Alexander Fleming’s Extraordinary Traits Leading Toward the Discovery of Penicillin
The scientist used opportunities, The Matthew Effect, and meaningful work to become a success.
By John Migliore | Chemistry Major
Alexander Fleming discovered penicillin in 1928. It remained a relatively unpopular finding until 1939 when researchers Florey and Chain sought to begin testing the compound for antimicrobial activity in laboratory trials. So, like any good scientists, they obtained eight lab mice, exposed all eight to a lethal strain of Streptococcus, and treated only four with what they hoped would be a bacteria killer. Or, in other words, the first antibiotic trial ever conducted using live animals. That night the group went home and would return early in the morning to observe the experimental outcomes. Upon returning to the lab, they would witness results that would save countless lives during WWII and millions of lives across the globe. Four mice died, four lived. The penicillin worked (Gaynes 850).
Those who succeed earn their opportunities.
Alexander Fleming attended Regent Street Polytechnic as an undergraduate, graduated with distinction from St. Mary’s Medical School in London, received honorary awards including selection as a Fellow of the Royal Society, and in 1945 won the Nobel Prize in Medicine for the discovery of penicillin (Tan 367). The man rose from humble means and because of his opportunities, his discovery would limit the life-threatening effects of infection and initiate a surge of antibiotic research and medicines.
Typically, culture views success through those who have already reached the top. Few decipher the often predictable, yet sometimes obscure, steps towards success. Author of Outliers: The Story of Success Malcolm Gladwell reimagines success as “…a gift. Outliers are those who have been given opportunities — and who have had the strength and presence of mind to seize them” (267). Success should not be viewed as an incredible Cinderella story or a “pick yourself up by your bootstraps” mentality. Rather, it’s a gift. It’s an accumulation of experience, dedication, and correcting mistakes. Those who succeed earn their opportunities. And, in return, are presented with paths to propel them toward achievement.
Fleming, prior to penicillin, served as a doctor in the Royal Army during WWI and published research on various antibiotic-like compounds as a professor at St. Mary’s. Through these interactions his probability of success increased. In fact, theories proposed by Malcolm Gladwell in Outliers, present an even more predictable picture. Gladwell would suggest that Alexander Fleming achieved success through extraordinary opportunities, The Matthew Effect, and meaningful work.
World War I broke out across Europe in 1911 between the Allied and Central Powers. 37 million would die. Due to the unsanitary living conditions soldiers faced, 8.5 million casualties resulted from disease (Sholwalter). Few prepared for the horrors of infection, and even fewer understood the complexity of bacteria.
As a practicing physician and captain in the Royal Army Medical Corps, Fleming witnessed the devastating effects of bacterial infections in humans. The conventional treatment methods of surface application antiseptics like hydrogen peroxide inflicted more harm than good in patients. The medicines failed to kill bacteria in the deep tissue wounds many soldiers obtained (Gaynes 851). What we had wasn’t good enough, and Fleming knew it.
And, by this time, Flom had spent more than 10 years mastering this area of law. He was ready.
Alexander Fleming grew up in Ayrshire, Scotland to parents Hugh Fleming and Grace Stirling Morton. The family came from humble means as farmers in the northern United Kingdom. In 1898, Fleming followed in the footsteps of his three brothers and one sister to London to attend Regent Street Polytechnic School as an undergraduate. To put in perspective the uniqueness of this opportunity, in the early 1900s less than 3 percent of United Kingdom students earned college degrees (Bolton 15). The Fleming children would again receive an additional opportunity when their uncle, a doctor in London, died and shared his estate with the Fleming kids. With this additional financial assistance, Alexander Fleming enrolled in St. Mary’s Medical School at London University. While at St. Mary’s, Fleming earned recognition as a marksman in the school’s rifle club. The club captain persuaded Fleming to change his career choice from surgery to research because to pursue surgery meant Fleming would leave St. Mary’s and leave the rifle club. Along with the captain of the club, another member thought highly enough of Fleming that he arranged for him to work in the Almourth research group (Tan 368). Fleming would remain in this group for the entirety of his research career.
