//一些notes:

//1.作者联想能力很强，且有一定的学术功底

//2.看来精算还是有不少其他用途的

//3.POW, PSD

约翰尼•凯什(Johnny Cash)和琼•卡特(June Carter)在大奥普里(Grand Ole Opry)现场音乐秀的后台初次见面。他们的相识有点像乡村歌曲中的男女主角：他结过婚，她刚刚离婚，于是一段感情开始了；两位歌手都有小孩，前妻因他酗 酒狂欢于1966年离开他之前，他有3个孩子。两年之后，他在舞台上向卡特求婚，尽管遭到卡特多次拒绝，但最终她还是答应了。他们各自又找到了自己的人生 伴侣。

他们的人生结局也像是一首乡村歌曲。2003年，卡特心脏手术出现并发症，不幸逝世于纳什维尔，4个月后，凯什也与世长辞，和卡特在天堂相会。似 乎，妻子因心脏并发症去世让他痛不欲生：“太痛苦了，”在最后一次音乐会上，他对观众这样说道。他一边为他的吉他调音，一边几乎流着泪表示，这种痛苦“让 人难以接受，是最不能让人接受的。”

在刚刚丧失亲人的人群中，凯什只不过是一个突出的例子。约翰尼和琼相遇前，科学家们就已经注意到，这种“配偶相继去世的案例”其实并不是个案。到上 世纪80年代，医学研究人员就开始著文提到“应激性心肌病”(stress cardiomyopathy)，又称“心尖球形综合征”(apical ballooning syndrome)，这个难懂的专业术语用来描述这样一种特殊情形：经历了一次非常严重的精神创伤之后，人体的大脑会神秘地向血液中释放出一些化学物质， 而这些物质会削弱人体心脏机能——在某些情况下，会导致心脏完全停止工作。

医 学界对此很有兴趣，因为研究人员可能有机会干涉并延长人的生命。另一个行业对这个现象也很感兴趣——但更多地是去理解它，而不是去阻止它。这些人就是寿险 精算师。保险精算学是一个围绕生与死的统计学科——而心碎现象的统计也变得非常引人注目。一页又一页的死亡报告显示了相同的显著趋势：夫妻中，一方的去世 会大大增加另一方死亡的几率。悲伤致死——从最一般意义上讲，不一定是死于应激性心肌病——并不是一种罕见现象，而多少是个统计概率事件。因此，寿险商为 了经营期业务，需要把它融入统计模型中。在2008年3月做的一份研究中，卡斯商学院(Cass Business School)的亚普•施普鲁(Jaap Spreeuw)和王旭(Xu Wang，译音)发现，在爱人死后的一年里，女性可能死亡的概率是平常的2倍多，而男性的死亡概率则是6倍多。“这意味着……联合生存年金[继续支付相同 金额，直至被保险人双双死亡]定价太低，而最后生存者年金[一方去世后，向另一方支付的年金增加]则定价太高，”这份研究的作者总结道。

然而，在卡斯商学院的权威研究之前，保险精算师就已开始把悲伤致死的趋势融入他们用来计算客户死亡概率的模型中。怎样才能可靠地抓住这种转瞬即逝的 关系呢？当然，保险精算师们靠的是概率。虽然他们无法为一对具体的夫妇设计出一种能够预测心碎综合症致死的概率模型，但他们可以利用统计学，以一群人为样 本，设计出一副相对精确的图景。

他们借用物理学，并以马尔可夫链(Markov chain)模型为基础设计出一个方程：一种表达一系列统计事件的方式，这些事件的结果互相独立。在物理学上，马尔可夫链过程基于我们对周围世界最基本的 认识，从液体汽化的方式到一滴墨水在一杯水中逐渐扩散的方式。精算师们解释道，如果你把人视为原子，那么你就可以在人身上运用相同的原子数学了。

…

1987年秋天，一位男子从中国乘班机来到加拿大。这位当时有可能成为全球最具影响力精算师的男子叫李祥林(Xiang Lin Li)。在此之前，他和同行的许多年轻学者——全部来自南开大学——都未出过国门，但他们应中国和加拿大政府的邀请，来到加拿大做一些超乎寻常的事：研究 资本主义。这一小群数学学者和统计学学者将攻读魁北克拉瓦尔大学(Quebec's Laval University)的商学学位。

对李祥林来说，去加拿大是他当时许多不可能的机会中最近的一个，而正是这些机会造就了他后来的人生。几十年前，在毛泽东的文化大革命行将结束之际， 他的家庭受到了迫害：他的父亲——一位中层警官，恰好是一位低职位官僚，成了当时红卫兵再教育的对象，他们一家被赶往中国南部的一个小村庄。在乡下，年轻 的李祥林上学的机会非常渺茫，更不用说上大学了。但他很有才能，再加上他有动力，最终他成功地走进了学堂，而且还进了南开大学——中国最具声望的大学之 一。李祥林在南开大学学习经济学，而就在他通过硕士学位考试后，加拿大发出了邀请。为了成为被送往魁北克的一分子，他在四个月内学会了法语——学习语言的 劲道似乎能和他捣弄数字时的劲道相提并论。

在 国外，李祥林的干劲并没有减弱。去加拿大四年之后，他获得了工商管理学硕士学位；到了这个地步，他没有回国的念头了。在他在外的几年时间里，中国的微型公 开性时期结束。共产党总书记胡耀邦和一些民主改革份子相继被革职，而当时的中国领导人邓小平对被释放出来的自由主义风气持非常谨慎的态度。1989年，中 国的一些学生在天安门广场被射杀，全球的目光都聚焦到了中国。对于那些有志向的年轻学生来说——尤其是对刚在西方获得工商管理学硕士学位的学生来说，南开 这样的大学并不是最安全的地方。

为了表明自己不再回国，他改名为大卫•李(David Li)。从拉瓦尔大学毕业后，他进入多伦多附近的滑铁卢大学学习保险精算学。而这并不是唯一的变化：从身处讲法语的蒙特利尔优雅社会到进入一个更世俗、更 加以商业为中心的多伦多社会，这一变化意义深远，而且经过深思熟虑。据和他一同从中国移民出来的同伴、也是拉瓦尔大学的同学戴杰(Jie Dai，译音)称，“我清晰地记得[李]曾说过，如果你成了一位精算师，你会赚到很多钱。”

