My second recollection involves Professor Morisson’s legendary reading speed. Four years later, I somehow got up the guts to ask him to advise my senior project. I recall working for weeks at a time, completing page after page of calculations in my own dreadful handwriting. When I felt I had enough, I would come to Professor Morrison’s office and hand it to him. He would look at each page for approximately one second; the limiting factor was his ability to turn pages. Then he would turn to me and say something like “I think you made a mistake on page 11, where you dropped dropped one of the cross terms….”

Finally, I finished my project just after Professor Morrison fell and injured himself in the late fall of 1982. I took my final draft to him at his home in Harvard Square. I recall entering in his home through a back door and coming into a room dominated by a large table literally overflowing with books. In my minds eye, the pile must have been two feet deep at the center, with the shape limited by the angle of repose for “bookpiles.” More books in stacks on the floor, more on shelves, more in view through every doorway.

Last spring was my 30th Roast. Too many memories to remember. See you next year.