DIG Glanville and Centric Er Centivax and Cemtivax and Bogus Medical Info Post On Twitter.
DIG Glanville and Centric Er Centivax and Cemtivax and Bogus Medical Info Post On Twitter.
https://twitter.com/Michael85266741
his page is where I got to Centivax and Glanville etc.
see my Bookmarks for posts I MADE BAK!@@#! Am I in
trouble??
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This guy (see my bookmarks on Twitter) is promoting FAKE MEDICAL INFO – wittingly or not. See my 0518Obama
file for the graphic I sent back to him. It nearly proves that his Swiss Doctors bullshit was created by SPLC.
So then I chek his Twitter accont and he hs praising this OTHER place… who is going around saying THEY have a
vaccine way in the works basically hawking for money at the same time. The guy is Jacob Glanvill a bio-engineer
who basically creates CLOUD PLATFORMS where actual DOCTORS can collaborate, and apparently he gets a cut of
what thy make or something because he is making it LOOK like it is his companie/s Centrix and BioSOMETHING
which are producing the vaccine. His big Legitimizing moment came from an article in forbes, but uf you READ IT
they guy who wrote it has a disclaimer at the bottom – look below:
ALSO note that the article (as I recall right now from memory)was written AT THE END OF 2019 – barely pre-
pandemic, and TEVA is one of his “collaborators”, on whose board sits SCHUMER, DODD, and LEAHY last time I was
able to check. I sorta outed them for it in 2018, Bloomberg shutdown the research service which they had on
opensource for years that was linked to the SEC right after, so I cant check if that info is current anymore.
Here is the article, then will come the Whois and stuff. NOTE that nobody across BOTH sites this Glanville is
assoviated with has ANY MEDICAL INFO POSTED about themselves. Gonna do a Justia on him becaused he makes it
sound like he has transferred patents.
Re: Aug 28, 2019,01:40am EDT see sauce/Citation below~ written just a week after the Impeachment
Whistleblower “news”. ALL pre-Coordinated?
Meet The Synthetic Biology Company Engineering Your Immune
System
cc.bingj.com
3 mins read
It’s taken 30 years of biotech, but synthetic biology can now engineer
antibodies in the lab faster ... [+] than the body can do it, with potential
cures for everything from snake bites to a universal flu vaccine.
Getty
For decades, the field of immunology was a black box. Leading experts in
science and medicine had only a basic understanding of the powerful
complexity of the human immune system. Everything changed in 1983 when
a mysterious virus — later identified as HIV — swept through the world
claiming the lives of otherwise healthy men and women. The hunt for a cure
led to a more comprehensive understanding of the immune system.
Nearly forty years later, the fields of immunology and pharmacology are in
the midst of another surge of scientific growth. Equipped with knowledge and
tools acquired from various disciplines, biotechnology companies like
Distributed Bio are redefining how pharmaceutical companies identify,
design, and synthesize therapeutics.
“We are now able to engineer antibodies in the lab faster than the body can
do it,” says Jacob Glanville, a computational immuno-engineer and
President of Distributed Bio. “It’s taken us 30 years to get there, but we’re in
this golden age now in bioengineering where we’re really able to produce
these molecules in unprecedented speed. And that’s what’s so exciting
about today.”
PROMOTED
Glanville founded the company with two friends back in 2012. Unlike most
other biotech startups, it didn’t seek traditional venture capital. Glanville
and his team created a software platform on Amazon Cloud that let people
around the world do computational immunology. They were profitable from
the get-go.
Distributed Bio then used its platform and cash to build a powerful antibody
discovery and optimization lab. “We started licensing out not just on the
data, but the ability to actually engineer new medicines,” says Glanville.
“That’s when our company really started growing much faster because that
was worth a lot more. That bootstrapped us to the point where we’re
producing therapeutics, which is where we are now.”
With these cool technologies, the company is now a provider for the likes of
Pfizer, Boehringer Ingelheim, Gilead, Teva — a who’s who of pharma
companies. And the future for antibody drugs is looking good. Today, 30% of
prescription drugs in the market are antibody therapeutics. But Glanville
points out that it’s taken 30 years for the pharmaceutical industry to
discover how to manipulate antibodies.
“If you can make an antibody, it’s an awesome drug,” he says, “but it’s really
hard and time consuming. It can take over a year to do the engineering. It
used to take longer.”
And Glanville is assembling the tools and technologies to shorten that even
further. Some of his favorite projects demonstrate just how relevant antibody
engineering is to the real world:
[Your body] makes drugs faster and better than the entire pharmaceutical
industry.
“Your own body is a drug generation engine,” he says. “For the last 462
million years, our bodies have evolved the ability to develop antibodies. [We
get sick and] within a week or two we’ve already produced medicine. It’s
able to make drugs faster and better than the entire pharmaceutical
industry. That’s pretty remarkable.”
With the ability to engineer the human immune system, the future for
medicine — and the 'new pharma' industry — seems bright.
Acknowledgment: Thank you to Rodalyn Guinto for additional research and
reporting in this post. Rodalyn is a clinical researcher and writer interested in
therapies and medical devices advancing diabetes treatment, as well as
public policies supporting social justice.
That^ is from the cache link it would not load when direct-clicked:
read:https://cc.bingj.com/cache.aspx?
q=jacob+glanville+phd&d=4715891456345652&mkt=en-US&setlang=en-
US&w=sWd4dGuMaAJgiiDRzWLWRCQ9Vx8_Vgko
source of the cache:
Aug 28, 2019 · Jacob Glanville, Distributed Bio Glanville founded the company with two friends back in
2012. Unlike most other biotech startups, it didn’t seek …
Author: John Cumbers
1. https://www.kmov.com/news/expert-estimates-brand...
Mar 25, 2020 · ST. LOUIS (KMOV.com) -- Jacob Glanville, the scientist featured heavily in Netflix's
documentary series "Pandemic," released an infographic to …
2. Jacob Glanville Scientist in Netflix's Pandemic
discovered ...
https://dailyentertainmentnews.com/breaking-news/...
Apr 01, 2020 · Jacob Glanville attended University of California, Berkeley from 2002 until 2006 -where he
obatined a Bachelor’s degree in MCB, Genetics Genomics and Development. He also holds a PhD in
Computational and Systems Immunology from Stanford University.
1. https://www.linkedin.com/in/jacobglanville
Jul 06, 2019 · Jacob Glanville is an Entrepreneur and Computational Immuno-Engineer with a colorful
past. He co-founded Distributed Bio in 2012, designed the …
2. Jacob Glanville, PhD - Distributed Bio, Inc. | Antibody ...
https://informaconnect.com/.../speakers/jacob-glanville-phd
Jacob Glanville is an Entrepreneur and Computational Immuno-Engineer. He is co-founder of Distributed
Bio, as well as an academic who has developed seminal methods in fields including high-throughput
antibody repertoire sequencing (PNAS 2009) and repertoire decoding algorithms (Nature 2017).
3. Jacob Glanville | Founding Partner and Chief Executive
Officer
https://www.distributedbio.com/jacob#!
AH HAH!@#!
Mar 20, 2020 · When did Pandemic come out on Netflix? Pandemic: How to Prevent an Outbreak was
released on January 22, 2020. The gripping six-part docuseries …
o Author: Nola Ojomu
4. Pandemic on Netflix: When did Pandemic come out?
When was ...
https://movieshotlife.com/tv/pandemic-on-netflix...
Pandemic: How to Prevent an Outbreak premiered on Netflix on Friday, January 22 2020. However, amid
the current coronavirus pandemic, the majority of the world is taking measures to self-isolate and has
turned to Netflix to get up to date with all the latest documentaries.
5. Coronavirus lessons from the Netflix Pandemic
docuseries ...
https://www.latimes.com/california/story/2020-03...
