My Career in Chemistry

by

A. Rod Paolini
June 17, 2011

I joined a memoirs writing group at the Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Fairfax. At our biweekly meetings, we read vignettes of our lives. Today, Terry Barrett wrote about his love affair with a molecule. Terry is a chemist, and he extolled the virtues of hyaluronic acid which he had investigated. I was a chemistryand mathematicsmajor at Beloit college, and I had entertained the possibility of being a chemist, but I had not given it very serious thought. In fact, truth be told, I had not given my life very serious thought. I didnt know when I was suppose to give it serious thought, but I believed that I would be notified at some point, probably I would receive a letter in the mail with a form to complete, as to what my intentions were. I thought I would receive this request sometime in my senior year or at graduation. Until then, I would just let life take me where it would. I had taken physics and chemistry courses in my freshman and sophomore years including physics-chemistry (the science department couldnt determine which discipline should cover molecular theory and so made the two departments share the subject), physics, quantitative analysis, organic chemistry along with analytic geometry, calculus I, II, and III, finite math, and so forth. I chose these subjects based upon the following categorical syllogism that I had learned in a philosophy course taught by Prof. Barrell. To wit: Smart people take science and math. Im taking science and math. Ergo: ....

Obviously there was an error in my logic. Perhaps I had missed a point during the lecture. This syllogism wasnt working for me as evidenced by my string of mediocre grades, and a realization that I really didnt grasp the essence of the subject. I could do the problems and pass the tests but I really didnt get it. Whats more, I wasnt going after it. As Woody Allen once said, Ninety percent of life is just showing up, and my showing upif not my showingseemed to have made some impression. In my sophomore year, as I we were passing each other on the stairs of Science Hall, Prof. Fuller, the chairman of the chemistry department, asked, Had I thought about a major? Noooo, I replied. What about chemistry? he offered. Okay, I replied somewhat indifferently, having no better offer. While not thinking of a major, I had always been interested in current affairs and politics; government would have been the logical choice of a major. But a subtle hint by Prof. Feder, my first year government teacher, indicated that this would not be a wise choice. As I was exiting a grocery store in downtown Beloit, I encountered him as he was entering. We exchanged greeting and pleasantries, and then he asked how I was doing in my other courses. I said that I was doing fairly well in my science and math coursesall Bsto which his response was: Well, I can see your strength lies in those other areas. Dull as I was, I got the message. Between my sophomore and junior year, I received a National Science Foundation grant to do a chemistry project on campus that summer. My fellows were Cleta Kay Miller, Rosalind Proell, Ken Winiecki and Stuart Aherns. These were heavy hitters; I was a bit out of my league. As we each were engaged in our own project, there were no comparisons to be made but they had been in most of my

classes, and I knew they were superior students. There was one other difference. At five oclock, we were out the door to play softball or go sailing and then have dinner; but while I would lounge in the dorm or read for the rest of the evening, my colleagues would drift back to the lab. Aherns in particular would rummage about the physics storeroom and examine the equipment that was intended to demonstrate some physics principle or law. He would run the experiment as though he were testing whether or not the principle was in fact true. Obviously he had a curiosity about the subject that I lacked. Our project manager was chemistry professor, Donald McMasters, or Mac as we called him as he was only a few years out of graduate school. He arranged a tour of the Parker Pen Company in Jainesville, Wisconsin. I remember entering a chemistry laboratory, and listening to one of the chemists describe his project. His objective: to make a blacker black ink. I have to say that I was not impressed. To think that my lifes work and contribution to the worldassuming that I would make onewould be blacker ink left me disheartened. The next year I took physical chemistry from Prof. William Riceor Wild Bill as we called him behind his back. He wasnt crazy but a bit eccentric. The class had been offered without a time slot, and so we met to decide when to meet. After comparing the schedules among the half dozen of us, the only time we could all meet was eight oclock in the morning on Monday and Wednesday. As upper classmen, this was an indignity, but we had to accept it. At the first class, Wild Bill put a large beaker of ice water on the laboratory podium inscribed with these words: For them that sleep. One night before class, my friend Norm Topps and I decided not to attend class the next morning. I woke at 7:50am, and decided to go thereby betraying my friend who slept soundly next door in his fraternity house. I arrived about five minutes late, only to find the classroom empty. About ten minutes later, Wild Bill and the class returned with Norm straggling in the rear looking somewhat disheveledand wearing a wet T-shirt. In addition to having a great sense of humor, he was a good teacher, and he was smartreally smart. I actually liked the class too. Since it was all paper and pencil work, I didnt have to do any of those damn experiments that never came out as they were supposed to. My unknown substance usually remained just that: unknown. Once the class was given a homework assignment of solving problems listed at the end of a chapter, but we each had our own set of problems for which we were to present in class. I dont remember the exact problem but it had to do with calculating the movement, perhaps the speed or force of an electron in an electro-magnetic field of a certain width, maybe traveling uphill with raindrops falling and a forty mile wind blowingI dont remember. I do remember, quite vividly, that I hadnt a clue as to how to solve this problem, and so I went to Wild Bill. As I sat beside him, he pulled out a match and lit it, then realized he hadnt yet put a cigarette in his mouth. It was amusing incident fitting the stereotype of the absentminded professor, but I didnt fail to notice how deeply he was concentrating on the problem. He then identified the forces that were affecting the electron according to known theories, and then he developed the equation that would solve the problem. I had never seen anyone create an equation out of their own brain. In the physics courses, we were always given the equationssix as I remember. One had to just figure out which equation to use, plug in the numbers, and turn the crank and out came the answer. This level of problem-solving was a quantum step up. After witnessing this feat of raw intellectual power, I thanked Dr. Rice, and, bowing profusely as I backed out of his office, I reflected on the implications for my future. I admitted to myself that I could

never do thatand certainly would not want to try if my livelihood depended on it. So what were my choices: 1) a chemist for commercial purposes: not for me; 2) theoretical chemistry, that is, discovering some new compound or scientific truth in competition with the likes of Cleta Kay and Stu; not going to happen; 3) teach chemistry in high school or college: ugh.

I didnt make the final decision to quit chemistry at Beloit. In fact, I even applied and was accepted to graduate school. But the flow of my life took me into new waters: a summer romance dispelled any interest in attending graduate school; and then a communique from my draft board inquiring as to my future plans, which, if I didnt have any, they did. So the decision as to what I was going to do with my life was postponed for another four years.