In 1970, Mark Geier, a former Ping-Pong player with a talent for strategy, sought to learn tennis. He wore distinctive glasses and had muttonchops, reflecting his unconventional personality. Geier proposed to teach Carl Merril, a passionate researcher, the game in exchange for job assistance. At the time, scientific advancements were flourishing, with notable achievements in technology and health. Geier quickly adapted to laboratory techniques but was perceived as a bit lazy. The connection between tennis and scientific curiosity became apparent in their collaboration at NIH.
Geier played tennis like he played Ping-Pong, and he played Ping-Pong like he played chess. He didn't win on strength; he won on intelligence and intuition.
Merril was a man who, as a child during summers on Long Island, had delighted in learning advanced math. He mystified a lot of his NIH colleagues by studying bacteriophages.
In 1970, Mark Geier showed up at a tennis court wearing round plastic glasses and thick muttonchops, possessing a disdain for authority and a belief in his own cunning.
At that point, science was ascendant - a miracle, a religion. The first ARPANET message had just been sent, the first artificial heart implanted.
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