Absent-Minded Professor

In the first-level restaurant of the Eiffel Tower, high above the rooftops of Paris, 200 guests gathered last week to honor a hero of aviation, Dr. Theodore von Karman, who had reached his 75th birthday. The guest list read like a bluebook of aviation, and most of the guests, now generals, admirals, statesmen or heads of corporations, had known and admired Von Karman and his eccentric genius for decades. Without the principles of aerodynamics that he discovered, they could not be building or flying high-speed modern aircraft.

Born in Budapest in 1881, Scholar von Karman was an assistant professor at the Royal Technical University in 1903, when the Wright brothers made their first flight. Nine years later he was head of the newly organized Aeronautical Institute at Germany's University of Aachen. In 1928 he took a research job at Caltech, settled there permanently in 1930, became a U.S. citizen in 1936.

Vortex Trail. As World War II came near, Von Karman turned more and more to military design. As adviser to the U.S. Army Air Forces, he worked on jet engines, rocket motors, high-speed wind tunnels. Most of his work was theoretical. The principles that bear his name (e.g., the Karman Vortex Trail, the Karman double-modulus theory of columns) have no meaning for laymen (or for most airmen), but modern aerodynamics is based solidly on them.

When asked to talk about Von Karman, air scientists are often at a loss to explain his abstruse theories, but they never lack affectionate anecdotes about the man himself. Never did a genius act more like a genius. Von Karman speaks at least seven languages, but his English carries a heavy load of Hungarian accent. When he used to lecture in the classroom, he supplemented speech with intricate gestures. He often wore a black silk cape and was never without a handkerchief, which he twisted, pulled or even chewed during moments of stress.

Von Karman is the model absent-minded professor. After he returns from a long trip, dozens of hats that he has lost dribble back by mail. During the war he was followed around by a special functionary whose duty it was to pick up secret documents that Von Karman left in taxis or hotel lobbies. He is never conscious of traffic: he crosses the most dangerous highway as if it were a country lane. His driving is as famous as his absentmindedness. A friend once suggested that he get three smashed fenders fixed. "Not yet," said Von Karman. He was waiting until he smashed the fourth.

Von Karman smoked powerful cigars until the doctors made him stop, and his ability to drink without apparent effect is much admired by colleagues. Slivovitz (plum brandy) plays an essential part in his scientific reasoning. "First," explains a colleague, "comes the articulation of the problem, then the complexities of it, then disagreements, then Slivovitz."

Marx Approach. Von Karman never married, but this does not mean that he ignored women. At parties, explains a Caltech professor, he always took "the Harpo Marx approach. He'd walk into a room, glance around for the most attractive woman in the place and make a beeline for her." When he got there, his Hungarian charm took effect. (His favorite definition of a Hungarian: "A man who goes into a revolving door behind you and comes out ahead.")

During most of his life Von Karman lived with his sister Josephine (Pipo), who acted as his secretary and protector. When she died five years ago, his friends feared that he would never recover from the shock. He managed to make an adjustment, and in 1952, when he was 70, Von Karman became chairman of AGARD (Advisory Group for Aeronautical Research and Development), set up by NATO on his recommendation. Its job is to review advances in aeronautical science for application to the defense problems of the Western nations, and Von Karman, with his many languages, eminence and friendship with everyone in the field, is perhaps the only man alive who could make the thing work.

Age has cut down on his Slivovitz, but not his sense of humor, and his eyes still light up at the sight of a pretty woman. His brain works as well as ever. Summing up his long experience, he contrasts the habits of U.S. and European science. "In the U.S.," he says, "we concentrate on 'know-how.' In Europe they work on 'think-how.' Each needs a little of the other's approach."

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