Joe Flom returned home after serving in World War II as a radar repairman. Not having graduated from college yet, but realizing law school did not require a Bachelor’s degree, he enrolled at Harvard Law School with the help of the G.I. Bill to assist with the financial burdens. Flom graduated in 1948 and served in the relatively obscure field of litigation law (Glater). Or at least, obscure prior to the 1970s. Flom took advantage of whatever business walked in the door, continued mastering his craft, and remained lurking in the weeds until the world was ready for his expertise. Then, the 1970s came. The world of big-business takeovers began booming and litigation lawyers became the Tom Bradys of the corporate world. And, by this time, Flom had spent more than 10 years mastering this area of law. He was ready.
Stories of extraordinary opportunities range from Scottish researchers like Alexander Fleming to Jewish lawyers like Joe Flom. Often, the accumulation of their opportunities establishes their expertise beyond the average individual in a similar area. As Malcolm Gladwell explains in Outliers, people like Fleming and Flom “toiled away in a relatively obscure field without any great hopes for worldly success. But then — boom!” (128). These men had no real understanding their lines of work would result in world changing healthcare or business paradigm shifts. They took what was placed in front of them, dedicated their lives to perfecting what was placed in front of them, and capitalized on their hard-work when the world was ready for them.
Both Chris Langan and Robert Oppenheimer loved math. That’s about where the similarities end. Langan grew up so poor he didn’t have a pair of matching socks. Oppenheimer was the son of an artist and wealthy garment manufacturer. Langan knocked out his father in order to defend himself from the abuse. Oppenheimer spent his summers in Europe with his grandfather. In college, Langan lost his scholarship because his mother forgot to fill out the parent financial statement. Oppenheimer attempted to poison and kill his tutor only to be put on probation and assigned to meet with a psychiatrist. As adults, Langan would never publish a scholarly paper because he received only a year and a half of college education. Oppenheimer would persuade General Leslie Groves to allow him to be the scientific direct of the Manhattan Project even though he was a theoretical physicist with zero experimental experience (Outliers 98).
What exactly has taken place between the stories of Langan and Oppenheimer? How do two extraordinarily intelligent men end up with two extraordinarily different lives? Daniel Rigney, author of The Matthew Effect, would aptly describe it as the Matthew Effect. More specifically, the Matthew Effect is the phenomenon “that initial advantage tends to beget further advantage, and disadvantage further disadvantage, among individuals and groups through time, creating widening gaps between those who have more and those who have less” (1). This can be thought of as compound interest on an investment. Those who invest early and continue investing will reap the benefits as time progresses. But, those who fail to invest will gradually fall behind only to continue watching the gap widen as time goes on. As we continue on this topic, we should ask ourselves, how does this apply to Alexander Fleming?
Fleming grew up in a farm town in the United Kingdom. He wouldn’t receive a worthwhile education until attending Regent Polytechnic School, now known as the University of Westminster. This institution generated the model for other higher education polytechnics in the United Kingdom (University of Westminster). He would then take four years off school to work in a packaging plant until his uncle’s passing. This allowed him to attend St. Mary’s Medical School where he graduated at the top of his class. He would continue researching and practicing medicine until WWI. Here, he would hone his craft a medical bacteriologist in the Royal Medical Army (Tan 368). With a medical degree, experience as a captain in the Medical Army, and years of research experience, Fleming’s advantages compounded. All of this compounding would pay off in 1929 with the discovery of penicillin.
For comparison, Oppenheimer directed the Manhattan Project at age 38. This would culminate with the production of the atomic bomb, a monumental feat in the world of experimental physics. At 38, Fleming was one year removed from WWI and still ten years away from the discovery of penicillin. Those who receive advantages early and continue compounding their advantages receive their interest sooner. In the field of science, Daniel Rigney suggests the scientific community describes itself as a meritocracy, but reveals that really isn’t true. Rigney writes, “that even when two scientists are equally productive, the scientist with the more prestigious credentials gains more recognition than the scientist with less prestigious credentials” (The Matthew Effect 26). This is exactly what we witnessed between Oppenheimer, Fleming, and Langan.
Those who possessed the highest credentials, who compounded their advantages, and who played the system right reaped the benefits. Langan never earned the equivalent of an associate’s degree, while Fleming and Oppenheimer soared through the world of academia until the world of academia accepted them and their compound interest.
