The Making of a Scientist: A Memoir

Foreword

Calvin Souther Fuller (1902-1994) was not a parent who freely shared his feelings with his children or regaled them with stories of his youth. What he did do, however, was set an example of fair play, hard work, and unstinting commitment to our fulfillment.

As if to compensate for his reticence, late in life, he wrote a memoir of growing up in gangland Chicago, his deliverance via the University of Chicago, and his career in science—culminating in the co-invention of the solar cell—at Bell Telephone Laboratories.

In the memoir, he revealed the toll taken on the family by his father's alcoholism. Perhaps his most beneficent legacy to his three children was that of a husband and father who never raised his hand, or even his voice, to his wife—our mother—or to us. 

Calvin Fuller chronicled his life for his family, not the general public. A private, humble man, he would be chagrined not only by the idea of publishing his story, but also by the presumption that it might be of broader interest.

In the decades since his death, it has dawned on us that it would be ungenerous to keep his reflections within the family. So, not without misgivings, but unanimously, we've decided to publish our father's memoir so that others might take inspiration from his exemplary life, as have we.

John William Fuller

Stephen Souther Fuller

Robert Works Fuller

Editor's Preface

Calvin Souther Fuller (1902-1994) lived through most of the twentieth century. In 1986, he was interviewed by the Chemical Heritage Foundation as part of a series to preserve the stories of notable figures in chemistry (1). At about the same time, he began to write a personal account of his life. Two of his sons, John and Stephen, discovered the memoir while cleaning out their mother Willmine's apartment after her death in 2001.

In Part 1 of his memoir, Calvin Fuller describes his childhood on the South Side of Chicago, his extended family, and his association with neighborhood boys. Although he excelled academically, he also engaged in games, sports, pranks, and mischief. At the same time, he developed an interest in building things, tinkering, and chemistry, aided by his youngest uncle, Norman Souther, a budding inventor only four years his senior. While Calvin had the loving support of grandparents, his father's alcoholism led to chronic financial instability, family stress, and frequent moves within Chicago for him, his sister, and his mother.

In Part 2, he chronicles his efforts to acquire a higher education while contributing to the family income. With the help of Mabel Walbridge, his high school physics teacher, he won a scholarship to the University of Chicago, where he spent his first two college years (1920-1921) studying science. Forced to drop out for financial reasons, he worked first as a chemical analyst and then as a photoengraver, continuing his education in night school and during the summers. Eventually he returned to campus to finish his B.S. in 1926 and to pursue a Ph.D. in chemistry, which he received in 1929.

The rest of the memoir, Part 3, covers his scientific career at Bell Telephone Laboratories from 1930 to 1967, doing research in polymer chemistry and solid state physics. It also describes his involvement in the Government Synthetic Rubber Program during World War II, his later professional activities, and his family life.

In 2009, John Fuller began to scan the original typewritten version of his father's memoir, using optical recognition software, to create a more readable version for the family. However, because of the many revisions, inserts, and handwritten notes in the original, this approach became overwhelming and he completed only part of the scan.

In 2013, Calvin Fuller's eldest son, Robert, proposed to his two brothers that the three of them publish their father's memoir. While Calvin did not intend or prepare it for a wider audience, thinking it too personal, detailed, and lengthy, his family thought that sufficient time had passed to consider making it public. Most of the people Calvin mentioned were deceased and the events he described had occurred long ago. While the memoir was not a shaped literary work, it could provide valuable source material to historians of science and others. In addition to documenting the path to becoming a scientist of note, it explored the themes of growing up in early twentieth century Chicago, overcoming the challenges of family instability and financial insecurity, and contributing as a scientist to the U.S. war effort during World War II. The family believed that public attitudes about privacy had changed dramatically since Calvin Fuller first began to write the memoir. Alcoholism, once a source of family shame, was now discussed more openly and viewed as a disease. The obstacles that Calvin Fuller overcame enhanced his story and made his accomplishments even more remarkable.

Woody (Eric) Fuller, Calvin's grandson, volunteered to retype the manuscript. His transcript has been carefully checked against the original. The text has neither been cut nor substantially modified in the editing process. However, spelling and punctuation have been standardized and corrected, names checked, dates provided, and some minor stylistic changes made to clarify the content. In addition, the names of a few of Calvin's associates have been changed to protect their privacy.