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上世纪90年代，要赚大钱，当然不会是在滑铁卢大学，而是在硅谷、华尔街和伦敦金融城。对数学人才来说，硅谷是首选，但华尔街和金融城也在逐渐吸引 李祥林这样的人才。1984年，罗伯特•鲁宾(Robert Rubin)——10年后他成了美国财长——为他当时的雇主高盛(Goldman Sachs)投行做出了一个大胆决定。鲁宾决定雇佣当时麻省理工大学斯隆管理学院的学者、经济学家费希尔•布莱克(Fischer Black)。1983年之前，有一些学者已开始研究经济学和市场学，但都是出于学术好奇心；布莱克个性独特——是一个严谨的学者，有成功的著述经验，并 还有一个终身职位——他去了华尔街，并冒着象牙塔同事嘲笑的风险，将理论付诸实践。

鲁宾的豪赌为高盛带来的收入是布莱克薪水的好几倍。在高盛，这位教授开拓性地利用数学原理去追求利润。布莱克-斯科尔斯公式(Black- Scholes formula)的发明有一半是他的功劳，这个公式为市场风险制定一个合理的价格，给华尔街带来了革命性的变化。这个原则成为一个全新领域的奠基性教义， 即定量金融学。定量金融学的倡导者试图用智慧来战胜市场，他们首先利用数学计算风险，利用数学排除这些风险。从事定量金融学的人数迅速增加。随着苏联的瓦 解、军备竞赛的结束，以及1993年美国国会取消了超导超大型加速器（旨在成为当时世界上最大的物理实验仪器）的建造，粒子物理学家、量子力学专家，以及 电脑工程师都无事可干了。对年轻一代的本科生和博士来说，把他们的知识应用到金融学，显然是防止他们领域工作流失很好的另一个选择。

粒子物理学家伊曼纽尔•德曼(Emanuel Derman)就做了这样的转变。他于1985年加入高盛集团，在在布莱克手下工作，最终接任导师的职位。他回忆道，当时大量涌入的“定量金融家”被称为 是“POW”——即华尔街上的物理学家（POW原意为战俘）。另一位华尔街定量金融学家、现麻省理工大学讲师罗德城(Andrew Lo)引用的缩写词也相当精准。在最近一次讲座中，他说，现在华尔街真正需要的不是博士(PhD)，而是PSDs：“贫困、聪明，并且急切想致富 ”(poor, smart and with a deep desire to get rich)的人。在滑铁卢大学，李祥林非常适合这种描述。他在攻读保险精算博士学位，但没有人希望他今后走学术道路。于是，1997年获得博士学位后，他 在加拿大最大的银行之一——加拿大帝国商业银行(CIBC)找了份工作。

对李祥林这样的毕业生来说，进入乱作一团的商界或许让人有些吃惊，即便拥有工商管理学硕士学位。像他这样的数学家至多也只不过是个定量金融家，多少 被人看不起；如果他们幸运的话，交易员同事或许会拍拍他们后背，半拍马屁地说上一句“火箭科学家”。伊曼纽尔•德曼记得，有一次在高盛，他和另一个量子物 理学家站在交易所内中央过道的两边，一位资深交易员从他们之间走过。这位交易员“赶紧跑开，极度痛苦地用双手抓着头，惊呼道：‘啊……！好强的力场！太强 了！让我离开这里！'”

可 是，李祥林1998年到纽约时，定量金融家统治了华尔街。那年夏天，长期资本管理公司LTCM)——由定量金融学中最好的专家管理的对冲基金——需要从联 邦政府处获得大规模救助。但长期资本管理公司非但没有警示人们——数学模型可能会让投资者陷入严重的困境，它还把定量金融视为一个另类的后勤支持任务并将 这一观点发扬光大了。这家基金公司倒闭前的巨大威力，以及倒闭有可能会在金融体系留下一个万亿美元的大洞这一事实，使人们对一个观念产生了怀疑，即交易员 的直觉和经验要比数字情报重要得多。

然而，定量金融家事实上并没有进入交易大厅。他们中的杰出人才仍旧在写论文，研究数字，把他们的理论知识运用到商业领域。李祥林来到纽约，在咨询公 司RiskMetrics集团工作。该集团是从JP摩根(JP Morgan)独立出来的，但他仍然还是在考虑生、死和爱。2000年，他在著名的《固定收入期刊》(Journal of Fixed Income)上发表了一篇论文，引发了人们的强烈关注。在报告中，李祥林玩了一个非常优雅的把戏。借助于他在精算学和保险学以及对心碎症状的知识，他试 图解决华尔街定量金融家最棘手的问题：违约相关性。

市场的功能和孤立的实验室不同，市场是相互联系、相互关联的。对于定量金融家来说，光试着去了解自己银行投资组合中的各个公司的破产概率还不够；他 还要知道一家或多家公司的破产是如何增加（或减少）其他公司违约的可能性。例如，假设一家银行向两个企业——分别是乳牛场和乳品厂——提供贷款。根据评级 机构，乳牛场破产的可能性为10%，而乳品厂破产的可能性为5%。但如果乳牛场真的破产了，而且这家乳牛场又是乳品厂的主要奶品供应商，那么乳品厂跟着乳 牛场破产的可能性将迅速上升至5%以上。

事情就这样变得更加复杂了。爱尔兰乳牛场发行的债券和马来西亚软件公司发行的债券，它们之间的违约概率有何关系？或许你会这样认为，一点关系都没 有：这些企业不仅提供的产品和服务完全不同，而且地理位置相距遥远。然而，假设两家公司都在从同一家陷入困境的银行贷款，而这家银行正要求收回贷款，那么 情况又会怎样？

事 实上，长期资本管理公司就是这样倒闭的。俄罗斯政府债券和墨西哥政府债券之间的相关程度如何呢？根据长期资本管理公司的模型（但应当指出的是，该模型使用 的数据追溯到了100年前）显示，一点也不相关。但结果是，俄罗斯和墨西哥两个市场的主要投资者就是相同的那么几个人。1998年俄罗斯金融危机时，叶利 钦政府债券违约，导致投资者因急于想降低其投资组合风险而恐慌性抛售墨西哥债券。

李祥林意识到，他的见解具有开创性。7年之后，他在接受《华尔街日报》采访时说：“突然，我觉得我[作为一个精算师]试图解决的问题就是那些人正在 试图解决的。[贷款]拖欠就像是公司死亡一样。”而如果他能把痛苦致死的数学理论应用于破产公司中，那么他就有办法建立一个数学模型，用来评估一家公司的 违约对其它公司出现违约可能性的影响。

