The Case of the Black Dog of San Pasqual

Linda Pauling and her father enjoying a calmer moment with a dog in 1934.

[In honor of the dog days of summer, we present here a fictional “L.A. noir” retelling of real events documented by Linus Pauling on July 19, 1961.]

The sun beat down on Pasadena in the middle of the Summer in California, and the pavement was so hot you could cook an egg, if you liked your egg full of broken glass and cigarette butts instead of salt and pepper.

Linus Pauling didn’t, so he had gone out to lunch instead. It was just after 1 o’clock in the afternoon on an entirely typical Wednesday, and the professor was headed back to the campus of the California Institute of Technology, where he was teaching chemistry. He did it mostly for the chemistry, which was why he had met a girl he eventually married as an instructor back in Oregon, but the teaching was the part that paid (at least, in legal American tender).

California agreed with Pauling, though he didn’t always agree with it. The back yard of a house on San Pasqual Street he was walking past was quite the example. The professor shook his head in despair. Some people just don’t know how to take care of the world we live in. The place was overgrown, the grass was dead, and there was a trash bag next to the road and… Wait a minute, Pauling scratched his head in wonderment. Is that dog off its leash?

A large black French Poodle ran up to a wire fence and barked at him. Strange, Pauling considered. I’m not whistling or doing anything to provoke this animal in any way… why would this dog be so agitated? But, with his mind still buzzing over questions of atomic valences he had been puzzling over back at the lab, he quickly put the thought away as the dog ran off farther down the fence line behind some hedges.

Pauling had only gone another five or six strides down the sidewalk when suddenly, in a flash of white blinding pain, his arm was seized. Good God! Has it been lying in wait for me? The sleeve of his shirt tore and was speckled with blood, and he howled in agony as the dog’s gleaming teeth sank back behind the fence while the thunderous barking continued. Pauling, clutching ineffectually at his mangled appendage, staggered from the scene of the crime in a blur. Wounded though he was, his keen scientific mind analyzed the situation with precision and clarity. The sidewalk was only five feet wide. The animal approximately four feet long. For it to place its hind legs on the fence and lean over half its body out over the edge to attack me in such a way, it must have learned this behavior over many repeated attempts…

The dog had almost certainly seen him coming, barked at him, and noting his direction, had retreated to farther down the sidewalk where it could hide behind a hedge row and launch a surprise attack. The professor’s mind has honed by the adrenaline now coursing through his veins, and he took stock of the situation.

Two gashes on the left arm, each between one-half and five-eighths of an inch long, two puncture wounds made by the dog’s teeth, and one torn shirt which Mama will most likely be thankful not to press again. She’s always complained about the color ‘mustard’ on a man… said its the sort of thing that should only be on a shirt if you’re a sloppy eater. He almost smiled in spite of himself.

At least I wasn’t wearing my favorite coat…

But even Pauling’s trademark optimism quickly disintegrated as the dark nature of the event dawned on him: After all, there were no witnesses.

This was no accident. The dog had purposely prepared to attack him, lurking in the shadows, just biding its time, waiting to jump him. Obviously the whole thing was a set up. Pauling felt dizzied with his failure to see it coming. But who was behind it all? Though there were no witnesses to the savaging he had received, Pauling brazenly approached the house in question and found two women within. It was high time he got some answers.

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Stylish to the End

[An examination of Linus Pauling’s sense of style during the 1980s and 1990s. Part 4 of 4.]

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At Deer Flat Ranch with Ava Helen near the end of her life, 1981.

 

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A professional portrait shot on the ocean adjacent to the ranch, 1983. Credit: Joe McNally.

 

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In black tie with Jill Sackler and Andy Warhol, New York City, 1985.

 

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Posing for yet another bust, 1986.

 

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Taking a moment at the ranch, 1987.

 

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In his study at the ranch, 1987.

 

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On the deck at the ranch with Werner Baumgartner, a fellow chemist. 1987.

