Figure 18.4 Daniel Peña and me in Spain.
The new university has now become a great success with three campuses. It has a student body of approximately 20,000, including graduate students. The main site in Getafe, a suburb of Madrid, has an intimate campus composed of modern buildings arranged around quadrangles. The other campuses are located in Colmenarejo, in the mountains north of Madrid, and in Leganés, just northwest of Getafe. The Scientific and Technological Park at Leganés, which is managed by this university, is the largest in Spain and one of the largest in Europe. It is the commitment to technological innovation that has defined Carlos III since its inception.
There is a considerable international presence here, with seven of the graduate programs taught entirely in English. In a short time, the university had developed three faculties (Law and Social Sciences; Humanities, Communication and Documentation; and the Higher Polytechnic School). These offer over 40 undergraduate as well as doctoral programs.
I have received other honorary doctorates but not like this one. Assisted by our wives, Daniel, the Chancellor, and I got dressed up in splendid gowns with extraordinary beaded hats amid much merriment in the Chancellor's office. At the ceremony, we were led in procession by a line of musicians who played as we entered the hall, where the faculty sat solemnly arrayed in the same finery. Daniel presented me to the Chancellor, who bestowed a number of gifts upon me: white gloves to represent the “purity of my research,” a necklace, and a ring. I was also given two massive volumes that were copies of the first edition of Cervantes' Don Quixote. These symbolized the gift of knowledge.
As part of the ceremony, Daniel presented the “laudatio,” which explained why I was being given the honorary degree. In it, he detailed the usual highlights, but I was especially happy when he said, “One of the most rewarding learning experiences in my life was to attend the Beer and Statistics Seminar that George Box runs in the basement of his home in Madison, Wisconsin. … In the open and exciting discussion that follows the … talk I felt as [I have nowhere else] that science is a unique adventure that we approach from different corners [while sharing] a common method and a common perspective: the search for the truth and the understanding of the world and of ourselves.”
The ceremony in Madrid gave Claire and me the chance to see a number of dear friends. Albert and Tina came from Barcelona, and we spent happy days in Madrid with them and with Daniel and Mely, who were gracious and generous as ever. The six of us visited the majestic Escorial, at the base of Mt. Abantos, in the town of San Lorenzo de El Escorial, about 28 miles northwest of Madrid. Built of the local gray granite, the Escorial is an impressive compound constructed between 1563 and 1584 by King Phillip II of Spain. Phillip was a Catholic and a deeply religious man, and he dedicated the structure to the glory of God. A few years later, he sent the Armada to England to depose the Protestant, and in his view illegitimate, Queen Elizabeth. The formidable complex houses a monastery, a basilica, Phillip's palace, a pantheon of kings and queens, a library, a museum, extensive gardens, and an art gallery featuring paintings by Titian, Tintoretto, El Greco, Velázquez, José de Ribera, and many others.
We were the only visitors that day, and we were hosted by a Dominican monk, Dr. Agustín Alonso, who was the director of the economics school there. He carried a spectacularly large bunch of keys and promised to show us anything we wanted to see. Dressed in the full habit, he showed us many treasures of this remarkable place. This was followed by a spectacular lunch in his rooms. We had a very happy time together, with good wine, and afterward found ourselves in a spontaneous line dance where we rocked to the tune of In the Mood (Figure 18.5).
Figure 18.5 Albert Prat, me, and Daniel Peña at El Escorial in Spain.
Having resolved to write a book, Alberto and I needed more time to work together than was allowed by summer visits. In 1995-1996, Claire and I spent a year in Santander, the first of our extended stays in Spain. To learn some Spanish in preparation for our first visit, Claire and I took an evening course at our local community college. After a week or two, it became clear that I was hopeless, and I gave it up. Claire, on the other hand, was a very able pupil. Once we were in Spain, she became competent in the language in a very short time. My Ph.D. student, Ernesto Barrios, who was from Mexico, came with us that year and greatly facilitated our lives because he knew the language.