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当数学家和物理学家想描述事件发生的可能性时，他们通常会依靠一条叫联结(copula)的曲线。Copula是拉丁文中的一个名词词根，意思是一 种“联系或关联”，当然，联结可以和许多变量相连，从中你可以看到它们之间的相互依赖性。在滑铁卢大学攻读博士学位及在加拿大帝国商业银行工作期间，李祥 林的研究兴趣在于：如何利用联结曲线使当时的心碎综合症保险精算模型得以发展。依赖马尔可夫链的问题是，他们制作的人类寿命图景太过机械化、物理化，甚至 是原子化了。李祥林推论道，利用能够更加合理地显示结果分布的联结曲线，可以设计出一张更精确、更综合的心碎综合症，或者说问题公司的图景。

他决定利用一条非常标准的曲线——高斯联结(Gaussian copula)曲线，更常见的说法是“钟形曲线”，或“正态分布曲线”——以绘制并决定任何给定资产组合的相关性。保险精算师能够在只知道凯什最近开始守 寡，而不知道其它任何消息的情况下，告诉他们的雇主在琼•卡特去世后约翰尼•凯什去世的概率，同理，定量金融学家可以不用知道有关公司的任何消息，就能告 诉他们的雇主一家公司违约有可能对另一家公司所产生的影响。从这个观点来看，这真的可能，或者是将成为一场数字计算游戏。

到2003年，李祥林的论文使他在华尔街一举成名。到现在为止，他担任过花旗集团(Citigroup)衍生品研究部总监和全球负责人,在11月一 个阳光明媚的周二上午，他在年度定量金融大会(Quant Congress)上做了一个和他的研究相关的报告，如沐春风。在数百名定量金融同行面前（当时在场的一位回忆道：“这简直是一场科幻小说大会。”），他 详细介绍了自己的模型——高斯联结违约函数。

报告中参杂着方程式、数学引理、拱形曲线和一系列矩阵。之后的提问对他充满敬意，非常专业。李祥林似乎发现了风险管理拼图的最后一块，而自定量金融人才引入华尔街以来，各大银行一直在努力把这块拼图的各部分拼接起来。

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到2001年，相关性成了大事。一股新的热情在令控华尔街涌动——与导致上世纪80年代早期股票期货和衍生品爆发的布莱克-斯科尔斯(Black- Scholes)模型一样具有创新性。这就是结构化金融，使华尔街20年的定量金融发展达到高潮。基本原理很简单：银行不必再承担风险了。相反，银行可以 使用复杂的数学原理并制定模型对风险进行定价，然后将这些风险打包，像交易其它普通有价证券一样进行交易。

抵押贷款就是个最好的例子。银行没有选择借出抵押贷款，然后在贷款期限内逐渐收取利息，相反，它们开始把这些贷款捆绑在一起，销售给那些专门设立的 表外空壳公司。这些公司转而发行债券募集资金。而通过使用由定量金融专家制定的模型和数学原理，银行就可以调整抵押贷款组合的结构，确保针对投资者发行不 同风险的债券。然而，问题就是相关性。任何表外证券化都无法正常把握的一样东西，就是他们拥有的上万种不同抵押贷款之间的相互关系。因此，上世界90年代 期间，结构化金融始终是高度定制化的利基业务。

然而，2004年8月10日，评级机构穆迪(Moody's)把李祥林的高斯联结违约函数方程运用到自己的担保债务凭证(CDO)的评级方法中。 CDO是一种结构性金融产品，最终证明是许多银行的噩梦。之前，穆迪公司主张CDO必须满足一个多样性分值——也就是说，每个CDO都应该包含不同种类的 资产，比如商业抵押贷款、学生贷款和信用卡债务，还有很受欢迎的次级债。这确实是一个标准的投资妙计，它避免了把所有鸡蛋都放在一个篮子里，从而规避了风 险。但李祥林的公式意味着，穆迪公司现在有一个能使公司判断风险相互关联性的模型——而上述提到的妙计或许可以扔出窗外了，因为风险可以用数学确定性来进 行衡量。如果你知道你的篮子摔下的确切几率，你就没有必要用不同的篮子来装鸡蛋了。穆迪公司改变方法几周之后，世界另一个大型评估机构标准普尔 (Standard & Poor's)也改变了自己的方法。

…

现在我们已经知道，美国次级债住房市场开始出问题。2006年末，贷款违约率开始上升。银行起初并不担心。它们的模式假设，美国各地的小规模违约现象互不相关。但违约现象一直在出现。到2007年初，美国次级债市场明显出现了问题，到夏天，全美房产业主开始拖欠抵押贷款。金融革命带来的便宜债务成本如此低，当初根本就不应该提供这种贷款。而相关性模型依旧像在上世纪90年代那样描述房产市场，并没有预测到它最终成为了“急剧膨胀的怪物”。具有讽刺意味的是，模型的发展改变了它自己建模的现实的本性。

银行开始承受持有CDO带来的损失，数目令人难以置信。随着各大机构对彼此的偿债能力变得担心起来，于是停止互相借贷。全球流动资金枯竭。问题从一个资产类别传染至另一个资产类别，银行的痛苦蔓延至整个实体经济。突然，每一件事都变得高度相关起来。

李祥林的方程为何没能预测到这个情况的发生呢？问题是，这个方程假设：事件是围绕着平均值——“正常”状态紧密联系在一起的。在保险精算学中，他的 方程能充分抓住双重结果，如生或死，但在混乱的抵押贷款和经济学世界里，他的方程不再有效。在这里，可能出现的结果范围比面对保险公司客户时所要给出的那 些结果范围来得更加复杂，无疑也更具一定的随机性。市场——尤其是抵押贷款市场——和那些保险公司相比，更倾向于极端相关性情况。心碎综合症死亡会引发富 有诗意的联想，但预测心碎综合症死亡比起更加乏味的市场相关性预测来要容易得多，因为后者永远是那么不可知。

为什么没有人注意到这个方程的弱点呢？有些人注意到了。畅销书《黑天鹅》(The Black Swan)讲述了采用联结模型时考虑不相关事件的重要性，该书作者纳西姆•尼古拉•塔勒布(Nassim Nicholas Taleb)痛快淋漓地批评了定量金融学和李祥林的公式。“这东西就从来没有灵验过，”他说。“任何依赖相关性的行为都是江湖骗子做法。”

2007年，大卫•李（即李祥林）离开华尔街，回到中国。本文没有采访到他。但两年前，即在金融体系崩溃前，他做出过警告：“很少有人理解模型的本 质。”统计学和精算学教授、李祥林在滑铁卢大学的导师哈里•潘尼尔(Harry Panjer)公平地看待了塔勒布的指控和李祥林的观点。今年早些时候，潘尼尔告诉《多伦多星报》(The Toronto Star)说：“我们统计学界有个说法，‘所有模型都是错的，但有些是有用的。'”而大卫•李的模型在一段时期内非常有用。

很难不把今年的总统大选和The West Wing联系在一起，于是我决定重温一下

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/10/30/arts/television/30wing.html

When Eli Attie, a writer for “The West Wing,” prepared to plot some episodes about a young Democratic congressman’s unlikely presidential bid, he picked up the phone and called David Axelrod.

