The reader who has endured to the end, and even the one who skips to the end to see why he should read what is in the middle, deserves an answer to certain questions. Why, for example, did we employ a writing style so at odds with prevailing standards of scientific exposition? Of what use is it to read so much “anecdotal science”? Why, most of all, why did we place such a light emphasis upon theory, or for that matter, quantitative experimental results? The reader need only look as far as the comparison between the rates of transport due to viscosity and reconnection for an answer. These estimates were made with “back-of-theenvelope accuracy” in the 1960s, they are still made the same way on the eve of the twenty-first century, and we still do not know how the two systems of convection interact when they are time dependent. Magnetospheric physics, despite thirty-five years of the most intense, world wide activity, is still in the stage of paradigm clarification. It is, contrary to what one hears in many quarters, not a mature subject at all. There had been such optimism when the space age opened. A few rocket flights, a few spacecraft, and we thought we would know, really know, what the earth’s space environment was like. And in a sense, we learned, we really did learn. Standing out there in the solar wind was a bow shock and a magnetosphere of convecting plasma connecting to highly time-variable auroral displays. These first broad brush strokes of the picture were created by a confident, mid-twentiethcentury command technology, and it seemed that only a few more strokes would fill the canvas. Yet as time passed, the pattern seemed no clearer than it had at the beginning. It turned out that we were painting our picture as a pointillist would, each spacecraft, each ground experiment a single dot. Seurat, as he painted, had a clear idea of the picture he wanted to create, but we had to wait for our picture to emerge, one dot a time, dots of one color at a time.