Bay Area Morning Commute

On a frosty September morning in 1924, a young Werner Heisenberg boarded the early train bound for Hovedbanegården, Copenhagen Central Station. Only twenty-two years old at the time, he had just completed his post-doctorate habilitation. Such a title typically involved upwards of five grueling years trying to throw as many papers as possible at top European scientific journals (not to mention being some old professor’s personal bitch), though of course Heisenberg managed it in just over one year.

Even so, he had yet to publish his Über quantentheoretischer Umdeutung or the Unschärferelation, the two seminal works that would make his name. This was the reason for which he had come to Denmark, for sitting cross-legged with his warm gaze towards the train doors was none other than Niels Bohr — Heisenberg’s new academic supervisor at the Universitet, soon-to-be mentor, and, though he did not yet know it, future enemy.

The freshly-minted graduate took the adjacent seat, and the two men began to discuss their research. Heisenberg, ever a capable multitasker, allocated two-fifths of his attention — to be sure, already a tremendous volume of intellect — to the cause of entertaining Bohr. But the remainder was spent catching glimpses of the young lady across the aisle. Wow. He had always been attracted to Scandinavian women. Indeed, he was in the midst of constructing something clever to say to her — anything, any pathetic excuse to spawn a conversation, though even at that he was coming up blank — when Bohr finally caught on to the true object of his attention for the past four minutes.

The professor sighed. At that moment, the train came to a halt at Nørreport Station; in strolled a young man of no more than twenty-three years. The newcomer surveyed the empty seats in the car and, without adjustment to his stride, promptly made his way to the seat next to hers. The two strangers began to talk, though the scientists were unable to make out the details. Heisenberg’s first impression was that the fellow was dressed like a banker, so he assumed the contents were nothing too brilliant.

“Well,” Heisenberg muttered as he stared across the aisle, though he never intended to finish the sentence. Bohr turned to him and smirked.
“Well what?”
“I wanted to think of something interesting to say.”
“My dear Werner,” he sympathized, “you cannot say something and have it be intelligent at once. Life is disappointing in this way.”
Heisenberg grumbled in reluctant acknowledgement.
“However,” Bohr qualified, “it does make the world a more interesting place.”