I grew up thinking Stephen Hawking was the most important scientist in the world. Not because I understood his work. Not even because I cared much about physics back then. But because of the image: the man in the wheelchair, locked in his body, talking through a machine, and somehow explaining the entire universe better than anyone else alive. It was unbelievable. He was a symbol. To me, he looked like tragedy and genius rolled into one. And I assumed—like almost everyone else I know—that if he was that famous for discovering black holes, he must’ve been the one who discovered them. But recently, I read Patchen Barss’s new biography. And I honestly still haven’t recovered. Because it turns out, that’s not how it happened. Not even close. It was Penrose who did the hard part. The guy who actually figured out how black holes work? The one who proved they weren’t just possible, but guaranteed under Einstein’s theory? It wasn’t Hawking. It was Roger Penrose. A name I barely knew until about two months ago. In 1965, Penrose came out of nowhere with this totally new kind of mathematics that proved what nobody had been able to prove before: that if a massive star collapses, it doesn’t just die quietly—it crushes space itself and creates a singularity. That’s the real origin of black hole theory as we know it. Then Hawking came in, picked up Penrose’s ideas, and applied them to the entire universe. The Big Bang, cosmic beginnings, time running backward—all of that. It was very clever. He made the whole thing his own. But he started with Penrose’s playbook. I didn’t know any of this And honestly, I think that’s the most shocking part. Nobody told me. Not in school. Not in documentaries. Not even in the obituaries I read when Hawking died. Because let’s face it: Hawking wasn’t famous because of his black hole work. He was famous because he was a genius in a completely disabled body. Because of the robotic voice. Because of how impossible his life was. That’s what made him stand out. That’s what people saw. His love life. His wives. His kids. He became the symbol of scientific brilliance because he looked like someone who shouldn’t be able to speak at all, let alone explain the universe. And I get why that stuck with people. I really do. But it also meant no one looked too closely at who actually did what. Hawking’s death, Penrose’s prize, and… still no shift? Hawking died in 2018, and I remember the world stopping for a minute

Then, two years later, in 2020, Penrose got the Nobel Prize—finally—for his black hole work. No shared credit. No Hawking. Just Penrose. And still, the public story didn’t change. Hawking was still the name people knew. Penrose stayed basically invisible among all the other Nobel winners that nobody really remembers or cares about. It actually seemed unfair that Penrose was getting the Nobel that should have gone to Hawking. Until now It’s only with the release of Barss’s new book—right now, years after Hawking’s death and even after Penrose’s Nobel—that I finally saw the whole picture for what it is. It was Penrose who changed physics. The one who did the part that actually got recognized at the highest level. And the fact that it took this long for someone to put it all together in one place—and say it clearly—is kind of unbelievable. Why it gets to me I respected Hawking. I still do. But his story became so massive, so unshakable, that it swallowed everything around it—including Penrose. And I don’t want that to happen anymore. Now when people talk about Hawking, I can’t not mention Penrose. I can’t let the story go back to being just one guy overcoming the odds. It was always more than that. It was always a team effort. And Penrose was the one who cracked the code first. So yeah, Hawking’s reputation really did act like a black hole. It pulled everything in, and for a long time, no light escaped. Thanks to Barss, maybe it finally has.