Mar 21, 2020 · “Pandemic” debuted in January, but recent events have pushed it into Netflix’s “Top 10 in
the U.S. Today.” The doctor-director-executive producer has appeared with Jake Tapper on CNN.
o Author: James Rainey
6. 'Pandemic' Netflix 2020: Deadly Disease Docuseries
https://decider.com/2020/03/12/pandemic-netflix-coronavirus
Mar 12, 2020 · Pandemic Netflix 2020 attempts to explain, in layman’s terms, how viral outbreaks begin
and rapidly spread around the globe. When the series was first released in January…
o Author: Claire Spellberg
7. When did Pandemic come out on Netflix and is it based
on ...
https://celebrity-hub.com/tv-movies/when-did...
When did Pandemic come out on Netflix? Pandemic: How to Prevent an Outbreak was released on
January 22, 2020. The gripping six-part docuseries looks into the spread of viral illness throughout
history. The series stars the heroes on the front line in the battle against killer viruses and tell about their
efforts to prevent the spread of deadly bugs.
8. Netflix viewers freaked out as Pandemic series drops
amid ...
https://metro.co.uk/2020/01/24/netflix-viewers...
Jan 24, 2020 · Netflix viewers freaked out as Pandemic documentary happens to drop amid coronavirus
outbreak Abigail Gillibrand Friday 24 Jan 2020 2:58 pm Share this …
9. Pandemic: Netflix's new series about global outbreaks
is ...
https://www.theguardian.com/tv-and-radio/2020/feb/...
Feb 04, 2020 · Pandemic: Netflix's new series about global outbreaks is eerily timed, and moved me to
tears The documentary questions our readiness for fast …
“distributed Bio” that s the name of his first company -…sounds like a failed MySpace to moi~
latimesblogs.latimes.com/washington/2010/05/obama-new-jersey-gulf-oil-spill.html
Was this helpful?
May 05, 2010 · May 5, 2010 It took Faisal Shahzad trying to set a car bomb in Times Square to get
President Obama, Attorney General Eric Holder and Secretary of Homeland Security Janet Napolitano to
finally use the word "terrorism" without referring to Tea Party activists.
May 5 – President Obama meets with Senator Kyl and Senator Hatch in the Oval Office. The
President signs the Caregivers and Veterans Omnibus Health Services Act of 2010, which will
improve health care services for veterans and expand caregiver benefits and training. The President
also delivers remarks at a Cinco de Mayo reception in the Rose Garden.[80][81]
May 21, 2010: China, People’s Republic of: Shanghai, Beijing: Visited the Shanghai 2010 Expo and
attended a dinner for sponsors of the USA Pavilion. In Beijing, attended the second meeting of the U.S.-
China Strategic and Economic Dialogue. May 21–26, 2010: Korea, Republic of: Seoul: Met with Foreign
Minister Yu. May 26, 2010: Peru: Lima
United States v. Scheinberg United States District Court for the Southern District of New York Full case
nameUnited States v. Isai Scheinberg, et al. Date decidedApril 15, 2011 Docket nos.1:10-cr-00336 Case
history Subsequent actionssee below Related actionsUnited States v. PokerStars, et al., 11 Civ. 2564
United States v. Scheinberg, No. 1:10-cr-00336, is a United States federal criminal case against the …
https://history.state.gov/departmenthistory/...
April 14–15, 2011: Korea, Republic of: Seoul: Met with President Lee and Foreign Minister Kim. April
16–17, 2011: Japan: Tokyo: Met with Prime Minister Kan and Foreign Minister Matsumoto. April 17,
2011: Italy: Rome: Attended a Libya Contact Group Meeting. May 5–6, 2011: Denmark (Greenland) Nuuk:
Attended the Seventh Ministerial Meeting ...
1. Statement by the President on H.R. 1473 |
whitehouse.gov
https://obamawhitehouse.archives.gov/the-press...
Apr 15, 2011 · Section 1112 of the Act bars the use of funds for the remainder of fiscal year 2011 to
transfer Guantanamo detainees into the United States, and section 1113 bars the use of funds for the
remainder of fiscal year 2011 to transfer detainees to the custody or effective control of foreign countries
unless specified conditions are met.
2. EDITORIAL: Obama's Third World America - Washington
Times
https://www.washingtontimes.com/news/2011/apr/15/...
Apr 15, 2011 · By THE WASHINGTON TIMES - The Washington Times - Friday, April 15, 2011
ANALYSIS/OPINION: President Obama warns Republican policies …
3. Images of 2011 Apr 15th Obama
bing.com/images
See all
See more images of 2011 Apr 15th Obama
Apr 14, 2011 · The Guardian - Back to home. ... Obama, Cameron and Sarkozy: no let-up in Libya until
Gaddafi departs ... Published: 15 Apr 2011 With Tripoli's rebel underground.
IT IS HELLA BAD.
It seems like they DID have this whole treasonous plan oif things, and that they just
“ADJUSTED” when she lost and kept going… adding in the Insirance Policies as they
went… BUT THEN AGAIN. and IN FACT it almost seems like DJT’s presidency just
step[ped in where Obama was gonna run HRC out instead. She had her own insurance
policy: the POrivate Server that he and everyone else communicate don. HE propably
triggered Benghazi himself – he knew she would NEVER GET THE MEMO about what
Chris needed.
Him and Brennan are DEFINITELY THE FIRST CABAL – I guess Podesta and Clinton
and Comey and Mueller are the second. If that is true, then MUCH hof what they are
doing/have done to trump was likely going to be done to HRC anyway.
.com version:
centivax.com
Registrar:
FastDomain Inc.
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2019-03-31
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@JUSTHOST.COM
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+1.8887557585
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@JUSTHOST.COM
Registrant Country: US
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Admin Country: US
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Tech Country: US
Tech Fax:
DNSSEC: unsigned
No way to tell, the search does not stay once you click it for
data info.
Whois.net:
Ahh – “with an M” : cannot even tell it is CHINA now/on this
site:
Domain Name: CEMTIVAX.COM
Registry Domain ID: 2510854651_DOMAIN_COM-VRSN
Registrar WHOIS Server: whois.hkdns.hk
Registrar URL: http://www.hkdns.hk
Updated Date: 2020-04-04T08:28:59Z
Creation Date: 2020-04-04T08:20:46Z
Registry Expiry Date: 2021-04-04T08:20:46Z
Registrar: West263 International Limited
Registrar IANA ID: 1915
Registrar Abuse Contact Email: [email protected]
Registrar Abuse Contact Phone: +86.62778877 Ext8364
Domain Status: ok https://icann.org/epp#ok
Name Server: 600.NS1.ABOVE.COM
Name Server: 600.NS2.ABOVE.COM
DNSSEC: unsigned
URL of the ICANN Whois Inaccuracy Complaint Form: https://www.icann.org/wicf/
>>> Last update of whois database: 2020-05-19T12:30:43Z <<<
Justia Patents Mark R. Glanville Inventions, Patents and Patent Applications Patents by Inventor Mark
R. Glanville Mark R. Glanville has filed for patents to protect the following inventions. This listing
includes patent applications that are pending as well as patents that have already been granted by the
United States Patent and Trademark ...
Roger Glanville Inventions, Patents and Patent ...
https://patents.justia.com/inventor/roger-glanville
Justia Patents Roger Glanville Inventions, ... Roger Glanville has filed for patents to protect the
following inventions. This listing includes patent applications that are pending as well as patents that
have already been granted by the United States Patent and Trademark Office (USPTO).
Oct 02, 2015 · Justia Patents Chemistry: ... Antigens Patents (Class 435/69.3) Vehicle trailer control
system with wireless capability. Patent number: 10196089 ... Inventor: Jacob E. Glanville
UBIQUITINYLATED PROTEINS. Publication number: 20150104477 ...
Cnzgesearch to add the “E”
EPITOPE FOCUSING BY VARIABLE EFFECTIVE ANTIGEN SURFACE
CONCENTRATION
Publication number: 20150110836
Type: Application
3.
Jacob Glanville
Founding Partner, CEO, and President
Jacob Glanville is an Entrepreneur and Computational Immuno-Engineer with a colorful past. He co-
founded Distributed Bio in 2012, designed the core antibody engineering and Universal Vaccine
technologies, built an…See more on LinkedIn
View on LinkedIn
Stanford University
PhD
2012 - 2017
https://www.linkedin.com/in/jacobglanville/ he claims to have either 3 or 6 patents I forget – where WAS HE FROM 2006
when he graduated Berkeley to 2012 when he entered STFD????
