Excuse Me Sir, Would You Like to Buy a Kilo of Isopropyl Bromide? is one hair-raising book about how chemistry and medicine used to be done. Review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1095756192 ; excerpts:

"Pete came home. Part of his face was smashed and one eye looked off at an angle. He had cracked up the TBF on the qualifying run, riding it to the ground. He had managed to crawl away before it exploded, to drag himself the three miles back to the base, bleeding and in great pain. They told him it was a miracle that he was alive; there was a clot in his bloodstream and sooner or later it would block and the lights would go out. Pete was tall and handsome in his Lt. SG uniform. He had been promoted after the accident, but this was small recompense, his face was terribly scarred. I took him home and my mother nearly fainted. He was amused. We decided to get dates and fortunately Olin Crouch loaned us his girl Betty, she had a friend Camille and we took the girls riding. They had to be back at Sims Dormitory at 10:00 so after taking them home we decided to drive up to the lake where we had been Sea Scouts, to the shore where we had launched our sailboats, to the little point where C. had yielded her all. We talked and talked. He told me that time no longer mattered. I knew I would never see him again. Oh, Pete, my wonderful best friend, Pete, my companion on so many hikes; Pete with your red bulldog sweater running around the ice park to join me when we were kids going to school. His voice was low. He told me not to feel bad, that he had no fear, that we would always keep in touch no matter what happened, no matter where he was. We were back in front of my house. The dawn was breaking but we were wide awake. He had never been a toucher but now he put his arms around me for a great hug and then he was gone. Three weeks later in a heavy snow fall at Great Lakes Training Station his car ran into the huge tree at the entrance. He was already dead. I saw him two days later and his eyes were closed but there was a faint smile on his face. We buried him at Greenlawn Cemetery hut he lives down by the water works. He walks the old trail winding by the Broad River where we walked and played as boys. I take my closest friends to walk there, or go alone. Only I can see him.

...Atherton visited the new laboratory. An excellent carpenter and plumber, he went to work erecting set-ups, installing cabinets and making the area more functional. Our little plant was close to the river, a convenient place to dump wastes in the pre-EPA days.

...This was hexachloropropene and it required distillation. I have made the separation of the hexa sound easy; actually getting it out of a mixture of salt, methanol and crud evoked curses and prayers and I usually got a great part on my arms and clothes. According to OSHA I should have died in late 1944. All that happened was that I developed good biceps. I might add that we poured all the water, waste alcohol and caustic, some hexa, some hepta, all the crud, and a liberal amount of my personal sweat on the ground back of the plant. Rapidly we had this region cleared of vegetation and began our own Sahara. This was pre-EPA days. The only witnesses were the vultures soaring over the terrace and one small black and white cat.

...The government had shipped us, as promised, a drum of 200 proof ethyl alcohol. If I were a drinker, and had sold it for its alcohol content we could have doubled the value of the contract, but when I ordered it I had the idea that crude TXN must be dry to esterify. One of the students from the University who was working for us, Jimmy Stranch, now at Tenn. Eastman, was aware of the existence of this drum, and decided to requisition a small part to blend with grape juice and make the "Purple Jesus" at this time, and perhaps even now, popular with social groups. His fraternity was giving a party and Jimmy, working at dusk, removed several quarts, but unfortunately from the wrong drum. Methyl alcohol when imbibed straight, or diluted with grape juice produces dramatic results such as blindness and paralysis. On a cold New Year morning my telephone at home rang and it was Jimmy. "You know the drum stored back of No. 1 distillation column - it is Ethyl alcohol, isn't it?" I told him that we had moved the ethyl alcohol into a locked area and that he probably was confused with the drum of methanol now stored in its place. Jimmy told me that he and his friends had imbibed a bit, fortunately very little - for it did not have the right "bouquet" and that he was off to the hospital. I saw him a few years back when I was giving a talk for the ACS in Kingston, Tenn. His face is fuller and his hair, like my own, is no longer black. He survived. It seems that some people can drink small amounts of methanol without permanent damage. He must have been one of the lucky.

