There were four laboratories in the Hernando building (pictured at the left) where I did the bulk of my research at the University. of Miami. Three of them were occupied by professors who had had done their graduate training at Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore. Each spoke of their time there with reverence. Hopkins, as it is familiarly known, is considered the first true research university in the United States. It is world famous for its medical school and hospital. Less well known, but of equal quality is the School of Arts and Sciences, located several miles from the medical school, on the Homewood campus, a center for undergraduate education and basic research.

While I was nearing the end of the pursuit of a doctorate at Miami, a visitor arrived from Hopkins in January (it was not a coincidence that we had many visitors from the north in the winter) to present a research seminar. Professor Ursprung was a prematurely white-haired scientist in his 40’s who spoke with a faint Swiss accent, and who worked with fruit flies, an organism that has been the choice of geneticists for decades. Genetics was not my forte. As noted in a previous chapter, my grades in the subject were awful. But Professor Ursprung didn’t do hard core genetics. Instead his research consisted of a mishmash of genetics, embryology, and biochemistry. And he didn’t inquire about my undergraduate grades. I still wasn’t enthusiastic, but Iverson my thesis advisor, strongly suggested that I consider applying for a postdoctoral position at Hopkins simply because it was such a good school.

“Even if you don’t care for the kind of research Professor Ursprung is doing, you’ll get invaluable experience from the other scientists at Hopkins and gain some prestige just from your association with it.”, he counseled.

It sounded like reasonable advice, and I had made no other plans. I asked Professor Ursprung whether he would accept me into his laboratory as a postdoctoral fellow if and when I got my degree. He agreed.

I should say something about the postdoctoral position; “postdocs” as they are commonly called. Nearly all biologists who aspire for a research career, especially in academia, take a position in a laboratory after they have completed their doctoral dissertations. This postdoctoral stint lasts for two to four years, sometimes longer, and offers the opportunity for newly minted scientists to pursue a research project that they can later take to their own laboratory when (and if) they get an independent position. The job is pure research. It involves no teaching or administration. Salary and research funds are provided by their mentor, although some postdocs (as I did) manage to get a fellowship from a governmental agency. Scientists who have done a postdoctoral stint look back on their experience and almost universally claim that the postdoc was the most productive and satisfying research period in their lives. It was for me.

In 1967, nearly six years after I had flown to Miami to begin my graduate education, I again found myself on a plane, this time headed in the opposite direction toward Baltimore, MD. Some things had changed. Sitting beside me was my wife of two years, Gail. In the cargo hold was our Siamese cat, Pyewacket, heavily drugged for the journey. Gail was also carrying an additional piece of cargo: she was pregnant.
Gail’s pregnancy was not going well. Back in Miami, her obstetrician suspected that she had an ovarian cyst. While a cyst is fairly common during pregnancy, he warned that it can twist, its blood supply may become shut off, and it may rupture. Even if that doesn’t happen, the torsion can cause intense pain. He told us that we should tell her physician in Baltimore about the condition. When we arrived in Baltimore, Gail was in pain, but our new physician couldn’t see or feel the cyst and told us not to worry; that it was probably just a normal part of pregnancy. However, by the seventh month, the pain had increased to the extent that it was obvious that something was seriously wrong, and the doctors decided to operate.

The cystectomy was successful. It was a tricky operation because both Gail’s and the fetus’ health had to be considered. There were several anxious moments but in the end the pregnancy went to term and a healthy son, Gregg, resulted. But our troubles weren’t entirely over. When I accepted the postdoctoral position, I was told that it came with medical insurance. We were misinformed. After Gail left the hospital with Gregg we found ourselves with a bill for a complex operation and Gail’s week long stay at Johns Hopkins Hospital that we could ill afford. Luckily, Gail and I had both been awarded fellowships in our last two years in Miami and had managed to save a little money despite the fact that we ate out virtually every night (Gail, unlike Steve, Barbara, and Henry, wouldn’t put up with my cooking then. And she only learned how to cook years later).

As you might imagine, Gail’s medical condition limited the amount of research I could do. However, as she healed I was able to spend more time in the laboratory. Professor Ursprung’s lab group was large, consisting of five predoctoral students, one postdoc, a dishwasher/fly food preparer, and a technician. His laboratory was housed in an old building, Mergenthaler Hall, the home of the Biology and Biophysics Departments. I found myself surrounded by scientists whose papers I had read and admired, who had lofty intellects and towering egos, and who were world famous in the scientific community. They were accustomed to interacting with very bright colleagues, and they weren’t patient with those who couldn’t match their smarts.

To a man, Professor Ursprung’s students were quite able (at the time, virtually all of the graduate students at Hopkins were male. That was to change fairly soon afterward). Mike, Marty, Joe, and the two Daves had sterling undergraduate academic records from top notch academic institutions. Most had research experience as undergraduates. They were among the best graduate students at Hopkins. All of them were destined to go on to stellar academic careers at fine institutions. They would have laughed at my undergraduate achievements or lack thereof. However, no one asked me about my grades at Brooklyn College, and I never volunteered the information.

Chance plays a substantial role in life, and I was very fortunate in several respects. After a few months learning about what the various people in the laboratory were doing, Professor Ursprung asked me to pick a research project from among several that he was considering. Without much to go on, I chose what turned out to be a good one, and I was to pursue it for the next twenty years, the remainder of my research career. Another lucky circumstance was that Professor Ursprung had had unfortunate experiences with his two previous postdocs. They were both duds, not producing any publishable results. I, in contrast, got off to a quick start. The contrast made me look good. Professor Ursprung and I published several papers together, and I, not really realizing it, began to establish something of a reputation as a capable scientist. Sometime late in my second postdoctoral year, Professor Ursprung decided to leave Baltimore and return to Switzerland to take up an important position at the ETH, the Swiss equivalent of MIT. He turned down a position as Chairman of the Department of Biology at Hopkins. He would have been a highly successful leader of the department as he was a brilliant administrator, by far the best I have ever encountered, as well as an excellent scientist. After a few years in Switzerland he became President of the ETH, the most famous person I have known well. With Professor Ursprung leaving, a faculty appointment opened at Hopkins for an Assistant Professor of Biology, and, to my surprise, upon Ursprung’s recommendation, I was awarded the position.

It was astonishing. I had gone from a failing student at Brooklyn College to a reasonably good graduate career at a relatively weak school in Miami and, after a brief postdoctoral stint, ended up as a faculty member at one of the elite institutions in the world in Baltimore. I should have been ecstatic. I was certainly pleased, but my main emotion was uncertainty and a lack of confidence: I didn’t think that I would be up to the job.