Fox’s Game Ch. 15: They Run Into a Dead End…Maybe an Economist Can Help?

Thompson Station

Kristoff emptied the contents of his beer glass and continued, “We’re looking for evidence of an organization that, at least to some degree, prided itself on being able to memorize absurdly large amounts of information.”

“Right.”

“Well, what if the Book of Shadows is the only text that we can track because the rest of their information would be transmitted orally?”

Robert took a deep breath, trying to follow his friend’s logic. “So you think that they would’ve resorted to simply telling each other what they wanted in person?”

“Yes, when they could. And when they couldn’t, they probably wrote letters in such coded terms, that to extrapolate meaning could take years. We’d have to find their letters, letters that were probably memorized then disposed of or we could search for evidence of their actions.”

A slow smile creeped across Robert’s face as he understood Kristoff’s point. “You’re saying we should see if the events of Harvel’s case is similar to other such cases?”

“Yes. It’s like physics. When you shine light on a subatomic particle, you change its position. This is frustrating because you can’t see without light. So what do you do?” Kristoff asked.

“I don’t know. Study how the particle moves and then use that as a starting point for guessing its structure and composition?” Robert said.

“Close. We study the movement, but we also study the effects of the movement. It works not just at the subatomic level. We look at black holes and see how matter reacts when close to them. That allows us to separate the unknown from the known.”

Robert appreciated his rationale, mostly because it would make looking for evidence easier. So far, all they could find was the information that Kristoff’s friend in Washington had sent them. It was like investigating the mob—the evidence somehow disappeared when examined.

The more Robert thought, the more Kristoff’s subatomic analogy fit because any lead vanished like a quark running from the light. They needed specific shadowy activity if they hoped to trace the organization’s movement.

This need to change tactics excited the two professors, it meant they were making some headway. Even a failed hypothesis brought them a step closer to the truth. But that also meant scrapping much of the work they’d done up until that point, which made them tired. Kristoff often admonished his physics students on the value of failed experiments with a quote from the legendary computer engineer John W. Backus, “You have to generate many ideas and then you have to work very hard only to discover that they don’t work. And you keep doing that over and over until you find one that does work.”

Kristoff kept that quote on the door of his office. But unlike a failed physics experiment, time seemed much more of the essence. Perhaps more lives than André Babineaux’s was at stake.

“What do you think we should do now, Robert?”

“I need a break. We’ve been at this for hours. We need to keep pushing, but I don’t know how effective I’d be.”

Kristoff laughed a laugh of exhaustion and relief, “Well, part of effective work is knowing your limitations. The mind needs breaks just like the body. What do you propose?”

“It’s late now. I’ll call Julian tomorrow to see if he’s made any headway with Dr. Morell. If she can devise some algorithms for us, that would allow us to use our energy more effectively.”

Kristoff agreed. “Yes, talk to Julian. And even if he hasn’t spoken to her, he could provide a different perspective.”

“I’ve worked with Julian on a couple of committees, he has a knack of approaching problems in an unorthodox but effective way.”

“Okay, so do you want to meet back here sometime tomorrow?” Kristoff asked.

“Yes, how does 1:30 sound? Right after lunch.”

“I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you come over at noon, and I’ll make lunch. I sometimes do my best thinking while I’m cooking, and it’d be good to have someone there to bounce ideas off of.”

“Sounds good, Kristoff. See you then.”

********************

Tiffany and Julian agreed it best to arrive before Alyssa in order to lessen the chance that she’d catch on to their intentions. Tiffany was shocked when she called her and found that she had a young voice. For some reason, she expected her to sound older. And when she Googled her, Tiffany felt a twinge of envy at seeing her picture and reading her accomplishments. Although Tiffany had an accomplished resumé of her own, she found it hard not to compare herself to another woman in her city and her demographic.

As with most comparisons, she unknowingly downplayed her own strengths and overrated the other person’s. Knowing that she wasn’t doing herself any good, she logged out. In spite of herself, she felt a slight sense of jealousy at knowing she was going to help a guy that she’d just flirted with meet up with a girl who, irrational as it sounded, now seemed like competition, not even competition for Julian, just competition in that vague way in which young women sometimes found themselves.

 

Haiku Thursday: Cancelled Meeting Edition

Trump, Kim Jong–cancel
your meetings, just know Haiku
Thursday’s here to stay

Fox’s Game Ch. 14: Planning and Flirting in the Coffee Shop

Fido’s Coffee Shop
21^st Avenue South

Julian set down his second Simple Syrup and took a moment to inhale the rich aroma of steamed milk and freshly pressed coffee beans. But even as he pampered his senses, his mind worked to produce a solution to a problem that had interrupted his writing all. How could he reproduce the success he had with Alyssa?

He knew he’d gotten lucky; since she was returning from class, he was able to catch her off guard. He also knew that talking to her alone in her office provided nearly perfect conditions to convert an emotional argument into an intellectual one. But changing the mind of someone as smart and strong-willed as Alyssa twice in less than a week would be tough. Any attempt to get her to meet him would seem like he was asking her out and would lead to a no, not just a no but a no that would burn the good will he’d established the day before. He needed something else.

They had no mutual friends. A third party of even someone who was an acquaintance could provide the necessary common ground. He knew that thinking directly about a problem for too long would lead to less productivity, so he decided to relax the conscious part of his mind. He got online and lost himself in sports and current events. He then realized how long it’d been since he decided to visit his own virtual world. He typed “F” into the browser, and the computer did the rest of the work. As quick as the page appeared he saw the Facebook friend request from Tiffany Saunders.

