Grrr. I could have gone on forever on this topic, even with no audience, but the dean was back on track, having straightened out her face.

“The complaint mentioned, in particular, bolts of lightning and fireworks.”

An image of Tesla came to me. Today we would have called him an outside-the-box thinker. One day he’d be experimenting with electromagnetism as a route to time travel, and the next he’d ply himself with enough current to discharge sparks that would make the crackling at our little Franklin party seem hardly worth the trouble.

I called up last Friday in my mind. Almost a week ago. We didn’t have fireworks exactly, but we did create a healthy display of static electricity. On my phone, I had a photo of one student with her long red hair standing out straight from her head. I thought it best not to show the dean.

“The physics majors put together a demonstration of one of Tesla’s experiments. It was spectacular, but harmless, really,” I told the dean.

I spent the next few minutes explaining our custom of monthly parties honoring mathematicians and scientists. I’d been through this description a number of times. Did this dean not listen? Was she too busy being the fashion police? Or did Dean Underwood simply have a short memory for practices she didn’t like?

I gave it my best, final shot. “There’s more to these gatherings than cake and loud noises. The science and math majors research the scientist or mathematician with the birthday of the month and present reports and demonstrations.” I waited for a response. There was none. “I guess this month’s meeting was especially animated,” I added.

I hoped for a compliment on what had been my own inspired idea. I could trace it back to my parents, who’d named me after the eighteenth century French mathematician, Sophie Germain. Sophie and I shared a birthday-April first. We celebrated together every year. How could we not share a love of mathematics?