Mr. Attie, a former speechwriter for Vice President Al Gore, and Mr. Axelrod, a political consultant, had crossed campaign trails before. “I just called him and said, ‘Tell me about Barack Obama,’ ” Mr. Attie said.

Days after Mr. Obama, then an Illinois state senator, delivered an address to the 2004 Democratic National Convention, the two men held several long conversations about his refusal to be defined by his race and his aspirations to bridge the partisan divide. Mr. Axelrod was then working on Mr. Obama’s campaign for the United States Senate; he is now Mr. Obama’a chief strategist.

Four years later, the writers of “The West Wing” are watching in amazement as the election plays out. The parallels between the final two seasons of the series (it ended its run on NBC in May 2006) and the current political season are unmistakable. Fiction has, once again, foreshadowed reality.

Watching “The West Wing” in retrospect — all seven seasons are available on DVD, and episodes can be seen in syndication — viewers can see allusions to Mr. Obama in almost every facet of Matthew Santos, the Hispanic Democratic candidate played by Jimmy Smits. Santos is a coalition-building Congressional newcomer who feels frustrated by the polarization of Washington. A telegenic and popular fortysomething with two young children, Santos enters the presidential race and eventually beats established candidates in a long primary campaign.

Wearing a flag pin, Santos announces his candidacy by telling supporters, “I am here to tell you that hope is real.” And he adds, “In a life of trial, in a world of challenges, hope is real.” Viewers can almost hear the crowd cheering, “Yes, we can.”

Comparisons between Senator John McCain and the “West Wing” Republican candidate, Arnold Vinick, a white-haired Senate stalwart with an antitax message and a reputation for delivering “straight talk” to the press, also abound. Vinick, played by Alan Alda, is deemed a threat to Democrats because of his ability to woo moderate voters. And he takes great pride in his refusal to pander to voters, telling an aide: “People know where I stand. They may not like it, but they know I’ll stick with it.”

Even the vice-presidential picks are similar: the Democrat picks a Washington veteran as his vice presidential candidate to add foreign policy expertise to the ticket, while the Republican selects a staunchly conservative governor to shore up the base.

Certainly some of the parallels are coincidental. It is unlikely, for example, that the writers knew Mr. Obama had an affection for Bob Dylan when they made Santos a Dylan fan. But it is the unintentional similarities that make the DVDs of the sixth and seventh seasons, which at the time received mixed reviews, so rewarding to watch now. In both “The West Wing” and in real life, for example, the Phillies played in the World Series during the election campaign.

As the primaries unfolded this year, “I saw the similarities right away,” said Lawrence O’Donnell, a producer and writer for the series who has appeared on MSNBC as a political analyst. Mr. O’Donnell had used Mr. McCain as one of the templates for the Vinick character in the episodes he wrote, though he said that “McCain’s resemblance to the Vinick character was much stronger in 2000 than in 2008.”

Echoing the criticism Mr. McCain faced during the primaries, a White House aide in “The West Wing” contends that Vinick is “not conservative enough” for the Republican base. Sometimes the two candidates’ situations are almost identical: when the press starts asking where Vinick attends church, he tells his staff that “I haven’t gone to church for a while.” Asked in July by The New York Times about the frequency of his church attendance, Mr. McCain said, “Not as often as I should.”

Mr. Alda and Mr. McCain are the same age. When a hard-edged strategist played by Janeane Garofalo joins the Santos campaign, she immediately alludes to Vinick’s age. “He’s been in the Senate for like 90 years. He was practically born in a committee room,” she says.

In the same way that Obama surrogates have subtly knocked Mr. McCain’s lack of computer skills, the Garofalo character remarks to the Santos campaign manager, Josh Lyman: “Why are you always talking about high-tech jobs? Because Vinick uses a manual typewriter.”

Conversely, Santos staffers talk about getting video of the candidate with his “adorable young children hugging their hale and vital dad.” The casting of Mr. Smits introduced story lines about the prospect of a minority president. But when an aide suggests a fund-raising drive in a Latino community, Santos snaps: “I don’t want to just be the brown candidate. I want to be the American candidate.” The Obama campaign has made similar assertions.

Still, “The West Wing” — like Mr. Obama — does not ignore racial issues entirely. In the seventh season Santos delivers a speech on race at a critical moment for his campaign, and staffers privately worry that voters will lie about their willingness to vote for a minority candidate.

If the show sometimes seems like a political fantasy — a real debate where politicians are required to answer questions? a candidate rejecting an attack ad? — it also reflects the tenor of the real-life campaign season.

Santos wins the nomination only after a lengthy fight on the convention floor, an inexact parallel to Obama’s extended primary fight with Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton. Just as the Obama campaign pivoted to the economy this fall, Lyman tells Santos staffers that “this new economic message may be our ticket,” and he winds up being right. An economic crisis does not ensue, but back-to-back emergencies on “The West Wing” — a nuclear power plant malfunction and a dispute in Kazakhstan — bring to mind the election-defining qualities of the actual economic crisis.

“Dramatically, they are exactly the same thing: the unforseeable,” Mr. O’Donnell said.

As President Bush did during the bailout talks, Jed Bartlet, the Democratic “West Wing” president played by Martin Sheen, brings both candidates to the White House for a briefing. Facing the prospect of deploying 150,000 American soldiers to Kazakhstan three weeks before the election, Vinick grumbles, “I can say goodbye to my tax cut.” He tells Santos, “Your education plan’s certainly off the table.”Santos emerges victorious weeks later, but only after a grueling election night. Online, some “West Wing” fans are wondering whether the show will wind up forecasting the real-life result as well. In Britain, where the series remains popular in syndication, a recent headline on a blog carried by the newspaper The Telegraph declared: “Barack Obama will win: It’s all in ‘The West Wing.’ ”

Not over Jason Lezak’s 32-year-old body.

Lezak, swimming the anchor leg of the United States’ 4x100-meter freestyle relay, hit the water a half-second after Alain Bernard of France, who came into the race as the world-record holder in the 100-meter freestyle.

“I knew I was going to have to swim out of my mind,” Lezak said, adding, “I had more adrenaline going than I’ve ever had in my life.”

