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Edmond Locard, who lived from 1877 to 1966 and was called the Sherlock Holmes of Lyon, set up one of the first police laboratories in 1910 in two attic rooms of the Lyon police department, with little more than a microscope and a basic spectrometer. His central idea, now known as Locard's exchange principle, holds that a criminal cannot enter a scene without leaving something behind and carrying something away. The episode uses examples like leaning on a freshly painted wall to show how fibers, skin cells and soil move in both directions without anyone noticing.
In 1953 Paul L. Kirk formalized Locard's idea and described physical evidence as a silent witness that, unlike human memory, does not forget or lie. The hosts look at why cases still go cold when the evidence is always there, how modern crime scene teams lock down and map a room, and how the same principle now drives digital forensics. They also trace Locard's influence across detective fiction and television.
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In 1946 Jean Harris heard Put the Blame on Mame at the movies, and the song played in her head for the next 33 years. This episode explores the earworm, a term from the German Ohrwurm, known clinically as involuntary musical imagery. It is a memory loop, not a hallucination, and the hosts separate it from palinacousis, a rare condition tied to temporal lobe damage. About 98 percent of people get earworms. Men and women get them equally often, but women's last longer and bother them more, and people who score higher in neuroticism or have intrusive thoughts get more of them.
Research shows that cheerful and somber instrumental music get stuck equally often, but negative tunes cause more distress. Nearly 75 percent of earworms have lyrics, usually a 15 to 30 second chorus, and the formula combines a fast tempo, a simple melody and one unexpected interval that trips the brain's predictive coding. The hosts also cover when a nonstop loop can be a warning sign and the science behind getting rid of one.
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In 1916 Dr. Joseph Goldberger, his wife Mary and his assistant injected themselves with the blood of pellagra patients and swallowed their secretions, all to prove they could not catch the disease. This episode follows how he got there. Born in 1874 to a Jewish family in Hungary, he arrived in New York in 1883, grew up on the Lower East Side, started out in engineering at City College, and earned his M.D. in 1895. As an officer of the Marine Hospital Service he inspected immigrants at Ellis Island and fought yellow fever in Mexico, typhus in Puerto Rico and dengue in the South before Surgeon General Rupert Blue assigned him to pellagra in 1914.
By 1912 South Carolina alone was reporting 30,000 cases, and the medical establishment was sure a germ was to blame. Goldberger noticed that hospital staff never caught it, changed the diets at orphanages and the Georgia State Sanitarium with dramatic results, and then ran a prison trial that still raises hard ethical questions. Even after the filth parties, critics kept moving the goalposts.
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Between 1906 and 1940 pellagra struck roughly three million Americans and killed more than 100,000, progressing through the four Ds: dermatitis, diarrhea, dementia and death. The episode explains it as a deficiency of niacin, vitamin B3, and of tryptophan, and traces it back to Gaspar Casal's 1735 description of Asturian leprosy in Spain and the outbreaks in northern Italy, where more than 100,000 people had it by the 1880s. The common thread was corn. Indigenous cultivators in the Americas had long soaked kernels in lime water, a process called nixtamalization that frees the niacin, but Europeans took the seeds without the method.
In the American South the disease became known as spring sickness. Sharecroppers trapped growing cotton lived through winter on cornmeal and molasses, and the Beall degerminator of 1901 stripped what little nutrition the milled corn had. Assigned in 1915, Joseph Goldberger noticed that asylum inmates fell ill while staff did not, cured patients by improving their meals, and then induced the disease in healthy prisoners on a restricted diet.
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Dolly the sheep was born on July 5, 1996, at the Roslin Institute in Scotland, the only surviving lamb from 277 attempts. Frogs had been cloned in 1958, but scientists believed a specialized adult cell was locked for good. The Roslin team, funded by PPL Therapeutics and the Ministry of Agriculture, used somatic cell nuclear transfer: an emptied egg from one ewe, the nucleus of a mammary gland cell from another, a small electric shock to restart development, and a surrogate to carry the pregnancy. Because the donor cell came from a mammary gland, she was named after Dolly Parton, and her existence was kept secret until February 22, 1997.
Dolly never left the Roslin Institute, slept indoors every night for security, and bred normally, producing six lambs. She developed arthritis at four and was euthanized on February 14, 2003, at age six with a lung cancer caused by the retrovirus JSRV. Her short telomeres fed a born-old narrative, but a 2016 study of 13 cloned sheep found they aged normally. The episode follows her legacy into pet cloning, conservation and stem cell science.
