Futility Closet - 358-The Radium Girls
Episode Date: September 13, 2021In 1917, a New Jersey company began hiring young women to paint luminous marks on the faces of watches and clocks. As time went on, they began to exhibit alarming symptoms, and a struggle ensued to e...stablish the cause. In this week's episode of the Futility Closet podcast we'll tell the story of the Radium Girls, a landmark case in labor safety. We'll also consider some resurrected yeast and puzzle over a posthumous journey. Intro: Joseph Underwood was posting phony appeals for money in 1833. The earliest known written reference to baseball appeared in England. Sources for our feature on the Radium Girls: Claudia Clark, Radium Girls : Women and Industrial Health Reform, 1910-1935, 1997. Ross M. Mullner, Deadly Glow: The Radium Dial Worker Tragedy, 1999. Robert R. Johnson, Romancing the Atom: Nuclear Infatuation From the Radium Girls to Fukushima, 2012. Dolly Setton, "The Radium Girls: The Scary but True Story of the Poison that Made People Glow in the Dark," Natural History 129:1 (December 2020/January 2021), 47-47. Robert D. LaMarsh, "The Radium Girls: The Dark Story of America's Shining Women," Professional Safety 64:2 (February 2019), 47. Angela N.H. Creager, "Radiation, Cancer, and Mutation in the Atomic Age," Historical Studies in the Natural Sciences 45:1 (February 2015), 14-48. Robert Souhami, "Claudia Clark, Radium Girls," Medical History 42:4 (1998), 529-530. Ainissa Ramirez, "A Visit With One of the Last 'Radium Girls,'" MRS Bulletin 44:11 (2019), 903-904. "Medicine: Radium Women," Time, Aug. 11, 1930. "Poison Paintbrush," Time, June 4, 1928. "Workers From Factory May Get Federal Honors," Asbury Park Press, June 27, 2021. John Williams, "Tell Us 5 Things About Your Book: Kate Moore's 'The Radium Girls,'" New York Times, April 30, 2017. Jack Brubaker, "Those 'Radium Girls' of Lancaster," [Lancaster, Pa.] Intelligencer Journal / Lancaster New Era, May 9, 2014. William Yardley, "Mae Keane, Whose Job Brought Radium to Her Lips, Dies at 107," New York Times, March 13, 2014. Fred Musante, "Residue From Industrial Past Haunts State," New York Times, June 24, 2001. Denise Grady, "A Glow in the Dark, and a Lesson in Scientific Peril," New York Times, Oct. 6, 1998. Martha Irvine, "Dark Secrets Come to Light in New History of 'Radium Girls,'" Los Angeles Times, Oct. 4, 1998. Marc Mappen, "Jerseyana," New York Times, March 10, 1991. "Radium Poisoning Finally Claims Inventor of Luminous Paint After Fight to Harness Terrific Force of Atom," Brooklyn Daily Eagle, Nov. 25, 1928. "Two of Women Radium Victims Offer Selves for Test While Alive," [Danville, Va.] Bee, May 29, 1928. "Death Agony From Radium," [Brisbane, Qld.] Daily Standard, May 15, 1928. "To Begin Two Suits Against Radium Co.," New York Times, June 24, 1925. "U.S. Starts Probe of Radium Poison Deaths in Jersey," Brooklyn Daily Eagle, June 19, 1925. Listener mail: Carolyn Wilke, "How Do We Know What Ancient People Ate? Their Dirty Dishes," Atlantic, July 24, 2021. Chris Baraniuk, "The Treasure Inside Beer Lost in a Shipwreck 120 Years Ago," BBC, June 22, 2021. Fiona Stocker, "A Beer Brewed From an Old Tasmanian Shipwreck," BBC, Dec. 7, 2018. Mary Esch, "Taste of History: Yeast From 1886 Shipwreck Makes New Brew," AP News, March 15, 2019. National Collection of Yeast Cultures. "National Collection of Yeast Cultures," Wikipedia (accessed Aug. 29, 2021). "History of Missing Linck," Missing Linck Festival (accessed Sep. 3, 2021). "Missing Linck Festival Arrives … Finally!" The Gnarly Gnome, June 4, 2021. This week's lateral thinking puzzle was contributed by listener Tim Ellis, who sent this corroborating link (warning -- this spoils the puzzle). You can listen using the player above, download this episode directly, or subscribe on Google Podcasts, on Apple Podcasts, or via the RSS feed at https://futilitycloset.libsyn.com/rss. Please consider becoming a patron of Futility Closet -- you can choose the amount you want to pledge, and we've set up some rewards to help thank you for your support. You can also make a one-time donation on the Support Us page of the Futility Closet website. Many thanks to Doug Ross for the music in this episode. If you have any questions or comments you can reach us at podcast@futilitycloset.com. Thanks for listening!
