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For about 40 years, one of America's most advanced neonatal clinics sat on carnival midways. Incubators began when French obstetrician Stéphane Tarnier saw poultry incubators at the Paris Zoo and had a human version built, but the medical establishment dismissed the idea. Martin Couney, born Michael Cohen in Prussia in 1869, claimed medical degrees from Leipzig and Berlin and training under Pierre Constant Budin, though no record of a medical license exists. Shut out by hospitals, he exhibited incubators at the 1896 Berlin exposition and Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee, then built infant exhibits in Omaha, Buffalo, Coney Island and Atlantic City, funding care worth over 500 dollars a day per baby in today's money with 25 cent admission and charging parents nothing.
His nurse and later wife Annabelle ran the wards with strict hygiene, and air was drawn from high outside through wool soaked in antiseptic. Live in wet nurses were barred from smoking, drinking and boardwalk hot dogs, and Madame Recht fed weak infants breast milk through the nose and slid her ring up their arms for the crowds. Couney's own daughter Hildegard, born six weeks early at three pounds, survived in his incubators. Against a eugenics era that told hospitals to let premature babies die, he partnered with Dr. Julius Hess at the 1933 Chicago World's Fair, and a 1934 reunion of healthy babies helped push Chicago to adopt premature infant care policies.
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Launched in 1990 by the U.S. Department of Energy and the National Institutes of Health with partners in the UK, Japan, France, Germany and China, the Human Genome Project set out over an expected 15 years to read 3.1 billion base pairs of the gene rich human genome. Its hierarchical shotgun method mapped the genome in ordered chunks of about 150,000 base pairs, copied inside bacterial artificial chromosomes. In 1998 former NIH scientist Craig Venter launched Celera Genomics, promising whole genome shotgun sequencing for about 300 million dollars against the public project's 3 billion, and filed preliminary patents on 6,500 genes, while the public side answered with the Bermuda Statement and daily uploads to GenBank.
A March 2000 call by Bill Clinton and Tony Blair for unencumbered access wiped 50 billion dollars off biotech stocks in two days, and the race ended in a brokered tie. The finished map of 2003 held only about 19,000 to 22,000 protein coding genes, not the 100,000 expected, and covered only about 92 percent of the genome; the Telomere to Telomere consortium filled the gaps in 2022 and the Y chromosome in August 2023. Then a July 2024 investigation by Undark and STAT reported that about 75 percent of the public reference came from one Buffalo donor, RP11, and about 10 percent from project scientist Pieter de Jong.
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Exploding head syndrome is a parasomnia in which a person drifting off or waking up hears a deafening internal noise, a gunshot, thunderclap, scream or explosion, that no one else hears and that causes no pain. The jolt can bring a racing heart, muscle jerks, sweating and a terrifying sense of having stopped breathing, and about 10 percent of sufferers also see flashes of light, while some feel heat or an electrical tingling rising toward the head. Estimates of how common it is range from rare to about 10 percent of people, with 14 percent in one study of undergraduates and 52.7 percent in one self report survey, yet only about 11 percent ever tell a doctor.
The cause is unknown. Leading theories include a misfire in the brainstem's reticular formation during the shift into sleep, shifts in the middle ear or a tear in the membranous labyrinth, and faulty calcium channels or GABA signaling. The history runs from a suspected 1691 account in René Descartes' biography to Silas Weir Mitchell's 1876 sensory discharges, Robert Armstrong-Jones's 1920 snapping of the brain and John M.S. Pearce's 1989 naming, with Peter Goadsby and Brian Sharpless now proposing episodic cranial sensory shock. As of 2025 there have been no clinical trials, and the most effective treatment is simply explaining that it is harmless.
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Trace every living person's mother's mother's line far enough and all eight billion threads meet in one woman who lived in East Africa during the Pleistocene, somewhere between 100,000 and 230,000 years ago, with 2013 sequencing studies pointing to around 160,000 years or a window of 99,000 to 148,000. She was not the only woman alive. The population never fell below the tens of thousands, and her line survived by chance as every other maternal line eventually ended, whether through women with no children or only sons. The episode explains how mitochondrial DNA, passed almost unchanged from mother to child, lets scientists count mutations like ticks of a molecular clock.
