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Robert Cleland

Growing up, I never considered becoming a biologist. That may seem rather strange, considering that my father was a botanist/geneticist. However, I rarely spent any time in his lab, and plants were almost never discussed at the dinner table. My mother, a chemist, had much more influence on me at that stage. I went to Oberlin College with no idea as to what I wanted to do. From living at a university all my life, I knew the advantages of an academic career, but I hadn't picked a field. At Oberlin, I took one botany course, which I didn't particularly like, and majored in organic chemistry. However, by the end of my junior year, I knew that I was not really excited about a career as an organic chemist. Then my father invited me to accompany him to the American Institute of Biological Sciences meeting that summer. It sounded like a lark, so I went. I certainly didn't expect it to change the direction of my career!

I listened to a series of interesting symposium talks on plant biochemistry, and I was particularly entranced by F.C. Steward's talk on amino acid biochemistry. Seeing a spark of interest, my father introduced me to a number of plant biochemists. One of them, James Bonner, talked to me at length and urged me to apply to the California Institute of Technology, despite my deficiency in courses in life sciences. I did so, and to my surprise I was accepted. I really wonder how many biology departments now would admit a person with my deficient biology background, or with my lack of a clear vision as to my future.

After my graduation from Oberlin, my father gave me a copy of Principles of Plant Physiology, by Bonner and Galston. I started reading it, and I couldn't put it down until I had finished it. It read like a novel! It was not nearly as comprehensive as modern plant physiology textbooks, and it was even wrong about certain things. This book prepared me to be excited about the science I was about to embrace, which is what a really good textbook should do!

The Biology Department at Cal Tech was the ideal place to motivate a graduate student. It was full of brilliant faculty, postdocs, visitors, and fellow graduate students, many of whom were leaders in their fields or would soon become leaders. At least seven of the people there then subsequently received Nobel Prizes. The most important aspect of the department for me was the positive atmosphere that existed. We thrived on the thrill of finding out new things, on learning how to give scientific talks and to teach, and on an ethos of hard work followed by hard play. The faculty constantly built up our self-esteem. We were made to feel that we were the "local world's authority" in our own area. With time, I have come to realize how unusual that is; in too many cases, graduate students are being belittled and made to feel unworthy. We left Cal Tech with a firm belief that we were going to make a mark in our field, and that we could do anything if we were willing to put in the time and effort. That belief sustained me during the difficult years as an Assistant Professor when I was trying to get my research program established.

When I first started in Bonner's lab, James was convinced that auxins caused cell enlargement by promoting active water uptake. I was assigned to do an experiment that was going to prove this theory. I knew so little about the subject that when I showed the results to James, I was unaware that the data destroyed his theory. He had me repeat the experiments, and he then explained to me that the results indicated that auxin must, instead, be promoting cell elongation by causing cell wall loosening. That started me on a pursuit that has captivated me my whole career. It led to the studies on the mechanical properties of cell walls, which I initiated at Berkeley and continued during a sabbatical with Preston at Leeds. This then led to the "acid-growth theory" of auxin-induced cell enlargement, which was the focus of so much activity here at the University of Washington.

Few graduate students or postdocs seem to appreciate the great difficulties that will face them when they become an Assistant Professor. I certainly was unprepared for what I would have to do when I joined the Botany Department at the University of California, Berkeley. There just never was enough time! Teaching, research, and grant writing were all full-time jobs. Then there were all the committees, meetings, and other jobs that had to be done. And finally, if possible, there had to be some time left over for the family. It was really an impossible task. I know that I had troubles reaching the proper balance of activities, and would have failed completely without the understanding and encouragement of my wife, Molly. Berkeley, in those days, was not a particularly research-friendly place for an Assistant Professor. For example, the Botany department had no ice machine. There was one next door to my lab, but it belonged to another department. It took me nearly 2 months and many interviews to get permission to use some of their ice, and then I was limited to not more than two buckets a day. It was a difficult decision to leave the "prestigious" Berkeley for the less well known University of Washington. Without a doubt, it was the best decision I could ever have made.

When I arrived in Seattle, I found that there were no biology courses or programs, only separate botany and zoology departments. With a few other newly arrived faculty, I set up the first majors-level introductory biology course. This was to be an alternative to the traditional introductory botany and zoology courses, but within a few years, this biology course expanded and displaced the other courses. I have taught in that course every year, and find it just as fascinating to teach now as it was at the start (perhaps more so, because of all the advances in plant biology). We also set up a biology major at the same time, and I ran it for its first few years (as well as 7 years more recently). Our Interdisciplinary Biology Program still thrives, and biology is the fourth-largest major at this university. All of this focus on undergraduate teaching has taken a lot of time and certainly reduced my research productivity, but I wouldn't have done it any differently if I could do it over again.

I realize that persons like myself, with academic positions, are among the luckiest people in the world. There is the constant thrill of finding out something new. That doesn't occur every day, or even every week or month, but it does occur often enough to keep life interesting. Then there is the joy of the association with the undergraduates. It is such fun to watch them learn and see their enthusiasm build as they start to understand how plants work. And they ask those difficult-to-answer questions that make you stop and think about established dogma. The association with the graduate students and postdocs tops it off. I keep being delighted at the new ideas they generate on a daily basis. And finally, there are the interactions with the scientists working on the same problems. I am amazed at how close and friendly those associations have been. In my areas of research, cooperation and sharing of data and ideas has been the norm, not the competition that exists in some other areas. I can't remember a time when anyone has ever refused to provide me with data that I sought, or held back advice that might have aided me. I wonder how many other professions there are where you can go through your whole career and make those statements. Finally, there are the opportunities to take sabbatical leaves, which have permitted me to live and work for a period of time at some other university in this country or abroad. These advantages far outweigh the disadvantages of being overworked, insufficient time with the family, and feeling that nothing is done as well as it could be done. If I had to do it over again, there is little I would change.