Principal Scientist
Company Name
Pfizer
Dates Employed Feb 2008 – Apr 2012
Employment Duration 4 yrs 3 mos
Location Rinat Laboratories, Pfizer Inc
www.arenagadgets.com/dr-jacob-glanville
He is a Stanford University Scientific Advisory Committee member for the Sean Parker Center for
Allergy and Asthma Research, a Scientific Advisory Board member for the University of San Francisco’s
Biotechnology program, a repeat Gates Foundation/Stanford University Computational and
Systems Immunology Grant Recipient while a PhD Candidate with Mark Davis at Stanford, a
National Institute of Health Principal Investigator with an SBIR award for our universal antivenom
program, a Gates Foundation Grand Challenge awardee for the Centivax universal vaccine
program, a Recipient of Pfizer Achievement award 2010 while Principal Scientist at Pfizer, and
has been a course-founding instructor and guest lecturer for multiple graduate-level applied
computational and systems immunology courses at Stanford and USF. <photos> As Co-Founder, CEO
and President of Distributed Bio, he and his teams apply computationally-guided immunoengineering
methods to enable a new generation of monoclonal antibody discovery and universal vaccine design. In
addition to counting over 50 pharmaceutical companies and biotechnology startups as his Distributed
Bio clients, he enjoys collaborating with multiple partners to generate exciting new technologies in
biomedicine.
Jacob glanville $500 62 mos; See all ... People have raised more money on GoFundMe than anywhere
else. Learn more. GoFundMe Guarantee. In the rare case that something isn’t right, we will refund your
donation. Learn more. Expert advice, 24/7. Contact us with your questions and we’ll answer, day or …
2. Fundraiser by Bio Pro Research - gofundme.com
https://www.gofundme.com/f/1xlwyjokmo
JACOB GLANVILLE, PHD - DISTRIBUTED BIO ANDREAS LUDWIG KALCKER - SZWFIE ///// Con el
sentimiento universal de un mundo mejor y sentir todo lo que nos esta pasando como planeta. Es nuestro
deber apoyar a todos los cientificos. Instituciones.
LEGIT… I sstill think something is very vvery wrong here~
Jake Granville. Hooker. Player Bio Height: 172 cm Weight: 87 kg Age: 31 . Date of Birth: 07 February
1989 ...
VERY ODD:
1. ke Schindler - Wikipedia
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jake_Schindler
Jacob Carl Schindler (born September 26, 1989) is an American professional poker player from Bryn
Mawr, Pennsylvania known for his accomplishments in live and online poker tournaments.
o Born: September 26, 1989 (age 30), Bryn Mawr, …
o Bracelet(s): None
o Residence: Hollywood, Florida
o Nickname(s): CaLLitARUSH
Missing:
o jake granville
Must include:
o jake granville
2. Player - Jake Granville - TheBench
https://thebench.com.au/code/nrl/players/nql/jake-granville
Jake Granville (born 7 February 1989) is an Australian professional rugby league footballer for the
Brisbane Broncos of the National Rugby League. He primarily plays hooker, fullback, wing and centre.
3. Granville Mitchell: Hendon Mob Poker Database
https://pokerdb.thehendonmob.com/player.php?n=385623
Total life earnings: $60,125. Latest cash: $2,862 on 06-Sep-2019. Click here to see the details of
Granville Mitchell's 67 cashes.
4. Jake Schindler: Hendon Mob Poker Database
https://pokerdb.thehendonmob.com/player.php?n=148318
$ 10,000 + 400 No Limit Hold'em #17 Five Diamond Main Event World Poker Tour - WPT Five Diamond
World Poker Classic, Las Vegas 3rd $ 736,579 30-Nov-2016: United States: $ 1,500 + 100 No Limit …
Missing:
o jake granville
Must include:
o jake granville
…Justa Thot~ kk gonna read his CV now. Omg it says THIS:::
* withdrew from undergraduate in late 2000 due to residual health effects after a
machete attack on volcano Atitlan in Guatemala. Returned 2004 and completed
degree in 2006.
Jul 29, 2019 · While he tended his cornfield in eastern Guatemala, the 77-year-old indigenous Maya
Q'eqchi' community leader was killed in a machete attack. Juc was president of the village chapter of the
Campesino Development Committee (CODECA), a national indigenous-led social movement organisation
working for land rights, a plurinational state, energy ...
While it seems in North America we simply use the machete for entertainment purposes, the machete is
still a popular multi-tool here in Guatemala…and it’s a little unnerving. Safety In Guatemala . After the
rough start in Mexico City, we were wary of coming to Guatemala. It didn’t help that Guatemala …
2. Volcanic Hazards at Atitlán Volcano, Guatemala - USGS
https://pubs.usgs.gov/of/2005/1403
Jul 28, 2006 · Atitlán Volcano is a composite volcano, with a steep-sided, symmetrical cone comprising
alternating layers of lava flows, volcanic ash, cinders, blocks, and bombs. Eruptions of Atitlán began …
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sheeesh.
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DNSSEC: unsigned
XXX
Mar 25, 2020 · Dr. Jacob Glanville is an American immunologist, CEO, founder, chairman of the board,
and president of Distributed Bio. Moreover, he is currently in the news because he claimed that his
company is only 2 to 3 weeks away from developing a cure to fight against the deadly Coronavirus.
3. Jacob Glanville - Wikipedia
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jacob_Glanville
Jacob Eli Gunn Glanville is an American computational immunoengineer and businessperson. He is co-
founder and chief executive officer of the start-up company Distributed Bio and its spin-out, Centivax .
Glanville was featured in the documentary series Pandemic: How to Prevent an Outbreak. Glanville was
born in The Dalles, Oregon and raised in Guatemala to American expatriate parents. His mother is an
artist and his father an inn keeper. In 2007, Glanville graduated from University of California, Berkeleyw…
Wikipedia · Text under CC-BY-SA license
MORE FROM Democracy Now page for may 21st>
https://www.democracynow.org/2013/5/21/headlines Velly
Innerestang~
Jay Carney was born James Ferguson Carney. Raised in Northern Virginia, Carney high school at
whadda coincidence! The Lawrenceville School, in Lawrenceville, New Jersey, and earned a bachelor's
degree in Russian and Eastern European studies from Yale University in 1987. Career Time
Magazine
Education: Yale University (BA)
President: Barack Obama
Political party: Democratic
Children: 2
xxxWIFE: Soviet Union | PEOPLE.com
https://people.com/archive/soviet-union-vol-43-no-23 UNBELIEVABLE – see the
article – contributing writer for people? A PODESTA>
Based in Washington, where Hurst, 48, covers the State Department for CNN and Shipman, 32, is a
White House correspondent, the two admit that they long for the emotional intensity of Moscow. Ok she
divorced in 1998 so he was born in 1954 right? Thus she was born in 1966 – THINK
SUNSTEIN/POWERS. Ok gonna paste the article HERE I guess…sheeesh Glanville enough with the
rabbit holes!@#!
https://people.com/archive/soviet-union-vol-43-no-23 UNBELIEVABLE – see the
article – contributing writer for people? A PODESTA in-law???>
Soviet Union
people.com By MICHELLE GREEN
FOR CNN’S CLAIRE SHIPMAN AND Steve Hurst, married life has always taken
its cues from the news. Take their wedding: Posted in Moscow in the summer
of 1991, bureau chief Hurst and producer-correspondent Shipman scrambled
to cover the George Bush-Mikhail Gorbachev summit and entertain a CNN
delegation of 85 while scheduling—and rescheduling—their nuptials. By the
time they walked down the aisle of a Russian Orthodox church a week later,
the two were exhausted, as well as ecstatic. After a brief trip to the Black
Sea, they returned to Moscow on Aug. 18 only to get a call at 5 a.m. the next
day reporting that a coup was brewing. Says Hurst: “We threw on our clothes
and ran to the office.”
