Tested it on themselves first, sometimes more than once.

The one person on earth who knew Garrett Morgan's 1914 smoke hood really worked was Garrett Morgan, inside it, in disguise as a Native American assistant to a white man selling it as his own.

In March 1800, Alexander von Humboldt drove thirty wild horses into a Venezuelan pool to exhaust the electric eels, then waded in barefoot and dissected one while it kept shocking him.

Eleanor Ormerod, the Royal Agricultural Society's consulting entomologist, kept live insect specimens in her pockets and produced them, unannounced, at meetings with farmers.

What are the odds that the same man invented leaded gasoline and the chemical that punched a hole in the ozone layer?

What does a Renaissance physician discover when he rigs his dining chair to yank the table away the moment he has eaten his ration?

How does a shrimp seller who couldn't swim, living alone on a sandspit reachable only by boat, end up on Betty Parsons's walls beside Pollock and Rothko?

What happens when a philosopher who hated water contracts a disease made of it?

What does geometry sound like when you can only hear it described?

What kind of man asks his colleagues to poke him awake if he stops breathing, and considers a perforated eardrum a social asset?

What kind of man flays donkeys to stop the wind, then climbs into a volcano to prove he's a god?

He inoculated himself with a patient's discharge to settle a scientific question, and his reputation was so enormous that nobody checked his work for fifty-one years.

He built a small closet, filled it with the vomit of the dying, and sat inside breathing deeply — all to prove yellow fever wasn't contagious.