BY SEAN HIGGINS

INVESTOR'S BUSINESS DAILY

Posted 5/8/2006

NASA scientists were having a big problem. The system they'd designed to regulate temperatures in their astronauts' space suits wasn't working. The fluid used in it clogged up and caused the suits to become freezing cold or boiling hot.

A launch was coming up and a solution was needed, fast. So NASA turned to one man: Walter McCrone, the nation's leading expert in the use of microscopes.

"We got the call: 'Can you examine this?' " recalled Skip Palenik, a former McCrone assistant. "We said, 'Yes, we'll see you tomorrow morning.' They said, 'No, We're coming over tonight.' "

The NASA officials arrived in a few hours. McCrone put their fluid specimens under a microscope and immediately diagnosed the problem. He clearly saw that one of the chemicals in the fluid was crystallizing. Further tests confirmed that.

"By morning, the guys from NASA were heading back home to reformulate the fluid," Palenik said.

It was just another day in the life of McCrone (1916-2002). Widely acknowledged as one of the foremost experts in the field of microscopy, this scholar, researcher, teacher, lecturer and author helped make the microscope an essential tool of modern science.

He wrote more than 600 scholarly articles. To further his cause and keep others up to date on new findings, he bought and edited the top publication in the field, the quarterly journal The Microscope.

No request was too obscure for him if it involved microscopy. He consulted with clients from the Pentagon to perfect military munitions; state and federal law enforcement on forensic crime analysis; art museums to determine if artworks were forgeries and major industries such as pharmaceutical companies.

Born in Wilmington, Del., McCrone had an early interest in science and first thought he'd become an engineer. That all changed after he took a microscopy class taught by Emil Chamot at Cornell University.

Microscopes were leading scientific tools until the late 1930s, when breakthroughs in other fields put the emphasis on numbers and equations. Interest in the discipline waned. Chamot showed McCrone that there were still things that only microscopes could do. Microscopy put its faith in what you could see.

" He realized that it was extremely useful but that not enough people knew this," said his widow, Lucy McCrone. " He took every opportunity he could to make people realize this."

McCrone devoted the rest of his life to microscopy. Graduating with a Ph.D. in organic chemistry, he first taught at what's now the Illinois Institute of Technology before setting out on his own. He established McCrone Associates Inc., a Westmont, Ill.-based consulting firm. His wide-ranging efforts showed that the discipline was applicable to pretty much any scientific field.

"Walter, almost single-handedly, changed thinking around on microscopes," said Palenik, who today heads his own microscopy consulting firm, Microtrace.

McCrone ran experiments in classrooms, labs and hospitals to demonstrate innovations in microscope technology. He put household compounds underneath the lens to show their complex structures. He melted other compounds under a microscope to show their behavior.

To make sure he offered only the most current information, he kept pace with innovations in the field by reading and doing. When high-powered electron microscopes became available, he spent days on end learning about each part until he had a firm command of the tool.

While he was a tireless advocate for his field, McCrone realized it would be more effective to concentrate his efforts and bring students to one place. So he founded the McCrone Research Institute and the College of Microscopy, also in Westmont, to advance the discipline.

McCrone wanted to share his enthusiasm with the world. He patiently mentored students, including several of today's experts in the field, such as Palenik. And he drew inspiration and new ideas from students.

"He always made time for people no matter who they were," Palenik said. "Amateur (enthusiasts) would come in to see this guy who was busy all day and he'd give freely of his Saturday afternoon to help them with some problem."

To fit teaching, consulting and experiments into his schedule, he arrived at his lab at 4 a.m. to work before others came into the office. He regularly spent 14 hours a day there.

His focus wasn't limited to what he could see through a microscope lens. He believed in working to improve the surrounding community. In addition to his scientific work, he served as president and a member of the board of Chicago-based Ada S. McKinney Community Services, a nonprofit social services group. He also served on the board of the Vandercook College of Music.

McCrone lent his expertise to several high-profile investigations. In each case, he relied on his careful attention to detail to provide answers.

For instance, he analyzed composer Ludwig van Beethoven's hair, discovering that he suffered from lead poisoning. He also examined the famous Vinland Map, an artifact owned by Yale University that purported to show the North American coastline some 50 years before Columbus sailed. His persistent analysis proved that it was a forgery; the ink was based on chemicals that weren't common until the 1920s.

Perhaps his most famous work involved his examination of the Shroud of Turin, a linen cloth that bears the image of a crucified man many believe to be Jesus Christ.

In 1978 McCrone joined an international team of scientists who studied it. Using scrapings from the cloth, McCrone determined that the image was in fact painted on and that cloth actually dated to the Middle Ages, not biblical times. He surmised that it was piece of devotional art created to inspire pilgrims.

The controversy didn't end, though, and continues today, with some scholars arguing that the sample was taken from a corner of the cloth that had been repaired and not from the center, which might indeed date to the biblical era.

McCrone steadfastly stood by his findings, eventually writing a book, "Judgment Day for the Shroud of Turin," in 1999 that made the case for it as a medieval artifact.