That was the key. As a member of the press, Alyssa would have no problem meeting with her. Also, Tiffany wouldn’t mind doing something that could move the case forward. He and Tiffany needed only a pretense for meeting up with her. Alyssa didn’t even need to know he would be there.

He accepted the request and typed out a message. Since he wanted to get this moving quickly, he decided to also call. He knew that he couldn’t sound too eager to draw in a colleague or else he’d come off as manipulative.

“Hello?”

“Tiffany, Dr. Daniels from Vanderbilt. How are you doing?”

“Good! How are you?” Her voice had a trace of excitement. She closed her eyes in frustration because she knew he noticed.

“I’m good,” he said. “Anything new?”

“Just brainstorming new angles and cross-checking them with any articles I find,” she said.

“There’s always something to do, right?”

“You have no idea,” she said.

“Well, I’ve got a request for you,” he said.

“Oh really?”

“Here’s the situation. We’ve hit a slow patch in our research, and we think another professor could help us. The problem is, the professor said no when Dr. Hoek asked her. But I have a strong feeling if we ask her again, she’ll say yes.”

“Okay, and what do you need me to do?”

“Well, it’s a delicate situation, so I can’t just shoot her an email or walk into her office. But I think if we could get her away from the school, in a more relaxed environment, she’d be more than willing to help out.”

“So you want me to ask if I could meet up with her so that you can ask her?”

“Yes. Now, I know this means, you might have t—”

“I’ll do it. Maybe tell her Channel 4 is doing a piece on local female intellectuals and that I’d like to meet up and ask her a few questions.”

Julian was encouraged at Tiffany’s eagerness. “Yes, that’s basically it. Do you think that lying to her is the best way to go, though? If she got to the meeting and found that it wasn’t about an interview, then it might turn her off, right?” He knew the quickest way to destroy one’s ethos was by lying to his audience.

Tiffany laughed. “I’m a producer. I could come up with a show idea. I don’t have to lie. If this works out, there’s no reason we couldn’t do the story.”

Julian felt a rush of satisfaction you get from discovering that your connections have serious clout. “Okay, so what day works for you?”

“Wanna shoot for tomorrow night? Same time as last time?” she asked.

“Sure.”

“Where do you think your colleague would like to meet?”

“So far Fido’s has been our good luck charm. How about keeping it there?” he asked.

“If she doesn’t mind, I won’t mind,” she said.

“Should I show up with you, or would it be better if I just happened to be there?”

Tiffany thought for a moment. “It’d be better if you were there. I’ll just tell her that we’re adjusting the piece and making it about young, up and coming intellectuals in the city.”

Julian sipped his drink. “So, that means I get to be interviewed, too? I’m gonna be on tv, right?”

Tiffany smiled. He’s flirting, she thought. She laughed. Her voice got a little higher, this time intentionally, “I’ll see what I can do Julian.”

 

 

Fox’s Game Ch. 12: The Chemist Changes His Mind and a Note on the Nature of Hindsight

Williamson County, Thompson Station

Williamson County is one of the ten richest counties in the nation, a haven for the homes of business people, athletes, musicians, and actors. Some of the homes are barely lived in, claimed as the primary residence for A-listers looking to get a break from California taxes. When most people, even Nashvillians, think of Williamson County, they think of Franklin, the historical Civil War town that houses expensive business and gated subdivisions.

But like New York city, Franklin is a small but loud part of a much bigger territory. Most of Williamson County is rural and quiet. And that peace—that remoteness—is what drew Kristoff Tulowitzki to the county. He is able to be isolated both physically and financially, which allows him to disappear amid the green trees of the county’s landscape and the green backs of the county’s economy.

His home looked the way one who has money but values privacy would look. The backyard led to several acres of wooded land, the front yard, nicely manicured, and the house itself a combination of rustic taste and modern style.

Robert and Julian sat at Kristoff’s dining room table waiting for their host to finish making crêpes. Robert flipped through a thick book on the coffee table titled Underground Organizations. His right hand moved rapidly left to right in a wide zig zag pattern. He spent only 10 seconds on a page before going to the next one. Julian stared at his cell phone, swiping his thumb upward, scrolling through his reading as quickly as Robert.

“Sorry to keep you waiting my good men, but no serious meeting can take place after dinner time without light snacks and a good drink.” Kristoff set his tray at the center of the table, the only spot not occupied by books and notebooks. “We are almost ready to start.”

Kristoff left the dining area and returned balancing three glasses between his palms and finger tips. He set a glass of water next to Robert and handed Julian one of the glasses of stout. He neatly stacked some of the books in order to clear room for his guests’ saucers. “There. Now we can properly talk. The right food and the right drink can comfort the body and stimulate the mind.”

He took a sip and continued. “First of all, I am glad to join your team.” Robert and Julian exchanged a look, unaware that they were any sort of team. “Second, you are free to borrow any books or materials of mine.”

“What changed your mind, Kristoff?” Julian asked.

“I realized that this was more than just a time-wasting game. Also, I concluded that I’ve spent my adult life studying these odd cases from the comfort of my home, and if I ever expected to turn my thought into action, I would have to do more than simply study. I was suspicious at the cookout, but I decided that suspicious was good. It meant that I may be involved in something real, something that could make a difference.”

