My attitude toward graduate students was different, I must say. I

Host: The university courtyard was drenched in the amber glow of the setting sun. The wind brushed through the autumn leaves, sending soft whispers across the old stone benches. A bell tower in the distance marked the hour with slow, resonant chimes. The air smelled faintly of ink, books, and the nostalgic dust of a place where minds had wrestled for generations.

Jack sat beneath the shadow of an old oak tree, his jacket unbuttoned, his hands roughened by years of work — the kind of hands that had known more practice than theory. Across from him, Jeeny perched lightly on the edge of a bench, a notebook on her lap, her eyes gleaming with quiet curiosity.

They had come here after giving a guest lecture to a group of young researchers, both carrying the residue of conversation and memory.

Jeeny: “Frank Press once said, ‘My attitude toward graduate students was different… I used them as colleagues. I gave them the best problems to work on, and I encouraged them.’” (pauses, glancing toward the windows of the old lab building) “I love that. It’s rare to hear a leader talk about students as equals — as colleagues rather than subordinates.”

Jack: (smirking, staring at the fading light) “That’s idealism talking. In the real world, Jeeny, hierarchy keeps the machine running. You can’t make everyone your colleague; some people still have to learn before they can lead.”

Host: The wind picked up, scattering a few pages from Jeeny’s notebook. She caught one midair, her fingers trembling slightly, as if the paper itself carried a fragile truth.

Jeeny: “But that’s the point, Jack. You don’t lead by reminding people they’re below you. You lead by helping them rise. Frank Press saw his students as thinkers, not tools. That’s why they followed him — not because they had to, but because they wanted to.”

Jack: “You’re quoting virtue like it pays the bills. Encouragement doesn’t build competence; discipline does. If everyone’s a colleague, who’s accountable when things fall apart?”

Jeeny: “Accountability isn’t born from fear — it’s born from trust. When you treat people as colleagues, they choose to take responsibility. It’s not forced; it’s shared.”

Host: The sunlight filtered through the leaves, painting Jeeny’s face with trembling streaks of gold and shadow. Jack’s eyes lingered on the horizon, his expression tight, as though wrestling with a memory he’d buried too long.

Jack: “I once ran a research team — years ago. Fresh out of grad school, full of ambition. I thought like you then. I treated everyone like equals. It worked — for a while. Until one of them made a mistake in our prototype. The result? A two-million-dollar loss. You can’t imagine how fast equality turned to chaos.”

Jeeny: (quietly) “Maybe it wasn’t equality that failed, Jack. Maybe it was fear that crept in after. Mistakes happen — that’s how people grow. What matters is how we respond to them.”

Host: The bell tower chimed again, echoing through the open quad like a pulse between memory and regret. Jack’s jaw tightened; his voice dropped low, almost gravelly.

Jack: “Tell that to a company board. Or to the professor whose funding dries up because of a failed experiment. Encouragement is beautiful — but it doesn’t protect you from the consequences of failure.”

Jeeny: “And yet without encouragement, no one ever dares to fail — or to succeed. Think of Niels Bohr and his students. He didn’t just command them; he invited them. He asked young minds — Heisenberg, Pauli — to challenge him, to question the very foundation of physics. That kind of trust created the quantum revolution.”

Host: The wind calmed. The sky above the university turned a deep violet, the first stars flickering awake. A group of students passed by, their laughter soft and fleeting, like echoes of the past.

Jack watched them, something flickering in his eyes — not envy, but recognition.

Jack: “Bohr was a genius. Most people aren’t. Give someone too much freedom, and they drown in it. Structure keeps creativity from eating itself alive.”

Jeeny: “Structure should protect, not suffocate. The best teachers don’t lock their students inside boundaries; they give them ladders to climb beyond them. Frank Press gave his students the best problems — not the easiest. That’s what respect looks like.”

Jack: “Respect is earned, Jeeny, not gifted.”

Jeeny: (softly) “But so is faith.”

Host: A long silence stretched between them. The leaves rustled like the whisper of unseen voices — past mentors, forgotten arguments, moments of quiet guidance. Jeeny closed her notebook, her fingers brushing the cover like one might touch a cherished photograph.

Jeeny: “You know, my mentor once told me something similar. He said, ‘The way you treat your students is the echo you leave in the world.’ He gave me problems I thought were impossible. Not because he wanted me to fail — but because he wanted me to grow into the kind of person who could solve them.”

Jack: (looking at her intently) “And did you?”

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) “Not all of them. But that wasn’t the point. The point was to try.”

Host: The lamplight flickered on across the courtyard, bathing the benches in pools of amber. The sky darkened fully now, carrying the scent of cold earth and old books.

Jack leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice quieter now — more thoughtful than combative.

Jack: “Maybe I expected too little from people. Maybe I treated them like followers because it was easier to protect myself from disappointment.”

Jeeny: “And maybe they became exactly what you expected them to be. The mirror always reflects the image we cast.”

Host: The words settled like dust in sunlight. Jack’s eyes flickered with something tender — an ache for time lost, for people who might have stayed if only he’d believed in them a little more.

Jack: “You really think encouragement can change people that much?”

Jeeny: “I don’t think it — I’ve seen it. A single word from someone who believes in you can rewrite the trajectory of a life. Frank Press didn’t just give his students problems — he gave them permission to matter.”

Host: A faint breeze stirred again, and with it came a subtle peace. The night air cooled the heated remnants of debate. Jack rose slowly, stretching his arms, gazing up at the tower’s dark silhouette.

Jack: “You know, Jeeny… maybe Press had it right. Maybe the best way to lead isn’t to command from above — but to walk beside.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. To be the kind of mentor who invites others into the unknown — not one who guards it.”

Host: Jeeny stood beside him, her shoulder brushing his. Together they watched a group of young researchers cross the courtyard, their faces lit with the glow of discovery, their voices animated with that wild mix of confusion and wonder.

Jack: “Do you think they’ll remember us?”

Jeeny: “Maybe not our names. But they’ll remember how we made them feel — challenged, trusted, seen.”

Host: The camera slowly pulled back. The courtyard bathed in the golden light of the lamps, the wind whispering through leaves that shimmered like falling thoughts.

Jack and Jeeny stood there — teacher and believer, skeptic and dreamer — both gazing at the young faces that would inherit their world.

And as the night deepened, their silhouettes became one — a quiet symbol of what Frank Press had meant all along: that the greatest gift a mentor can give is not instruction, but faith.

The world beyond the courtyard was vast and uncertain, but for that moment, it seemed full of promise — and every problem, no matter how difficult, seemed like an invitation.