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NEW AUTHORS SHOWCASE
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Goldman’s Theorem by Ron Stern |
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SYNOPSIS: “Goldman’s Theorem” is tragi-comedic and satirical in nature, with a somewhat subversive view of university life and the culture of the mathematical community. The setting is the backwater University of Northern Vermont. Five years ago, superstar mathematician Simon Goldman was recruited from Harvard, and great achievements are expected of him. Unfortunately, as is gradually revealed, Professor Goldman has accomplished nothing during his time at UNV. In fact, he has had a well concealed breakdown, and cleverly hidden the fact that he can no longer do mathematics. In a desperate response to mounting pressures, Goldman claims to have solved a famous mathematical conundrum---a ‘Holy Grail’. Popularly known as ‘The Traveling Salesman Problem’, the statement is quite easy for a layman to understand. Goldman’s theorem is announced with much fanfare, with his friend and colleague Aitch Singleton being forced to orchestrate events by his vulgar, Machiavellian chairman, Guillermo Slutnick. There is a comedic bandwagon effect involving a quirky cast of characters which includes students, professors, benefactors, and manipulative, power-hungry university administrators. Sadly, a grievous error is discovered in the proof. The house of cards comes crashing down, and Simon goes missing. Woven into the narrative are a number of flashbacks to key periods in Simon’s past, including his harrowing ‘all expenses paid vacation’ in Vietnam.
EXCERPT: Aitch ‘spills the beans’ to Slutnick: Guillermo was 52 years old and about thirty pounds overweight, but he had skin like a baby. This year, he started wearing his oily dark hair in a short ponytail, the effect of which was to accentuate his jowls. He got right to the point. “You know what this is?” He picked up a sheet of paper and held it high. Aitch had learned over the years that the best way to deal with Slutnick was to adopt as flat an affect as possible---sometimes you could ride out the storm, sometimes not. So he said nothing and only gave an inocuous shrug, waiting for the tirade to come, even though he had no clue what it would be about. “This is Goldman’s progress evaluation form---provided by the Horst Von Essen Foundation.” Aitch thought he saw the Von Essen coat of arms on the sheet’s letterhead---a big ornate ‘E’ with crossed swords behind it forming a ‘V’. He vaguely recalled some story Guillermo once told him about a Slutnick who bought a ‘Von’ during Austro-Hungarian high times about a hundred years ago, and wondered if that branch of Guillermo’s family might have a coat of arms too. Guillermo continued, “In a few weeks I have to fill it in, sign it, and then get the Virgin Queen to sign it too. Do you know what the purpose of this fucking form is?” Aitch gave a slight nod, but he didn’t really know and it didn’t really matter, because Guillermo was going to have his say no matter what. “At first we thought that this fucking form is just some kind of trivial formality that those fucking Nazis wanted---a slam-dunk. It should be a fucking slam-dunk.” “They aren’t Nazis and never were. The Von Essens are Pomeranian-Prussian aristocrats, members of the Junker class. They are patriotic Americans and always were fervently anti-Nazi.” This barrage of truth had absolutely no effect on Guillermo Slutnick. Aitch recalled that it was Guillermo’s erroneous belief that the Von Essens were Nazis, or at least anti-semites, which triggered his brilliant manipulation of them over five years ago, resulting in Goldman being awarded his endowed Von Essen Professorship. “All Von Essen Professors are required to provide a progress report every five years. Now I know why. “Do you know why?” Aitch deadpanned, “Because the Von Essens are servile Teutonic scum and it appeals to their insane sense of order.” “Don’t copy my style and I won’t copy yours,” said Guillermo, and he wasn’t joking. “No, the purpose of the form is simple. The Virgin Queen let me know that the Von Putzes intend to spring for another seven endowed research professorships next year, and they already intended it five years ago, but didn’t mention it then. They informed the rector last month, and he told the Virgin Queen, who informed the department heads in Arts and Science. It will be officially announced in a couple of weeks. The new endowments will be made in commemoration of the 80th birthday of Rolf, Horst’s baby boy, and UNV will be in competition with the University of Burlington again, just like five years ago. Last time, we got four and UB got three. The progress evaluation forms are intended to help the Von Essens decide where to throw their dough this time around. The forms submitted for the first crop of endowed research chairs, including your pal Goldman, might tilt them in the tiebreaker this time around. We thought it would be no big deal, and really it shouldn’t be.” Aitch began to sweat. “Are you under pressure from Dean Fulton?” “She has to sign it too. And she undoubtedly will seek a third term term as our deanette, so she wants to look good like everybody else.” Guillermo fidgeted, glanced down at the cuff of his black Armani shirt, and blew away a long strand of red hair. “Last time the score was 4-3 in our favor, and of course she wants to win again. But no---no pressure yet, because she suspects nothing. I haven’t signaled any problem to her or anyone else. But we need to keep our eye on the ball---it was you who recruited Goldman, and it was yours truly and the Virgin Queen who backed you up. Lately I’ve been asking Goldman what’s up research-wise---just making conversation, you know? I’m wasn’t trying to pressure him---only schmoozing, right? I can’t get a straight answer from the little prick---only evasion and secretiveness. Will we be embarrassed? Is there going to be a fucking problem?” Now it was your pal Goldman and you recruited him? And the others just backed him up? Oh brother. Aitch started swaying left and right, left and right. He had the sensation of floating out of his body, and felt a numbness in his jaw. Guillermo was on a roll. “You know, when we were first considering Goldman over five years ago, I said ‘This guy has accomplished so much by the age of fifty that even if he never does anything else, we should get him that endowed research professorship.’ Perhaps I should have added that I WASN’T FUCKING SERIOUS! Has he done anything these past five years except sports and use his travel money to go to meetings in ritzy places? He recently went to some fucking conference in Cannes, didn’t he? Nice beach there. Beautiful topless women wearing only postage stamps to cover their twats. Decent restaurants right off the sand. I have spies in France. Goldman didn’t attend a single fucking talk! What do I write on the Von Essens’ form---that Goldman is still breathing and having a kickass good time on the French Riviera with their gelt? And what about his federal research grant? He’s in the last year and he needs to reapply, right? Will he get it renewed? The reason I asked you to come here is to ask you, do you think I should be worried? STOP SWAYING, FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” Aitch stopped swaying, but now he started rubbing his wet palms on his thighs, back and forth, over and over. With conscious effort, he unclenched his teeth. “Simon had a couple of first rank articles and a monograph on combinatorics in press when he applied, so those things appeared fairly recently. One of those papers appeared in the Transactions of the American Mathematical Society, and it’s pretty rare for an applied mathematician to publish there. But I guess that won’t satisfy you, because that stuff was already in his CV five years ago. But he ought to get his federal grant renewed on sheer bureaucratic inertia. I mean, after all, he is an international superstar.” Aitch suddenly tasted the Singapore noodles again, and for a fleeting instant thought he might spew onto Guillermo’s carpet.. Slutnick said, “Sit still, goddammit---you’re making me seasick. Tell me, what has he fucking done since he came here? I’ll tell you want he’s not fucking done. He has not assumed the leadership role in optimization theory and algorithms here that we were so sure he would assume. He has not supervised or supported a single fucking graduate student. He has not given a single seminar or talked mathematics with anyone here, not even you or fucking Izzy Fleck, has he? And with regard to the little teaching that he does, well, the student evaluations have been shit, and consistently so---they call him disinterested, arrogant, disorganized, late for class, and they say he doesn’t respect his posted office hours either. There are rumblings in the department about Goldman. I could go on.” Aitch was sure that he could. “Listen, Guillermo, don’t panic---many of the really great ones go through these dormant periods.” Guillermo rolled his eyes to the ceiling. Aitch wondered if his chairman had high blood pressure, and pushed away the unpleasant thought that he might have to resuscitate him. “Yes, Aitch, that’s true, but it’s also true that after they got past fifty, some of really great ones’ crazy trains went off the rails. Or their brains turned to guacamole. Andropause. Deep hormonal shifts. Dying neurons and all that good crap. Isaac Newton comes to mind.” With painful effort, Aitch succeeded in ignoring this. He was temporarily paralyzed with inner conflict, but after ten seconds of dithering, knew what needed saying. He coughed and cleared his throat. “There’s one very important thing you should know, Guillermo, and I hope you can keep a secret, because Simon asked me to be completely discrete about a certain something, and I agreed. So by telling you this, I’m in violation of that promise, but I want to calm you down.” Guillermo loved being calmed down, preferably several times a day, if possible. He expected to be told about some personal problem. Okay,so maybe Goldman was going through a divorce, or maybe he had some disease, or maybe a close relative died. Or even better, maybe he was having Vietnam flashbacks---the fucking Prussians would probably respect that. Yes, that’s what we can bullshit them with. But Aitch surprised him. “Simon has been working for several years on a blockbuster open problem, and he expects to announce a major theorem soon. He has told this to no one except yours truly.” Guillermo was taken aback, something Aitch had never witnessed. Slutnick processed the news in silence for a moment. So that’s why Goldman has been so evasive. The little fucker! “Are you going to tell me what blockbuster open problem we are talking about?” “Simon hasn’t told me yet,” admitted Aitch. “But he said it was the Holy Grail. He’s had a breakthrough and he’s checking the details. He looks very confident, and he wants to bounce it off me when he’s certain he’s nailed it down.” Guillermo was staring right through Aitch, his eyes focused on some distant place. “The Holy Fucking Grail? He was fantasizing about all the public attention and noteriety that Goldman’s Theorem would bring to UNV, to the department, and maybe even to Guillermo Slutnick himself. His mind was racing and his imagination was running wild. Perhaps there would be a public television or Discovery Channel special---who knows? And Goldman would know how to play the media fame game, especially with me coaching him. A camera is following Simon Goldman as he walks along the banks of the Mississiquoi River, hands clasped behind his back and deep in thought---pondering his Holy Grail problem. Just like Wiles taking long walks on the Princeton campus while he contemplated Fermat’s Last Theorem. And now the great Goldman is videoed at his kitchen table, piled high with math books---pondering, pondering, pondering, with his cute little wife dutifully plying him with coffee and scones. And there is brilliant Goldman at the blackboard in the large seminar room, being applauded, even cheered, after the official presentation of his theorem to experts in the field, just like Wiles was. Who knows, a Fields Medal might even be in the offing. And of course there is to be a segment where I, Dr. Guillermo Slutnick, chairman of the Department of Mathematics at the University of Northern Vermont, am interviewed and explain, ever so indirectly and subtley of course, that it was my political acumen, leadership, and eye for mathematical talent which were instrumental in hiring the one and only Simon Goldman. Guillermo blinked hard and snapped back to his usual reality, as though an electrical circuit in his brain had been reconnected. “Okay. Consider me calm for the moment, but I want you to keep me perfectly informed. And I want to see something concrete as soon as possible, after we’re sure his fucking result is true---an announcement of ‘Goldman’s Theorem’ in a well-advertised and sufficiently dumbed down seminar for the masses, so that we can invite the Virgin Queen, the Von Essens, and all the other big bangers. Then we can schedule another seminar for experts and let Goldman show them the details---say a week after the first talk. And all this as soon as possible.” Aitch asked, “And you want me to orchestrate it?” “Who the fuck else?” said Slutnick. |