An Interview with Buford Lister
Hannah looked Sid squarely in the eye as she put her phone with the newly purchased unicorn case into her messenger bag. “Well, I am going to try. It is not going to hurt anything if I just ask him. The worst he can say is no.”
“Actually, the worst he can say is no; you are correct, but it is what he might do that worries me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It is understood that everyone in this office is to leave him be. If we don’t bother him, he won’t bother us. Trust me, asking him for an interview will be considered a significant annoyance.”
“But…”
“But what? One complaint from him and the people who own this paper could decide that their money is better spent on another editor and reporter. I don’t know about you, but with the state of the newspaper business, I don’t want to go looking for another job.”
Hannah picked up her bag from the desk and turned to walk out.
“Now listen to me, young lady, I mean it. Leave the old guy alone.”
Hannah dismissively waved as she left. She turned toward her desk but thought better of it. She walked out the front door, across the street to her rusty Honda, and got in. You’ve got to be kidding me. She cranked the engine again, but she stopped when she realized the battery was nearly dead.
“Perfect, just perfect.” She let out a loud “ugghhh” as she lightly punched the steering wheel with both fists.
As she reentered the building, James Worthington started to get up. She waved him off and gave him an evil stare as he sat back down with his hands in the air and a “What did I do now?” expression on his face. She went to her cube and fired up her desktop computer.
Within a couple minutes, she was at the Harvard Alumni Association website. She punched in her information and did a search for Buford Lister. Hopefully, he has some sort of contact information here. Let’s see… My god, he is old. Ph.D. awarded long before my parents were born. Yes! Contact information. She looked over the tab that read “Send an email to Buford Lister” and pressed it.
A new window popped open. Buford Lister’s email address was hidden; all that appeared was a tab that promised that he would get the message. Why would they do that? I guess because of privacy concerns. She thought a long minute; I guess I have to send it from here. I would prefer not to do that, but…
She took a notebook out of her messenger bag and started tapping it with a pen. I have to get this right. I have to write something that will make him write me back. Think Hannah, think.
The Email Thread
Dear Buford Lister,
My name is Hannah Jones. I am a reporter at The Iroquois County Independent. I was wondering if you would allow me to interview you. Could you please respond with a yes or a no?
Veritas,
Hannah Jones
One minute later…
H,
No. I will not sit for an interview. No chance, no way, no how.
Veritas yourself,
BL
Dear Buford Lister,
Thank you so much for getting back to me so quickly. I was really hoping you would talk to me about The Lister Affair. I want to allow you an opportunity to set the record straight. I know much of that book is pure nonsense.
Veritas,
Hannah Jones
One minute later…
H,
How the H E DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS would you know anything about the veracity of that book? I don’t remember anyone named Hannah Jones hanging around Harvard’s campus all those years ago.
BL
Dear Buford Lister,
Sir, I graduated from Harvard University last year. I came to Iroquois County on a one-year Worthington Fellowship to work at the Independent. And yes, the events chronicled in that book all happened long before I was born.
I would like you to know that your name came up many times throughout my years there. As it happens, I took several classes in the history, philosophy, and sociology of science. I studied the so-called Lister Affair. I wrote a couple papers about it. And yes, before you ask, the whole fiasco was usually presented under the rubric of a classic cautionary tale.
Could we please at least meet? Even if you do not want to be interviewed, I would be honored if you would at least talk to me.
Veritas,
Hannah Jones
One minute later…
H,
No.
BL
Dear Buford Lister,
I was wondering if you would agree to an interview over email. I can send you my questions, and then you can answer at your leisure. How does this sound?
Veritas,
Hannah Jones
One minute later…
H,
No.
BL
Dear Buford Lister,
I find it curious that you are answering my emails so quickly. Everyone knows you are notorious for not returning phone or email messages. Why are you getting back to me immediately? Your actions lead me to believe that you are considering my proposal.
Veritas,
Hannah Jones
Three minutes later…
H,
I am trying to research you. I have been attempting to get into my Harvard Alumni Association account, but I am having problems. It keeps telling me I need my Harvard Key to get in there, but I have no idea what that is.
BL
P.S. Yes, you are being vetted.
P.P.S. That does not mean I am going to agree to an interview.
Dear Buford Lister,
How about this? Can you at least tell me why you turned to poker? The people back at Harvard found that particular aspect of your life confusing. I guess I am asking you why you chose, and still choose, to spend your time sitting at a poker table. I have trouble seeing how that activity corresponds to making a contribution to humanity.
