Few minds combined scientific brilliance, deep teaching passion, and lifelong humility like Dr. Richard C. Larson. Nicknamed ‘Dr. Queue,’ Larson hasn’t just transformed operations research, he has humanised it, turning some of the field’s cold structure of math and systems theory into a poetic study of life’s flow and friction.
As a Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) professor, National Academy of Engineering member, and author of landmark studies and books, Larson has spent decades providing people with an understanding of the unseen logic behind systems that shape their daily lives, from urban policing and call centres to public health infrastructure.
His story is not only about academic brilliance, but also about how curiosity, self-doubt, resilience, and a love of people intersect to shape a lasting legacy. In this story, we walk you through the steps of Richard Larson’s mindset, right from innocent boyhood inquisitiveness to shaping the arithmetic that makes today’s world go round.
A Childhood of Wonder and Numbers
The path to intellectual discovery began for Richard Larson in the public schools of Needham, Massachusetts. Many children grumbled about their arithmetic and science homework, but not young Richard. “I never, even from first grade, thought of learning science or math as work,” he says. “It was just learning joy.”
This joy never faded. Still, in retirement, Larson adheres to a thoughtful quote by physicist Albert Einstein: “Any day without learning is a day wasted.” There is still the habit of getting up each morning to the challenge of discovering something new, a practice that has fueled a lifetime of continuous scholarly influence.
One of the turning points was his acceptance into MIT. He was thrilled and also overwhelmed. Starting in privileged academia with a humble step was the first day of a search to see, from the inside, how knowledge systems formed.
When Eyes Sparkle with Understanding
Larson wasn’t a performative lecturer; he was a guide. Whether he was discussing probability, queueing theory, or decision analysis, he was always mindful of whether the student was grasping the material. “When they’d suddenly figure out a hard idea and smile, that’s when I’d feel that the job is well done,” he shares.
So much more than a dispatcher of truths, Larson considered himself a producer of comprehension. Every lesson was a conversation, shaped as much by the students as by the subject.
“Education is not just telling; it’s linking concepts to understanding. And every student makes me a better teacher.”
The Student-First Culture
Among the more unsung but significant contributions to Larson’s teaching legacy was his highly organised and student-centred classroom management system. Larson stood apart from senior professors who distanced themselves from day-to-day classroom interaction. However, he believed in maintaining an ever-present feedback relationship with his students.
Instead of waiting anonymously at the end of the semester, he scheduled formal meetings with students each week. Students affectionately called it the ‘classroom council’, which served to provide feedback, adjust pacing and revise difficult content based on where students were on the learning curve.
“It wasn’t about giving the ideal lecture. It was about tuning into how well they were receiving it,” Larson shares. These informal but purposeful dialogues fostered a culture of trust and openness every week. Larson was not seeking power; it was about unity.
From Circuits to Operations Research
Despite having graduated from MIT’s Electrical Engineering department, Larson was already restless intellectually. The flame was rekindled when his mentor, Professor Alvin Drake, invited him to the field of Operations Research (OR). It was love at first sight.
“For me, OR became the physics of the real world,” Larson says. “Everything started to make sense, airline systems, emergency response, even traffic signals.”
He developed a deep fascination with queueing theory. He was drawn to both its practical use and poetic structure. Particularly, he said, by the elegant sound of the word ‘queueing’, “Five vowels in a row, all lined up, waiting. It was this mixture of logic and language that would define so much of his research and storytelling as a published author,” Richard shares.
The Language of Logic
What separates Larson from the ocean of academics isn’t just the research he does, but the way he can communicate it. As a writer, he ditches technical jargon for the sake of it. And there’s an exceptional clarity, even naturalism, to his work. Whether in technical journals, advising government bodies, or co-authoring books, his commitment is to make complex ideas comprehensible.
Urban Police Patrol Analysis is just one example of his early work. Published in 1972, it brought operations research into the arena of urban policy, earning him the Lanchester Prize and national press attention.
“There was so little OR being done in policing at that time. I didn’t know how it would do,” he shares. It became a turning point. He was asked to serve on the President’s Commission on Law Enforcement as its youngest member.
For Larson, writing isn’t something he does because he has to; academically, it’s a song he sings for the public good. His writing, like his teaching, is designed to shed light.
Collaboration Over Competition
Larson’s lab was as much about mentorship as it was about theory. His collaborators, who were often students, often fellow faculty members like Professors Arnold Barnett and Amedeo Odoni, say that he was equally demanding and supportive.
A series of weekly meetings with student representatives allowed him to monitor classroom dynamics. Open conversations with co-instructors helped keep the syllabus current and up to date. “Collaboration, innovation, and mentorship didn’t happen because of the structure. They happened through conversation,” he says.
It was this spirit of companionship that earned him praise from colleagues and his students. He didn’t assert authority; he invited curiosity.
He also enjoyed the success his students achieved and considered their success as, in a sense, his own. “The true happiness of a mentor is to see you exceed. That’s when you know it’s right,” he says.