“Well, we are glad to have your help,” Julian said.

Robert reached for a pastry. “So what’d you come up with regarding the tattoo?”

“The fact that I’d never seen the image distracted me. I finished my equations for the day. But I couldn’t quite shake the idea that I couldn’t recall coming across that figure. So once I got home, I called a friend in Washington, DC who could help me identify any meaning it might have. He said he’d call back. Two hours later he had a name: Knights of the Shadow. Apparently, they were an organization that formed during the late 16th century and were dedicated to the arts of memory, alchemy, and meditation.

“They believed they could train their memories to such an extent that they could pass knowledge between themselves without writing books and thus risk exposure to outsiders. Alchemy was emphasized, of course, so they could fund their plans, and meditation was so that they could utilize mind control.”

“Mind control?” Julian knew that the late Medieval period was a superstitious time. But studying to control people’s minds seemed outlandish even for that time.

Kristoff anticipated the objection. “It was to be a primitive form of hypnotism. You know how you can drive home and not really remember the drive? Well, driving is a dangerous and difficult activity. And they wanted to understand the mind state that could allow you to do dangerous and difficult activities without thinking. How could you get people to go on auto pilot and act without any conscious thought?”

Julian laughed, “Just come up with a pop dance song. People will stop what they’re doing and start doing the steps to the dance without thought of how to do the moves or how silly they look.”

“Dr. Daniels you joke, but that’s exactly what they were looking for. They were obsessed with harnessing the mind’s potential. They were aware of the subconscious centuries before Freud introduced it. They understood that if you could consciously control the subconscious of a person, then that person could be your slave and more importantly, they wouldn’t know it.”

Robert sat silently slowly sipping on his water. “So was Giordano Bruno the leader of this organization?”

“Yes. One of them,” Kristoff said. “He was the intellectual force behind it. But the leader was another man, Giuseppe Laurencio. He could more easily get others behind his causes, he was more of a natural leader whereas Bruno was more of an individual artist. He’s the one who chose the symbol and wrote many of the ideas. There were two other men involved, Francisco Costino and Raphael Renetti, minor players compared to Bruno and Laurencio but worth mentioning.”

“Fascinating but how does all this tie into Harvel?” Robert asked.

“Here’s how: the organization never really went anywhere. No one wants to join a start up that has a high chance of failure, especially one that’s essentially talking about undermining the Church. It’s one thing if you already have the tools, but if you’re talking about developing the tools over time, who wants to sign up for that?

“Anyway, the four men essentially wrote elaborate letters to each other using their books. But it never got out of the planning stages. Eventually, Bruno, like Jesus’s apostles, decided to write down his ideas after realizing that his plans might not materialize in his lifetime. That’s where we get The Book of Shadows. It’s a culmination of their research. And the memory wheel was a way to decode and learn their teachings.

“Over the centuries, the book pops up, going in and out of fashion. And like followers of a religious sect, some would take it as a life treatise meant to be followed literally, while others saw it as a helpful life guide, in this case a memory text. The more serious Knights of the Shadow would wear a wheel as a symbol of their loyalty.

“Anyway, the organization has changed over time. It’s less about memory, alchemy, and mind control. Yet it still possesses the initial spirit of wanting to control information, control minds, and control its funding. It’s possible Harvel was a member. Now, was he acting on his own or as part of the organization? That’s what we need to figure out.”

“If he acted alone, then the implications aren’t nearly as serious. What do you think it means if he’s part of a larger group?” Julian asked.

“It could mean that AquaCorp is some sort of target. Or maybe it’s a warm up for something larger like how terrorist cells will set off a car bomb almost as a practice run for a larger act. Or it could be a distraction from what they really want. Acts like this have several moving variables that can’t be understood until we’re studying them.”

Robert stroked his beard as Kristoff spoke. “You mean we can’t understand anything until we’re looking at it in hindsight?”

“Exactly.”

The three men sat in silence at the implications that their meeting tonight could, at the least prevent another death.

Robert sipped his water and cleared his throat. “So Kristoff, how can we learn more about these variables?”

“Well, we can develop an algorithm for several different scenarios. It’s not a perfect solution, but it’s a start. And by tracing the movement of the Knights of the Shadow, we can maybe find out where Harvel would have likely come into contact with them.”

Julian took one last gulp of his porter and set it down. “And the missing pieces start to fall into place.”

Kristoff finished his as well. “This is fun. Dr. Daniels, Dr. McDonough and I will research the Knights. If there’s evidence of their actions over the past few centuries, we can dig it up. It’s your job to get us the algorithms.”

“First off, if we’re gonna be a team, just call me Julian. Second, I know how to spell algorithm. That’s just about it.”

“I know. This means we need someone who knows math. Robert successfully recruited me. You’re a rhetorician. If I’m not mistaken, good rhetoric can influence the mind as much as anything the Knights of the Shadow or anyone else has thought up. Let’s see if you can persuade Dr. Morell to join our team. She understands algorithms as well as anyone we know.”

Julian picked up his glass hoping to get one last drop out of it. He knew it’d be difficult to convince her to hear him out for a conversation let alone join their team. He also knew that you don’t become part of the faculty at one of the country’s elite universities if you shied away from challenges. He smiled at his friends and said, “let’s see what I can do.”