Alberto and Marian found an attractive apartment for us overlooking the sea front. They also found us a remarkable cleaning lady, Conchi. She turned out to have many talents: She was an excellent cook, she could do the shopping, and she generally looked after our interests. When our toilet leaked, the landlady decided not only to replace it, but also to have the whole bathroom redone. The workmen were slow, very noisy, and smoked excessively. Conchi tore into them like a whirlwind, exclaiming that they were “disturbing the Professor!” She insisted that they not smoke, be quiet, and get on with the job. They complied.
One remarkable feature of Santander is its fishing fleet. Every day except Sunday, they go out into the Atlantic Ocean to catch a wide variety of fish that are sold in a large fish market in the city. The kitchen in our apartment was a challenge because we had just two burners and a microwave, and if we used these simultaneously, a fuse blew. There was a particular fishmonger to whom Claire had explained this situation. He was sympathetic, so on each visit, we would join the queue at his counter, and when our turn came, he would consider the problem of our culinary limitations in the light of the varieties of fish that he had at the time. After careful deliberation, he would make a recommendation and explain exactly how we should proceed to cook the chosen fish using our limited resources. This held up the queue, but those waiting mostly seemed entertained.
The sands at Santander are beautiful, and at the west end of the town, they are exceedingly wide. I've seen two side-by-side football games on the sand at the same time. To the east, however, the beach becomes narrower, and when the tide is in, the sea comes right up to the embankment.
One morning quite early, Claire and I walked down to the east end of the beach. The tide was not fully in, but when we arrived, we saw a good-looking car stranded in the sea. The rule was that no cars were allowed anywhere on the beach. Two youths had apparently ignored this and driven the car onto the sand the previous night. They were frantic. The sea had come in behind them and had cut off any retreat. The only way out was up some very steep steps.
We watched a pantomime that went on for about 45 minutes. First the police came and there was much shouting in Spanish, but no progress was made. Then a small crowd of people assembled, very voluably offering advice. Then a man who was presumably the father of one of the boys appeared. He was quite upset to see his car in a process of slow inundation by the sea. Finally the crowd had to make way for the fire brigade. Ropes were produced, and two stalwarts in galoshes attached them to the car. Eventually the car was drawn sedately by the fire engine through the sea and then pulled with great clanging up each of the steep steps. Once on the road, it was lost in the crowd, so whether it could be driven or what happened to the boys, we never discovered.
I had an office at the University of Cantabria, where Alberto taught. My Spanish never improved much, unfortunately, although communicating with professors and students presented no problem because they spoke English. But there was a woman caretaker in the building who spoke absolutely no English. After a few failed attempts at conversation, I discovered that we had both studied French in school, so we had fun speaking simple phrases to each other—sometimes surprising those around us.
A short distance from where we lived there was a convenient general shop that sold things like cigarettes, bus tickets, and candy. We became friendly with the shopkeeper who told us that he planned to take a trip to England with his wife and daughter. Claire organized a small class in English for him and his family. The man clearly wanted to reimburse Claire for her trouble so he gave her cigarettes—single packs to start with and later entire cartons. Clai
re didn't smoke but was hesitant to tell him, so she gave the cigarettes to Ernesto, who was a smoker. The cigarettes were American Chesterfields, and Ernesto would have nothing to do with them. His girlfriend wouldn't touch them either, so they were passed on again, and again, until they were finally accepted by someone who must have been desperate for nicotine. Two of Claire's pupils, the wife and daughter, were apt students, but like me, the shopkeeper made no progress learning a new language.
Early on in our stay we had purchased a very nice used English car—a Rover—that had belonged to a researcher who was spending a year in the United States. He had bought it from a garage owner he knew. Rover cars had an excellent reputation, and remarkably, the owner of the garage said that after a year, when we returned the car, he would buy it back from us for almost the same amount we paid for it.
