Huell Howser dies at 67; TV host profiled California people and places

California broadcasting legend Huell Howser has passed away at the age of 67.

In a TV arena in which premiums are placed on the fanciful and trendy, screaming housewives and snarling reality-show participants, no one seemed more out of place or less likely to become a popular star than Huell Howser.

His platform was traditional and unflashy -- highlighting familiar and off-the-beaten-track spots all around California in public television series with titles such as "California's Gold," "Visiting," "Road Trip" and "Downtown." But though his shows were focused on points and people of interest, it was Howser who turned into the main attraction, tackling his subjects with an awestruck curiosity and relentless enthusiasm. His upbeat boosterism accompanied an appearance that was simultaneously off-kilter and yet somehow cool with a hint of retro -- a thick, square mane of white hair, sunglasses, shirts that showed off a drill sergeant's build and huge biceps, and expressions that ranged from pleasantness to jaw-dropping wonder with some of his discoveries. Often, he wore shorts.

Topping it all off was a molasses-smooth Tennessee twang that gave an irresistibly folksy flavor to his frequent exclamations of "Oh my gosh" and "Isn't that amazing." The voice and the aw-shucks demeanor were also catnip for comedians who delighted in imitating his tone -- he was once parodied on "The Simpsons," and he was a favorite target of comedian Adam Corolla on his radio shows and podcasts. But he also proved to be a savvy businessman through his deals with broadcasters and sales of his shows on DVDs.

PHOTOS: Huell Howser

Howser, 67, one of public television's most iconic figures, died Sunday night, his assistant Ryan Morris said. No other details were given.

"We are deeply saddened to hear of Huell's passing," Al Jerome, president and chief executive of KCET, said in a statement. "This is a tremendous personal and professional loss to his friends and colleagues as well as his legions of fans. Throughout his more than two decades with KCET, Huell inspired everyone at the station with his enthusiasm and storytelling about this great state in which we live. Huell was able to brilliantly capture the wonder in obscurity. From pastrami sandwiches and scarves loomed from lint to the exoticism of cactus gardens and the splendor of Yosemite -- he brought us the magic, the humor and poignancy of our region. We will miss him very much."

Howser's death came only weeks after the announcement Nov. 27 that he was retiring and not filming any more original episodes of "California's Gold."

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Despite shifts in TV trends and fashions, Howser's approach never varied -- he was merely a man with a microphone and a camera. He played down its simplicity ("It's pretty basic stuff … it's not brain surgery"), and said it fit his strategy: to shine a spotlight on the familiar and the obscure places and people all over California.

"We have two agendas," Howser said in a 2009 interview with The Times. "One is to specifically show someone China Camp State Park or to talk to the guys who paint the Golden Gate Bridge. But the broader purpose is to open up the door for people to have their own adventures. Let's explore our neighborhood, let's look in our own backyard."

His anti-gliltz, aggressively genial approach with people was his trademark. He expressed endless amazement at his subjects, whether it was the making of French dip sandwiches at Philippe's restaurant in downtown Los Angeles, the burgers at the Apple Pan ("This is like … amazing!") or the massive swarm of flies buzzing around Mono Lake. "Look at this, look at this," he would often exclaim, prodding his interviewees to always tell him more.

Some of the people he interviewed had thought it was just an act, but came to discover that Howser was the same on camera and off.

"I had watched him while growing up, and I always thought that aw-shucks stuff was just an act," said Paul Chavez, chairman of the board of directors of the Cesar Chavez Foundation, which runs the National Chavez Center in the Tehachapi Mountains. The center, which honors the legacy of farm labor leader Cesar Chavez, was the subject of Howser's "California Gold," two years ago.

"But after a few minutes," said Paul, who is one of Chavez's sons, "Huell was like an old friend that I had known for years. His enthusiasm was contagious. Shortly after the show ran, we got a noticeable increase in visitors."

Real estate executive Kimberly Lucero echoed Chavez's assessment about Howser's enthusiasm. As vice president of marketing and sales for the Kor Group, a real estate and development company, Lucero was the host's guide in 2005 for a show on downtown Los Angeles' historic Eastern Columbia Building, Howser was almost breathless, surveying the gold-leaf entrance: "Look at this … look at this entrance! What in the world were they thinking when they built things like this?"

"His excitement was truly infectious," said Lucero, who is currently vice president of marketing and sales for the Ritz Carlton Residences. "Nothing was staged."

But even those who poked fun at his upbeat attitude were seldom mean-spirited or cruel -- their affection for him was evident through the wisecracks.

He was such a local fixture that a Pink's hot dog was named after him. Though those who came into contact with him said he was the same on-camera as he was on, he maintained a sense of mystery. He was a savvy businessman who was very conscious of his gift. One local reporter once said that Howser's easy-going manner should not be underestimated: "He would be real tough."

And though he was generous, Howser, who was never married, was intensely private, rarely giving glimpses into his own life. He had an apartment on Rossmore Boulevard, but also lived in his "dream house" in Twentynine Palms, which he decorated with mid-century furniture he bought from second-hand stores in Palm Springs.

Howser was aware that his ever-present cheerfulness was an eyebrow-raiser: "Sometimes, people say, 'Are you putting that on?'" he said in 2009. "That's kind of a sad commentary, don't you think? Like there's got to be something wrong with someone who's enthusiastic and happy like that. Do I have bad days? Yes. Do I get depressed? Yes. Am I concerned about the state of the California economy and budget? I'm not some Pollyanna who doesn't recognize that there's hunger and poverty and racism in the world."

