Author of his own life

From sweeping floors to writing his 12th book

James B. Meadow, Rocky Mountain News

Saturday, June 16, 2007

So there he was, a young man without any clear idea of his future, pushing a broom, sweeping the cluttered floor of a San Francisco warehouse when he looked down and saw the newspaper photo. It was the 1935 graduating class of the University of California at Berkeley, a place far too mythical and removed from the teen's world for him to even dream about.

Up to this point, he had always figured he would be a truck driver. Or, if he was lucky, an electrician like his brother and father. When both your parents never got past the fourth grade, a blue-collar life was your only hope. At least that was what he told himself.

Until now.

As he looked at the newspaper photograph of those smiling college graduates, 19-year- old Ken Hammond suddenly got irritated. Suddenly found himself thinking, "Why not me?"

And the fact that he never could come up with a good reason explains why on a sunlit day in June 2007, Professor Emeritus Kenneth R. Hammond, an icon of the University of Colorado's psychology department, one of the pioneers in the field of judgment and decision-making, is discussing his latest book - the 12th of his career - the one published in January, just about the time he turned . . . ninety?

"Well, yes, I guess I'm pleased, proud to have written another book at this point in my life. But I don't want to make a big thing out of it. Also, I think this one is a little high-browed for the general public, and that's who I wanted to write it for," he says, talking about Beyond Rationality/ The Search for Wisdom in a Troubled Time, which took five years to complete.

If you find it odd that Hammond would point out his book's flaws as easily as he mentions his pride in writing it, well, ego isn't exactly his best friend.

For instance, ask him to describe himself, and you'll get, "One thing I don't like about me is I tend to be too wishy-washy. Most people know what they like and don't. I'm not like that. I'm out to see both sides of the issue. Perhaps too much."

Want more humility? How about, "I do think of myself as a scholar but not a particularly good one. I think I make the grade, but, well, I've had a chaotic life intellectually. I was not a good student, you know."

Stumbling into heaven

But Professor Hammond, what about the fact that you hold a B.A., M.A. and Ph. D. in psychology from Berkeley? How about that honorary degree from the University of Uppsala in Sweden or the yearlong fellowship through Europe where you lectured on human judgment? Didn't you deliver a lecture at a symposium held in Berlin's Max Planck Institute for Human Development last September - and wasn't that symposium in part held to honor you?

What about the paper you're going to deliver at the Society for Judgment and Decision Making's annual meeting this November?

"Ken is modest," says Hedy Page, who became his life partner in 2005, two years after they lost their spouses.

Perhaps Hammond's tendency to not get carried away with himself is born of wonder and surprise. Wonder and surprise at not how he rose so high in the academic pantheon, but how he even got through the gates of academe in the first place.

You see, even after gaining entry into Berkeley, even after he earned his B.A. in 1940, he didn't really know what he wanted to do.

Luckily, for the next five years he didn't have to decide. World War II found him in the Merchant Marine (a duty he likened to being "a target"). When the war ended, he drove to his mother-in-law's house in Utah to fetch his wife and two young daughters. But first, the young couple decided to have a bit of a second honeymoon. Colorado sounded nice.

They were driving on U.S. Highway 287 when Hammond saw a sign that said "University of Colorado - 9 miles." The couple looked at each other. Colorado has a university? They drove into Boulder and figured they'd stumbled into heaven.

Where life leads

They returned to San Francisco, a new goal in tow. Even better, while Ken was earning two degrees in three years, he befriended a visiting professor from . . . the University of Colorado who put in a good word with her boss. Who then hired him "sight unseen."

It was 1948. The Hammonds arrived in the "country town" that was Boulder. They found a house at 1740 Columbine - the last paved street. Ken and Virginia lived there for 55 years.

By then, in 2003, he had long been retired from CU. The reason for his leaving was "very simple. I was forced to retire," he says, smiling, alluding to the retirement age requirement still in force in 1987.

Not that he minded. After nearly 40 years on the faculty, he was ready to move on. In retirement, he would write four books and add to his inventory of 100-plus published articles.

He was 85 when he started the fifth book. A man of uncommon good health, he had kept himself fit with years of tennis, horseback riding and sailing. His daughters had given him four grandchildren; they, in turn, would bless him with five great-grandchildren. Life was good.

Then it wasn't.

Virginia died in 2003. After two years of loneliness, Ken met Hedy. Life was good again.

Hammond still pursues that life at a brisk pace. Still drives a car. Still goes to exercise class every day. Other than the fact that his hearing's shot, he has to be one of the planet's healthiest nonagenarians. And one of its most intellectually insatiable.

Not that he's kidding himself about how close the end might be. He already has written his own obituary.

"I've seen so many that are so bad," he grumbles. "They're lopsided, trivial, distort the picture. I thought I'd take care of it myself."

But if he's OK with writing his obituary, he suspects his career as an author is done.

"I don't think I'll live long enough to write another book. Another five years seems to be stretching it, don't you think?"

Perhaps. Or - as a certain self-described wishy-washy professor emeritus might say - perhaps not. After all, you never can tell where the next phase of Ken Hammond's life might lead him. Especially if he ever grabs a broom and starts sweeping.

meadowj@RockyMountainNews.com or 303-954-2606