From Warsaw to Prague, via Lodz

J.D. Phillips

Part 1. How a series of highly improbable events 17 years ago led to an immersion trip to Charles University for senior mathematics majors at Wabash College

Toward the end of my semester at the Banach Center in Warsaw in 1991, before moving on to Charles University in Prague, I was invited by the rector of the Center to join a small group of mathematicians on an excursion to the rector's hometown, Lodz (pronounced Woodge), an industrial city in the center of Poland. The excursion group was composed of Professors Osamu Tanaka (Japan), Swanhilde Goldberg (Germany), Julian Kowalewski (Poland), and me. We left Warsaw by train at first light the next day on the two-hour ride to Lodz.

Toward evening, after a bracing day of winter hiking in the forests near Lodz, it slowly began to emerge that there'd been some sort of miscommunication between Professors Kowalewski and Tanaka, both of whose English skills are less than masterful. Professor Kowalewski, in his official capacity as rector of the Banach Center, thought he had invited Professor Tanaka to give a lecture on ancient Japanese religion in modern Japan to the Lodz Philological Society. Professor Tanaka thought Professor Kowalewski had invited him to Lodz for a day of hiking and sightseeing. Both remained confident in their respective beliefs until precisely 6:00pm when we arrived at our appointed destination in downtown Lodz, in front of an elaborately adorned and rather fetching palace now being used as an auditorium.

Professor Kowalewski was waiting there for us, and to our surprise he seemed especially agitated with his son, who had been serving as our guide. He glanced angrily at his watch. "We must hurry," he kept repeating. The two Kowalewski's argued briefly, with Slavic gusto, in Polish. It was about this time that we three non-Poles spied a poster—Professor Tanaka's name prominently displayed on it—adorning the palace walls. It seemed to be advertising some sort of lecture that was to take place sometime in the near future, but we couldn't make out exactly when. As I slowly translated the Polish words on the poster, and to Professor Tanaka's horror, it became apparent that it was announcing Professor Tanaka's talk on Japanese religion to be delivered at precisely that instant in precisely that auditorium! I don't think I've ever seen quite the same shade of green that Professor Tanaka's face assumed as the horror and magnitude of it all began to become apparent to him.

Paradoxically, as Professor Tanaka's spirit's sank, Professor Goldberg and I began to sense the immense comedic possibilities of the situation as it was presently unfolding. A scene of more promise is hard to imagine, and our two spirits began to soar with happy anticipation. As we climbed the stairs, members of the Philological Society mobbed us. They shock our hands, slapped our backs, made toasts, and began all manner of discourse with us, in Polish, of course. I protested in my weak Polish that we did not speak Polish and that there'd been some sort of mix up. By this point, Professor Tanaka had been reduced to clinging to my arm and desperately begging me to try to fix this horrific mix up. Unfortunately, the society members greeted my protests with laughter—they thought I was joking!

As we stood in the doorway, and caught sight of the magnificent crowd and the splendid auditorium, the enormity of the potential spectacle was confirmed, and to our delight we realized that our faith in mankind's ability to create moments of such divine and absurd comedic perfection was about to be rewarded. Trembling with giddy anticipation at our uncommon good fortune, Professor Goldberg and I were now laughing uncontrollably as we were ushered in, behind the wobbling Professor Tanaka, to a round of enthusiastic and hearty applause. There were oaths of friendship shouted in Polish from the warm crowd. I think I heard Professor Tanaka whimper. We were seated at the head table. Guests of honor, so to speak.

The meeting began with the beaming chairman of the Lodz Philological Society making some rather animated remarks. In Polish of course. He was understandably proud at having secured such an exotic speaker who honored the society by not only his appearance and impending lecture, but also by his appearing with two scientists—one from Germany and one from America. The chairman was in top form. There was applause after each of our names was announced. To which Professor Goldberg and I responded with the sort of uncontrollable laughter that generally only teenage boys are fortunate enough to experience. We reveled in the joy of the impending disaster so much so that I could not look at her and she could not look at me without both of us laughing so hard that we began choking and sobbing. Even Professor Tanaka smiled when he glanced at us now and (although only briefly) appreciated the epic proportions of the comic scene in which he starred. Inevitably, it soon became apparent that we were beginning to offend the Society by our spirited laughter. Not wanting to cause an international scene, we both placed our heads on the table and tried to quit shaking.

Eventually, after many speeches, in Polish of course, a song in Latin (I'm not making this up), and some sort of loyalty oath, Professor Tanaka was introduced. Unable to resist, I lifted my head and snuck a glance at Professor Tanaka's horrified countenance as he shuffled to the podium. Of course I discovered that Professor Goldberg's tear-soaked face was also sneaking a glance and immediately I was seized with fits of laughter. Professors Tanaka, Kowalewski and Goldberg saw this and responded in the following way: Professor Goldberg, owing to our now unbreakable comedic bond, was unable to ward off her laughter, and immediately was seized by a fit of it, forcing her to join me in hiding her face in her hands. Professor Kowalewski, having no idea about the dimensions of the rare event unfolding before his eyes, nonetheless followed suit with robust laughter, for no other reason than his two colleagues were shaking with epic laughter. Professor Tanaka, in the throes of panic for the past 30 minutes, was now seized with the uncontrollable urge to laugh cathartically, which he did, to the audience's horror. This of course caused him to abandon his laughter and return to his state of panic. I think he may have wet himself.

And now he began to stammer through a speech. A speech, much to the chairman's surprise, dominated by his writing of a poem in Japanese characters on the board, but to the confused delight of the audience. And a speech, much to the chairman's surprise, in English.

The only tricky spot in his talk came when he deftly confessed to being an atheist, and to not knowing much about religion. To which the overwhelmingly Catholic audience responded in unison with a single, scandalized gasp. To which Professor Goldberg and I responded by recommitting ourselves to the uncontrollable, gasping that had recently become our laughter. Imagine, speaking about religion to an overwhelmingly Catholic and devout audience and professing one's atheism! It is difficult to imagine a more absurdly funny scene. Of course, his atheism was challenged by a serious young man with almost no command of basic English. A debate ensued that would have become heated had it not fizzled out so soon, owing to the poor English skills of both debaters.

In short order Professor Tanaka decided he'd said enough. There was polite applause. We were all introduced again, to polite applause (which shocked Professor Goldberg and me; we thought that surely our behavior had scandalized the Society), then ushered out. Which ended the funniest event that I've ever been part of, witnessed, read about, or even imagined. Which is really saying something as two days earlier I'd joined the same group on a memorable tour of the Japanese School of Warsaw. I'm not making this up.

Three hours later I was nodding off to sleep on the train back to Warsaw, with a belly full of nauseating raw borscht (another story) and memories of samurai comedy confusion. The last thing I saw before drifting off was a ruddy old Pole in our coach who let his curiosity get the better of him and reached out and touched Professor Tanaka, probably the first Asian he'd ever seen. Four days later I was in Prague laying the groundwork for what would be, 14 years later, the first immersion trip in the history of the Wabash College mathematics department.