Howser was born Oct. 18, 1945, in Gallatin, Tenn., near Nashville. His father, Harold, was a lawyer, and his mother, Jewel was a homemaker. "Huell" is a combination of both their names.

His Los Angeles TV career began when he joined KCBS in 1981 as a reporter. In 1987, he moved to KCET-TV to produce "Videolog," a series of short programs featuring unique human-interest stories. That show evolved into "Visiting … With Huell Howser". In 1990, he started traveling for his "California's Gold" segments.

In 2011, Howser announced that he was donating all episodes of his series to Chapman University, a private Christian college in Orange, to be digitized and made available for a worldwide online audience.

greg.braxton@latimes.com

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Exclusive: Ford Wants to Create the Android of Automotive Apps

LAS VEGAS – Ford wants to make AppLink the Android of automotive app architectures.

In an unprecedented move for the auto industry, Ford is giving the system underpinning its Sync AppLink system to any automaker who wants it, at no cost and with no restrictions on what they do with it. That would help automakers quickly and easily advance their infotainment systems, bring countless new developers into the automotive sector and provide consumers with more apps and options.

Ford’s motives aren’t entirely altruistic. It wants to dominate the emerging infotainment space by leveraging the success of AppLink and Sync, much like Google used Android in the smartphone sector.

“We want to create the highest-volume architecture in the industry,” Doug VanDagens, Ford’s director of connected services, told Wired. “The ease at which [developers] can develop is important to them, and we believe we’re leading in tools and implementation.”

Automotive app developers find themselves in much the same position smartphone developers did a few years ago. Not long ago, Apple’s iOS was the top priority, Android was just coming to the fore and everyone else was an afterthought because it was simply too big a hassle to develop a product for every OS.

The automotive app space is following a similar pattern. Every automaker features a different consumer-facing platform, so developers must work with a variety of APIs and SDKs. It’s annoying but doable for a massive outfit like Pandora, but damn near impossible for small developers. That’s where AppLink comes in. By offering AppLink to any automaker or Tier 1 supplier (the folks who build the hardware) and providing a universal API and SDK, Ford expands an app’s footprint across the industry and brings more developers into the Ford fold.

“It’s a bold move by Ford, which may lead to faster industry adoption of in-vehicle applications,” said Thilo Koslowski, an auto industry analyst at Gartner. “But it also underlines the challenge for automakers to attract application developers. No developer can afford to do custom work for every automaker.”

The fly in the ointment is the fact many automakers have invested great time and money developing their own app platforms. They want to control and maintain their own ecosystem, just like Google, Apple and Microsoft. A General Motors exec, requesting anonymity to speak frankly about Ford’s plan, said adopting AppLink would be immensely risky because of the resulting loss of control.

“Will we get the latest updates or will we have to wait until Ford is willing to share?” he said.

That is one of many questions competing automakers have. The other big issue is how AppLink will fit into current architectures. If it has access to core vehicle services such as vehicle diagnostics, it won’t gain any traction. Automakers don’t want a competitor’s nose that far into their business. And of course, there’s the issue of branding. No one but Ford wants Ford’s logo on a product.

Ford says AppLink can be platform-agnostic and insists that it has no interest in contributing branding, only the underlying architecture.

Developers have shown plenty of interest in AppLink. Well over 4,000 have registered for access, and that undoubtedly will climb as Ford’s pushes to make AppLink an industry standard. To that end, Ford is extending its API support, bringing multiple languages to market, and will even offer an emulator so coders can test apps without having to get an infotainment system – or an entire vehicle – from Ford.

And then there’s the aftermarket, which with the exception of Pioneer, has been slow to integrate apps into their head units. That could change with a more robust architecture, but Ford will wait until others get on board. That may be a conservative first step, but courting the aftermarket has the potential to get even more developers into the fray.

“Ford’s move could allow other automakers, [consumer electronics] companies and developers to stop reinventing the wheel,” says Koslowski. “But those automakers that want to achieve strong brand differentiation with mobile apps will likely continue with their own effort.”

That would be a shame for consumers, but the automotive OS war is just heating up, and only a handful of platforms will win out in the long-term.

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‘Mary Poppins’ to close on Broadway in the spring

NEW YORK (AP) — “Mary Poppins” is closing up its big umbrella on Broadway.

An official close to the show’s producers said Monday that the 6-year-old musical will end performances in March at the New Amsterdam Theatre and eventually be replaced by a musical adapted from the film “Aladdin.”

The official spoke to The Associated Press on condition of anonymity because he was not authorized to speak before the official announcement. The New York Post first reported the news, citing an anonymous source. A Disney representative did not immediately respond to a request for comment.

“Mary Poppins,” co-produced by Disney and Cameron Mackintosh, is based both on the children’s books by P.L. Travers and the 1964 movie starring Julie Andrews and Dick Van Dyke. It tells the story of the world’s most practically perfect nanny in Edwardian London.

With a big cast, lavish sets and stunts that include Mary flying with her umbrella and Bert the chimney sweep tap dancing upside-down, the show was a hit after opening in 2006, two years after debuting in London.

When it closes, it will have been performed 2,619 times and have been seen by more than 4 million people. It recouped its initial Broadway investment within a year, and has gone on to be among the top 10 grossing shows for the past six years and top five for attendance. It will rank as the 22nd longest-running show in Broadway history.

