In semi-retirement, I’m currently a member of the Educational Council at MIT and recently served as Trustee of the La Jolla Community Planning Association. When those don’t keep me busy, I enjoy sharing what I’ve learned in my three-phase career in and around higher education with those navigating similar paths.
After earning a bachelor’s degree from MIT and a doctorate from Harvard, I served as a professor and social scientist first at Stanford and then at Harvard. I taught analytic methods and undertook research on financial aid, instructional technologies, and other higher-education policy issues.
Along the way I detoured to management, serving two-year stints as Assistant Director of what was then called the MIT-Harvard Joint Center for Urban Studies (JCUS) and then as founding co-Director of the National Institute of Education’s Educational Technology Center (ETC).
After I left Harvard, the technology research, ETC, and my earlier background evolved into almost two decades leading academic computing at MIT and then campus-wide information technology at the University of Chicago. Those were followed by a few years working on related national policy issues at EDUCAUSE and NBCUniversal, and then a brief return to CIOship, through Fortium, at the San Diego Community College District.
Outside work, I’ve collected 1888s and, until I didn’t have office space to display them, college and university coffee cups. Not just because Ronald Knox was born in 1888, I read lots of mysteries (Knox, an eminent British theologian and Roman Catholic chaplain at Oxford, famously codified the “Ten Commandments of Detective Fiction“). Because I never learned to take notes as well as others, I take lots of pictures, some favorites of which serve as the background images on my computers or document interesting signs and other texts I’ve run across. (Many travel and other photos I’ve taken over the years are available on Flickr under a Creative Commons license.)
More important, whether eating in or out I mostly drink red wine (especially old-vine Zinfandels from Amador County or from the Chiles Valley, Howell Mountain, the Rockpile, or a few other places that properly balance structure and fruit in the Italian way, which means I also drink a fair bit of Italian red, not to mention Spanish and Argentine and Portuguese, plus more recently GSMs from Paso Robles, and then Petites, yeah—well, you get the idea) and craft beers with that distinctive San Diego IPA hoppiness. That red wine goes with everything is one of many principles I find useful, both directly and metaphorically, in organizational life.
Occasional thoughts about information technology, food, ethical quandaries, and other topics sometimes become blog posts, usually on LinkedIn or my personal Ruminations site. Some favorite pieces are listed under Writing, on the menus above. Born in Los Angeles, I grew up in Mexico City, and have lived around Boston, in the Bay Area, in Hyde Park and downtown Chicago, in Washington DC, and now in La Jolla. There’s more detail on the pages linked under the Professional and Personal tabs above.
And certain quotes, mostly from movies, stick in my mind—see below…
Hello, Jeffrey, are you there?… Now don’t SHOUT at me! I’m in JAIL, and I want you to get me out!… I’m in the Susquehanna Street jail… Susquehanna!…SusqueHANNA!! … Susque- Q! Q!! Q!!! You know, the thing you play billiards with!… Billiards!… Billiards!!… B… I… L.. . – no, L! L! L!! … L, for Larynx… L…A… R… Y… N… No, not M! N!!!… N as in Neighbor… Neighbor… N…E…I…G…H…B… No, B!!… B!!!… Bzzz, Bzzz!… You know, the stingy insect!… INSECT!!!… I…N…S… S as in symbol… Symbol… S…Y… Y!!… Y!!!…Y!!!!… Look, Jeffrey, I’m in jail… The Susquehanna Street Jail… Listen closely… Do you know where the Oak Street Jail is?… You do?… Fine… I’ll have them transfer me there in the morning.
(from Shall We Dance, 1937)
A lieutenant of the Tsar’s cavalry, riding through a small shtetl, drew his horse up in astonishment, for on the side of a barn he saw a hundred chalked circles—and in the center of each was a bullet hole! The lieutenant excitedly stopped the first passerby, crying, “Who is the astonishing marksman in this place? Look at all those bull’s-eyes!” The passerby sighed. “That’s Shepsel, the shoemaker’s son, who is a little peculiar.” “I don’t care what he is,” said the lieutenant. “Any man who can shoot that well—” “Ah,” the pedestrian said, “you don’t understand. You see, first Shepsel shoots—then he draws the circle.”
