Once upon a time, a Fearless Fellowship Leader and her 7 merry long-term fellows went, hi-ho, off to work. They wrote, thought, cogitated, wrote some more, followed their minds, and then wrote even more lovely academic prose. They had almost nothing in common, except for a  passion for the history of chemistry. And thus, driven by intoxicating thoughts about all things atomic and alchemical, they led a pleasant if somewhat busy life. The days were long, and their fingers soon became sore from their tireless (yet strangely tiring) dance on the computer keyboard. But then, something wonderful happened . . .

From Lucy Rider Meyer, Real Fairy Folks: Explorations in the World of Atoms (1887). Photo by Gregory Tobias.

All right, the fellowships at CHF may be considered enchanting by some—but, my dear readers, the reality—What do you say? Continue with the story? All right then, here goes.

A long, long time ago, each of the fellows had decided to make his or her way toward Academia, a fair city in a land far, far away. In Academia, the trees brought forth prizes and medals, the rivers overflowed with peer praise, and the roads were paved with clever students. The local railroad in Academia went straight down the tenure track. So, when the fellows met at CHF, they were happy to share part of the way with fellow-fellows. Their tea parties were punctuated by laughter, chemical stories, and ever more wonderful accounts of Academia and its perks.

And it goes on like that. You know the drill: Fencing. Fighting. Torture. Revenge. Giants. Monsters. Chases. Escapes. True love. Miracles.

The fellows encountered many fabulous people and creatures on their journey: there was Goldiprof, the professor who could never find a graduate student who was smart enough but not too smart. Another time they met Hinderella, the lady professor who would not let her doctoral student finish (and somehow always wore mismatched shoes). Among the students they came across was Singrad the Sailor who traveled from conference to conference (his audience fell asleep with his 1,001st slide). And Weeping Beauty, the girl who realized she was not cut out for Academia, but married a prince who owned a house in one of its suburbs, and they lived happily ever after.

Will our fellows make it to Academia?

Time will tell. And if time is out, I will. Or maybe not: there is a time for bad puns, and a time to be serious. Seriously: if you would like to live happily ever after, and to be a CHF fellow, then check out our fellowship competition. Deadline: 15 February. Sprinkling fairy dust or eating fairy cakes will not influence the outcome of the competition.

Predoctoral Price Fellow Benjamin Gross (Princeton University) works on the history of LCDs (liquid crystal displays). The Ship of Fellows sailed across the corridor to ask him a few provocative questions. The following interview is reconstructed from the Fearless Fellowship Leader’s memory. . . .

Ben Gross

Why should we care about LCDs?

Ben: LCDs are everywhere today: flat-panel TVs, laptops, watches, cell phones, parking meters . . . basically anywhere there is a display of visual information. But even though LCDs are ubiquitous, not much has been written on their history. The only book devoted to the subject so far was written by an insider, one of the scientists who was involved in the development of LCDs, Joseph A. Castellano. But there is much more to be discovered about the subject.

Wait, wait, so how do you go about your research to make the story of LCDs multifaceted?

Ben: Well, I am in the lucky position that many of my research objects, the group of  chemists, physicists, and engineers who worked at the Radio Corporation of America (RCA) and created the first LCDs, are alive. So, in addition to other scholarly work, I ask them to reflect upon this part of their professional lives and compile oral histories. My work also involves going through their LCD-related lab notebooks, which have, for the most part, survived. And then I look at technical reports, engineering memos . . . [For an impression of the sheer bulk of materials Ben is working with, check out the photo Hyungsub Choi took of Ben in action at the Sarnoff Library (Princeton, New Jersey) for the blog The Center.]

And the gist of your work so far?

Ben: Well, it turns out that the invention of LCDs is not a tale that can be told by focusing on the life of one person or one brain behind the product. And also, although RCA’s role in LCD development is not really a success story, it is not one of failed innovation either. I aim to reconstruct the internal dynamics of the company’s research and manufacturing efforts.