 

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The red jacket makes another appearance, 1989.

 

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Seated in the original Special Collections reading room at the Kerr Library, Oregon State University. 1990.

 

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Celebrating his 92nd birthday with his sister Pauline, 1993.

 

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Later on in 1993. By now, Pauling’s health had begun to deteriorate as his cancer worsened.

 

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With son-in-law Barclay Kamb, grandson Sasha Kamb, and a new grandchild, 1994.

 

Scientist, Sartorialist

[Part 3 of 4 examining Linus Pauling’s sense of style. Today’s post covers the 1960s and 1970s.]

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Posing with a model near the end of his time at Caltech, 1963.

 

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Harvesting abalone at Deer Flat Ranch, 1963.

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Elsewhere on the grounds at Deer Flat Ranch, 1964. Photo Credit: Arthur Herzog.

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Sitting for sculptor Zena Posever at Deer Flat Ranch, 1966. Note that Pauling was suffering from a broken leg at the time.

 

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On Thanksgiving Day, 1968 with Linda Pauling Kamb and her boys. This image was taken in La Jolla, California, where Linus and Ava Helen maintained a residence for a handful of years. Photo Credit: Barclay Kamb.

 

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Posing in San Francisco, 1969. Photo Credit: Margo Moore.

 

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The Paulings with Norma Lundholm Djerassi in 1970. Pauling came to favor this tan fishing hat for informal occasions.

 

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The Paulings at the Soviet Embassy in Washington, D.C. for the Lenin Peace Prize ceremony, 1970. In this photo they pose with Russian geoscientist Boris Davydov.

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On the deck at Deer Flat Ranch, 1971. At far left is Frances Fritchman.

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Pauling posing next to a poster featuring a detailed cross-section of the human epidermis. Stanford University, 1971.

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A striking portrait taken at the University of Missouri, 1972.

 

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Matching (!) in Dallas, Texas, 1972.

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Pauling with his sister Pauline on the day of her wedding to Charles Dunbar, 1973. This photo marks an early appearance of a red jacket that Pauling came to wear with some frequency.

 

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In Nagasaki, Japan, 1975.

 

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With Nahid Hakimelahi in Persepolis, Iran, 1975.

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With “Z. Hecher” in Menlo Park, California, perhaps on the grounds of the Linus Pauling Institute of Science and Medicine, 1977.

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With Ivan Zupec in Belmont, California, 1977.

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Linus and Ava Helen in their living room at Deer Flat Ranch, 1977.

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The red jacket makes another appearance. This is one in a series of photos taken to promote the NOVA documentary, “Linus Pauling: Crusading Scientist,” in 1977.

 

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Pauling in his office at LPISM with a visitor identified only as “Kazuo,” 1978.

 

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A portrait from 1978.

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Posing in Pasadena on a beautiful autumn day, 1979.

 

Pauling Couture

[Part of 2 of 4 in a series exploring Linus Pauling’s sense of style. Today’s post features photographs taken during the 1930s, 1940s and 1950s.]

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Baby Peter Pauling with his parents and brother Linus Jr. The family poses here in front of the Pauling home on Arden Road, Pasadena, 1931.

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The Paulings pose with an unidentified family. This photo marks an early appearance of Pauling’s beard. 1933.

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A relaxing moment with Linda, who is two years old in this photo. 1934.

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In lecture at Caltech, 1935.

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The beard returns, this time at Painted Canyon, California, a common getaway location for the Pauling family during the 1930s. Photo taken in 1935.

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A more formal portrait of Pauling with his beard, 1935.

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Dressed for cold weather at Niagara Falls. Of this moment, Ava Helen wrote: “It was so cold we wrapped scarfs around our heads and then put our hats on over the scarf.” The Paulings pose with their friend Yvonne Handy. Photo taken in 1938.

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Ava Helen and Linus photographed during a trip to Madison, Wisconsin, July 1939.

