Ebook rtf mathematics Feynman, Richard Surely You’…

Playboy
playmate. She was tall and gorgeous. However, she thought she was 
too
tall. Every girl in the 
world, looking at her, would have been jealous. When she would come into a room, she'd be half stooped over. I tried to teach her, when she was 
posing, to 
please stand up
, because she was so elegant and striking. I finally talked her into that. 
Then she had another worry: she's got "dents" near her groin. I had to get out a book of anatomy to show her that it's the attachment of the 
muscles to the ilium, and to explain to her that you can't see these dents on everybody; to see them, everything must be jqust right, in perfect 
proportion, like she was. I learned from her that every woman is worried about her looks, no matter how beautiful she is.
I wanted to draw a picture of this model in color, in pastels, just to experiment. I thought I would first make a sketch in charcoal, which would be 
later covered with the pastel. When I got through with this charcoal drawing that I had made without worrying how it was going to look, I realized 
that it was one of the best drawings I had ever made. I decided to leave it, and forget about the pastels for that one. 
My "agent" looked at it and wanted to take it around. 
"You can't sell that," I said, "it's on newsprint." 
"Oh, never mind," she said. 
A few weeks later she came back with this picture in a beautiful wooden frame with a red band and a gold edge. It's a funny thing which must 
make artists, generally, unhappy-- how much improved a drawing gets when you put a frame around it. My agent told me that a particular lady got all 
excited about the drawing and they took it to a picture framer. He told them that there were special techniques for mounting drawings on newsprint: 
Impregnate it with plastic, do this, do that. So this lady goes to all that trouble over this drawing I had made, and then has my agent bring it back to 
me. "I think the artist would like to see how lovely it is, framed," she said. 
I certainly did. There was another example of the direct pleasure somebody got out of one of my pictures. So it was a real kick selling the 
drawings. 
There was a period when there were topless restaurants in town: You could go there for lunch or dinner, and the girls would dance without a top, 
and after a while without anything. One of these places, it turned out, was only a mile and a half away from my house, so I went there very often. I'd 
sit in one of the booths and work a little physics on the paper placemats with the scalloped edges, and sometimes I'd draw one of the dancing girls or 
one of the customers, just to practice. 
My wife Gweneth, who is English, had a good attitude abo ut my going to this place. She said, "The Englishmen have clubs they go to." So it was 
something like my club. 
There were pictures hanging around the place, but I didn't like them much. They were these fluorescent colors on black velvet--kind of ugly--a 
girl taking off her sweater, or something. Well, I had a rather nice drawing I had made of my model Kathy, so I gave it to the owner of the restaurant 
to put up on the wall, and he was delighted. 
Giving him the drawing turned out to produce some useful results. The owner became very friendly to me, and would give me free drinks all the 
time. Now, every time I would come in to the restaurant a waitress would come over with my free 7-Up. I'd watch the girls dance, do a little physics, 
prepare a lecture, or draw a little bit. If I got a little tired, I'd watch the entertainment for a while, and then do a little more work. The owner knew I 
didn't want to be disturbed, so if a drunk man came over and started to talk to me, right away a waitress would come and get the guy out of there. If a 
girl came over, he would do nothing. We had a very good relationship. His name was Gianonni. 
The other effect of my drawing on display was that people would ask him about it. One day a guy came over to me and said, "Gianonni tells me 
you made that picture." 
"Yeah." 
"Good. I'd like to commission a drawing." 
"All right; what would you like?" 
"I want a picture of a nude toreador girl being charged by a hull with a man's head." 
"Well, uh, it would help me a little if I had some idea of what this drawing is for." 
"I want it for my business establishment." 
"What kind of business establishment?" 
"It's for a massage parlor: you know, private rooms, masseuses--get the idea?" 
"Yeah, I get the idea." I didn't want to draw a nude toreador girl being charged by a bull with a man's head, so I tried to talk him out of it. "How 
do you think that looks to the customers, and how does it make the girls feel? The men come in there and you get 'em all excited with this picture. Is 
that the way you want 'em to treat the girls?" 
He's not convinced. 
"Suppose the cops come in and they see this picture, and you're claiming it's a massage parlor." 

