The man's name was Terry Parker. He was, like I was at the time, in the RAF. I had just arrived at a hotel in Reading to book in for a course on Faith in the Services ( or similar, cannot recall exact title ), organised by the camp chaplain. He had also been on the same course but held the week before, but he had simply decided to use some leave and stay on, as he liked the hotel so much.
It was about 7PM. I took one look at the weather from the window of the foyer and decided not to go meandering, it was howling gales. So, after eating a rushed evening meal, as you tend to do when you are on your own, I sat in the main bar of the hotel. I looked around for any other on-their-ownsys to see if they looked like RAF types (no uniforms worn on these courses), with the view of getting to know at least one of them before the course started. But, (although I was to find out later that my people-watching had failed and that most of the attendees were dotted all over the bar) I wrongly concluded as one so paranoid tends to do, that they had all gone into a huddle on my arrival and snuck out and got the bus into town without me. But, as I surveyed the room, I almost got the fright of my life as my eyes came back from the middle distance, back to the immediate area of the bar I was sat, when suddenly, a middle aged man wearing what looked like pretend civvy khaki duds or at least those camouflagey type get-ups fisherman wear and upon which they plaster the jacket with feathery fishing hooks, came into my view. He was staring right at me and grinning rather stupidly. After I coughed to cover up the minor fright, he said "RAF? Faith course?" I said yes, and whatever chance I may have had to sidle away and perhaps chance the gales and go to the Stoat and Policeman next door, was gone.
Now, it was to prove rather ironic that I resigned myself to being stuck with a crank, but, if he was a crank, then he was soon to show himself to be an amazing crank. After dismissing the course he had just been on as a load of crap, which really made me feel great, he proceeded to prod and pry a little. I didn't spot it at the time, but, looking back with more guile now than I had then, he was really just trying to find a common interest for conversational purposes. And yes, the thought did cross my mind that it may have been something else at play, but his occasional comments on the wife and three, soon allowed me to dismiss such notions, perhaps naively, but, I guessed right in the end. There was still not the dire need to point and shout, 'Look! Behind you!', and then run off to the Stoaty.
Football and the Olympics were soon exhausted, then by pure chance something happened which led us on to discuss Terry Parker's real passion - Mathematics. I came back from the bar short changed, and after Terry helped me double check that this was the case, (hotels - think of a plumber's salary, double it, add on the national debt of Uzbekistan and you have the beer prices.), then, despite an instance of being short changed not really being a perfect preamble to move on to his life-long vocation of sorts, (tenuosity was Terry's middle name) - no more sport - Maths it was.
After giving a brief summary of his interest in Mathematics, he suddenly said to me, "Now then, can you tell me what two times zero is?" I laughed thinking he was winding me up, but I still answered, and the answer was of course, zero. Terry smiled and said "Maybe - but not always." I immediately went into the 'sorry, not with you there,' routine, and started checking the weather anew through the foyer window. "It all depends," he continued, "and what it mostly depends on, is, what you give the priority to; are you after the end result of what happens to the first figure, or the second?" He had lost me, and I really did hope that this loss really was soon to be the Stoat and Policeman's gain, but he ignored the rather disbelieving countenance of yours truly, and continued. He then said, "It also depends on whether you are simply multiplying numbers for their own sake, or something more tangible." As he had already lost me, he certainly had not found me again at this point. "Er," I said, "I don't get what you are getting at, at all, I am awfully sorry." But within a couple of minutes he had me hooked, and I have to be honest, this part has stayed with me for 30 years and never will leave me; I am not saying he is right for sure, and in recent years various mathematicians have told me that although they have heard all this before, these conclusions (which we'll get to soon) are only arrived at through ignoring the dynamics. I am not a mathematician, so I do not even know what dynamics mean in this context, but, that is the prevailing view apparently. But back to Terry. . . .
"Ok, yes, just using numbers and nothing else does not really help in trying to show you what I mean. But, oranges might do the trick." "Er, oranges?" I replied. "Oranges, apples, gnus, skyscrapers, anything," said Terry. ("Last call for the Stoaty" echoed in my brain), but, I stayed, what the hell. "Ok," he said, "two oranges in a box, with two spare slots for two more oranges; tell me the simplest way of EXPLAINING how many more oranges can go in the box." He stressed the word explaining, because he did not want me just stating what I knew because I knew it. Unusually for me I cottoned on to this bit. " Ok, well, two oranges are in there already, there's two empty slots, so to see what else can go in, then times the two by the two, which is four, but two slots are already filled, so, two more oranges can go in the box, making four in total." "Correct!" enthused Terry. Hoping that this wasn't it, I just smiled awkwardly. I was not too sure if I was glad when he indicated there was more and that that was just for openers. "Ok, now, you have zilch in your hand, well, once you put your ciggy down." (Despite it being all hyperthetical, I lamely put my cigarette out.) "We are now going to give the priority to - nothing," he continued. (Was there another bar in the hotel somewhere?) "So, from nothing, we want two oranges, can you do it?" "Of course not!" I replied. "Correct," said Terry, "because you gave the priority to the zero. Are you with me?" "Nnn--yeah. . . ." I said uncertainly. "Ok, back to our orange box. This time, you don't want to fill the box, just confirm how many you do have; how do you do that?" He caught me on the hop here, but, after tuning back in I eventually said, "Well, two times one, which is still two, so, two oranges." "Correct!" again said Terry, as if I was going to go on to be Stephen Hawking's mentor while sneaking out to tutor Jonathan Miller and Jacob Bronowski. "Ok, now for the interesting bit; the priority is still on the oranges, not the zero; so what, tell me, is two oranges times zero?" "It's still zero!" I retorted, not meaning to be so uppety, but, I couldn't help it. "NO! NO! NO!" shouted Terry all over the bar. There was a deadly silence and everyone looked across. I blushed while Terry adopted a stupid grin and went 360 degrees meekly apologising. "No," he continued, "that cannot be and never has been. I know two times one is two, but, as long as you are giving the priority to the object, usually the first number in the equation although it doesn't have to be, two times zero is also two, it cannot be anything else." Terry's meek and mild disposition was not to last long though. I just could not accept this, as it went against everything that had ever been drilled into me since the age of four and since. But, Terry would not shift. "Ok, one last time, just for me, so, two oranges times zero, what is the answer?" I could do nothing but stick to what I knew. "Zero." I again replied. "NO!" again yelled Terry, but this time he was aided by some Punk Rock blaring out of the jukebox. "If it was zero," he continued, "where have the oranges gone?" This is the bit that threw me, at first, but then I thought again, dismissed it and still stuck to zero. But Terry was insistent. "If we are doing all this with purely filling and emptying and refilling, part refilling etc, the box of oranges in mind, where the ******* hell have all the oranges gone if the answer is zero? Think of what we are saying! We are saying - don't touch them oranges, if you must multiply them, multiply them by zero!!" (He really did swear, but it was funny to hear considering the conversation, and as he was so heated and swollen-necked, I did not point out that 'all' inferred far more than two.)
Sadly (or perhaps not!), at this point, we were asked to leave, Terry had again been heard, even over and above the Sex Pistols. That was my cue to shake hands, but with a solid promise to go and look for two errant oranges.
Well, he had me, I think, but then again, maybe not. In simple arithmetic, which this is really, not high maths at all, does simple multiplication with a tangible object in mind, have its own entity - a sort of barrier so you can never get the answer zero? Or do these mysterious dynamics come into play? One could of course, save yourself a headache, and just eat the oranges.
Anyhow, here's to Terry Parker, wherever you are, here with us somewhere still, or perhaps upstairs now.
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