Dragging off Bernard, who was hugging the lane line that separated them, Lezak made up ground, but with 25 meters remaining it appeared as if he would run out of pool. Trailing Bernard by half a body length, Lezak put his head down and surged to the wall.

A three-time Olympian, Lezak had been in this predicament before. He anchored the American 4x100 relay teams at the 2000 and 2004 Olympics that came up short. This time, he was part of a photo finish.

When the water settled, the giant video scoreboard showed that Lezak had out-touched Bernard by 0.08 of a second. Phelps’s pursuit of Mark Spitz’s record of seven swimming gold medals in one Olympics remained alive with a little help from his mates. Lezak’s split of 46.06 seconds was the fastest anchor leg ever, by 0.73, and his personal best by over 1.2 seconds.

“His last 50 meters were absolutely incredible,” Phelps said. “He had a perfect finish.”

After Lezak touched, Phelps, who swam the first leg, raised his arms and let out a primal scream. Garrett Weber-Gale, who swam second, came up from behind him and swallowed him in a hug.

The United States was timed in 3 minutes 8.24 seconds, shattering by nearly four seconds the world record that its B team had set the previous night. France won the silver in 3:08.32. Australia, benefiting from a world-record setting lead-off swim of 47.24 from Eamon Sullivan, was third.

Bernard, who in a matter of minutes lost the 100 world record to Sullivan and the relay gold to Lezak, was bereft. He broke down in tears in the pool and later in the mixed zone.

His teammate, Frederick Bousquet, who split a blistering 46.63 on the third leg, said, “We believed in the gold medal until the end.” He added, “The touch made the difference and experience overcame talent.”

Though not well-known outside of swimming circles, Lezak, a native Southern Californian, has a reputation in USA Swimming for being the Mariano Rivera of sprinters. “Jason is the most phenomenal closer I’ve ever seen in my life,” said Cullen Jones, who swam the third leg.

After making the turn, Lezak said he momentarily lost the courage of his convictions. Bernard had a 0.6 of a second lead and Lezak was not sure he could reel him in. “I’m not going to lie,” he said. “The thought really crossed my mind for a split-second, ‘There’s no way.’ ”

Then he reminded himself that he was representing his country and this was the Olympics and he was not getting any younger so he had to make the most of this chance. “In five seconds I was thinking all these things,” Lezak said. “And I got a super charge.”

With his surge, Lezak kept alive Phelps’s drive to break Spitz’s record and collect a million-dollar bonus from Speedo. Asked if he would demand a cut if Phelps succeeds, Lezak grinned and joked, “We’ve already talked about that.”

Phelps, 23, was timed in 47.51 on the first leg, an American record, nearly half a second faster than he clocked at the United States Olympic trials but behind Sullivan's 47.24. Only the first relay leg can qualify for records because it comes with a traditional standing start. Phelps joined his teammates in the ready room with one lackluster morning swim behind him.

In the semifinals of the 200-meter freestyle, the second of his five individual events, Phelps never held the lead in his heat, botched his finish and qualified fourth with a time that was two seconds slower than what he clocked at the trials in July and one second slower than his target number.

“I just wanted to save as much energy as I could for the relay,” Phelps said afterward, between labored breaths.

He and his teammates knew they had to be at their absolute best if they were to hold off the world, which has gotten the best of the Americans in the past two Olympics. As thunder rumbled over the bubble-wrap ceiling of the National Aquatics Center, Phelps stepped to the blocks. The quartet of Nathan Adrian, Jones, Ben Wildman-Tobriner and Matt Grevers gave Phelps and Co. the swimming equivalent of the pole position — Lane 4, in the middle of the pool — by qualifying first in the heats Sunday night. In the process, they gave everybody the time to shoot for, eclipsing by 0.23 of a second the world record with a clocking of 3 minutes 12.23 seconds.

The squads from France and Australia also finished under the existing record of 3:12.46, setting up a final delivered all the bang of a fireworks show.

At the United States Olympic trials in July, Lezak, Weber-Gale and Phelps posted sub-48 second swims, which until the Games had been matched this year by only two others — Bernard and Sullivan.

Lezak, Weber-Gale and Phelps sat out the preliminaries to conserve energy. In what proved to be a competition within the competition, the four Americans who did swim were essentially racing one another for the opportunity to team with Lezak, Weber-Gale and Phelps in the final.

Jones, a Bronx native who grew up in New Jersey, won the honors by clocking the fastest split, a 47.61 on the second leg. In 2006, Jones became the first African-American to break a long-course world record when he was part of the United States relay team that set the global mark that fell Sunday night.

All eyes Monday were on Phelps, but the pressure was on the French, who had never won a medal in the event and were trying to win their country’s first swimming relay gold.

In the heats, the French had rested their two fastest swimmers, Bernard, who broke the world record in the 100 freestyle twice in March, and Fabien Gilot, who has the sixth-fastest time in the world this year.

The uncertainty of the outcome was a decided departure from 1972, when Spitz counted three relays among his seven golds. In those days, United States dominance meant there was never much drama in the relays. Going into the ’72 Munich Games, the Americans had won every Olympic gold awarded in the 4x100 freestyle and medley relays and 8 of 13 in the 4x200 freestyle.

Since then, the rest of the world since has caught up to the United States, the globalization of the sport reflected most dramatically in the relays. In 2000, the Americans were upset by Australia in the 4x100 freestyle, and in 2004 they finished third behind South Africa — which returned for its defense unchanged from 2004 — and the Netherlands.

Returning the Olympic crown in the event to the United States was a high priority, Phelps said. “A couple of days ago we had a guys-only meeting where we shared some stories going back and forth about the hopes we have for this meet,” he said.

The French had made their hopes public. Their trash talking might have been their undoing; it motivated the Americans. “It fired me up more than anything else,” Phelps said.

However many more Olympic medals Phelps wins, his legacy is secure and so, now, is Lezak’s. “I just happened to have the swim of my life at the right time,” Lezak said.

from iht

BEIJING: With fireworks brightening the sky that had been gloomy all day, the lucky eights were finally aligned for China's first staging of the Olympic Games on Friday night, and 2,008 drummers were soon pounding on the traditional percussion instrument, the "fou," and singing: "Friends have come from afar, and how happy we are."

It was a fine Confucian sentiment, but one not always shared by the visitors from afar as these deeply symbolic Olympics approached.

It has been difficult for many outsiders to find quite the right tone, alternating between a desire to respect China's re-emergence and organizational efforts and a desire to seize the opportunity to remind, even berate, China about human rights, the environment, Darfur, allegedly underage athletes and a checklist of other big and small rubbing points.

