The Blue Gene of Philip B. Rose: An Epigenetic Fantasy

Historical Note: Of the brief anecdotes about my grandfather–notably, Edward (b. 1887), Goodwin (b. 1859) and Philip (b. 1832--though some documents say 1831 and others 1834. I'll just stick to 1832 for this story), there seem to be recurring brief hints of men who battled unnamed inner-demons that disposed them to various struggles with work, money and even marriage. The Last Will and Testament of Philip’s first wife, Alida Hall, was particularly cryptic: a woman who possessed her own independent wealth (from her father, Hiram Hall, a prominent attorney), Alida’s will demanded that none of her assets go to her husband upon her death! There is no doubt a true story to be told, though there is no other evidence to tell it.

Meanwhile, I also heard stories about Philips son, Goodwin, that also suggested a man haunted by lifelong demons. Stories of the family suggested a lazy man, who never had much money and could not hold down a job. Oh, and by the way, Alida had bequeathed her vast estate to Goodwin! What happened to that? Goodwin’s son, Edward (my grandfather) was by every report much more diligent and, though always struggling financially, it was not for lack of hard work. He had other demons: a dark gloomy melancholy that I was exposed to when I was a boy.

Was there some common thread uniting all these fathers and sons? That is the context for this story. Because it is one of the more "fantastic" of my dramatizations I need to draw a clear line between fact and fiction. The names in this chronicle are true, along with place names and the historical context of the second cholera epidemic, not to mention the gruesome facts about cholera itself and how it killed its victims. It will surprise readers to learn that much of science about epigenetic mutation is also grounded in fact though the mechanisms of how this works are still being studied. I have connected many dots and some may, over time, prove to be incorrect. Even so, i submit this chronicle because it addresses a larger issue: how we respond to traumatic events and how our very reactions can influence those not even born.

How the Cholera Epidemic Traumatized Generations

In the scorching summer of 1832, the Second Pandemic of Asiatic cholera arrived in New York State, moving south like a phantom along the Erie Canal and Hudson River. In the rural township of Brunswick, between Canada and the City of New York, Peter Rose and his wife Maria heard the stories with growing dread. Like their neighbors, they believed the clean country air, rolling hills, and pious living would shield them. It would be decades before germ theory was well-understood. It was particularly difficult for simple country folks like Peter to understand that an invisible enemy could hide in the very water they drank. 

The Call to Prayer and Repentance, Sunday in July, 1832

Peter, his pregnant wife Maria and two year old son, Martin rode in the horse drawn wagon down the dusty road on their way to the Gilead Lutheran Church. We should not fault Rev. Senderling for sending word throughout the rural community of a special service of prayer. How better could the pastor care for his flock than to assemble them for prayer and assurance? 

Without our modern understanding of germ transmission, Rev.Senderling could not have known that gatherings of unprotected people taking no precautions were especially risky. Today, we know these can be“super-spreader events“ infecting a mass of people in one day. 

The Shared Well 

After a long, hot wagon ride to church on Sunday, neighbors gathered outside before the service to talk about the events on everyone’s minds. Some had friends and loved ones from other towns who had succumbed. No one would have noticed the irony of the topic of conversation while adults and children went to the well in the church yard to draw water. Shallow wells were the norm. Everyone had one at their home with a wooden buckets on a rope and a tin dipper inside. 

Someone who didn't realize he was already infected likely poisoned the multitude simply by taking a drink from the dipper. It's not difficult to imagine how he could have been infected. Perhaps he had been exposed when visiting a neighbor or family member from another town the day before. The invisible killer was now there on the dipper, ready to invade the body of the next to drink.  Though the service of prayer provided some hope for Peter and the others, it would be short-lived. Cholera often did its worst in the night, within 48 hours of exposure. 

It was a little after midnight when Peter awakened to two year old Martin screaming in the other room. That was not unusual. However, when Peter turned over to awaken Maria, she was not there and, intuitively, he sensed this was different from anything they had experienced before. 