The family decided to include two autobiographical pieces by Willmine Fuller, adding her voice and some details to supplement Calvin's account. [See section II.] In addition to the influence she had on him and their family life during Calvin's working years, Willmine, with her sense of adventure, set the direction of their lives in retirement with the move to Florida and their many travels. Calvin and Willmine were married for nearly 62 years. Calvin says of his wife: Willie was what I needed to make me anywhere near whole. (See Appendix 1.) Toward the end of his memoir, he adds: It is my hope that Willie will take up her pen and typewriter and produce a separate record of these memorable events in our lives.

A series of appendices follow Willmine's reminiscences. [See section III.] The first three were included by Calvin. To these we have added Pointers, which illustrates his philosophy and his relationship with his sons; the presentation for his posthumous induction into the National Inventors Hall of Fame in 2008; a biographical sketch; an obituary; and a list of suggested further references.

We have included many photographs to add a visual dimension to this memoir. The majority of them were provided by John Fuller who, after Willmine's death, digitized his parents' large photo collection spanning five generations. The remaining ones were contributed by other family members, the AT&T Archives and History Center, and the Special Collections Research Center, University of Chicago Library. In addition, Norma Souther Ward, Calvin's first cousin, whom we located while preparing this memoir, generously provided photos of her father, Norman G. Souther and her grandparents, Calvin and Jemima Lothian Souther.

On a personal note, my desire to edit this manuscript and help bring it to publication comes out of gratitude to Calvin and Willmine for their encouragement over many years. They welcomed me into their family and supported my choice to study science and undertake graduate work. They helped by providing general assistance and extensive childcare, whenever needed, starting from the birth of their first grandchild, Karen.

Ann L. Fuller, Editor

(1) For a summary of the Calvin Fuller 1986 oral history interview, conducted by James J. Bohning, see http://www.chemheritage.org/discover/collections/oral-histories/details/fuller-calvin-s.aspx.

Ann L. Fuller is an Affiliate Scholar at Oberlin College. She received an M.A. in history from the University of Chicago and a Ph.D. in plasma physics from Columbia University. Retired from a career in social service administration, she currently consults to non-profit organizations and does historical research that combines technology with oral history and genealogy.

I - Calvin S. Fuller

Time Saved? A Poem

Innocent child of youngest year

How relaxed your hours seem,

Free of hurry, free of fear,

Time is like a placid stream.

Active youngster, steeped in play,

No more crying from the fall,

Tireless at the end of day,

Heedless of the supper call.

Young man now, no time to spare,

Run to school; no time to wave,

Chores to do, a see you there,

Forgets to wash, a moment to save.

Grown man now, a family to raise.

Pressed by work, slips by a friend,

Every week filled with busy days,

Birthday card, forget to send.

Old man now in view of grave,

Only one gnawing question to face,

"Where's the time I fought to save,

Where, those moments I would replace?"

- Calvin S. Fuller

Prologue

Everything in these memoirs is true so far as I know and the names are real. Had I known how difficult it is to write about matters which happened so long ago I probably would not have undertaken the task. There is a tendency for those who undertake jobs of this kind to feel that their life histories are so exceptional that all the detailed experiences must be preserved. I hope I have not written these pages for that reason. No, I was sort of curious about some of the past myself. Then for my family, I thought the account might make some of the actions that I took to be a little more understandable. The account is obviously not written for public consumption. It is far too expository and private for that. For the greater part therefore I am afraid that the writing style will discourage interest by those outside of the immediate family members.

I am told that both my father's and my mother's lineages go back to the earliest time of our country. Both came originally through England to New England and then gradually migrated west. The Southers came to Plymouth colony where one is recorded as apparently arriving alone and taking duties as secretary to Governors Winslow and Bradford in the early 1630s. More immediately, my grandfather Souther's father [Nathaniel Souther (c. 1824-1856)] died before my grandfather [Calvin Nathaniel Souther (1857-1936)] was born. His wife, my great-grandmother Margaret [Margaret Trowbridge Souther (1827-1909)], brought him and his two brothers to live on a farm which stood almost in the center of what is now Milwaukee, Wisconsin. The Fullers, it seems, came to Massachusetts Colony. Later they moved to Lockport, New York where my father [Julius Quincy Fuller (1876-1947)] was born in 1876. Our family soon moved west, possibly to Ohio, and on to Chicago where I was born.

My mother, Bessie Ethel Souther [1881-1931], was said to have been a tomboy. Who would not have been with six brothers! But I remember her as a practical, capable mother, happy in spirit and most resourceful. She never complained. As a young man my father was said to be a popular, good-looking fellow, quick with the repartee. Some say he played up to the crowd too much. He liked sports and companionship. He enjoyed reading novels and good literature and liked to write poetry. He dreamt of the good life where everything would be calm and blissful, away from the everyday stresses his brokerage life was providing. Little did I realize the stresses my father was under. Later I learned that he was an incurable alcoholic.

I come now to what I see as a most remarkable contrast between the Southers and the Fullers as I knew them. Whether this difference (which I am convinced was one of basic philosophy and behavior) was of genetic or environmental origin, no one can say. No doubt it was some of both. I can testify though that the contrast ran deep in both families.

The Southers were ambitious, industrious, practical, and competitive, and had a strong sense of morality and pride. They were not philosophers and dreamers. They were doers. The Fullers, on the other hand, were dreamers, students, talkers and writers. They were philosophical, non-competitive, and impractical. The Southers' reading was The Saturday Evening Post, The Daily News, and Popular Mechanics. The Fullers liked Shakespeare, Poe, Keats, and Conan Doyle.

If these differences are to be attributed to strong parental influences, they were there. Grandmother (Wiley) Fuller [Caroline Wiley Fuller (1844-1916)] was quiet and contemplative and very effective in instilling in her family a love for good reading. She also read Mary Baker Eddy. I am told that Grandfather Fuller, too, was of a quiet contemplative nature. I know he worshipped me and never spoke harshly. Grandfather Souther, on the other hand, was firm, serious and authoritative, but never cruel. He wanted to be respected and to have his orders carried out. Each of us was to do his assigned duties without complaint. Grandmother (Lothian) Souther [Jemima Lothian Souther (1860-1943)] was also a strong-willed person. She had immense family pride and could be very stubborn on matters of etiquette and moral behavior. Grandparents Fuller were more flexible in their attitudes toward life; grandparents Souther, more rigid.

Of course, I was the product of all four of these lineages: the Fullers, the Southers, the Wileys, and the Lothians. But I was influenced during my impressionable years much more by the Southers environmentally than by the Fullers. I don't mean that my parents did not have a big effect on me; they did, of course. But in my formative period, it was the Southers, and particularly my uncles, who influenced me most. I think my practical bent comes from there and I am told I have a fair amount of it. The fact that I managed to get through a number of educational institutions also suggests that I acquired some contemplative ability along the way. Perhaps I should thank the Fullers for that. If there is a lesson to be learned from this, perhaps one could say: Blessed is he who has lots of attentive grandparents, uncles, and aunts.

In re-reading these memoirs I find myself asking, Why did these things happen? What caused us to behave the way we did? Here and there I have tried to dig into these questions. But as you will see when you read the Epilogue, the basic question remains: Why? We can only conclude that human behavior, in spite of the advances in modern psychology, is far from explained and that some of us are luckier than others. I was lucky.

Part 1: Growing Up (1906-1918)

Under Home Influences

I was under the impression that I was born in a two-story gray stone apartment building on the west side of Lowe Avenue just south of 76th Street in Chicago. My uncle Harold [Harold Whitney Souther (1893-1983)] says this is not so, that I was born across the street from the Southers who lived at 7644 Emerald Avenue. We could have moved to the Lowe address after June (my sister) was born. Take your choice. I always thought that we moved to the house across from the Southers shortly after I was born in 1902. But it appears more likely that both my sister and I were born in an apartment in the house at 7647 Emerald Avenue.

