[ed. I hadn't heard this story, but was intrigued after reading about the death of Dr. Einstein's granddaughter, Evelyn Einstein last week]
by Jon Katz
You've all heard the scientific folktale about Einstein's brain, right? In 1995, during an autopsy after the great man's death, Einsten's brain was removed from his body, ostensibly to be studied for clues to his genius. The tale varies and gets murky after that, but most versions have it that the brain supposedly disappeared and was languishing in some file cabinet or basement.
Some rumors had it that the brain had been cut up and parts resided in various attics and garages around the United States and Canada. Other parts were said to be in the posession of the controversial doctor who performed the autopsy, an odd old man who had vanished from public view. Einstein's family, went the tales, wanted no part of his brain, or of the notion that anything could be learned from it.
Freelance writer Michael Paterniti heard the rumor, along with almost everyone else in America who is interested in science and/or technology, and was fascinated by it. He happened to mention it to his landlord in New Mexico, who didn't even blink. "Yeah," said the landlord, "the guy with the brain lives next to William (Burroughs, the writer) in Kansas. He used to be a pathologist."
So it turns out a shocking percentage of the rumor was true and soon thereafter, Paterniti tracked down the pathologist and the brain (which was stored in formaldehyde-filled Tupperware jars in New Jersey, and offered to drive him to California, where the doctor wanted to take it to Einstein's grand-daughter. Soon the two were barrelling across America in Paterniti's Buick Skylark headed for California, munching donuts, staying in cheap motels, the brain bouncing along in the trunk.
One of the amazing thing about this story is that it could have been any one of us who heard the rumor, checked it out and ended up with the brain in the trunks of our cars. But not all of us could have written so terrific and haunting a book. "Driving Mr. Albert: A Trip Across America with Einstein's Brain," details the journey of Paterniti and the bizarre octogenarian Dr. Thomas Harvey, the pathologist who impulsively separated Einstein and his brain during the latter's autopsy and hid it in various garages and basements for four decades while lawyers and ethicists fought over what to do about it, then essentially forgot that it existed.
Dr. Harvey, it turns out, is a man of few words, hardly any of them lucid or revealing. Most of them are phrases like "Way-ell, it sure has been a wonderful specimen."
Harvey, no longer a physician, bounced around the country, ending up working in a plastics factory, and can't really give a lucid accounting of why he took the brain or what he really intended to do with it. One gets the sense though that the act -- branded by some as ghoulish thievery -- ended up ruining his life in some way that even he couldn't describe. But those details don't really matter. In the hands of Paterniti, this is a surreal yarn about myth, genius, desire science and the great rewards of curiousity. There's a wonderful hacker quality to Paterniti, a mystery-solver who can't rest until he figures out the puzzle of what happened to the brain bouncing around in the Tupperware jars, the only remaining physical legacy of the century's greatest thinker.
Although nothing all that dramatic happens on the trek across America -- the odd couple stops and visits with the writer Burroughs and Paterniti can't help exclaiming to incredulous strangers all along the way what's in the trunk of the car -- the writing more than carries the yarn, as when Paterniti describes his first encounter with the loopy Dr. Harvey:
"Harvey appeared from the darkness with a big cardboard box in his hands. Then he set it down and, one at a time, pulled out two large glass cookie jars full of what looked to be very chunky chicken soup in a golden broth: Einstein's brain chopped into pieces ranging from the size of a turkey to a dime...And then he noticed me, noticing. Perhaps he saw my fascination, too, or maybe he was mad at himself for revealing so much, after all. Dr. Thomas Harvey had spent these last decades invisible to most of the world. He immediately gathered the cookie jars back up, returned them to the box, and Quasimodoed from the room, leaving me nothing but the after-vision. Flashes of bright light, the chill of a visitation."
As great as the writing, and as funny as Paterniti can be, he also knows he has a poignant tale to tell, about the boundless fascination the world holds for one of its most amazing minds. In what other country in the world could this possibly have happened? And what would Einstein himself have made of the spectacle of his brain tissue being carted all over the country for decades in plastic jars? Harvey, Paterniti comes to believe, just couldn't bear to put the great mind into the ground and hoped that somebody somewhere might unlock the key to Einstein's genius. And the hapless pathologist paid for his impulse, spending the rest of his life in controversy, then obscurity. Paterniti is always conscious of Einstein, his sorry personal life and his eerie presence every step of the way.
"Driving Mr. Albert" was initially published as a magazine piece, and in a narrative sense, it comes up a bit short as a full-fledged book. But it's a great magazine piece, and a surprisingly powerful and entertaining story. Paterniti is a very fine writer, and he showed amazing, almost inspirational, enterprise in getting to Einstein's brain. The story of the brain's final trek -- it does find a home, Harvey's untimately revealed purpose in letting Paterniti into his life -- is a brilliant rendering of one of the most bizarre folktales in modern science. You cannot spend a better afternoon or evening this summer than in reading this book (soon to be a major motion picture, by the way).
via:
You've all heard the scientific folktale about Einstein's brain, right? In 1995, during an autopsy after the great man's death, Einsten's brain was removed from his body, ostensibly to be studied for clues to his genius. The tale varies and gets murky after that, but most versions have it that the brain supposedly disappeared and was languishing in some file cabinet or basement.
