An Unbelievable Discovery -- Seeing Differently

 AN UNBELIEVABLE DISCOVERY AND AN OPENED DOOR—MARY SCHWEITZER 

Mary had hardly slept for weeks. She was sure that no one would believe her. Maybe there was some mistake. She had checked and rechecked — but she found the same results. Mary had seen things that no one had ever seen before. She had seen the calcium deposits inside the fossil bone—the deposits normally stored within bird bones to provide calcium for the eggshells to be produced by a pregnant female. 

But then she also saw the tiny flexible blood vessels and remnant red blood cells. All of this would not have been surprising for any biologist or ornithologist observing a modern bird. But this was not just any bird. This was the fossilized femur of a pregnant Tyrannosaurus rex — a bone that was 68 million years old — a bone that had once belonged to a kind of bird that had originally weighed tons.

Fossil bones are precious. No one had ever cut one in half. No one had ever thought that there would be anything of interest inside. No one would have guessed that tiny blood vessels, red blood cell remnants, and intact protein fragments might be there. This was impossible. There was no way for such things to be preserved for so long. It was clearly not possible. Everybody knew it. Yet, there it was.

Mary Higby Schweitzer, a former student of Jack Horner, had trained as a biologist before she studied paleontology. Most people in the field had studied geology—the rocks within which the bones were buried. Few had studied the biology of the living animals buried inside the rocks. Accordingly, Mary could easily recognize the calcium deposits inside the bone, in the medullary cavity.

Of course, it was partly a fortunate accident. In this case, the fossil bone had been found in a very remote part of the badlands of Montana. There was no road. The grad students had to walk in and work hard to remove the rock above the fossil. Once uncovered, the bone had to be encased in plaster to protect it during transportation. 

But the whole mass was too heavy for the loaned helicopter to lift it. So it had to be cut in half. The cut was clean. Often fossil bones are painted with chemicals and clear coats to protect them from further decay. But these would introduce modern substances that would contaminate the fossil, especially at the molecular level. Mary had been given a clean specimen, entirely free of modern contamination. 

Once it was made public, Mary’s discovery was not believed by many professionals in the field. Biochemists and paleontologists greeted her work with “howls of skepticism.” They could not believe that organic molecules “could survive for tens of millions of years.” So Schweitzer and her postdoc, Elena Schroeter, repeated their investigations with extreme care to avoid any possibility of contamination. 

Very recently (February 2017), their new investigations were published—and they are now believed. One expert, who had been skeptical before, called Schweitzer’s recent paper a “milestone” and said he is now “fully convinced beyond a reasonable doubt the evidence is authentic.” Now that they have shown that ancient molecules can survive over very long time periods, a new path to scientific investigation has emerged -- “to pin down the evolutionary relationships among different dinosaurs, as well as among ancient mammals and other extinct creatures.” The Science magazine article concludes, “Says Schweitzer: ‘The door is now open.’” 

The story of Mary Schweitzer’s discoveries and persistence provides us with a wonderful example of how major new information can come from seeing things differently, asking basic questions never asked before, taking risks and recognizing something unexpected, seeing something that others could not see — seeing something that could have been recognized by others. But they did not see it. It was Mary who saw what others could not see — or would not see. 

(From Seeing What Others Cannot See, T. G. West, pages 130-132. Of course, it is perhaps highly significant that Mary Schweitzer is dyslexic, as is her professor and mentor, Jack Horner, science advisor for the four “Jurassic Park” films.)

 

WHY ARE SOME OF THE BEST WRITERS DYSLEXIC?

 

As we have seen, some of the best scientists are successful because they are strong visual thinkers. Strangely, I would argue that some of the best writers are successful, in part, for the same reason.

A few years ago, I was asked to contribute a short piece for a new book, an anthology of prose and poetry by dyslexic writers, to be published in the United Kingdom by a group called RASP. Later, the editor, Naomi Folb, asked if I would be willing to write a foreword for the volume as well. I was delighted to do it—and I was even more delighted because the whole argument came tumbling out with no apparent effort on my part. (I wish this would happen more often. Normally, I have to struggle to find the right words, redrafting often.) I was also pleased when I saw the finished book with the following quotation of mine standing alone on the inside front cover: “The truth-talking commentator who is not caught up in the race. They have felt the otherness from the start.”