Transcript
Discussion (0)
Welcome to the Futility Closet podcast, forgotten stories from the pages of history.
Visit us online to sample more than 12,000 quirky curiosities from old spam to English
baseball.
This is episode 358.
I'm Greg Ross. And I'm Sharon Ross. In 1917,
a New Jersey company began hiring young women to paint luminous marks on the faces of watches and
clocks. As time went on, they began to exhibit alarming symptoms, and a struggle ensued to
establish the cause. In today's show, we'll tell the story of the Radium Girls, a landmark case
in labor safety. We'll also consider some resurrected yeast and puzzle over a posthumous
journey. And just a quick programming note, we'll be off for the next couple of weeks, and we'll be back with a new episode on
October 4th. In 1917, 15-year-old Catherine Schaub took a job with a new employer in Orange,
New Jersey. The United States had just entered World War I, and there was a great demand for
luminous dials that fighting men could read in the trenches, on aircraft, and on convoy ships.
Catherine would be painting luminous numbers on watch and clock dials in a dial painting studio
for the Radium Luminous Materials Corporation. The company had been launched by an Austrian
immigrant, Sabine von Saschocki, who had worked out a formula for a self-luminous paint. The
paint contained a tiny amount of radium, which released
alpha particles and stimulated zinc sulfide to luminesce. It was cheap to produce, and luminous
watch dials were quickly becoming a fad. The dial painters were young women, ranging in age from
their mid-teens to their early twenties. They sat at long tables in a sunny room on the second floor
of the new company building.
One of them said,
We were a fine, upstanding bunch of girls, even though not many of us had been to high school.
We were always neatly dressed, in our shirtwaists and skirts, and we worked hard in the studio.
The work paid comparatively well, so the women recommended it to their friends and relatives.
Catherine encouraged her cousin Irene Rudolph to join her there. Catherine said, I was pleased with the idea of a job which would engage me in war work. Some of the young women would scratch their names and addresses into these watches, and
sometimes a lonely soldier would respond with a letter. Each woman worked at her own pace, mixing
the paint herself and then carefully filling in the marks on the faces of watches that were arranged in trays before her. Because the marks were fine, each worker was
taught to bring her paintbrush to a point by pressing it between her lips. When they weren't
painting dials, the women amused themselves by applying the radium paint to their buttons,
fingernails, and eyelids. At least one coated her teeth with it before a date to create a smile that
glowed in the dark. After a day's work, they would be covered with luminous powder. At night,
they noticed that their clothing and fingers glowed and their hair shone in the dark.
They had no concerns about this. The Radium Luminous Materials Corporation was selling
radium for medicinal use and had declared it healthful. At one point, a concerned
doctor asked Catherine Chaub whether the luminous paint she worked with contained phosphorus,
which was known to be poisonous. Catherine shared her concern with her co-workers, but both
Von Sashoky and a medical colleague convinced them that their work wasn't hazardous. They provided
small bowls of water in which the women could rinse their brushes, but these were soon discontinued because the rinsing was wasting too much paint.
Catherine and Irene worked as dial painters for about three years each and left for other work
in 1920 and 1921. In the spring of 1922, Irene's cheek swelled and she had a tooth extracted.
The socket became inflamed and sore, and by July,
her jaw was swollen. More teeth were removed, and her gum was opened to permit the removal of pus
and rotting bone. By December, she'd been admitted to a hospital. Other painters suffered similar
illnesses. The State Department of Labor inspected the factory and analyzed the paint, but found
nothing that conflicted with state factory
laws. A consulting chemist found no phosphorus in the paint, but suggested that radium might be
behind the dial painter's illness. He suggested that the workers be warned of the dangers of
getting radium on their skin or in their mouths, but the Labor Department took no action. Irene
Rudolph died in July 1923, after what Catherine Schaub described as a most terrible
and mysterious illness of a year and a half. Her death certificate blamed phosphorus poisoning.