Anyway, this section of Chicago was called Auburn Park and it was a middle-class residential section. Most of the men commuted on the Rock Island Railroad to white-collar jobs in the loop about 10 miles away. My grandfather, who I called Papa Cal, was then or soon afterward a general passenger agent for the Chicago, Milwaukee and St. Paul Railroad, quite a good position. He had worked himself up from telegraph operator, a job he acquired soon after he started to work for the Road when he was eighteen. He was born in 1856 and when I was young, he was almost fifty.

The Souther home was a fairly large one for those days. It had a spacious porch extending across the front and around the south side. A smaller porch off the dining room and near the back was seldom used. The house had a big front hall with an alcove containing racks for apparel, and a wall telephone with its hand crank for calling the operator. As one entered, there was a natural oak staircase which rose to the right from the middle of the hall. Under it was a large closet for all of the children's things, including bats, balls, tennis rackets, and the like. In the middle of the hall in the floor was a large square opening covered by a grillwork out of which all the heat to warm the house came. Most of this went straight up, and in the winter you generally had to keep warm by sitting in front of the fireplace in the living room where a fire of cannel coal burned constantly. Somehow this family of nine, sometimes plus two maids, managed to live in the nine rooms and one bath. But at that time sleeping two in a bed was the normal thing.

The two older boys (Will and Cal) were gone from home then, as was my mother, Bess. Frank was soon to leave for Montana where Papa Cal had homesteaded a 640-acre farm near Mildred. There Frank was to contract typhoid fever and come home to die at the young age of 28. Sid [Sidney A. Souther (1887-1975)] was home weekends. He was studying at Armour Tech to be an electrical engineer. Harold was in high school and Norm, who was only four years older than I, was in the Oglesby grade school across Halsted Street where the trolleys ran. It was Norm who I tagged after, and as I will mention later, from whom I learned a great deal about mechanics, electrical things, and much more.

It is said that when I was four or five, Norm resented me when I came to visit and planned little accidents that I would be blamed for. Once he was accused (perhaps wrongly) of giving me an ink bottle with a loosely screwed-on top, which I promptly emptied on the living-room rug. I cannot attest to this, but I do know I worshipped Norm and would do whatever he said.

Never to be forgotten were the dazzling fireworks displays at the Southers every Fourth of July. People came from all over the neighborhood to see them. In those days, public fireworks were a rarity. The fireworks themselves always arrived in a box the size of a trunk and were stamped with all sorts of Chinese writing. You see, Papa Cal helped the Chinese immigrants get rail passage in the U.S. and this was their way of expressing appreciation.

There were pinwheels, Roman candles, colored lights, and even some burning figures. But I liked the firecrackers the best. These were hung in strings of whole packages from clothes poles nailed to the roof of the front porch and when they were lit, they sounded like a battery of Gatling guns. Why the house didn't catch fire, I will never know. I wonder now whether the great impression made on me by these displays played a part in my choosing chemistry as a career.

I remember the hammock strung between the two big poplar trees in the backyard where Papa Cal snatched a little sleep, the big watermelon parties we used to have in the backyard with all the grown-ups on Sundays, the inclined doors on the basement entryway which we kids used as a slide, the high bull-rushes across the alley where we used to have Vietnam-like battles, and the garden full of tomatoes and sweet corn. I also recall the time the maid, in her excitement, tossed a pillow out the kitchen window for me to land on after the screen holding me had given way. But it is difficult to order these impressions in time because I was coming to visit the Souther home over many years.

The Fuller Family had also lived in Auburn Park at the turn of the century; in fact my mother and father had met as students at Calumet High at 80th and Lowe. The Fullers, like the Southers, were an old Massachusetts family that slowly migrated west. Grandfather Fuller had spent twenty years doing dentistry; he was a graduate of Tufts Dental College in Cincinnati, Ohio. He had done fairly well and the home they had lived in Auburn Park was much like the Southers', a large frame house near 77th and Green Street. I think it is strange, but true, that the Fuller family also consisted of boys (Rob, Jule, Edgar, Leigh, and Gene) and only one girl, Annie.

Shortly after my father married, the elder Fullers moved from Chicago to a small frame house at 813 Oneida Street in Joliet, Illinois. It is rumored that my grandfather suffered a large financial reverse at the time. There he got a job as a salesman for Durand and Kasper food products. I still remember accompanying my grandfather Fuller [Eugene Corydon Fuller (1844-1914)] in his horse and buggy on several of his rounds. Best of all were the drawers full of dried fruits that he kept at home and into which we could dip whenever we wanted.

Grandma Fuller was a Wiley. She was small, quiet, gentle, and intelligent. She was an excellent cook with little in the way of kitchen facilities—hand pumped cistern water and a wood stove. All of the Wileys were well-educated and well-mannered. My great aunt, Daisy [Dara Wiley Harmon (1863-?)], was an example. She was a perfectionist on English diction and an authority on English literature. She had been a teacher, but when I knew her she was a private tutor governess to the Netcher family, wealthy owners of the Boston Department Store in the Chicago loop. Unlike her sister, (my grandmother), she was very strict and we kids soon learned not to test her.

Another of grandmother's sisters was married to a Hutchison. She had two sons, Seymour who became a doctor, and Rod, my father's age, who often visited us in Chicago. They lived in Cairo, Illinois. I learned later that Rod died in a Negro disturbance there. Both served in World War I.

My father's brother Edgar [1872-1928] married Frances Reid of Moline, Illinois. The Reids were part owners of the Moline Iron Works (later John Deere Company). Soon after my grand folks died, Edgar moved from Kansas City and took over their home in Joliet. He remodeled it into a larger and more modern home. Edgar was now a banker in Joliet and was doing very well, but unfortunately was struck down with pneumonia in 1928, from which he never recovered. He was about forty-five. I served as a pallbearer at Edgar's funeral and his death made a lasting impression on me.

Before Edgar's death I frequently visited my cousins, Frances and Bob, in Joliet. They were about the same ages as June and I, and we got along very well with them and had great times during these visits. But Bob Fuller was a little young for me and I often played with Lester Gardner next door. Lester had captured lots of live birds which he had caught under his porch. I soon learned the trick of how he caught them. We would sit quietly under the raised iron watering troughs, which were on almost every street corner in Joliet for the purpose of watering the many horses used in those days, and wait. Soon birds would come, sparrows, robins, jays, and others. Just as the birds dipped to drink we would come up behind them with one hand and grab them. We caught literally hundreds of birds in this way—so many that our parents made us finally release them.

(Note: Fran and Bob both are alive at this writing (1986)—Fran in Moline and Bob in Countryside, Illinois near Chicago.)

My Aunt Annie [Anna Eugenia Fuller (1870-1949)], the one girl in the Fuller family, lived there (1910) with her husband, Conn Lowall, in Aurora, Illinois. I used to go there also and play with my cousin Gene, their only child, who was about a year younger than I. Gene Lowall graduated from the University of Montana and became a journalist (Denver Post) and a writer of fiction—the Fuller influence. He died in New York in the early ‘70s.

The Lowalls were strapped for money at that time, and I remember once when the only fare was tomatoes, which they grew and bred. They called it tomato sandwiches and though I never had anything like it before, I found them quite edible and tasty. They lived near the Fox River and I remember my Uncle Conn taking us there in a boat where he dived for clams and oysters. One time we found a pearl in one which looked just like the head of Lincoln and I kept it for a long time. Conn turned out to be a poor provider (he too had a drinking problem) and eventually the family moved to Bozeman, Montana where Annie got a job teaching school, eventually becoming school principal. Later she became superintendent of all schools in Miles City—again the Fuller intellect came to the fore.

Both of my grandfathers homesteaded farms in the vicinity of Miles City, Montana. Gene Fuller [Eugene White Fuller (1888-1967)], my father's youngest brother, spent time there and Cal, the next to oldest Souther boy, managed the Souther ranch until he went broke and had to move his family to Spokane, Washington. That was only after many years of hard work and drought losses. All the brothers at one time or another tried to help out. The experience cost Frank's life and Cal's fortune, but taught the Souther boys many hard lessons besides how to ride horses and shoot from the hip.

(Note: Calvin C. Souther, my cousin now living in Portland, Oregon, vividly described his youth during this trying period.)

