Never Lose Your Nerve!

Alan J Heeger

• Publisher: WSPC
• Year: 2015
• ISBN:
  9789814719568
• Topic: Ciencias físicas
• Subtopic: Física

Never Lose Your Nerve! chronicles the ups and downs of a Nobel Laureate's life. Professor Alan J Heeger was awarded the Nobel Prize in Chemistry in 2000 together with Professor Alan G MacDiarmid and Professor Hideki Shirakawa. Filled with humor, this book tells Professor Heeger's story — his love for his family, especially how his wife's love has always been his guiding light, his progress from a young student to an eminent scientist, his passion for the theatre and its impact on his science, his adventures as a successful entrepreneur, and his personal losses. Many think of scientists as risk-adverse individuals but Professor Heeger shows the absolute necessity of risk in research and that scientists are, in fact, risk-addicted, as taking the first, risky step into unfamiliar territory is a step in the right direction towards creativity and great discoveries. Never lose your nerve and you will be rewarded. Life is an exciting adventure and this book clearly demonstrates it, and is for those who are looking to impact others.

"Perhaps the greatest pleasure of being a scientist is to have an abstract idea, then to do an experiment (more often a series of experiments is required) that demonstrates the idea was correct; that is, Nature actually behaves as conceived in the mind of the scientist. This process is the essence of creativity in science. I have been fortunate to have experienced this intense pleasure many times in my life."

Alan J Heeger

Never Lose Your Nerve! chronicles the ups and downs of a Nobel Laureate's life. Professor Alan J Heeger was awarded the Nobel Prize in Chemistry in 2000 together with Professor Alan G MacDiarmid and Professor Hideki Shirakawa. Filled with humor, this book tells Professor Heeger's story — his love for his family, especially how his wife's love has always been his guiding light, his progress from a young student to an eminent scientist, his passion for the theatre and its impact on his science, his adventures as a successful entrepreneur, and his personal losses. Many think of scientists as risk-adverse individuals but Professor Heeger shows the absolute necessity of risk in research and that scientists are, in fact, risk-addicted, as taking the first, risky step into unfamiliar territory is a step in the right direction towards creativity and great discoveries. Never lose your nerve and you will be rewarded. Life is an exciting adventure and this book clearly demonstrates it, and is for those who are looking to impact others.

"Perhaps the greatest pleasure of being a scientist is to have an abstract idea, then to do an experiment (more often a series of experiments is required) that demonstrates the idea was correct; that is, Nature actually behaves as conceived in the mind of the scientist. This process is the essence of creativity in science. I have been fortunate to have experienced this intense pleasure many times in my life."

Alan J Heeger
Readership: General public; historians; scientists; educators; undergraduates and graduates; biographers.

In the 11th century, when the Moors were in Spain, the Caliph of Cordoba was one of the most powerful men in the world. As an old man, the Caliph wrote his memoir — as old men are prone to do — and in that memoir he commented that although he had had a good life, he had during his lifetime only 14 “perfect days.” After learning of the Caliph’s 14 perfect days, I awoke in the middle of the night. I am basically and fundamentally a competitor; surely I could list more than 14 perfect days in my life. I immediately started to make a mental list.

I have enjoyed many important and memorable days, such as our wedding day, the days on which my sons were born, the day I defended my thesis and completed the requirements for the PhD and the day I received my first invitation from the Nobel Prize Committee to make a nomination for the Nobel Prize in Physics. These, and many more, were important and memorable, but not “perfect” because each involved new responsibilities, and new responsibilities come with worries and anxieties. As I attempted to list the “perfect days,” it quickly became clear that many of them were spent in the mountains, on the ski slopes, at places such as Zermatt, Verbier, Morgins, Val d’Isère, Aspen, Vail, Jackson Hole, Keystone, Snowbird, Solitude, Alta and Park City. For me, skiing is the perfect vacation. The responsibilities and associated worries and anxieties are left behind; one must focus on navigating the steep slopes and doing so with grace that comes only with continuing practice that leads to skill. Moreover, the remarkable beauty of the high mountain terrain is intoxicating. Skiing is my only sport (I do not play tennis or golf). I exercise throughout the year with the goal of being in shape for the next season.

Skiing started for me when I was 32 years old. On a dreary winter Friday afternoon in 1968, I was determined to wrap up the final details of a manuscript for publication in the Physical Review before going home for the weekend. By late afternoon, I managed to have everything done with the required number of copies of the manuscript plus an appropriate cover letter in a large stamped envelope ready to mail. I got into my car and dropped the envelope into the mail box at the post office near the 30th Street train station in Philadelphia. On the way home I decided that we should get away for the weekend.