Catherine filed complaints with the State Departments of Health and Labor, saying that
she knew of similar cases among other former employees, one of whom had also died, but apart
from confirming the facts, they took no action.
As the 1920s advanced, more women began to appear in the offices of doctors and dentists,
complaining of aching bones, ulcers of the gum, tooth loss, anemia, pneumonia, and angina.
The most common condition was a painful decay of bone and tissue in the mouth, which became known as jaw rot.
Dentists who tried to extract bad teeth
discovered that the women's jaw bones were diseased so badly that chunks of bone came out as well.
By 1923, five of the New Jersey workers had died of a condition that came to be called
radium jaw. By 1924, 50 women who'd worked at the plant were ill, and 12 had died. The same
thing had begun happening to
dial painters working in Connecticut and Illinois. Some women developed bone cancers as their bodies
had assimilated the radium, like calcium. Catherine Schaub's teeth began to trouble her
in November 1923. She wrote, I kept thinking about Irene and about the trouble she had with her jaw.
I felt that there was some relationship between Irene's case and mine.
I cannot explain just why, but I did.
A local dentist and oral surgeon began to warn patients away from the dial painting studio,
but they still confusedly suspected phosphorus poisoning.
They recommended that the company stop its dial painting procedures,
but the company rejected the idea that it was harmful,
and the health and labor departments, though sympathetic, had failed in three attempts to show that the painters' deaths
and illnesses were related to their work. To some extent, the confusion was understandable.
Less than 10 years earlier, radium had been considered therapeutic. It was thought to play
a role in the healthfulness of certain spring waters. The Standard Chemical Company of Pittsburgh had investigated the use of radon and radium in treating arthritis, gout, neuritis, diabetes,
neurasthenia, pyuria, high blood pressure, pernicious anemia, and leukemia. The company
published a journal and in 1916 formed the American Radium Society to promote the scientific
study of radium therapeutics. Some physicians based
entire practices on radium treatments. By 1914, the use of radium in internal medicine had a nod
from the American Medical Association. It was studied at leading research institutions, was
well regarded in the medical literature, and had been promoted by both New York State and the U.S.
government. Only during the war did skepticism
arise as the dangers of radiation exposure came to light. But the New Jersey Company,
which became U.S. Radium in 1921, continued to promote its product as an internal medicine,
even as concerns continued to mount. By 1923, the dial painters knew that they were facing
an industrial disease, and by 1925, many scientists
and most government officials had conceded that the illnesses were caused by radium. But the
industry resisted, enlisting consultants, concealing data, and promoting opinions that placed the blame
elsewhere. In 1925, the president of U.S. Radium told the New Jersey Consumers League,
if a common cause exists, we are convinced that it lies outside of our plant and that
this is not an occupational disease.
But a Harvard study identified radium as the likely cause of the dial painter's illness,
pointing out that after exposure to radioactive dust in the building,
quote,
the hair, faces, hands, arms, necks, the dresses, the underclothes, even the corsets of the dial painters were
luminous. After Katz inhaled powdered luminous paint, radium was found fixed in their bones.
The company's president, Arthur Roeder, objected to the conclusions and insisted that, quote,
there is nothing harmful anywhere in the works. But after a confrontation with the New Jersey
Commissioner of Labor, U.S. radium left New Jersey and reopened in New York City.
The U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics turned its attention to cases outside New Jersey.
At the Radium Dial Company of Ottawa, Illinois, which in 1925 was the largest dial painting firm in the country,
workers decorated their buttons and belts and painted rings on their fingers with radium paint, as the workers in New Jersey had.
They too had been trained to lip-point their brushes and had been assured that the luminous
material was safe. The BLS found that one of these workers had enough radium in her system to test
radioactive. But still, radium hadn't been definitely established as the cause of the
dial painter's illnesses. No one had shown how radium might act in the body to
create the symptoms they were seeing. In New Jersey, Catherine Shaw was gloomy and morbid,
in her own words. She'd been ill over the winter, and a friend from the studio had died in December.