Fox’s Game Ch. 11: A ‘Keep Out’ Sign is Not to Keep Us Out but to Remind Us that We Want In…and Other Obvious Facts

Vanderbilt University Research Facility

Kristoff Tulowitzki stood at the white board in his office, the symbols from his blue marker that covered the board would be comprehensible to only a handful of people in the world. He stood immobile, arms folded, mouth frowning. Not until the soft taps turned into sharp raps did he notice the knocking on his door, jumping slightly at the abrupt interruption.

“Come in,” he said.

Robert peeked his head in. “I hope I’m not disturbing you Kristoff.”

“Ah, Robert! I did not expect you. You are, in fact disturbing me, but it’s okay. I need to take a break. Our minds need periods of intense concentration followed by short rests. And social rests are the most healthy kind.”

“Good, good to hear. I was hoping you could settle something for me and Julian.”

Kristoff laughed. “I will try.”

“Well, it’s about Hoek’s record player riddle. What do you think? If a glass of water were on it, would it fall off or spill first?”

“Ah yes, I remember. It’s clearly an unsolvable equation.”

“That’s what I told Julian. I want to hear your rationale behind it, though.”

“It’s simple physical science. The centripetal force created by the circular movement is going to act differently on different glasses. A tall, thin glass will have a lower center of gravity and would thus get moved easier than a short wide one.” Robert tilted his head to the side. Tulowitzki continued, “and of course, the amount of water matters, too. A drop differs greatly from being filled to the rim. And how far away is the glass from the actual center of the circle, meaning the recorder?”

Robert smiled. “I agree with your answer. Although the rationale that led me there was remarkably different.”

“Oh, really?”“I took an historic approach. I focused on how the Romans viewed order and power, how they would’ve viewed the glass as something that needed to be controlled, but they would need to know the dimensions of that which they were controlling before they could exert any sort of power.”

“I love the way you see things, Robert. So…so…epistemologically.”

“Thank you, I think.”

“I meant it as a compliment. But tell me, you didn’t come all the way up here to ask me about a riddle. What do you really want?”

“I’m terrible at mind games.”

“Robert, I believe you are incapable of deception.”

“Well, my question is about Ben’s case. Julian and I have a question about secret societies. I figured you’d be able to put us on track.”

“I really don’t want to get into this, Robert.”

“I know, I just want to save dozens of hours of research by asking someone who might know. If you feel uneasy, I won’t pressure you.”

Kristoff knew he could trust Robert and that helping him in this matter would establish a stronger bond between them, which could be helpful in the future. “What’s the question? I’ll do my best.”

Robert unfolded a sheet of paper from his pocket. “Well, here’s a picture of one Harvel’s tattoos. It’s a Renaissance memory wheel. Seems like an odd thing to have. This particular wheel is interesting because it was the one used by Giordano Bruno, who wrote Book of Shadows. It’s a bit of a memory treatise, but it also has some information on the occult. He was also a known conspiracy theorist. He wanted to use his esoteric knowledge to control those in power. Let the Church and the State worry about controlling the masses. He’ll control the Church and the State. Have you heard anything about him?”

“That name is not completely unfamiliar. But I can’t place it. And I have never seen this image in relation to an organization.”

“That’s all I needed to know. Kristoff, I won’t take up anymore of your time. You’ve been very helpful.” Robert folded up the sheet and stuck out his hand.

“A bit of advice, Robert. Just because I don’t know about it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. That tattoo could very well mean something.”

“I know, it’s just that this is all I’ve got. There are some things about the situation that are odd, but I imagine that, if I studied similar instances, I would see the same abnormalities.”

“True. Anomalies are far more common than we think both in the natural world and in human behavior.”

“I’m meeting with Julian tonight. He spoke with Ben’s former student, the Channel 4 producer who came to him with the story. We’ll compare notes. Unless we receive a new flood of information, we’ll try to wrap up our research assignment in the next day or so.”

“That’s probably a good idea. You and I are puzzle solvers, and part of solving them is understanding which ones are worth our time.”

“Well said. I will let you return to yours. Thanks as always.”

“Thank you, Robert.”

Robert closed the door, and Kristoff returned to his statuesque pose in front of the white board.

**********

“Julian, I greatly appreciate the irony of discussing potential secrets in such a public place,” said Robert after ordering his Cherry Coke. They took their usual seats in a secluded corner.

“It’s ironic, but since no one knows we’re working on this, we don’t have to keep it secret,” said Julian.

“Strangely enough, acting secretive often brings secrets to light,” said Robert.

“Sherlock Holmes said it best, ‘there’s nothing so well hidden as an obvious fact.’ It’s like if you act as if there’s nothing to hide, you can hide almost anything,” said Julian.

“People are interesting. Some things are naturally sensitive and need to be hidden. But how much information becomes valuable for no other reason than someone decided it needed to be hidden?” Robert said.

“It’s known in advertising as the Appeal to Snobbery. If you want your product to seem more appealing, simply show that it’s something that only a precious few are privy to. Then, no matter how accessible it is, if you have it, you’re part of a select group.”

“Who was it that said that the fence and the keep out sign is not to actually keep us out but to remind us that we wanted in?”

“I dunno, Robert. But I’ll have to steal that line.”

“So what’d you find after talking with Tiffany Saunders?”

