The Smell of Ammonia
Lowell L. Getz
Certain scents often evoke memories of past events: the smell of
cut flowers bringing back memories of your grandfather’s funeral, the
first family death you experienced; the smell of a warm spring rain,
memories of walking in the woods as you first became acquainted with
the natural world; smoke of burning leaves, the feeling of crisp autumn
days and memories of Halloween trick or treating in your small home
town; the fresh smell of your first newborn baby, now 57 years old; the
“new-car” smell and memories of your blue Rambler station wagon, the
first new car you could afford; the odors emanating from the
Thanksgiving turkey as it is taken from the oven, memories of the long
ago large family get-togethers; the smell of freshly popped popcorn,
memories of the first time you saw the girl who later became your wife
of 61 years and counting, as she took tickets near the “popcorn” room at
the Marvel Theater.
Those and other smells, when experienced decades later, bring
back memories of those specific long ago occasions. For me, it is the
piercing odor of ammonia that evokes the most vivid of nostalgic
memories, all associated with Christmas 1944. The present from my
parents that Christmas, the only one they could afford, was a small
Chemcraft chemistry set. I was 13 years old and recently had become
interested in chemistry, even though the grade school I attended did not
provide any exposure to the subject. My mother gave me the present
Christmas Eve, not Christmas morning as for other Christmases. I
immediately started experimenting, following instructions in the
accompanying Experiment Book. The first experiment I did was to make
ammonia. It was a fun evening.
But, overall, Christmas 1944 was not a happy time for my family
or the country. We were still mired in the fierce fighting of World War
II, the ending of which was not yet in sight. The Battle of the Bulge had
commenced only nine days earlier, with the Germans still on the
offensive. Almost all the young men in our hometown were in the
service, many engaged in combat. A family friend who had worked for
years on the farm with my dad and just been killed in action. My uncle,
who, because I had no sibling, was as a brother to me, had arrived in
Europe and was entering combat. My parents wrote at least once a
week to each of the 37 men from our town who were serving in the
military. With so much uncertainty and so many of our friends in harms
way, Christmas 1944 was a sad, not a joyful, time. Because of the war,
all Christmases since 1941 had been equally dreary.
The war years had their additional stresses. With so many men
away in the military, there was no one to help my Dad with the
fieldwork. It was up to my Mom, who in addition to all her household
duties and outside chores, had to work in the fields during the day, with
my Dad working at night. It was exhausting, tiring times for them, with
no relief in sight.
Many times during the ensuing weeks and months, I completed
each of the numerous experiments, as described in the Experiment Book.
It was, however, the first experiment I did that Christmas Eve that
remained imbedded in my mind, especially the smell of ammonia. The
pungent odor left a lasting impression, not only tied to the chemistry
set, but of the melancholy feelings of the war time Christmases. As the
months passed, I purchased additional chemicals and glassware so as to
conduct more complex experiments. Still, I frequently made more
ammonia, not only because it was simple to do, but also because it
reminded me of that first night I worked with my chemistry set.
Chemical projects became my primary activity in the following
months. Once, while talking to my Dad about how interesting I found
chemistry to be, he said he hoped that by the time I was old enough to
do so, he could afford to send me to college to study chemistry. At that
time, however, affording to send me to college was a rather impossible
dream. My dad had started farming in 1931, at the beginning of the
Depression, and was still paying off loans he obtained to buy the
equipment to start farming. Money was a very scarce commodity.
Eventually the war was over, the service men came home and our
lives returned more or less to normal. In a few years, my interests
turned to areas other than chemistry. In particular, I became interested
in wildlife conservation. When I graduated from high school in 1949,
with the help of a county tuition scholarship, my dad was able to send
me to the University of Illinois. There, I majored in Zoology and took
inorganic and organic chemistry as part of the requirements for a
degree in Zoology. Whereas my introduction to chemistry with the
small Chemcraft chemistry set that Christmas of 1944 did not lead to a
career in chemistry, it had stimulated me to seek a career in the
sciences.
Because all the Christmases of the early 1940s were times of
sadness and because I was at an age (10-13 years old) such that these
were my first vivid sensations of Christmas, for the rest of my life, no
matter how joyous the time has been for my family, I have not been able
to shake the melancholy feeling I associated with those war time
Christmases. And, no matter the time of year, whenever I detect the
odor of ammonia, my mind drifts back to that Christmas of 1944. I
sense the excitement of making ammonia, my first scientific experiment.
But, I also recall the sorrowfulness of the time-- the anxiety because of
the ongoing Battle of the Bulge; the absence from their homes of so
many of our friends, many in harms way in combat; the general feeling
of sadness from the lengthy horrors of the war; the sentimental wartime
songs, the stress on my Mom and Dad and on all the other families,
overworked and worrying if their loved ones will return safely.
I know it should not be so, after so many years, but I simply
cannot shake all these sensations associated with the smell of ammonia.
Magazine advertisement for the Chemcraft chemistry set my parents
gave me for Christmas 1944.