From what I’ve seen of it, I like the academic life, though for short stays only. Some people are meant to be professors; others, like me, descend into the news business. The part that I’m in deals with science policy and politics and research budgets, compelling stuff for academic scientists and administrators, which is why I’m sometimes invited to tell what I know in person.

Many years ago, I was invited to spend a month on a southern California campus. As I remember the ensuing dialogue, “Doing what?” I asked. “You’ll be a resource,” replied my host, who, as it turned out, was away at a conference when I arrived. No one seemed to know why I was there or what to do with me. I was eventually provided with an office. The neighbors were friendly, inviting me to several social events. There was a lot of griping about the administration, this or that chairman, schedules, and much else, but life on that campus looked pretty good to this visitor.

Finally, I was scheduled to give a seminar on happenings in Washington relevant to scientific matters. It was poorly attended, with people drifting in and out as I droned on. Nonetheless, the professor who organized the seminar lavishly praised my performance. A few graduate students consulted me about job opportunities in journalism; otherwise, I was an under-utilized resource. It was a very restful month.

For administering a book-writing grant several years ago, I was attached to an academic department, where I attended a series of seminars given by visiting scholars. It was usually indicated that the paper on deck was the latest version of a product that had gone through several, sometimes many, transformations. Some of these papers had been evolving for years as their authors traveled from one campus to another.

The seminar serves several purposes, an old timer explained to me. Among them, he said, it’s a showcase for people looking for jobs, which he assured me were very scarce. I remarked that the seminar proceedings were civil and courteous, in contrast to the rough jousting that generally prevails in the news business when a public official faces a flock of reporters. “Why don’t they tear into the guy just to see if he can defend his case?” I asked. “That would be too gladiatorial,” came the reply, to which was appended that these circuit-riding visitors, mostly postdocs and adjuncts, were at a vulnerable stage of their careers, and no one wanted to treat them harshly. When it was my turn in the seminar series to present a paper, I was treated very kindly.

The aforementioned book was done within the contracted-for time — actually, a couple of weeks early — and dispatched to my wonderful editor at the University of Chicago Press, the late Susan Abrams. Upon receipt, she telephoned me, and said, as I recall, “We weren’t expecting this.”

“It’s about due,” I replied.

“I know,” she said, “I checked the contract and it’s even a little early. But you have to understand. This is a university press. We deal with professors. They’re never on time. In fact, I’m still waiting for a manuscript that was due in 1974.”