She wrote, the massive cold white drifts against the windows made me think of nature in all her
cruelty and destruction. I was only 22 years old, with youth on my side,
and yet no one was able to help me. Bad news continued to roll in. The new Essex County
medical examiner, Harrison Martland, found that inhaled radium may have caused the death of U.S.
radium's own chemist, Edwin Lehman. When dial painter Sarah Carlo Mifare died in June 1925,
Martland found radioactive substances stored in her spleen,
liver, and bones. Tests found that her sister Marguerite was radioactive. So was Catherine
Schaub. Martland's paper appeared in the Journal of the American Medical Association in December.
He singled out injected or ingested radium as dangerous. His work helped stamp out the practice
of lip-pointing,
but it still hadn't been completely established that the dial painters suffered from an industrial
disease. That conclusion came, ironically, when an industry cover-up backfired. A man named
Frederick Flynn approached Catherine Schaub, representing himself as an expert on radium
poisoning and offering what he called an unbiased opinion. In fact,
he'd been hired to refute the mounting evidence of radium's harmful effects. He assured Catherine
that none of her illnesses were attributable to radium and concluded that, quote, an industrial
hazard does not exist in the painting of luminous dials. But under mounting criticism, he was forced
to acknowledge that he knew of similar cases in Waterbury, Connecticut. This was the first word of corroborating cases at other dial painting
plants. Combined with Martland's findings, it was enough to convince most medical experts that
industrial radium poisoning was a real threat. By 1926, six New Jersey dial painters and two
New Jersey chemists were known to have died of radium poisoning. Attention now turned to winning compensation. Harrison Martland became a star witness at these proceedings. He displayed images
he'd made of radium in the bones of living dial painters. He'd wrapped x-ray film around their
legs, and radiation from their bones had marked the film. And he declared that his tests on the
five plaintiffs in court demonstrated beyond doubt that the women suffered
from radium poisoning. In 1929, a report on the work of the Bureau of Labor Statistics appeared
in the Monthly Labor Review. The radium industry was condemned for its appalling disease rate and
for its continued disregard of workers' health. In studying 31 establishments that employed 2,000
workers handling radioactive substances,
the Bureau had found 23 radium-related fatalities, 19 living cases, and 9 possible cases.
Of these 51 employees, 33 were dial painters. In scathing language, the report criticized
industry officials who'd heard of the New Jersey cases, realized that their own workers were
radioactive, and then concealed their discoveries because they'd feared disruption of their business if
the facts became known. Even the victims themselves hadn't been informed of their condition.
The exact numbers aren't known, but it's estimated that 10 or 11 women in New Jersey
ultimately received compensation for their illnesses, 16 in Connecticut and 13 in Illinois.
The largest awards went to those who had been affected worst and earliest,
but even most of these received only a few thousand dollars.
The consequences of the company's carelessness were still being felt decades later,
when dirt waste was taken from the old New Jersey factory site and used as fill.
It was later found that radon gas had seeped from
this into at least 200 homes in Montclair, Glen Ridge, and West Orange, New Jersey, causing radon
levels 100 times the safe level. As recently as 2001, at an apartment complex on the site of the
old Waterbury Clock Company in Connecticut, investigators found a radiation exposure level
of 30 millirems of
radiation per year, when the average chest x-ray delivered 10 millirems, and the EPA's exposure
standard was 15 millirems. The dial painters were among the first historic victims of radioactivity.
Their illnesses would inform health standards for workers, doctors, patients, and scientists,
and today their story is used as a case study in
health physics, epidemiology, and occupational health. It's regarded as a classic case in which
a puzzling pattern of symptoms yielded to careful study. Catherine Schaub used her 1928 settlement
money to pay down her parents' mortgage and tax bill. Expecting to live only another year,
she went shopping, determined, as she said,
to live like Cinderella as the princess at the ball. Through ill health and depression,
she pursued her education and worked on an autobiography, but at age 26, she wrote, While other girls are going to dances and the theater and courting and marrying for love,
I have to remain here and watch painful death approach. She outlived her prognosis,
but died in 1933 at age 31. One of the longest-lived of the radium girls was May Keene,
who had worked for just a few months at the Waterbury Clock Company in the summer of 1924
at age 18. She hadn't ingested much paint because she had disliked its grittiness.
