The Switcheroo, 1931

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He was the man whose hair defied the laws of physics, who stuck out his tongue in photographs and stroked his mighty moustache when explaining his theorems. The scientific community was unanimous: Albert Einstein had split the world down the middle when he published his manuscript on General Relativity. Opinion on university campuses ranged from scepticism to incredulity. The man himself seemed half-moonstruck, and his theories were outright insane. As Charlie Chaplin had told him: “The whole world admires you, even though they don’t understand a word of what you say.”

Have you ever heard the story about Albert Einstein’s driver?

At the time, Albert Einstein was still something of a newcomer, and just beginning to make his name in scientific circles. The German had not yet upended the world of physics with his theory of relativity, which he was still in the process of developing. The genius had a ways to go yet, yet many other great men, including Planck and Langevin, were already wishing him the best on his road to international stardom. Albert Einstein was a passionate man, an artist behind the rostrum who had enjoyed lecturing at the greatest universities in Europe. The world of science was now taking an interest in Einstein, but he remained unknown to the general public. His ruffled hair and white moustache were not yet familiar images, and the physicist was able to live anonymously. Soon, Albert Einstein found himself travelling the roads and highways of America, driven by a chauffeur as colleges across the country invited him to come and lecture, all eager to bask in the light of his genius.

The driver and Einstein were cruising leisurely down Interstate 405 toward San Diego, where the scientist was to give a lecture at a small colleges. These days, the driver preferred to attend the lectures rather than chain smoking outside the hall. “Might as well learn a little something,” he figured, especially if it was what Einstein had to teach. As the great man began speaking, the driver would slip in the door and stand at the back of the hall to listen. He took notes and paid attention to the questions the students asked. He tried to solve the equations on the board; it was no easy feat, but the driver persevered. Eventually, the driver came to known the lectures by heart, though he had not fully understood their most intricate mysteries. As they drove along, he began to boast.

                  “You know, Mr Einstein, at this point I’ve heard your lecture so many times I know it inside-out.”

                  “Oh really?” said the physicist, with a smirk.

“No word of a lie. I bet I could even give the lecture myself.”

Albert Einstein looked at him in the rear-view, and an idea came to the scientist. After all, he was getting somewhat bored of repeating the same content every week. What if he took today off?

“What’s the next stop – San Diego? You think you could give that lecture in my place?” he asked.

The physicist had a wicked sense of humour, and the idea of passing off his driver as a famous scientist intrigued him. “Pull over, would you?” he told the driver. Somewhat surprised, the driver did so. Einstein got out and walked around to the driver’s door. “Out you get, and take off your uniform,” he said calmly. The driver understood. Albert Einstein undressed and handed the driver his clothes. Once he had donned the other man’s uniform, he took the wheel while his employee sat on the back seat. The physicist’s reputation was on the line, and he was curious to hear if the driver could indeed repeat his theories.

When they got to San Diego, the driver got out. He put on a serious face and entered the lecture hall, his legs trembling, while Albert Einstein stood at the back. The moment came; the driver climbed onto the stage to great applause, and delivered the lecture flawlessly. Albert Einstein was impressed, and proud of his driver. The switcheroo had worked.

Alan Alfredo Geday