Francis Crick: A Personal Memory
Authors: Inder M. Verma
Journal: Molecular Therapy (2004)

Francis Crick—perhaps the most well known and admired biologist in the world—passed away in the late afternoon of 28 July 2004 in La Jolla. He was eighty-eight years old and had been battling colon cancer for some time. He was in the middle of writing a paper on the role of the claustrum, an area of the forebrain that had piqued his interest in the last months of his life. I first met Francis when I was a graduate student in Israel, where he had traveled to attend a symposium on nucleic acids that had been organized by my thesis advisor, Uri Littauer. I had been given the task of fetching Francis from the airport. While awaiting his arrival, I thought of the memorable first sentence of Jim Watson's Double Helix: “I have never seen Francis Crick in a modest mood,” and was therefore somewhat apprehensive of meeting him. My first impression was reminiscent of Watson's description: tall and imposing, with an Edwardian elegance and a big laugh. Francis was very gracious and was kind enough to ask about my thesis project. Although Francis had been associated with the Salk Institute as a nonresident fellow since its inception, he joined the Institute permanently in 1976. By that time, his principal interest was focused on the brain and consciousness. He provided direction to the neuroscience program and constantly exhorted the neurobiologists to invest in new techniques. Francis felt that the success of molecular biology owed much to rapid developments in technology. During our weekly faculty lunches he regularly challenged his colleagues with ideas and inquiries. It was not uncommon to hear Francis ask the late, world-famous neuroanatomist, Max Cowan, about the total number of neurons, glial cells or astrocytes in the brain. He easily absorbed and recalled facts, and used this power to synthesize ideas and propose hypotheses. More often than not, those around him just listened. I also learnt from Francis the idea of pure intellectual honesty. If he did not know something—which was rare—he would simply admit it and perhaps add that he ought to know more about the subject. Francis had been on the Scientific Advisory Board of Somatix (which later merged with CellGenesys), a gene therapy company of which I was cofounder. He had a keen interest in the technologies of gene delivery and their potential use in the treatment of Parkinson's disease. However, he was skeptical that the strategies of the day could work. Though not an expert in the field, he would ask the most penetrating questions. His mere presence provided an intellectual umbrella under which we all strove to perform at our best. Francis also had a keen sense of duty and loyalty. When the chairman of the board of the Salk Institute asked him to assume the presidency of the Salk on very short notice and at a critical period in its history, he did not flinch. “The Salk Institute has always been good to me,” he said, “and it is my duty to help the Institute in its time of need.” While never fond of administrative work, he plunged in with gusto and good humor. As chair of the faculty, I developed a close working relationship with him and I admired how he would go out of his way to support the faculty and raise funds. He was always generous with his time and he had a strong impact on the morale of the whole faculty. Three weeks prior to his passing, my wife and I had dinner with Francis and his wife Odile at the home of Alice and Leslie Orgel. Francis did not look good, but never let on. He talked passionately about the paper he was writing on Claustrum with Christof Koch. Sensing that there might not be many more opportunities to be around Francis, I asked him who his scientific hero was. Without hesitation, Francis named Galileo, because of the scientific manner with which he approached his experiments. Francis had no tolerance for purported truths arrived at by religious revelations. His arrogance was usually good-natured and not oppressive. He had great wit and was one of the best story-tellers I have known. I was lucky to have known him and to have been inspired by him for over three decades. Francis leaves behind an enormous scientific legacy, but it is Francis the person that I will miss most. We were all so very fond of him.