Ken Amos — My Teacher My Mentor

 

For many people, another kind of student life begins after the formal years of schooling, college, and university degrees have come to an end—especially for those who choose learning and scholarship as their profession. I am one of them. By choice, I have embraced the life of a lifelong student. And among those who showed me the way on this journey, one of the most important was Professor Ken Amos—my teacher, my mentor.

Throughout my formal education, I had the privilege of learning from many teachers in the classroom, and I hold every one of them in the highest respect. All teachers deserve reverence, but some, because of their unique qualities, come to occupy a special place in a student’s life.

When I was given the opportunity to pursue a PhD at the School of Physics, University of Melbourne, I did not choose my supervisor myself. At the time, I had no idea how one was supposed to select a PhD supervisor. Along with a scholarship, the university also assigned me a supervisor. He was Ken Amos.

I do not know whether this man changed me, but I do know that he showed me a path—not only through nuclear physics, but also towards a philosophy of life.

On the evening of my PhD graduation, he said to me:

“You have studied all these years to earn degrees. That kind of study came with pressure, responsibility, and deadlines. I don’t know how much joy you found in it. Now you have the opportunity to study simply for the pleasure of learning—to take your time, enjoy it, and learn at your own pace.”

It was by watching Ken Amos that I came to understand how joyful learning could be when there was no pressure to pass examinations.

There is no compulsory retirement age at Australian universities. If an academic remains mentally and physically capable and wishes to continue working, they may, in principle, continue for life. Yet as soon as Ken Amos turned sixty, he announced his retirement.

He retired officially, on paper. But from Monday to Friday, morning until evening, he continued to come to his office regularly. He would spend the entire day immersed in study, conducting research and writing papers.

I once asked him, “If you are going to continue working anyway, why did you retire?”

He replied:

“I retired to give younger people an opportunity. If I didn’t retire, the department wouldn’t appoint someone else in my position. And I don’t need a salary anymore. As long as I live, my superannuation will support me.”

Ken Amos taught at the University of Melbourne for thirty years as a salaried academic. After that, for another twenty-six years, he continued conducting research regularly without receiving a salary. He authored more than three hundred research papers, wrote books, and edited research journals. He was one of the pioneers of the optical model in nuclear theory.

Whenever I wanted to discuss anything in Melbourne, I would rush to him.

It breaks my heart that I now have to write “would go” instead of “go.” A verb that, only a few days ago, belonged to the present tense has suddenly become part of the past.

I spoke with this man about so many things. Yet not once did I tell him:

My dear teacher, how deeply I respect you.

I do not know how long the School of Physics at the University of Melbourne will remember you. But the students whose lives you touched, now scattered across the world, certainly will.