...Captain Hearon called with another assignment. Later I would learn that this was for Oppenheimer himself. He wanted us to make two kilos of fluoroethanol. There was no procedure supplied so I went to the literature and found that Friederich Hoffmann had reported a preparation starting with chloroethanol and anhydrous potassium fluoride in an ethylene glycol medium. I ran it with indifferent success and developed a splitting headache. I then calcined my KF, repeated the reaction making sure the glycol was dry too, and the yield was somewhat higher, and I developed the headache again. Finally I made enough to fill the order for which, as I recall, we were paid $200. Ten years later I had a chance to meet Dr. Hoffmann himself and he marveled that I had made his compound and survived. He told me that in Germany in Bockemuller's lab everyone knew of the terrible toxicity of fluoroethanol which metabolized in the body to fluoroacetic acid and was a Krebs Cycle blocking agent. I told him that in our laboratory we had taken no precautions but somehow I had survived. For those who are curious, or wish to make fluoroethanol and offer it to us at Columbia Organics the compound has a musky, rather tart odor. By the time you have established this you have probably had a fatal exposure.

...Building a bathroom was necessary due to the deterioration of our privy. It had always leaned, and it always squeaked when one sat down, and there was always the exciting possibility that it would tilt over during one's visit...She entered and shortly afterwards we heard a scream and were astonished to see that the walls had collapsed and Mrs. Kahn was hanging like a trapeze artist from one of the beams...We cleaned up the two of them and Mrs. Kahn assured us that she could see the humor in what happened, but never returned.

...One of our customers for insecticide was a twitching, gaunt Mr. Jackson who killed termites with white arsenic. "I'm one of the last of the arsenic killers, boys", he said to a fascinated audience of Columbia Organic's Industrial Division (myself and Max Revelise). He showed us how one trenches under the house and pours in a solution of arsenous acid in the form of the sodium salt; how the arsenic had accumulated under his finger nails, in his lips and gums and in the whites of the eyes. He was impressive. I had read somewhere that white arsenic was the poison most fashionable during the period of the Borgias, that people could develop immunity to it over a long period of time, that it produced twitching, and that those who had used it in safe doses not only survived but developed super libidos. I asked Mr. Jackson if he had a super libido, then translated this into the language of the people. He guffawed and told me that arsenic was great, the best aphrodisiac in the world. He went on to tell me that he had just married a "widow school teacher", that he would bring her out some time and she could testify as to his powers. While he talked he twitched...'I asked Jackson how he kept in business. After all, sooner or later all houses get termite proofed—and he was not Columbia's only termite killer. He confided that he had developed a business booster, and showed me an envelope containing roach eggs and in his truck a little cage containing mated mice. When he completed his job he left eggs or mice depending on "conditions." (The moral: check the character of your exterminator). He told me tricks of the trade, the hammer on pipes routine, "Yore studs is et up with termites, mam"; (you show the horrified owners a termite chewed hunk of wood brought from some other location).

...Our industrial chemist, Max Revelise, with the aid of his trusty assistant, M. Gustave Gergel, developed a solution of DuPont's "soapless soap," MP-189...At the College Inn, the owner asked if it would "take off" tile and I told him the product was so gentle that one could gargle with it. He asked me to demonstrate. I gargled and he ordered a quart; my all-time low in making a sale, my all-time low in self esteem. I told the story to Hank; he was impressed. I gargled and he was even more impressed. I cleaned a test swatch of linoleum tile and he was "sold." General Arts was having a sales meeting; he asked me to put up 100 cases of Luster-San and give him a sample. He would gargle for the group. I left the filling and sample work to Mr. Seideman who made one of those small errors which frustrate a project and doom a sale...Instantly he gagged and bubbles came from his mouth and he yelled, tore at his throat and behaved like a madman. At first the audience considered this an act and applauded—then someone called an ambulance. Two of the employees of General Arts held Hank, who was in convulsions.

