142,857

I see Mr. Raedecker, the algebra and calculus teacher, sitting in a classroom, grading papers. Mr. Raedecker weighs about 250 pounds, and stands over six feet tall. I think that he is about 60 years old. He is mostly bald, with a fringe of dark hair at the back of his head. His huge eyes are a bit yellowish, with brown irises. His nose juts out like the bill of a finch, and his jowls sag. He wears the same type of outfit every day - the same mustard yellow tie, white collared shirt, four-color pen in pocket, and matching sport coat and pants. Today it is a powder blue - sometimes it is a chocoloate brown, sometimes green - but never khaki or navy blue. Although he looks funny, I like Mr. Raedecker. He was a radio engineer at one time, and has an extremely dry sense of humor. From what I hear, he retired sometime in the late nineties, just before the tech bubble ended, and is said to be well off. I heard from my friend Janice that he was thoroughly bored of travel and no longer in good enough shape to play tennis, so he volunteered to teach math.

So I ask Mr. Raedecker about the true meaning of i.

He looks at me, and gives my question serious thought. That is one thing that I like about Mr. Raedecker. Even though I am just a student, he does not look down at me. He gave me an answer of sorts.

"It depends on what you are looking for. When I worked with electronic filters, we actually used imaginary numbers, if you can believe that. Except we called them j. It just so happens that there is a correspondence between imaginary powers (such as e to the j), and something called a sine wave. Someone named Charles Steinmetz was the first to figure it out. Makes the calculations a heck of a lot easier. To explain it would take me the better part of a lecture."

"That sounds nice, but it was not what I was really looking for," I say. "I am thinking of it in terms of, well, something mystical. Something that gives insight into why things are the way they are, and maybe find something that nobody has found before."

"Ah."

"You were an engineer. A real practical man. You think I am just being silly."

"I think that you are just being a young person, doing what young people should be doing, and that is learning about the world, and seeing it in new ways. That is where all progress comes from. What we give you here is some tools. Hopefully, there will come a time where you can use them to gain insight into something wonderful. The algebra of phasor notation is beautiful, at least to me. It helped create the revolution that allowed us to build radios, television, telemetry, and a whole bunch of things that many people now take for granted. Beyond that, though, the fact that it works at all is damned cool. But because it is used for something practical, is no longer novel, and is buried in mathematical notation that frustrates many, there are few that appreciate its beauty."

"Uh, thanks."

"It is not much of a help, I am afraid. If it helps, I think that you are on to something. Just let it percolate. You can't force inspiration. I got most of my best ideas while I was doing mechanical work - such as mowing my grass or replacing some plumbing. Now if want a mysterious number, ponder 142,857."

"What is so mysterious about 142,857?"

"Multiply it by 2, and then 3."

I do so. 285,714 ... 428,571...

"I don't get it."

The bell rings. I have to be in my next class. "Keep multiplying it," he says. If you cannot figure it out, I will let you know tomorrow."

My next class is English literature. The Canterbury Tales. This is going to be tough sledding, having to work between the old-style English and the gloss. The teacher is saying something, but I have tuned it out.

1. Bored, I fiddle in the margins, multiplying the number Mr. Raedecker gave me. 571,428 ...
2. The teacher asks me a question.

Add New Option

Go Back

View Forward Story Tree
View Back Story Tree