Lunar Landers and Calculus II

Copyright 5-13-17 / 1,763 words
By Jon Kramer

Nonfiction- This took place at the University of Maryland in the early 1980s with George Hecht and I.

We had a problem, George and I, and it was called Calculus II. Being geology students with a bent toward paleontology we could not fathom why we were forced to sit in a lecture hall and take this course in the first place, much less try to excel in it to keep our GPA up with a look toward graduate school. But at the University of Maryland, the geology program falls under the School of Engineering and Calc 2 is a requirement – that’s that.

The instructor was a thin, middle-aged, affable English fellow we called Smiley. He had thinning tousled hair and nearly always wore a rumpled tweed jacket to match. Smiley did his best to make the tedious formulas as entertaining as possible, employing his trademark smirk continuously as he explained f of x, antiderivatives, and Reimann Sums, the cumbersome currency of his trade.

It was an exciting time in the electronic revolution: The PC had come out and was replacing gigantic mainframe computers with small desktop boxes. Jimmy Carter had solar panels deployed on the White House. New cars were converting to electronic ignition. And we all had calculators. Except Smiley. It’s not that he shunned the technology, but rather he would always forget his at the office or misplace it in the lecture hall. As a result, at times Smiley would be cruising breezily along a formulaic freeway, pausing periodically to allow us ragamuffins a chance to catch up, when someone would ask a question that necessitated a quick calculation. The Professor would dart back and forth around the stage looking for his calculator, eventually forced to borrow one from a student in the audience. At that time good calculators cost a bundle and to lose track of one was akin to losing your car keys, or a wallet full of cash and credit cards.

As the semester wore on, the great lecture hall thinned out considerably. This became a point of consternation to the Master of Ceremonies who periodically exclaimed Where is everyone? Smiley found calculus so enriching and exciting he simply could not understand why this vital lifeblood of science was not appreciated by everyone. On occasion he’d say Calculus has gotten us to the moon! Meanwhile some students are wasting their time smoking pot and floating around the Crab Nebula!. Admittedly, George and I were sometimes lumped into the latter category as we were often absent for the hour of enlightenment that Smiley offered. Sometimes sharing a toke of ganja with fellow latent Hippies was a more pressing necessity.

Finally the semester’s end was upon us. George and I had struggle through, if barely, and were dreading the Final Exam as both our grades teetered on the brink. But it was not this fact which led us to concoct the Mathematics Event of the Year. Rather it was a spontaneous combustion of creative frivolity that culminated in the building of the Lunar Lander and hijacking of the school’s audio system.

The evening before our last lecture with Smiley, we invaded the lecture hall with ladders, spools of speaker wire, and a 2 foot tall homemade model of the Apollo Lunar Lander that we’d spent the previous two weeks building. Despite its cardboard construction, it was an imposing device, with the multiple functionality required to complete its mission. The Lander was finished in aluminum foil just like the real thing.

The janitorial crew was naturally curious about what we were up to, but we explained that with “orders from the department” we were preparing for the morrows lecture. With deliberate purpose we set about our mischief, crawling into the drop ceiling, where, out of sight of the maintenance employees we began cutting and splicing wires. We also installed the Lunar Lander, concealing it in the ceiling high above the stage and attached to a series of pulleys that ran zig-zag through the ceiling. It took perhaps 3 hours, but by the time we were done everything was in place. All our systems ran to the back of the hall and down to the final row of seats where George and I usually sat.

Through the grapevine we had alerted all our friends and much of the undergraduate community, as well as the school newspaper, that at the 8:00 Calc 2 final lecture, there was going to be an event not to be missed. Everyone knew something was afoot, although we were very careful to not divulge any details.

George and I got there early. We brough with us a cassette recorder with a tape of Copland’s Fanfare For The Common Man which we plugged into the circuitry we’d installed the night before. We also verified the functionality of the Lunar Lander pulley system and brought its strings down to our seats.