did much paint because she had disliked its grittiness. Still, within two decades, she had lost all her teeth. She died in 2014 at age 107. A year before her death, journalist Inisa Ramirez
asked why she had not shared her story more widely. She said she feared that her long life
would give the wrong message about the danger of radium. In episode 351, we talked about how two scientists have been searching for forgotten
strains of brewing yeast in old beer cellars in Germany. Richard Taylor let us know about an
article in The Atlantic from July that explains that while researchers have been studying fats
and proteins from ancient pots and other relics for decades, just within the last few years,
scientists have begun also searching for microbes, such as yeast, that would have created fermented
foods like cheese, wine, and beer. So a team of scientists
asked the Israel Antiquities Authority for pieces of pottery that might have been used in brewing,
and they were given items dating back from 500 to 3100 BC, from which the team was able to isolate
and grow six strains of yeast, which they then used to make beer. Aaron Meyer, an archaeologist
with the group, said, it was good. I told everybody either it's going to be good or we'll all be dead in half a minute.
We survived to tell the story. One big question is whether these recovered yeast were from the
alcohol that had been in the pots or from the environment the pots had been in. The teams
collected yeast from other vessels that were from the same sites,
but that hadn't contained alcohol, and found that the brewing yeast only showed up in the
pots that had been used to make alcoholic beverages. So that's helpful, but it doesn't
absolutely prove that the yeast they recovered did date all the way back to the time of the
pot's origins. Because some yeast could have found its way into the pots at a later date.
Yeah, I mean, there's a certain amount of yeast always in the environment, so the pots
could have just picked it up just from what they happened to be lying in or what was nearby.
Ken Ward wrote,
Hi, Greg and Sharon.
You will no doubt get a ton of messages about this, but Play-Doh shrimp, it just so happens
that I saw an article just yesterday that the BBC did, published 22nd June
2021, on bio-prospecting for yeast in a ship sunk over 100 years ago. Greg wondered out loud,
is there any project to capture and store strains of yeast from modern breweries? Turns out there
is. Though it is housed in England and called the National Collection of Yeast Cultures,
it has recent and ancient yeast cultures for brewing, baking, etc. from all over the world. And Ken, you were the only one who sent us this, so thanks!
The BBC article from June was about searching for long-forgotten beer-brewing yeast strains,
particularly from shipwrecks.
Unlike the Israeli research, where they are having to assume that the yeast they're finding
are the same ones that were originally used,
here yeasts are being cultured directly from old bottles of beer that went down on a ship,
such as the Wallachia, a cargo ship that sank off the Scottish coast in 1895,
preserving bottles of beer on the cold seabed.
Scientists were able to extract live yeast from some of the bottles
and use that yeast to try to recreate the original beer.
The article reports that the beer they got had the character of farmyard or wet horse.
While that doesn't sound too appealing to me,
the article suggests that in moderation,
such earthy flavors could potentially give beer a unique rich quality. And Ken sent links to
several stories that showed that this was not nearly the first time that beer has been recreated
from old shipwrecked versions. In 2018, a similar project in Tasmania used the yeast from beer
bottles found on a sunken merchant ship from 1796.
The Queen Victoria Museum partnered with the Australian brewing company James Squire
to try to recreate the old beer with the goal of offering it for sale. According to Hayden Morgan,
the head brewer of James Squire, who was tasked with trying to brew beer from the more than 200
year old yeast, the yeast showed rather different properties than
modern commercial ones, for example, rapidly consuming all the available sugars during
fermentation. Morgan also noted that modern commercial yeasts would be dead within weeks,
whereas the centuries-old yeast was able to be quickly revived. They named the new beer the
Wreck Preservation Ale, and while a museum conservator involved in the project described it
as quite nice, Morgan, with perhaps a bit more marketing savvy, says that the beer features
spicy clove aromas and a touch of chocolate. Similarly, Jamie Adams, a New York brewery owner
and scuba diver, in 2017 managed to retrieve some intact bottles of beer from the SS Oregon,
a luxury liner that was sailing from Liverpool to
New York when it sank off of Fire Island in 1886. He was able to extract yeast and culture it with
some help from a microbiologist friend, and he then spent the next two years experimenting with
brewing test batches. The beer that he created, named Deep Ascent Ale, is described by an article
in AP News as having a slightly fruity taste and a hoppy
finish. Adams says that the beer is a replication of what would have been served on that ship in
1886. We want people to have a small taste of what life was like as a passenger on this ship.
The article also notes that back in 1991, a British brewer was able to use yeast salvaged
from a barge that sank in the English
Channel in 1825 to create what was named Original Flag Porter.
