July 10, 2001
Scientist's Stem Cell Work Creates Uproar
By SHERYL GAY STOLBERG
MADISON, Wis., July 6 — When Jonas Salk discovered the polio
vaccine, he granted the journalist Edward R. Murrow an
interview, appeared in a photo spread in Life magazine, and
became an American hero virtually overnight. When Dolly the
sheep was cloned, her creator, Ian Wilmut, was featured in
news magazines and on television programs around the globe.
Few people, by contrast, have ever heard of James A.
Thomson. And that is just the way Dr. Thomson likes it.
Three years ago, Dr. Thomson, a developmental biologist at
the University of Wisconsin, became the first person to
isolate stem cells from human embryos. Nobel laureates
praised his work as a breakthrough that might revolutionize
modern medicine. Conservatives and some religious leaders,
notably Pope John Paul II, denounced it as immoral.
Now President Bush is considering whether to permit federal
financing for the research; current law bans spending
taxpayer dollars on such work. And here in Wisconsin, where
a private foundation affiliated with the university holds
the lucrative patent rights to the cells Dr. Thomson
discovered, some legislators are contemplating a ban on
future embryonic stem cell work.
At the vortex of the controversy is an intensely private,
soft-spoken scientist who, by all accounts, including his
own, has thought carefully about the ethical implications of
his research, as well as the inevitable publicity. That he
might wind up in the spotlight so worried Dr. Thomson, he
said, that he almost decided not to pursue the work that,
many scientists say, holds out the hope for curing diseases
as varied as Parkinson's, Alzheimer's and diabetes.
But in the end, he said, with characteristic understatement,
"I just decided it would be important enough to do it."
Everything about Dr. Thompson appears to curve inward. He is
stoop- shouldered, with perpetual stubble on his chin, a man
who clearly cares little for the trappings of appearance. In
the laboratory, he wears rumpled oxford-cloth shirts, khaki
pants and a Timex watch with a Velcro band; he dressed no
differently when he was called to testify before the United
States Senate, an experience that, he admits, left him
"scared to death."
He shuns most interviews, and all requests to appear on
television. ("I don't own a television," he explains, "so
why should I support a media I don't like very much?") He
shares few personal details, save that on long car trips he
often catches himself singing, "The City of New Orleans," a
song about a train. He also likes to hang glide. Asked to
describe him, his colleagues inevitably chose the same word:
quiet.
"I'm sure Jamie feels like he would just like to crawl back
into his hole and just do science," said Dr. Jon Ordorico, a
transplant surgeon at Wisconsin who is collaborating with
Dr. Thomson. As R. Alta Charo, a Wisconsin bioethicist whose
counsel Dr. Thomson has sought, said, "He wasn't made for
this event."
Because embryonic stem cells have the potential to grow into
any cell or tissue in the human body, scientists say they
hold great potential for repairing damaged tissues or
organs. But to extract them requires that the embryos be
destroyed, and so every year since 1995, Congress has
attached language to its appropriations legislation to ban
taxpayer financing of the work.
The ban requires Dr. Thomson to straddle parallel worlds. He
works primarily out of the university's primate center, a
pale pink stucco two- story building in an out-of-the way
neighborhood of squat apartment houses and clapboard homes
here in Madison. This is his federally financed laboratory,
where he studies stem cells derived from the embryos of
rhesus monkeys and marmosets.
But when he conducts research on human cells, he must move
to an entirely different laboratory. This one is paid for by
the WiCell Research Institute, a corporation set up as a
subsidiary of the Wisconsin Alumni Research Foundation, the
nonprofit group that holds the patent to Dr. Thomson's work.
The location of the WiCell laboratory has never been
disclosed, and it is strictly off limits to reporters.
"We are concerned about the safety of our employees,"
explained Carl E. Gulbrandsen, the foundation's managing
director. "There are some very radical groups that practice
terrorism nowadays."
For $5,000, WiCell will send out two tiny vials of human
embryonic stem cells to any legitimate scientist who agrees
to abide by the institute's restrictions, which include a
prohibition on using the cells to create a person. So far,
WiCell officials say, about 30 requests have been filled and
60 requests are pending. But in this country, the cells
cannot land in any laboratory that buys so much as a light
bulb with federal money.