(from Leo Rosten, The Joys of Yiddish)
“Well, let’s see, we have on the bags, Who’s on first, What’s on second, I Don’t Know is on third…”
(from Abbott & Costello, various performances.)
The origins of the “Who’s on First?” routine are obscure and somewhat controversial. According to Lou Costello’s daughter, the routine resulted from collaboration among Bud Abbott, Lou Costello, and John Grant, who later wrote most of the Abbott & Costello movies—see Chris Costello and Raymond Strait, Lou’s on First, New York: Cooper Square Press, 1981. On the other hand, according to other sources and the obituary of Irving Gordon, better known for writing Nat King Cole’s hit “Unforgettable”, Gordon wrote the routine while working as a composer of parody numbers in the Catskills during the 1930s—see Myrna Oliver, “Irving Gordon, Composer of `Unforgettable’,” Los Angeles Times, home edition, December 3, 1996, 26. Adding complication, unprocessed manuscript documents in the Samuel L. Goldman Papers at the University of Chicago Library include a pencil-on-foolscap version of the routine apparently dated before 1928. Peter B. Howard, a Berkeley bookseller, takes this version as evidence that Goldman, a vaudevillian and author of comedy bits in the 1920s and 1930s, wrote the routine or a precursor to it, since Abbott and Costello apparently did not work together until around 1937—see the administrative files for the Samuel L. Goldman Papers, Department of Special Collections, University of Chicago Library. Then again, Goldman may simply have heard the routine on stage and transcribed it, reinforcing arguments by others that the Abbott & Costello routine was simply a compilation and synthesis from routines widely used by many performers in vaudeville during the 1930s. The routine was first performed by Abbott and Costello on radio in 1938, although they had apparently performed it on stage for some years before that.
Hawkins: I’ve got it! I’ve got it! The pellet with the poison’s in the vessel with the pestle; the chalice from the palace has the brew that is true! Right?
Griselda: Right. But there’s been a change: they broke the chalice from the palace!
Hawkins: They broke the chalice from the palace?
Griselda: And replaced it with a flagon.
Hawkins: A flagon…?
Griselda: With the figure of a dragon.
Hawkins: Flagon with a dragon.
Griselda: Right.
Hawkins: But did you put the pellet with the poison in the vessel with the pestle?
Griselda: No! The pellet with the poison’s in the flagon with the dragon! The vessel with the pestle has the brew that is true!
Hawkins: The pellet with the poison’s in the flagon with the dragon; the vessel with the pestle has the brew that is true.
Griselda: Just remember that.
(from The Court Jester, 1956)
Bobby: I’ll have an omelet, no potatoes, tomatoes instead, and a cup of coffee.
Waitress: No substitutions.
Bobby: You don’t have any tomatoes?
Waitress: Only what’s on the menu. A Number Two: Plain omelet. It comes with cottage fries and rolls.
Bobby: I know what it comes with, but that’s not what I want.
Waitress: I’ll come back when you’ve made up your mind.
Bobby: Wait, I have made up my mind. I want a plain omelet, no potatoes on the plate, and give me a side of wheat toast and a cup of coffee.
Waitress: I’m sorry, we don’t have side orders of toast. I can give you an English muffin or a coffee roll.
Bobby: What do you mean, you don’t have side orders of toast? You make sandwiches, don’t you?
Waitress: Would you like to talk to the manager?
Bobby: You have bread, don’t you, and a toaster of some kind?
Waitress: I don’t make the rules.
Bobby: Okay, I’ll make it as easy for you as I can. Give me an omelet, plain, and a chicken salad sandwich on wheat toast—no butter, no mayonnaise, no lettuce—and a cup of coffee.