Someone had told me about a small resort hotel near Lancaster, PA; the food was reputed to be plentiful and good, and there were a variety of diversions available to the guests. I called and made the room reservation. Ruth and the boys were excited at the unexpected prospect of the fun weekend ahead. We quickly packed the necessities and departed on the one-and-one-half hour trip to our destination. As it turned out, the food was indeed plentiful, but not especially good. The weekend was memorable for only one reason: It was my first time on skis.

The single skiing hill was literally tiny; I doubt that it was even 30– 40 yards in length, and the slope was gentle with a total vertical drop of perhaps 20 feet. Instead of a chair lift, the proprietors had installed a motor-driven rope tow. One grabbed hold of the moving rope and was pulled slowly back up the slope. Ruth and I rented boots and skis, and sleds were rented for the boys. Looking down the little slope, the sleds were to go on the left side and the “skiers” were instructed to go on the right side.

I fell nearly every time. I broke my glasses, blisters appeared on my hands because of improper use of the rope tow, and before the afternoon was over every muscle in my body ached — but I was hooked! Perhaps this, too, is associated with my “risk addiction.” This unplanned and unexpected introduction to skiing was fortuitous, because we were scheduled to leave in a few months for a sabbatical year in Switzerland. There are few better places in the world to ski.

The year in Geneva was a special time in our lives. We made lasting friendships, and we thoroughly enjoyed the beauty of Switzerland. Each of us learned to speak a little French, although to be honest, none became even close to fluent. Ruth succeeded in obtaining what she wanted by using the phrase “quelque chose comme ça” followed by pointing or miming as in the game of Charades. Our sons have long ago lost most of the French that they learned while living in Geneva, but they have retained authentic accents. I was never afraid to speak, but often had difficulty in understanding the answers. In a group social conversation, I was always two sentences behind. It is difficult to make insightful comments when you are two sentences behind.

I gave a series of lectures at the Physics Institute of the University of Geneva, and I had the time to complete a major review article. Let there be no mistake, however — the lasting memories from our year in Switzerland are built around our skiing activities in the beautiful Swiss mountains.

I shared an office in the Physics Institute with Bernard Giovannini. Bernard had spent a post-doctoral year in the Physics Department at Penn before moving into his permanent position as a young professor at the University of Geneva. Bernard spent his entire career at the University of Geneva, including a period as Rector of the university. He is now enjoying his retirement living on his “farm” in France near the Swiss border where he dedicates himself primarily to his music.

Upon arrival in Geneva, Ruth and I renewed our friendship with Bernard and his wife, Maria Rosa. Early in the Fall, long before there was even a hint of snow, my enthusiasm for the coming ski season resulted in a plan to share a chalet in Zermatt with Bernard and Maria Rosa for 10 days during the Christmas holidays. Bernard made the arrangements. He showed us the location of the chalet on a map of the area; it was part way up the mountain on a road which gave easy access, on skis, into the town of Zermatt.

We carefully researched the sporting goods stores to decide where to purchase our skis and equipment. In those ancient times, the skis were made of wood; the remarkable materials technology that makes the skis of today possible had not yet been invented. The tradition in Switzerland was to use very long skis; short skis, we were told, were unstable. To determine the length of my first pair of skis, I was instructed to stand up tall and extend my right arm up as high as I could. I was very proud of that first pair; they were heavy and solid with a length of 210 cm. The ski boots were made of leather and fastened with shoestrings more or less like the boots that one would wear on city streets during the winter. The bindings comprised a steel cable that was pulled tight around the back of the boot and fastened onto the skis in front of the boot by a spring-loaded mechanism. The bindings were not safe. Fortunately, none of us have been seriously hurt during our lifetime of skiing, although Ruth did have a close call when we skied at Les Diablerets.

In the years that followed, the introduction of high technology materials has radically changed ski equipment. Today, as an expert skier, my skis are much lighter weight and only 160 cm in length — nearly a six inches shorter on either end than my first pair! Skis are now “shaped” to make turning easier. The stiff boots, made from engineering plastic and fastened with a series of metal buckles, enable the skier to transmit fine adjustments from the knees and hips to the sharp edges on the skis, and the bindings “pop” open when subjected to stress beyond a predetermined level. The bindings are now safe.

Weeks prior to our departure, I began to check the newspaper every day for reports of the snow conditions at Zermatt. The news was not good; there had been some new snow, but relatively little. I was concerned that we would not have sufficient snow to enjoy our first ski holiday. As it turned out, lack of snow was the least of my worries.

