Excerpt from Chapter 4 in The Secret of the Yellow Death by Suzanne Jurmain
2 The lab didn’t look like much. It was an old wooden shack at Camp Columbia, stuffed with wooden tables, shelves, jars, flasks, test tubes, a hot oven for sterilizing, an incubator to provide the warmth needed for growing bacteria, and a couple of microscopes. From morning until lunch, from lunch until dinner, Reed and Carroll worked side by side, juggling tubes and peering through microscope lenses. Lazear came and went, taking his turn at studying the steady stream of tissue specimens Agramonte sent from his autopsy lab in Havana.
3 The problem seemed simple. If Bacillus icteroides caused yellow fever, it ought to be found in the bodies of yellow fever victims. All Reed and his colleagues had to do was look. So, as the warm July days sped past, the four doctors searched for Bacillus icteroides in blood samples that had been taken from live yellow fever patients. They also tried to find the bacteria in blood and bits of tissue that had been taken from the dead. With delicate loops made of platinum wire they streaked infected blood onto gelatin-filled plates and popped these cultures in the incubator to see if warmth and the gelatin food would make Dr. Giuseppe Sanarelli’s mysterious bacteria grow. They tried to grow the bacteria by placing tiny samples of the livers, spleens, kidneys, intestines, and hearts of yellow fever victims in test tubes filled with bouillon that bacteria liked to eat. But nothing much grew in the tubes or on the plates. And no matter how carefully the men looked through their microscopes, they couldn’t find a single sample of Bacillus icteroides.
4 Yet yellow fever was all around the team that summer. Men and women in Havana were dying of the disease. American officers were coming down with yellow fever, even though Walter Reed never mentioned that in personal letters.
5 Almost every day, he sat down at the long wooden table in his quarters and wrote a cheerful, chatty letter to his “precious wife,” Emilie. He told her that he’d bought himself “a large Cork [sic] helmet for wearing in the sun” and that he’d eaten cake and watermelon for dinner. He asked her to tell him all about the strawberry patch, the flower garden, and the relatives at home. But when Emilie sent a letter that asked about Reed’s chance of getting yellow fever while in Cuba, her husband answered, “I have said nothing about yellow fever because I didn’t want to give you any worry, especially as I wasn’t taking any risks whatever.”
7 The truth was, all of Reed’s activities were risky.
8 But, apparently, Reed didn’t want his wife to know it. When he wrote his letters home, Reed didn’t tell Emilie that yellow fever was sweeping across Cuba. He didn’t say that he might get the illness from handling infected tissue specimens. And he also didn’t mention one other troubling fact: the team was making very little progress.
9 By the middle of July, Reed and his colleagues had produced dozens of gelatin cultures and bouillon preparations. They had spent hours looking at organ tissue under the microscope. But they couldn’t find Bacillus icteroides—or any other type of germ that might possibly be the cause of yellow fever.
10 That bothered Dr. Jesse Lazear.
11 At work the former football player always did his job. To team members, he was always “pleasant” and “polite.” In his spare time, he wrote cheery letters home, telling his pregnant wife about the tropical rain and the funny way that the charmless Dr. Carroll’s ears stuck out. But sometimes, when he sat alone, writing to his family, Lazear couldn’t hold his feelings back. The laboratory work wasn’t going well, he reported. The project was getting nowhere. And as for his teammates . . . Well, it wasn’t Carroll’s ears he was concerned about. It was Carroll. The tall, balding bacteriologist had a “dull” expression. He didn’t seem imaginative. All he seemed to care about was studying “germs for their own sake.” And Reed? Reed seemed to be stuck. All he seemed to care about, Lazear wrote, was hunting for Bacillus icteroides. But Lazear thought that looking for the strange bacillus was a waste of time. A dead end. To make progress, the team needed a new direction. And Jesse Lazear had ideas—good ideas—about what that direction ought to be. Unfortunately, the rest of the team didn’t seem to be taking those ideas very seriously. “I . . . want to do work which may lead to the discovery of the real organism,” Lazear told his wife.
12 But how could he? Reed gave the orders. Lazear had to obey. Nothing seemed likely to change.
13 And then, quite suddenly, something happened.