By choice she did not emphasize her feminine qualities. . . . There was never lipstick to contrast with her straight black hair, while at the age of thirty-one her dresses showed all the imagination of English blue-stocking adolescents. So it was quite easy to imagine her the product of an unsatisfied mother who unduly stressed the desirability of professional careers that could save bright girls from marriages to dull men. . . . Clearly Rosy had to go or be put in her place. The former was obviously preferable because, given her belligerent moods, it would be very difficult for Maurice [Wilkins] to maintain a dominant position that would allow him to think unhindered about DNA. . . . The thought could not be avoided that the best home for a feminist was in another person's lab.
Ten years after Rosalind Franklin's death, James Watson described her thus in his best-selling book The Double Helix. When a friend of Franklin's tried to console her mother that at least Franklin would always be remembered, her mother's answer was, "I would rather she were forgotten than remembered in this way."
Watson's account omitted the fact that Franklin later became his friend, and — much more significantly — that without an unauthorized peek at her unpublished data, he and Francis Crick probably would neither have published their famous paper on the structure of DNA in 1953, nor won their Nobel Prizes in 1962. Franklin did not share the Nobel Prize; she died in 1958 at the age of 37.
Franklin was born to an affluent Jewish family that strove for centuries to become more English than the English themselves. Described as an "alarmingly clever" girl, she amused herself with math problems and vowed to become a scientist. She won a scholarship to Cambridge, though her family refused the money and paid her tuition with its own funds. After completing her Ph.D., she did post-doctoral work in France and specialized in X-ray crystallography of carbonaceous solids. She eventually returned to England and took a position at King's College London. It was there that she took X-ray diffraction photographs of DNA strands that uncovered DNA's double-helical structure.
Franklin's 27 months at King's were among the least happy of her life. She missed France and despised the men's-club atmosphere that even forbade her to eat in the same dining room as her male colleagues. She butted heads especially with senior researcher Maurice Wilkins. In fact, Wilkins and Franklin were both misled (maybe out of sheer carelessness) by J.T. Randall, director of King's Biophysics Unit. Randall sent Franklin a letter telling her that she would be in charge of DNA research, all the while allowing Wilkins to think that DNA would remain his territory and that Franklin would assist him. Communication between Franklin and Wilkins all but disappeared, and Wilkins didn't learn of Randall's letter to Franklin until years after her death. While she was still very much alive, and planning to depart from King's, Wilkins wrote to Crick that he hoped the "smoke of witchcraft" would soon leave his eyes.
Perhaps to his later regret, Wilkins eventually showed one of Franklin's unpublished DNA photographs (the now-famous "Photograph 51") to Watson and Crick of the Cavendish. Upon seeing the photograph, Watson realized that DNA was helical. Wilkins hoped to publish with Watson and Crick, but after seeing the DNA photograph, they scooped him as well as Franklin. They published their paper shortly afterwards with scant acknowledgment to Franklin or her assistant, Raymond Gosling.
Crick — who became a close friend of Franklin's before she died — remarked in the late 1970s, "First-class scientists take risks. Rosalind, it seems to me, was too cautious." That "caution" included pointing out to Watson and Crick that an early attempt they made at modeling DNA was wrong. And a recent discovery of some of Crick's correspondence, which had long been considered lost, suggests that Franklin's interpretation of DNA was quite logical to Crick himself. Franklin photographed DNA in two forms. The B (or "wet") form, pictured in Photograph 51, suggested a helical structure, but the A ("dry") form had a crystalline structure. The A form produced better diffraction data. In focusing on the A form in 1952, Franklin moved away from a helical interpretation, something Watson criticized her for in his book. After the famous DNA-structure paper was published, however, Crick wrote to Wilkins that he had only then seen the A form of DNA, and "I must say I am glad I didn't see it earlier, as it would have worried me considerably."
Some scientists familiar with the situation suspected that Franklin would have discerned the helical structure of DNA on her own in several more weeks. She had already authored a paper acknowledging the likelihood of a helical structure for DNA by the time she learned of Watson and Crick's model. But whereas Watson leapt from one hypothesis to another, Franklin proceeded with a more methodical approach, one endorsed by X-ray crystallography pioneer Dorothy Hodgkin. Taking X-ray photographs of DNA was hardly simple, and Franklin took the time to completely understand what she was doing. The A form of DNA was more suitable for her methodical approach.
Had Franklin known what Wilkins did, she might have been livid. Or she might not. As it was, she didn't realize there was any race to publish the structure of DNA, and she was simply happy to be leaving King's for the friendlier environment of J.D. Bernal's lab at Birkbeck College. There she did pioneering work with the tobacco mosaic virus and started studying polio. Watson and Crick, meanwhile, had to wait years before the significance of their study struck a note with the public.
Franklin's friends and family pointed out that Watson didn't know her well, or chose to ignore much of what he did know when he wrote The Double Helix. In fact, she was known for her fashion sense and vivacious personality — in the right circles. And contrary to what Watson's book implied, she was perfectly capable of interpreting her DNA photographs, not just taking them. Yet Franklin was no saint. She had a short temper, she often seemed unfriendly to those who didn't know her, and her affluent background may have affected her opinions of her less-wealthy colleagues more than she realized.
In Franklin's day, photographing DNA could take up to 100 hours of radiation exposure, and in the years she worked with X-ray equipment, she rarely took precautions to protect herself from radiation. In fact, few scientists at the time did, but Franklin was especially unlucky. From excessive radiation or other causes, she developed ovarian cancer in her mid-30s. Of all the players in the discovery of DNA, she alone was unable to defend herself from Watson's portrayal, which wasn't particularly kind to anyone. In a perverse sense, however, Watson did Franklin a favor with his "Rosy" caricature; had he not painted Franklin as a witch, she might have been more easily forgotten. As it turned out, Watson timed his little book rather unwisely; when he published it, in 1968, the feminist movement was well underway, and Franklin became an icon. (To be fair, Watson later admitted that, had she lived, Franklin might well have received her own Nobel Prize, perhaps sharing the Chemistry Award with Wilkins.) Yet there was more to her life than her work at King's. In her short life, she authored or co-authored 37 scientific papers, and besides her contribution to the study of DNA, she won international respect for her work on carbonaceous solids and virology.
Narrative text and graphic design © by Michon Scott - Updated October 4, 2010