“Well, the tattoo was a dead end. I found out that Harvel’s really good at disappearing. He leaves a boarder patrol job in Arizona shortly after 9/11 and just falls off the radar. He then pops up in Texas in ’04. Six months later he’s gone, and we don’t see him again until ’08. What do you think?”

“It could be part of a pattern. It’s impossible to understand without knowing more about his background. If he has a habit of disappearing for long periods, it could be nothing. But he was in the military where, by all accounts, he was a disciplined and dependable soldier. So that doesn’t really fit.”

Julian sighed. “Unless we get new information, doesn’t seem like we could do much. We’d have to question a large number of people who’ve already been questioned by authorities in hopes of finding something they missed. And I hardly doubt that’s what Ben had in mind when he asked us to do this.”

“Let me ask you: do you think Tiffany Saunders fell into the trap we were just talking about?”

“What trap?” said Julian.

“You know, the fact that things were secretive caused her to take an inordinate amount of interest in the case. As good as I’m sure she is, it’s not like she’s immune. Think about it, you ask a bunch of questions and get stonewalled. That makes you ask more, as if they’re hiding something. But maybe there’s nothing to hide, maybe they’re just making it more secretive because they can. There’s no upside in opening up to the press. Or maybe they’re trying to hide something else completely unrelated. There’re several possibilities. And given what we know so far, the problem is unsolvable.”

“Agreed. I think we should wrap this up. We put in our work. Let’s tell Ben that we simply don’t have enough information to move forward.”

Robert gulped his Coke. “This reminds me. What’d you get for the answer to Ben’s riddle about the glass of water and the turntable?”

“I forgot about that. You know, I think it was incomplete. Look at it this way: the turntable, the glass, the water, they’re all characters in a play. How can we predict how they will act once they’re set in motion if we don’t know anything about them? We’d need to know some backstory before we could move forward. You can’t have a story without conflict. The conflict, of course, is the movement, but you can’t have a story with only movement. You must have characters that we know something about. Does that analogy make sense?”

“Perfect sense. Kristoff had a completely different answer, same conclusion but different answer. I guess I should say he had a different reasoning process. And it’s in the spirit of our current dilemma. Like this case, that riddle has a dearth of facts to make any real sense of. Guess that’s why I like it.”

“We should stop by Ben’s office tomorrow and let him know what we came up with. I’ll call Tiffany and let her know.”

“Well Julian, it was good working with you. We really should collaborate on a project together. Kristoff and I were talking about doing something together, too.”

“I would like that. I admit I’ve been looking forward to these discussions more than I thought. I’m so used to just typing on a blank page that I forget co-authoring has its benefits as well.”

The two finished their drinks and left the coffee shop. Robert settled into his white, ’04 Camry. He took out his phone so he could charge it while he drove. He saw that he had a three missed calls and two voicemails from a number he didn’t recognize.

“I hope there’s not some sort of emergency.” He went to his voicemail feature and turned up the volume.

“Robert, it’s me Kristoff. Benjamin Hoek gave me your number. I found something about that tattoo. You were right, it does belong to a secret organization. We need to talk. I know you were meeting with Dr. Daniels tonight. Maybe I can come, too? Call me back.”

Robert’s heart thumped against his chest like knuckles on a punching bag. He listened to the next message, “Robert, I see I’ve gotten your voicemail again. Call me back when you get a chance.” He set down his phone, closed his eyes, drew in his breath, counted slowly to four, held it for seven seconds, and exhaled for eight. He did this two more times before picking up his phone.

He texted Julian: Kristoff left me two voicemails. We just got some backstory on one of our characters.

Fox’s Game Ch. 9: A Classicist and a Music Critic Debate Renaissance Symbols in a Nashville Coffee Shop

May 20^th

“So Julian, you read the folder. Anything stand out to you?”

Robert sat across from his friend in a dimly lit corner of Fido’s. A concert had just ended, so it was more crowded than normal.

“You know, the only thing I saw that seemed a little weird was that this guy Christopher J. Harvel seemed so guilty. Know what I mean? It’s like he did everything wrong that you could possibly do. It’s a little too neat,” Julian said.

“Hmmmm…” Robert hadn’t considered that.

“What do you think?” Julian asked.

“No, go on.”

“Well, if you try to kill someone in pure emotion, it’s usually in the moment. You don’t really have time to think, right? I feel like a crime like that wouldn’t be purely emotional. I’m reminded of Crime and Punishment. Raskolnikov kills Lizaveta with an ax. It’s a violent murder, but there’s no passion. It was part of an odd social experiment on his part. Lizaveta’s sister witnesses it, so then Raskolnikov has to kill her, too. That murder was unplanned and sloppy. That’s one reason why the Inspector Porfiry catches him.”

Robert nodded.

“That’s what I can’t understand. You plan to meet someone on their travel route, you’ve obviously planned some things. You can’t anticipate everything, so maybe you still get caught. But why even risk it in front of all those people unless you want to get caught.”

“Perhaps he wants to be a martyr?”

“Maybe. That’s the only way it makes sense. But if that’s the case, why risk it by weaving through traffic? Why even worry with a getaway?” Julian asked.

“I don’t know. We humans are capable of both great rationality and great irrationality at the same time. Perhaps he’s both Raskolnikov and Lizaveta’s sister,” Robert said.

“It’s certainly possible. What’d you notice?”

