Galileo’s Feet
Heroes are few and far between. I suffer from hero-worship. I discover someone, never encounter their faults, believe that they can do no wrong, and then I find them completely human. I haven’t yet found flaws (what I judge flaws) in Galileo. He’s the “father of modern physics”, “father of science”, without whom I could not understand two-body motion, which led to tracking algorithms, which led to collection systems, which led to … Adobe? Well, I had to make a decision way back when. Rule of thumb in the government contracting business was that I had to make a decision in the third to fifth year of my employment – did I stay in government contracting or leave for the commercial world. It was a hard decision for me. I enjoyed what I did. I even understood most of the systems that I worked on. I had a future. I had a career path.
Those days were heady, exciting days. Apple was thriving, IBM was competing, start-ups were starting all over the place. The smell of new riches was swamped by the smell of new product excitement. So when I had the opportunity to jump, I jumped – right into Adobe on Embarcadero. Adobe was a small company with a phenomenal product, PostScript. PostScript literally revolutionized printing. My husband used to say that I was part of the big force that brought down the iron curtain, unfroze the cold war.
From the day I started I felt like I was walking around with a crick in my neck – I kept looking up at these giants that prowled the halls. I was working at Adobe – with these talking, walking heads! My first office was a door away from Chuck Geshke’s office. I was terrified to walk to the end of the hall in case I said or did something stupid – and then he’d ask why they hired me. Don’t get me wrong – this was a very nice group of people. They didn’t eat people for breakfast. They always answered my questions. And they thought I had something to offer.
Sometimes I felt like I needed to pinch myself to know that I was working in a real place. The more I understood the product, the more I dealt with the PostScript core, the more I hung out in the dining room, the more my admiration grew.
There never seemed to be a dress code, but the male engineers all seemed to have a common look – blue jeans, flannel shirts, beards. It was so funny that for one Halloween the female engineers (we were only a handful) put on blue jeans, flannel shirts, and fake beards. What a riot.
When we moved into the building in Mountain View we acquired a very nice dining room. In those days the engineering staff was small enough that we congregated around a few tables. One day I sailed into the dining room late, and there was only one seat left. I knew everyone on staff (we weren’t that many), so a new face surprised me. There was another blue jeaned, flannel shirt, beard (ok, only a few days old). He seemed like the real thing, like this was the model everyone was emulating.
I sat down and said, “Hi, my name is Susan Kleiman.” He replied, “My name is Domumble mumble.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t get that. You are?”
“I’m Don Knuth.”
At which point I fell off my chair. To his feet. To modern Galileo’s feet. The father of computing. At his feet.
Everyone had a good laugh, including me. But when I got up and sat on my chair I did not open my mouth I was so in awe of him.
My opinion has not changed. He is truly himself. I may not agree with his politics. I might not have agreed with Galileo’s either. Don Knuth is a great man, a great scientist, and one of my few heroes.
They look alike, don’t you think?