Its soon-to-be vacant home at the New Amsterdam Theatre will be taken by the musical “Aladdin,” which has melodies by Alan Menken and lyrics by Howard Ashman and Tim Rice — the same team who created the animated film version that starred Robin Williams. The musical, with a book by Chad Beguelin, had its premiere in Seattle in summer 2011.

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Reliving the Nightmare of Plague, 10 Years Later

Jakob Schiller for The New York Times

SURVIVORS Lucinda Marker and John Tull at home a decade after having the plague.

It was November 2002, little more than a year after planes had been flown into the World Trade Center and anthrax mailings had killed five Americans. New York City was still on edge, in a state of high alert for suspected terrorists.

Suddenly all eyes were on a middle-aged married couple from Santa Fe, N.M., on a brief vacation to New York, who had the remarkably ill luck to come down with the city’s first case of bubonic plague in more than a century. Television news trucks surrounded Beth Israel Medical Center North, where they had dragged themselves after being stricken in their hotel room with rampaging fevers, headaches, extreme exhaustion and mysterious balloonlike swellings.

It took just over a day for public health officials to dispel fears about bioterrorism; there had been no unusual rise in the number of very high fevers that could have suggested an attack.

It turned out that the couple, Lucinda Marker and John Tull, had been bitten by fleas infected with Yersinia pestis, the bacterium that causes plague. Their home state, New Mexico, accounts for more than half of the average seven cases of plague in the country every year. (In 2012, just one case was reported in the state.)

“It was an absolute fluke,” Ms. Marker, now 57, said during a recent visit to New York. “Just rotten luck.”

Like most people who contract the disease and are quickly treated with antibiotics, she recovered in a few days. But 10 years later, her husband is still badly scarred.

In the days after they were bitten, Mr. Tull, a burly, athletic lawyer — a former prosecutor who volunteered with search-and-rescue teams — developed septicemic plague, as the infection spread throughout his body.

His temperature rose to 104.4, his blood pressure plummeted to 78/50. His kidneys were failing, and so much clotted blood collected in his hands and feet that they turned black.

Mr. Tull was put into a medically induced coma. When he was brought out of it, nearly three months later, he found out that both his legs had been amputated below the knee to drain the deadly infection. The surgery that saved his life radically changed it, but did not dampen his resilient spirit.

Even before he was released from the hospital to begin a long rehabilitation, he vowed he would once again be hiking on the rustic trails above his home.

Today Mr. Tull, 63, drives his own car, sometimes takes over the controls of a private plane, and goes on an annual trout-fishing trip to Colorado with friends. But he has not been able to hike that trail.

“That is one of the things I miss most,” Mr. Tull, now retired and receiving a disability pension, said in a telephone interview from his home. “Every single hour of every single day, the plague affects our lives, but about the only time I really get angry these days is when, because of my physical condition, there is something I want to do but can’t.”

He has appeared in several television documentaries, speaking to medical researchers around the world and dealing with a posse of journalists as his very private ordeal has been played out in public.

“Basically Lucinda and I surrendered our privacy to the press and the people who make documentaries,” Mr. Tull said. “But you know what? That didn’t bother us a bit. Lucinda had been an actress and I had been a trial lawyer. We were used to it.”

Ms. Marker, who has started to write about their ordeal, says that after 10 years she is coming to terms with it emotionally and psychologically. Yet many aspects of their case still puzzle medical experts.

In particular, no one knows why she was so easily cured while he nearly died.

Bubonic plague is transmitted by fleas that feed off pack rats, ground squirrels and prairie dogs in the mountains of New Mexico and several other states. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, the disease probably came to the United States around 1900, in Asian rats that escaped from ships in the port of San Francisco.

Initially, plague was restricted to cities. The worst outbreak came in 1907, after the San Francisco earthquake. Vermin control programs prevented further outbreaks, but fleas hitched onto other animals in the wild.

Dr. Paul Ettestad, public health veterinarian for the New Mexico Department of Health, said prairie dogs became an “amplification host,” carrying the disease to their burrows and spreading it throughout their territory. Today, the easternmost limit of the plague roughly corresponds to the 100th meridian, which passes through central Texas. Known as the plague line, is it also the extent of the prairie dog population.

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DealBook: Dartmouth Controversy Reflects Quandary for Endowments

By the numbers, the endowment at Dartmouth had a banner year. The $3.49 billion fund returned 5.8 percent for the 12 months that ended in June — the best in the Ivy League.

But the performance has been clouded by controversy. Last year, an anonymous letter signed by “the friends of Eleazar Wheelock,” referring to the university’s founder, asked New Hampshire state officials to investigate the endowment over potential conflicts of interest raised by trustee-related investments.

Although the state attorney general’s office decided that an investigation was not warranted, the situation highlights a thorny problem for college endowments.

Trustees’ connections can prove profitable for the universities, offering access to top-performing hedge funds and private equity firms that may not be open to other investors. But they can also create the appearance that the colleges may have nonfinancial motives for picking investments. And if the investments do not perform well, it can be stickier to fire the money manager.

“It’s probably better not to” engage in such transactions, said John S. Griswold, executive director of the Commonfund Institute, the research arm of a money manager that caters to educational endowments in Wilton, Conn. “It avoids the perception of conflict of interest and self dealing.”

Universities like Dartmouth rely on endowments to help pay for financial aid, academics and operations. As part of their core fund-raising, colleges hunt for big donations from their most successful alumni, a group that is often heavily populated by financiers and professional investors. The trustees at Dartmouth, a board that oversees the university, include James G. Coulter, a founding partner of the private equity firm TPG Capital and Stephen F. Mandel Jr., the head of the hedge fund Lone Pine Capital.

