A hundred years of curiosity
His love for learning about the world around him was far too strong to be squashed by the official end of employment, though, and Eisinger kept writing, this time for a popular rather than a scientific audience. He assisted his wife, Avins, by translating some of the letters of Johannes Brahms for her book on the composer (“who Josef had every reason to consider his rival,” she quips, given how much of her life was focused on the project) and went on to write two books about Albert Einstein and two more about his own life.
Despite the obvious physics connection, Eisinger says his interest in Einstein actually traces back to the Mendels, the family that sponsored his exit from the internment camps: A Mendel forebear was Einstein’s onetime girlfriend. “He had quite an eye for women,” Eisinger says with a wry smile, displaying a sense of humor that shines through whether he’s recounting tales of visiting a strip club with future Nobel Prize winners or describing the strange and sometimes horrifying moments in history he has lived through.
If there’s been one throughline in Eisinger’s life, it’s the attitude with which he approached the things he was interested in, even if those things had little in common.
“He’s very single-minded in what he’s doing. And he’s done a lot. But you cannot categorize him with one or two stories,” says Avins, who describes his “innumerable” professional pivots as a contrast to the career paths of colleagues who pursued just one scientific question their whole lives. “There are many, many facets to him, and that’s befitting someone with an active intellect and active curiosity.”
When asked to reflect on their decades of life together, she reminisces about his days in the “elite” group of pure science (as opposed to applied science) researchers at Bell Labs, compliments the translation efforts he contributed to her book on Brahms, praises his deep love for and great taste in music, and describes him as a “terrific father” who took “great joy in family outings, hikes, and cooking for the family.”
WALTER SMITH
More than anything, though, she points to his “integrity, and ability to love.” In spite of all his professional accomplishments, Eisinger is inclined to agree with her about what’s been most important in his life. When asked what he’s proudest of, he answers simply, “I have two children and two grandchildren.”
The pride he feels for his family, and for the entire life he’s built outside of work, is palpable as he speaks. When there’s a lag in the conversation, he goes to pull out Avins’s book on Brahms to highlight her expertise (“He’s very supportive of my career,” she confirms later), or indicates her instruments and talks about her musical talent. He points out the ceiling beams and shares a story about the carpentry work he did to make the West Village town house the charming, homey place it is today. He gestures at the lovely back garden; pulls out a watercolor picture he painted in Tuscany; mentions his daughter-in-law.
He is, in short, a man who has not lost the power to be delighted by the things and people that surround him, even after a hundred years of life on this planet.
“All these parts that we’re talking about are interconnected,” he says. “I was never just an artist, or just a scientist, or just a lumberjack. I wanted to pursue all of them, to try everything.” As he sits in his living room full of books he’s written, art he’s made, pictures of his kids, and his wife’s piano, it’s clear he’s not stopped enjoying it all.