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Picnicking at Corona del Mar, California, 1940.

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In the laboratory with rabbits, 1942.

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Lecturing on structural chemistry at the Richards Medal ceremony. Pauling received this award from the Northeastern Section of the American Chemical Society in 1947.

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On holiday with the family of Carl Nieman, 1948.

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Posing with a new friend, 1948.

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And posing once more (and proudly) with the family car, 1948.

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In England with Lord and Lady Leverhulme, 1948. Pauling spent much of this year as a visiting professor at Oxford.

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In Hawaii, 1948.

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Another photo from the Hawaii trip, 1948.

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An early image of Pauling wearing what would become an iconic accessory for him – a black beret. Photo taken in 1953.

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Posing in front of the Fairpoint Street home, Pasadena, 1954.

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A publicity still of Pauling with a model of the alpha helix, 1954.

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In white tie and tux at the 1954 Nobel ceremonies.

 

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With Ava Helen at the old cabin, Deer Flat Ranch, 1957. Photo Credit: Arthur Dubinsky.

 

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Visiting Albert Schweitzer’s compound in Lambaréné, Gabon, 1959.

 

Clothes Make the Man

[Ed Note: The Pauling Blog becomes a photo blog for the next four weeks as we dig into the 5,500+ images held in the Ava Helen and Linus Pauling Papers. In addition to showing off some pictures that have never before been released online, this examination pays particular attention to Pauling’s evolving taste in clothes over the years. Today’s post features selections from Pauling’s birth in 1901 to the end of the 1920s.]

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Pauling in 1902, age 1. Note in particular the necklace.

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Pauling, age 5, posing in buffalo-skin chaps, 1906. Linus’s father had this photo commissioned for use in advertising his Condon, Oregon pharmacy.

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Linus, at center, with his two sisters, Lucile (left) and Pauline. This photo was also taken in Condon in 1908.

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Eight years later, the Pauling children posed near their home in Portland with their mother. From left to right: Lucile, Linus, Belle and Pauline Pauling, 1916.

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Pauling in his ROTC uniform during Fall term of his freshman year at Oregon Agricultural College. He is sixteen years old in this photo. Two years of ROTC was compulsory for all male students attending OAC at the time.

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An iconic portrait of the young Pauling taken the summer after his freshman year at OAC. Specifically, this photo was taken on the Oregon Coast in Tillamook, where the Paulings spent some time during the summer of 1918. Linus worked as a pin boy at a local bowling alley during the stay.

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Another photo of Pauling in his military dress, 1918. Though only two years were required, Pauling opted to remain in ROTC for the entirety of his OAC experience, graduating from the college having attained the rank of Major.

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Far from a typical look for Pauling, this image is cropped from a group photo of participants in the OAC “Feminine Section Intrafraternity Smoker,” circa 1920.

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Pauling with his life-long friend, Paul Emmett, in 1920. Also a Beaver, Emmett went on to become a major scientific figure in his own right, making significant contributions to the study of catalysis chemistry. Emmett also became Pauling’s brother-in-law when he married Pauline Pauling late in life.

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Pauling clowning around sometime near his graduation from OAC in 1922.

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Newly arrived at Caltech, Pauling poses on the back of a student’s car.

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Pauling with his bride, Ava Helen, her mother, Nora Gard Miller, and Nettie Spaulding, one of Ava Helen’s eleven siblings. Standing at front is Nettie’s daughter, Leone. 1924.

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The young couple outside their Pasadena home in 1925. Linus had been working on their Model-T Ford prior to this photo being taken.

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Looking very California on a trip to the beach. 1925.

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At the Temple of Neptune, Paestum, Italy, during his legendary Guggenheim trip to Europe. This photo was taken by Ava Helen in April 1926.

David Pressman

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David Pressman, 1937

[Part 6 of 6 in our series exploring Linus Pauling’s work on the serological properties of simple substances, and the colleagues who assisted him in this work.]