...We made "Willis's Master Spray," the first DDT formulation offered in Columbia. Since DDT did not go into solution very fast I conceived the idea of dissolving it in carbon tetrachloride, then adding deodorized kerosene. It is a question of which was woozier after an application, the insect or the hunter.. As a result of this particular brilliance, many cases of cirrhosis of liver may have been initiated.

...He had read somewhere that potassium iodide could be reacted with iodine, that as a solution in diethylene gylcol the product was antiseptic without the burn or color of iodine....He had photographs made of the Revelise backside before and after treatment which he showed to an all-male audience of country druggists, enraptured with the scientific breakthrough of their favorite "drummer." Then my toes developed first numbness and later sores and simultaneously Revelise had a recurrence of his condition and was taken off, howling with pain, to one of the hospitals where an emergency hemorrhoidectomy was performed separating Max from a part of his lower intestine. Hasell Ross, the surgeon, told me it was the worst . . . he had ever seen.

...Shotgun would repair to the side of the industrial building and fill each jug half full of water, add a little blue dye and then fill the balance of the jug with muriatic acid. He affixed his label "Cannon Cleaner—Blow Away the Crud," packed four jugs to the case and added a special toilet bowl brush— a normal brush with a long handle...The water in South Carolina contains iron salts and pipes are often old and corroded. As a result an ugly red stain precipitates in sinks and commodes (and probably stomachs and intestines as well), which melts away magically when treated with muriatic acid, the active ingredient in Cannon Cleaner. Tiny amounts of sink and commode (and the human stomach) erode in the process, but the action is slow and the salesman is seldom blamed. The magic disappearance of the red stain and the eloquence of the "pitchman" assisted the sale with restaurants, theatres and, especially, service stations as victims.

...when Parry, whom I already knew by reputation, sauntered in disguised as a simple country bumpkin I knew he was the director of research for Naval Research Labs, and his mission was to find someone foolhardy enough to make pentaborane. News travels....Parry chatted with me in the breezy, confidential voice that has been used by every con man since Judas Iscariot and told me (hut the only reason that the Navy was willing to farm out this fascinating project was simply luck of qualified personnel. That my splendid contribution to Manhattan District was well known by the military, that people spoke of me as a true Southern prodigy. (The old devil was so good that I listened with gradually increasing preparedness to make pentaborane, although I had been forewarned that it was dog with a capital "D".) He told me that we had been especially chosen as the only vendor with the skill, the integrity and the willingness to stick to a project once we started it. I told him there was a small matter of startup costs to put in a plant for the manufacture of a substance known to be violently pyrophoric. This revelation took him back a bit, but he proceeded silkily to tell me he was prepared to place a large order and my bank would do the rest. It was obvious that if we got poor yield (or worse, exploded) that the banks would take over our business and I would go to debtor's prison. This was not mentioned to my charming visitor. That evening I studied Schlesinger's monumental work on boron hydrides at the University library and the next day told Parry that I was flattered but would not make pentaborane. He was affable, showed no surprise, no disappointment, just produced a list of names, most of which had been crossed off; ours was close to the bottom...the following Spring the Navy put up its own plant, which blew up with considerable loss of life. The story did not make the press.