Thank you,
Hannah Jones
P.S. And yes, they still make it clear to all graduates that we are obligated to go out into the world and try our best to make it a better place. I thought you would like to know this. I know it has been decades since you were on campus, even for a brief visit.
P.P.S. As a recent graduate, I haven’t spent any time worrying about the Alumni Association or anything called a Harvard Key. If you like, I will look into it.
Five minutes later…
H,
I have vetted you enough to know that I do not want to talk to you. I am not a fan of people who study the history, sociology, and/or philosophy of science. Such people sit back in recliners and criticize the people doing the actual work. They create nothing, and they contribute nothing. I find them smug, arrogant, and as dumb as a juvenile Australopithecus. They tend to be failed scientists or those who once worked and are now braindead. They also are the kind of people who sign their letters with a Veritas instead of a sincerely.
BL
P.S. Poker players are the most useless people alive. Playing poker professionally is among the worst decisions a person can make. I suppose that vocation is better than choosing, for instance, ax murderer, but not by much.
P.P.S. Leave me alone.
Dear Buford Lister,
I certainly did not concentrate in those areas. My concentration was English. I want to thank you for your time.
Thank you,
Hannah Jones
Seven minutes later…
H,
Clark Glymour once wrote that there are two types of people in the world, logical positivists and goddamn English professors.
BL
“Holy Hephestus! I always wondered where that phrase came from.” Hannah looked around to see if anyone had heard her. She sheepishly slumped down in her chair and typed “Clark Glymour” into the search bar. I’ll be. Professor Murdoch used that phrase all the time. No one ever bothered to ask him where it came from. I assumed everyone else knew. Maybe he was trying to pass it off as his own. No, he wasn’t the kind of man who would do that.
What? Gilmour got his degree in the history and philosophy of science. Well, well, well… Buford Lister, what is your deal?
Dear Buford Lister,
I am sorry to disappoint you, but I fit into neither category. I do not anticipate getting a Ph.D. in English. Also, I am not sure that anyone is running around wearing tee shirts that proclaim “I AM A LOGICAL POSITIVIST” at this point in history.
Thank you,
Hannah Jones
Ten minutes later…
H,
Please leave me alone.
BL
Dear Buford Lister,
Clark Glymour received his Ph.D. in The History and Philosophy of Science. I find it curious that you would quote him considering your well-known disdain for people of his ilk.
Thank you,
Hannah Jones
Twelve minutes later…
H,
Sigh… I will give you…
Forget it, I changed my mind. I suspect that you will do the right thing and delete this thread.
BL
Crapola. I guess it is time to give up on this method of attack. Reederstock, maybe I should head over there and see if anyone will talk. I hear he spends lots of time in their library. Perhaps I can ambush him there—worth a shot at least.
“Hannah, how is the story on the Lake Erie Recovery Project coming? I need to see a draft as soon as you have one. If we are still in business, that story has been bumped to a Sunday feature.”
Hannah never looked up; she pulled a stack of papers out of her bag and waved them in the air. Sid said nothing as he snatched them out of her hand and headed back toward his office.
Hannah got up to take the short trip to Reederstock University. She exited the front door, immediately turned around, and sat back down at her seat. My car, right… Ugh. I better text Ace.
The Text Thread
Hannah – My car is dead. Probably the battery.
Ace – Where
Hannah – Work
Ace – K
She thought about asking him for a ride to Reederstock, but it was a nice day, and the walk wasn’t that far. She put on her walking shoes, grabbed her bag, and started toward the main Reederstock library.
*****
“Excuse me, my name is Hannah Jones; I am a reporter for The Iroquois County Independent. Do you have a minute?”
The student, a woman who appeared to be about 18 years old, put her books down on the checkout table and said, “Sure.”
“I am wondering if you ever see Buford Lister here in the library.”
“Who?…oh wait, the poker player. Yeah, I see him every once in a while, but I don’t spend a lot of time here. I like to study at home.”
Hannah, notebook, and pen in hand, remembered that Reederstock was mostly a commuter school.
“Right. Does Reederstock even have any dorms?”
“They are building some on the other side of campus. I think some people rent houses around here, but most everyone stays at home and drives in.”
“Sure. So, about Buford Lister. Anything more you can tell me?”
“Not really. Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”
As the student was walking away, a man approached Hannah and tapped her on the shoulder.
“Excuse me, do you have GPS on your phone?”