He pulled out a black and white image from his folder. “This seems like a little thing, but I noticed this picture of him as he’s running to his car. He seemed to have lots of tattoos. So I pulled out my microfiche lens in order to get a closer glimpse.”

“Hoping that his body would reveal something about his mind?”

“Exactly. I wondered if there was some sort of outer manifestation of an inner condition.”

Julian reached across his body, grabbed his coffee mug with his left and sipped. His right hand fidgeted with his napkin. “And? What’d you find?”

“Well, it’s probably nothing.”

Julian fidgeted faster. “You found something everyone else overlooked, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know if anyone overlooked it or not. We’d have to ask Captain McRay. But I noticed an interesting tattoo. Here.” He slid the picture across the table to Daniels who stared like he were watching a magician’s hands during a coin trick.

“Look through this,” Robert handed the microfiche lens.

“Sorry, but he has a whole sleeve of tattoos. They all run together. They seem weird, a little gothic, but nothing you can’t find at a biker bar on a Saturday night.”

Robert smiled. “Keep looking.”

Julian stared for 10 minutes. “Again, sorry. I have no idea what you saw.”

“How familiar with you are Renaissance imagery?”

Daniels sipped his coffee and laughed, “now you wanna give me a hint? Look, I’m familiar with Renaissance images—Hamlet gazing at Yorick’s skull, Di Vinci’s Vetruvian Man, God touching Adam’s finger in the Sistine Chapel—but I’m not seeing a connection. He has a skeleton tat on his bicep, but it looks more like an ode to Salvador Dali than a Shakespearean play.”

“You’re thinking too general, too…too obvious. This is a very esoteric symbol. Look one more time, this time at the forearm. Right above Harvel’s left hand is a circle. It’s partly obstructed, but it’s a picture of a Renaissance Memory Wheel, not to be confused with the Medieval Memory Wheel.”

“Of course, it’s like confusing ‘your’ and ‘you’re.’ People do it all the time, but they really shouldn’t.”

“Exactly.” Robert miss the sarcasm, he’d already switched to lecture mode.

“Well, as a Classicist, my eye was immediately drawn to the image. It’s not something that most people would be familiar with let alone get a tattoo of. That got me thinking. So I visited the library to see if this was a particular wheel or just something he thought may have looked cool.

“I looked at several types of memory wheels, Medieval, Renaissance, modern, just to cover my bases. But it wasn’t until I opened De Umbris Idearum that I found a match. It’s a book by Giordano Bruno written in the late 16th century. In it he discusses his version of the art of memory. He has different types of memory wheels meant to remember different things—the signs of the Zodiac, the different angels—almost any list of things could be plugged in.

“Well Bruno has this one wheel that’s not quite Renaissance and not quite Medieval. Seems like a mixture of the two. It has Hebrew, Greek, and Latin lettering. It encompasses the Greek origins, the Christian tradition, and the Cabalistic influence that have shaped the discipline of memory.”

Julian fidgeted again. “Okay, so what does all this mean?”

“Well, it might not mean anything. We’d have to know where he got it from and when. That might lead us to something else. Here’s the thing: it’s not a trendy image that you get in order to seem smart,” Robert said.

“I follow you now. People like talking about their tattoos, but they don’t always want to explain them. It can get tiring, and people lose interest quickly. If you want a tat that reflects your affinity for that time period, you get one of the images I mentioned because people have heard of Di Vinci and Shakespeare and Michelangelo. If you have to provide too much backstory, it’s almost not worth explaining. You need a neat, quick story.”

Robert smiled.

“But Robert he knew about a rare image and got it put on his body. How does that point to anything?” Julian asked.

“Here’s where it gets interesting. Giordano Bruno was a Dominican cleric. But like many people in Europe during that time, or anytime for that matter, his faith was mixed with the pagan influences that were part of his culture. So he was a bit of an occultist. Nothing unusual there, but De Umbris Idearum translates to Book of Shadows. He’s essentially writing about things that are meant to be secret.

“So he was trying to expose these secrets?”

“Not exactly. Remember, this is during a time where few people read and even fewer people read Latin. He wrote to other educated people whom he could hopefully influence. He might as well have been writing in code,” Robert said.

“Makes sense. He wants to see how many out there are like him. Maybe form a subset of a subset of the Catholic faith?”

“Yes, kind of. And this is where I need to catch up on my research. But I think he was reaching out to people who were capable of retaining a great deal of information. He saw how much power the Church had. Church leaders and the rich were the only ones who, for all intents and purposes, could read. But when you get to those who could read Latin, the number gets smaller. And when you think of those who could memorize books, that number gets much, much smaller.”

“So you think he was looking for a way to get an even smaller group to control information?”

“Yes. The fewer, the better. No one can achieve large scale power alone, but the fewer people who help you, the less power there is to go around. He wanted a group of people with whom he could share his memory systems. That way, they could control information more tightly than his superiors in the Church.”

Julian nodded. “It’d be like if only a few people around the world had access to the internet and those few people weren’t academics in universities but midlevel politicians wanting more power.”

For the first time during their meeting, Robert sipped his drink. “Yes, that tattoo could mean all of that…or none of it. We have to go further in order to find out.”

“Fair enough, how do we do that?”

“Here’s what I was thinking: we both went through the information in our folders, right?”

“Of course.”

“Well, there’s little else they can tell us. We should go to our direct sources. I’ll talk to Ben and see what he knows. Like, how did he decide what to put in our folders and what to leave out? I think you should contact the news producer.”

