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Claude Shannon - The Genius Of
The Digital Age
By Kevin Coughlin
http://www.nj.com/news/ledger/index.ssf?/page1/ledger/127960e.html
2-28-1


The father of the information age is dead.
 
Claude Shannon, a mathematician who wrote the blueprint for digital communications in 1948 at Bell Labs, died Saturday in a Massachusetts nursing home. He was 84.
 
In a classic scientific paper, "The Mathematical Theory of Communication," Shannon laid the groundwork for wireless phones, high-speed data lines and the World Wide Web decades before technology was up to speed.
 
At a time when computers were exotic creatures filling entire rooms, he envisioned all communications as binary, a string of Boolean ones and zeros now the lingua franca of pimply high school hackers.
 
"He's one of the great men of the century. Without him, none of the things we know today would exist. The whole digital revolution started with him," said Neil Sloane, an AT&T fellow who co-edited Shannon's voluminous collected works in 1993.
 
Yet the genius whom many scientists rank with Einstein was oblivious to these modern marvels, his mind ravaged by Alzheimer's disease, his wife said yesterday.
 
"He would have been bemused" by it all, said Betty Shannon.
 
Claude Shannon's bemusement with life may be the reason he's not a household name. Although his pioneering contributions in mathematics, computing and cryptography won many awards -- 350 scientists and engineers from around the world came to Murray Hill to honor him in 1998 -- Shannon was just as happy inventing pure whimsy.
 
There were rocket-powered Frisbees, motorized pogo sticks, a mechanical mouse-in-a-maze. Nearly a half-century before Deep Blue beat Russian master Garry Kasparov, Shannon described how to build a chess-playing computer. For laughs, he whipped up the THROBAC-I, which computed in Roman numerals.
 
Shannon's evening unicycle rides through the drab hallways of Bell Labs -- while juggling -- are now part of the folklore of that Nobel factory. His creations included a two-seater that nobody wanted to ride, and another with an off-center hub, making him bob up and down "like a duck," his wife said. A "W.C. Fields Juggling Machine" bounced balls off a drum-head.
 
When his honorary degrees started piling up, Shannon hung all the ceremonial gowns in his game room from a rotating chain, like a dry cleaner's rack, Sloane said.
 
"I've always pursued my interests without much regard for financial value or value to the world," Shannon once told the IEEE Spectrum, an engineering magazine. "I've spent lots of time on totally useless things."
 
Colleagues remembered a man of fascinating contradictions. A loner with a sense of humor. Someone who didn't suffer fools gladly . . . or fear looking foolish. A jazz buff who played a variety of instruments, badly. Shannon loathed writing, his wife said. Yet he wrote papers now considered models of scientific elegance.
 
At MIT, where Shannon joined the faculty in 1958, tales were told of large uncashed checks languishing in his office. Money supposedly never mattered much to him -- though acquaintances say he made a fortune from shrewd investments, and by applying his mathematical theories to the stock market.
 
What most impressed co-workers, however, was Shannon's curious intellect.
 
"He had a very peculiar sort of mind," said David Slepian, a mathematician who knew Shannon at Bell Labs in the 1950s. "He didn't know math very deeply. But he could invent whatever he needed."
 
Robert Gallager, an MIT professor of electrical engineering who wrote a paper with Shannon, considers him the greatest scientist of the 20th century.
 
"He had a weird insight. He could see through things. He would say, 'Something like this should be true' . . . and he was usually right," Gallager said.
 
Shannon's breezy ability to make things look easy didn't always endear him to peers, who sometimes questioned the academic rigor of his work. He didn't dot all his i's and cross all his t's, as Gallager put it. Yet eventually Shannon silenced his critics.
 
"You can't develop an entire field out of whole cloth if you don't have superb intuition," Gallager said.
 
The field is now known as information theory.
 
What Shannon outlined in 1948 was a series of mathematical formulas to reduce communications processes to binary code -- "bits" of information. He devised ways to calculate the maximum bits that could be blasted through a phone line, or any other communications channel. And he suggested ways to approach these theoretical limits, by parsing extraneous data and correcting transmission errors.
 
It was not until the invention of integrated circuits, many years later, that these formulas could be put to use. Now, they form the core of compression algorithms that make it possible to pump symphonies over the Internet and cram movies onto DVDs.
 
As Gallager explained, Shannon's paper, published in the Bell System Technical Journal, came in an age when communications were analog. A phone call relayed the caller's voice as a waveform, roughly analagous to his or her speech. Different lines were needed for voice calls, telegraph messages and video. Shannon realized that everything, once broken into digital bits, could travel over the same pipe.
 
"He thought it all through on his own. It's very rare in science when one person goes so far," Gallager said. "It took a long time before people really understood it. But basically the whole thing was there."
 
In a 1937 thesis, Shannon proved electrical circuits could perform the basic functions of Boolean algebra -- the yes/no equations at the heart of modern computing. During World War II, he built a digital encryption system used by Winston Churchill and Franklin Roosevelt. In 1949, another Shannon paper was credited with helping elevate cryptography from an art to a science.
 
Born in Petoskey, Mich., on April 16, 1916, Shannon graduated from the University of Michigan in 1936 with degrees in math and electrical engineering. He earned advanced degrees at MIT and in 1941 joined Bell Labs, with which he was affiliated through 1972.
 
His childhood love for gadgetry, honed on erector sets and crystal radios, continued even when his memory gave out.
 
Betty Shannon, a former Bell Labs researcher, said her husband would try tinkering with fax machines and walkers inside the nursing home.
 
"He still liked to take things apart and figure how they worked," she said.
 
Shannon is survived by a son, Andrew, who is a pianist and composer; a daughter, Peggy, who is a geophysicist with the Union for Concerned Scientists; two granddaughters; and a sister, Catherine S. Kay. Private services are being handled by the Lane Funeral Home in Winchester, Mass.
 
Kevin Coughlin covers technology. He can be reached at kcoughlin@starledger.com or (973) 392-1763.
 
© 2001 The Star-Ledger Used with permission

 

 
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