Dartmouth has frequently tapped that pool to fill its endowment portfolio. In July, the university said that 13.5 percent of the assets were in funds led by trustees or members of the college’s investment committee. Those included investments managed by Lone Pine, whose chief, Mr. Mandel, has been a Dartmouth trustee since 2007; by Welsh, Carson, Anderson & Stowe, a private equity firm whose co-founder, Russell L. Carson, was a Dartmouth trustee until 2009; and Apollo Global Management, the private equity firm run by Leon D. Black, a Dartmouth trustee until 2011.

Dartmouth is not an outlier in the practice. A 2011 study by the National Association of College and University Business Officers and the Commonfund Institute found that 56 percent of the 823 endowments surveyed allowed board members to do business with their university, as long as the relationship is disclosed.

But Dartmouth, which has six funds with trustee ties, appears to be among the more aggressive. Among the Ivy League universities, Brown and Cornell have disclosed five trustee-related investments. Princeton, Yale, Columbia and Pennsylvania have reported just one. Harvard has not reported any trustee investments, but its reports do not include investments managed by firms of board members of Harvard Management, which runs the university’s endowment.

“Dartmouth is proud that some of the world’s leading money managers are Dartmouth alumni,” said the college’s general counsel, Robert B. Donin, adding that the picks were “based on a manager’s strategy, expertise and performance history,” rather than ties to the university.

Over all, the strategy has been sound. The Dartmouth-related managers produced average annual returns of 11.1 percent over the 10 years that ended in mid-2011. By comparison, the endowment as a whole is up 7 percent on average in the same period.

Even so, the practice has prompted concern within the ranks of the Dartmouth trustees. Roughly five years ago, the group debated such transactions, according to Charles E. Haldeman Jr., a Dartmouth trustee from 2004 to 2012 and the former chief executive of Freddie Mac. “We understood there was a potential negative perception,” Mr. Haldeman said. But the trustees concluded that the potential for “a higher return on the endowment” justified the risk of a “perception issue.”

In the depths of the financial crisis, the issue came up again. Like many colleges, Dartmouth saw its endowment suffer during the market downturn, forcing the fund to sell assets and cut staff to bolster its cash cushion.

At the time, one trustee raised concerns that the endowment was overly invested in illiquid high-fee products, which could not be easily sold. By then, Dartmouth’s exposure to alternative investments like hedge funds, private equity funds and venture capital had swelled to 48.5 percent of assets, well above its target of 35 percent.

The cash squeeze also prompted questions from the trustee, Todd J. Zywicki, a law professor at George Mason University, about the amount of alternative assets that were devoted to firms led by Dartmouth trustees.

Initially, Mr. Zywicki said in an interview, he got the impression that such investments were a “special opportunity.” But by the time of the downturn, he said that it had become routine. “Every year they would bring more of these things,” he said.

After Mr. Zywicki was voted off the board in 2009, the endowment issue was swept up into a larger, decade-long battle between alumni factions over whether Dartmouth should try to compete globally by expanding its top graduate schools, or focus on its traditional undergraduate core.

But the concerns did not go away. In February 2012, a group sent an anonymous letter to the office of the New Hampshire attorney general. “Who really runs Dartmouth College and for whose benefit?” the letter asked. “For years, Dartmouth has been run by and has paid sky-high fees to a group of investment manager trustees, all Dartmouth graduates, who have then recycled some portion of the fees” back to the college “as generous ‘donations,’ ” often getting a building named for them in the process.

The letter cited donations by some of the same trustees. For example, Mr. Black contributed $48 million for a Black Family Visual Arts Center, and a building to house Dartmouth’s history department was named for Mr. Carson in 2002. An Apollo spokesman declined to comment. Neither Mr. Carson nor another Welsh, Carson official returned calls.

The anonymous letter noted that Pamela J. Joyner, a Dartmouth trustee from 2001 to 2010, had served as a placement agent for Apollo, receiving commissions for investments in its funds. Ms. Joyner, whose San Francisco firm Avid Partners is an alternative investment marketing consultant, declined to comment, referring questions to a Dartmouth spokesman. The college spokesman, Justin Anderson, confirmed her placement work for Apollo, and said she had also “explored” such work for the money management firm Welsh, Carson, but did not benefit from any Dartmouth investments.

The letter, made public in May, prompted a review by the state attorney general’s office. In October, officials concluded that an investigation wasn’t warranted. The review, in part, found that Dartmouth had complied with state rules. Regulations require that such transactions be approved by a two-thirds vote of the board, without any participation by the trustee involved with the investment.

Since the issue arose, Dartmouth has bolstered its controls over such investments. In addition to the previous requirements, the audit committee now votes on such investments to ensure they don’t pose “an unreasonable risk of appearance of conflict of interest.”

“We could have had a blanket prohibition, and if we did, we would never be second-guessed,” said Mr. Haldeman, the former Dartmouth trustee. “But returns on our endowment would have been substantially lower,” he added, “and the institution would not be as strong as it is today.”

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A solution to La Jolla's smell problem proves elusive

LA JOLLA — There's a political stink rising in this seaside community, blown ashore from the rocks of La Jolla Cove, where myriad seabirds and marine mammals roost, rest and leave behind what animals leave behind.