Maria was holding Martin, walking around the room, trying everything she could to comfort him. He refused any consolation. His cries were frantic and distressed. Peter knew this was not normal crying. 

“He’s burning up with fever!” Maria said with fear in her voice. Peter instinctively touched the baby’s head. He was hot as fire. 

“What is wrong?” Peter asked, though he was not sure he wanted to know. 

“I don’t know. He won’t nurse…” Just then the boy vomited. Grabbing a towel, she tried to clean his face. She was preparing to lay him down on the bed to finish the job when Martin let out a blood curdling scream and an obvious “diaper explosion.” Even by candlelight, Maria noticed the blood on his face and in the dirty diaper. 

The horror of that long night was only exceeded by the events of the next day. The Roses had never seen cholera before so had no idea what to expect. They had seen influenza and knew that it seemed to develop slowly and over several days. Not so with cholera. Babies and the elderly were particularly vulnerable to rapid escalation, including severe dehydration. Maria tried to force water to Martin but he was in such distress it was pointless.. By noon Monday, they watched in horror as the final stage of cholera began: the poor little one was turning blue.

Within hours, the massive loss of fluids had dried out his body. His once soft pink skin lost all elasticity and if pinched, it remained standing in a ridge. The blood coming from his mouth, nose and rectum was thick, sluggish, and dark, Little Martin’s lips were first to show the ghastly blue color. Eventually it spread to his tiny fingers and toes until his entire body was blue.

Martin's eyes sank deep into his tiny skull and if opened seemed to stare blankly at nothing.  Excruciating muscle cramps contorted his limbs. His parents had done all they could. They felt utterly helpless. The only thing Maria could do was hold him close and rock him. Once franitic screaming grew more and more listless.

The physical horrors of cholera outbreaks were matched only by the psychological terror that accompanied them. Particularly in larger households, the apparent randomness in the effects added more confusion. In a single home, a father and child might die within hours and yet, mysteriously, the mother would have only mild or no symptoms at all. That alone made superstitious fears run wild.

The Generational Mystery Begins

The Extraordinary Development of an Epigenetic Mutation

In 1832, illness was deeply tied to morality, superstition and fears of the unknown. When the plague struck a pious, upstanding family while skipping the town drunk, it shattered the assumptions about a predictable orderly world. Out of the ignorance and confusion, neighbors fearfully avoided checking on neighbors. When a family member died of the pestilence, the traditional rural custom of washing the dead and holding a wake was replaced by rushed, solitary burials. Generations later, ancestors would wonder why family cemetery plots lacked certain members. They could not imagine how the shame factor of cholera death drove them to a secret burial in a back corner of the farm.

If the righteous could be struck down at the altar and the wicked spared, how can the universe be just? Chaotic, terrifying, and unpredictable fears have a unique impact on anyone. And pious families like Peter’s would not only contend with the mystery of the disease but the crisis of faith it can produce. How could they trust a God who permitted such things? 

Mass epidemics did even more damage than nineteenth-century minds could comprehend. 160 years after this researchers began to unravel the mysteries of pandemics, not just the disease but the pyschological impact. For example, why did the offspring of Holocaust survivors often displaye the same post-traumatic stress disorders as their ancestors—even though they had never spent a day in a concentration camp? The science of traumatic stress, along with extraordinary developments in genetics and epigenetic modification revealed biological processes unimaginable in 1832.

“Blue Genes”

Deep inside Maria’s pregnant womb, even as they were reeling from the death of Martin, an unborn boy was being formed by the hand of God. Though Maria and Peter would not succumb to the death blow of cholera, the terror of the pestilence triggered an invisible chemical cascade in Maria’s sixth month of pregnancy that would be felt for generations. Peter and Maria would never forget. Yet, even more profoundly, an epigenetic shift was occurring in her unborn son as well. Her toxic flood of stress hormones breached Maria’s placental barrier. It then penetrated the developing child's brain. And even before he was born altered the way he would intuitively react to the external world.

