The Institute, as it is affectionately referred to by the initiated, is my home, my country, and my world. I live in Room 3-439. This number is cleverly devised, so everyone associated with the Institute knows that it is on the fourth floor of Building 3. The outsiders are not privy to this code, though, and they as a rule have trouble finding my room. This is because Building 3 is not physically distinct from any other building in the old campus—a veritable anthouse or beehive crisscrossed by long corridors. Only the members of this community can orient themselves by the room numbers, and this they do with great precision and speed. Building 3 is a virtual building, as it were, a creature of selective path-finding convenience.

I know many people here, including some of those who live in rooms very distant from mine. When I rush through the maze of corridors, holding a stack of papers or computer diskettes in my hands, I greet many inhabitants of this teeming capital of science and technology. Addressing them by name, and exchanging a couple of cheerful words about something or other, I thrust myself forward with energy and will suggesting indomitable determination. Busy, always busy, we create a turbulent cloud of goodwill and dust in our wake. A marvelous sensation it is to be part of the Institute. I cherish the feeling of belonging to this community of zealots dedicated to the improvement of everything under the sun and beyond.

The evening walk to my apartment some twenty minutes up the street, where I sleep and take a shower in the morning, I experience as a departure rather than a return. How wonderful it would be if the Institute would provide sleeping quarters someplace in the old campus, so that I could spare myself from these unnecessary and extravagant journeys to my supposed home. Many of my colleagues no doubt have similar dreams. I can envisage a cluster of cells and a dining hall for the devotees of the Institute—patterned on any well-proportioned monastery of old. A small cloister for evening strolls could be included for good measure. Indeed, the only complaint I have about my existence at present is the lack of such an essential facility. But I am confident that the Institute will in time rectify this deplorable condition.

Addendum I (November 23, 2016)

The November-December issue of the MIT Technology Review, which I receive as an alumnus of the Institute, reached me by mail today. To my surprise, I found myself reading the message from the president, Rafael Reif, in the second part of the review, which is dedicated to the Institute’s affairs. In his message, President Reif focuses on the MIT community. “We must aspire to be not just a concentration of smart individuals,” he argues, “but a thriving community, a community that actively removes barriers to talent and eliminates obstacles to collaboration.” It did not take me long to remember this piece, as well as my daydreaming many years ago about MIT becoming a sovereign entity and issuing passports to its denizens. Indeed, this feeling of community is what I relished at the Institute over most years I spent there. Which is why I still dream on occasion about my return to MIT. Good luck, President Reif! I am very much on your side.

Addendum II (December 10, 2016)

I sent an electronic-mail message to president Reif the same day the first addendum was written. I started by saying that it was a pleasure to read his message. “As you say,” I continued, “community is central to the Institute.” And then I provided a link to this piece and the first addendum. “I am sending it to you in appreciation of the Institute,” I wrote with feeling. I wished him much success with his push for an ever-stronger community at the Institute. To place myself, I wrote a postscript with all the details: “I got my Ph.D. at MIT in 1975, but I also taught there from 1979 to 1982 as a visiting instructor, and from 1983 to 1990 as a professor. Back then, MIT was my home, indeed.” And? More than a fortnight has passed already, but there has been not a word from president Reif. For some reason, I expected a few kind words from him. For my sins, I have not made any contribution to MIT, though, which his message must have been about.