---

"OK, OK," he says; "You're right. I've gotta change it. What I want is a picture that, if the cops look at it, is perfectly OK for a massage parlor, 
but if a customer looks at it, it gives him ideas." 
"OK," I said. We arranged it for sixty dollars, and I began to work on the drawing. First, I had to figure out how to do it. I thought and I thought, 
and I often felt I would have been better off drawing the nude toreador girl in the first place! 
Finally I figured out how to do it: I would draw a slave girl in imaginary Rome, massaging some important Roman--a senator, perhaps. Since 
she's a slave girl, she has a certain lo ok on her face. She knows what's going to happen next, and she's sort of resigned to it. 
I worked very hard on this picture. I used Kathy as the model. Later, I got another model for the man. I did lots of studies, and soon the cost for 
the models was already eighty dollars. I didn't care about the money; I liked the challenge of having to do a commission. Finally I ended up with a 
picture of a muscular man lying on a table with the slave girl massaging him: she's wearing a kind of toga that covers one breast--the other one was 
nude--and I got the expression of resignation on her face just right. 
I was just about ready to deliver my commissioned masterpiece to the massage parlor when Gianonni told me that the guy had been arrested and 
was in jail. So I asked the girls at the topless restaurant if they knew any good massage parlors around Pasadena that would like to hang my drawing 
in the lobby. 
They gave me names and locations of places in and around Pasadena and told me things like "When you go to the Such-and-such massage parlor, 
ask for Frank--he's a pretty good guy. If he's not there, don't go in." Or "Don't talk to Eddie. Eddie would never understand the value of a drawing." 
The next day I rolled up my picture, put it in the back of my station wagon, and my wife Gweneth wished me good luck as I set out to visit the 
brothels of Pasadena to sell my drawing. 
Just before I went to the first place on my list, I thought to myself, "You know, before I go anywhere else, I oughta check at the place he used to 
have. Maybe it's still open, and perhaps the new manager wants my drawing." I went over there and knocked on the door. It opened a little bit, and I 
saw a girl's eye. "Do we know you?" she asked. 
"No, you don't, hut how would you like to have a drawing that would he appropriate for your entrance hall?" 
"I'm sorry," she said, "but we've already contracted an artist to make a drawing for us, and he's working on it." 
"I'm the artist," I said, "and your drawing is ready!" 
It turns out that the guy, as he was going to jail, told his wife about our arrangement. So I went in and showed them the drawing. 
The guy's wife and his sister, who were now running the place, were not entirely pleased with it; they wanted the girls t o see it. I hung it up on 
the wall, there in the lobby, and all the girls came out from the various rooms in the back and started to make comments. 
One girl said she didn't like the expression on the slave girl's face. "She doesn't look happy," she said. "She should be smiling." 
I said to her, "Tell me--while you're massaging a guy, and he's not lookin' at you, are you smiling?" 
"Oh, no!" she said. "I feel exactly like she looks! But it's not right to put it in the picture." 
I left it with them, but after a week of worrying about it back and forth, they decided they didn't want it. It turned out that the real reason that 
they didn't want it was the one nude breast. I tried to explain that my drawing was a tone-down of the original request, hut they said they had different 
ideas about it than the guy did. I thought the irony of people running such an establishment being prissy about one nude breast was amusing, and I 
took the drawing home. 
My businessman friend Dudley Wright saw the drawing and I told him the story about it. He said, "You oughta triple its price. With art, nobody 
is really sure of its value, so people often think, 'If the price is higher, it must be more valuable!'" 
I said, "You're crazy!" hut, just for fun, I bought a twenty-dollar frame and mounted the drawing so it would be ready for the next customer. 
Some guy from the weather forecasting business saw the drawing I had given Gianonni and asked if I had others. I invited him and his wife to 
my "studio" downstairs in my home, and they asked about the newly framed drawing. "That one is two hundred dollars." (I had multiplied sixty by 
three and added twenty for the frame.) The next day they came back and bought it. So the massage parlor drawing ended up in the office of a weather 
forecaster. 
One day there was a police raid on Gianonni's, and some of the dancers were arrested. Someone wanted to stop Gianonni from putting on topless 
dancing shows, and Gianonni didn't want to stop. So there was a big court case about it; it was in all the local papers. 
Gianonni went around to all the customers and asked them if they would testify in support of him. Everybody had an excuse: "I run a day camp, 
and if the parents see that I'm going to this place, they won't send their kids to my camp . . ." 
Or, "I'm in t he such-and-such business, and if it's publicized that I come down here, we'll lose customers." 
I think to myself, "I'm the only free man in here. I haven't any excuse! I 
like
this place, and I'd like to see it continue. I don't see anything wrong 
with topless dancing." So I said to Gianonni, "Yes, I'll he glad to testify." 
In court the big question was, is topless dancing acceptable to the community--do community standards allow it? 
The lawyer from the defense tried to make me into an expert on community standards. He asked me if I went into other bars. 
"Yes." 
"And how many times per week would you typically go to Gianonni's?" 
"Five, six times a week." (That got into the papers: The Caltech professor of physics goes to see topless dancing six times a week.) 

---

"What sections of the community were represented at Gianonni's?" 
"Nearly every section: there were guys from the real estate business, a guy from the city governing board, workmen from the gas station, guys 
from engineering firms, a professor of physics 
"So would you say that topless entertainment is acceptable to the community, given that so many sections of it are watching it and enjoying it?" 
"I need to know what you mean by 'acceptable to the community.' Nothing is accepted by