Plunging into the story, the newly-weds had their first professional spat.
While Boris Yeltsin barricaded himself inside the Russian Parliament, rallying
opposition to Communist hard-line coup plotters, Shipman found a
bulletproof vest, talked her way inside the building and began feeding
reports to CNN. Defying an order from Hurst (who had heard rumors that the
military was moving in), she stayed until 4 a.m. “She wasn’t happy about
leaving,” he admits. “Let’s just say we were in complete disagreement about
the danger.”
These days frantic 14-hour shifts are still a part of their lives, but danger, for
the most part, is not. Based in Washington, where Hurst, 48, covers the State
Department for CNN and Shipman, 32, is a White House correspondent, the
two admit that they long for the emotional intensity of Moscow. “I miss it
horribly,” says Hurst, who went to the Soviet Union as an Associated Press
correspondent in 1979 and spent two years as NBC’s bureau chief before
signing on with CNN in 1988. “When we left, Gorbachev called us in to say
goodbye and gave us each a bear hug. It’s that kind of place.”
Raised in the Midwest, Hurst and Shipman each chose journalism as a route
to the Soviet Union. The older of two children of insurance-company
manager Charles Hurst and his wife, Mary, Steve wed high school sweetheart
Kathy Beaman while both were at Millikin College in Illinois. As seniors, they
spent a semester in Budapest and became fascinated with Eastern Europe.
After a three-year stint with the Decatur Herald-Review, Hurst entered the
graduate program of Russian and East European Studies at the University of
Illinois. Landing a job with AP in Columbus, Ohio, in 1976, he lobbied until he
was sent to Moscow three years later.
Shipman’s passion for the Soviet Union was sparked in
1985 when, as a Columbia University senior, she spent a
summer studying Russian in St. Petersburg.think OBAMA
1983Obama graduated from Columbia in 1983 with a degree in political
science. He specialized in international relations. Law school was another
story for Obama. He graduated magna cum laude from Harvard Law
School (the second highest honor available) in 1991.
For her part, Claire was concerned that their romance—which developed five
months after Hurst’s marriage collapsed and Kathy returned to the U.S. with
Sally, now 22, Anne, 19, and Ellen, 16—would spark controversy. Although
she had proved her mettle as a reporter, she worried about dating Steve. “I
thought, ‘This is a big decision,’ ” she says. “I thought I would be accused of
destroying his marriage and marrying him to get ahead.”
Fortunately, colleagues at CNN seem to have only admiration for the two.
“They’re a great couple journalistically and deeply in love,” says Wolf Blitzer,
CNN’s senior White House correspondent. “Steve’s a world-class journalist,
and I predict she’ll be a star.”
xxx
Claire Shipman ABC/ m 1998 to Carney div from Stephen Hurst. · Early life and education · Career ·
Awards · Personal life Claire Shipman - IMDb
Claire Shipman
Actress | Producer
Born:
May 30, 2014 · The insider also confirmed that he wants to spend the summer months with his wife, ABC
News reporter Claire Shipman, and their children – and that he is exhausted.
https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0794091
Claire Shipman was born in 1962 in Columbus, Ohio, USA. She is an actress and producer, known for
Contact (1997), CNN: The 1992 State of the Union Address (1992) and ABC News: Inauguration 2009
(2009). She has been married to Jay Carney since September 1998. They have two children. She was
previously married to Steven Hurst. See full bio »
STEVE HURST: Claire Shipman - Wikipedia
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Claire_Shipman
[ citation needed ] She is divorced from former CNN Moscow bureau chief Steve Hurst. [ citation
needed ] – CANT FIND OUT IF HE IS NOW AN ALABAMA STATE HO:USE OF REP CONGRESS
MEMBER TOO.
article
2 mins read
Tapper appeared impressed with Carney and his ability to improve the image
of Vice President Biden: "Well, he's been an effective and forceful advocate
for the Vice President for the last two years. And you've seen Vice President
Biden's press improve quite a bit. Jay understands what we do, having been
a journalist."
JAKE TAPPER: That's exactly right. You have the director of the health care
task force in the White House, Nancy Ann DeParle. She'll be a deputy chief of
staff. The director of scheduling, Alyssa Mastromonaco, she'll also be a
deputy chief of staff. And then, of course, the face of the White House,
the public face of the White House, is Vice President Biden's
communications director, Jay Carney, who, George, you and I know
as the former bureau chief for Time magazine. And, of course, he's
married to our own Claire Shipman.
JAY CARNEY: The best, best press secretaries were very deft at serving both
their boss, the President, the White House, the administration, and the press.
And, and not- it's a tricky job. I'm sure I wouldn't be any good at it.
TAPPER: Well, he's been an effective and forceful advocate for the Vice
President for the last two years. And you've seen Vice President Biden's
press improve quite a bit. Jay understands what we do, having been a
journalist. He understands that not every story is going to be positive.
There's going to be some negative 'graphs in there. So, he brings a savvy to
the business. We'll see what he's like in front of the cameras. That's a
different gig all together.
STEPHANOPOULOS: And that will be brand-new for him. And Vice President
Biden actually pushed this appointment quite hard.
- Scott Whitlock is a news analyst for the Media Research Center. Click here
to follow him on Twitter.
:
The James Rosen case emerged just days after it was revealed
the Justice Department seized the work, home and cellphone
records of almost 100 AP reporters and editors without a court
warrant.
TOPICS:
Department of Justice
More than 1,000 people marched in New York City’s West Village
Monday to denounce anti-gay violence following an apparent hate
crime that left one man dead. Mark Carson, a 32-year-old gay
African American, was with a male companion when a gunman
confronted the pair and followed them for several blocks. The
gunman yelled an anti-gay remark before opening fire. The
suspect, Elliot Morales, has been detained and charged. On
Monday, marchers honored Carson’s life by marching from the
LGBT Community Center to the site where he was killed.
1. SO MAY 21st 2016 was a BIZZY news day for Obama et al. how
ODD that this is the same day a Guatemalan Scientist from The Farm
(Stanford) filed for a patent for Covid Antigen Whatever. And chek out
BRENNAN appointment on both sides of this date:
2.
1. Cached
Nov 14, 2013 - ... CIA director John Brennan categorically denied claims that the CIA ... new non-
disclosure agreements at a CIA ceremony on May 21, 2013, ...
1. Similar
PDF
Feb 7, 2013 - session to consider the nomination of John Brennan to be the 21st Director of. 9 ...
analysis from CIA has never been greater than it is in 2013 or than it will be ... SENATOR BURR: As
we go forward, there may be times that the.
3. More Below incl HRC/KERRY this is the exact time she leaves
and he takes over – and within a month, MUELLER LEAVES TOO. Top
Fox News D.C. Reporter James Rosen Left ... - NPR.org
https://www.npr.org/2018/01/10/577093288
Jan 02, 2019 · Former Fox News Washington correspondent James Rosen has joined Sinclair
Broadcasting as an investigative reporter, according to a Tuesday night tweet by Rosen.
5. Images of James Rosen and Shipman
bing.com/images
See all
Jan 10, 2018 · A report says James Rosen, the chief Washington correspondent for Fox News, quietly left
after colleagues made sexual harassment allegations against him.
8. Pelosi On Confrontation With Journalist James Rosen:
"Was ...
https://www.realclearpolitics.com/video/2019/12/05...
Dec 05, 2019 · In response to a question from reporter James Rosen at a press conference Thursday
morning, House Speaker Nancy Pelosi left the podium and …
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
May 21, 2013 · May 21, 2013 | 4:00am WASHINGTON — The Internal Revenue Service scandal
yesterday reached all the way to the door of the Oval Office. President Obama’s chief of staff, Denis
McDonough, and ...