But as the thousands of drums were pounded and then began flashing with lights - intermittently illuminating the interior of the massive Bird's Nest Stadium, with its 91,000 seats - it seemed the polite and right thing to put the surrounding issues aside for an hour or two and see what director Zhang Yimou and a bustling, increasingly proud nation of 1.3 billion people could conjure to make the now-familiar ritual of the Olympic Opening Ceremony feel fresh.

The answer was plenty, beginning with the five interlocking, glowing Olympic rings that first appeared flat on the ground at the center of the stadium's infield and then gradually peeled off and upward: luminous in the humid air.

That set the tone for a spectacle when the earthbound often ended up looking weightless: no one more spectacularly than Li Ning, the former Olympic gymnast turned sportswear impresario, who was yanked skyward by wires and then went on the jog of the century along the wide inner rim of the roof with the torch in hand before lighting the cauldron.

Li's reality-bending, gravity-flouting lap was the image that will linger from Friday night, just like the Spanish archer Antonio Rebollo's arrow shot that ignited the cauldron in Barcelona at the 1992 Games.

But there was more to marvel at on a night when theatrical elements were often not as they first appeared and when the emphasis was often on China's traditional culture, with the notable exception of the space-suited astronauts who soared high above the stadium floor as a reminder that China's ambitions are not just global.

One could quibble with the sound system in the stadium and with a certain loss of thematic momentum in the latter stages that Athens's back-to-the-dawn Olympic ceremony in 2004 did not suffer. But the set pieces in Beijing were routinely wondrous.

There was a giant Chinese scroll that was unrolled at center stage, leaving a massive sheet of blank paper upon which dancers who looked more like contortionists drew characters in ink wash. In the same decidedly multipurpose space, movable type would later appear: a much larger-than-life, three-dimensional keyboard that would rise and fall abruptly - with a performer under each of the 897 blocks - to form characters, then a simulation of the Great Wall.

There were tributes to Chinese opera, to the Silk Road and a human ode to the Bird's Nest Stadium formed by hundreds of performers. It was ceremony on a grand scale, befitting the world's most populous nation, one that raised the bar with its 15,000 performers and reminded the tens of millions watching worldwide that China has absolutely no shortage of man (or woman) power.

But the low-tech trick that will stick with this hot and sticky correspondent came early. When the Chinese flag was raised to the top of its designated pole shortly after the 8 p.m. fireworks, the flag was soon flapping in a machine-generated wind as if it were on top of Mount Everest, or Mount Qomolangma, as the Chinese call it).

A stiff breeze was indeed a false promise on a torrid, still night when it was possible for the average fan to sweat like a marathon runner by simply remaining in a seat. The dignitaries' box, filled with world leaders and International Olympic Committee officials, looked more like a scene from the royal box at a Spanish bullfight, with all the fans that were fluttering. The Olympians, once they had filed in, kept themselves cool by flapping their plastic credentials in front of their faces.

It was hard not to pity them despite all their enthusiasm. You could put aside the politics for a night for the sake of politesse, but it was much harder to put aside the tough conditions in which the world's best athletes will be asked to compete over the next 16 days and nights.

A Final Farewell

Saying goodbye. It's a part of the human experience that we encounter every day, sometimes nonchalantly, sometimes with great emotion.

Then, eventually, the time comes for the final goodbye. When death is near, how do we phrase our words? How do we show our love?

Randy Pausch, a professor at Pittsburgh's Carnegie Mellon University, has become famous for the way in which he chose to say goodbye to his students and colleagues. His final lecture to them, delivered last September, turned into a phenomenon, viewed by millions on the Internet. Dying of pancreatic cancer, he showed a love of life and an approach to death that people have found inspiring. For many of us, his lecture has become a reminder that our own futures are similarly -- if not as drastically -- brief. His fate is ours, sped up.

Since the lecture, I've been privileged to spend a great deal of time with Randy, while co-writing his new book, "The Last Lecture." I've seen how, in some ways, he is peacefully reconciled to his fate, and in other ways, understandably, he is struggling.

The lecture was directed at his "work family," a call to them to go on without him and do great things. But since the talk, Randy has been most focused on his actual family -- his wife, Jai, and their three children, ages 6, 3, and 1.

For months after receiving his terminal diagnosis last August, Randy and Jai (pronounced "Jay") didn't tell the kids he was dying. They were advised to wait until Randy was more symptomatic. "I still look pretty healthy," he told me in December, "and so my kids remain unaware that in my every encounter with them I'm saying goodbye. There's this sense of urgency that I try not to let them pick up on."

Through both his lecture and his life, Randy offers a realistic road map to the final farewell. His approach -- pragmatic, heartfelt, sometimes quirky, often joyous -- can't help but leave you wondering: "How will I say goodbye?"

* * *

Randy lost his bet. The room was packed. He was thrilled by the turnout, and determined to deliver a talk that offered all he had in him.

He arrived onstage to a standing ovation, but motioned to the audience to sit down. "Make me earn it," he said.

He hardly mentioned his cancer. Instead, he took everyone on a rollicking journey through the lessons of his life. He talked about the importance of childhood dreams, and the fortitude needed to overcome setbacks. ("Brick walls are there for a reason. They let us prove how badly we want things.") He encouraged his audience to be patient with others. ("Wait long enough, and people will surprise and impress you.") And, to show the crowd that he wasn't ready to climb into his deathbed, he dropped to the floor and did push-ups.

His colleagues and students sat there, buoyed by his words and startled by how the rush of one man's passion could leave them feeling so introspective and emotionally spent -- all at once saddened and exhilarated.

In 70 minutes onstage, he gave his audience reasons to reconsider their own ambitions, and to find new ways to look at other people's flaws and talents. He celebrated mentors and protégés with an open heart. And through a few simple gestures -- including a birthday cake for his wife -- he showed everyone the depth of his love for his family. In his smiling delivery, he was so full of life that it was almost impossible to reconcile the fact that he was near death -- that this performance was his goodbye.

I'm a columnist for The Wall Street Journal, and a week before Randy gave the lecture, I got a heads-up about it from the Journal's Pittsburgh bureau chief. Because my column focuses on life transitions, she thought Randy might be fodder for a story.

I was aware that professors are often asked to give "last lectures" as an academic exercise, imagining what wisdom they would impart if it was their final chance. In Randy's case, of course, his talk would not be hypothetical.