“You think so?” Julian asked.

“Yes. Her job’s on the line, and she worked hard on this. She’ll enjoy talking about it, and she’ll be glad to know she’s not alone. And even if she wants nothing to do with our leads, we haven’t lost anything.”

Julian paused. “You’re right. I’ll call the station and see what I come up with.”

“Let’s meet here same time tomorrow.”

Fox’s Game Chapter 7: Jimi Hendrix and the Polish Immigrant’s Beer

Lenox Village
Nolensville, Tn

Understandin’ understandin’
Lord that’s all in the world I need
Understandin’ and a little bit of lovin’ baby
That’s all in the world I need
Misunderstandin’ an’ I know get a woman
Yeah, Lord they both have caused my heart to bleed

 Jimi Hendrix’s bluesy guitar played in the background as Kristof Tulowitzki carefully placed two steamed hotdog buns onto his plate. He then carefully grabbed his mixing bowl full of fresh broiled lobster, mayo, celery, scallions, spices, and his secret ingredient–pan fried Polish sausage. Tulowitzki enjoyed cooking more than most people enjoyed eating, especially when done to a 60s soundtrack.

Tulowitzki neatly set the table in his dining room and poured a bottle of local beer in a custom glass. He sighed satisfactorily as he sipped, swirling it in his mouth with a flourish before swallowing.

The 59 year old Chemistry professor was a mass of contradictions. His love of beer revealed not so much a desire for its affects but his appreciation of its complexities. Like all chemists he saw science everywhere, and like many chemists he saw beauty and poetry, not simply mixtures and equations. He saw food and beer as practical examples of science in use.

“We take something we use for sustenance and make it pleasurable. Some of the tastiest, most creative foods in the world come from the poorest societies in the world. Why? Because we are all scientists. Some of us just understand it better than others.” Tulowitzki’s friends heard him say this often. So did his students. The flavor combinations that animal fat, plant leaves, ground up roots, and heat could create was every bit the marvel he saw whenever he settled under his microscope to study the movement of atoms.

And though he also had a passion for beer, his love of that drink came not through chemistry but through pride in his homeland of Poland. He grew up watching his father Marek come home from work and before he would say a word to anyone, his father would open the icebox, pour himself a stein of homemade beer, and ease into his chair. It was like after that first relished sip, his family would become visible. Tulowitzki associated beer with fun times and his father’s kindness. For him beer was a connection to his past.

* * * *

On March 28, 1968, Marek Tulowitzki moved his family from Warsaw, Poland to Philadelphia, PA. He was a code breaker for the Russians during World War II. After the Eastern Bloc was formed, he worked as a high level statistician at the Polish state department. He slowly accumulated secrets and realized that if he didn’t leave, he and his family would eventually be the target of the persecution and suspicion that permeated Communist Europe.

Kristof inherited his father’s penchant for math as well as his distrust of government institutions. A week after they arrived in the US, James Earl Ray shot Martin Luther King at the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, TN. The 18 year old Polish student never forgot the violence and paranoia that would follow. And he never was able to fully disconnect what he’d experienced in his native country and what he witnessed in the first days in his new one.

Kristof became obsessed with the King assassination, trying to understand how something like this could happen in America. He followed the story, and his interest led to his fascination with US assassinations. He began to see that though the US was safer than Communist Poland, it certainly had its secrets. Tulowitzki spent his one and only year in American high school solving complex math problems and studying political conspiracies. The former shaped his future by ensuring him a scholarship to MIT, the latter shaped his worldview by showing him the possibility of the improbable.

Now a tenured professor, Tulowitzki spent his free time making the symmetry and logic he found through a microscope with his offbeat political theories. He loved discussing them, and although he articulated himself clearly, his Polish accent often made his ideas seem like the ramblings of a crank. Tulowtizki’s tall, thin frame and gray hair made him look authoritative. And his stern demeanor belied his gregarious personality. He loved to talk. And people often mistook his intensity for anger.

The chemist rinsed his dishes and placed them in the dishwasher. He then glanced at an unopened envelope on his kitchen table. His lips curved into a smile. “Fresh grilled Polish sausages and locally brewed beer, huh? This Dr. Benjamin Hoek must really want me to come.” He sat down the paper and wondered if this new research committee had anything to do with the Chemistry and Cooking course that he’d proposed for next spring’s semester.

Week 5 Post from My History of Rhetoric Course: Thomas Hobbes Edition

First off, let’s acknowledge that at the end of the first paragraph on page 255 of Reason and Rhetoric in the Philosophy of Hobbes, Skinner accidentally says “yolo.”

Now, with that out of the way, I have to say I agree and disagree with Hobbes. If you accept his definition of rhetoric as the art of sacrificing wisdom for eloquence, then I agree we shouldn’t do that. But I can’t cosign on how he only defines rhetoric in that way. Here’s the problem with Hobbes (and apparently, it seems, the Ramists as a whole): they assume that anyone you converse with are at the same level intellectually that you are. Anyone who’s taught knows that the further away you get from pure academic discourse, the more necessary eloquence is to both keep novices interested and to help them understand. When I first began teaching, I often supplemented information with entertainment, not because I wanted to deceive but because I hadn’t quite yet developed the cache of knowledge I now have. Also, it was a way of keeping the class’ attention as opposed to just dismissing early or giving them a time-eating writing exercise. It’s okay to entertain, as long as you remember you’re a teacher, not an entertainer.