In 1987 Allan Wilson, Mark Stoneking and Rebecca Cann published a study in Nature of mitochondrial DNA from 145 women plus two cell lines, finding the oldest and most diverse branches were African, strong support for the out of Africa model. Wilson preferred the name lucky mother; the nickname Eve came from Roger Lewin in Science and spread to magazine covers. The episode then shows why the title can move: forward when a branch dies out, backward when an older lineage turns up, as happened to Y-chromosomal Adam with the discovery of haplogroup A00, and why the most recent common ancestor of all living humans is far more recent.
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In the winter of 1924 to 1925, Dr. Curtis Welch in Nome, Alaska, recognized the gray throat coating of diphtheria in sick children and found his antitoxin had expired, with the port frozen in and the next shipment stranded. Aging biplanes with water cooled engines could not fly in 50 below, so about 300,000 units found in Anchorage went by train to Nenana and then by a relay of 20 mushers and about 150 dogs, many of the drivers Athabaskan and Inupiat mail carriers, across 674 miles. Norwegian musher Leonhard Seppala, a three time All Alaska Sweepstakes winner, set out from Nome with his 12 year old Siberian husky Togo to meet the serum.
Unaware the relay had been sped up, Seppala ran into Henry Ivanoff near Shaktoolik, took the serum, and turned straight back into a storm with a wind chill of 85 below. Togo led the team across 20 miles of breaking sea ice on Norton Sound in the dark, ice that blew out to sea hours later, and over Little McKinley. Seppala and Togo covered 261 miles in all, against an average leg of about 30. Gunnar Kaasen, driving Seppala's discarded freight dog Balto, skipped the planned handoff to Ed Rohn at Point Safety and reached Nome himself, and Balto got the fame, the vaudeville tour and the Central Park statue.
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Narcolepsy, from Greek words meaning numbness and attack, is often played for laughs on screen, but this episode lays out its clinical reality. The classic tetrad is excessive daytime sleepiness, cataplexy, sleep paralysis and hallucinations at the edges of sleep, though only about 20 to 25 percent of patients have all four. Cataplexy is a sudden loss of muscle tone, from a drooping jaw to a full collapse, triggered mostly by laughter and other strong emotions while the person stays fully conscious. Nights are fragmented too, since a narcoleptic brain can drop into REM sleep within five to ten minutes instead of about 90.
In type 1 narcolepsy, roughly 70,000 neurons in the lateral hypothalamus that make orexin, also called hypocretin, are lost, leaving the brain's flip flop switch between sleep and waking unstable. The leading theory is autoimmune: people carrying the HLA DQB1*06:02 variant may lose those cells after exposure to the 2009 H1N1 influenza virus or the Pandemrix vaccine, through molecular mimicry. The episode covers the diagnostic gap of 10 to 15 years, sleep studies and spinal fluid tests, treatments from scheduled naps and stimulants to sodium oxybate at night, and research in narcoleptic dogs and mice aimed at replacing orexin signaling.
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In November 1944, with famine looming across a war torn Europe and Asia and no one sure how to safely feed the starving, physiologist Ancel Keys, creator of the K ration, launched a study at the University of Minnesota's Laboratory of Physiological Hygiene. From more than 400 applicants he picked 36 healthy young conscientious objectors from the Civilian Public Service, almost half from peace churches such as the Mennonites, Quakers and Church of the Brethren. After 12 weeks on about 3,200 calories a day, they spent 24 weeks on roughly 1,560 calories of turnips, rutabagas, potatoes, dark bread and macaroni while working in the lab and walking 22 miles a week.