Then there was this – the link from the idiot with the Swiss
Policy twitter post where I found this guy to begin with:
when opened is about Jacob Granville – BusinessWire
https://www.businesswire.com/news/home/20200518005767/
en/Centivax-Antibodies-Neutralize-Pandemic-Coronavirus-
Independently-Confirmed
AND YOU FIND THIS IN THE ARTICLE –
ZUCKERBERG/CHAN: see below:
https://www.businesswire.com/news/home/20200518005767/
en/Centivax-Antibodies-Neutralize-Pandemic-Coronavirus-
Independently-Confirmed
Scientists at the U.S. Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases (USAMRIID)
are testing the antibodies for their ability to prevent the novel coronavirus from
infecting human cells. “We are still in the early stages of evaluating these monoclonal
antibodies, but the preliminary results are promising,”
said Dr. Jay Hooper, who is leading the USAMRIID effort.
“The plaque reduction neutralization test, or PRNT, data indicate a subset of these
antibodies have potent neutralizing activity against live SARS-CoV-2. I look forward to
further evaluation of these lead candidates in cell culture and in animal models.”
Tumblr is blogs. Turns out that when you make it easy to create interesting things, that’s exactly what
people do. All those great, random blogs your friends send you, those are Tumblr blogs. We’ll help you
find and follow blogs like that, and we’ll help other people find and follow yours.
Tumblr is an American microblogging and social networking website founded by David Karp in 20…
Wikipedia
Twitter
Suggest an edit
--looks like a dark Facebook see the logo? Not blue tho~
Sme page – search tumbler – we find this NEWS:
Tumblr now removes reblogs in violation of its hate-speech policy, not just the
original posts
Tumblr is making a change to how it deals with hate speech on its blogging platform. The company …
TechCrunch · 13d from
https://techcrunch.com/2020/05/04/tumblr-now-removes-reblogs-in-violation-of-its-hate-speech-policy-not-
just-the-original-posts/
Dr. Alex Bukreyev at the University of Texas Medical Branch and the
Galveston National Laboratory reports, “Our lab tested a panel of antibodies
against a real SARS-CoV-2 in biocontainment. We were pleased to see very
good neutralizing activity for some antibodies. We are working on their
testing in vivo, and I hope to see protection soon.”
Dr. Peter S. Kim, the Virginia & D.K. Ludwig Professor of Biochemistry at
Stanford University and Lead Investigator of the Infectious Disease Initiative
at the Chan Zuckerberg Biohub, agreed, “We are pleased to find that the
Centivax antibodies prevent infection by lentiviruses pseudotyped with the
SARS-CoV-2 Spike protein and hope that these antibodies will assist in the
development of therapeutics and vaccines.”
Centivax would like to thank the community effort of over 1,200 people
across 44 nations who donated to help make the discovery and
characterization of these antibodies possible.
The therapeutic property engineering has already shown results. “My teams
have confirmed that the molecules have superior stability, expression, and
are specific to the viral target without any binding to human cells,“ describes
Dr. Sawsan Youssef, Chief Science Officer and immunologist at Distributed
Bio and cofounder of Centivax, “These are all important properties to ensure
that the drug can be produced inexpensively, is shelf-stable, can be
concentrated for easier delivery, and has a clean safety profile and half-life.”
Centivax Director of Virology, Professor David Gangemi, reviews the clinical
opportunities for these engineered molecules: “Because of their exceptional
physical properties including neutralization potency, affinity, and stability,
these antibodies will be highly effective in reducing SARS-CoV-2 replication
and dissemination, and can be concentrated and delivered in smaller doses
that may be suitable for the more convenient subcutaneous route of
administration and for prophylaxis of at-risk individuals.”
Going forward, the best antibodies are being progressed for safety
assessment with Charles River Laboratories. “We are encouraged by the
neutralizing effect seen thus far,” said Birgit Girshick, Corporate Executive
Vice President at Charles River. “As a strategic partner of Distributed Bio,
we’re proud to support this innovative program and are excited by the
potential it holds.” Centivax aims to complete pre-clinical development and
initiate a clinical study for COVID-19 patients by the end of summer, and
remains open to any collaborative opportunities to further accelerate rapid
global access to the medicine to follow. “This will likely be the fastest I’ve
ever taken a therapeutic antibody into the clinic,” explains Dr. Sawsan
Youssef, “but the world needs this therapy now.”
[The information contained in this press release does not necessarily reflect
the position or policy of the Government and no official endorsement should
be inferred.]
About Centivax
Contact:
Contacts
Jacob Glanville, Founder, CEO, and President of Centivax and Distributed Bio
[email protected]
ANOTHER WHOPPER?
The Human Antivenom Project | Outside Online
https://www.outsideonline.com/2395803/snakebite-antivenom-tim-friede
May 16, 2019 · Glanville grew up in Guatemala in the late eighties and early nineties, amid the country’s
36-year civil war. He’s the son of American expats, his father an (thot he was a saloon keeper or
some sjit) “agricultural importer” (a ...
Author: Kyle Dickman
SNIP of the above article:
It might one day be to the world’s great fortune that Jacob Glanville, a young
immunologist trying to make a name for himself in the field of universal vaccines,
went online and found Tim Friede, a mechanic who had been shooting lethal
doses of snake venom into his bloodstream for going on two decades. It may also
prove to be yet another stroke of terrible luck for Friede.
But let’s start at the beginning. It was March 2017. Glanville, who left a principal-
scientist position at Pfizer to launch a startup called Distributed Bio, had just
developed a novel method for accelerating the creation of new drugs by extracting
patients’ antibodies, the blood proteins vertebrates use to counteract the threat of
viruses, bacteria, and toxins. He thought he’d apply the technique to cancer
research. So one day, while sitting with a meditative view at San Francisco’s
Japanese Tea Garden, he took to Google in search of a melanoma survivor.
Chasing a thought, he typed in “repeat venom survivor” instead and found Friede.
>snip<
Glanville watched this with the appropriate mix of discomfort and grim
fascination. “Jesus fuck, this is my guy,” he said. Friede’s immune system, it
seemed, was able to neutralize dozens of different toxins. Glanville wondered
whether he could use his new antibody-extraction method on Friede to create a
universal antivenom. NICE MOUTH DUDE.
More on The Guy above: >snip<
The son of schoolteachers he never met, Friede was adopted when he was
three months old and raised by a police-officer dad and a stay-at-
home mom in the Milwaukee suburbs. An intense kid, he grew up hunting
snakes and fantasizing about joining the Special Forces. Shortly after graduating
from high school, he broke his ankle in a car accident when he flipped his VW
bug. At 19, after he fractured the ankle a second time, in Army boot camp, he gave
up on the military and took a job as a high-rise window washer in Milwaukee.
Still somewhat aimless at 30, he enrolled in a class on how to milk spiders and
scorpions, hoping to land a career extracting venom for medical research.
GLANVILLE:
>snip< Glanville’s major contribution at Pfizer (and the reason he was promoted
to principal scientist in just four years) was writing 45,000 lines of code to
optimize the process of matching antibodies to antigens. Searches that once took
a team of scientists ten years to complete, Glanville says, can now be done in a
week by a master’s student working alone. His software taught the computer to
find thousands of matching antibodies from the tens of billions in a library. None
of those matches would be perfect, but by swapping various features they share,
one or a few of them could be made into something close. Glanville had
developed a way to dramatically cull the number of potential candidates and then
engineer the most promising ones. He transformed the search for antibody drugs
from a needle in a hundred hay stacks to a needle in just one.
In 2012, at 31, Glanville took his code and left his prestigious job at Pfizer. He
then founded Distributed Bio while also becoming the first Ph.D. candidate in
computational immunology at Stanford University. Five years later, Glanville
completed his doctorate, and business at Distributed Bio was booming. He now
licenses his software and antibody library back to Pfizer and each of nine other
pharmaceutical giants for around $500,000 a year and typically receives 2
percent of the profit from any drugs developed using them. With those earnings,
Distributed Bio has added a fleet of new hardware to help in the discovery,
isolation, refinement, and cloning of antibodies, making his firm, which employs
20 researchers, a leader in the field.