After a meeting with Karl Landsteiner in 1936, Linus Pauling began serious investigations into the link between antibodies and antigens, compiling notes for what would eventually become his serological series, a collection of fifteen papers published during the 1940s. Landsteiner had specifically piqued Pauling’s curiosity on the question of the human body’s specificity mechanism – e.g., how could the body produce antibodies tailored to lock onto and fight specific antigens?

Pauling ultimately surmised that the answer lie in the shape of the molecules, and in the type and number of bonding sites. He described this as a “lock and key” mechanism, otherwise termed as molecular complementarity. Throughout this project, which made a significant impact on the modern study of immunology, Pauling enlisted the help of many undergraduate, graduate, and doctoral students, including a promising young scholar named David Pressman.


David Pressman was born in Detroit, Michigan in 1916. He attended Caltech as an undergraduate, studying under Pauling and completing his degree in 1937. He stayed in Pasadena for his doctorate, earning it in 1940. During this time, he became a part of Pauling’s quest to unravel the structure of proteins, and was particularly involved with the antibody and antigen work.

By this point, Pauling and his colleague Dan Campbell felt confident enough in what they had learned about antibody specificity to attempt creating artificial antibodies. Pauling was enthusiastic about the practical application that such an endeavor might promise for physicians. Warren Weaver, Pauling’s primary contact at the Rockefeller Foundation, which was funding the work, cautioned Pauling against becoming overconfident, but still granted him enough money to hire Pressman full-time. Thus began Pressman’s career in immunology.

At Pauling’s request, Pressman stayed on at Caltech as a post-doc, and during this time the two became friends. In 1943, after failing to prove that they could synthesize antibodies, Pauling’s research team changed their focus from understanding the structural components of antibodies and antigens, to looking for the binding mechanism that allowed antibodies to attach to specific antigens through Van der Waals bonds. One outcome of this was their development of the theory of complementarity, a “lock and key” model in which molecules fit together because of the high levels of specificity that they show for one another.

Pressman authored three papers with Pauling during this phase, including a very important one titled “The Nature of the Forces between Antigen and Antibody and of the Precipitation Reaction,” published in Physiological Reviews. In this paper, the researchers discussed the historical significance of immunology within the context of structural chemistry. Speaking of the tradition in which they worked, Pauling and his colleagues wrote that “two of the most important advances in the attack on the problem of the nature of immunological reactions were the discovery that the specific precipitate contains both antigen and antibody, and the discovery that antibodies, which give antisera their characteristic properties, are proteins.”  In this paper, they also theorized that the immune system depends on structural and chemical forces to function.


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Pressman (at right) in the lab, ca. early 1960s.

In 1947, Pressman decided to pursue an interest in cancer research and moved on to the Sloan Kettering Institute in New York City to investigate the use of radioactive tracers as they pertained to cancer treatment.  The West Coast was never far from his thoughts however, and he often wrote back to friends comparing the two regions and asking for information about life in Pasadena. Of his new arrangements he observed, “The mechanics of living take a much greater part of the time in New York, so that I do not have as much time to do as much as I would like to or could do in Pasadena.”

Pressman’s first few years at Sloan-Kettering were difficult, not only because of the nature of the research that he was conducting – a continuation of the research that he started with Pauling – but because he was frequently forced to move both his lab and his residence, a source of continuous disruption for himself and his family. Sloan Kettering had just been established in the early 1940s and wasn’t formally dedicated until the year after Pressman moved there. Though it eventually became one of the nation’s leading biomedical research institutions, Pressman’s early experiences there coincided with institutional growing pains.

Eventually, as the environment at Sloan-Kettering became more stable, Pressman settled in to his position and provided Pauling with regular updates on his progress. The two often traded manuscripts back and forth, and each solicited technical advice from one another on their specific endeavors, which gradually grew further afield as time moved forward. At Kettering, Pressman continued to study antibody specificity and explored the potential use of radioactive antibodies for tumor localization to develop immunotoxins. In 1954, he left New York City for the Roswell Park Institution in Buffalo, remaining there until his death.


