Abstract
The seventh of March in the year 1995 was raw and blustery, typical for the cusp between the cold rain of winter and the somewhat warmer rain of spring in Seattle. The crocuses were up, the daffodils poised; the magnolias were showing signs that equinox would again occur this year, and I took solace in that. I remember being tired that night; my scientific partner and close friend, Bruce Saunders, was visiting from Bryn Mawr College for the week, and as usual we had been talking for hours each day, thinking about our favorite group of animals (the chambered cephalopods), debating, criticizing, insulting each other and our scientific competitors, berating the university administrators who complicated our lives, but doing what we like best—doing science. At each rapidly passing day’s end we were flat; talking all day is as tiring as it is exhilarating, and whoever said that thinking is not hard work should try spending the day with Dr. Saunders. Nevertheless, although home and dinner awaited us, I suggested a detour, for a lecture.