In 2012, at 31, Glanville took his code and left his prestigious job at Pfizer. He
then founded Distributed Bio while also becoming the first Ph.D. candidate in
computational immunology at Stanford University. Five years later, Glanville
completed his doctorate, and business at Distributed Bio was booming. He now
licenses his software and antibody library back to Pfizer and each of nine other
pharmaceutical giants for around $500,000 a year and typically receives 2
percent of the profit from any drugs developed using them. With those earnings,
Distributed Bio has added a fleet of new hardware to help in the discovery,
isolation, refinement, and cloning of antibodies, making his firm, which employs
20 researchers, a leader in the field.
Glanville’s baby was his flu-vaccine work, and important insights he gained
during that quest would also apply to snakebites. As with the toxins in venom,
influenza strains are incredibly diverse. We get flu shots every year because the
virus mutates somewhere between 10 and 20 percent from one season to the
next, rendering our defenses useless. To succeed with a flu vaccine, however,
Glanville just needed to engineer antibodies that sniffed out the virus’ weak spot,
that one place that doesn’t evolve even as everything around it does.
Along with his research co-lead, microbiologist Sarah Ives, Glanville bought 15
live flu viruses that were representative of the strains that had infected humans
between 1938 and 2015, then locked them in cold storage. Collectively, influenza
killed tens of millions of people during that span of time. Glanville wrote a
computer program to identify any binding sites that were shared across all 15
viruses. And he found a region full of them, buried deep in its molecular folds.
Then Glanville engineered a vaccine that would teach the immune system to
produce antibodies to target that area. Back in Guatemala, at a pig farm he and
his brother built on their parents’ property to save money on research trials, his
team immunized 100 pigs (a common animal model for humans) with the
designer vaccine. Then they exposed the pigs’ serum, the component in blood
that contains antibodies, to influenza strains that the animals’ had never seen,
those that went epidemic in humans between 2005 and 2015. The serum fought
off the viruses. “The smart money is that this is the universal flu vaccine,” says
Glanville. Indeed, the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation invited Distributed Bio
to submit a grant proposal, and the company plans to go into preclinical testing at
veterinary research facilities in Iowa this fall.
>snip< “I’m just glad you got to see the ass part of this whole thing and the rock-
star part,” Friede tells me. “I wish I had my job, my house, my kids, my life, but
guess what? I don’t. And if it took that to get this done, maybe it was all worth it.”
He presses his cigarette into the sidewalk and goes back inside to a Christmas
party full of scientists and millionaires. Glanville, wearing an ironic holiday
sweater, is chatting with an immunologist who is working to cure cancer. Friede
orders a vodka cocktail from the bar and steps off to one side of the room with
Greeley. It’s the last time I see them.
When he got back to Wisconsin, Friede sold his self-immunization kit and snake
cages so he could afford to get the rest of his stuff out of storage. One day in
January, he announced on Facebook that he was quitting self-immunizing.
Hundreds of people liked the post or wrote encouraging comments. An era had
ended. After an estimated 200 snakebites and 700 lethal injections, self-
immunizing’s brightest star had retired.
Friede, now doing maintenance work at the steakhouse where we ate and still
waiting for Glanville’s grant to go through, no longer has to punish his own body
to save the snakebitten. With his antibodies in the hands of reliable scientists, he
could do no more. When I reached him by phone in the spring, he told me he was
making an effort to spend time with his kids. He would continue to do interviews
for snake-themed websites, but only to promote the antivenom project and talk
about how he’d move beyond self-immunizing. Life was starting anew, and it felt
good.
Administrative Contact
Name:
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Organization:
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Street:
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Name:
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Organization:
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Jun 04, 2019 · Tom Frieden, who was formerly the head of the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and
Prevention, admitted to groping a longtime family friend in New York, but …
Missing:
o obit
Must include:
o obit
2.
3. Former CDC director Tom Frieden pleads guilty to sex abuse
case but gets no jail time
4. boingboing.net
5. 1 min read
6.
7. Friedman led CDC for 8 years under Obama, was charged with sex
abuse, forcible touching, and harassment.
8. Tom Frieden, who was formerly the head of the U.S. Centers for
Disease Control and Prevention, admitted to groping a longtime family
friend in New York, but managed to avoid a single day of jail time.
10. Because Frieden pleaded guilty today, he was not required to tell
Brooklyn Criminal Court Judge Edwin Novillo what happened during the
October 2017 incident.
15. Novillo also ordered Frieden to avoid contact with his family
friend for a year.
16. PHOTO: Dr. Thomas Frieden, Director of the Centers For Disease
Control, delivers remarks at the HHS 2014 Budget Press Conference,
April 10, 2013 [commons.wikimedia.org]
18. GET THE BOING BOING NEWSLETTER
o
20. Family pens brutally honest obit for man who died of
heroin OD
https://nypost.com/2017/02/03/family-pens-brutally...
Family pens brutally honest obit for man who died of heroin OD By ... of the opioid crisis either from
misuse of prescription opioids or use of illicit opioids,” said CDC Director Tom …
o Author: Joshua Rhett Miller
21. Ex-CDC director Thomas Frieden arrested on sex
abuse ...
https://www.nrtoday.com/ex-cdc-director-thomas...
Dr. Thomas Frieden was awaiting a court appearance on Friday in connection with what happened on
Oct. 20, 2017, at his Brooklyn home, police said. The woman reported it in July, and he was taken ...
22. Thomas Friede Profiles | Facebook
https://www.facebook.com/public/Thomas-Friede
View the profiles of people named Thomas Friede. Join Facebook to connect with Thomas Friede and
others you may know. Facebook gives people the power to...
HOW FORTUNATE FOR THE WORLD THAT THIS GUYJake
Glanville DID ALL THIS!!!
SJIT couldn’t snit it correctly… bur look .snip, xointrd
o, no, no,” Friede said. “I’m not. I’m just an idiot who gets bit by snakes.”
Before Glanville had even heard of Friede, he was working on cures for HIV,
cancer, and Alzheimer’s disease. But his real passion is the flu. As with venom
toxins, the influenza virus is constantly evolving, yet with each transformation,
some part of each strain remains the same.
“Evolution is ding, ding, ding, ding—all the time,” Glanville says. “Whether that
mutation survives depends on whether it’s advantageous. The part of the protein
that functions the same way across all species, that’s the part that’s conserved,
because it’s already working.” In other words, a virus doesn’t fix what isn’t
broken. This was the scientific epiphany that struck immunology a decade earlier,
and it now drives all of Glanville’s work. If an antibody could be created to target
that conserved portion, almost every strain of the virus could be neutralized—a
universal vaccine.
Glanville grew up in Guatemala in the late eighties and early nineties, amid the
country’s 36-year civil war. He’s the son of American expats, his father an
“agricultural importer” (a winking euphemism) and his mother an artist whose
father helped develop the engines that sent the first U.S. rockets into space. To
avoid stray bullets, Glanville and his younger brother, Keith, slept on the floor of
the hotel their parents owned, and to get to school they rode a boat across Lake
Atitlán. Glanville was also brilliant, cooking up nitroglycerin in the family
bathtub when he was nine and finishing high school math by the time he was 11.
As an undergraduate at the University of California at Berkeley, Glanville studied
computational bioengineering, a new field that used math and supercomputers to
solve complex biological riddles. The immune system fascinated him. “So I
figured out how to hack it,” he says.
In 2012, at 31, Glanville took his code and left his prestigious job at Pfizer. He
then founded Distributed Bio while also becoming the first Ph.D. candidate in
computational immunology at Stanford University. Five years later, Glanville
completed his doctorate, and business at Distributed Bio was booming. He now
licenses his software and antibody library back to Pfizer and each of nine other
pharmaceutical giants for around $500,000 a year and typically receives 2
percent of the profit from any drugs developed using them. With those earnings,
Distributed Bio has added a fleet of new hardware to help in the discovery,
isolation, refinement, and cloning of antibodies, making his firm, which employs
20 researchers, a leader in the field.
Glanville’s baby was his flu-vaccine work, and important insights he gained
during that quest would also apply to snakebites. As with the toxins in venom,
influenza strains are incredibly diverse. We get flu shots every year because the
virus mutates somewhere between 10 and 20 percent from one season to the
next, rendering our defenses useless. To succeed with a flu vaccine, however,
Glanville just needed to engineer antibodies that sniffed out the virus’ weak spot,
that one place that doesn’t evolve even as everything around it does.