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60th birthday greetings sent to Pauling by David and Reinie Pressman, February 1961.

Pauling and Pressman remained in frequent contact for many years, focusing their voluminous correspondence primarily on work that Pressman continued to do as an outgrowth of their time together in Pasadena.  In July 1961, Pressman wrote that he and a colleague, Oliver Roholt, had potentially made a breakthrough with regard to the sequencing of the polypeptide chain associated with the region of specific binding sites in antibodies. He sent his manuscript, “Isolation of Peptides from an Antibody Site,” to Pauling for review prior to submission to Proceedings of the National Academy of Science. Pauling felt that the manuscript had been put together too quickly and challenged Pressman to do better. He annotated the manuscript with numerous suggestions, most of which Pressman adopted. Less than a week later, Pressman sent the manuscript back to Pauling with the corrections and Pauling transmitted it in to PNAS, where it was received favorably.

The late 1960s were a period of great activity and advancement for Pressman. In 1965, he received the Schoellkopf Medal, a prestigious award granted by the Western New York section of the American Chemical Society. In 1967, he became assistant director at Roswell and, in 1968, he published a book, The Structural Basis of Antibody Specificity. By all outside indications, Pressman’s life was going well.


In 1977 however, tragedy struck when Jeff Pressman, David and Reinie Pressman’s son, committed suicide at the age of 33. Jeff was an up-and-coming professor of political science at MIT, where he was well-liked by faculty and students. Up until a few months before his death, Jeff had seemed happy, both with his career and his life at home. In a letter to Pauling, Pressman described Jeff’s descent into depression as sudden, severe, and uncharacteristic. He also documented the events leading up to his son’s suicide, conveying that he and his wife had become increasingly convinced that the responsibility for the tragedy lay at the feet of a rheumatologist to whom Jeff had been seeking assistance for back pain.

Believing Jeff’s back pain to be primarily muscular in cause, the rheumatologist had prescribed Indocin in January 1977. According to multiple sources that Pressman later consulted, Indocin was a mood-changer, so much so that other patients had reported sudden depressive symptoms and, in severe cases, committed suicide a few months after starting the medication. To complicate matters, the rheumatologist had increased Jeff’s dose to a level that few patients could tolerate well, and had done so more rapidly than was advisable. When Jeff began complaining of insomnia, the rheumatologist prescribed two additional medications, both of which had the potential to worsen his depression. Jeff finally stopped taking Indocin, but the effects lingered. Jeff’s wife, Katherine, reported that Jeff had felt increasingly hopeless about his depression, even though he continued to work at MIT up until his death.


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David Pressman’s former secretary, Cheryl Zuber, posing with a plaque mounted in Pressman’s honor at the Cancer Cell Center, Roswell Memorial Institute, 1981.

In the wake of Jeff Pressman’s death, his colleagues at MIT published a collection of political essays dedicated in his honor. The dedication specifically called out Jeff’s commitment to his students and his impact as a teacher. In it, his colleagues wrote, “He cared deeply about public affairs and immersed himself in them because he genuinely felt that government at its best could improve peoples’ lives.”

Nonetheless, the loss took its toll and, for David Pressman, the only source of solace that he could identify was a return to work. In 1978, his focus in the laboratory was on localizing radio-iodinated antitumor antibodies. He later wrote to Pauling about chronic shoulder pain that he was experiencing, as he was aware of Pauling’s vitamin research and was in search of an alternative to the shoulder replacement surgery that had been recommended by his physician. Pauling put forth an argument for a megadose of vitamins, but Pressman was eventually diagnosed with osteoarthritis. By the end of the year, he was slowing down, both in his work and in his correspondence.