...there were references to the physical properties and chemical reactions [of methyl isocyanide] but a paucity of descriptions of the synthesis. I telephoned Dr. Bigelow and offered to make 100 grams for $100 which he said was a bit steep so I modified the price to $80, also supply- ing the methyl iodide and silver cyanide, and, since his student Cuculo needed (he material badly, he agreed to this price...Despite endless showers and changes of clothes (burying the discards), I stank constantly and kept a severe headache. Finally I sent two 50 gram bottles to Dr. B. I telephoned him and advised that aside from the loss of sleep, clothes and good humor I had an investment of more money in raw materials than the total he was paying. He advised that "a bargain made was a debt unpaid". I told him that I depended for my bread on what I produced with my hands and that I had probably impaired my health and jeopardized my marriage. He agreed to pay an extra $25. "Dr. Bigelow, I asked, why is there such a hiatus between Moissan's work with this methyl isocyanide and your requirement? Why is there such a paucity of literature references?" "It's the toxicity, Gergel", was his cheerful reply, "Didn't you know that methyl isocyanide is one of the worst poisons known? It killed Moissan, and I didn't want to kill John Cuculo as he is taking his Ph.D." It was apparent (1) that rank has its privileges and (2) I was expendable.

...When one treats 1,2,3-trichloropropane with alkali and a little water the reaction is violent; there is a tendency to deposit the reaction product, the raw materials and the apparatus on the ceiling and the attending chemist. I solved this by setting up duplicate 12 liter flasks, each equipped with double reflux condensers and surrounding each with a half dozen large tubs. In practice, when the reaction "took off" I would flee through the door or window and battle the eruption with water from a garden hose. The contents flying from the flasks were deflected by the ceiling and collected under water in the tubs. I used towels to wring out the contents which separated, shipping the lower layer to DuPont. They complained of solids suspended in the liquid, but accepted the product and ordered more.

...We had a tremendous order for methyl iodide. I made it by day, with George's help, and in the evening Max Revelise and I worked on some articles for the Kirk-Othmer Encyclopedia of Chemical Technology. The chapter on methyl iodide turned out to have special significance. I am a reader of the classics and during one particular evening I was re-reading Thomas Hardy's The Return of the Native. Closing my eyes I could see the sheep daubed with Diggory Venn's riddle, beautiful against the Devon meadows. I opened my eyes and the color was still there...The next morning I woke up to a full orchestra. The music was pleasant but it came from within and could not be cut off....I did not go to the doctor, not just then. I was sure that Monday would find me symptom free, and sure enough the music died away early in the morning. I hurried to the plant...He asked me what I had been working with last and I told him methyl iodide and he asked me to go back home and check everything I could find on its toxicity...Herbert suggested that I go back to work, doing the same thing, making the same chemicals. I went back to the lab that very afternoon. Llewllyn had left. He was now a confirmed hypochondriac, fearing methyl iodide every time his heart missed a beat...As residue of the toxicity I had chronic insomnia for years, and stayed quite slim. The government had me questioned by Dr. Rotariu of Loyola University for there had been a number of cases of methyl bromide poisoning and the victims were either too befuddled or too dead to be questioned. He asked me why I had not committed suicide which had been the final solution for some of the afflicted and I had to thank again the patience and wisdom of Dr. Screiber. It is to be noted that another factor was our lack of a replacement worker.

...Once he gave me a present for Dr. Willard Davis of the University of South Carolina, a 100/g. bottle of pure ethylene dimercaptan. One hundred grams of the dimercaptan smells like every polecat in the world confined to one room. I left with the bottle leaking just enough to pollute the air and saturate the interior of the car. In mid-town Baltimore I picked up an escort from the police who hurried me on. I was stopped seven more times during the trip back to Columbia. I made an abortive visit to Philip Morris Research Laboratories but did not get past the reception desk.

...He confided the purpose of the visit. During the twenty years which had passed he had, as he told me, become a guardian of important secrets vital to the country—but his importance was known to Russia's intelligence who had sent their best men to track him down. Knowing his danger Scott had left his job, become a member of the brethren of the road, staying in hobo jungles, relentlessly pursued, with every friend suspect....Whoever was after Scott was simply a part of the crazy half-dream in which he had always lived. I examined the brief case. It was rather expensive and fairly new. In it was (1) a small package of fishhooks, a coil of nylon line and a small frying pan in a paper bag. There was also a small, fully loaded Smith and Wesson 38, a Russian newspaper and a severed finger with a rather long nail. I kept the brief case for several years and it burned with everything else in the fire of 1958. I received a postcard stamped Fargo, No. Dakota with only two words, "I Gotim." This was several months later and there was no signature, so it might not have even been Scotty.