Some rumors had it that the brain had been cut up and parts resided in various attics and garages around the United States and Canada. Other parts were said to be in the posession of the controversial doctor who performed the autopsy, an odd old man who had vanished from public view. Einstein's family, went the tales, wanted no part of his brain, or of the notion that anything could be learned from it.
Freelance writer Michael Paterniti heard the rumor, along with almost everyone else in America who is interested in science and/or technology, and was fascinated by it. He happened to mention it to his landlord in New Mexico, who didn't even blink. "Yeah," said the landlord, "the guy with the brain lives next to William (Burroughs, the writer) in Kansas. He used to be a pathologist."
So it turns out a shocking percentage of the rumor was true and soon thereafter, Paterniti tracked down the pathologist and the brain (which was stored in formaldehyde-filled Tupperware jars in New Jersey, and offered to drive him to California, where the doctor wanted to take it to Einstein's grand-daughter. Soon the two were barrelling across America in Paterniti's Buick Skylark headed for California, munching donuts, staying in cheap motels, the brain bouncing along in the trunk.
One of the amazing thing about this story is that it could have been any one of us who heard the rumor, checked it out and ended up with the brain in the trunks of our cars. But not all of us could have written so terrific and haunting a book. "Driving Mr. Albert: A Trip Across America with Einstein's Brain," details the journey of Paterniti and the bizarre octogenarian Dr. Thomas Harvey, the pathologist who impulsively separated Einstein and his brain during the latter's autopsy and hid it in various garages and basements for four decades while lawyers and ethicists fought over what to do about it, then essentially forgot that it existed.
Dr. Harvey, it turns out, is a man of few words, hardly any of them lucid or revealing. Most of them are phrases like "Way-ell, it sure has been a wonderful specimen."
Harvey, no longer a physician, bounced around the country, ending up working in a plastics factory, and can't really give a lucid accounting of why he took the brain or what he really intended to do with it. One gets the sense though that the act -- branded by some as ghoulish thievery -- ended up ruining his life in some way that even he couldn't describe. But those details don't really matter. In the hands of Paterniti, this is a surreal yarn about myth, genius, desire science and the great rewards of curiousity. There's a wonderful hacker quality to Paterniti, a mystery-solver who can't rest until he figures out the puzzle of what happened to the brain bouncing around in the Tupperware jars, the only remaining physical legacy of the century's greatest thinker.
Although nothing all that dramatic happens on the trek across America -- the odd couple stops and visits with the writer Burroughs and Paterniti can't help exclaiming to incredulous strangers all along the way what's in the trunk of the car -- the writing more than carries the yarn, as when Paterniti describes his first encounter with the loopy Dr. Harvey:
"Harvey appeared from the darkness with a big cardboard box in his hands. Then he set it down and, one at a time, pulled out two large glass cookie jars full of what looked to be very chunky chicken soup in a golden broth: Einstein's brain chopped into pieces ranging from the size of a turkey to a dime...And then he noticed me, noticing. Perhaps he saw my fascination, too, or maybe he was mad at himself for revealing so much, after all. Dr. Thomas Harvey had spent these last decades invisible to most of the world. He immediately gathered the cookie jars back up, returned them to the box, and Quasimodoed from the room, leaving me nothing but the after-vision. Flashes of bright light, the chill of a visitation."
As great as the writing, and as funny as Paterniti can be, he also knows he has a poignant tale to tell, about the boundless fascination the world holds for one of its most amazing minds. In what other country in the world could this possibly have happened? And what would Einstein himself have made of the spectacle of his brain tissue being carted all over the country for decades in plastic jars? Harvey, Paterniti comes to believe, just couldn't bear to put the great mind into the ground and hoped that somebody somewhere might unlock the key to Einstein's genius. And the hapless pathologist paid for his impulse, spending the rest of his life in controversy, then obscurity. Paterniti is always conscious of Einstein, his sorry personal life and his eerie presence every step of the way.
"Driving Mr. Albert" was initially published as a magazine piece, and in a narrative sense, it comes up a bit short as a full-fledged book. But it's a great magazine piece, and a surprisingly powerful and entertaining story. Paterniti is a very fine writer, and he showed amazing, almost inspirational, enterprise in getting to Einstein's brain. The story of the brain's final trek -- it does find a home, Harvey's untimately revealed purpose in letting Paterniti into his life -- is a brilliant rendering of one of the most bizarre folktales in modern science. You cannot spend a better afternoon or evening this summer than in reading this book (soon to be a major motion picture, by the way).
via:
