How does honky tonk and rockabilly singer Johnny Horton connect to the Human Genome Project? Join us as we navigate the sinking of the battleship Bismarck, Nazi submarines, Alan Turing and the Enigma machine, LSD, the heat-loving bacteria Thermus aquaticus, and Nobel laureate Kary Mullis.
The fight this time was over a dead country singer. One of us holds that you cannot call yourself culturally literate without knowing Johnny Horton, the 1950s balladeer behind “North to Alaska” and “The Battle of New Orleans.” The other had never heard the name and guessed it might be a knockoff of Tim Hortons, the donut chain. We did not resolve this one either. One of Horton’s hits was a galloping little number called “Sink the Bismarck,” and that song is the thread we are going to pull. Follow it far enough and it runs from a doomed battleship through a captured code machine, a CIA drug program, and a chemist’s hallucination, all the way to a bacterium living in a Yellowstone hot spring, and from there to PCR, the polymerase chain reaction that labs still use to copy DNA.
The Bismarck and her sister ship Tirpitz were the largest battleships Germany ever built, roughly 800 feet of armor and modern guns, fast and very nearly unsinkable. Bismarck was commissioned in August 1940, and in May 1941 she steamed out on her first and only operation, code-named Rheinübung, alongside the heavy cruiser Prinz Eugen: the plan was to break into the Atlantic and strangle the convoys keeping Britain fed and armed. She was spotted almost at once. A neutral Swedish cruiser, the Gotland, saw the German ships pass through the Kattegat, the strait at the mouth of the Baltic, and reported it, and the word made its way to the British naval attache in Stockholm and on to the Admiralty.
On May 24, in the Denmark Strait between Greenland and Iceland, Bismarck met the pride of the Royal Navy, the battlecruiser HMS Hood. Less than ten minutes after the shooting started, a shell found Hood’s magazines; she exploded and sank in about three minutes, and all but three of her roughly 1,400 men died. The hunt that followed gave the song its name: sink the Bismarck. Dozens of Royal Navy ships gave chase as the damaged German battleship ran for occupied France. What finally caught her was almost comically obsolete, a flight of Fairey Swordfish biplane torpedo bombers from the carrier Ark Royal; one torpedo jammed her rudder and left her able only to steer in a slow circle. On the morning of May 27 the battleships Rodney and King George V and their cruisers closed in and pounded her while her own crew set scuttling charges. Of more than 2,200 men aboard, only about 110 were pulled from the sea. The wreck was not found until 1989, by Robert Ballard, nearly three miles down. And the Bismarck was only one ship in a far larger fight, the Battle of the Atlantic, the longest continuous campaign of the war, which before it ended would cost the Allies some 72,000 sailors and merchant seamen, 3,500 merchant ships, and 175 warships, and cost Germany about 30,000 men and 783 submarines.
One of those lost submarines mattered out of all proportion to its size. On February 12, 1940, the Royal Navy ship Gleaner crippled the U-33 with depth charges and forced its crew to abandon ship. The submarine was carrying rotor wheels for an Enigma machine, the encryption device Germany used to scramble its military orders. The crew were supposed to scatter the rotors into the sea; some did not, and the British took them from the survivors. It was exactly the piece the codebreakers had been missing.
Those codebreakers worked at Bletchley Park, the country house north of London that held Britain’s Government Code and Cypher School. They did not start from scratch. Poland’s Cipher Bureau, and above all the mathematician Marian Rejewski, had been reading Enigma through the 1930s and had even built an electromechanical aid they called the bomba; weeks before the war, the Poles handed their methods and a working Enigma replica to astonished British and French officers. At Bletchley, Alan Turing took that head start and ran with it. He led Hut 8, the section attacking the German navy’s Enigma, and with Gordon Welchman he designed the British Bombe, a machine inspired by the Polish bomba but built on a different method, which could grind through millions of possible settings far faster than any person. The intelligence all of this produced had its own code name: ULTRA. Reading the U-boats’ own messages let the Allies route their convoys around the waiting wolf packs, and it helped turn the Battle of the Atlantic. A handful of rotors off a sinking submarine had helped win an ocean.
After the war, the word ultra did not retire. It surfaced again in the 1950s as the tail end of a CIA cryptonym, MKULTRA. The link is mostly in the name, but the program that name labeled was real and notorious: a sprawling effort to find drugs and techniques for interrogation, brainwashing, and mind control. Its researchers dosed people with powerful drugs, very often without their knowledge or consent, including prisoners, hospital patients, drug users, and the agency’s own employees. The drug they kept coming back to was LSD. Frank Olson, an Army bacteriologist, was secretly given LSD at a 1953 gathering, spiraled into paranoia and depression over the following days, and fell to his death from a tenth-floor hotel window; the episode has since been told and retold, including in a documentary series. The CIA eventually decided the drug was too unpredictable to weaponize and gave up on it. By then LSD was loose in the world.