The offal accumulation is offending noses at trendy restaurants, tourist haunts, and expensive condos perched on some of the most pricey real estate in the country. But finding a solution to the olfactory assault has proved elusive.

Environmental regulations have thwarted proposals to cleanse the rocks with a non-toxic, biodegradable solution. Even a low-tech idea to scrub the rocks with brooms may need official approval.

The state-protected cove area falls under the permitting jurisdiction of the California Coastal Commission and San Diego Regional Water Quality Control Board. Since wildlife is involved, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration and the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service also have authority.

The normally low-key Sherri Lightner, who represents La Jolla on the San Diego City Council, has challenged — some say dared — Gov. Jerry Brown to tour the cove area in high stink season.

"Everybody is pointing fingers, and nobody is doing anything," said a La Jolla resident who strolled the sidewalk along the community's famed corniche on New Year's Day, tissue to her nose to battle the smell.

A San Diego park ranger assigned to the La Jolla beaches takes a more philosophic approach toward the excretory matter. "It's a natural process," said ranger Richard Belesky. "But would I want to buy a multimillion-dollar condo with the stink nearby? I don't think so."

The difficulty of reconciling the habits of sea creatures and the needs of humankind is not new to La Jolla. South of the La Jolla Cove is the Children's Pool where harbor seals lounge on the beach.

For two decades a legal and political dispute has raged between people who say the seals should be removed because they are blocking access to the water and those who say the seals should be allowed to stay, particularly during pupping season. Signs warn bathers that seal excrement has resulted in a high bacteria count that can cause disease.

At the La Jolla Cove, the droppings began to pile up after restrictions were put in place to keep people from climbing down the delicate bluffs to the rocks below. The birds and mammals suddenly had no reason to scatter.

The La Jolla Village Merchants Assn. gathered more than 1,000 signatures demanding an immediate solution. But immediate is not in the governmental lexicon when it comes to issues involving the ocean and wildlife.

To wash down the rocks would require a National Pollutant Discharge Elimination System permit from the San Diego Regional Water Quality Control Board. The city, probably the full City Council, would need to endorse a specific wash-down proposal — but that, according to Lightner's staff, would mean submitting the issue to an application process that could take at least two years, given the backlog at the water board.

And even if the water board approved the application, the issue would then proceed to the Coastal Commission, an agency not known for its speed.

In hopes of finding a faster, if more limited, solution, city officials are considering arming Park and Recreation Department employees with brooms to scrub down the rocks. They assure that steps will be taken to ensure that no runoff reaches the ocean and no birds or mammals are hurt.

Talks are planned with regional, state and federal agency staff members to see if such a limited approach could be taken without a full-tilt application process. A radio talk-show host has shown the way, taking his own broom to the cove.

Meanwhile, restaurateurs say the smell continues to discourage patrons. Some tourists complain that it mars their vacations. Shirley Towlson, a bookkeeper who arrived in La Jolla from Phoenix, was shocked at the smell along the promenade and outside her hotel.

"I thought La Jolla meant 'The Jewel,' '' she said. "This smells more like 'The Toilet.' "

Other tourists find the smell but a small downer amid the other joys of La Jolla as a seaside place of visual beauty, fine dining and chic shopping.

"It smells like fish," said Mark Bain, a general contractor from Sacramento, enjoying a New Year's week idyll. "It happens."

He said the smell is not nearly as noxious as when dead fish line the banks of the Sacramento River. "Now, that's really bad," he said.

tony.perry@latimes.com

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Looney Gas and Lead Poisoning: A Short, Sad History

Author’s note: Most people don’t realize that we knew in the 1920s that leaded gasoline was extremely dangerous. And in light of a Mother Jones story this week that looks at the connection between leaded gasoline and crime rates in the United States, I thought it might be worth reviewing that history. The following is an updated version of an earlier post based on information from my book about early 10th century toxicology, The Poisoner’s Handbook.

In the fall of 1924, five bodies from New Jersey were delivered to the New York City Medical Examiner’s Office. You might not expect those out-of-state corpses to cause the chief medical examiner to worry about the dirt blowing in Manhattan streets. But they did.

To understand why you need to know the story of those five dead men, or at least the story of their exposure to a then mysterious industrial poison.

The five men worked at the Standard Oil Refinery in Bayway, New Jersey. All of them spent their days in what plant employees nicknamed “the loony gas building”, a tidy brick structure where workers seemed to sicken as they handled a new gasoline additive. The additive’s technical name was tetraethyl lead or, in industrial shorthand, TEL. It was developed by researchers at General Motors as an anti-knock formula, with the assurance that it was entirely safe to handle.

But, as I wrote in a previous post, men working at the plant quickly gave it the “loony gas” tag because anyone who spent much time handling the additive showed stunning signs of mental deterioration, from memory loss to a stumbling loss of coordination to  sudden twitchy bursts of rage. And then in October of 1924, workers in the TEL building began collapsing, going into convulsions, babbling deliriously. By the end of September, 32 of the 49 TEL workers were in the hospital; five of them were dead.

The problem, at that point, was that no one knew exactly why. Oh, they knew – or should have known – that tetraethyl lead was dangerous. As Charles Norris, chief medical examiner for New York City pointed out, the compound had been banned in Europe for years due to its toxic nature. But while U.S. corporations hurried TEL into production in the 1920s, they did not hurry to understand its medical or environmental effects.

In 1922,  the U.S. Public Health Service had asked Thomas Midgley, Jr. – the developer of the leaded gasoline process – for copies of all his research into the health consequences of tetraethyl lead (TEL).

