To nine-year-old Hsu Chih-shuo's little mind, his grandfather Hsu Yu-ch'uan has a magic pair of hands that can turn out sparkling little glass fish, ducks, turtles, and giraffes at any time. "But they have a problem-if you drop them they break," he says with a pout, paying no deference to this "maestro of glassblowers."

When students and teachers at NTU's College of Science talk about Hsu Yu-ch'uan, it's with gratitude and respect. Dr. Hsu Yun-chi, recently retired from NTU's department of physics and an expert in atomic structure, recalls performing experiments just after the Retrocession of Tai wan in 1945: "At that time it was hard buying foreign instruments even if you had the money. If it weren't for Hsu Yu-ch'uan, we wouldn't have had the equipment to perform experiments that require a vacuum."

Whenever physics classes at NTU, National Taiwan Normal University, or the Tatung Institute of Technology study the principles of the laser, the helium-neon laser tubes they use in their labs have no other source-they've been blown by Hsu Yu-ch'uan.

And a second-year NTU graduate student of electromechanics measures the diameter of a 0.5 cm. glass tube with a ruler, gives a thumbs-up sign, and exclaims, "Not a hairsbreadth off! He's saved me a fortune in instrument costs already!"

Taiwan's universities currently have just three specialists in blowing glass instruments. Besides Hsu Yu-ch'uan, the other two are at National Tsing Hua University and at NTU's department of chemistry, and both are Hsu's apprentices.

What's the background of this master craftsman?

Having lost both his parents by the age of twelve, Hsu Yu-ch'uan grew up in difficult circumstances and barely completed elementary school, finally graduating at age seventeen.

Seeing that he had no way to support himself, a teacher apprenticed him to a glass factory in Hsinchu. Hsu had a nimble pair of hands and had wanted to apprentice himself to a master of Buddhist sculpture, but he felt obliged to follow his teacher's good intentions, a decision that changed his life.

Hsu entered the factory in 1945 and attended a year of training classes, where he learned the techniques of glassblowing. When his year was up, instead of going to work in the factory, he gained the notice of a professor from what was to become National Taiwan University who was working as an advisor at the factory. The professor picked Hsu to go to the university with him as an assistant technician.

As to why he was noticed, Hsu says, "Maybe he saw that I just kept on working with my head down instead of joking around with the others!"

In just this way--quietly and diligently plodding along--Hsu has remained working away in a field that few explore.

Unlike ordinary bottles and tubes, the glass instruments used in school experiments have strict requirements for accuracy.

In the process of making glass instruments, except for tweezers, cutters, and a few other simple tools, the thickness, flatness, neck size, arcs, angles, and curves nearly all depend on the skill of the craftsman's hands and the control he has of his breathing.

In addition, because glass instruments are commonly used as components in larger scientific apparatuses, tungsten filaments and other devices must often be added. As a result, an accomplished maker of scientific glass instruments is only adept at blowing glass and forming it but also understands electrical and chemical principles and know how to apply them.

For young Hsu, first stepping into the university, this was a whole new world of questions, for which he ransacked the library stacks and the brains of physics department professors in search of answers.

Fusing what he read with what he practiced, Hsu continued to refine his techniques. This year is now his 41st at NTU.

Hsu Yu-ch'uan's glass workshop is hidden away at the end of a long corridor in NTU's physics department building. But that doesn't stop the visitors. "As soon as Old Hsu steps in his workroom, his glass door gets knocked on so much it's like to break," says a lathe master who has worked at the physics department with Hsu for over thirty years.

Besides students and professors from NTU, Hsu's reputation has gradually spread throughout Taiwan's scientific community, so more and more outsiders turn up pleading, "If you don't help, there's no one else on Taiwan who can." Hsu takes on nearly every request.

When asked how he knows he can perform whatever is asked of him, the soft-spoken Hsu shows a little embarrassment: "I just can't refuse," he confesses.

If he says he'll do something, he'll do it right; if he can't, he'll ponder on it and fret.

When he's fretting about something, "he eats less, sleeps poorly, and just sits around the house after work," according to his wife.

And what's his greatest satisfaction? Blushing slightly, Hsu replies: "A 'thank you' from a student or a teacher, and seeing stacks of research papers in Chinese, English, and Japanese on projects I had a part in." Anything else? He tilts his head and thinks a bit before revealing a little secret: he managed, when he went to a bottle factory to give technical training once, to "trick" his bright and cheerful spouse into tying the knot with him.

Having entered NTU at age nineteen, Hsu Yu-ch'uan has followed a long and austere path. Even today his monthly wage is only around NT$20,000 (under US$600). A glass instrument company once tried to lure him away with a salary of NT$50,000, but Hsu calmly turned them down: "It's more meaningful working with professors on research!"

As to recent calls by the mass media to improve the pay scales of university technical personnel, he remarks, "My youngest son has already left the service; I've got no financial burdens and my life is peaceful. But you can't attract qualified technicians today with only NT$7,000 or NT$8.000 a month."

When two technicians recently hired by NTU who quit shortly afterwards are mentioned, the master craftsman looks a little saddened. "When I reach retirement age five years from now," he asks, "who can I give all my unused glass to?"

[Picture Caption]

Safety goggles must be worn to Protect the eyes when burning quartz glass.

The Hsu Yu-ch'uan, the maestro glassblower, at work in his workshop.

Carefully carrying a finished instrument to the lab, Hsu has walked this corridor now for 41 years.

(r.) The trick lies in the blowing and pulling.

In his spare time, Hsu makes little glass animals for his grandchildren.

On the left, a broken instrument (the red light comes from a laser); on the right, the same instrument repaired. Hsu has even added a little tube inside.

Glass instruments are the main features here. The ones leaning against the window are laser vacuum tubes.

The Hsu Yu-ch'uan, the maestro glassblower, at work in his workshop.

Carefully carrying a finished instrument to the lab, Hsu has walked this corridor now for 41 years.

（r.） The trick lies in the blowing and pulling.

In his spare time, Hsu makes little glass animals for his grandchildren.

On the left, a broken instrument （the red light comes from a laser）; on the right, the same instrument repaired. Hsu has even added a little tube inside.

On the left, a broken instrument （the red light comes from a laser）; on the right, the same instrument repaired. Hsu has even added a little tube inside.

Glass instruments are the main features here. The ones leaning against the window are laser vacuum tubes.