His writings, like his lectures and discussions, were lucid. They led directly and gracefully to the essence. The breadth, depth and precision of his knowledge of mathematics were legendary, but never paraded. He helped; he did not overwhelm. One story, presumably apocryphal, came to me from one of his contemporaries, probably Karl Loewner. The young Szego was undergoing his doctoral examination. From the examiners came question after question, all answered swiftly, completely and correctly --until one stumped him. Another professor turned to the questioner, saying that he found that question most intriguing but could not think of the answer himself, and asked his colleague for the answer. Came the reply:"I don't know. Had I known, I would not have bothered to ask."
He was only twenty when he published a seminal paper in one of the world's most distinguished mathematical journals. By 1925 he had published thirty papers, all noteworthy. That same year witnessed the publication of the celebrated Polya-Szego, Aufgaben und Lehrsatze aus der Analysis." These two volumes changed the landscape of advanced instruction and research in mathematical analysis, becoming world-famous immediately. Translated into Chinese, English, Hungarian and Russian, they remain beacons today.
The next year, only 31, he was appointed Ordinarius (Professor) in Konigsberg, heir to the mathematical legends Jacobi, Hilbert, Hurwitz, Minkowski, to the philosopher Kant, city of the artist Kathe Kollwitz. Years later, he would become Head of the Mathematics Department at Stanford University, one of America's most famous universities, and develop that Department so dramatically that it became one of the world's meccas of mathematical analysis.
From all this it would seem that his path was smooth, from one triumph to another. Yet the very opposite was the case. It required his strong character to preserve his mathematical talent and give the world his memorable contributions.
Serving as a frontline officer in the Austro-Hungarian army in World War I, he worked on his doctoral dissertation. That massive slaughter, in G. H. hardy's words, of young men sent off to die by old men, left a lasting impression on him. It may well have intensified the passion he lavished on mathematics his entire life. It certainly affected his view of society. He supported later World War II against fascism, seeing no alternative, but he was an outspoken opponent of the Cold War which followed it. He opposed the development, use or testing of nuclear weapons and sought to moderate the growing international tensions which could have destroyed humanity.
There had been but few opportunities for mathematical employment in pre-World War I Hungary or in the post-war Horthy times, for both economic and political reasons. Like many other Hungarian mathematicians destined to become well-known internationally, he had to look abroad, first to Berlin, leading to the Konigsberg professorship in 1926.
This distinguished post was to fall victim to the Nazi accession to power. The years of peaceful, productive scholarship soon were swept away. His life, those of his wife and two children, in danger, his post soon to be taken away, he had to flee abroad, this time to the US, there being no possibilities in Hungary or elsewhere where he had personal connections.
The depression and the growth of anti-Semitism also in the US did not make the transition easy, for him or for the numerous other refugees. However, his reputation and personality led to a temporary position at Washington University (St. Louis) --outside the normal university budget. The local Jewish community provided much of the requisite financial support.
His presence and work added greatly to the prestige of that university, badly in need of someone of his standing. Its subsequent development into an excellent mathematical center owes much to the years he spent there. He published while there a string of papers and a book, quickly classic, on orthogonal polynomials, which has undergone four editions, many printings and translation into Russian.
In 1938 came the call to Stanford University where he spent his remaining years, except for occasional leaves elsewhere. He seized the opportunity to expand the Department with appointments of world-famous scholars, bringing first his teacher, collaborator and friend Polya (a Hungarian working in Switzerland), then Loewner, Bergman, Schiffer and younger analysts.
His personal productivity never slackened. His capacity for work rivaled his talents. But he was far from being merely a mathematical machine. He was a modest, good-humored man, devoted to family and friends, reserved but warm, a pleasure to be with, ever helpful to those in difficulty. A strong character, but not domineering, he possessed a considerable personal charm and a remarkably wide culture.
Mathematics for him was not just his own research. Generous with his time and experience, he sought out young people with whom he shared his knowledge and guidance and whom he assisted in their careers.
Well read in ancient and modern literature, he worried that scientists who did not read the humanities could be ensnared by demagogues.
He never stinted in seeking help for those threatened by Europe's fascist storms. In the post World War II era he gave moral and financial support to victims of McCarthyism in the US. He rose to the defence of the eminent Uruguayan mathematician Jose Luis Massera, now the holder of a dozen honorary doctorates, but imprisoned for nearly ten ears while a military junta ruled his country.
He opposed racism and sexism. When the first campaign began to end the discrimination against African-American mathematicians then routinely practiced by US mathematical organizations, he quickly lent his aid. He also took time from his busy schedule to spend time at a college for Black students, helping and encouraging them.
In his Will, he left money to one organization dedicated to opposing racism and to another supporting civil liberties in the US.
The Cold War repelled him. He opposed nuclear weapons and the whole atmosphere and policy which the Cold War engendered in his adopted country. He was not given to initiating campaigns on the various social issues which commanded his attention, but he never with-held his open moral and financial support.
Never did he forget his country of origin. He visited it often, even during the long, trying years of his final illness. A number of his distinguished publications are in Hungarian journals up to the end of his research activities.
He translated and prepared for publication the notes dated March 12, 1944, left by "the young and able Hungarian mathematician, E. Feldheim," to quote the footnote Gabor Szego appended, "a few months before he became the victim of the terror of the Nazis."
He invited Hungarian mathematicians to visit Stanford and was in all ways in constant touch with Hungarian mathematical life and personalities. It gave him great satisfaction when he was elected to the Hungarian Academy of Sciences.
To the end of his life, he remained true to science, to peace, to human values, to friends. His birthplace, his native land, his adopted country, scientists everywhere, have ample cause to celebrate the life of this eminent scholar and fine human being. He has brought honor to all.
I congratulate you for organizing this celebration and thank you for allowing me to be with you in spirit on this day.