I first spoke to him by phone the day before his talk, and he was so engaging that I was curious to see what he'd be like onstage. I was slightly ill at ease in our conversation; it's hard to know what to say to a dying man. But Randy found ways to lighten things up. He was driving his car, talking to me on his cellphone. I didn't want him to get in an accident, so I suggested we reconnect when he got to a land line. He laughed. "Hey, if I die in a car crash, what difference would it make?"

I almost didn't go to Pittsburgh to see him. The plane fare from my home in Detroit was a hefty $850, and my editors said that if I wanted, I could just do a phone interview with him after the talk, asking him how it went. In the end, I sensed that I shouldn't miss seeing his lecture in person, and so I drove the 300 miles to Pittsburgh.

Like others in the room that day, I knew I was seeing something extraordinary. I hoped I could put together a compelling story, but I had no expectations beyond that.

Neither did Randy. When the lecture ended, his only plan was to quietly spend whatever time he had left with Jai and the kids. He never imagined the whirlwind that would envelop him.

The lecture had been videotaped -- WSJ.com posted highlights -- and footage began spreading across thousands of Web sites. (The full talk can now be seen at thelastlecture.com.) Randy was soon receiving emails from all over the world.

People wrote about how his lecture had inspired them to spend more time with loved ones, to quit pitying themselves, or even to shake off suicidal urges. Terminally ill people said the lecture had persuaded them to embrace their own goodbyes, and as Randy said, "to keep having fun every day I have left, because there's no other way to play it."

In the weeks after the talk, people translated the lecture into other languages, and posted their versions online. A university in India held a screening of the video. Hundreds of students attended and told their friends how powerful it was; hundreds more demanded a second screening a week later.

In the U.S., Randy reprised part of his talk on "The Oprah Winfrey Show." ABC News would later name him one of its three "Persons of the Year." Thousands of bloggers wrote essays celebrating him.

Randy was overwhelmed and moved by the response. Still, he retained his sense of humor. "There's a limit to how many times you can read how great you are and what an inspiration you are," he said. "But I'm not there yet."

NEW BOOK "The Last Lecture"

Years ago, Jai had suggested that Randy compile his advice into a book for her and the kids. She wanted to call it "The Manual." Now, in the wake of the lecture, others were also telling Randy that he had a book in him.

He resisted at first. Yes, there were things he felt an urge to express. But given his prognosis, he wanted to spend his limited time with his family.

Then he caught a break. Palliative chemotherapy stalled the growth of his tumors. "This will be the first book to ever list the drug Gemcitabine on the acknowledgments page," he joked. But he still didn't want the book to get in the way of his last months with his kids. So he came up with a plan.

Because exercise was crucial to his health, he would ride his bicycle around his neighborhood for an hour each day. This was time he couldn't be with his kids, anyway. He and I agreed that he would wear a cellphone headset on these rides, and we'd talk about everything on his mind -- the lecture, his life, his dreams for his family.

Every day, as soon as his bike ride came to an end, so did our conversation. "Gotta go!" he'd say, and I knew he felt an aching urge (and responsibility) to return to his family life.

But the next day, he'd be back on the bike, enthusiastic about the conversation. He confided in me that since his diagnosis, he had found himself feeling saddest when he was alone, driving his car or riding his bike. So I sensed that he enjoyed my company in his ears as he pedaled.

Randy had a way of framing human experiences in his own distinctive way, mixing humor here, unexpected inspiration there, and wrapping it all in an uncommon optimism. In the three months after the lecture, he went on 53 long bike rides, and the stories he told became not just his book, but also part of his process of saying goodbye.

* * *

Holding Logan and Chloe, with Dylan on his shoulders, 2007

Right now, Randy's children -- Dylan, Logan and Chloe -- are too young to understand all the things he yearns to share with them. "I want the kids to know what I've always believed in," he told me, "and all the ways in which I've come to love them."

Those who die at older ages, after their children have grown to adulthood, can find comfort in the fact that they've been a presence in their offspring's lives. "When I cry in the shower," Randy said, "I'm not usually thinking, 'I won't get to see the kids do this' or 'I won't get to see them do that.' I'm thinking about the kids not having a father. I'm focused more on what they're going to lose than on what I'm going to lose. Yes, a percentage of my sadness is, 'I won't, I won't, I won't.' But a bigger part of me grieves for them. I keep thinking, 'They won't, they won't, they won't.' "

Early on, he had vowed to do the logistical things necessary to ease his family's path into a life without him. His minister helped him think beyond estate planning and funeral arrangements. "You have life insurance, right?" the minister asked.

"Yes, it's all in place," Randy told him.

"Well, you also need emotional insurance," the minister explained. The premiums for that insurance would be paid for with Randy's time, not his money. The minister suggested that Randy spend hours making videotapes of himself with the kids. Years from now, they will be able to see how easily they touched each other and laughed together.

Knowing his kids' memories of him could be fuzzy, Randy has been doing things with them that he hopes they'll find unforgettable. For instance, he and Dylan, 6, went on a minivacation to swim with dolphins. "A kid swims with dolphins, he doesn't easily forget it," Randy said. "We took lots of photos." Randy took Logan, 3, to Disney World to meet his hero, Mickey Mouse. "I'd met him, so I could make the introduction."

Randy also made a point of talking to people who lost parents when they were very young. They told him they found it consoling to learn about how much their mothers and fathers loved them. The more they knew, the more they could still feel that love. To that end, Randy built separate lists of his memories of each child. He also has written down his advice for them, things like: "If I could only give three words of advice, they would be, 'Tell the truth.' If I got three more words, I'd add, 'All the time.' "

The advice he's leaving for Chloe includes this: "When men are romantically interested in you, it's really simple. Just ignore everything they say and only pay attention to what they do." Chloe, not yet 2 years old, may end up having no memory of her father. "But I want her to grow up knowing," Randy said, "that I was the first man ever to fall in love with her."

* * *

Randy and Jai on their wedding day, 2000

Saying goodbye to a spouse requires more than just loving words. There are details that must be addressed.

Shortly after his terminal diagnosis, Randy and his family moved from Pittsburgh to southeastern Virginia, so that after he dies, Jai and the kids will be closer to her family for support. At first, Jai didn't even want Randy returning to Pittsburgh to give his last lecture; she thought he should be home, unpacking boxes or interacting with the kids. "Call me selfish," Jai told him, "but I want all of you. Any time you'll spend working on this lecture is lost time, because it's time away from the kids and from me."

Jai finally relented when Randy explained how much he yearned to give one last talk. "An injured lion still wants to roar," he told her.

In the months after the talk, while chemo was still keeping his tumors from growing, Randy wouldn't use the word "lucky" to describe his situation. Still, he said, "a part of me does feel fortunate that I didn't get hit by the proverbial bus." Cancer had given him the time to have vital conversations with Jai that wouldn't be possible if his fate were a heart attack or car accident.

