Does he ever stop?

I hope not. Simon's been dashing about in a bit of a fluster (and at times, a full-on fluster) for as long as I've known him. Of course, that's not nearly as long as some folks here -- I was a student of Simon's from 1998 through 2004. I can't help but bring up a nickname (perhaps not generally used in his company) that I don't take credit for. In the spirit of not naming names, I'll just say that it is a certain red-haired colleague of Simon's from his Cambridge days who sometimes refers to him as "The Whirling Dervish".

I confess that this nickname comes to mind whenever I see or imagine (never voluntarily of course) the classic Simon image: blue- or red-striped short-sleeved button-down shirt tucked into a pair of cargo shorts, legs extending down into a pair of wool socks and Birkenstock sandals (I thought those were for hippies? Is Simon a hippie?). Head slightly down, canvas tote bag swinging behind him as he blasts out the door of his office, turning just in time to miss hitting the opposite wall, and then bustling off at twice the ordinary human's walking speed. Off to where? Who knows. Maybe some class, or other obligation. I guess I'll just come back and try to find him later...

Another image: On a Crustal research group field trip, we spent a night camped on a beach in northern California. Before dark, we all set up our tents among the dunes and driftwood trees (this is redwood country). Later, while wine flowed freely around the campfire, an enterprising student (not me) took it upon himself to move some people's tents to different spots, leaving a number of us surprised when, later still, we made our way by flashlight to our tent spots to find.... an empty patch of sand. Now most of us just followed the marks in the sand to find where the tent was dragged to, checked quickly for any major problems, climbed into sleeping bags and went to sleep. Not Simon. No, Simon's original bit of sand was evidently chosen for a good reason, so he dragged his tent back to where he had put it up, rearranged everything so that it was again just-so, and only then did he climb inside and go to sleep. I didn't actually see it all happen, so I guess this one is more of an imaginary image. But I did note the drag marks in the sand around Simon's tent in the morning, and inquired. I didn't get a clear answer to the question "why?". I think it's just part of being Simon.

Yet another image: I think it may have been the morning after the midnight tent relocation. Group field trip, everyone is packed up, vehicles loaded, ready to go. But where's so-and-so? In the outhouse. So ever-bustling Simon fires up the vehicle he's driving (why we let Simon drive, I have no idea -- our collective sense of self-preservation must have been dulled by the previous night's wine) and drives us to the outhouse, parking just a foot or two in front of the door. And he leans on the horn. This is probably about 7:30am at a state park campground, mind you, with families and cub scouts just waking up. And he just keeps on honking until the rather rattled offender came leaping out of the outhouse, zipping up pants as they jumped into the van. I think it's the grin that was on Simon's face while he was honking that really puts this one together for me -- the 12-year-old boy doing something naughty yet funny, with everyone (except probably the person in the outhouse) sharing a riotous laugh first thing in the morning.

Somehow these images fit together to make a whole person, and (dare I admit it?) a truly top-notch one. Thanks, Simon, for providing the hilarious field trip moments, for being an excellent advisor and mentor, and for putting up with the many many ways in which I fail to meet your criteria. Happy 50th! I'll raise a glass for you on Sunday.

Seth Haines
Boulder, Colorado