Along with his research co-lead, microbiologist Sarah Ives, Glanville bought 15
live flu viruses that were representative of the strains that had infected humans
between 1938 and 2015, then locked them in cold storage. Collectively, influenza
killed tens of millions of people during that span of time. Glanville wrote a
computer program to identify any binding sites that were shared across all 15
viruses. And he found a region full of them, buried deep in its molecular folds.
Then Glanville engineered a vaccine that would teach the immune system to
produce antibodies to target that area. Back in Guatemala, at a pig farm he and
his brother built on their parents’ property to save money on research trials, his
team immunized 100 pigs (a common animal model for humans) with the
designer vaccine. Then they exposed the pigs’ serum, the component in blood
that contains antibodies, to influenza strains that the animals’ had never seen,
those that went epidemic in humans between 2005 and 2015. The serum fought
off the viruses. “The smart money is that this is the universal flu vaccine,” says
Glanville. Indeed, the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation invited Distributed Bio
to submit a grant proposal, and the company plans to go into preclinical testing at
veterinary research facilities in Iowa this fall.
Given that potential breakthrough, it’s perhaps not surprising that Glanville is so
confident he can succeed with snakebites, too. “With our tech,” he told me,
“because of what Tim has done—as crazy as that shit is—this is an easy problem
for us to solve.”
Glanville had only an inkling of how crazy it really was. Starting in 2000, when
Friede set his mind to immunizing himself from nearly all snakes, he turned his
basement into a venom lab. He insulated the walls to keep tropical reptiles warm
in Wisconsin’s winters and used spent syringes to hang a world map and a letter
from a self-immunizer he admired beside a Sports Illustrated swimsuit calendar.
Every few months, new species arrived at the Milwaukee airport, where Friede
would pick up the wooden crates stamped Venomous SNAKEs.
When he got home, Friede would listen to Tool and open the crates with a
screwdriver. On snake hooks or in Friede’s bare hands, out came the writhing
contents. Water cobras. Taipans. Mambas. He put them in cages he stacked
against a wall. Friede’s rarer venom donors were wild-caught—legally or illegally,
he doesn’t know—and often stressed or sick. Some died a few months after they
came in. Friede loves animals, but whether his snakes survived long-term didn’t
ultimately affect his work. Once he milked their venom he could dehydrate it into
a lifetime supply.
He also began taking what he calls “Darwinian notes.” On December 12, 2001, he
wrote, “Since dying was no fun, took off ’til December.” That day he injected
himself with the venom from the same cobra that nearly killed him, and he spiked
his blood every few weeks from then on. He rated pain on a numerical scale, with
entries ranging from 1 to 1,000. A common symptom was “3x3 swelling”; rarer
was “swelling from knee to ass,” “hives over whole body,” and “anaphylactic
shock” (though he suffered the last of these 12 times). Within a year of starting,
he was letting live snakes bite him to demonstrate his immunity. Over time he
could distinguish how much venom they’d injected simply by his body’s reaction.
He grew to like water cobras, because their neurotoxic venom blocked his nerve
cells, making a bite less painful and “very easy to beat.” He hated Cape cobras and
rattlesnakes, whose necrotic venom dissolved his muscles.
Before long the media discovered him, too. National Geographic filmed Friede for
a TV segment in 2002. The History Channel featured him on Stan Lee’s
Superhumans, and he appeared on the Science Channel and a number of
YouTube shows. He was also covered in several magazines and became a regular
guest on podcasts and radio. All that attention offered something he craved:
affirmation. “I was a rock star,” he says. “Hell yeah, it was fun.” At one point,
Friede got a lawyer and an agent to capitalize on the opportunities but has since
dropped both, because “it’s never been about the money.”
What it has been about, Friede insists, is saving lives. As early as 2003, he
believed that scientists could turn his blood into a universal antivenom, so he
began to reach out. Friede e-mailed Nobel Prize–winning experts on the immune
system, an Arizona State University professor who developed a technique for
genetic immunization, and Stanley Plotkin, the author of the 1,720-page tome
Plotkin’s Vaccines, which Friede used to inform his own immunization.
The scientists got back to him with cursory congratulations, but he found few
who were genuinely interested in what he was doing. He got a better reception
among a more amateur crowd—the burgeoning online self-immunization
community. Norman Benoit, the closest thing the practice has to a historian,
wrote that Friede “has almost single-handedly taken the concept of self-
immunizing to where it is today.” That place seems to be a Facebook page that
Friede started in 2013. It now has 3,000 members around the world and an
image gallery that could be sent as hate mail to a squeamish enemy. On it, Friede
generally advises caution to newcomers while supporting—though not providing
advice on—their DIY immunity efforts.
Friede wasn’t exactly cautious himself. Over time his experimentation grew
bolder, if not downright reckless. “You’ve got to make mistakes to get better,
that’s part of it,” he says. On November 29, 2015, he filmed the black mamba and
taipan double bite that led him to Glanville. The video now has 11.5 million views
on YouTube. Friede described the event in his notes: “One of the worst double
bites I’ve ever had. Swelling was 10" x 10". Took four days to heal.” A week later,
he repeated the experiment with the same two snakes and had a similar
experience. “Could not walk. Body was on fire. Fell down many times. Death was
near. Learned a lot.” Friede has now survived bites from two species of
rattlesnake, two species of taipan, four types of cobra, all three species of green
mamba, and the black mamba.
As might be imagined, Friede’s obsession has taken a toll on his personal life. His
ex-wife has said that Friede’s self-immunizing ruined their marriage. Friede
doesn’t argue the point. Though he still considers his ex-wife a close friend, he
says with remorse that for long periods he hasn’t had a good relationship with his
sons, who are now 11 and 22. “I mean, I was working to save the world. I traded
my life for all those people that snakes kill every year,” he says. After a strained
20 years, he and his wife split in 2010. Friede moved out and transferred his
snake lab to a property in nearby Fond du Lac, where he slept in a tent. “I figured
out how death works, then beat it,” he says. “That’s the only thing I’ve ever been
good at.”
By the spring of 2017, divorced and estranged from his kids, Friede felt that he’d
had enough. “I was done,” he says. “I was tired of the bites, tired of the pain, tired
of not getting anywhere.” So even while he kept posting on Facebook, he planned
to wind down his self-immunizing.
Then Glanville called. In as much time as it took him to explain his intentions,
Friede’s dream was revived. Glanville reaching out was “everything,” Friede says.
“Ev-ery-thing.”
Around the time Glanville and Friede connected, their cause got a publicity boost.
In June 2017, after intensive lobbying by physicians, the World Health
Organization categorized snakebites as a neglected tropical disease, an upgraded
classification with the heft to shake loose vital funding. Every year, snakes kill
between 80,000 and 130,000 people and claim 400,000 limbs through
amputation.
Dozens of teams around the world are now trying to improve upon the
antivenoms first developed in the late 1890s by Albert Calmette, a French
immunologist who also developed a vaccine for tuberculosis. Calmette made an
antivenom to cobras by doing to rabbits what Friede has done to himself. Since
then sheep and horses have become the antibody donors of choice, largely
because of their abundant blood supplies. Otherwise, antivenom production has
changed very little. Serums can expire in less than two years and are expensive
($2,300 per vial and sometimes more), and the antibodies they produce work
only against select types of venom. While that last flaw is acceptable in places like
the United States, which is home to only four appreciably different venomous
snakes, it isn’t in a country like India, which has 60.
Like some of the other teams working on antivenom, Glanville hopes to target the
protein-binding sites shared among each of those 13 families. If he can find
antibodies to lock onto those vulnerable sites, a so-called broad-spectrum
antivenom wouldn’t need to contain several thousand distinct antibodies. An
effective number, he says, could be closer to 30.
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It might one day be to the world’s great fortune that Jacob Glanville, a young immunologist
trying to make a name for himself in the field of universal vaccines, went online and found Tim
Friede, a mechanic who had been shooting lethal doses of snake venom into his bloodstream for
going on two decades. It may also prove to be yet another stroke of terrible luck for Friede.
