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Tea with Albert Einstein

We depart this month from comments on the local scene. Instead, we want to share with you two stories about Albert Einstein. One can be found in a fascinating new book, Twilight at the World of Tomorrow by James Mauro, our company’s former editorial director; this triggered my own memories of a meeting I had with the father of modern physics.

Just published, Mauro’s book describes the 1939 World’s Fair that was built on the wasteland of Flushing Meadows. The fair’s World of Tomorrow projected a euphoric vision of a peaceful life ahead for America—a theme which became steadily more clouded as the shadow of war descended on Europe, a war that would soon envelop America as well.

The principal actor in the drama is the colorful Grover Whalen, New York City’s legendary super-salesman, who was responsible for the fair’s ultimate success or failure. But Einstein had the cameo role. As Hitler’s legions rolled through Eastern Europe, blatant propaganda aimed at encouraging U.S. neutrality emanated from the German exhibition. Einstein had no illusions about the evil nature of the Nazi regime. He had escaped from Germany rather than be forced to help Hitler develop an A-bomb. Meanwhile, rumors abounded on plots to assassinate him.

Mauro’s book is a lively read in which he recounts Einstein’s warnings to FDR about the threat of German acquisition of the bomb. He paints a colorful and intimate picture of the people and the madness involved with the 1939 World’s Fair on the brink of war, and an America that would be forever changed.

* * * * * * *

Nine years later Albert Einstein, now a professor at the Princeton School for Advanced Study, was living on a quiet side street near the campus but had very little exposure to us lowly undergraduates.

Returning from a class one day, I passed my roommate who casually commented, “Albert Einstein called and wants you to call him.” I ignored this ludicrous remark coming from someone whose campus nickname was “Joker.” But later, after persistent questioning about what Einstein wanted (and well, it wasn’t Einstein himself, but a lady who said she was his companion), I took the bait and called the number.

Sure enough, she explained that Dr. Einstein wanted to find out how he could arrange to sail his boat on Lake Carnegie. He had been referred to me as commodore of the Princeton Yacht Club (a lofty title and even loftier description of a club consisting of an old tin lean-to and four dinghies.) And would I come for tea?

Another roommate, Bob Bolling, an engineering student, begged to come along. (Years later I learned that his uncle was WWI hero Colonel Raynal Bolling, whose statue stands on Greenwich Avenue in front of Havemeyer Park). So, to justify his presence I bestowed on him the title of vice commodore. 

We were met at the door by the good doctor’s long-time companion, an archetypical German hausfrau, who led us up a long stairway to his sunporch. As we looked for our host among tables piled high with books and papers, the unmistakable white-haired mane soon emerged. We discovered that Dr. Einstein’s great love, beyond pursuit of the laws that govern the universe, was sailing. The conversation, with Einstein’s voice intoned in a heavy German accent, went briefly like this:

“You know, I vould love to sail my boat on zee lake. You have a yacht club and boathouse where I can store my boat and my sail?”
“We would be honored, sir, but we don’t really have a boathouse; it’s just an old shed with no doors and not much security.”

“Oh vell, then I guess you don’t have sail lockers either. But you have a launching ramp?”
“Well, not really. We have a dock, but it’s gotten kind of flimsy. Mostly we just push the boats in from the shore and wade in after them.”

“I see. No sail lockers, no launching ramp,” he said, shaking his shaggy locks. “Vell, maybe still. But how can I get there? You see,
I don’t drive a car. You have limousine service?”
(At this point I think a sense of the ridiculous had crept into the conversation.)
“No sir, we ride our bikes there.”

“Vell, I like to ride my bike, but with zee sails over my shoulder?”

Dr. Einstein had obviously concluded that our vaunted “yacht club” was a Mickey Mouse operation. He was, however, a most gracious host. Seeing us to the top of the stairs, he described how he went from one Princeton department to another in pursuit of someone who could tell him how he could sail on zee Lake Carnegie—from the athletic department, to the crew house, to the grounds keeper, etc.—before finally reaching me. Then, with a robust parting shot, he declared, “You see, it vas joust like chain reaction!”
Bob and I nearly fell down the stairs.