The Unmuddled Mathematician

An Unusual Breaking Point
Chris Coray, The Unmuddled Mathematician

To quote Winston Churchill, “There are some things up with which I will not put”.  Churchill did not want to end a sentence with a preposition and neither do I, but I reached a breaking point “up with which I will not put” last week.

My wife and I were in our last week in Mexico, which is where we try to go each year to avoid the mud around our home.  Cold doesn’t bother us but the melting snow that turns dirt roads into slop is something we try to avoid.  Anyway, we had 3 glorious weeks of sun, ocean, whales, pools, flowers, and really good Mexican food. 

One evening, though, during our last 4 days there, I had an experience roughly equivalent (but worse) to a root canal without anesthetic.  I doubt you will feel as I did, but relating the experience may give you insight as to exactly what kind of weird person I am. 

We were at dinner, in a beautiful open air restaurant that is part of the resort where we stay, and enjoying a fantastic beef and shrimp fajita.  Our view of the ocean was spectacular.  The restaurant was not crowded, with just another pair of very nice couples sharing the next table.  They were talking as couples who have just met often do.  We were not eavesdropping but it was clear from the dominant speaker that he was a recently retired engineer (not from Boeing, Bob) and he was regaling his companions with stories.  Bobbie and I pretty just talked between ourselves and were content in the moment with our own thoughts.  

Then it happened.  Two inch fingernails drawn down a chalkboard could not have affected me more.  My hearing, which my wife says is more than selectively bad, does have some frequencies in which I hear perfectly.

Just as I was about to chomp down a shrimp in my fajita, the guy at the next table started talking about Pi.  The number Pi.  All of my antennae immediately focused on his words.  I could not help myself, my mathematician’s DNA would not allow it.  The pleasant fellow was telling his 3 dinner companions how essential this number was in understanding really important things.  Then he decided to tell his group what the first 6 digits of PI are.  He was wrong.  I repeat, he was wrong.  In one of my proudest moments of self control I just bit into the shrimp and said nothing.  The shrimp did not go down well, but I was barely holding on and, surprising myself, I succeeded in remaining silent.

But then, just as I finished swallowing some water to retain my composure, in response to a question from his new friends, the retired engineer went into a virtual repeat of his discussion, emphasizing the first six digits of Pi.  Again, he was wrong.  It was a Thelma and Louise moment for me, either I would hurl myself off the balcony or correct a man I had never met.  As gently as I could I identified myself as a mathematician and provided the correct first 6 digits of Pi.  There was sort of an awkward silence.  But then the guy’s wife turned to me, having believed the truth as I explained it, and told us that for 35 years he had been using those incorrect digits for their entire marriage.  For some reason I think she was glad to hear my words. 

We each returned to our own food and the discussion ended.  I told Bobbie that the fellow was certain to go look up the truth, hoping that the stranger (me) was in error.  The next day Bobbie saw him someplace on the resort and gently said, “You checked, didn’t you?”  The answer was yes.

I will quietly listen to many things and to different opinions about all kinds of things, but not to abuse of Pi (or for that matter, e).  This story is prima facie evidence of strangeness in my character but I will not be moved from absolute truth.  We made up the game that produced Pi, and nobody gets to tinker with its elegance.  Mozart, Beethoven, Rembrandt, Michelangelo, and  Pi.