Waitress: One Number Two, and a chicken sal san—hold the butter, the mayo, the lettuce—and a cup of coffee. Anything else?
Bobby: Now all you have to do is hold the chicken, bring me the toast, charge me for the sandwich, and you haven’t broken any rules.
Waitress: You want me to hold the chicken.
Bobby: Yeah. I want you to hold it between your knees.
(from Five Easy Pieces, 1970)
Not long after, they tooke me to one of their great Counsells, where many of the generalitie were gathered in greater number than ever I had seen before. And they being assembled about a great field of open grasse, a score of their greatest men ran out upon the field, adorned each in brightly hued jackets and breeches, with letters cunnmgly woven upon their Chestes, and wearinge hats uppon their heads, of a sort I know not what. One of their chiefs stood in the midst and would at his pleasure hurl a white ball at another chief, whose attire was of a different colour, and whether by chance or artyfice I know not the ball flew exceeding close to the man yet never injured him, but sometimes he would strike att it with a wooden club, and so giveing it a hard blow would throw down his club and run away. Such actions proceeded in like manner at length too tedious to mention, but the generalitie waxed wroth, with greate groaning and shoutinge, and seemed withall much pleased.
how an ethnographer of John Smith’s era might have described baseball
(from Davidson and Lytle, After the Fact: The Art of Historical Detection, 1982)
Announcer: He walks in! He’s ready for mystery…he’s ready for excitement! He’s ready for anything…he’s (phone rings)
Nick: Nick Danger, Third Eye!
George: (on phone): Uh-I wanna order a pizza to go, and no anchovies.
Nick: No anchovies? You’ve got the wrong man. I spell my name…Danger! (hangs up)
George: What?
(from Firesign Theater, Cut ‘Em Off at the Past, 1969)
Rick: How can you close me up? On what grounds?
Renault: I am shocked, shocked to find that gambling is going on in here!
Croupier: Your winnings, sir.
Renault: Oh. Thank you very much.
(from Casablanca, 1942)
Well, for breakfast I’d have two eggs, six biscuits with butter and jelly, half a quart of milk, six link sausages, six strips of bacon, and a couple of homemade cinnamon rolls… Then I’d hit MacLean’s Bakery. They have a kind of fried cinnamon roll I love. Maybe I’d have two or three of them. Then, on the way downtown to have lunch with somebody, I might stop at Kresge’s and have two chili dogs and a couple of root beers… Then I’d go to lunch. What I really like for lunch is something like a hot beef sandwich or a hot turkey sandwich. Open-faced, loaded with that flour gravy. With mashed potatoes. Then Dutch apple pie. Kansas City is big on Dutch apple pie. Here they call it apple crumb or something. Then, sometimes in the afternoon, I’d pick up a pie—just an ordinary nine-inch pie—and go to my friend Matt Flynn’s house, and we’d cut the pie down the middle and put half in a bowl for each of us and then take a quart of ice cream and cut that down the middle and put it on top of the pie. We’d wash it down with Pepsi-Cola. Sometimes Matt couldn’t finish his and I’d have to finish it for him. Then that would be it until I stopped at my sister’s house… Then for dinner we’d maybe go to Charlie Bryant’s or one of the barbecues out on the highway. At the movies I’d always have a bag of corn and a big Coke and knock off a Payday candy bar… Then we’d always end up at Winstead’s, of course. Two double cheeseburgers with everything but onions, a fresh-lime Coke and a Frosty Malt. If it was before eleven, I’d stop at the Zarda Dairy for one of their forty-nine-cent banana splits. Then when I’d get home maybe some cherry pie and a sixteen-ounce Pepsi.
Fats Goldberg, answering Calvin Trillin‘s question:
“Just what did you eat on a big day in Kansas City the week you gained seventeen pounds?”
(from American Fried, 1974)
You know how I deal with problems: first I identify them, then I study them, then I analyze them, and then I make them bigger
(Michael J. Fox to Tracy Pollard, in Family Ties, ca 1985)
Bluto: Looks like l missed something.