“What?” Hannah looked him up and down. Obviously, an older student, dressed in the appropriate student uniform, jeans, and a sweatshirt with a baseball cap cocked slightly to the side.
“GSP, on your phone? Do you have it?”
“What are you talking about? Of course, I have it. All phones have it now.”
“Good. I want to make sure you can find your way home.”
“Huh?”
“I want to be sure you can make your way back when you get lost in my big, beautiful, blue eyes.”
“Pfffttt,” Hannah exclaimed as the stranger removed his sunglasses and struck a pose in front of her.
“You have got to be kidding me. That is the worst thing I have ever heard.”
“Hey, I just want to make sure you are safe. With GPS enabled, we have nothing to worry about.”
“Holy Hephaestus! Does that line actually work on any of the women you meet?”
Holy Hephaestus? What does that mean? How odd. “It is not a line. I am merely looking out for the safety and welfare of women in the community.”
Hannah shook her head. In a state of disbelief, she put her notebook and pen in her bag and started for the door.
“Wait, I heard you asking about Buford Lister. Well, do you want to know where to find him or don’t you?
Hannah paused; a slight smile started to cross her face. Do not think for one second you are going to be charmed by this man. Don’t do it. I won’t allow it. I am 100% serious, Hannah.
Hannah turned and threw her arms in the air. “Well, I am waiting…”
“I’ll tell you where he is right now if you let me buy you dinner tonight.”
Don’t say yes. Don’t do it. DO NOT SAY YES.
“I don’t even know your name.”
“Well, I certainly know who you are. You are Hannah Jones of The Iroquois County independent. My name is Jedidiah Whitman.”
As he extended his hand, Hannah shrugged her shoulders, shook her head, and said, “And what are you studying here, Jedidiah Whitman?”
“I study lots of things but mostly math. I am a new professor in the math department. I got a Worthington Fellowship to come here for a year. I just started this fall semester.”
Hannah tried to speak, but nothing came out. This guy can help me. A math professor? I thought he was a student. How old is this guy? Her mouth quickly outgunned her thought process.
“How old are you? I thought you were a student.”
“Yeah, well. People in the sciences get their Ph.D.s a lot sooner than most other disciplines, especially if you start the program at 14.”
“What? You… All right. Where is Buford Lister?”
“Follow me. Do me a favor, don’t tell him that I gave him up. Don’t even mention me.”
“OK.”
The Math Professor led her up the stairs and through the stacks to a small study carrel hidden away in a dark corner. There she saw an old man hunched over the desk, feverously scribbling in a spiral-bound notebook.
“Go on. Good luck. I will call the paper later today to set up our dinner date.”
Holy Hephaestus! Hannah nodded in his direction and then began slowly walking toward the figure in the study carrel. She ducked into the stacks when she saw him start to get up. She tracked him, and when she realized he was going to the bathroom, she rushed back to his desk to get a look at what he was working on.
That smell, that has to be beer. Her nose led her to a metal thermos with a black top sticking out of an old, green backpack slung over the chair. Yeah, that is it.
A notebook on the desk caught her attention. It was full of equations, scribbled in an illegible fashion. No idea what this is. I have never even seen some of these symbols.
The headphones on the desk were connected to what appeared to be a small homebuilt device. Attached to it were a small keyboard and a monitor only slightly bigger than a cell phone. She picked up the headphones and heard classical music set at a low volume.
She put everything back in its place, disappeared back into the stacks, and patiently waited. She watched Buford Lister sit down, put on his headphones, and start working. I guess I probably should let him be. He seems busy. I’ll catch him later.
As she was getting ready to leave, she noticed a young girl purposefully walking down the hallway toward the stacks where Buford Lister was working. What is this all about? Pretty young kid to be in the stacks.
Hannah turned and walked back to a spot in the stacks that gave her a vantage point of Buford Lister’s study carrel. Surprise, surprise. The kid is sitting down with him. Curious.
Hannah watched as the girl set a big stack of papers down on the desk. Hannah grew more intrigued as she watched Buford Lister flip page after page, pausing every so often to study a particular section. She smiled when she saw the girl try to grab the thermos from the backpack. Well, that is good. He is having none of that.
Buford Lister and the girl got up to leave, with Hannah following a reasonable distance behind. As the two of them exited the building, Hannah paused by the doors to give them a good headstart. She had every intention of following them, and she certainly didn’t want to get caught.
She pushed open the door and started down the walkway. After only a couple steps, she felt a tap on her shoulder.
