061901 (Mad) Scientist's Stem Cell Work Creates Uproar
Several G.O.P. Senators Back Money for Stem Cell Research
(June 19, 2001)
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."
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