Ebook rtf mathematics Feynman, Richard Surely You’…

Any Questions? 
When I was at Cornell I was asked to give a series of lectures once a week at an aeronautics laboratory in Buffalo. Cornell had made an 
arrangement with the laboratory which included evening lectures in physics to be given by somebody from the university. There was some guy 
already doing it, but there were complaints, so the physics department came to me. I was a young professor at the time and I couldn't say no very 
easily, so I agreed to do it. 
To get to Buffalo they had me go on a little airline which consisted of one airplane. It was called Robinson Airlines (it later became Mohawk 
Airlines) and I remember the first time I flew to Buffalo, Mr. Robinson was the pilot. He knocked the ice off the wings and we flew away. 
All in all, I didn't enjoy the idea of going to Buffalo every Thursday night. The university was paying me $35 in addition to my expenses. I was a 
Depression kid, and I figured I'd save the $35, which was a sizable amount of money in those days. 
Suddenly I got an idea: I realized that the purpose of the $35 was to make the trip to Buffalo more attractive, and the way to do that is to spend 
the money. So I decided to spend the $35 to entertain myself each time I went to Buffalo, and see if I could make the trip worthwhile. 
I didn't have much experience with the rest of the world. Not knowing how to get started, I asked the taxi driver who picked me up at the airport 
to guide me through the ins and outs of entertaining myself in Buffalo. He was very helpful, and I still remember his name--Marcuso, who drove car 
number 169. I would always ask for him when I came into the airport on Thursday nights. 
As I was going to give my first lecture I asked Marcuso, "Where's an interesting bar where lots of things are going on?" I thought that things 
went on in bars. 
"The Alibi Room," he said. "It's a lively place where you can meet lots of people. I'll take you there after your lecture." 
After the lecture Marcuso picked me up and drove me to the Alibi Room. On the way, I say, "Listen, I'm gonna have to ask for some kind of 
drink. What's the name of a good whiskey?" 
"Ask for Black and White, water on the side," he counseled. 
The Alibi Room was an elegant place with lots of people and lots of activity. The women were dressed in furs, everybody was friendly, and the 
phones were ringing all the time. 
I walked up to the bar and ordered my Black and White, water on the side. The bartender was very friendly quickly found a beautiful woman to 
sit next to me, and introduced her. I bought her drinks. I liked the place and decided to come back the following week. 
Every Thursday night I'd come to Buffalo and be driven in car number 169 to my lecture and then to the Alibi Room. I'd walk into the bar and 
order my Black and White, water on the side. After a few weeks of this it got to the point where as soon as I would come in, before I reached the bar, 
there would be a Black and White, water on the side, waiting for me. "Your regular, sir;' was the bartender's greeting. 
I'd take the whole shot glass down at once, to show I was a tough guy, like I had seen in the movies, and then I'd sit around for about twenty 
seconds before I drank the water. After a while I didn't even need the water. 
The bartender always saw to it that the empty chair next to mine was quickly filled by a beautiful woman, and everything would start off all right, 
hut just before the bar closed, they all had to go off somewhere. I thought it was possibly because I was getting pretty drunk by that time. 
One time, as the Alibi Room was closing, the girl I was buying drinks for that night suggested we go to another place where she knew a lot of 
people. It was on the second floor of some other building which gave no hint that there was a bar upstairs. All the bars in Buffalo had to close at two 
o'clock, and all the people in the bars would get sucked into this big hall on the second floor, and keep right on going--illegally, of course. 
I tried to figure out a way that I could stay in bars and watch what was going on without getting drunk. One night I noticed a guy who had been 
there a lot go up to the bar and order a glass of milk. Everybody knew what his problem was: he had an ulcer, the poor fella. That gave me an idea. 
The next time I come into the Alibi Room the bartender says, "The usual, sir?" 
"No. Coke. Just plain Coke," I say, with a disappointed look on my face. 
The other guys gather around and sympathize: "Yeah, I was on the wagon three weeks ago," one says. "It's really tough, Dick, it's really tough," 
says another. 
They all honored me. I was "on the wagon" now, and had the 
guts
to enter that bar, with all its "temptations," and just order Coke--because, of 
course, I had to see my friends. And I maintained that for a month! I was a real tough bastard. 
One time I was in the men's room of the bar and there was a guy at the urinal. He was kind of drunk, and said to me in a mean-sounding voice, "I 
don't like your face. I think I'll push it in." 
I was scared green. I replied in an equally mean voice, "Get out of my way, or I'll pee right through ya!" 
He said something else, and I figured it was getting pretty close to a fight now. I had never been in a fight. I didn't know what to do, exactly, and 
I was afraid of getting hurt. I did think of one thing: I moved away from the wall, because I figured if I got hit, I'd get hit from the back, too. 
Then I felt a sort of funny crunching in my eye--it didn't hurt much--and the next thing I know, I'm slamming the son of a gun right back, 
automatically. It was remarkable for me to discover that I didn't have to think; the "machinery" knew what to do. 
"OK. That's one for one," I said. "Ya wanna keep on goin'?" 
The other guy backed off and left. We would have killed each other if the other guy was as dumb as I was. 

