Harvard University is the pinnacle of social and academic success. Just the name, Harvard, brings to mind twenty year-old future business leaders and politicians gathering around in the library to discuss stock options and boating knots while they finish up their assignments for macro-economic courses. Exciting for some, but for most, as dull as it gets. Yet, after visiting the campus, I have come away with a very different perspective of Harvard. There’s a lot of strange and interesting stuff there—the famous Widener Library, named after a victim of the Titanic disaster, the comically ridiculous Lampoon Building, and a book bound in human flesh in the rare books library just to name a few. It makes sense that a university older than the United States –Harvard was established in 1636—to house a few oddities. Perhaps the most interesting one resides in a glass display case within Harvard’s Medical School Library, the skull of Phineas Gage.
What in the world is the skull of Phineas Gage, and why would anyone want to see it? Good question. That’s just the question that led me to take the train from Harvard’s central campus to the university medical school on the other side of the city. Yet, before seeing the skull, I needed to find out what made it so unique.
Phineas Gage was just your average railroad worker in 19th century America. He began working as a railroad construction foreman in the mid-1840s. His primary job was to handle explosives when the crew needed to blast away any stone blocking the railroad’s path. There was nothing unusual about him whatsoever. That all changed on September 13, 1848, when Gage suffered a gruesome accident. At the time, railroad companies blasted rock by carving a hole into the stone needing destroyed, adding blasting powder to the hole, layering the powder with a bit of sand, packing it down with a long iron rod, and finally adding a fuse which to ignite the makeshift explosive. Gage was in charge of packing the hole down with the tampering iron. Anytime you work with explosives, there’s danger. But, Gage’s job was considered relatively safe. Any danger of sparks caused by the friction between the iron and the stone prematurely exploding the rock was eliminated by the layer of sand. Yet, on that day, someone on Gage’s crew was reckless and forgot to add the sand. When Gage went to pack the hole, BOOM! It exploded. The blast transformed the iron rod into a three foot long missile that went right through Gage’s face and out the top of his head, a horrific injury. The thirteen pound iron rod landed eighty feet away from Gage “smeared with brain and blood.” He should have died. Amazingly, he survived. Not only did he survive the accident, he never even lost consciousness. He would live for another twelve years.
Gage and his injury became important in the field of neuroscience for proving the theory of cerebral localization—that different parts of the brain have different functions. Today, Gage’s story is a fixture for any student of psychology or neurology. After his death in 1860, Gage’s skull and the iron rod were donated to the Warren Anatomical Museum of Harvard University where they remain on display today. So, on a warm Boston summer day, I made my way to the museum to see the skull and rod for myself.
On the second floor of the imposing Harvard Medical School Library, lies the Warren Anatomical Museum. Multiple glass cases house a variety of medical oddities. A glass case housing the skull of Phineas Gage is on the far end of the museum. The skull rests on a shelf directly above the infamous tampering iron. Immediately visible on the skull are the severity of Gage’s wounds. Two large holes—one just below the right eye and one on top of the skull—highlight the remarkability of Gage’s survival. It is mind boggling to know the story of the accident, see the skull, and know that this person survived the ordeal. Just to the right of the skull is a plastic mold of Phineas Gage’s face made in 1849 one year after his accident. Thus, a visitor to the museum can see what Gage’s face looked like after his wounds healed. Looking at the skull and the mold created a strange effect on me. I was repulsed and in awe at the man and his story. And, even in the midst of one of the premiere academic institutions in the world, I had to admit that my motivations were more morbid than intellectual. Phineas was not a specimen for learning, rather he was a freakish spectacle. I took a moment to reflect on this feeling. I voiced a brief apology to Phineas and turned to leave. As I left, I took one last look back. That’s totally gross, I thought. I guess it will take me a while to think of Phineas Gage as anything but a sideshow attraction.