During winter, there is only one way into Zermatt, by train. Upon arrival at the train station, we hired a horse-drawn sleigh “taxi,” and instructed the driver to take us up the mountain to our chalet. We were pleased with what we found: a well-built structure with walls made of logs and a steep roof designed to shed the snow. There were ample beds, a cooking stove, and both a heating stove and a fireplace. There was no need for a refrigerator; perishable items were placed outside in the snow. Outside, we found a large supply of firewood, neatly stacked as it must be in Switzerland. The view of the town of Zermatt and the surrounding valley below was spectacular.

Bernard and I walked into town in the cold of that first evening, and returned with food supplies that were sufficient to last a couple of days. We took the small sled that we found at the chalet with us, piled our purchases on the sled and pulled the loaded sled up the road. Since we planned to end each day by skiing down the road into town, there would be plenty of opportunity to purchase whatever we needed later in the week.

During our hike back up the road, snow began to fall.

The snow continued to fall all night and throughout the next day. When the snowing finally stopped, approximately two meters had accumulated according to the information provided by the local radio station. I walked outside to explore a little and sank in deeply; the snow came up nearly to my chin. I was able to move forward, but only with the combined effort of attempting to walk aided by simultaneously pulling myself forward with my arms moving in a slow breast-stroke-like swimming motion through the light powder. Our son, David, then six years old, came out and immediately disappeared into the snow. I could hear him laughing, but I had to reach in, find him, and pull him out.

We discussed our predicament. What should we do? Our supplies were sufficient only for the remainder of that day. We learned from the radio that Zermatt was isolated from the rest of the world; the trains were not yet able to get in and out. Some supplies were being brought by helicopter. The news on the radio assured us that the first helicopters coming in would be bringing in new supplies of beer — first things first!

Because trains were not able to come in, we reasoned that even though all hotels would be fully booked for the holiday week, there would be hotel rooms available. We decided to abandon our chalet and plough our way down the road into town. With each of the boys between two adults, we went single file along the snow-covered road. Bernard and I took turns in the lead using the breast-stroke-assisted walk to make progress.

Shortly after we started on the way, we heard a loud roaring sound and looked up to see an avalanche falling down the mountain on the other side of the valley. The momentum and the quantity of moving snow built up as the avalanche progressed down the mountainside. From our distant view, we could see that the avalanche finally stopped near the edge of Zermatt and that it had completely covered the train tracks. The power of the moving snow had been sufficient to move and “un-track” a locomotive and several passenger cars standing near the station as if they were part of a child’s toy train.

The journey down the road into town was actually more fun than difficult. In Switzerland, there is a restaurant every 100 meters along any such road in the vicinity of a mountain resort. We stopped for coffee and subsequently for lunch along the way.

We were able to find rooms in a small and simple hotel with half board; we had lunch every day up on the mountain. The price was within the range that we could afford. Thus, despite the change in plans and the loss of our chalet, we managed very well; our time in Zermatt was filled with learning to ski and with enjoying the mountains.

There are three different major ski areas that one can access from Zermatt by telepherique, by train or by the various lifts up to the top of the mountain. Once up into one of these areas, there are huge ski terrains, most of which are well above the tree line. Thus, on a sunny day, one sees an expanse of white snow fields under blue skies, and one sees the Matterhorn, easily identified by its unique jagged shape, surrounded by a range of spectacular mountain peaks. At the end of the day, we had a choice of either skiing all the way down into town and almost to the door of our hotel or coming down via the various means of available transportation.

Specific memories stand out in my memory of that Christmas week in Zermatt. A few days after our move into the hotel. I was up high on the Gornergrat and had just come down a long run, probably at a relatively easy level of difficulty, but I had managed to get down the entire run without falling. I was elated and had for the first time the feeling that I was using and enjoying the mountain rather than fighting it. The following day, my son Peter and I came down a similar run together. At the bottom, his eyes were flashing with the joy and excitement of mastering the steep and thrilling downhill challenge, and he expressed to me the same feeling. These were two of our perfect days, and there were many more in the following years.

By the time we departed from Zermatt, Peter was doing moderately well on skis. David (three years younger) had been in ski school, but had not progressed very far. We had a plan to advance them to the next level. After returning from Zermatt, we arranged for the boys to live for two weeks in January at a boarding school above Montreux, in the mountains above the Lake of Geneva. They would speak only French, and they would have ski lessons every day. During this two-week period, Ruth and I traveled, first to Greece and then to Israel. On our return, we called the boys from the airport in Geneva. They were happy to hear from us and anxious to be rescued from their boarding school “prison” in the mountains, but they made us promise that we would bring our skis with us when we came for them. We skied with them during the afternoon of that same day. They had both made remarkable progress. I was instantly and permanently reduced to being the third best skier in our family. That status remained for many years until our two grandsons, Brett and Jordan, displaced me for third and fourth place. Today, I am #6, with my granddaughter, Alice, having again displaced me.