Here in Madison, academic researchers have another option:
they can work out of the WiCell laboratory. But the facility
is cramped, Dr. Thomson said, and so while scientists across
the campus are clamoring to collaborate with him, only a
handful can.
"This in itself is more damaging than the lack of federal
grant money," he said. "It really restricts who can do the
work and who can't."
The son of a certified public accountant and a secretary,
Dr. Thomson grew up in the Chicago suburb of Oak Park. As a
child, he said, he dreamed of becoming a scientist, having
gained experience with a brother who was adept at "blowing
things up." But then, he said, "I think most little kids
want to be a scientist."
One of the great mysteries of life, of course, is how human
beings develop from a single cell to an incredibly complex
organism, and this is where Dr. Thomson's interests lie. Now
42, he came of age at just the right time to pursue this
line of inquiry; in 1980, biologists extracted embryonic
stem cells from mice, opening up a whole new look at the
development of mammals.
Embryonic development, however, is far different in mice
than in people, and so Dr. Thomson eventually turned his
attention to isolating the stem cells in another species
closer to humans: the rhesus monkey. In 1991, he took a job
at the Wisconsin primate center.
Interested more in research than teaching, he signed on as a
staff scientist and began training as a veterinary
pathologist, which he said he hoped would provide him some
"job security." (Owing to his discovery, he has since been
promoted to assistant professor, the lowest rung on the
academic ladder.)
As he grew closer to isolating the monkey cells, Dr. Thomson
said, it became clear to him that the next step would be to
do the same in humans. So he sought the advice of Dr. Charo
and another Wisconsin bioethicist, Dr. Norman Fost.
"He has been fanatically attentive to the ethical issues,"
Dr. Fost said. "We are lucky that the guy who is the pioneer
in all this is such a responsible, thoughtful person."
For Dr. Thomson, the moral questions about embryo
experimentation were not difficult to resolve; he concluded
that research was the "better ethical choice," so long as
the embryos, created by couples who no longer wanted to use
them to have children, would otherwise be discarded.
But he was worried that stem cells might be misused to clone
people — a fear that, he said, eventually abated in 1997,
when Dr. Wilmut demonstrated by cloning Dolly that embryos
were not needed because clones could be produced from adult
cells. And he did not like the idea that he might become a
public person. So he contemplated leaving to someone else
the research in human embryos.
But in 1995, days after he published his findings in
primates, Geron, a biotechnology company in Menlo Park,
Calif., offered to finance the human research. Dr. Thomson,
who said he has no financial ties to the company, and owns
no stock in it, accepted. Today, Geron retains licensing
rights to Dr. Thomson's patents, and is entitled to
commercialize his discoveries.
Here in Wisconsin at least, Dr. Thomson's fear about
becoming a public figure has been realized. In 1999, the
year after he announced he had isolated stem cells in
humans, Tommy G. Thompson, who was then governor, invited
Dr. Thomson to the Capitol in Madison and singled out the
researcher for praise. Dr. Thomson described it as a brave
move.
Now, the former governor is Mr. Bush's secretary of health
and human services, and is pressing the president to permit
taxpayers to finance research on stem cells. But because the
National Institutes of Health, which Mr. Thompson oversees,
has refused to release grant money for the research, a
number of scientists, Dr. Thomson included, are suing him.
The case is titled Thomson v. Thompson.
Here in Madison, meanwhile, the Chamber of Commerce, hoping
to boost a fledgling biotechnology industry, has come out in
support of the embryonic stem cell work. But the State
Legislature is considering a ban on experiments that might
create additional cell types, or lines — a proposal that is
similar to a compromise being considered by Mr. Bush.
"Some people say, let's go slow on legislation," said the
proposal's author, State Representative Sheryl Albers, a
Republican. "I say let's move a little slower on stem cell
research, but not cut it off altogether."
As the debate continues, Dr. Thomson is trying to focus on
his work. "In the fullness of time," he predicted, "the
research will go forward. The question is how quickly it
will go forward, and where it will be done."
--------------------
Bob Martone
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http://www.samlink.com/~bmartone
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