Penicillin may not resonate with today’s culture compared to how profound it was nearly 75 years ago. World changing discoveries usually lose their impact as researchers, leaders, and societies continue advancing their fields. In Outliers, as Gladwell describes the trials of Chinese rice paddy farmers, he explains, “working really hard is what successful people do, and the genius of the culture formed in the rice paddies is that hard work gave those in the fields a way to find meaning in the midst of great uncertainty and poverty” (239). For a field of study or culture or business to continue advancing, a future must be outlined in that area by those who approach their work with a passion. Those who discover a purpose in their fields. Those who perform tasks that others would never dream of. And, those who pursue their work without regard to cost or payoff. The truly successful ones are those who find meaning in their work.
Emil “Jay” Freireich commanded the second floor children’s leukemia ward at the National Cancer Institute. It was 1955 and the brash young doctor held responsibility for treating one of highest mortality rate diseases in the United States. Hidden beneath his brash personality lived a young boy who, like these kids, never received the opportunity to experience the beauty of a carefree childhood. And because of this, Freireich was meticulous with his work. When analyzing patients’ blood, he observed a connection. The patients experiencing excessive bleeding possessed an extremely low platelet count compared to the average person. Quickly, Freireich requested blood transfusions. Unfortunately, the request was denied by the blood bank due to regulations. But, this didn’t stop Freireich. Without his supervisor’s approval, he continued with the transfusions anyways. His coworkers called him insane. His boss threatened to fire him. Still, Freirech took the risk because he cared about his patients. And the bleeding stopped (David and Goliath 147).
Freirech executed his work under supervisors who were unwilling to trust a man who dedicated more time in the leukemia ward than any doctor previously. Fleming suffered through the largest international war the world has ever seen only to discover his field of research still couldn’t save the lives of millions of soldiers.
Now, let’s return to Alexander Fleming’s time served during WWI. The war seemed to be nearing an end as he made his rounds in an overcrowded medical tent filled with cot after cot of wounded soldiers. Men suffered deep tissue damage from artillery shells, severe burns from highly flammable weaponry, and pulmonary complications from chemical gases. While many of the injuries presented their own unique treatment challenges, Fleming still considered them to be treatable. Shrapnel injuries required wound debridement by a surgeon. Flame and chemical injuries utilized fluid therapy to flush out contaminants (Thompson). But, one untreatable threat remained, infection. As a physician Fleming swore an oath to pursue every avenue in order to treat a patient. Yet, even as an expert in medical bacteriology, his wealth of knowledge was all but useless to these dying men. There was more work to be done.
Both Freirech and Fleming experienced hardship during their careers and still worked day-in and day-out to serve their patients. And isn’t that exactly what Gladwell says successful people do? They push forward no matter the cost. Freirech executed his work under supervisors who were unwilling to trust a man who dedicated more time in the leukemia ward than any doctor previously. Fleming suffered through the largest international war the world has ever seen only to discover his field of research still couldn’t save the lives of millions of soldiers. Those who view their work as meaningful report better psychological adjustment and possess qualities desirable to organizations (Steger 323). At the time, these men may not have understood the implications of their experiences and career choices, but they already knew their work was serving a greater purpose. To them, their success didn’t arise from the outcomes of their work; it arose from their journeys.
Alexander Fleming returned to his laboratory in September 1928 after a two-week holiday break. He placed his briefcase and jacket in his office, donned his lab coat, and entered his workplace. The cluttered lab bench with sterilized utensils, chemical bottles, bacteria samples, and petri dishes felt like home. In an attempt to continue his research that he left two weeks prior, Fleming began sorting through his petri dish samples. The cloudy, clear brown, half filled agar dishes revealed bacteria growth on their surfaces. Well, all of them except for one. A mold appeared atop one of the petri dish samples with what appeared to be the bacteria growing underneath. But, upon further inspection, the bacteria that was supposed to be under the mold was not growing at all. A clear ring surrounded the mold. The bacteria was dead.
To say Fleming’s discovery of a world changing antibiotic was a lucky break and could happen to anyone would be misleading.
Over the course of the next ten years, Fleming shared his discovery with microbiologists, chemists, and medical researchers across Europe. It wasn’t until 1939 when Florey and Chain would come across Fleming’s publication regarding penicillin and test eight lab mice to reveal its potential. By September 1943, the large scale production of penicillin reached a quantity capable of treating the Allied forces in WWII (Gaynes 852). Men and women, soldiers and civilians, children and adults would no longer succumb to the fate that took millions of lives just 25 years earlier in WWI.
