Where Pi Gives Way to Pie

BY PHILIP MONTGOMERY
Rice News Staff

Out of all the tables in the Cohen House dining room, only one has a nickname: It’s called "the math table" and is known far and wide.

Before he joined the Rice faculty, Professor of Mathematics Robin Forman was teaching at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. When he told his MIT colleagues in ’86 that he would be taking a position at Rice, one of them said, "Oh, you’ll like it there. Everybody eats lunch together."

Do they ever. Members of the mathematics department have been dining at the same southeast corner table every day since the mid ’80s.

Their tradition of meeting for lunch on a daily basis actually dates back to the ’60s. In those early days, the group would sometimes go to Alfred’s delicatessen in the Rice Village.

But now that they’ve found their favorite spot, they see no reason to eat anywhere else.

The reason they gather for lunch every day? It is simply a pleasant tradition and "a nice aspect of how well the department gets along in general," says David Metzler, the Evans Instructor in Mathematics.

Just about everyone who dines at Cohen House knows about the math table, says Faculty Club waiter Rob Elfine, a Shepherd School graduate student. "Even if there wasn’t a reserved sign at the table, if it’s around noon the other faculty know not to sit there."

He can think of one exception. Last July, a professor from another department came in with a large group, and he apparently didn’t see the reserved sign. His group claimed the table, and when the mathematicians arrived, they were forced to sit somewhere else. Practically speaking, it wasn’t a problem; there were only four mathematicians that day, and they had no trouble finding a vacant "four-top."

Still, "it was a dark day at lunch," quips student waitress Alexis Biedenfeld. "Everyone knew something was very amiss."

Mathematicians have a reputation for being dry, but this is a fun-spirited bunch. Biedenfeld recalls that when a visiting math scholar from Belgium dined at the math table, a few of the math professors called her over. She assumed they wanted more butter or tea. But they wanted to let her know that the man from Belgium was having brussels sprouts. Quick on her feet, Biedenfeld went to the kitchen and came back with some Belgian chocolate that she placed on a dish of ice cream and served to their guest.

At the math table there is only one rule, says John Polking, professor of mathematics: "We don’t talk about mathematics." They do cover movies, politics and other current events and sports.

With tongue in cheek, Polking compares his rectangular lunch table to the Algonquin Round Table inhabited by the legendary New York literati of decades past. Polking says, "There are some who believe we put them to shame."

"They’re seeking treatment," says Metzler.

Metzler mentions to his colleagues that he is taking tap dancing lessons on campus. Forman says, "When my mother was a child, she tap danced on the radio."

Replies Metzler, "There was enough room on top of the radio?"

Reflecting on the math table’s fame, Forman recalls that they were once the subject of a bizarre fantasy on the Rice Thresher Back Page. And, says Metzler, "When I was an undergrad 10 years ago, the math table was a common subject of discussion among Cohen House waiters."

It still is. Faculty Club waiters have been known to add special touches when setting up the math table. One day, the waiters covered all the dining tables with blue tablecloths, except for the math table, for which they chose yellow. Once, all the napkins at the math table were folded decoratively, each in a different way. Another time, the wait staff put frost on the window, spelling out a holiday greeting to the mathematicians.

The reason they provide the math professors with the special touches is that they want to honor the longstanding tradition and, Elfine observes, "they’re probably the most low-keyed bunch around, and we’re curious to see if they’ll notice."

The mathematicians do draw others into their sphere. Among those who sometimes join them are President Malcolm Gillis; Albert Van Helden, the L.S. Autrey Professor of History; Alan Grob, professor of English; and Stephen Baker, professor of physics.

In some ways the math table is like a club, with its own traditions and customs. Metzler reveals that when walking to lunch, he and his colleagues always take the same route from Herman Brown Hall to Cohen House, and it isn’t the shortest way. And they take a different route from Cohen House back to their offices. Metzler says he once tried going his own way and a department colleague convinced him to take the prescribed path.

When the group is asked to explain the custom, Forman offers a theory: "When you leave a building, your tendency is to walk straight for as long as you can." Of course, with this group any shape of path would likely do: It seems that all roads lead to the math table.