So this kind of thing has apparently been going on for some time now.
I've never heard of this before.
No, I hadn't either.
I had no idea.
I mean, it's kind of a cool concept.
It makes sense what you hear about, but I wonder who came up with that in the first place.
Yeast causes fermentation by converting sugars in malted grains into
alcohols and various byproducts. As some of these byproducts produce distinct flavors,
this means that different yeast strains metabolizing sugar in their unique ways will
produce different flavor profiles. Most modern brewers don't tend to vary the yeast they use,
instead altering other ingredients such as the grain or hops to produce new flavors. But some beer makers and scientists have started focusing on trying to use rather
different strains of yeast, such as some of these old forgotten ones, to produce new flavors or
better beers. Ken had mentioned the National Collection of Yeast Cultures, or NCYC, in England,
which was established in 1951. They conducted an experiment there where they brewed
33 beers that were the same except for the yeast used, and the flavor profiles of the resulting
beers varied greatly. The NCYC has around 600 strains of brewing yeast, some of which were
added by UK breweries that were facing closure during economic downturns in the 1950s and 60s,
and some of these strains have been mostly forgotten about since, so bringing back the
use of some of them would be another way for brewers to diversify their products, and probably
more easily than getting them off of sunken ships.
So there's a kind of library or bank of beer flavors.
A whole bunch of them, yep.
And it does seem that some breweries are interested in reviving old yeast strains.
Jay Spectle wrote,
On today's podcast, you mentioned looking for heritage brewing yeasts.
Cincinnati has a long tradition of brewing and lots of German heritage.
A few years ago, they found a viable strain of 100-plus-year-old brewer's yeast from the Link Brewery
on a brewing vessel down in one of the old lagering cellars that are prevalent in the Over-the-Rhine neighborhood. Urban Artifact Brewery had an earlier first release using
the heritage yeast, and the beer was, pun intended, no pun intended, pretty yeasty in flavor.
I haven't tried any from the 2021 versions, though. And Jace sent some helpful links about
a festival celebrating beers made from these old yeasts called the Missing Link Festival,
about a festival celebrating beers made from these old yeasts called the Missing Link Festival,
and that's L-I-N-C-K after the Link Brothers, German immigrants who opened a brewery in Cincinnati, Ohio in 1855. That brewery closed in 1860, but the cellars were rented by a number of
the city's prominent brewers before eventually being sealed off and forgotten about until they
were rediscovered in 2016, containing an old
wooden fermenting tank. Swabs were collected from the tank's vat and spigots and sealed in jars of
unfermented grain. Many didn't ferment. Some fermented but produced a terrible flavor,
and some produced a vile black goo. But one of the jars proved to contain a promising brewing yeast.
It isn't known what the origins of this yeast are,
but the best guess is that it's probably from illegal prohibition error brewing.
That yeast was used to create a batch of Missing Link beer in 2019, and the Cincinnati City Council
declared June 1, 2019 to be Missing Link Day. Apparently, Cincinnati is pretty serious about
their beer. The yeast was then shared with several other city brewers so they could create their own
versions, and a big Missing Link Festival was planned for 2020 to celebrate these different
creations, but COVID caused the event to be canceled.
So a scaled-down, socially distanced celebration was instead planned for this year's debut
festival, with several breweries around the city offering their versions of the Missing Link beer for several days. And that does sound like it would be pretty
cool if you were a real beer aficionado. Missing Link is a good name for it. There's a story there
that's been completely forgotten except for that one little trace. That's true. That's a good point.
And of course, yeasts are also used to produce other foods, such as bread, and there have been some similar efforts to find and use old baking yeast to recreate old breads,
but that's a whole other story.
Thanks as always to everyone who writes to us.
We really appreciate all the follow-ups and feedback.
So if you have any to send to us, please send it to podcast at futilitycloset.com.
It's my turn to try to solve a lateral thinking puzzle.
Greg is going to give me a strange sounding situation,
and I have to work out what's going on by asking yes or no questions.