What did they talk about?

For starters, they both tried to remember that flight attendants offer terrific caregiving advice: "Put on your own oxygen mask before assisting others."

"Jai is such a giver that she often forgets to take care of herself," Randy said. "When we become physically or emotionally run down, we can't help anybody else, least of all small children." Randy has reminded Jai that, once he's gone, she should give herself permission to make herself a priority.

Randy and Jai also talked about the fact that she will make mistakes in the years ahead, and she shouldn't attribute them all to the fact that she'll be raising the kids herself. "Mistakes are part of the process of parenting," Randy told her. "If I were able to live, we'd be making those mistakes together."

In some ways, the couple found it helpful to try to live together as if their marriage had decades to go. "We discuss, we get frustrated, we get mad, we make up," Randy said.

At the same time, given Randy's prognosis, Jai has been trying to let little stuff slide. Randy can be messy, with clothes everywhere. "Obviously, I ought to be neater," Randy said. "I owe Jai many apologies. But do we really want to spend our last months together arguing that I haven't hung up my khakis? We do not. So now Jai kicks my clothes in a corner and moves on."

A friend suggested to Jai that she keep a daily journal. She writes in there things that get on her nerves about Randy. He can be cocky, dismissive, a know-it-all. "Randy didn't put his plate in the dishwasher tonight," she wrote one night. "He just left it there on the table and went to his computer." She knew he was preoccupied, heading to the Internet to research medical treatments. Still, the dish bothered her. She wrote about it, felt better, and they didn't need to argue over it.

There are days when Jai tells Randy things, and there's little he can say in response. She has said to him: "I can't imagine rolling over in bed and you're not there." And: "I can't picture myself taking the kids on vacation and you not being with us."

Randy and Jai have gone to a therapist who specializes in counseling couples in which one spouse is terminally ill. That's been helpful. But they've still struggled. They've cried together in bed at 3 a.m., fallen back asleep, woken up at 4 a.m. and cried some more. "We've gotten through in part by focusing on the tasks at hand," Randy said. "We can't fall to pieces. We've got to get some sleep because one of us has to get up in the morning and give the kids breakfast. That person, for the record, is almost always Jai."

Making memories with Dylan, 2007

For Randy, part of saying goodbye is trying to remain optimistic. After his diagnosis, Randy's doctor gave him advice: "It's important to behave as if you're going to be around awhile." Randy was already way ahead of him: "Doc, I just bought a new convertible and got a vasectomy. What more do you want from me?"

In December, Randy went on a short scuba-diving vacation with three close friends. The men were all aware of the subtext; they were banding together to give Randy a farewell weekend. Still, they successfully avoided any emotional "I love you, man" dialogue related to Randy's cancer. Instead, they reminisced, horsed around and made fun of each other. (Actually, it was mostly the other guys making fun of Randy for the "St. Randy of Pittsburgh" reputation he had gotten since his lecture.) Nothing was off-limits. When Randy put on sunscreen, his friend Steve Seabolt said, "Afraid of skin cancer, Randy? That's like putting good money after bad."

Randy loved that weekend. As he later explained it: "I am maintaining my clear-eyed sense of the inevitable. I'm living like I'm dying. But at the same time, I'm very much living like I'm still living."

Since Randy's lecture began spreading on the Internet, he has heard from thousands of strangers, many offering advice on how they dealt with final goodbyes.

A woman who lost her husband to pancreatic cancer said his last speech was to a small audience: her, his children, parents and siblings. He thanked them for their guidance and love, and reminisced about places they had gone together. Another woman, whose husband died of a brain tumor, suggested that Randy talk to Jai about how she'll need to reassure their kids, as they get older, that they will have a normal life. "There will be graduations, marriages, children of their own. When a parent dies at such an early age, some children think that other normal life-cycle events may not happen for them, either."

Randy was moved by comments such as the one he received from a man with serious heart problems. The man wrote to tell Randy about Krishnamurti, a spiritual leader in India who died in 1986. Krishnamurti was once asked what was the most appropriate way to say goodbye to a man who was about to die. He answered: "Tell your friend that in his death, a part of you dies and goes with him. Wherever he goes, you also go. He will not be alone." In his email to Randy, this man was reassuring: "I know you are not alone."

* * *

The chemotherapy keeping Randy alive took a toll on his body. By March, he was fighting off kidney and heart failure, along with debilitating fatigue. Still, he kept a commitment to go to Washington, D.C., to speak before Congress on behalf of the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network.

He spoke forcefully about research needed to fight pancreatic cancer, the deadliest of all the cancers, and then held up a large photo of Jai and the kids. When he pointed to Jai, he told the congressmen: "This is my widow. That's not a grammatical construction you get to use every day.... Pancreatic cancer can be beat, but it will take more courage and funding."

Randy has now stopped chemotherapy, and as he regains his strength, he hopes to begin liver-specific treatments. He is engaged in the process, but expects no miracles. He knows his road is short.

Meanwhile, I feel forever changed by my time with Randy; I saw his love of life from a front-row seat. He and I traded countless emails, and I've filed them all safely in my computer. His daily emails -- smart, funny, wise -- have brightened my inbox. I dread the day I will no longer hear from him.

Randy daydreaming, circa 1968

Randy rarely got emotional in all his hours with me. He was brave, talking about death like a scientist. In fact, until we got to discussing what should be in the book's last chapter, he never choked up.

The last chapter, we decided, would be about the last moments of his lecture -- how he felt, what he said. He thought hard about that, and then described for me how his emotions swelled as he took a breath and prepared to deliver his closing lines. It was tough, he said, "because the end of the talk had to be a distillation of how I felt about the end of my life."

In the same way, discussing the end of the book was emotional for him. I could hear his voice cracking as we spoke. Left unsaid was the fact that this part of our journey together was ending. He no longer needed to ride his bike, wearing that headset, while I sat at my computer, tapping away, his voice in my ears. Within weeks, he had no energy to exercise.

Randy is thrilled that so many people are finding his lecture beneficial, and he hopes the book also will be a meaningful legacy for him. Still, all along, he kept reminding me that he was reaching into his heart, offering his life lessons, mostly to address an audience of three. "I'm attempting to put myself in a bottle that will one day wash up on the beach for my children," he said.

And so despite all his goodbyes, he has found solace in the idea that he'll remain a presence. "Kids, more than anything else, need to know their parents love them," he said. "Their parents don't have to be alive for that to happen."

金融泡沫破裂，祸焉？福焉？