Boon: You did. War’s over. Wormer dropped the big one.
Bluto: What? “Over”? Did you say “over”? Nothing’s over until we decide it is! Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell, no!
Boon: Germans?
Otter: Forget it, he’s rolling.
Bluto: … And it ain’t over now. ‘Cause when the going gets tough… the tough get going! Who’s with me? Let’s go! Come on!
Boon: Bluto’s right. Psychotic… but absolutely right.
(from Animal House, 1978)
It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents—except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.
(Bulwer-Lytton, Paul Clifford, 1830)
The Ten Commandments of Detective Fiction
- The criminal must be someone mentioned in the early part of the story, but must not be anyone whose thoughts the reader has been allowed to follow.
- All supernatural or preternatural agencies are ruled out as a matter of course.
- Not more than one secret room or passage is allowable.
- No hitherto undiscovered poisons may be used, nor any appliance which will need a long scientific explanation at the end.
- No Chinaman must figure in the story. (A “chinaman” is a key character who suddenly appears in the plot from nowhere.)
- No accident must ever help the detective, nor must he ever have an unaccountable intuition which proves to be right.
- The detective must not himself commit the crime.
- The detective must not light on any clues which are not instantly produced for the inspection of the reader.
- The stupid friend of the detective, the Watson, must not conceal any thoughts which pass through his mind; his intelligence must be slightly, but very slightly, below that of the average reader.
- Twin brothers, and doubles generally, must not appear unless we have been duly prepared for them.
(Knox, Essays in Satire, 1929)
Our sovereign Lord the King chargeth and commandeth all persons, being assembled, immediately to disperse themselves, and peaceably to depart to their habitations, or to their lawful business, upon the pains contained in the act made in the first year of King George, for preventing tumults and riotous assemblies. God save the King.
What “reading the riot act” actually means. The Riot Act of 1714 required the King’s magistrates to read this proclamation aloud an hour before beginning arrests if a group of more than twelve persons refused to disperse. The Act was not repealed until 1973.
The Stranger: How things been goin’?
Dude: Strikes and gutters, ups and downs.
The Stranger: Sure, I gotcha.
Dude: …Take care, man, I gotta get back.
The Stranger: Sure. Take it easy, Dude—I know that you will.
Dude: Yeah man. Well, you know, the Dude abides.
The Stranger: The Dude abides.
(from The Big Lebowski, 1998)
“You see, my dear Watson, it is not really difficult to construct a series of inferences, each dependent on its predecessor and each simple in itself. If, after doing so, one simply knocks out all the central inferences and presents one’s audience with the starting-point and the conclusion, one may produce a startling, though possibly a meretricious, effect.”
(Sherlock Holmes, in Conan Doyle, The Adventure of the Dancing Men, 1903)
George: Oh, what beautiful flowers!
Gracie: Aren’t they lovely? And if it weren’t for you I wouldn’t have them.
George: Me? What did I have to do with it?
Gracie: Well, it was your idea. You said that when I went to visit Cara Bagley to take her flowers, so when she wasn’t looking I did. Isn’t it good that they’re carnations, dear? I’ll put them in the refrigerator and we’ll milk them later.
(from The George Burns and Gracie Allen Show, on radio 1933-50 and TV 1950-58)
For the record, the proper way to make a lobster roll, as any New Englander will tell you, is with a split-top hot dog bun. Except, it should be an eggier bun, like a challah or brioche. Except when a decent Portuguese English muffin would work best of all. That said, a hamburger bun works even better. Except no one but a few weirdos in Maine do it that way. Also, the bread should be toasted on the outside, except when it should be toasted inside, except when toasting is a waste of time and, really, you need to griddle the bun so char marks appear. Inside. No, outside. Also, don’t forget to butter whatever side you do toast or griddle—no one will argue with that. But the meat should be cool, except when it should be warm—they like it warm in Connecticut. It should also be chunky, a mix of claw and tail, except tail chunks work best. Got it? Good, because all of that is completely stupid: To make a lobster roll, you need to mince the meat, except the real deal is a mountainous mix of chunks of fresh lobster mixed with a dab of mayonnaise and celery. Except that’s a mortal sin in swatches of New England where no mayo at all is the only way to do it. Except, any patriarchal New Englander will tell you, a true lobster roll needs only a sheen of mayo and drizzle of butter, to serve as a binder if nothing else. Except that’s wrong, because the finest binder in the world is a cardboard boat, which squeezes the sides of the bread and pushes the lobster meat upward. Except that’s dumb, because it’s disingenuous—the last thing a roll needs is the appearance of being generous.
