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of the mass of a proton. This was not your grandfather’s nucleus anymore.The particle zoo would have been a fascinating area of research to go into, I’m sure, but by a happy accident, the skills I’d learned for measuring radiation emitted from the nucleus turned out to be extremely useful for probing the universe. In 1965, I received an invitation from Professor Bruno Rossi at MIT to work on X-ray astronomy, which was an entirely new field, really just a few years old at the time—Rossi had initiated it in 1959.
    MIT was the best thing that could ever have happened to me. Rossi’s work on cosmic rays was already legendary. He’d headed a department at Los Alamos during the war and pioneered in the measurements of solar wind, also called interplanetary plasma—a stream of charged particles ejected by the Sun that causes our aurora borealis and “blows” comet tails away from the Sun. Now he had the idea to search the cosmos for X-rays. It was completely exploratory work; he had no idea whether he’d find them or not.
    Anything went at that time at MIT. Any idea you had, if you could convince people that it was doable, you could work on it. What a difference from the Netherlands! At Delft, there was a rigid hierarchy, and the graduate students were treated like a lower class. The professors were given keys to the front door of my building, but as a graduate student you only got a key to the door in the basement, where the bicycles were kept. Each time you entered the building you had to pick your way through the bicycle storage rooms and be reminded of the fact that you were nothing.
    If you wanted to work after five o’clock you had to fill out a form, every day, by four p.m., justifying why you had to stay late, which I had to do almost all the time. The bureaucracy was a real nuisance.
    The three professors in charge of my institute had reserved parking places close to the front door. One of them, my own supervisor, worked in Amsterdam and came to Delft only once a week on Tuesdays. I asked him one day, “When you are not here, would you mind if I used your parking space?” He said, “Of course not,” but then the very first day I parked there I was called on the public intercom and instructed in thestrongest terms possible that I was to remove my car. Here’s another one. Since I had to go to Amsterdam to pick up my isotopes, I was allowed 25 cents for a cup of coffee, and 1.25 guilders for lunch (1.25 guilders was about one-third of a U.S. dollar at the time), but I had to submit separate receipts for each. So I asked if I could add the 25 cents to the lunch receipt and only submit one receipt for 1.50 guilders. The department chair, Professor Blaisse, wrote me a letter that stated that if I wanted to have gourmet meals I could do so—at my own expense.
    So what a joy it was to get to MIT and be free from all of that; I felt reborn. Everything was done to encourage you. I got a key to the front door and could work in my office day or night just as I wanted. To me, that key to the building was like a key to everything. The head of the Physics Department offered me a faculty position six months after my arrival, in June of 1966. I accepted and I’ve never left.
    Arriving at MIT was also so exhilarating because I had lived through the devastation of World War II. The Nazis had murdered half of my family, a tragedy that I haven’t really digested yet. I do talk about it sometimes, but very rarely because it’s so very difficult for me—it is more than sixty-five years ago, and it’s still overwhelming. When my sister Bea and I talk about it, we almost always cry.
    I was born in 1936, and I was just four years old when the Germans attacked the Netherlands on May 10, 1940. One of my earliest memories is all of us, my mother’s parents, my mother and father and sister and I, hiding in the bathroom of our house (at the Amandelstraat 61 in The Hague) as the Nazi troops entered my country. We were holding