During the remainder of the winter season, we went skiing nearly every Saturday, often to Verbier, sometimes to smaller areas in France close to Geneva. We returned to Zermatt for the Easter Holiday week. This second time we had accommodations in a lovely small hotel. The food was outstanding, including the Fondue Bourguignonne that we ordered for our final dinner at the end of the vacation week. We enjoyed spring skiing under sunny skies. Life was tough — because of the bright sun and high altitude, our most serious concern was to avoid sunburn.

Late in the season in that memorable year in Switzerland, after many of the areas were already closed, we decided to go skiing one last time, in the area called Les Diablerets. Three gondola rides, one after the other in series, were required to take us from the town at the base, where we had a light lunch, to the very top, to the glacier. The weather was good, partly sunny and not very cold. After arriving at the top, we put on our skis and ventured out onto the ski run on the glacier. Judging by the three gondola rides on the way up, we knew we had a long vertical descent ahead of us and a long way to go.

In my memory, the entire trip down the mountain seems to be at night. This is of course not true; we started the descent in the early afternoon of a bright day. Moreover, my mental picture is inconsistent; in my mind, there is excellent visibility — I can see everything clearly — but nevertheless the entire trip down seems to take place surrounded by darkness. The events evidently determine the mental picture.

We started, in high spirits, along the piste that follows the glacier. Ruth and I were relatively close together, Peter and David were some distance ahead of us and skiing with Bernard. I casually remarked to Ruth that I was surprised that the slope was so gentle since we had come up to such a great height. Some time later, after traveling a considerable distance along the glacier, we saw the terrain change ahead of us, and we understood: It was no longer a gentle slope.

I recently looked up Les Diablerets on the internet. The description there is fully consistent with my memory. The internet description states that most of the pistes up on the glacier are classified as for beginning or intermediate level skiers, but a “single hair-raising black run plunges beneath the gondola cables” down toward the village.

Peter, David and Bernard waited for us above a very steep and narrow chute near the top of this “hair-raising black run.” There were large rocks on either side that defined the edges of the skiable area. One could see well beyond this steep, narrow chute; the terrain below was wide and did not appear so challenging as to be beyond our abilities. I told the boys to go on through the chute, and they did so without difficulty. I then followed. Now we were standing together looking up at Ruth as she approached the chute.

Ruth lost her nerve. She was afraid that this chute was too steep and too difficult for her. One of the first things the instructors teach you in ski school is that you should never, ever take off your skis when on the mountain. Skis have long sharp edges; those edges cut into the snow and hold you onto the mountain. Instead of carefully side-stepping down with her skis on, she took them off with the intent of walking down through the most difficult area. From my position well below her, with the benefit of hindsight, I should have immediately sensed the danger, but I, too, was inexperienced, and it all happened too fast for me to intercede or give advice or instruction. She took one step before her feet went out from under her; she was on her side and sliding over the snow at an ever increasing speed. I can see her still, in the darkness of my mixed mental image, literally bouncing off the huge ...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Halftitle
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Contents
• Prologue
• Acknowledgements
• Chapter 1 Perfect Days – and Some Not so Perfect
• Chapter 2 The First Indication of Creativity
• Chapter 3 Miracles Actually Happen!
• Chapter 4 Coming to Acceptance of My Mortality
• Chapter 5 The Wart and the Penny: The Importance of Uncorrelated Events
• Chapter 6 “Whither Thou Goest, I Will Go”
• Chapter 7 Passion for a Career as a Physicist
• Chapter 8 From Novice to Professor
• Chapter 9 The Pathway to Great Science
• Chapter 10 “Fire and Rain”
• Chapter 11 Risk, Creativity and Discovery – Again
• Chapter 12 The Nobel Prize in Chemistry
• Chapter 13 The Creativity Continues: High Mobility Polymer Thin Film Transistors
• Chapter 14 Decision to Go West – Was it the KGB?
• Chapter 15 Life and Science in Santa Barbara
• Chapter 16 The California Entrepreneur: UNIAX Corporation
• Chapter 17 The Impact of Theater in our Lives
• Chapter 18 Low-Cost “Plastic” Solar Cells – A Dream Becoming Reality
• Chapter 19 The Serial Entrepreneur
• Chapter 20 The Delicacy of the Creative Mind
• Chapter 21 The Joy of Life
• Final Comments: Mentoring Young Scientists
• Index