! I’m going to stay at Bellarmine. I withdrew from the selection process at other places. In the course of four weeks, I had official visits at seven schools, starting in Kentucky and travelling 13,000 miles to Indiana, Connecticut, Florida, Texas, California, and Washington. I’m not going to discuss the job part of the process, as much of that information is private. Bellarmine met my minimum criteria in all categories, and exceeded them in some areas. Here, I’m going to talk about location, which was as important a factor as the mechanics of work.

There are advantages to staying in Louisville. Bellarmine is fairly well known, as the second university of the town. Professor at the school gives me high status. Louisville is also fairly inexpensive, so my salary has a higher cost-adjusted value. The metro area has a relatively large number of Catholics, for historical reasons – Bardstown/Louisville was the first diocese west of the Alleghany mountains. Finally, Kentucky has relatively high rates of heart disease and obesity, which means the physical competition is a little less tough. First impression desirability is very important in the marriage market. My Louisville rank is higher than what it would be in more physically oriented southern California or the richer Jersey shore.

On the other hand, the pool of similar women is smaller. I don’t mean just in terms of city size, though that is a factor. Southern states tend towards earlier marriages, and the percentage of college graduates is fairly low. I’m not southern or local, and there’s a cultural difference. It’s not as bad as Charlotte or Baton Rouge would be, though non-zero. As someone said, I’m a bigger fish in a smaller pond. Will the social circles of the pool be too dammed? (A non-baudy double entendre takes some delicacy.) I have a job, a potentially wonderful job, but now I need to find the rest of my so-called life.

Hearts

How’s the new job? Well, it’s good. I’m an Instructor in the Department of Mathematics. It’s full-time, limited term, which makes me a real Faculty member for the first time. I get my own office, though as the new and possibly temporary guy it’s the worst office, next to the computer lab. I also got my own name badge. The choice of school to list in my abstracts is not straightforward. Do I list both? Picking one means trading job rank against school rank. Between the 18th and 25th I have three interviews, in three different states not including Kentucky. I’m quite glad that Bellarmine is only about 10 miles from the airport. I’ll write more about the search next time, after the rather brutal travel schedule. This letter is about my job.

I’m teaching three classes. One is Mathematical Statistics, like Stat 244-245. It’s an elective for math and actuarial science students, so I’ve only got 8 students. Not so bad, eh? Well, there are issues. First, it’s been three years since I touched most of this stuff. Second, math-stat has always been my worst field in university statistics – I’m a little better with probability and much better in applied work. Third, the preceding semester, the probability term, didn’t go so well. Several students failed. Some want to continue. Since I’m the new guy, I’m being nice, letting them in. They don’t have baggage.

My other two classes are sections of introductory statistics. I’m using the same book as I did this summer and fall, which is pretty fortunate. I do have some work, because we use a graphing calculator instead of Stata. And I have no TAs, so I’ll be grading the quizzes, tests, and project all by myself. Bellarmine has a math requirement, and Intro Stat fulfills the requirement, so there are a lot of sections – six this semester. Each has 30 to 40 students; I have 35 and 36 in my two classes. So far, that’s typical. Bellarmine has a little under 2000 undergraduates, so I teach about 4 percent of the school.

Well, except for the composition of those classes. Bellarmine is about 60 percent female, which is a change. But my classes are a little more unbalanced. Out of those 71 people I have 14 guys. (That’s 80 percent women, for the non statisticians.) My 9 AM section, the earlier one, has only 5 guys and 20 nursing students. I am not making this up. As I write, I have just realized that this sounds eerily like a plot for USA Up All Night or Cinemax or something. Hmm … ideas … I was surprised Wednesday morning when they entered, fifteen lovely ladies in their white uniforms and hats. Candie cooed, “We wanted to thank you for all you’ve done this semester.” Slowly hands reached towards buttons …

Oh, sorry about that. Anyway, I was trying to figure out how to explain the differences here. The average ACT score is less, of course, and that means I have to make changes. I get about 75% more class time this semester to cover the same amount of material, which I’ll need. But that’s not the interesting part. Culture is different. Despite what people might say, Louisville is the South, compared to Chicago. I’m “Mr. Molnar” here, and students are more respectful. The other difference is in attitude. I’ve often said that UChicago is populated with undergraduates who want to be philosophers, and philosophy has no concept of joy. This leads to stoic moroseness.

To some, I’ve mentioned that students wear school insignia. Positive shirts too, not The Level of Hell Dante Forgot. It’s not true that only Bellarmine stuff appears, but the level of spirit is much higher overall. Students look happier and healthier. One reason is food. Cafeterias are not run by a nasty corporation I refuse to name, just because its CEO donates to the GSB. I asked about this. A couple years ago, Bellarmine booted the servers of bad prisoner food. I’ve eaten at the cafeteria and cafe on campus. The quality of food is better than Bartlett and Hutch, at a lower price. I could provide more examples of competent administration (and some of less), but that’s not the big instance that titled this entry.

Friday, I stumbled upon the most obvious sign. I gave out a brief in-class exercise on the calculator, since most students benefit from active learning. Because I want to encourage the students, and I was asked to take attendance the first week, I collected the papers and gave them a point. While alphabetizing, I started laughing. One of the students had dotted her i’s with little hearts. I walked into the hall, shocked. I asked my boss, the chair, if this was common. He replied that there were some free spirits here.

Hearts. Wow.

I’ve still got my job talk to write, and other things, so I’ll stop here for now. I’ll write again around the end of the month, after the first round of job interview visits.