...I made many friends including a practitioner of voodoo and devil-devil we will call Dr. J. Now, his specialty was love potions and their opposites, but he was available for hire to anyone who had a grievance. His excellence was praised by all who knew him and he specialized in difficult cases. Elmer had a difficult case. I wrote Dr. J, and told him of the small chemical company which was being persecuted by the large wealthy one (not mentioning why this large wealthy company was so irate). I leaned heavily on the relative sizes of the (wo antagonists, and enclosed a check. Ten days later I received a thank you with a copy of a letter to them in idiomatic English suggesting that they negotiate with Fike. Several weeks went by and naturally we did not hear from them so I wrote my friend once more. This time I received a bill for further services along with a copy of a second letter warning of the serious consequences of their neglect of this important matter. Two weeks later there was a serious explosion in the Bridesburg plant. Elmer was permitted to license.

...They used this for propellant containers in the "Nike," "Bomarc" and "Honest John" missiles. Pelly and Paridon lured George W. to leave Carbide and run their new plant. During an unfortunate evening the yield was dumped instead of the waste. George called to tell me about it. Later when they were without funds for George's salary or my commission we dug test holes, located the strata containing the meta-aminobenzotrifluoride, sunk a pipe and pumped up the lost material which paid his salary and my commission. All we had to do was wash and distill.

...Dr. Lipscomb had retired to his chemical plant and succumbed to a liver ailment, not uncommon in organic chemists of his era.

...During an operation his heart stopped; this was before our modern hospitals had techniques for handling this disaster. I guess they felt poor old Henne was gone, and tidied up and sent for a stretcher to wheel him off to the morgue, then went downstairs to fill out the forms. A young intern passed the room, saw the motionless Henne and bent on experiment turned him over, cut through his rib cage and massaged his heart. Henne (with many projects interrupted by illness) on reviving got off the bed to return to the laboratory. The reaction of the intern is not recorded.

...The voice over the phone was dull and rather unhappy, the speaker was having problems. Thionyl chloride and sulfur dioxide, when breathed, will do this to a chemist; in the background there was a gushing sound, like an active waterfall or volcano. "That's the CBE," he told me, "flashing out the vessel. The lid went up five minutes ago and is heading toward the Viscose plant." These lids weigh tons and I could only hope that it would find a harmless place to land. We agreed that the process needed more research.

...When Marvin left to go to Emory he persuaded John Prinz to re-enter law school. He made an excellent record, all A's his first semester, then he tired of College and drifted back to Columbia. He did not ask for his old job back—we would gladly have given it to him, instead he lived up at Lake Murray and I would see him staggering along the road at dusk and would stop for a chat. He was always friendly and would beg me to come visit. Shortly after, at less than 40, he died of cancer. Max R., Don and John would all be its victims.

...While most of the bromine was sold, a part was diverted to the production of ethylene dibromide. This is known in the trade as EDB and is used as an additive to gasolines containing tetraethyl and lead as anti-knock. When gasoline containing TEL is burned, lead deposits in the exhaust manifold; EDB is a scavenger which reacts to form volatile lead bromide so that innocent citizens who breath the fumes are more efficiently poisoned. I noted that the workers in the EDB factory wore sandals and waded through a pool of EDB collecting from leaks and drippings. The odor was stupefying. More dangerous was the known absorption of EDB through the skin. Although it was a fairly modern plant, it would be closed down in a minute by our EPA and OSHA. There were bits of nonsense: I noted a pipe running vertically from one floor to the other, obviously lead and obviously hot. It contained raw material bromine. I pointed out the horrendous possibility that a soft spot might be eaten out and the room and workers scalded by hot bromine; this evoked a gentle shrug from the bedrugged, bemused supervisor."

#chemistry