Did an socially inept researcher hinder airborne illness management?

Within the “Great Man” hypothesis of history, remarkable personalities influence events. However, in terms of the public endorsement of the science regarding airborne ailments, Carl Zimmer suggested that a dull and disagreeable demeanor might have impeded advancements.

Zimmer, who was awarded the Stephen Jay Gould Prize in 2016 for his contributions to enhancing public comprehension of evolutionary science, did not originally intend to narrate the tale of such an individual while tracing our “lengthy, gradual, very challenging realization that the atmosphere surrounding us is teeming with life.” Nevertheless, during a recent lecture on his newest book, “Air-Borne: The Hidden History of the Life We Breathe,” he consistently referred to the work of former Harvard investigator William Firth Wells.

“Air has perpetually been enchanting and enigmatic to humankind,” Zimmer remarked as he guided the audience at the Science Center through the central theme of his book: the revelation — and eventual acknowledgment — of the notion that infectious agents can be passed on via the air.

In ancient Greece, Hippocrates initially introduced the concept of “miasmas,” the idea that foul air itself could carry illness, as opposed to microorganisms disseminated through the air, Zimmer explained. More than a century after microbes were discovered, during the 1830s when cholera impacted Europe, the theory that the ailment was airborne was not taken seriously. This perception began to shift with the investigations of scientists like Gottfried Ehrenberg, who in the 1830s initiated the first systematic examination of microorganisms, and Louis Pasteur, whom Zimmer acknowledges for “advocating the germ theory of disease.”

Nonetheless, air remained neglected in the responses to disease outbreaks. “Time and again, these illnesses were associated with microorganisms transmitted via food, water, and sexual contact … but they were never connected to the air.”

“Time and again, these illnesses were associated with microorganisms transmitted via food, water, and sexual contact … but they were never connected to the air.”

Then came the contributions of Wells, who, along with his wife, Mildred Weeks Wells, a physician, began experimenting with a centrifuge. Wells’ previous work, purifying water for disease-free oysters, led him to experiment with the apparatus. In 1934, while teaching at the Harvard School of Public Health, he utilized one to collect air samples from the auditorium three times. The first instance was after he released a sneezing powder, the second once it had taken effect, and the third once the students had exited. By cultivating the samples he collected in the centrifuge, he discovered what he deemed compelling evidence that human exhalations disseminated microbes through the atmosphere.

Regrettably, Zimmer stated, “It was a disastrous lecture.” Quoting a remark from the school’s dean at the time, David Linn Edsall, he recited, “This is the kind of work Wells performs exceptionally poorly.” Further elaborating on Wells as the type of individual who could “speak for hours,” Zimmer proceeded to detail how the professor’s off-putting demeanor consistently cost him opportunities, hindering what should have been pioneering research.

While at Harvard, Wells formulated his airborne infection theory and discovered that airborne pathogens could be eradicated by ultraviolet rays. However, disputes with his supervisor, Gordon McKay Professor of Sanitary Engineering Gordon Maskew Fair, regarding acknowledgment for these findings led to his dismissal.

This pattern would persist throughout Wells’ lifetime. At the University of Pennsylvania, where he subsequently worked, he devised “infection chambers” — airtight enclosures that enabled researchers to regulate the airflow reaching the animals inside — and once again demonstrated how airborne pathogens induce illness and how UV light could eliminate these pathogens. This investigation aided in safeguarding a school in 1940, during a measles outbreak in Philadelphia. Yet when World War II began, and military researchers were eager to maintain the health of soldiers, the unlikable Wells was once again marginalized.

Only the intervention of his former assistant, Richard Riley, helped restore his career. Together, they constructed a version of the infection chamber in a Baltimore Veterans Administration hospital. By isolating patients with tuberculosis, they managed their airflow — siphoning their air, and therefore their contagions, into a separate enclosure where guinea pigs were held. Indeed, the animals developed the disease, validating Wells’ hypothesis. Unfortunately, before the research could gain widespread acceptance, Wells fell ill with cancer and began exhibiting signs of severe psychosis. In a cruel twist of fate, he was treated and passed away in that same Baltimore VA hospital.

When addressing inquiries about the future of such research — and regarding the extent to which it is reliant on the personalities of researchers and so-called renowned figures, Zimmer expressed pessimism. “We have a long way to go from the Wellses, but this kind of research requires time. It’s laborious work. … And the pathogens are indifferent.”

Zimmer serves as an adjunct professor of molecular biophysics and biochemistry at Yale and pens the “Origins” science column for The New York Times. This event was part of the FAS Division of Science’s Harvard Science Book Talks.