On the morning we were leaving the country, I was waiting with the owner of the garage for Claire, who was bringing the car. After a time I could see a car progressing slowly down the long straight road and from it came great puffs of black smoke and a series of explosions. Quite properly, Claire had stopped at a gas station to refuel the car before returning it. Unfortunately, she had accidentally filled it with diesel fuel.
Although our book was published in 1997, Alberto and I shared many interests. So in 1998–1999, we arranged to live in Santander once again. This time we stayed in an apartment in the Hotel Las Brisas, across the street from the bay. As always, we had wonderful times with our friends, sharing meals and conversation, walking the beach and visiting parts of northern Spain. Claire and Marian were like sisters. They used to meet for coffee, as they were both aficionados of the drink. The first time we lived in Santander, Marian would speak in Spanish and Claire would reply in English. This caused a few looks from others, but it worked well for them.
By this time Peque was four, and even though Claire was making great progress with her Spanish, Peque's Spanish was improving at an even faster pace. When Peque heard something that sounded incorrect, she would say, “No, Claire, you don't say it that way.” She and Claire had many opportunities to practice, as Claire would sometimes pick her up after school when Marian had to work late, and they would make a trip to a local shop for a supply of candy.
In Spain we celebrated holidays with Marian, Alberto, and the children, and one custom for New Year's Eve that I thought was intriguing was the eating of 12 grapes, one with each of the 12 midnight chimes. This brought good luck, but I never managed to eat the grapes in time, so I will never know if it worked.
While we were in Spain, we also had visitors from home. Harry and his girlfriend, Stacey, came to stay with us and surprised us by announcing their engagement (Figure 18.6). We enjoyed touring the area with them, and they had an opportunity to explore on their own. We went to Comillas one day, a beautiful village not far from Santander. There we visited “El Capricho,” a fanciful and fun summer residence built by Gaudí in 1885–1887 and one of his earliest buildings (Figure 18.7).
Figure 18.6 Stacey and me.
Figure 18.7 Me, Gaudi, and Harry.
We have not been able to return to Spain since our last visit, but we are in close contact with our friends, whose warmth and generosity made Spain a special place for us. Today Mosqui, who is now called “Alberto,” is 28 and currently works in the film industry in Toronto. Peque, now “Marian,” is a promising student in her first year of college in Barcelona. Their parents are well and deservedly proud of their offspring. Daniel is thriving in Madrid, where he is now rector of his university. Sadly, we lost Albert Prat, who died suddenly on January 1, 2006. He was an excellent statistician and industrial consultant, and moreover, he was a fun-loving man whose generosity knew no bounds.
1 Statistical Control: By Monitoring and Feedback Adjustment, John Wiley & Sons, New York, 1997. We received the Brumbaugh Award for our paper, “Discrete Proportional-Integral Adjustment and Statistical Process Control,” Journal of Quality Technology, Vol. 29, No. 3.
2 For more on the pension and on the Blue Nuns, see L. Inturrisi, “A Monastery Stay: Expect the Austere,” The New York Times, Oct. 1, 1989.
Chapter Nineteen
The Royal Society of London
I have been fortunate to receive a number of awards, but I was particularly honored to be elected a fellow of the Royal Society of London in 1985. Next to the Nobel Prize, this is the most distinguished scientific honor you can receive in Great Britain. The Royal Society was inaugurated in 1662 by King Charles II, and since then every British monarch has been a patron of the Society since its inception.
The original document I received from the Society contained stern wording:
21 March 1985
Sir,
We have the honor of acquainting you that you were today elected a fellow of the Royal Society in consequence of which the Statute requires your attendance for admission on or before the fourth Meeting from the day of your election or within such further time as shall be granted by the Society or Council, upon cause shown to either of them, otherwise your election will be void.