The lecture started much as any other Calc 2 lecture, with Smiley striding purposefully into the stage light at about 7:50am. The hall was packed – people were standing in the aisles and sitting on the steps. More were pressing to get in. Smiley was elated at the turnout – it obviously validated his idea that everyone loved calculus. He clipped on the microphone and announce with pride “Good to see a full house today… it’s about time!” He had no idea….

He got right down to business, recapping the semester’s content. About 15 minutes into the lecture George and I clandestinely took over the show. We started with periodically disconnecting Smiley’s microphone. That was so damn much fun! One second his articulate voice was booming over the speakers, the next he was mere squeaks on the stage. With practice we learned to disconnect him right at the very edge of a point he was about to make. When this happened he’d throw up his hands in frustration and jump over to the podium to check the controls, jiggling the connections and playing with the dials. We’d reconnect his speakers and he’d resume – only to be disconnected again at a critical point. The crowd was snickering, knowing full well this was part of the predicted event but not knowing what to expect next.

Finally we disconnected Smiley from the audio altogether and began rolling the tape. Since we controlled the volume, we started it low – only those closest to the speakers could hear it. Smiley was, of course, back at the podium mumbling and desperately fidgeting with the controls. Very gradually we cranked up the volume. The crowd went quiet as the music came into play. Eventually Smiley heard it as well. He was, at first, not sure where it came from. But as it grew louder and louder he realized it was from the main speakers of the hall. At that point we reconnected his mic in parallel to the overriding audio. He stood at the front of the stage and said ” Honestly, I am not dong this…. I really have no idea what’s going on…”

As the music began to reach a crescendo, out of the ceiling came the Lunar Lander. The crowd went wild! Smiley didn’t see it at first as it was 30′ above his head. But as it came down people pointed at it and he glanced up. “What the….!!!”. he exclaimed as he moved back to watch its descent. The music headed to its climax as the Lander alighted onto the desk in the middle of the stage. Smiley stood, his arms slightly outstretched in disbelief, a look of complete astonishment on his face.

Upon landing, a trigger in one of the Lander feet released an arm that sprang out, extending itself in the Professor’s direction. An envelope attached to the end was addressed to Smiley. He took the note, opened it up and read: “Dear Professor, I have lost my way somewhat and respectfully request directions to the Crab Nebula so as to enlighten those floating around it about the benefits of Calculus. For your troubles I bequeath this latest instrument from our galaxy.”. Whereupon the Lander took off from the desk and went back up into the ceiling as the music faded. But on the desk it left a gift-wrapped package. Inside was the latest Texas Instruments calculator.

By this time the hall was in a riot. Smiley barely controlled his emotions and was on the verge of crying. As he issued profuse thank-yous, the crowd stood and applauded. Eventually the Lander disappeared back into the ceiling and the music faded away. Finally the hall fell silent. Smiley stood there on the stage and said, “This is the most incredible, most astounding, and most beautiful thing to ever happen in my career. I cannot say thank you enough….”

The period was up and the crowd dispersed. The Professor warmly clasped hands and waved as the students filed out. He kept asking how it was done and who had dreamed it up. Scarce few knew the culprits. George and I left like everyone else without telling him. In minutes the stunt was the talk of the campus.

The next day we were working the sandwich line at the Food Coop in the Student Union when who should show up but Smiley. He asked the manager if he could speak privately to George and I. We went outside, not sure what to expect. Smiley told us that it had become his mission to find the perpetrators and explained that a few of our classmates had fingered us. By the huge smiles on our faces he realized that it was true and we confirmed as much. “You guys have no idea what that means to me. It is a life-affirming event!”. He gave us both huge hugs and literally bowed to us upon leaving. ” If you have ANY problem with your Calculus grade, come see me!”. (Thankfully we never needed to.)

As we went back to our Food Coop jobs, we agreed this was better than drugs – No pot could ever get us so high!

AFTER WORDS

George and I went back a few days later and retrieved the Lander. We kept that thing for years and years, trading it back and forth as each of us moved from one place to the next. Eventually we buried it underground in the hopes that one day its fossilized remains will be exhumed and inspire some future geology student to thank their Calculus professor in a creative way.