Two years later, in June 1980, Pauling received the news that David Pressman had jumped from the roof of Roswell Park Memorial Institute. In a letter to Pauling informing him of her husband’s death, Reinie Pressman cast about for answers. She wrote at length about the health problems that he had been experiencing, including partial hearing loss, prostate trouble, and chronic problems associated with the osteoarthritis in his right shoulder. She also confided that “You were a significant part of Dave’s happier past.” Pauling replied in kind, stating

I was very fond of David. Also, I owe much to him, because of the vigor and effectiveness with which he tackled scientific problems during the eight years that he worked with me. Much of the success of our program in immunochemistry was due to his contribution.

Carol Ikeda and Miyoshi Ikawa

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Linus Pauling, 1942

[Ed Note: Parts 5 and 6 of our series detailing Linus Pauling’s work on the serological properties of simple substances both focus on the intriguing life stories of three individuals with whom Pauling worked on this program of research.]

Over the years, Linus Pauling forged close relationships with many of his graduate and doctoral students, offering guidance that, in numerous cases, changed the course of a student’s career. During World War II, he fought particularly hard for two of his research assistants, Miyoshi Ikawa and Carol Ikeda. In both cases, Pauling’s intervention prevented these colleagues from being forcibly interned. Instead, Ikawa and Ikeda each moved on to graduate studies and fruitful careers in science.


Miyoshi “Mike” Ikawa was born in California in 1919 to first generation immigrant parents. He pursued undergraduate studies at Caltech, where he was a member of the Chemistry Club and Tau Beta Pi, and competed on the Fleming House wrestling team. When he graduated in 1941, he was already working in Pauling’s lab, preparing compounds and helping with the first three serological papers. Pauling subsequently served as his graduate advisor.

Carol Ikeda came to Caltech from Texas in 1939, having started his education at Paris Junior College in Texas. He transferred to Caltech with the intent to study chemistry and become an organic chemist. At Caltech, he stood out among many other very bright students; Pauling described him as “one of the top men in the class.” Not one to give compliments lightly, Pauling recognized Ikeda’s potential not only from his performance in class, but also from his work in organic research labs on campus. Before Ikeda had even decided to continue onto graduate studies at Caltech, Pauling had recruited him for the serological project as an assistant in the Immunochemistry department. Indeed, it is especially noteworthy that Ikeda and Ikawa both are listed as co-authors for Pauling’s first three serological papers, given that the first two papers were published while Ikeda and Ikawa were still undergraduates.


Up until World War II, it appeared that Ikawa and Ikeda were each moving well down the path toward successful careers in immunology, organic chemistry, or biochemistry. This all changed when President Franklin Roosevelt issued Executive Order 9066 and declared Pasadena to be a military zone.

Even before the attack on Pearl Harbor, U.S. citizens of Japanese descent faced discrimination on the basis of race as well as suspicions that they would prove more loyal to Japan than to the United States even if they were second- or third-generation citizens. Acutely aware of the mounting tension faced by American-born Japanese, Pauling was determined to support students bearing this burden and to make sure that they could find positions at Caltech for which they were suitably qualified.

Pauling was likewise clear in his understanding that other universities did not share his point of view. In the recommendations that he wrote, he provided full disclosure and acknowledged potential discomforts regarding race, an issue that many administrators would have preferred be left unacknowledged. In one particular reply to a request for recommendations, Pauling wrote

…the two best men scholastically in our graduating class are American born Japanese, Ikawa, and Ikeda. Although one of them has, I think, a satisfactory personality for teaching work, I doubt that you would be interested in appointing him because of his racial handicap.

Some universities responded positively to recommendations of this sort; the University of Iowa, for one, confirmed that race wouldn’t be a problem at all. Rather, Pauling’s Iowa contact assured that the institution shared Pauling’s stance and was committed to considering the qualifications of their applicants regardless of race. The reply went on to state,

While we have not had any American-born Japanese on our teaching staff, I see no reason why they would not get along satisfactorily, if they have the necessary intelligence and ability.