This is from listener Tim Ellis.
A doctor recommended that a man go to Europe for treatment.
Though the man had died before the trip could be made,
his government issued a passport anyway,
and he was still flown to France for the treatment.
Why?
Oh, interesting.
This was going to be a medical treatment?
Huh.
I'm not sure whether I would say that or not. would you say that it was more of an aesthetic treatment like to change his looks in some way
no i won't i'll say no to that oh okay did they still perform the treatment on him even after he Yes. So a man is dead. Yes. And flies to another country.
Yes.
And a treatment is performed on him.
Yes.
On his dead body.
Yes.
On his body.
Yes.
Just checking.
He was like exercised of demons or something.
I don't know.
Maybe that would be why you can't answer the questions.
So, okay. Would
you say a doctor performed this treatment? Or a team of doctors, doctor or doctors plural?
I'm sorry. I was supposed to be giving you a nice, clear answer.
I'm trying to understand what kind of treatment.
I guess I'll have to say yes. Okay, let's back up.
Did a person or group of people perform this treatment on him?
Yes.
Okay.
But you can't say whether that was a doctor, like a medical doctor?
No, I think I can.
Let's say yes.
Let's say yes.
I'm trying to be-
Was it a vet, a veterinarian?
No.
Good guess.
This is a human, not like a werewolf or...
No, that's right.
Full human.
Yes.
Okay.
All right.
Human man dies and a treatment is still performed on him.
Oh, does he have like a Siamese twin?
Wow.
And they had to extricate the twin.
No.
No.
Good guess.
Darn.
Because you'd need to do that, especially if the other guy died.
Right.
You definitely need to do that.
Full credit.
Okay.
So that's not it.
Oh, did they need to, were they performing this treatment maybe for the benefit of somebody
else, like harvesting his organs or something?
Yeah.
Or bone marrow or something for some other person.
No.
Oh, shoot.
Okay, so he's dead.
Would this treatment have involved cutting him in any way?
No.
Adding something to him?
No.
I'll tell you it's a radiation treatment.
For cancer?
No.
They're trying to kill something in him or on him yes a parasite uh i guess you could call it that a fungus so there's a person who has a fungus growing on him or in him yes
and he's going to another country yes to get a treatment to kill the fungus.
Yes.
And even though he's dead, they still need to kill it because it could be dangerous to other people?
No.
Okay.
Is it a specific fungus?
Like, do I need to guess what kind of fungus it is?
Do I need to figure out where he picked the fungus up from?
No.
Do I need to understand what country he's going to?
No, it's France. I'll just tell you. Do I need to understand what country he came from? That would
help. And... You want me to start guessing countries? No, because that'll take forever.
He started somewhere other than France. Yeah. Is it nearish to France?
He started somewhere other than France.
Yeah.
Is it nearish to France?
It's in Africa.
I'll just tell you.
Okay.
It's Egypt.
Oh, oh, he died a long time ago.
This is like a mummy.
Yes, that's exactly it.
The man was Ramesses II, the third pharaoh of the 19th dynasty of Egypt. In 1975, it was discovered that his mummy was threatened by fungus and needed to be transported to France for treatment.
French law required that he have a valid passport to enter and travel through the country, so the Egyptian government issued one.
Thanks, Tim.
Excellent.
We are always on the lookout for more lateral thinking puzzles, so if you have one you'd like to send for us to try, please send that to podcast at futilitycloset.com. Just a reminder that we'll be off for
two weeks. In the meantime, if you'd like to become one of the awesome supporters of our show
and check out some bonus content like outtakes, extra lateral thinking puzzles,
more discussions on some of the stories and peeks behind the scenes of the show,
please see our Patreon page at patreon.com slash futilitycloset
or the support us section of the website at futilitycloset.com.
While you're at the site,
you can also graze through Greg's galamafree
of over 12,000 singular snatics.
Browse the Futility Closet store,
learn about the Futility Closet books, learn about the Futility Closet books,
and see the show notes for the podcast
with links and references for the topics we've covered.
If you have any comments or feedback for us,
you can email us at podcast at futilitycloset.com.
Our music was written and performed
by Greg's undemised brother, Doug Ross.
Thanks for listening, and we'll be back on October 4th.