A Ghost Story
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Colin Adams, Editor
A Ghost Story COLIN ADAMS ‘‘
The proof is in the pudding.
Opening a copy of the Mathematical Intelligencer, you may ask yourself uneasily, ‘‘What is this anyway—a mathematical journal, or what?’’ Or you may ask, ‘‘Where am I?’’ Or even ‘‘Who am I?’’ This sense of disorientation is at its most acute when you open to Colin Adams’s column. Relax. Breathe regularly. It’s mathematical, it’s a humor column, and it may even be harmless.
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he rain swept down as the wind whipped the trees into a frenzy,’’ began Kulgan. The circle of conference-goers sat forward in rapt attention. It was late at night, and all the older participants had long ago toddled off to bed. The remaining few, including mostly grad students and postdocs, were huddled around the gas fire dancing over the synthetic logs in the fireplace of the dimly lit bar in the conference hotel. ‘‘I climbed out of my car, and holding a coat about me, I lugged my equipment through the rain into the building.’’ ‘‘What building?’’ asked Rogebolo, a postdoc in discrete continuum theory at Lambert Community University. ‘‘Hogg Hall, the home of the Mathematics Department and the oldest building on campus. It was so old it still contained asbestos.’’ Kulgan’s audience looked at one another in consternation. ‘‘I had been called in,’’ he continued, ‘‘because of the mathematical nature of the phenomena.’’ ‘‘What phenomena?’’ asked Raggert timidly. She was a grad student in commutative nonabelian groups at Intermediate Mountain State. Kulgan turned to look at her through his thick grey eyebrows. ‘‘Calculus books leaping off shelves.’’ With a gesture, he mimicked a book leaping off the shelf. Then he brought his voice low as he leaned forward. ‘‘Calculators found with numbers on their displays that approximated transcendental numbers.’’ There was a small gasp. He swept his eyes across the group. ‘‘And late at night, when only one or two grad students remained in the building, the screech of chalk on a classroom blackboard that when investigated, revealed absolutely nothing written on the boards.’’ A shiver ran through the group. ‘‘Why did they call you?’’ asked Renning. She was a postdoc in linear quadric surfaces at Western Westlake U. He smiled. ‘‘Because I am the expert.’’ ‘‘On what?’’ ‘‘While there may be, perhaps, more than one authority on communication with the dead, I am the undisputed expert on communication with dead mathematicians, both pure and applied.’’ ‘‘There’s no such thing,’’ said Rinkler. He was finishing a PhD in nondifferentiable smooth manifolds at California University of Pennsylvania. Kulgan smiled as he turned to him. Rinkler sat back nervously.
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‘‘Perhaps I should continue my story,’’ he said slowly, ‘‘and you may change your mind.’’ The group nodded encouragement. ‘‘I was greeted by the chair of the department,’’ continued Kulgan. ‘‘She look
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