(Borelli, “Lobster rolls in Chicago: A search for a taste of New England“,
Chicago Tribune, 2009)
President: Do you agree with Ben, Mr. Gardiner? Are we finished? Or do you think we can stimulate growth through temporary incentives?
Chance: As long as the roots are not severed, all is well and all will be well in the garden.
President: In the garden?
Chance: That is correct. In a garden, growth has its season. There is spring and summer, but there is also fall and winter. And then spring and summer again.
President: Spring and summer Yes, I see. Fall and winter. Yes, indeed. Could you go through that one more time, please, Mr. Gardiner?
Rand: I think what my most insightful friend is saying, Mr. President, is that we welcome the inevitable seasons of nature, yet we are upset by the seasons of our economy.
Chance: Yes. That is correct.
President: Well, Mr. Gardiner, I must admit, that is one of the most refreshing and optimistic statements I’ve heard in a very, very long time.
(from Being There, 1979)
…Fat Boy contained a medley of information from all the computers in the Western World, together with a certain amount of satellite-stolen data from Eastern Bloc powers. It was a blend of top-secret military information and telephone-billing records; of CIA blackmail material and drivers’ permits from France, of names behind numbered Swiss bank accounts and mailing lists from direct advertising companies in Australia. It contained the most delicate information, and the most mundane. If you lived in the industrialized West, Fat Boy had you. He had your credit rating, your blood type, your political history, your sexual inclinations, your medical records, your school and university performance random samplings of your personal telephone conversations a copy of every telegram you ever sent or received, all purchases made on credit, full military or prison records, all magazines subscribed to, all income tax records, driving licenses, fingerprints birth certificates-all this, if you were a private citizen in whom the Mother Company had no special interest. If, however, the Mother Company or any of her input subsidiaries, like CIA, NSA, and their counterparts in the other democratic nations, took particular notice of you, then Fat Boy knew much, much more than this about you. Programming facts into Fat Boy was the constant work of an army of mechanics and technicians, but getting useful information out of Him was a task for an artist, a person with training, touch, and inspiration. The problem lay in the fact that Fat Boy knew too much.
(Trevanian, Shibumi, 1979)
Rex: I used to sleep on a lamb’s wool beanbag next to an electric space heater. That’s my territory, I’m an indoor dog.
King: I starred in twenty-two consecutive Doggy Chow commercials. Look at me now, I couldn’t land an audition.
Boss: I was the lead mascot for an undefeated high school baseball team. I lost all my spirit, I’m depressing.
Duke: I only ask for what I’ve always had, a balanced diet, regular grooming, and a general physical once a year.
Chief: You’re talking like a bunch of housebroken… pets.
Rex: You don’t understand. Uh, how could you, I mean you’re a…
Chief: Go ahead say it. I’m a stray, yeah.
(from Isle of Dogs, 2018)
…the soldier who had fetched the rumor bustled about with much importance. He was continually assailed by questions.
“What’s up, Jim?”
“Th’army’s goin’ t’ move.”
“Ah, what yeh talkin’ about? How yeh know it is?”
“Well, yeh kin b’lieve me er not, jest as yeh like. I don’t care a hang.”
There was much food for thought in the manner in which he replied. He came near to convincing them by disdaining to produce proofs. They grew much excited over it.
(Stephen Crane, The Red Badge of Courage, Chapter 1)