Doctor Wood. Modern Wizard of the Laboratory: The Story of an American Small Boy Who Became the Most Daring and Original Experimental Physicist of Our Day-but Never Grew Up

“But that man’s not a member. He’s not a member of the club at all. He only lunches here sometimes with Mr. Jones- Smith”.

It began to be apparent that the garçon charmant had been in his cups when he invited Nungesser to the Maidstone Club, and had forgotten all about it. So the Woods decided to take Nungesser home with them to lunch. In the meantime Dr. Wood, who had been an early member and shareholder in the club, decided that Nungesser ought to have a cup of coffee. The steward reluctantly agreed to let Mr. Nungesser have a cup of coffee. Whereupon Nungesser fumbled in his breast pocket, produced a visiting card the size of a large wedding invitation, but slightly more ornate, and presented it in a courtly manner to the steward. Wood says the card had everything on it but the Eiffel Tower — which is the French equivalent of the kitchen stove.

The steward was embarrassed and unimpressed. When the colored waiter came to serve the coffee, Nungesser produced another and handed it to him. The colored waiter was enchanted and terrifically impressed. The Woods then took Nungesser home to lunch, and later, a bit mystified at the strange ways of Americans, but happy and not out of countenance, he flew back to New York.

Apropos of William Beebe’s visit is a tale of the rats in the barrel — and apropos of Father Pigot’s, occurs a rhapsodic tribute to Wood’s homemade gin.

The barn and outhouses had become infested with rats, and a lot of them were caught alive in basket traps. They were to be loosed as is the custom and killed by terriers. This is not for fun or cruelty, as some imagine, but to train the terriers. In the meantime, Wood dumped the rats in a barrel and observed them with curiosity. He says that they began jumping and that their pink noses came up in waves, like pink bubbles on water, but didn’t quite reach the rim. Presently some of them began running wildly around the bottom of the barrel. Soon, like motorcyclists in World’s Fair saucers, they were whirling around the sides of the barrel, held by centrifugal force. They ran faster, spiraled up, and finally came hurtling over the rim!

Wood told his naturalist friends. Beebe at first refused to believe the story, but was finally convinced. It seemed evident that the rats in rushing and tumbling around over each other at the bottom were occasionally thrown against the wall and discovered that if they ran faster against the curved wall, they were pressed against it and could actually climb out in a spiral. Wood let the rats go for the fun he’d had watching them do it. They recalled to his mind his youthful conquest of the spiral balustrade, he says.

Father Edward F. Pigot, famous Jesuit scientist and seismographic authority, was here from Australia and visited the Woods in prohibition days, soon after the World War. Father Pigot was Irish in origin — and that his association with Dr. Wood was not confined entirely to learned discussions of earthquakes and astronomy is evidenced by the inscription the Reverend Father left in East Hampton:

— a poor, peripatetic star-gazer, late of the Emerald Isle and now from the Southern Cross, who sought in vain in America for some more stimulating beverage than “soft” drink to relieve the fatigue of his midnight vigils —

Beer, stout, brown ale,
Brandy, whiskey, gin?
Quoth the raven,
Nevermore.

Now, however, he at last can say with Archimedes, “Eureka!” And he carries back to Australia, along with grateful recollections, the sample of liquor better than he sought — Wood Spirit!

* * *

You may believe, if you choose, that this is merely a metaphorical tribute — but I don’t. During prohibition days, Dr. Wood distilled and concocted for his friends and intimates a beverage which still causes the devout to cross themselves fervently. There was always the obvious joke that it was made of “wood” alcohol, but what he put in it remains a partial mystery. Just as the orthodox Moslems have ninety-nine names for Allah, plus an unknown hundredth name, Wood put in seven supposedly known ingredients, but there was a mysterious eighth which he refused to reveal. I don’t try to guess what it was. The Russians add ether and gunpowder.

Last summer was gay in East Hampton, with friends, guests, the family reunion, while Dr. and Mrs. Wood were preparing a jaunt to California. As usual, it was partly for science and partly for fun. Dr. Wood was going to install one of his big, improved diffraction gratings in the eighteen-inch Schmidt camera telescope on Mount Palomar. If it worked, they’d be wanting an immense one later for the 200-inch monster with its twenty-ton mirror in the other dome. There was a dinner party on the night of their departure. Nobody was in a hurry. Gertrude had the tickets and the money in her handbag. Rob was telling some of his best stories. They caught the train casually, by a couple of minutes’ margin.