“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”
“Jedidiah, do you know who that girl is with Buford Lister?” She pointed down the path as she adjusted her messenger bag.
“Sure do. You didn’t meet her?”
“No. I thought better of it. My editor told me to not pursue an interview with him. He said it would only make him angry.”
“Understood.”
“So, the girl?”
“That is Piper Pandora Pennington, also known as Pi.”
“Is she a student here?”
“No. As she says, there is no one here qualified to teach her. I think maybe one of the reasons I was brought in was for her.”
“What do you mean?”
“She is a genius. That kid has more potential than anyone I have ever seen, and, trust me, I have seen more than a couple prodigies. In fact, I know I am here because of her. The Worthington Foundation made it worth my while to turn down other Fellowships and Post-Docs to come here to lovely Iroquois County.”
“She studies math?”
“She studies everything. Of course, we only talk math when I see her. And by that, I mean, I speak, and she mostly listens. She doesn’t say a lot.”
“What is her deal? Why is she meeting with Buford Lister?”
“That is an interesting question. Since I have been here, I have seen her with the old man on many occasions. I have no idea what the relationship is. You know, when he was young, he was a prodigy; I am guessing someone put them together. I am certain he would have some special insight into what she is going through.”
“Makes sense. Do you know where they are going now?”
“It’s lunchtime. There are three or four possibilities. Follow me.”
The young math professor and the young journalist walked together down a path that had never been paved. The grass was worn down from the heavy traffic; obviously, there is a story to be told.
“So, Hannah, notice that we are walking on a path and not a sidewalk.”
“Well, yeah.”
“Any thoughts about that?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Why aren’t we walking on a sidewalk?”
“Because we are walking on a path.”
“Well, I study patterns; I guess at some level, all mathematicians study patterns. This path proves worthy of study when considered with all the pavement we see around us.”
Hannah looked around at the students, some walking on the concrete and others on the grass. “Well, I am thinking that there should be a concrete walk here instead of a path.”
“Right. At most top-notch universities, the powers that be will wait to install sidewalks after a new building is constructed. See over there?”
The math professor pointed toward the new technology center that had opened a few months prior. As they approached the building, most of the students left the concrete for the dirt path.
“Ah, I see. Yes, they should have waited to build the sidewalks.”
“Right. The students will always tell you where the walkways should be built.”
“Am I supposed to be impressed?”
“Please, that was just a simple observation. I get paid to think about things like that.”
“Well, that is good work if you can find it.”
“Ah, you should know that it is not work. I don’t intend to ever work a day in my life. If I get paid to do what I would do for free, then…”
“Then you are never really working. I know the routine. All the professors I had at Harvard were like that. You could feel their passion for their subject.”
“And what about Buford Lister? He is a multi-millionaire, he is old as time itself, and he is still trying to invent new mathematics. I would say that he is truly exceptional except for the fact that Harvard is full of people just like him.”
“Right, he is normal in that regard…except for the poker. Have you ever talked to him about that? Do you know why he started playing?”
“Poker comes up every once in a while, but all he says is that the math is rudimentary and uninteresting. I once asked him why he was so successful, how he was able to make so much money, a rate of winning, I might add, that is far above a random player’s expected outcome.”
“What did he say?”
“Well, I guess you have to know him to understand his answer. He looked me right in the eye and asked me to imagine how good a poker player I would be if I had the ability to manipulate time.”
“You’re kidding?”
“No, he went on to say that poker is easy if you can stop time at will. Imagine, he said, if you could casually walk around the table, see all the other player’s cards, and then see the flop, the turn card, and then the river. He told me that if you can do that undetected, then you are golden.”
“He actually said that? So, he does have a sense of humor. Was there a twinkle in his eye when he told you this?”
“I can see you have never met Buford Lister. The only thing he has in his eyes are cataracts.”
Hannah heard the burp from her phone and instantly pawed through her messenger bag to find it. A quick glance told her it was an email from Buford Lister.
“Speak of the devil, Buford Lister just emailed me.” She waved the phone at the math professor and then turned it to examine the message.
“Oh wow, there is a lot of text here.”
“C’mon, I’ll buy you lunch, and you can read your message as we eat.”
“All right, lead the way.”
They both walked in silence the short distance to The Iroquoian Café. They quickly found a booth, and Hannah unpacked her notebook.
“You still use paper and pen?”
“Yeah. Old habits. I grew up in the country. We didn’t have any internet. My parents couldn’t afford any computers or electronic devices, so I have always used spiral notebooks.”