Keys plotted a curve for each man to lose 25 percent of his body weight and cut the rations of anyone whose loss stalled. Resting heart rates fell into the 30s, legs swelled with edema, and personality tests run by Josef Brozek showed spikes in depression, hysteria and hypochondriasis, while food became an obsession. The restricted refeeding phase proved even harder, and subject Sam Legg cut off three of his fingers with an axe without being able to say whether it was deliberate. Keys rushed refeeding guidance to relief workers and in 1950 published The Biology of Human Starvation, findings that later reshaped how eating disorders are treated.
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The famous marshmallow test began at Stanford's Bing Nursery School in the early 1970s with no marshmallows at all: Walter Mischel and Ebbe Ebbesen offered 32 four year olds pretzel sticks or animal cookies, with a second treat for waiting 15 minutes. The researchers expected that seeing the reward would help children wait, and found the opposite. In 1972 follow ups with Antonette Zeiss, when marshmallows did appear, the children who lasted were the ones who covered their eyes, turned their chairs to the wall, sang, kicked the desk or fell asleep, and hiding the treat under a cake tin made waiting far easier.
Later follow ups tied preschool waiting times to parent ratings in 1988, SAT scores in 1990, adult BMI in 2013 and, in a 2011 fMRI study of participants in their mid 40s, to prefrontal versus ventral striatum activity. Then a 2012 University of Rochester study showed that children who first met an unreliable adult, one who promised art supplies and never delivered, waited about three minutes, while those who met a reliable adult waited about 12. Large replications by Tyler Watts and colleagues in 2018, confirmed in 2024, found the link to later success largely disappeared once family background was accounted for.
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Charles Andrew Osborne, born around 1893 or 1894 in Missouri, was a farmer working fields across Nebraska and Iowa when, in 1922 near Union, Nebraska, a 350 pound hog he was preparing to slaughter collapsed on top of him. He began hiccuping and did not stop for 68 years, an estimated 430 million hiccups. The episode walks through what a hiccup is, the vagus nerve, the phrenic nerve, the diaphragm's jerk and the glottis snapping shut, and the two theories offered for his case: a badly pulled abdominal muscle, or a burst blood vessel that destroyed a tiny region of the brainstem responsible for stopping the reflex.
Osborne kept farming until 1961, learning to breathe between spasms to soften the sound and pacing his meals and speech around them. His first marriage, to Laura Marie Rowles in 1914, ended in divorce, and in 1927, five years into the hiccups, he married Lucille Louise Mundt, who stayed with him for more than 50 years until her death in 1978. His condition made him a reluctant celebrity on radio, in print and on late night television. In 1990 the hiccups stopped with no documented treatment or explanation, and he died on May 1, 1991, at the Marian Health Center in Sioux City, Iowa, at 97 or 98.
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Wilhelm Röntgen was born in Prussia in 1845, moved to the Netherlands as a toddler, and spent 40 years stateless after losing one citizenship without gaining another. As a teenager in Utrecht he was expelled for a mocking caricature of a teacher drawn by another student he refused to name, which cost him the diploma Dutch universities required. He found a back door at the Federal Polytechnic School in Zurich, which admitted him on a brutal entrance exam, and earned a mechanical engineering degree first. There he married Anna Bertha Ludwig, six years older and from a family that ran a café, and his wealthy family cut him off.
In November 1895 in Würzburg, working alone with a Crookes tube wrapped in black cardboard, he noticed a barium platinocyanide screen glowing across the dark room. He named the unknown rays X, lived in his lab for weeks testing them, and saw the bones of his own hand. A photograph of Anna's hand, wedding ring and all, horrified her as a glimpse of her own death. He refused to patent the discovery, accepted the first Nobel Prize in physics in 1901 without giving the customary lecture, and donated the prize money to his university, only to lose his savings to postwar German inflation before dying in 1923.
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pplpod is a podcast about people, places and lots of other stuff. Each episode takes a deep dive into the lives, choices, and legacies of fascinating figures from history, culture,…
Thoughtful, engaging, and story-driven, pplpod explores what makes these lives extraordinary—and what we can learn from them today.