Deanne berry biography of albert einstein

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Paul Erdős (1913–1996) was a Hungarian mathematician. He considered mathematics to be a social activity and often collaborated on his papers, having 511 joint authors, many of whom also have their own collaborators. The Erdős number measures the "collaborative distance" between an author and Erdős. Thus, his direct co-authors have Erdős number one, theirs have number two, and so forth. Erdős himself has Erdős number zero.

There are more than 12,500 people with an Erdős number of two. This is a partial list of authors with an Erdős number of three or less, including only those who have existing Wikipedia articles. For more complete listings of Erdős numbers, see the databases maintained by the Erdős Number Project or the collaboration distance calculators maintained by the American Mathematical Society and by zbMATH.

This is a dynamic list and may never be able to satisfy particular standards for completeness. You can help by adding missing items with reliable sources.

Zero

One

Two

Three

Einstein crafted and recrafted his credo multiple times in this period, and specifics are often muddled by differing translations and by his reuse of certain phrases in later writing. The Forum and Century entry appears to be the earliest. Some important variants:

The most beautiful experience we can have is the mysterious. It is the fundamental emotion that stands at the cradle of true art and true science. Whoever does not know it and can no longer wonder, no longer marvel, is as good as dead, and his eyes are dimmed. It was the experience of mystery -- even if mixed with fear -- that engendered religion. A knowledge of the existence of something we cannot penetrate, our perceptions of the profoundest reason and the most radiant beauty, which only in their most primitive forms are accessible to our minds: it is this knowledge and this emotion that constitute true religiosity. In this sense, and only this sense, I am a deeply religious man.

— "The World As I See It [Mein Weltbild]" [tr. Bargmann (1954)]

The fairest thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the fundamental emotion which stand

Editor’s Note by Martha Nichols

Why I Love and Hate Nature Writing

In my twenties, I backpacked the Mono Pass Trail in the Eastern Sierras of California. While the dramatic mountain landscape remains in my bones, what I remember most is reading Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God.

Sitting beside a glacially fed stream, I rubbed my sore shoulders and inhaled string cheese. But the paperback propped on my knees had all my attention, as I read Hurston’s description of a rabid dog during a Florida hurricane. Her protagonist Janie gets dragged into the rushing water, trying to swim amid “things that didn’t belong”:

Janie achieved the tail of the cow and lifted her head up along the cow’s rump, as far as she could above the water. The cow sunk a little with the added load and thrashed a moment in terror. Thought she was being pulled down by a gator. Then she continued on. The dog stood up and growled like a lion, stiff-standing hackles, stiff muscles, teeth uncovered as he lashed up his fury for the charge.

When Janie’s husband gets bitten by the dog, he shrugs it off. But a good half century after the setting of that fictional crisis, as I sweated my way among dry boulders and high-desert peaks, I felt a premonitory chill about the story’s next turn. That’s because I’d rather read a book than bushwhack through anything, especially a swamp. As a child, I wanted to be a zoologist, mostly because I loved The Golden Treasury of Natural History. But I soon realized the colorful illustrations were what enthralled me—not to mention the attempt to organize the entire "Earth itself and the sun, stars, and planets that surround it” between two cardboard covers. 

Then, as now, I needed to connect my inner and outer worlds with words. And therein lies my trouble with nature writing. This loosely defined genre includes some of my very favorite books, but it can also raise my hackles as surely as those of Hurston’s dog.

For starters, I bristle at the

Introduction

When the Tilt-a-Whirl ran over my sister's foot, Goldie decided it was time to sell the elephants, not that it was completely her decision. Goldie's father, Martin Lee (the name was changed from Lein during his parents' emigration from Nordfjord, Norway), was the primary owner of the Howard Amusement Co., a traveling carnival with rides, games of chance, sideshows, chimpanzees, and two elephants. Roger Schramm worked as a roustabout at the company, where he met Goldie Lee, leading to their marriage on January 31, 1935, in Howard, SD. This marriage of my parents was not endorsed by their families, who did not attend the wedding. Roger left the farm of his parents during the sixth grade and had no additional education, supporting himself by working as a carnival roustabout in the summer and by running a trap line and working as a mechanic in the winters. In contrast, Goldie Lee was the class valedictorian of Howard High School at her graduation on May 26, 1927, and the daughter of a college graduate electrical engineer. By 1947, the year I turned 6 and Carol's foot had been broken, I was the youngest of three children in the Schramm family. Living on the road for half the year under dangerous circumstances was too much for Goldie. The carnival was sold, and Martin took one of his sons and Roger as partners into Lee Electric Plumbing & Heating to provide family stability. The back shop of Lee Electric was a haven of electrical and metal-working tools, a rich environment for learning mechanical skills. Wayne, my older brother, and I were free to drill, plane, turn, weld, torch, melt, and bend any material at hand, and we did, developing a good understanding of how things work.

Chemistry

My interest in chemistry came early through the apparently common male interest of blowing things up. Wayne, my senior by 6 years, together with the Lutheran pastor's son, had perfected the production of high quality gunpowder using sulfur and sa