The probability of a chance discovery like Fleming’s is next to zero. But, his opportunities and advantages still provided him with a chance. Gladwell teaches in Outliers that success lies “grounded in a web of advantages and inheritances, some deserved, some not, some earned, some just plain lucky — but all critical to making them who they are” (285). To say Fleming’s discovery of a world changing antibiotic was a lucky break and could happen to anyone would be misleading. Everything that happened to Fleming, following his brothers and sister to college, receiving an inheritance from his uncle to pay for medical school, earning rapport as a member of the rifle club, serving in the Medical Corps during WWI, researching microbiology, all of these moments, whether big or small, put him in the position to have a chance. And it only took one chance to change the face of medicine to what it is today.
WORKS CITED
Bolton, Paul. “Education: Historical Statistics.” House of Commons Library. 27 Nov. 2012. Web. 12 May 2019.
Gaynes, Robert. “The Discovery of Penicillin — New Insights After More Than 75 Years of
Clinical Use.” Emerging Infectious Diseases, vol. 23.5 (2017): 849–853. doi:10.3201/eid2305.161556.
Gladwell, Malcolm. David and Goliath underdogs, misfits, and the art of battling giants. New York: Turtleback Books, 2013. Print.
Gladwell, Malcolm. Outliers: The Story of Success. New York: Back Bay Books, 2008. Print.
Glater, Jonathan. “Joseph H. Flom Pioneering Deal Lawyer Dead at 87.” The New York Times. 23 Feb. 2011. Web.
Rigney, Daniel. The Matthew Effect: How Advantage Begets Further Advantage. New York: Columbia University Press, 2010. Print.
Showalter, Dennis. World War I. Encyclopedia Britannica, 25 Apr. 2019. Web. 12 May 2019.
Steger, Michael. “Measuring Meaningful Work: The Work and Meaning Inventory.” Journal of Career Assessment vol. 20.3 (2012): 322–337. Web. doi:10.1177/1069072711436160.
Tan, Siang Yong, and Yvonne Tatsumura. “Alexander Fleming (1881–1955): Discoverer of penicillin.” Singapore medical journal vol. 56.7 (2015): 366–7. doi:10.11622/smedj.2015105.
Thompson, George. Injuries in World War I. United States Foundation for the Commemoration of World Wars. Web. 12 May 2019.
University of Westminster. Our Heritage. University of Westminster. Web. 12 May 2019.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
John Migliore, an undergraduate student at Bethel University from Barrington, IL, seeks a position in graduate school studying polymer science. Migliore enjoys coaching ice hockey, listening to his Mom’s Spotify playlists consisting of Bruce Springsteen and John Mellencamp, and hiking in northern Minnesota.
WHAT I’VE LEARNED
A good group discussion doesn’t always end with moments from the book. It takes twists and turns and should be about the moments that resonated with you.
Fred Rogers wasn’t my go to childhood TV show. In fact, I didn’t even know who the guy was before this class.
A Clic search on the Bethel library pages saves hours of time being denied access to an article through Google Scholar.
The best speeches dropped us in a moment. I still picture Jeff Bezos as a kid playing tricks on his siblings.
Short. Choppy. Sentences. Or sentences that run on with details about the place, time, emotions, feelings, setting, are recipes cooked up by Eric Adler. (Even if my attempt at it didn’t work).
Actually do the readings. You might actually learn something in this class. You don’t have agree with Gladwell at all points, but he’ll cause you to think critically about success. You might even start asking yourself if you fall into the desirable advantages category. (Well, for most us at Bethel, extraordinary opportunities) And, even if you don’t learn learn anything, at least you can say you read a book for once.
Do your research early. You won’t regret it. Especially when Scott tells you that you have less than twelve hours to turn in you final paper.
Name dogs and write in active voice. You’ll engage the reader that way.
Working with a group isn’t easy. Especially when the group has only two days to the complete the group work. That’s where delegating the work and learning to trust others comes in handy. I can’t say I loved the group work, but I was forced to learn from it.
Try to smile.
Learn to like sharing. Your first draft won’t be good. And your team can make it better.
Scott may not seem the most organized, but he’s the most prepared out of all of us. Don’t be afraid to ask him questions. He loves a covenant.
That moment in the middle of the semester when you attend a Bob Goff talk, listen to a Bethel Alum speak about their role as a CEO, and ask your Nonno what growing up in Italy was like, only to be thinking about the Gladwellian traits that got them to where they are today.
(Editor’s note: This paper was written as part of a GES160 Inquiry Seminar class at Bethel University in St. Paul, MN.)