Maria had spent months in intense high stress panic. Surges of toxic cortisol coursed every day through her body and brain putting her in a high state of distress. It was like a fire alarm that never turned off. And over a lifetime it produced changes in Maria’s epigenome. One day, cience would demonstrate how the changes in her could alter the DNA methylation patterns in her unborn child as well. The hidden molecular modifications acted like a new biological bridge connecting the stresses from the past to the very genetic architecture of the baby’s brain. 

This quiet molecular mutation did not change his physical features. Unlike genetic mutations, it left outward characteristics untouched—preserving the distinctive Rose Family resemblances that enabled neighbors to say, “He has his father’s eyes.”

Yet, turning on that epigenetic switch meant some of the baby’s future progeny would inherit the new epigenetic mutation. It was thought to be on a specific Chromosome 12. That little switch meant a heightened vulnerability to emotional regulation, especially in fear centers of the brain. Flooded by this biological surge, the microscopic machinery in their son’s brain scrambled to adapt to a hostile world he had not yet seen but had already begun to experience. Tiny chemical tags attached to his fetal DNA on that Chromosome 12 and the tags silenced the normal release of feel good chemicals (serotonin) and allowed an unnatural amount of negative neurochemicals (like cortisol).

The activation patterns of this "blue gene" meant he and many of his offspring would be prone to a condition called “Chronic Dysthymia.” Generations of Rose men would  reflect similar patterns of emotional "dysregulation:" Persistent pessimism, diminished capacity for smiling and laughter, and a chronic pattern of negativity. All these things inclined them to expect the worst. It would be said of many Rose men that“they saw the glass half-full rather than half-empty.” 

The usual joys of the Christmas season of 1832 seemed fleeting. The empty crib in the farm house was a stark reminder of the months of misery. Even so, there was a bright spot of hope early one December morning, before the sun rose. Maria awakened Peter, shaking him on the shoulder, “Peter! Peter! It’s time.” 

He didn’t have to wonder what that meant. Maria was so great with child they expected this at any time. Preparations had long been made. In rural communities like Brunswick, there were no hospitals.  Doctors were generally unavailable for births. For generations, family and friends rallied for the home birth. Most towns also had a midwife–an older woman who displayed particular skill in such matters. 

In an instant Peter was out the door, harnessing the wagon. He drove quickly to the neighbor’s farm. They also were expecting the news:“It’s time.” The wife and her daughter were ready and returned in the wagon. It was also predetermined that her  husband would dash to the house of the midwife who also knew what was coming. After the months of social chaos from cholera it was an inspiring picture of care and cooperation in the community. 

Twelve Hours Later

Stepping out into the morning light from the Rose kitchen, the weary midwife wiped her hands once again on her apron. She offered a quiet, reassuring nod to Peter and the other women. Behind her, the rhythmic, urgent panic of the last twelve hours began to dissolve into a soft, sacred hum. Maria’s mother had arrived in the night and the neighbor women were at her bedside. They soothed the exhausted new mother with cool clothes and busily swept way the soiled linens. Maria held her newborn son closely, swaddled tightly in linen cloths like another baby 2000 years before. 

Especially in the lingering grief of Martin’s death, and the carnage of the epidemic, the birth that Christmas season brought weary smiles to many and, though fleeting, brief moments of calm and even hope for better days ahead. 

Cradled in the sturdy, collective embrace of the family and community, a precious little boy had taken his first quiet breaths. This newborn son was given the name, seemingly from his mother's ancestry rather than father: Philip B. Rose. In the next several years four more brothers would be born on the Rose Family Farm: Jacob, John, David and Peter H.  When Philip died in 1899 he was buried, next to his brother Peter H. in the graveyard of the Gilead Lutheran Church.