Notes on Nobelity
I am an early riser, and I had finished my breakfast, brushed my teeth, and was on the way out the door of my Fairfax townhouse, when the telephone call from Stockholm came at 6:32 a.m. on 16 October 1986. My schedule called for a half-day's work at George Mason University before driving down the Shenandoah Valley in October's colorful splendor to my country place, tucked deep in Virginia's Applachians. My wife, Ann, had been at the country place all summer; we had not yet made the semi-annual, quasi-move from the country place to Washington's suburbia, a move that we delay each year as long as possible.
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