The Math Professor nodded his head as he looked over the menu.
“So, let’s see what Buford Lister wrote in this email.”
The Email
H,
Here is your interview. Do with it as you please.
YOU: How are you today?
BL: None of your business.
YOU: I see. Do you have any comment on The Lister Affair? The book has sold a million copies worldwide, and it does not paint you in the brightest light.
BL: No.
YOU: OK. You were a child prodigy mathematician. In the book, the author states that your contribution to mathematics is zero. What is your response?
BL: I have none.
YOU: After that famous academic meeting, the one documented in The Lister Affair, you disappeared. After a bit of time, you resurfaced as a poker player. One of the most successful in history. Why poker?
BL: I do not understand the question.
YOU: You had lofty ambitions when you were younger. You were working to make the world a better place. What happened? Do you believe that by becoming a gambler, you are making the world a better place?
BL: Gamblers in general, and poker players, in particular, contribute nothing to society. If they ceased to exist, the world would not pause for even a second to mourn their passing.
YOU: All right, I will move on. You were a tangential figure in the Post Modern Movement that set out to delegitimize science. You fought against the academics, mostly from humanities departments, that argued that science was just another opinion and shouldn’t be taken nearly as seriously as it is. Would you like to comment on this?
BL: Science is based on reason and mathematics. Can you imagine a world where science is just another opinion? I could then, and I can now. We would have leaders who would deny science because they disagree with the implications. Do yourself a favor, research Trofim Lysenko and the great Alan Sokal. After that, we can have a more intelligent discussion.
YOU: Is it true that during The Science Wars, people were running around the Harvard campus denying the existence of DNA?
BL: Yes. They were called Deconstructionists. If you can still find any, measure their cranial capacities and compare it to the smartest Austrolopithicus on record. Let me know how that works out for you.
YOU: And is it true that these people thought that mathematics was a tool of balding white males used to maintain power?
BL: Yes. You had to be there.
YOU: What do you think of Bruno Latour?
BL: Not much. He was one of the leaders of the deconstructionist movement. He went on and on about how science isn’t nearly important as it appears to be. He had a bad case of physics envy.
YOU: But now he is trying to correct his mistakes of the past. He even apologized for his past behavior.
BL: He did not apologize. He is not man enough to do that. I hope he realizes that he and those like him are responsible for the state of the world today when it comes to science. We have leaders who deny the importance of mathematics and science. Imagine a pandemic; just imagine if we were in the midst of a pandemic and people in positions of power claim that it is not real. Imagine that they would not listen to the experts, imagine if the science was denied and people died due to this type of insane ignorance. If that were to happen, Bruno Latour’s true legacy, his lasting gift to the world, would be revealed.
YOU: Any final thoughts?
BL: I sat through much of The Science Wars. I watched as people not smart enough to understand the mathematical basis of science worked to tear down the most essential institutions humanity has to offer. This much I know, when the deconstructionists and postmodern mavens got sick, or when their children took ill, they ran as fast as they could to find the most competent practitioner of modern medicine they could find. They did not run to a psychic; they did not look over a tarot card spread. Yes, science was just another opinion except when the stakes became very real. I am very happy that almost all of those hypocrites are now gone. Sure, if you look hard, you can find one here or there, but no one with half a brain takes them seriously anymore.
Hannah let The Math Professor read over the email as she tapped her pen lightly against her forehead.
“Well, that was unexpected. I wonder why he sent that?”
“I am vaguely familiar with the things he is talking about here. Of course, we were on campus long after this stuff.”
“Harvard was ground zero for The Science Wars. We talked about it a lot in my classes. I remember one of my professors telling me that back then, Thomas Kuhn’s The Structure of Scientific Revolutions was required reading in most of the humanities classes being taught on campus.”
“That is really odd. I wouldn’t expect that.”
“No. It is odd. There has to be someone on this campus that can tell me more about that time, right?”
“There is no History of Science department here, but there is a rather large Philosophy department. Perhaps, there is someone over there that you can talk to.”
Hannah tapped the screen of her phone at tremendous speed. The Math Professor looked at her and smiled as her brow furrowed, and her eyes narrowed in a fit of concentration.
“It seems there is a philosopher here who lists The Science Wars as one of her areas of expertise. Aphrodite Olajuwon…let’s see…Wellesley and University of Michigan. Looks like I found my next stop.”
“Great. Ready to order? I am getting really hungry.”
“Me too. Doctor Aphrodite Olajuwon is going to have to wait.”