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I went to wash up, my hands are shaking, blood is leaking out of my gums--I've got a weak place in my gums-- and my eye hurt. After I calmed 
down I went back into the bar and swaggered up to the bartender: "Black and White, water on the side," I said. I figured it would calm my nerves. 
I didn't realize it, but the guy I socked in the men's room was over in another part of the bar, talking with three other guys. Soon these three guys-
-big, tough guys--came over to where I was sitting and leaned over me. They looked down threateningly, and said, "What's the idea of pickin' a fight 
with our friend?" 
Well I'm so dumb I don't realize I'm being intimidated; all I know is right and wrong. I simply whip around and snap at them, "Why don't ya find 
out who started what first, before ya start makin' trouble?" 
The big guys were so taken aback by the fact that their intimidation didn't work that they backed away and left . 
After a while one of the guys came back and said to me, "You're right, Curly's always doin' that. He's always gettin' into fights and askin' us to 
straighten it out." 
"You're damn tootin' I'm right!" I said, and the guy sat down next to me. 
Curly and the other two fellas came over and sat down on the other side of me, two seats away. Curly said something about my eye not looking 
too good, and I said his didn't look to be in the best of shape either. 
I continue talking tough, because I figure that's the way a real man is supposed to act in a bar. 
The situation's getting tighter and tighter, and people in the bar are worrying about what's going to happen. The bartender says, "No fighting in 
here, boys! Calm down!" 
Curly hisses, "That's OK; we'll get 'im when he goes Out." 
Then a genius comes by. Every field has its first-rate experts. This fella comes over to me and says, "Hey, Dan! I didn't know you were in town! 
It's good to see you!" 
Then he says to Curly, "Say, Paul! I'd like you to meet a good friend of mine, Dan, here. I think you two guys would like each other. Why don't 
you shake?" 
We shake hands. Curly says, "Uh, pleased to meet you." 
Then the genius leans over to me and very quietly whispers, "Now get out of here fast!" 
"But they said they would . . ." 
"Just go!" he says. 
I got my coat and went out quickly. I walked along near the walls of the buildings, in case they went looking for me. Nobody came out, and I 
went to my hotel. It happened to be the night of the last lecture, so I never went back to the Alibi Room, at least for a few years. 
(I did go back to the Alibi Room about ten years later, and it was all different. It wasn't nice and polished like it was before; it was sleazy and had 
seedy-looking people in it. I talked t o the bartender, who was a different man, and told him about the old days. "Oh, yes!" he said. "This was the bar 
where all the bookmakers and their girls used to hang out." I understood then why there were so many friendly and elegant-looking people there, and 
why the phones were ringing all the time.) 
The next morning, when I got up and looked in the mirror, I discovered that a black eye takes a few hours to develop fully. When I got back to 
Ithaca that day, I went to deliver some stuff over to the dean's office. A professor of philosophy saw my black eye and exclaimed, "Oh, Mr. Feynman! 
Don't tell me you got that walking into a door?" 
"Not at all," I said. "I got it in a fight in the men's room of a bar in Buffalo." 
"Ha, ha, ha!" he laughed. 
Then there was the problem of giving the lecture to my regular class. I walked into the lecture hall with my head down, studying my notes. When 
I was ready to start, I lifted my head and looked straight at them, and said what I always said before I began my lecture-but this time, in a tougher 
tone of voice: "Any questions?" 

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