Midgley, a scientist at General Motors, replied that no such research existed. And two years later, even with bodies starting to pile up,  he had still not looked into the question.  Although GM and Standard Oil had formed a joint company to manufacture leaded gasoline – the Ethyl Gasoline Corporation - its research had focused solely on improving the TEL formulas. The companies disliked and frankly avoided the lead issue. They’d deliberately left the word out of their new company name to avoid its negative image.

In response to the worker health crisis at the Bayway plant, Standard Oil suggested that the problem might simply be overwork. Unimpressed, the state of New Jersey ordered a halt to TEL production. And because the compound was so poorly understood, state health officials asked the New York City Medical Examiner’s Office to find out what had happened.

In 1924, New York had the best forensic toxicology department in the country; in fact,, it had one of the few such programs period. The chief chemist was a dark, cigar-smoking, perfectionist named Alexander Gettler, a famously dogged researcher who would sit up late at night designing both experiments and apparatus as needed.

It took Gettler three obsessively focused weeks to figure out how much tetraethyl lead the Standard Oil workers had absorbed before they became ill,  went crazy, or died. “This is one of the most difficult of many difficult investigations of the kind which have been carried on at this laboratory,” Norris said, when releasing the results. “This was the first work of its kind, as far as I know. Dr. Gettler had not only to do the work but to invent a considerable part of the method of doing it.”

Working with the first four bodies, then checking his results against the body of the last worker killed, who had died screaming in a straitjacket, Gettler discovered that TEL and its lead byproducts formed a recognizable distribution, concentrated in the lungs, the brain, and the bones. The highest levels were in the lungs suggesting that most of the poison had been inhaled; later tests showed that the types of masks used by Standard Oil did not filter out the lead in TEL vapors.

Rubber gloves did protect the hands but if TEL splattered onto unprotected skin, it absorbed alarmingly quickly. The result was intense poisoning with lead, a potent neurotoxin. The loony gas symptoms were, in fact, classic indicators of heavy lead toxicity.

After Norris released his office’s report on tetraethyl lead, New York City banned its sale, and the sale of “any preparation containing lead or other deleterious substances” as an additive to gasoline. So did New Jersey. So did the city of Philadelphia. It was a moment in which health officials in large urban areas were realizing that with increased use of automobiles, it was likely that residents would be increasingly exposed to dangerous lead residues and they moved quickly to protect them.

But fearing that such measures would spread,  that they would be forced to find another anti-knock compound, as well as losing considerable money, the manufacturing companies demanded that the federal government take over the investigation and develop its own regulations. U.S. President Calvin Coolidge, a Republican and small-government conservative, moved rapidly in favor of the business interests.

The manufacturers agreed to suspend TEL production and distribution until a federal investigation was completed. In May 1925, the U.S. Surgeon General called a national tetraethyl lead conference, to be followed by the formation of an investigative task force to study the problem. That same year, Midgley published his first health analysis of TEL, which acknowledged  a minor health risk at most, insisting that the use of lead compounds,”compared with other chemical industries it is neither grave nor inescapable.”

It was obvious in advance that he’d basically written the conclusion of the federal task force. That panel only included selected industry scientists like Midgely. It had no place for Alexander Gettler or Charles Norris or, in fact, anyone from any city where sales of the gas had been banned, or any agency involved in the producing that first critical analysis of tetraethyl lead.

In January 1926, the public health service released its report which concluded that there was “no danger” posed by adding TEL to gasoline…”no reason to prohibit the sale of leaded gasoline” as long as workers were well protected during the manufacturing process.

The task force did look briefly at risks associated with every day exposure by drivers, automobile attendants, gas station operators, and found that it was minimal. The researchers had indeed found lead residues in dusty corners of garages. In addition,  all the drivers tested showed trace amounts of lead in their blood. But a low level of lead could be tolerated, the scientists announced. After all, none of the test subjects showed the extreme behaviors and breakdowns associated with places like the looney gas building. And the worker problem could be handled with some protective gear.

There was one cautionary note, though. The federal panel warned that exposure levels would probably rise as more people took to the roads. Perhaps, at a later point, the scientists suggested, the research should be taken up again. It was always possible that leaded gasoline might “constitute a menace to the general public after prolonged use or other conditions not foreseen at this time.”

But, of course, that would be another generation’s problem. In 1926, citing evidence from the TEL report, the federal government revoked all bans on production and sale of leaded gasoline. The reaction of industry was jubilant; one Standard Oil spokesman likened the compound to a “gift of God,” so great was its potential to improve automobile performance.

In New York City, at least, Charles Norris decided to prepare for the health and environmental problems to come. He suggested that the department scientists do a base-line measurement of lead levels in the dirt and debris blowing across city streets. People died, he pointed out to his staff; and everyone knew that heavy metals like lead tended to accumulate. The resulting comparison of street dirt in 1924 and 1934 found a 50 percent increase in lead levels – a warning, an indicator of damage to come, if anyone had been paying attention.

It was some fifty years later – in 1986 – that the United States formally banned lead as a gasoline additive. By that time, according to some estimates, so much lead had been deposited into soils, streets, building surfaces, that an estimated 68 million children would register toxic levels of lead absorption and some 5,000 American adults would die annually of lead-induced heart disease. As lead affects cognitive function, some neuroscientists also suggested that chronic lead exposure resulted in a measurable drop in IQ scores during the leaded gas era. And more recently, of course, researchers had suggested that TEL exposure and resulting nervous system damage may have contributed to violent crime rates in the 20th century.