When I was about five, my family moved from Auburn Park into a new flat building at 7300 Harvard Avenue in Hamilton Park, one stop closer to the loop on the Rock Island Railroad. The neighborhood was a mixture of older wooden homes and some older two-story brick two-flats together with a few and growing number of new larger apartment buildings, like ours, in which there were twelve five-room apartments (or flats, as they were called then). There were still many vacant lots and this was important because that is where much of our play took place. Not only was there a mixture of dwellings, but also of occupants. Some of the men were tradesmen; some were white-collar workers; some worked at skilled mechanical jobs. Some were of recent German origin, some were Scottish, a few were Swedish, many were Irish, and a few like ourselves were of English origin but had been in this country for many generations.

The men who planned Chicago (we studied the Burnham Plan in the Wacker Manual in grade school) were very foresighted. They first constructed an interconnected park system and then built communities around these parks as centers. The parks served to unite the neighborhoods around them by furnishing common activities for the children and the parents at essentially zero cost to them. Gymnastics and sports facilities were there. Picnicking was allowed among the beautifully kept shrubbery and trees. Wading pools and sand piles were maintained for the young. Skating was provided for everyone all through the winter. There was the library and allied classes and a story hour. During the summer months, band concerts were given every Saturday evening. The parks were used hard but remained clean and fresh and green; at least when I grew up it was so. Where the money came from for all of this (which required a large maintenance crew), I never questioned. I know it was not from our family; we paid only $25 in rent per month and no taxes.

There was a vacant lot south of our building and one of my first recollections is playing in it one very hot and lonely summer. It probably was the summer of 1908, soon after we moved in. There was a very neat small frame house on the opposite boundary of the lot, marked off by a painted picket fence which ran back to an equally neat barn on the alley. There lived the very proper Beaudry family, parents and two boys, Foster and Wallace (middle name Rathbone), who I still had not made my friends. Two things that slowed our acquaintance were a pair of goats that the boy tethered in my lot. I can still see them lowering their horns getting ready to take a good run at me. Later I played a great deal with Foster and Wallace, but also came to learn that the Beaudrys considered themselves a little above the rest of the neighbors and there were certain sports the boys were forbidden to participate in.

Vera Dodson, a longtime friend who died in 1973, lived in our building across the hall from us. Her father, a tailor, had a quick temper and a large vocabulary of foul words, whereas her mother was very meek and quiet, partly because she was deaf and so was seldom aware or embarrassed by her husband's language. Vera was a year older than I and although we were in different classes in school, we did play together around the apartment. She was a little devil and was frequently spanked on her bare behind before all the neighbors.

Mr. Dodson tanned my hide once. He had just finished making a nice wooden music cabinet which he had stained and varnished to a high gloss. Somehow I was in the parlor with it and was swinging my skate key on the end of a string when the string broke and the key struck the cabinet square in the middle and left a sizable dent there. Before I knew it Mr. Dodson had me over his knee and was letting me have it. He was so effective that my father didn't think I needed any more when I got home.

As I grew older, I began to see that our family had its problems. My father was and had always been a good-looking, jovial, and well-liked young man, if a little on the wild side. He and Harry Ney had lived together as young bachelors at the Auburn Park Golf Club, which was beyond their means. There they partied and learned to drink a lot. It was a gay life that my father never got over. He was employed as a clerk—nowadays called an accountant, but without the luxury of the electronic calculator. My father did it all in his head, and very rapidly too. How awful it must have been to be a mental laborer in the pre-computer days! He worked in the back room of a small brokerage office; Simmons, Day & Co. was the firm name. There were two Day brothers in the brokerage business: Win (Winthrop) who was a partner and Min (Minton) who, like my father, just worked there for his brother. I assume that my father met Min Day playing golf and got his job that way. Min and his wife always remained good friends and we often visited at their home in Elmhurst, Illinois. It turned out that the atmosphere of the brokerage office was just the kind that my father didn't need. He stuck with it through all his life, changing jobs often since it seems the firms were constantly going bankrupt or, as they said, to the wall.

I can still remember Jule, as his brothers called my father (others referred to him as Butch), coming home very late