Tell me more!

Ben: I will! At my Brown Bag Lunch lecture, 17 November.

And while interviewess and interviewee thank each other for the chat, we would just like to mention that this is the last installment of the fellows’ introductions for now. We shall resume this strand with the spring fellows in a few months’ time.

You will have to excuse the Fearless Fellowship Leader when she states that Dr. Martelli’s research is Greek to her: he does research on ancient Greek alchemy. In fact, Matteo Martelli’s work is a truly international affair. The object of Matteo’s reflection is the 1st-century writer now known as pseudo-Democritus, a cunning man who used the fame of the philosopher Democritus to write on precious stones, metals, and other materials. His marketing strategy clearly worked out: Egyptian alchemists were intrigued by these writings; Islamic scholars produced translations into Syriac and Arabic; and Western medieval alchemists would think of pseudo-Democritus as one of the fathers of alchemy. Matteo, who joins us from the Universities of Bologna and Pisa in Italy, is therefore able to trace the story of alchemy through its different phases and contexts by looking at one author, with one linguistically gifted brain.

A true philologist at heart and a happy fellow among our sundry collection of historians of chemistry, Matteo is currently learning Arabic at the University of Pennsylvania, applying his Greek to texts in the Othmer Library, and immersing himself in both the structured events and the scholarly freedom his 9-month Postdoctoral Edelstein fellowship offers. So, there you have it: Greek, Arabic, Italian, and English rolled into one fellowship experience.

We say: benvenuto! 

Matteo Martelli (left); anonymous alchemist (right)

* ricercatore = researcher in Italian.

Museum Anniversary, 2 October 2009, involving fellows . . . and the Periodic Table of Cupcakes!

The Periodic Table of Cupcakes

Nitrogen: nonmetallic goodness!

Stibium: appetizing antimony!

Mercury: alchemical alimentation?

A big thanks to Ben Gross for the images!

With his degrees in biology & society and creative writing, and a good deal of published poetry under his belt, Matthew Shindell, our Predoctoral Haas Fellow, may not seem to be an obvious candidate for a CHF fellowship. Yet his current research, which will eventually earn him a Ph.D. in history of science at the University of California, San Diego, marks him as an excellent mate on the Ship of Fellows: the subject of his scholarly affection is chemist and Nobel laureate Harold Urey—and not just his chemistry.

Urey, depicted in a children's book on his life **

“It would be tragic,” Urey said in 1956, “if science gave man the greatest view of the universe that he has ever had and destroyed the effectiveness of the teachings of our great religions.” *

Matthew is studying Urey’s attempts to keep religion in the scientific picture, a trait of the chemist that few are aware of today. These views influenced Urey’s interactions with his fellow scientists, especially the question of proper practice in science. Matthew argues that Urey’s perspective was an alternative to the more widely accepted cold war secularism.

How do science and religion go together, I hear you ask? Matthew will address this topic in his Brown Bag Lunch presentation in December, which is entitled “From the Small-Town Chapel to the Cathedrals of Cosmopolitan Science: Harold C. Urey, Religion, and Isotope Chemistry.” And in preparation, or just for the entertainment and education of it all, do cast your reading eyes over Mildred Cohn’s personal memories of working with Harold Urey in a back issue of Chemical Heritage magazine right here.

Matthew Shindell

But back to our fellow: seeing as it is October, and October (they tell me) looks like any number of other months in California, Matthew is really looking forward to seeing the seasons change while he muses about Urey and perhaps more poetry.

Here’s to many rustling autumn leaves, a few bouncy snowflakes (eventually), and nary a rainstorm in the coming months!

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* Quotation from Harold Urey, “The Intellectual Revolution,” 1956 revision, HCU Box 141, Folder 12, p. 18.

** Alvin & Virginia Silverstein, Harold Urey, the Man Who Explored From Earth to Moon (1971).