Which is just another way of say that we never got out of the loony gas building after all.

Images: 1) Manhattan, 34th Street, 1931/NYC Municipal Archives 2) 1940s gas station, US Route 66, Illinois/Deborah Blum

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NBC execs say it’s not a ‘shoot-’em-up’ network

PASADENA, Calif. (AP) — NBC executives said Sunday they are conscious about the amount of violence they air in the wake of real-life tragedies like the Connecticut school shooting, but have made no changes in what has gone on the air or what is planned.

NBC isn’t a “shoot-’em-up” network, said network entertainment President Jennifer Salke.

The level of violence on television, in movies and video games has been looked at as a contributing factor — along with the availability of guns and a lack of mental health services — in incidents such as the Dec. 14 attack in a Newtown, Conn., school where 20 first-graders and six educators were killed.

Like many in Hollywood, NBC questioned a link between what is put on the air and what is happening in society.

“It weighs on all of us,” said NBC Entertainment Chairman Robert Greenblatt. “Most of the people at this network have children and really care about the shows that we’re putting out there. It’s always something that’s been on our mind but this brought it to the forefront.”

NBC hasn’t needed to take any tangible steps like minimizing violence in its programming or deemphasizing guns, Salke said, because NBC didn’t have much violence on the air. It might be different “if we were the ‘shoot-’em-up’ network, she said.

She didn’t name such a network, but said violence might be an issue on a network that airs many crime procedural shows. That’s a staple of CBS’ lineup. Greenblatt, who was head of Showtime when the “Dexter” series about a serial killer was developed, said CBS’ “Criminal Minds” is “worse than ‘Dexter’ ever was.”

Within an hour after both executives spoke, NBC showed reporters at a news conference highlights of its show “Revolution” that included a swordfight, a standoff between two men with guns, a bloodied man, a building blown up with a flying body and a gunfight.

Later clips of the upcoming series “Deception” featured several shots of a bloodied, dead body.

NBC also is developing a drama, “Hannibal,” based on one of fiction’s most indelible serial killers, Hannibal Lecter. An airtime for the show hasn’t been scheduled, but it could come this spring or summer.

Salke said there is more violence in Fox’s upcoming drama “The Following,” also about a serial killer, than there will be in “Hannibal.” Much of the violence in the upcoming NBC show, created by former “Heroes” producer Bryan Fuller, is implied and not gratuitous.

“We respect the talent and like what he is doing, so we are standing behind him,” Salke said. She said there’s been a spate of programs about creepy killers because they’ve been such indelible characters.

Greenblatt said he wasn’t trying to be glib, but one of the best tonics for people upset about real-life violence is to watch an episode of NBC’s “Parenthood.” He said it’s a great example of a family that loves each other and grapples with many issues.

“Ultimately, I think you feel good at the end of the day,” he said.

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Drug-Testing Company Tied to N.C.A.A. Draws Criticism

KANSAS CITY, Mo. — A wall in one of the conference rooms at the National Center for Drug Free Sport displays magazine covers, each capturing a moment in the inglorious history of doping scandals in sports.

Steve Hebert for The New York Times

The National Center for Drug Free Sport, in Kansas City, Mo., tries to deter doping with programs for high school, college and professional leagues.

Monica Almeida/The New York Times

Don Catlin, formerly of U.C.L.A.’s Olympic Analytical Lab, has raised questions about drug testing at colleges.

The images show Ben Johnson, the sprinter who lost his 1988 Olympic gold medal after testing positive; and Barry Bonds, the tarnished home run king; and Lyle Alzado, one of the first pro football players to admit to steroid use.

“People always assume that it’s the athletes at the top of their sport or the top of their game that are using,” said Frank Uryasz, Drug Free Sport’s founder and president. “But I can assure you that’s not the case. There’s always that desire to be the best, to win. That permeates all level of sport — abuse where you just wouldn’t expect it.”

Over the past quarter-century, athletes like Johnson, Bonds and Alzado stirred widespread concern about doping in sports.

Professional leagues without drug-testing programs have put them in; leagues with drug-testing programs have strengthened them. Congress and medical experts have called on sports officials at all levels to treat doping like a scourge.

It was in this budding American culture of doping awareness that Uryasz found a niche business model. He has spent the past decade selling his company’s services to the country’s sports officials.

The company advises leagues and teams on what their testing protocols should look like — everything from what drugs to test for to how often athletes will be tested to what happens to the specimens after testing. It also handles the collection and testing of urine samples, often with the help of subcontractors.

Drug Free Sport provides drug-testing programs for high school, college and professional leagues.

A privately held company with fewer than 30 full-time employees, it counts among its clients Major League Baseball, the N.F.L., the N.B.A., the N.C.A.A. and about 300 individual college programs.

Many, if not all, of the players on the field Monday night for the Bowl Championship Series title game between Alabama and Notre Dame have participated in a drug-testing program engineered by Drug Free Sport.

Uryasz says his company’s programs provide substantial deterrents for athletes who might consider doping.

Critics, however, question how rigorous the company’s programs are. They say Drug Free Sport often fails to adhere to tenets of serious drug testing, like random, unannounced tests; collection of samples by trained, independent officials; and testing for a comprehensive list of recreational and performance-enhancing drugs.