LSD, short for lysergic acid diethylamide, had been synthesized back in 1938 by the Swiss chemist Albert Hofmann at the Sandoz laboratories, where it sat ignored for five years. In 1943 Hofmann accidentally absorbed a trace of it through his skin, discovered its strange effects, and a few days later deliberately swallowed what he assumed was a tiny, cautious dose: 250 micrograms, which we now know is more than a typical recreational hit. It was, by his own notes, far stronger than he had bargained for. The thread we care about, though, is not the CIA’s interest in the drug but one of the people who eventually fell into its orbit, a brilliant and restless American chemist named Kary Mullis.
In the early 1980s Mullis worked at Cetus, a California biotech company, synthesizing oligonucleotides, the short custom strings of DNA that researchers use as tools. One night in 1983, driving up Highway 128 toward his cabin with the molecules turning over in his head, he had the idea that would win him a Nobel Prize. The idea was the polymerase chain reaction, PCR, a way to take a single stretch of DNA and copy it into millions or billions of copies in a matter of hours. The recipe is short. Heat the double-stranded DNA close to boiling so its two strands come apart. Add two short primers that bracket the exact segment you want, marking where to start and where to stop. Cool it so the primers latch on. Then let a DNA polymerase, the cell’s own copying enzyme, build a fresh matching strand out of loose nucleotides. Each cycle doubles what you have, and doubling over and over climbs into the billions astonishingly fast.
A schematic of that order, not a temperature protocol and not a count of product. A real reaction does not double the target at every cycle.
There was one maddening flaw. To begin each new cycle you have to heat the sample back up to pull the strands apart, and that heat cooked the polymerase Mullis was using, which came from the gut bacterium E. coli. A cooked enzyme is a dead enzyme, so someone had to open every tube and pipette in fresh polymerase after every single cycle, by hand, for hours. Mullis showed that PCR worked, on December 16, 1983, and went on to share the 1993 Nobel Prize in Chemistry for it. He was a genuine eccentric: he credited LSD with loosening his thinking, and he also held positions far outside the evidence, doubting that HIV causes AIDS, rejecting human-caused climate change, and once recounting a late-night encounter with what he took to be a glowing raccoon. The idea he had on that drive, though, was sound. It just needed a better enzyme. And that enzyme was already sitting, undisturbed, in a hot spring a thousand miles away.
Yellowstone’s hot springs are ringed with bands of color, greens and oranges and reds, and those colors are alive: mats of microbes thriving in water hot enough to scald. In the 1960s a microbiologist named Thomas Brock went looking, with no particular application in mind, at what could possibly survive that heat. From Mushroom Spring he and his student Hudson Freeze pulled a rod-shaped bacterium they named Thermus aquaticus, the hot-water bug, and described it in 1969, more than a decade before Mullis took his drive. Because the bacterium lives at temperatures around 160 °F (70 °C), all of its machinery has to keep working there, including its DNA polymerase. That enzyme, nicknamed Taq after the organism, is thermostable: heat does not cook it.
Drop Taq into PCR and the heat problem is gone. You can heat the reaction to split the strands cycle after cycle, and the polymerase stays active through the next round, with no one opening the tubes. Pair it with a machine called a thermocycler, which just heats and cools the samples on a programmed schedule, and PCR becomes automatic, cheap, and everywhere. It is how a lab confirms a viral or bacterial infection by fishing for a gene unique to the pathogen. It is how a crime lab matches DNA from a scene to a suspect. It is how we run genetic tests, and how we sequence whole genomes by copying overlapping pieces and stitching them back together.
None of the people in this chain set out to invent PCR. The sailors who failed to ditch the rotors, the Poles and Turing breaking Enigma, Hofmann misjudging a dose, Brock asking what lives in hot water: none of them could have told you their work would one day let a doctor catch an infection from a swab, or let a lab read a virus letter by letter. The enzyme at the center came from a bacterium found by a scientist who wanted to know what survives in hot springs. A war ballad got us to a hot spring, and the hot spring gave PCR an enzyme that does not cook. We landed on the right Taq. Now, about that game of Battleship you still insist you won.
The episode audio states several things that are wrong. The corrections:
At 02:14, Bismarck was commissioned on August 24, 1940, and sank on May 27, 1941, nine months later, not eight (World History Encyclopedia).
At 06:21, the Government Code and Cypher School was formed after the First World War, on November 1, 1919, not during it (GCHQ).
At 09:57, the police account puts Frank Olson’s hotel room on the 10th floor, not the 13th, and his family later came to doubt that he died by suicide (ABA Journal).
