Ronald A. Howard, RIP

My beloved Stanford professor is gone

I’ve had a handful of great teachers in my life. One towering figure was Ronald A. Howard.

I was working at NASA/Ames Research Center when I considered graduate school. I drove to Stanford University and randomly walked through the halls of the Engineering-Economic Systems (now Management Science Engineering) department. One professor with an open office door was Professor Howard. He invited me in and we had a nice conversation, initiated by his questions regarding the roads I drove there and whether I would have paid a toll to drive in a special lane. I was immediately drawn to him.

I was accepted at Stanford as a graduate student in EES and, of course, I would be taking Professor Howard’s classes. The first class was an introduction to decision analysis, which caused one of the few step-function jumps in my education, world view, and enlightenment. It was a class in which the “after me” was materially different than the “before me.”

Ron, as I would later call him, was math professor, engineer, Buddha, Socrates, friend, teacher, father, advisor, thinker, student, questioner, innovator, iconoclast, ethicist, consultant, writer, listener, and guidance counselor, all rolled into one.

Ron was the key person behind the creation of the field of decision analysis. I listened to Eric Horvitz, the Chief Scientific Officer at Microsoft, who was a Ph.D. student of Ron’s, describe how many of Ron’s insights are being used today in the field of artificial intelligence. Some have wondered if he should have received the Nobel Prize.

Ron would teach us a mathematical solution to a problem, such as how to calculate utility functions, and then comment, “By me teaching you this, I’ve just reduced your earning potential. It’s now less likely you’ll be promoted into management.”

Ron visited the Soviet Union at the invitation of a Soviet professor, who later returned the favor and visited Ron at Stanford. They both learned from each other. Ron marveled at the Soviet Union’s lack of taxes—taxes serve no purpose when every transaction goes through the state ‘s apparatus—and how prices were permanently affixed to items. For example, a steel wrench would have its price stamped right into it. There were no special sales or inflation.

Ron also witnessed how 5-year plans worked in practice. In a factory that chrome platted car seatbelt buckles, the machine that dunked the pieces in the various solutions had slots intentionally left blank. Ron asked the plant manager why. Those empty slots guaranteed that the factory could increase production over the next few years simply by filling the empty slots. The plant manager had worked backwards from what his quota would be down the road to calculate how many slots he would need to leave open today. Problem solved!

The Soviet Union, he observed, had a wonderful constitution—on paper. A good constitution, no taxes, and zero inflation—even bad systems can have appealing features.

I talked to Ron after classes, and we sometimes went to lunch. At one point I organized a teaching session led by Ron at the company I worked at, Syntex Labs. I loved the way he gently pulled my business colleagues out of their closed, limited ways of thinking about problems. “You have a cash-flow problem, not a wealth problem.” “You don’t need to compartmentalize your wealth that way. While you may have only $50 in your wallet at this moment, if you needed to I’m sure you could quickly find $500.”

Later, another of my other great teachers, David R. Henderson, and I coauthored a book entitled Making Great Decisions in Business and Life. Without explicitly intending to, the book became a homage to Ron’s clear thinking and insights.

One of Ron’s sayings was: “Peaceful, honest people have a right to be left alone.” Just spend a few moments considering the implications of that.

Later, Ron and I would meet for lunch or dinner. Being with him alone made me feel as if I had been given special permission to enter the Louvre after hours and could quietly study the Mona Lisa and other masterpieces.

I set up dinners with Ron and some friends who I thought might benefit from his wisdom. It was at one of these dinners that Ron described the time he went crazy and was institutionalized. He talked glowing about an event that many would have felt was embarrassing or shameful, claiming it was an important growth experience for him. Others who knew Ron before and after this episode describe how it improved him, changing him from an intellectual ninja ready to battle anyone with opposing viewpoints to a kinder, gentler, more loving Socratic figure.

Ron had a long history with Porsche automobiles. Incredibly, as a full professor at Stanford, he would volunteer his time on weekends to help a local Porsche mechanic. Even though he led a busy life, he was so interested in learning about automobiles from a master mechanic that he offered his time for free.

One evening Ron and I had a restaurant dinner planned and he suggested meeting at his house. Upon showing up in my small, two-seater Porsche Cayman, he complemented my car and suggested we drive it to the restaurant. Ron was not a small man, and he wasn’t very flexible, owing to a lifetime of injuries, notably a broken back. I gently suggested taking his Porsche SUV, certain that he could fit into it. No, he wanted to take my car. Well, getting him into the car involved a mishmash of yoga, spelunking, Rubik’s Cube, and origami. We tried this approach and then that approach, but with no success. Body first and then legs? Legs first and then body? Finally, we somehow squished him into the car.

For me, the enjoyable evening was tempered with the knowledge that we had to do it all over again to get him home.

Ron ordered tempura udon noodle soup that night. The big noodles and floating tempura and eggs were a challenge for him to eat with the utensils provided. Eventually he humorously wondered aloud how people were supposed to eat it before resorted to using his fingers. It seemed so incongruent, but it was vintage Ron Howard, the mischievous genius eating his food with his fingers.

After teaching for six decades and a short retirement, Ron died on October 6, 2024. I’m so sorry to have lost him. And yet I’m so very happy and grateful to have had the opportunity to meet such a towering figure and awesome human being.

Ron, you made my life immeasurably richer. Thank you. I love you.