In my last post I mentioned “The New Yorker”. I have been an avid reader of this magazine since high school. Each week I start off my reading by opening to the table of contents and scanning the list of authors. After so many years, I have become familiar with many of the authors. In particular I look for Seymour Hirsh and Roger Angell. I do the opposite with the Talk of the Town section. I read each item and guess which author wrote it. I pick out Hendrik Hertzberg about 90% of the time.
This week’s issue (which is actually last weeks published issue, mail from the Big Apple to the Big Cactus takes a while) featured no frequent authors. My next move was to then scan the titles. There was an article filed under “Annals of Medicine” titled “The Tangle”.
As soon as I read that title a felt a chill as goose bumps spread across my arms. I instantly knew the subject of the article and my thoughts raced back to a similar article in the New Yorker back in 1991 that launched my foray into neurobiology.
The subject of both articles is the subject of neurodegenerative diseases that are unusually common on the island of Guam. “The Tangles” refers to clusters of proteins that show up in the neurons of people infected with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS, or Lou Gehrig’s disease), Parkinson’s and a disease called PSP
The earlier article was by the noted neuroscientist Oliver Sacks. His research was focused on the role of cycad plants in the high number of cases of these diseases on Guam. As I recall, his theory was that when the Japanese invaded the island during World War II, the villagers were forced to eat cycad plants to survive. The toxins then surfaced years later when the epidemic reached its peak in the late 1950’s into the 1960’s. Sacks thought that the toxins in cycads had some role in the epidemic, but couldn’t pinpoint the exact role.
At the time the first article was published, I was a student at Utah State University studying Philosophy. My particular interest was Concept of Mind. I was spending quite a bit of time reading Wittgenstein, Descartes, Kant, Kierkegaard and other philosophers on the topics of ontology, epistemology and any other topic related to how we understand the world around us. After several semesters of this, I decided that I needed to know more about how the brain worked so I signed up for a class called “Brain and Behavior”. The course was taught by a professor who seemed every bit the classical image of a professor, tweed jackets, aloof deadpan sense of humor, strong devotion to teaching.
I read the Oliver Sacks article half way through the semester and formed a hypothesis about the role of cycad toxins in these diseases. I had a particular interest in one the two major diseases, ALS. It was the disease that ended the career of Lou Gehrig. Reading the biography of Gehrig when I was in third grade launched my devotion to the Yankee’s.
My hypothesis was that tangles of proteins blocked retrograde axonal transfer in cholinergic neurons, resulting in gradual atrophy of the axonal body and a slowly widening synaptic gap, rendering the neuronal path unusable.
I was so convinced that I was right that I stopped by the office of the professor who taught Brain and Behavior, Charles Lent. He invited me in, listened patiently as I described my theory. At the end of my soliloquy I asked “What do you think?”. His response was “It has merit, if you can prove it you will win the Nobel Prize.” I asked him if we could do experiments using Giant Squid axons. He said that his lab wasn’t equipped for the type of work that it would require, but he offered me a volunteer job in his lab.
The next 10 months was spend in wonderful bliss working on the neuropharmacology of feeding behavior in the medicinal leech, Hirudo Medicinalis. During this time I decided to switch careers from Philosophy to Neurobiology. My job in the lab was to soak leeches in saline solutions with varying amounts of dopamine, serotonin and other chemicals. After the soaking I would place the leeches on a wax sheet that was on top of a tank that was heated to 98.6 degrees, a mechanical mimic of mammalian skin. A Petri dish was placed over the leach to keep it from slinking away. For 5 minutes the leech would wander around and occasionally bite into the wax. I would place the next leech on the wax and take the previous wax to a microscope. The bites of the leech looked like tiny Mercedes symbols. I would count up the total number of bites and enter it in a lab notebook. If I was working fast then I would go over to the Macintosh IIx computer and enter the data into our Abacus statistical software and see how the test affected the trend lines.
After a while I realized that I was having more fun working on the computers than working on the leeches. That was the beginning of my computer career. Neurobiology had beat out Philosophy as my major interest, and computers slowly beat out Neurobiology.
Dr. Lent became Chuck, my mentor. I spent every available minute in his lab, doing everything from washing dishes to dissecting leeches and hooking up electrodes to the Retzius neurons in their ganglia. It was a very happy time.
Chuck Lent died of cancer in 1993. By that time I was working for Apple selling Mac’s to scientists at the university.
On Saturday when I read the article in last weeks New Yorker I was taken back by memories to 14 years ago when the cause of Guamian ALS was at hand, my Nobel Prize in sight. The fact that the article also mentioned the Nobel value of the research only made me second-guess my life decisions even more.
I visiting professor from Dickenson College (Eric ??, how have I forgotten his name?) suggested that I broaden my investigation into related fields. Chuck Lent gave me an opportunity and a Macintosh. Trish Blair gave me a job selling Mac’s, even though I admitted in the interview that I didn’t feel I could sell anything but Mac’s. Jim Haefner gave me a job as a Computer Specialist in the same Biology department and 1000 other opportunities working there gave me the experience and confidence to get the job I have now.
One slight change in that path and I am an assistant professor of Biology at some Midwestern state college. Michael Dickenson was mentored by Chuck a few years before me. That is the path he took. One more change and I am working in a bookstore, wishing that society had more demand for people with a Ph.D. in Philosophy.
There was little or no emotional impact of throwing out a dozen Fast Company magazines collected over the years. Each week the New Yorker is met with much more anticipation. How many other ways have the 800+ issues I have read over the years changed my life? Impossible to know.
I went to the scientific article mentioned in the New Yorker version. I like to think I understood what it was about, but the chemistry of biology was always a problem for me. Maybe the paths I take are not random fate determined by cause and effect. That doesn’t stop me of thinking of my life in that alternate universe: Birkenstock’s, Grateful Dead on the stereo in the lab, hectic teaching schedules, sweating over the grant proposals, student’s with quirky hypothesis’s and a disdain for the corporate life.