The critics, pointing to a low rate of positive tests, question Drug Free Sport’s effectiveness at catching athletes who cheat. Since the company began running the N.C.A.A.’s drug-testing program in 1999, for example, the rate of positive tests has been no higher than 1 percent in any year — despite an N.C.A.A. survey of student-athletes that indicated at least 1 in 5 used marijuana, a banned substance. (The N.C.A.A. tests for marijuana at championship competitions but not in its year-round program.)

Uryasz said the rate of positive tests was not meaningful. “I don’t spend a lot of time on the percent positive as being an indicator of very much,” he said.

Independent doping experts contend that having a contract with Drug Free Sport allows sports officials to say they take testing seriously without enacting a truly stringent program.

Don Catlin, the former head of U.C.L.A.’s Olympic Analytical Lab, best known for breaking the Bay Area Laboratory Co-operative doping ring, oversaw the testing of many of Drug Free Sport’s urine samples when he was at U.C.L.A. He said the work by Drug Free Sport and similar companies could be used to mislead fans.

“The problem with these schools is they all want to say they’re doing drug testing, but they’re not really doing anything I would call drug testing,” he said.

A Company’s Origins

Uryasz said he became interested in working with student-athletes while tutoring them as an undergraduate at Nebraska. After he graduated, he earned an M.B.A. from Nebraska and worked in health care administration in Omaha. He said he heard about an opening at the N.C.A.A. through a friend.

Driven in part by scandals in professional sports, the N.C.A.A. voted at its 1986 annual convention to start a drug-testing program.

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Tingye Li, Instrumental in the Laser’s Development, Dies at 81

Tingye Li, an electrical engineer whose calculations in the early 1960s helped guide the development of the laser and propel the dizzying increase in the speed of fiber-optic communication, died on Dec. 27 in Snowbird, Utah. He was 81.

Family photo

Some of the work done by Dr. Li and his colleagues at Bell Labs laid the groundwork for today’s broadband.

The cause was a heart attack while he was on a family ski trip, his family said. He lived in Boulder, Colo.

Lasers were in the early stage of development when Dr. Li and a colleague at Bell Labs, A. Gardner Fox, developed a computer simulation of how lasers produce the focused light energy that has transformed fields from medicine to space travel. They reported their findings in a paper published in 1961.

Dr. Arno Penzias, a former director of Bell, called their paper a tool kit for subsequent designers of lasers and other optical systems. He said it helped transform the “wonderful invention” of the laser — an acronym for light amplification by stimulated emission of radiation — into “a practical communications platform.”

In essence, the researchers provided a mathematical model for how light bounces about inside a laser between two mirrors as it gathers energy, predicting factors like the shape and intensity of light beams. Alan Willner, an electrical engineering professor at the University of Southern California, called the work “the foundational teaching” on the innards of lasers.

“There aren’t many papers that help define a field, but this was one of them,” he said in an interview.

The research that led to nearly instantaneous communication by light waves was itself snail-like. Dr. Li and Dr. Fox had to write their own programs, punching them into decks of cards, for a room-size computer that was less powerful than a palm-size calculator today. The computer ran the program for two or three hours. A frequent error message meant that the researchers had to scour the cards for a single improperly punched letter, Jeff Hecht wrote in “Beam: The Race to Make the Laser” (2010).

Bell Labs was virtually unchallenged as the largest and most inventive laboratory in the world, having a hand in many of the 20th century’s most important inventions. Dr. Li, who wrote or helped write more than 100 papers, patents and books, led research teams at Bell for more than three decades.

Some of their work laid the groundwork for today’s broadband. One area of study was in finding ways to use light waves to convey information on optical fiber rather than copper wire or radio waves. Another team Dr. Li led developed optical amplifiers, which amplify an optical signal directly without the need to first convert it into an electrical signal.

Dr. Li was an early proponent of using the rare earth metal Erbium in the amplifiers, an improvement that helped raise their capacity more than a hundredfold.

“Tingye Li has shaped the lightwave network infrastructure we know today,” the Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers said when presenting him with its Edison Medal in 2009.

Li Ding Yi, as his name is transliterated from Chinese, was born in Nanking, China, on July 7, 1931. His mother, Lily, was one of the first generation of Chinese women to receive a modern higher education. She became an activist for women’s rights.

His father, Chao, was a Chinese diplomat who was consul general in Vancouver, where Tingye attended middle school, and was later posted to South Africa, where Tingye earned an undergraduate degree in electrical engineering from the University of Witwatersrand. He earned a Ph.D. in electrical engineering from Northwestern University in Evanston, Ill.

Dr. Li joined the Bell Telephone Laboratories (later AT&T Bell Laboratories) in 1957 and worked there until 1998. He worked there with the Nobel Prize recipients Charles Hard Townes and Arthur L. Schawlow, who together invented the maser, which amplified microwaves the way lasers would soon amplify light.

“There was a lot going on and a lot of people helping each other,” Dr. Penzias said.

Dr. Li often quoted Confucius, though friends suspected he occasionally concocted his own learned sayings and then attributed them to the sage. He frequently went to China to help it develop optical communications. The Chinese Academy sent his family a letter at his death praising him for helping China “leapfrog to a higher level” in handling telecommunications traffic.

Dr. Li is survived by his wife of 56 years, the former Edith Wu; his daughters, Deborah Li Cohen and Kathryn Li Dessau; and four grandchildren.

In a speech on his 80th birthday, Dr. Li revealed that he had proposed marriage to his wife for their next life, after they are both reincarnated. She tentatively agreed, he said, if he behaved.

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