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The Spiritual Life
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Scientific maverick on a quest for old age 'cure'
Raja Mishra, Globe Staff, 8/19/2001
A self-proclaimed scientific provocateur, West these days lectures Congress and debates philosophers on the morality of his work, focusing on the cures it might deliver. But his career has long been driven by a more mythical goal: to help humans live forever. There was a time when West was routinely laughed out of meetings for explaining how science would "cure" old age. A decade ago, no one was really listening but Miller Quarles, a rich Texas oilman who wanted desperately to live to 200. In the 11 years years since West met Quarles, the curious friendship between scientist and investor helped propel West from the fringes of research to his place today at the center of the new biology, which promises miracle cures while roiling society in the process. And behind West's remarkable trajectory lies an obsession with the seductive notion that humanity can outwit death. "I figured Mike would find the longevity gene so we could have a lifespan as long as the Galapagos turtles," said Quarles, now 86 and recovering from prostate cancer in Houston. "As far as I'm concerned, he could find the fountain of youth." For at least part of his early career, West wasn't a scientist at all. He had studied physics at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute in Troy, N.Y., but decided to return home to Niles, Mich., to help run the family automotive business. He began delving into theology, eventually enrolling at Andrews University, a Seventh-day Adventist college in Michigan. He sought to reconcile science with his growing fervor for a literal interpretation of the Bible. Even today, he says, "I think I know more about religion than science." But spirituality led him back to the lab. He developed an interest in human suffering. Behind suffering was disease. And behind disease was aging. "Aging is killing everyone," he said. West enrolled in medical school in Dallas, but what captured his attention was the work being done in a local lab where he worked part-time. There, researchers were studying the aging of cells, specifically telomeres, the caps at the end of DNA strings that shorten every time a cell divides. When they run out, the DNA is exposed to damage, and the cell fatally malfunctions. West thought: If these telomeres could be lengthened, perhaps cell destruction could be forestalled. He quit medical school and earned a doctorate in cell biology in 1989 from Baylor College of Medicine in Houston. Though immersed in science, his study of faith still infused his work. "Immortality has been worshiped since ancient times," he said. "The early Egyptians noticed the sun was immortal, vanishing at night but always returning the next day. So they worshiped the sun as a god." West returned to Michigan to replace his father at the head of the family auto business, with the idea of selling the company to finance his new dream, the Geron Corp. Geron means "old man" in Greek, and with the company, West intended to spur a revolution in aging. He pitched dozens of venture capitalists on his plan to isolate the gene for telomerase, the enzyme that keeps telomeres long and cells vigorous. Geron would try to slow aging by activating the gene in patients. But investors weren't buying. "I was proposing an incredible story," he said. His savings dwindled. Then he met Miller Quarles. Quarles, then 76, was a noted geophysicist with a knack for sniffing out oil. In retirement, he had written a never-published book, "Flirtation by Married People," inspired by his second divorce. But with every year, he grew more fearful of death. Quarles - whose avowed goal is to be the first person to live to 200 - began swallowing 55 vitamin pills a day and practicing karate in search of longevity. He founded the Cure Old Age Disease Society (motto: "COADS seeks to eliminate aging altogether"). And he decided that only science could conquer aging. "I was having an extremely happy life. Why would I have to die? I didn't want to die," Quarles recalls saying to West when they first met. "Hell, we should be able to do as good as turtles." Though their backgrounds differed, both men recall being struck by the other's passion for thwarting death. Quarles gave West $50,000 and new hope. "Most people don't think about aging and death. We push it out of our minds," said West. "But Miller is not afraid to look death in the face and say: Let's not die anymore." The money gave West the means to sell his idea more aggressively. Soon, he won an audience with New York venture capitalists known for taking risks on biotech. He left that 1992 meeting with $7.5 million. He started Geron in Hayward, Calif., painting a giant hourglass on the wall of the office lobby. He secured an A-list board of scientific advisers, including Eric Lander, leader of the human genome project at MIT's Whitehead Institute, and Nobel laureate James Watson, one of the discoverers of DNA's structure. In late 1992, Geron began work on isolating the telomerase gene, working with Thomas Cech, Nobel-winning chemist at the University of Colorado. In August 1997, they hit paydirt: They found the gene. But Geron had begun to suffer internal strife. West had been pushed off the telomere project. And he had become convinced that telomeres were only part of the story of aging. A colleague mentioned that a researcher named James Thomson at the University of Wisconsin had isolated stem cells from monkey embryos. These primordial cells can change into any of the 200 or so cell types in the body, and had long been a Holy Grail of cell biology. West imagined growing new organs with Thomson's stem cells, in effect reversing the aging process one organ at a time. "The next day I was in his office," said West. Because Congress had banned funding of all research on embryos, Thomson had only limited private funds to extend his research into extracting stem cells from human embryos. But West had a more tempting deal: Geron would pay the research bills in exchange for the rights to any embryonic stem cells Thomson could harvest. Thomson agreed. Meanwhile, tensions grew at Geron. The company leaders, drawn from the business sector, had come to see West's fixation on extending life as bizarre, and they worried that Wall Street would, too. As a result they had refocused the company on developing disease cures and moved West into a peripheral job. "I was getting tied up in meetings about how many drinking fountains we needed," he said. So he quit. Earlier, he had heard about a provocative experiment by James Robl at the University of Massachusetts veterinary school in Amherst. Robl and graduate student Jose Cibelli had taken cells from inside Cibelli's cheek and blood, and fused them with 52 separate cow eggs. One survived and multiplied in a test tube, coming to resemble a human embryo. They kept the interspecies cloning experiment secret for fear of public outcry. But West was enthralled. Robl worked with Advanced Cell Technology, a cow genetics company owned by a massive Thai agribusiness conglomerate. West wanted in, but needed money to enact his plans. Once again, he called on his friend in Texas. Quarles contributed about $350,000, at one point owning a tenth of ACT. With Quarles as a minority partner, and with help from others, West bought ACT. The company, in a bustling Worcester high-tech office park, still earns most of its money selling genetically engineered cows to pharmaceutical companies for their organic compounds. But in 1998, West redirected the company's research talent to cloning human embryos in order to get their stem cells. As West was making career changes, stem cell science was exploding. Thomson at the University of Wisconsin, using Geron money, isolated the first human embryonic stem cells. Another Geron-funded scientist at Johns Hopkins University made a similar breakthrough days later. At ACT, West envisioned taking a person's DNA and inserting it into a human egg. A new embryo would result - a clone. Stem cells could be harvested from these embryos, creating a personal set of the primordial cells that could be used to treat diseases specifically in the donor of the DNA. The stem cell DNA would match the patient. This would preclude genetic complications, a major problem in treating disease. If stem-cell research lives up to its potential, this indeed could be how future medicine works. As the stem cell debate was heating up this summer, word leaked out about what West was up to. A public already squeamish about embryo research grew more uncomfortable at the whiff of science fiction added by human cloning. And West, unknown most of his career, stepped into the spotlight to defend the science being hatched in his lab. "I couldn't be more certain that this is the right thing to do," he said. Now West focuses more on disease cures, but has not given up his quest to conquer aging. He points out that taking an adult cell and cloning it is akin to sending it back in time - to reverse its aging. "The most fundamental problem of humanity," he said, "remains aging." As for Quarles, he says: "Mike's my hero, and my best hope to live a long time."
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