You will therefore be pleased to attend at half past four of the clock in the afternoon on one of the following days, cviz:-
Thurs. 28 March Thurs. 18 April
Thurs. 25 April Thurs. 2 May
We are,
Sir,
Your Obedient Servants
[Citation: Letter dated 21 March 1985 from the Royal Society of London [UK] to George E.P. Box requesting his presence to accept the position of elected fellow.]
Before the ceremony, the secretary of the society showed us the book that contained the signatures of all the previous fellows (about 8,000 in number). It was humbling to see on these pages the signatures of, for example, Isaac Newton, Charles Darwin, Michael Faraday, and Watson and Crick.
At the ceremony, I was provided with a pen with a nib and an inkwell and I was asked to be careful not to blot the book. At its inception, Charles II gave the society a solid gold mace. In the fellowship ceremony, I took the hand of the president over that mace.
Chapter Twenty
Conclusion
Now a careful reading of Alice in Wonderland tells me that I should begin at the beginning, go on to the end, and stop. So if you got that far, you'll recall that I'm color blind, lack finger prints, and am 93. And you've probably guessed that I can't type, nor do I use a computer. None of these facts keep me from wondering what comes next. I'm thinking ny next project will be…
Chapter Twenty One
Memories
Here are a few excerpts from letters given to me on my 65th birthday in 1984:
I fondly remember, among others, these “labors of love” over the past years: Proofreading BH2, helping Ron Snee with your “Practice and Theory” videotapes, and helping Bill Hunter, Bovas Abraham and Kevin Little with putting together this volume of letters. I wish you the best of health and everything else for the next 26 years!
Steve Bailey
P.S. Here's one more “Factional fact”: How many persons attended the “Wisconsin dinner” at the ASA Meetings in Philadelphia last month? Why, exactly 64 (or 26 ), of course!
You stimulated us to learn within the classroom, but like all master teachers, you also provoked us to spend much more time outside of lectures probing and arguing with each other and exploring this unfamiliar territory that held such a special fascination for each of us. From you we learned the importance of regarding published material with polite (and sometimes impolite) skepticism and the reality of the continuing iteration between conjecture and evidence. For those of us who would continue to be involved in research, this was an essential lesson. You also served as an incomparable role model for those of us who would become statistical consultants. The “real world” problems you assigned us, your joint discussion with us concerning these problems, and your restrained but incisive criticisms of our proposed solutions have had a lasting influence. Finally, for those of us whose subsequent careers have involved teaching, your expo
sitory skills will be recalled most vividly. The careful presentation, the enthusiastic but sensitively paced presentation, the marvelous use of geometric illustration, and the ever present good humor were combined to create a classroom experience which we can only try to emulate.
David W. Bacon
I'm sitting on my boat anchored in Hope Town Harbor in the Bahamas on a beautiful warm sunny day reminiscing about some of the experiences we shared such as:
—seeing you in action for the first time at an Army Experimental Design Conference in Raleigh during the first week of my graduate studies and then meeting for the first time later that night amid a shower of jokes over a “few” drinks with Sig, Stu, Mike, and Maurice at our apartment.
—the absolutely marvelous summers at Old Bald Smith and Gauss Houses at Princeton with STRG (Statistical Research Group). Never was a PhD thesis started with more enjoyment and stimulation. I probably never thanked you for the opportunity provided but now I do!
Don Behnken
I have many memories of a kind man with many other interests. One who likes Shakespeare plays, Bergman movies, Mahler symphonies, as well as those old radio “Goon Shows,” and who does excellent imitations of Peter Sellers. I remember a man sitting at a usually cluttered desk in an office, trying to locate a ringing phone hidden in one of his desk drawers. I remember rollicking Christmas parties at your house where students and professors mixed in an informal atmosphere and could poke fun at each other in skits they had written themselves. The highpoint was usually the song sung by you and Norman Draper. I remember a kind man deeply concerned about social issues. I still have one of your bumper stickers that called for Nixon's impeachment. I remember a distinguished academician who in his colorful Tudor academic regalia walked with me through graduation. It even got us a spot on the local evening news.
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