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Miyoshi Ikawa, 1941

Ikawa and Ikeda had been working on the serological project for more than a year when Pasadena was declared a military zone. Cognizant of the need to help his assistants relocate to a safer area, Pauling had a relatively easy time finding Ikawa a position as a graduate student at the University of Wisconsin, where he worked under Karl Paul Link. This move ultimately changed the course of Ikawa’s career. Before receiving his doctorate, Ikawa, along with Link and Mark A. Stahmann, synthesized warfarin and obtained a patent for it to be used as a rat poison. By 1950, warfarin (now commonly referred to as Coumadin) was being used to treat blood-clotting disorders such as thrombosis, because it was a strong anticoagulant. It still serves this purpose today.

With the war over, Ikawa was free to return to the West Coast, where he conducted postdoctoral research at Caltech and UC-Berkeley, before moving on to the University of Texas. In the early 1960s, he settled down and became a professor at the University of New Hampshire, where he began focusing on marine biotoxins. In 1972, he and his colleagues established the Paralytic Shellfish Monitoring Program for the state of Maine, a course of action that followed the first evidence of a red tide in the southern Gulf of Maine. Ikawa taught at the University of New Hampshire for twenty years and then spent most of his later career advising technical panels and partaking in peer review committees for federal research grants. He passed away in 2006.


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Carol Ikeda, 1941

Pauling had a harder time finding a position for Ikeda. In February 1942, shortly after Roosevelt released his executive order, Pauling sent a letter to Robert Millikan – the chairman of the Caltech Executive Council – about Ikeda’s progress and position. In this, Pauling tried to make the case that, while his serological research wasn’t directly related to defense work, its results could be valuable for their medical application. He also pointed out that finding someone as competent as Ikeda to continue these studies would be nearly impossible.

As it turned out, this approach backfired for Pauling, because so many people were nervous about having American-born Japanese involved in any war effort. Consequently, Millikan asked Pauling to vouch for Ikeda’s loyalty in order to allow Ikeda to continue “to undertake, under special arrangement, research work which may involve defense matters.” Pauling vouched for Ikeda’s work, but hesitated to comment on his loyalty, because he felt that someone with a more personal working relationship with Ikeda could give a better answer. He also suggested that Ikeda could be transferred to a teaching position if the issue of loyalty could not be resolved to Millikan’s satisfaction.

As Millikan deliberated, Pauling began to feel that Caltech might not be the best environment for Ikeda, even if he was transferred to a teaching position. In short order, Pauling contacted Michael Heidelberger, a faculty member at Columbia University’s College of Physicians and Surgeons. In doing so, Pauling offered Heidelberger a quid pro quo of sorts, suggesting that Heidelberger accept Ikeda into his program at Columbia in exchange for Pauling hosting one of Heidelberger’s researchers in Pasadena. This plan broke down when the Columbia researcher that Pauling had in mind wrote back to say that he could not accept an appointment at Caltech and that he wished to stay on at Columbia instead.

The situation was not improved much by Heidelberger’s blasé attitude toward the internment camps. Recognizing that “wholly” patriotic people would be unjustly punished, Heidelberger remained unconvinced that there was much that he or Pauling could do to alleviate the issue, an opinion shared by many. As would later become the norm, Pauling stood out here as a lonely voice in the scientific community.

For Ikeda, things worked out at the last minute. In April 1942, just two weeks before Ikeda was assigned to report to a camp, Pauling managed to find him a graduate position at the University of Nebraska, where he completed his Ph.D. in 1945. In 1947, Ikeda accepted an offer of employment from DuPont in Delaware, and then later moved within the company to Philadelphia. In 1962, he received a patent for a resinous coating material that he developed while working for DuPont. He passed away in Phoenix, Arizona in 1996, having enjoyed a successful life and career.