I was having coffee when I noticed the person in the next booth.
What at first had appeared to be a featureless lump of humanity was actually a Black guy wearing a dark shirt and pants. Pulled up around his neck was the collar of an even darker jacket.
In front of him in somewhat orderly fashion were several sheets of paper on which were columns of handwritten words and numbers. An already pushed-aside empty soft drink container indicated he had been there a while.
He was scrunched so far down in the seat and leaning so far forward that the small space between his head and the table was only large enough for a barely visible cell phone. With eyes locked on its screen, he quickly pulled a sheet of paper closer to him and began to scribble some numbers.
Ready to leave, I got up and took the two steps that brought me abreast of his table.
“So, what’s the subject?” I asked.
“Math,” he said while giving me no more than a passing glance.
“Math?”
“Yes. I studied it at Georgia Tech for two years, laid out a year to think, but in a few weeks I’m going back to get my PhD.”
“So, math is it?”
“All the way.”
He hesitated, then looked directly at me.
“Just like that, you ask me a question and it didn’t make any difference to you what color I am. You don’t know how rare that is.”
“It’s interesting you noticed,” I said, “but your good sense of awareness is only the first part. The second part is that I’m holding you accountable to the same standards I would expect from anyone else.”
“And you really believe I’m capable of that?”
“Of course I do,” I said firmly. “If I didn’t, I would have walked away. And before you ask, no, I don’t know why I knew that. I just did.”
“Yeah,” he said, “I can see that.”
Interpreting that as an invite to sit, I accepted but extended one leg outside the booth, a subtle way to indicate I wasn’t likely to overstay my welcome.
The expected chatting came easy. I admitted that in college I had struggled with both math and chemistry. He countered by saying those had been his easiest courses, further proof that the trail he was taking in studying math, a precise and exact science, is a world away from journalism, a profession overflowing with variables and unpredictables.
Although he talked about math quietly and with little apparent emotion, I could tell his attachment to it was firm and coming from deep down. I felt privileged to have the chance to listen to his insights.
One of several points he made was that the field of AI (artificial intelligence) is grossly mislabeled, that it isn’t nearly as superficial as the public has been led to think. Instead, he said, it’s a huge, far-reaching, and history-making undertaking that will require us to take full advantage of mathematics with all its seemingly endless avenues for revealing and expressing.
I thanked him for his insights, then stood. Apparently believing it was also time for him to leave, he slid out of the seat, gathered up his papers and extended a hand with a firm grip.
“I’m Howard,” he said.
“I’m Fred.”
“I enjoyed it,” he said.
“So did I,” I replied, “Here’s wishing you all the best.”
“Thanks, and the same to you.”
If I had even one self-righteous thought, reality would have quickly smothered it. That’s because almost instantly I had been genuinely curious as to what was driving the intensity I saw in him, his brain so solidly engaged in a singular subject that not much else mattered.
He answered my questions and verified my insight about him. Every signal from him told me he was approaching math with both passion and a deep respect for its absolutes.
Most important, me meeting Howard vividly and convincingly demonstrated that not all learning comes from books or through structured channels. During our time together we learned still more about both ourselves and the world at large.
Such exploring is a part of an interesting life — a valuable and often exciting option ready to be chosen and put into service by anyone, anywhere, and at any time.
Oh yes, one more thing. As to the accuracy of the conversation as I have expressed it, I wrote this column immediately after Howard and I parted ways. I haven’t seen him since.
