“Surely You’re Joking, Mr. Feynman”: Adventures of a Curious Character

While I was doing all this trigonometry, I didn’t like the symbols for sine, cosine, tangent, and so on. To me, “sin f” looked like s times i times n times f! So I invented another symbol, like a square root sign, that was a sigma with a long arm sticking out of it, and I put the f underneath. For the tangent it was a tau with the top of the tau extended, and for the cosine I made a kind of gamma, but it looked a little bit like the square root sign.

Now the inverse sine was the same sigma, but left-to-right reflected so that it started with the horizontal line with the value underneath, and then the sigma. That was the inverse sine, NOT sink f—that was crazy! They had that in books! To me, sini meant i/sine, the reciprocal. So my symbols were better.

I didn’t like f(x)—that looked to me like f times x. I also didn’t like dy/dx—you have a tendency to cancel the d’s—so I made a different sign, something like an & sign. For logarithms it was a big L extended to the right, with the thing you take the log of inside, and so on.

I thought my symbols were just as good, if not better, than the regular symbols—it doesn’t make any difference what symbols you use—but I discovered later that it does make a difference. Once when I was explaining something to another kid in high school, without thinking I started to make these symbols, and he said, “What the hell are those?” I realized then that if I’m going to talk to anybody else, I’ll have to use the standard symbols, so I eventually gave up my own symbols.

I had also invented a set of symbols for the typewriter, like FORTRAN has to do, so I could type equations. I also fixed typewriters, with paper clips and rubber bands (the rubber bands didn’t break down like they do here in Los Angeles), but I wasn’t a professional repairman; I’d just fix them so they would work. But the whole problem of discovering what was the matter, and figuring out what you have to do to fix it—that was interesting to me, like a puzzle.

String Beans

I must have been seventeen or eighteen when I worked one summer in a hotel run by my aunt. I don’t know how much I got—twenty-two dollars a month, I think—and I alternated eleven hours one day and thirteen the next as a desk clerk or as a busboy in the restaurant. And during the afternoon, when you were desk clerk, you had to bring milk up to Mrs. D—, an invalid woman who never gave us a tip. That’s the way the world was: You worked long hours and got nothing for it, every day.

This was a resort hotel, by the beach, on the outskirts of New York City. The husbands would go to work in the city and leave the wives behind to play cards, so you would always have to get the bridge tables out. Then at night the guys would play poker, so you’d get the tables ready for them—clean out the ashtrays and so on. I was always up until late at night, like two o’clock, so it really was thirteen and eleven hours a day.

There were certain things I didn’t like, such as tipping. I thought we should be paid more, and not have to have any tips. But when I proposed that to the boss, I got nothing but laughter. She told everybody, “Richard doesn’t want his tips, hee, hee, hee; he doesn’t want his tips, ha, ha, ha.” The world is full of this kind of dumb smart-alec who doesn’t understand anything.

Anyway, at one stage there was a group of men who, when they’d come back from working in the city, would right away want ice for their drinks. Now the other guy working with me had really been a desk clerk. He was older than I was, and a lot more professional. One time he said to me, “Listen, we’re always bringing ice up to that guy Ungar and he never gives us a tip—not even ten cents. Next time, when they ask for ice, just don’t do a damn thing. Then they’ll call you back, and when they call you back, you say, ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot. We’re all forgetful sometimes.’”

So I did it, and Ungar gave me fifteen cents! But now, when I think back on it, I realize that the other desk clerk, the professional, had really

known what to do—tell the other guy to take the risk of getting into trouble. He put me to the job of training this fella to give tips. He never said anything; he made me do it!

I had to clean up tables in the dining room as a busboy. You pile all this stuff from the tables on to a tray at the side, and when it gets high enough you carry it into the kitchen. So you get a new tray, right? You should do it in two steps—take the old tray away, and put in a new one-but I thought, “I’m going to do it in one step.” So I tried to slide the new tray under, and pull the old tray out at the same time, and it slipped—BANG! All the stuff went on the floor. And then, naturally, the question was, “What were you doing? How did it fall?” Well, how could I explain that I was trying to invent a new way to handle trays?