Assuming he uses “eloquence” as a general term for entertaining, I can say that nowadays, I rarely sacrifice knowledge for eloquence, but I wouldn’t have gotten to this point without going through what I went through before. Rhetoric is about process more so than result. Hobbes translates Aristotle as saying “the end of Rhetorique is victory which consists in having gotten beleefe” (Art of Rhetorique 41). I think that’s misleading because if you contextualize Aristotle’s words, he’s talking about a scenario when you have “infallible truthes” (41). I admit that rhetoric as Hobbes presents it has more value when speaking than with writing because if you’re interested enough to pick up a book or article on a subject, eloquence may not be as important as the information. But as we know, even if you love to read and you’re lucky enough to have a job that entails a great deal of reading, you find yourself having to read things that you have little interest in as much or even more so than that which you do enjoy. In that instance, eloquence can add flavor to an otherwise bland bit of information, like putting salt and pepper on grits.

Moving back to Skinner, he discusses Sir Philip Sidney’s comparison of elocutio to “Courtisanlike painted affection,” going on to say that Sidney’s criticism “attacks […] excessive verbal finery” (274). This is where moderation comes into place. Too much makeup and you can look like Jan Crouch, the woman from TBN. But the right amount can accentuate one’s beauty, not obscure it like when Jennifer Anniston or Jada Pinkett Smith appear on the Tonight Show. Criticizing eloquence as being “separated from a proper knowledge of things” reminds me a great deal of the #nomakeup campaign (279). But here’s the thing: if you’re posting a picture of yourself without makeup, but it’s clear you’ve taken great care in making yourself look as good as possible with camera filters and multiple angle shots, choosing the best one and you accompany the picture with a grandiose announcement about how you’re not wearing makeup, then it becomes a self-serving mechanism every bit as much as posting a picture of yourself with makeup. The only difference is that you’re in denial in the picture without makeup. To those who look closely at your actions, you become just as transparent as the annoying guy who would post under the #nomakeup pic, “I think you look even more beautiful without makeup.”

When Hobbes translates Aristotle, he does the equivalent of what he accuses rhetoricians of doing, which is distorting information in order to serve his own ends, making Aristotle’s words “appear to be more or less than indeed they are” (De Cive 123). I’m not talking about omitting examples that he feels are unnecessary or even rearranging certain sections because it’d be easier for his audience to follow. Those are editorial decisions that must get made. But when I read footnotes saying that “Hobbes has greatly condensed […] and omitted […] where Aristotle distinguishes between rhetoric and dialectic and stresses the moral purpose that makes rhetoric an art,” that makes me question his ethos (A Briefe of the Art of Rhetoric 40). I know he’s smart and thoughtful, but is he honest? Speaking of the footnotes, I found them much more interesting and helpful than Hobbes’ discussion. I think that’s because some of Aristotle’s ideas are outdated, significant in their primacy but a relic of a bygone era. Of course, I don’t blame Hobbes for this, but I think it’s worth pointing out.

I agree (like a good rhetorician) with some of Hobbes’ assertions. His discussion about the problem of redefining terms has merit that we can still see today. The difference between generous and prodigal are a matter of the assumption from which you begin your reasoning. I don’t find his discussion on religion too off-putting like when he references the story of Solomon in saying “[g]ive therefore unto thy servant an understanding heart to judge thy people, that I may discern between good and evil” (De Cive 129). It’s easy to think of judging in a negative sense, coupling it with hypocrisy and bullying. Yet in extreme circumstances, we need to judge. For instance, if someone’s a pedophile, I’m keeping children away from him and turning him into the police. That’s an obvious example, but I think it’s important to have prudence or sapientia, especially in civic matters. With some people, religious faith—balanced with thoughtful ideas about politics and human affairs—can help with this. I disagree with Hobbes at how one can arrive at sapientia or how it looks, but I think one should have it, even more so if he or she is running a government.

In the same vein, Skinner asserts that Hobbes believes “practitioners of rhetoric not only fail to join wisdom with eloquence; they almost invariably bring it about that the one is disiungitur or sundered from the other” (284). He has a point, which is why some people are great speakers but terrible writers—the tricks they use in a public setting like talking fast or turning an intellectual discussion into a battle of wills can’t be used. But the other side is that so much of our wisdom literature is, not poetic prose based on proofs—but poetry, eloquent, figurative writing that is not necessarily ratiocentric. That’s not just a Western thing, that’s everywhere. And it’s not relegated to mythic stories. Solomon’s Proverbs, Rumi’s verses, all have what Hobbes hates. It’s possible that I’m falling into an ergo propter hoc fallacy by assuming that he would assume these examples of wisdom literature are actually wise. But based on some of his allusions, I don’t think I am.

This is a good time to include my weekly post on memory. Skinner talks about Hobbes’ view of sapientia, staing that “[t]his has its origins in sense and is shaped by the operations of memory, experience being ‘nothing else but remembrance of what antecedents have been followed with what consequents’” (259). Hobbes contrasts sapience—fact of the future—with the “wisdom” of the past. There always will be a tension between the “prudence” of history, which is cultivated through making sense of memory and the “genius” of the future, which is cultivated by questioning established knowledge in order to bring forth social and scientific breakthroughs. Like so much of our gothic and science fiction literature have taught us, we need both.