Learning to ListenD uring my third week of high school chemistry, our instructor left in the middle of class in obvious pain and passed away shortly thereafter. This sad event could have spelled disaster for a budding career in chemistry, except for the fact that it occurred at Brandywine High School near Wilmington, Delaware, where 2,500 Ph.D. chemists lived in the school district. These included my father, Robert D. Lipscomb, who, like so many of his DuPont Central Research & Development colleagues, was a product of the Roger Adams/Reynold Fuson/Carl "Speed" Marvel/John Bailar, Jr., era at the University of Illinois. Chemistry class was taken over in principle by a substitute, who was an excellent football coach but knew little chemistry. In fact, it became a learning experiment, fed vicariously by a community of nearly unparalleled depth of expertise and, as I came to experience for the first time, an inbred commitment to understanding over learning. Our fathers and mothers taught us every night, and we taught each other in class. We learned to hear how others interpreted the principles of chemistry and to evaluate quickly how this fit into our own framework for understanding. I have used these lessons, both the importance of listening and the commitment to the profession, continuously in the fifty years that have since passed. I have encountered them in one form or another in each of my mentors. My graduate school advisor I. C. "Gunny" Gunsalus said it very concisely: "Science is about 'learning to listen'." Learn to listen to what your collaborators and students say beneath the words and to what experiments tell you beyond your expectations.
CommunicationThese early lessons were reinforced in spades during my time at Amherst College as an undergraduate. At the time, Amherst used a core curriculum, so everyone took the same set of classes in the freshman year, and classes drew context from each other. History was focused on Newton's era the same week that Newtonian principles were encountered in physics, and the physics professor proffered his thoughts on how those principles drove history. Learning to write and scrape away a few protective layers to express how you really understood a problem was a pervasive goal in every class, but especially in the venerable English 1 and 2 courses. In those days, it was perfectly acceptable to hold up a trivial attempt at truth by one of us for class ridicule in anticipation of the one glorious day when our composition was read with a modicum of praise. Trial by fire taught us that communication in all forms that conveys what we actually mean lies at the heart of creative advances of all types, including science. I learned many facts in courses at Amherst, nearly all of which have been superseded by the ferocious pace of the advances that have occurred in all fields over recent decades. In contrast, the lessons in critical writing and communication still resonate, and in a real sense, they are the key to any success that I have enjoyed.At Amherst, I was a chemistry major...