My argument in the foreword went as follows:

There are many puzzles and paradoxes linked to dyslexia. One of the most strange of these is that some of the best writers are dyslexic. How can this be so? How can those who struggle so with words become such masters of words? Well, good writing is different from good spelling, reading out loud or rapid recall of memorized texts.

Good writing often requires an ear for the sound of language. Good writing often requires a strong visual imagination with powerful images and metaphors communicated through the words. Often the best writing is very plain, using well the most simple language. Also, good writing requires fresh language—not the usual string of conventional terms and syntax. Good writing is thoughtful and sometimes surprising in its content and form.

Oddly, the difficulties experienced by dyslexics sometimes can lead directly to becoming advantages in service of the best writing. Dyslexics are a heterogeneous group. They are unlike non-dyslexics. They are unlike each other. But there are many common elements. They often, almost by definition, learn to read late and very slowly (after a long and difficult struggle). This is partly the reason that many never lose the sound of language in their head—as happens with rapid and efficient readers.

They often have powerful visual imaginations—seeing pictures in their minds as they read or speak. Some of the best storytellers say they never remember the words of a story. Rather, they have a movie running in their head and they simply talk about what they see. You don’t have to be dyslexic to do this. But dyslexics seem inclined to do this—whether they want to or not. But as one can readily see, if you cannot remember texts as texts—but only see images—then the words are likely to be different each time. Sometimes fresh. Sometimes surprising. Sometimes shockingly apt.

Often I have heard the phrase, “they see what others don’t see or cannot see.” I have heard the phrase a thousand times, in a thousand different settings. It is not only having strong powers of observation. There is something going on in these larger than usual, slow moving, apparently overly-connected brains that yields perceptions and insights often denied to non-dyslexics—who may see the unexpected connection when they are shown. But they would never see it on their own.

Some say dyslexics are prone to ponder. Non-dyslexics may have a look, see what they have been taught to see, say the expected words and quickly move on—scoring high on conventional tests of conventional observations. (This drives artists crazy. So many of the clever students learn the words to say about a painting and then they think they undertand it. But they never learn to really see it.)

Many dyslexics find it very difficult to do things automatically— which can be a problem. It can be very slow. Whether training the movements of their body (as in an Olympic sport) or observing nature (in a literary or scientific puzzle), they have to think and think hard. Big brains with many connections move slowly—but they can do jobs that fast smaller brains cannot do. They see the big picture. They see connections between apparently unrelated things.

Those who ponder hold on to an idea or problem or puzzle for a long time, turning it over and over. In literature, sometimes they come up with a fresh and deep insight. (In science or technology, sometimes they come up with a remarkable and unexpected discovery.)

It is a commonplace that the best artist or writer is an outsider, observing human events at the edge. Again, many non-dyslexics can take on this role. But many dyslexics, because of their deep humiliations from the earliest days, seem naturally to assume the role of distant observer. The truth-talking commentator who is not caught up in the race. They have felt the otherness from the start.

In my own research on talents among highly successful dyslexics, my literary friends were shocked and disbelieving when I told them that the most severely dyslexic historical person I came across was the Irish poet William Butler Yeats. It teaches us. Even in times unfriendly to formal poetry, his lines show up in songs and commentaries and book titles. He said that he often started with a rhythm, a pulse, and the sense then followed. He never lost the feeling of the sound of the language.

And everywhere you look there are vivid metaphors and images. About his early life, Yeats says: “I was unfitted for school work. . . . My thoughts were a great excitement, but when I tried to do anything with them, it was like trying to pack a [large hot air] balloon in a shed in a high wind.” A few years before his death, he observed: “It was a curious experience . . . to have an infirm body and an intellect more alive than it had ever been, one poem leading to another as if . . . lighting one cigarette from another.”

I closed the foreword with these words: “I am honored to introduce this volume of the work of dyslexic writers—sometimes harsh and angry, sometimes as beautiful as a song, sometimes so short and powerful that you feel you have been punched with a boxer blow. But always fresh, truth telling, full of vivid and unexpected sounds and images.”