At 11:32, Mullis said he was on Highway 128, not Route 101, when the idea came to him (Nobel lecture).
At 14:52, Brock and Freeze described Thermus aquaticus in 1969 (Journal of Bacteriology) and Mullis had the idea for PCR in 1983 (National Geographic), about 14 years later, not 10.
At 16:25, Mullis won the Nobel Prize in Chemistry, not the Peace Prize (Nobel Prize press release). His Nobel lecture mentions meeting Albert Hofmann, the chemist who invented LSD, at a friend’s house; it does not say they took it together (Nobel lecture).
referenceHorton, Johnny (another site)Handbook of Texas, Texas State Historical AssociationHonky-tonk singer and Rockabilly Hall of Fame inductee; "The Battle of New Orleans" and "Sink the Bismarck" charted country and pop; "North to Alaska" (1960) was his last hit.
referenceGerman battleship Bismarck (another site)WikipediaLargest German battleships; Operation Rheinübung May 1941; Swordfish from Ark Royal jammed the rudder; scuttled May 27 1941; over 2,200 crew with 114 survivors; wreck found by Ballard 1989 at ~4,800 m.
referenceBattleship Bismarck (another site)Mark CartwrightWorld History EncyclopediaBismarck entered service on 24 August 1940 and was destroyed in the North Atlantic on 27 May 1941.
referenceBattle of the Denmark Strait (another site)Wikipedia24 May 1941; Bismarck sank HMS Hood within minutes, all but three of ~1,400 crew lost; Swedish cruiser Gotland's sighting reached the British via the naval attache in Stockholm.
referenceBattle of the Atlantic (another site)U.S. Navy, Naval History and Heritage CommandLongest continuous campaign of WWII; 3,500 Allied merchant ships and 175 warships sunk, 72,200 Allied seamen lost; Germany lost 783 U-boats and ~30,000 sailors.
referenceAlastair Denniston (another site)GCHQDenniston became the first Head of the Government Code & Cypher School (GC&CS) when it was established as part of the Admiralty on 1 November 1919.
referenceBreaking Naval Enigma (Dolphin and Shark) (another site)Ralph Erskinecryptocellar.orgThe British recovered rotors VI and VII from the crew of U-33 on 12 February 1940; Hut 8 was responsible for the attack on naval Enigma; the bombe was Turing's brainchild, improved by Gordon Welchman's diagonal board.
referenceBletchley Park (another site)Encyclopaedia BritannicaGC&CS at Bletchley; Turing in Hut 8 (naval Enigma); the Bombe, built with Gordon Welchman from the Polish bomba; ULTRA intelligence.
referenceBletchley Park (Polish Cipher Bureau handover) (another site)WikipediaFive weeks before war, Poland's Cipher Bureau (Marian Rejewski and colleagues) revealed its Enigma-breaking work and supplied an Enigma replica to Britain and France.
referenceAlan Turing: a short biography (another site)Andrew Hodgesturing.org.ukTuring generalized the Polish Bomba, which depended on the particular way the Germans used Enigma, into a machine that could break any message where a small portion of plaintext could be guessed; Welchman made an important contribution; Hugh Alexander, Turing's deputy, later took charge of Hut 8.
referenceMKUltra (another site)WikipediaCIA mind-control program; LSD administered to unwitting subjects; Frank Olson given LSD in 1953 and died nine days later in a fall from a New York City hotel window.
referenceNotes and documents concerning the discovery of LSD (another site)Albert HofmannAgents and Actions (1970)Hofmann's own account: after a strange episode he suspected was caused by a trace of the substance, he took 0.25 mg three days later, on 19 April 1943; the dose was "a gross overdosage."
referenceModern Clinical Research on LSD (another site)Matthias E. LiechtiNeuropsychopharmacology (2017)A full LSD reaction is expected at doses of 100-200 μg; 200 μg is a relatively high dose.
referenceThe Polymerase Chain Reaction (Nobel lecture) (another site)Kary B. MullisNobelPrize.orgMullis stopped the car at mile marker 46.7 on Highway 128 when the idea came; Albert Hofmann was at a friend's house one night; the first successful experiment was on December 16.
referenceKary Mullis (another site)Encyclopaedia BritannicaAmerican biochemist (1944-2019); invented PCR in 1983 at Cetus; 1993 Nobel Prize in Chemistry; credited LSD with influencing his vision of PCR; climate-change and HIV/AIDS skeptic.
referenceRIP Kary Mullis, Father of PCR (another site)PLOS DNA ScienceEarly PCR used heat-labile E. coli polymerase that had to be replenished each cycle; switching to thermostable Taq from Thermus aquaticus (discovered and described by Thomas D. Brock, 1969, in Yellowstone) solved it. (T. aquaticus is a bacterium, not an archaeon as that post states.)
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