Old-School Wisdom in a Tech-Savvy World
In an era of algorithms, automation, and AI-assisted classrooms, Larson remained defiantly old-school. He believed in the power of pencils. “The worst thing a student can do is search for an answer online before they’ve wrestled with the problem themselves,” he often said.
While others were rushing to embrace technology in classrooms, Larson urged restraint. He saw tools like ChatGPT or search engines not as learning aids, but as potential distractions from the real learning process. “Handwriting forces your brain to process. It’s physical, intellectual, and emotional,” he notes.
This wasn’t a rejection of progress; it was a plea to respect the process. “The answer is not the answer. The process is the answer,” Richard shares.
Beyond the Blackboards
Though Larson is now technically a full-time retiree, he continues to be an incurable learner. “I get up with curiosity. Every day should be a learning experience. Otherwise, what was the point?” he says.
Larson is an avid reader. His reading list extends beyond OR and engineering: behavioural economics, climate adaptation models, history, and even poetry enter his mornings.
He also enjoys puzzles, crosswords, Sudoku, and logic problems that challenge his mental sharpness. Sometimes, he revisits previous lectures and refreshes his notes from the past, even if there’s no current class on the agenda.
“This learning habit is not for productivity. It’s about remaining a part of the world.”
The Moment That Made the Mentor
A single moment in graduate school forever altered his approach as an instructor. He had written the solution to a problem on the board and solved a problem in front of a class. However, when a student asked for a deep-level explanation, he was at a loss for words.
“I felt ashamed, I felt like I had failed them,” he says. That night, he reflected deeply on the experience: he would never teach from a place of anything but profound knowledge.
That depressing moment was a turning point, one that informed his entire teaching career and intensified his influence on future scholars.
Between MIT and Home
Even amid academic excellence, it’s Larson’s humanity that shines through the most. His deep commitment to family was a defining aspect of his life.
“MIT gave me purpose, but my family gave me life,” he says.
The passing of Liz in 2022 was a sad event. “Her soul was my soul, and her anchor was my anchor,” he says gently. However, his love for her and their children, who now reside in Texas and Seattle, remains his emotional guiding star. As the grandfather of four, Larson has discovered a fresh value in storytelling, challenges, and laughter.
A Love That Enriched the Mind
On March 26, 1955, he married his wife and soulmate, M. Elizabeth “Liz” Murray, at the Methodist Church in Gardena, California.
“She was my other half. Not only in parenting, but in thinking,” he reflects. “She would question my ideas, not as an academic, but because she had real-world sense.”
Their home reflected their shared love of ideas and family. Larson’s evening ritual was to return home, kiss Liz, hug the kids, and shift into family mode. It was a grounding ritual that kept his academic ego in check.
Following Liz’s death in 2022, Larson endured what he describes as ‘an intellectual silence.’ He couldn’t read for a long time and struggled to teach and write as well. “Grief doesn’t take your knowledge. It disrupts your emotional rhythm,” he says softly.
Finally, he found solace by returning to Liz’s favourite music and by journaling thoughts and memories of their life together. He still keeps a picture of her near his desk, next to their favourite Emerson quote: “To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived, that is to have succeeded.”
Embracing the Future – OR + AI = 5
Richard Larson is still as sharp as ever, even in his retirement. There is one particular subject that continues to capture his interest, and that is the intersection of operations research and artificial intelligence.
He says that in math, 1 + 1 = 2. Otherwise, in the real world, OR + AI = 5.
He is convinced that, in combination, they might transform the way decisions are made within various industries, such as healthcare, supply chains, education, and sustainability. AI introduces flexibility; OR introduces reason. The merger can be revolutionary.
He does not publish new studies, but he remains active through discussions, advising, and mentorship. “Although I am no longer in the lab, my curiosity persists every day,” he shares.
Words of Wisdom
For the young scholar entering the operations research arena, Larson provides a guiding light:
“Find the questions that keep you up at night. But the ones that pull on your brain and heart. That’s your compass. That’s where your work begins.”
He warns against trend-chasing. “Don’t follow the field. Lead it. Carve a niche so real and relevant that it pulls you into a lifetime of inquiry.”
For Larson, it’s not about solving the most problems; it’s about asking the most interesting ones.
Why the Next Generation Still Needs Patience
In today’s era of instant results, Larson urges young minds to resist the itch for speed. He believes the most enduring research questions are the ones that don’t leave you alone.
“If it keeps you up at night or shows up uninvited in your thoughts, that’s a clue you’re on to something real,” Richard says.
And when asked, “When things get hard?” “That means you’re doing something worth doing,” he says.
The Legacy of a Lifelong Learner
The legacy of Dr. Richard Larson cannot be measured by the awards won, the books written or compiled, or the lives he directly touched as teacher, thinker, mentor, father, and writer.
He turned the act of queuing into something beautiful, education into something transformative, and humility into something noble. He has shown that science is not remote; it is present in every traffic light, every hospital queue, and every police patrol.
It is a story of head and heart. Of making the complex comprehensible. Of shaping systems and, more importantly, of shaping minds.
In a world of growing complexity, Larson’s voice urges us to pause, reflect, and think deeply.
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