Frank G. Tallman, Master Pilot, Dyslexic

Recently, I was talking to a farmer friend about low flying planes used to spray wheat fields to ensure the full development of the crop. This made me think of the low-level flying and film stunts of Frank G. Tallman -- a master pilot -- who was also dyslexic – perhaps a master pilot because he was dyslexic. Note his accomplishments -- and what his parents thought when he was young. -- Tom

“April 20, 1978. The first plane roared low over the ridge. Five hundred people looked up, many through tears. They recognized the red and white stripes of the famous Super Chipmunk as it soared past, trailing pink smoke into the clear, southern California sky. The crowd had come from the church in a mile-long line of cars and now stood around my brother’s open grave, to me an abyss on this green and windblown hillside. Following the smoke trail, pairs of planes from every decade of aviation history thundered overhead in further salute to Frank Tallman, who had flown them all. Corsairs, Mustangs, Zeros, jets, an all-red Fokker Triplane. Frank’s comrades flew them today.

“A flight of police helicopters was up there too in the V-shaped missing man formation, their own salute to the improbable man called ‘king of the Hollywood stunt pilots.’ My other brother, Foster, was standing beside me. ‘Those older planes came down to fifty feet,’ he said. ‘I looked one guy right in the face. They violated about every federal air regulation known to man but who’s going to complain?’ After the ceremony, while the crowd drifted away, I lingered behind with my hands on the casket. Foster smothered his own grief and took hold of my arm. ‘Come on Sis,’ Foster said, ‘it’s all over.’ But it never was. Not for Foster and me.” -- Excerpt from 'Where the Birds Warble Sweet' by Prudy Tallman Wood, younger sister of Frank Gifford Tallman, unpublished manuscript.

“Of course I am sincerely worried and most upset over Frank. Have just told him he has to stay in [school] and graduate if it takes forty years.” -- Frank’s mother, October 1934.

“I agree to some extent young Frank lacks fundamental training but do not feel this [is] the main difficulty -- rather as you say it is his lack of ability for self-help and work. . . . I have a feeling this boy lives in a dream world made up of guns and aeroplanes and ‘movies’ and that no way yet has been found to bring him down to earth so that he will realize there is work to do and responsibility that he must assume.” -- Frank’s father, October 1934; former WWI pilot. (Frank’s age 15, grade 9)

“[Frank’s teachers] seem to be looking for some reason why such an apparently able and thoroughly engaged student could perform so poorly. . . . I suppose he might have been diagnosed with a dyslexia of some kind today. The fact that foreign languages and math seem to have given him the most trouble, indicate something like that to me.” -- School historian, December 2000.

Copies of family letters and school reports (above) were provided to Thomas G. West by Frank Tallman’s sister Prudy Tallman Wood.

“Frank Tallman is in town to promote the new film ‘The Great Waldo Pepper.’ But no film could be as interesting or as charming as Frank Tallman.” Washington Post review, (paraphrase) 1975.

Excerpts from Wikipedia:

“Tallman performed the stunt flying in the 1963 chase movie ‘It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World,’ including the flight in a Beechcraft Model 18 through a Coca-Cola billboard. He also contributed to The ‘Carpetbaggers’ (1964), ‘The Wrecking Crew’ (1969), and ‘The Thousand Plane Raid’ (also 1969) . . . . He served as the flying supervisor for ‘Catch-22’ in 1970 and was personally involved in locating and acquiring the 18 or so flyable film unit B-25s appearing in the film. Tallman flew the dramatic night shots of the Milo Minderbinder Air Force B-25 bombing its own base just over the heads of actors Jon Voight and Martin Sheen. . . .

“He was aerial supervisor for ‘The Great Waldo Pepper’ in which he performed barnstorming stunts. When the controls failed in his World War I aircraft replica, the plane went out of control and struck power lines. Tallman suffered a head injury. . . .

"In 1973, Tallman recounted his experiences rebuilding and flying vintage aircraft in the book 'Flying the Old Planes'. . . .

“On Saturday 15 April 1978, Tallman was making a routine ferry flight in a twin-engine Piper Aztec from Santa Monica Airport, California, to Phoenix, Arizona, under visual flight rules when he continued the flight into deteriorating weather, a lowering ceiling and rain. He struck the side of Santiago Peak in the Santa Ana Mountains near Trabuco Canyon at cruise altitude, dying in the ensuing crash [apparently from a fatal heart attack while flying]. Following his death, Tallman's historic collection of movie warplanes and camera planes was sold off.” [Many to a museum in Florida.]