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Colin Pitchfork, born in 1960 and raised in Leicestershire, earned the Chief Scout's Award, represented the UK at the 1975 World Scout Jamboree in Norway, married a social worker and became a skilled wedding cake decorator. He also had convictions for indecent exposure from age 17. In November 1983 15-year-old Lynda Mann was raped and murdered, and the only lab result available, a blood type shared by about 10 percent of men, could not identify anyone. In July 1986 Dawn Ashworth, also 15, was killed in the same way, and police pressured 17-year-old Richard Buckland, who had learning difficulties, into a confession to her murder while he denied the first.
Doubting that confession, detectives turned to Alec Jeffreys at the University of Leicester and asked more than 5,000 local men to give blood or saliva. Pitchfork paid bakery colleague Ian Kelly 200 pounds to take the test in his name. The scheme collapsed when Kelly mentioned it at the Clarendon pub and coworker Jackie Foggin reported it. The episode then follows Pitchfork's life sentence and the decades of parole battles that followed.
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Polio is ancient, from Egyptian art showing withered limbs to a 4,000-year-old skeleton in the United Arab Emirates, yet its great epidemics came in the 20th century. The episode explains why: for most of history infants met the virus while still protected by maternal antibodies, and modern sanitation delayed that first exposure until children were older and far more likely to be paralyzed. About 75 percent of infections cause no symptoms and only a small fraction reach the motor neurons, so silent carriers spread it widely. In the United States the 1952 epidemic brought nearly 58,000 cases, more than 3,000 deaths and over 21,000 people left with some paralysis.
When bulbar polio stopped patients breathing and iron lungs ran out during a 1952 outbreak in Copenhagen, anesthesiologist Bjorn Ibsen used tracheostomies and hundreds of medical students squeezing bags by hand, the forerunner of the modern intensive care unit. The hosts then compare Jonas Salk's killed injected vaccine with Albert Sabin's live oral drops, follow the Global Polio Eradication Initiative, and explain how vaccine-derived strains came to outnumber wild polio.
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Why does waking at 3 a.m. feel so different from waking at 7, even after the same amount of sleep? This episode explains what makes a rhythm truly circadian. In 1918 J.S. Szymanski kept animals in constant darkness and found they still held a 24-hour cycle, and in 1954 Colin Pittendrigh showed that the clock timing fruit fly hatching kept pace even in the cold. From those experiments come the rules: a circadian clock must be free-running, temperature compensated and entrainable by a zeitgeber, the German term for a time giver such as morning light reaching the suprachiasmatic nucleus through special light-sensing ganglion cells in the eye.
The story then goes down to single cells. Gene Block's work on isolated mollusk neurons showed the clock is cell-autonomous, and the 2017 Nobel Prize recognized the PER and TIM feedback loop that works like a molecular hourglass. The hosts explain why a 2 a.m. meal can reset the liver's clock while the brain stays on night time, how monarch butterflies and blind mole rats use their clocks, and what happens to mice and hamsters whose clocks are broken or mismatched.
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A hemispherectomy removes or disconnects one entire half of the brain, and this episode traces how that radical idea became a standard treatment for children with severe drug-resistant epilepsy. Walter Dandy performed the first one in 1928 to remove a glioma, Kenneth McKenzie used it for intractable epilepsy in 1938, and in 1950 R.A. Krynauw in South Africa reported striking improvements in children with infantile hemiplegia. Then, in 1966, Oppenheimer and Griffith documented what the empty cavity did over the years: superficial hemosiderosis from repeated microscopic bleeding and dangerous obstructive hydrocephalus.
Theodore Rasmussen's functional hemispherectomy left the tissue in place but cut its connections, and later hemidecortication and the hemispherotomy developed by Delalande and Villemure refined the approach further. The hosts walk through who qualifies, from hemimegalencephaly to Rasmussen's encephalitis, how surgeons map the seizure source, what the operation costs the patient in vision and fine motor control, and how the remaining hemisphere rewires itself through neuroplasticity.
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Charles R. Drew was born in 1904 in Washington, D.C., grew up in Foggy Bottom, and as a boy delivered more than a thousand newspapers a day. After Dunbar High School and an athletic scholarship to Amherst, he spent two years at Morgan College in Baltimore as a chemistry and biology professor, athletic director and head football coach to pay for medical school. Rejected by Howard and deferred by Harvard, he went to McGill in Montreal, graduated second of 127 in 1933, and began studying shock with John Beattie. At Columbia his thesis, Banked Blood, showed that plasma separated by centrifuge could last two months, and in 1940 he became the first African American to earn a Doctor of Science in Medicine there.
Recruited by John Scudder, Drew ran the Blood for Britain project, then became director of the first American Red Cross blood bank in February 1941. When the Army and Navy first refused Black donors and then ordered their blood labeled and stored separately, Drew called the policy scientifically baseless and resigned in 1942. He died after a car crash on April 1, 1950, on his way to a free clinic in Tuskegee, and the episode separates the facts of that night from the enduring myth that a whites-only hospital turned him away.
From the publisher's feed
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.