But let’s start at the beginning. It was March 2017. Glanville, who left a principal-scientist
position at Pfizer to launch a startup called Distributed Bio, had just developed a novel method
for accelerating the creation of new drugs by extracting patients’ antibodies, the blood proteins
vertebrates use to counteract the threat of viruses, bacteria, and toxins. He thought he’d apply
the technique to cancer research. So one day, while sitting with a meditative view at San
Francisco’s Japanese Tea Garden, he took to Google in search of a melanoma survivor. Chasing
a thought, he typed in “repeat venom survivor” instead and found Friede.
Friede, who has spent 19 years promoting his quest to help researchers create a universal
antivenom, takes up an inordinate amount of space on the internet. Glanville soon stumbled
upon a newspaper story that described a YouTube video of Friede’s favorite stunt, the one he
says proves his immunity to two of the deadliest snakes in existence. In the video, Friede holds
the head of a Papua New Guinea taipan, one of the world’s most potently venomous snakes,
against his forearm. Blood is already dripping from fang marks on his right arm, left there
moments earlier by a ten-foot-long black mamba. Now the taipan bites. An attack from either
snake can stop a person’s heart in a couple of hours. Other symptoms, including drooping
eyelids and paralysis of the tongue, develop in seconds. But Friede calmly puts the snake back in
its cage and says to the camera, “I love it. I love it. I love it.”
Glanville watched this with the appropriate mix of discomfort and grim fascination. “Jesus fuck,
this is my guy,” he said. Friede’s immune system, it seemed, was able to neutralize dozens of
different toxins. Glanville wondered whether he could use his new antibody-extraction method
on Friede to create a universal antivenom.
Ti
m Friede, scientist Ray Newland, and Jacob Glanville at Distributed Bio’s offices in South San
Francisco (Photo: Peter Prato)
Friede was driving home from his factory job building military trucks in Oshkosh, Wisconsin,
when he received the first call. He remembers Glanville complimenting him on his knowledge of
the immune system and explaining his interest in creating an antivenom. Soon after, they made
a handshake agreement. Friede would supply his antibodies, and Glanville his science, and
should they bring an antivenom to market, they’d split the profits down the middle. It was a long
shot, but one that could eventually net each of them millions.
It’s now early December 2018, and Friede and Glanville are meeting in person for the first time,
at Distributed Bio’s new offices in South San Francisco, in a nondescript building so close to the
city’s birthplace of biotechnology sign, you could hit it with a genetically modified peach. Along
with four other young immunologists and Friede’s girlfriend, Gretchen Greeley, they are
drinking single-malt Scotch in an office down the hall from the lab where Glanville’s team has
been studying Friede’s blood. Glanville, 38, is six-foot-two, with round glasses and a round face
framed by dark, curly hair. He’s wearing designer jeans and nice leather boots.
Friede, 51, is around the same height as Glanville. He has a full head of closely shaved graying
hair, wispy sideburns that drip into a goatee, and a face so thin it looks blown onto his
cheekbones. He’s wearing faded jeans from Goodwill and steel-toed Keens. His voice is gravelly
from cigarettes, and feeling insecure in the presence of so many Ph.D.’s, he plays the part of the
dumb country boy. “That was the most terrifying few hours of my life,” he says, describing what
was a fairly routine flight to San Francisco. Then he proclaims, “Today is the best day of my life.”
When Glanville pulls him into a fatherly side hug, Friede seems to swell.
Glanville has ostensibly flown Friede to San Francisco to plan the next steps of their multiyear
antivenom project. But really they’ve gathered here to meet me. Putting a new drug on the
market can cost tens of millions of dollars, and Glanville knows that press can lead to funding.
Having once survived a harrowing rattlesnake bite myself, I was curious whether, by some
cosmic confluence of the ongoing technological revolution in immunology, Glanville’s skill set,
and Friede’s unfathomable tolerance for pain, a mechanic from Wisconsin really was on the
verge of becoming the dark angel of antivenom that for years he’d been saying he was.
A week earlier, I was buying Friede dinner in his new hometown of Green Bay and trying to
figure out what triggered this obsession of his in the first place. A veteran of interviews, he took
me to “the steakhouse where the Packers eat” and ordered a $50 rib eye. With an IPA in hand,
Friede told me about his recent move from Oshkosh, where he’d lived for two years. “I was
bagging up my mamba, a big ten-foot black,” he said, adding that he hadn’t injected that
particular snake’s venom in several months. “And pop, right in the ring finger. Blood
everywhere. I mean everywhere. Total accident.” This was the 100th time he’d been bitten by a
mamba. “So, true story,” he said, “I walk into the kitchen and tell Gret, ‘Give me 15,’ because
normally after 15 you’re pretty good to go.”
“Minutes. If you’re not immune in 15, you’re out—dead. So I pass out. I thought, Son of a bitch,
either I’m going down or fucking shock is getting me,” he said. But he had no hives. He could
breathe. Five minutes later, he was back on his feet and then, wham, down again. “I hit my head
on the damn sink. Made it through that one. That was two months ago,” Friede said, and then
the waitress arrived with our salads.
The son of schoolteachers he never met, Friede was adopted when he was three months old and
raised by a police-officer dad and a stay-at-home mom in the Milwaukee suburbs. An intense
kid, he grew up hunting snakes and fantasizing about joining the Special Forces. Shortly after
graduating from high school, he broke his ankle in a car accident when he flipped his VW bug.
At 19, after he fractured the ankle a second time, in Army boot camp, he gave up on the military
and took a job as a high-rise window washer in Milwaukee.
Still somewhat aimless at 30, he enrolled in a class on how to milk spiders and scorpions, hoping
to land a career extracting venom for medical research. A few arachnid bites later, he got a pet
copperhead, and it’s been all snakes ever since. That’s also around the time he first heard about
self-immunization. The ancient practice involves escalating exposure to any harmful substance
—toxin, bacteria, virus—that the human body produces antibodies against. It sounded smart,
becoming immune to his deadly menagerie. So in 2000, Friede began shooting himself with
snake venom in small doses, at one point using some syringes acquired from his best friend’s
wife, a vet tech named Karen.
He suffered his first snakebite the day after 9/11. A few days before, Karen had died in a head-on
collision that would also render her two young kids comatose for six months. Devastated and
depressed, Friede got good and drunk and tried to milk his Egyptian cobra. The snake twisted
and sank its fangs into his left middle finger. Having begun self-immunizing the year before,
he’d already injected 0.26 milligrams of cobra venom diluted in saline—a dose large enough to
ensure he could survive a cobra bite. Friede’s wife at the time snapped a picture of him in his
living room. He looks fleshier and happy, with a smile on his face and his bloody hand pushed
up against the nose of his dog, a pit bull mix, while his beaming six-year-old son hugs the
animal. It’s one of two photos on his fridge. “That changed everything,” Friede said. “It was the
first time I beat death.”
The second time came an hour later. The freshly cobra-bitten Friede, feeling cocky, went back to
the cages where he kept his snakes and picked up a monocled cobra with his bare hands. “Naja
kaouthia,” Friede recalled, using the snake’s scientific name, as he always does. The cobra
perforated his right biceps. “I was scared as hell,” he said. Friede collapsed. Fully paralyzed, he
could still hear when the medics arrived and discussed whether he was dead. They revived him
with six vials of antivenom from the zoo, and Friede spent the next four days in a coma. “That
one is hard to talk about—a fucking disaster,” he said. “I wish it never happened.” It’s also the
story he uses to answer questions about his obsession. Afterward, he made it a goal to survive
two venomous snakebites in a single night, this time without requiring antivenom.
To do so, Friede taught himself enough immunology to self-vaccinate more safely. When he is
bitten or injects himself with snake toxins, his B cells, the body’s antibody factories, secrete
thousands of different antibodies in an effort to counteract each of the many distinct proteins
that make up a particular venom. At first very few succeed. Like random keys inserted into locks,
they simply don’t fit. But inevitably, a few do. It’s evolution taking place directly in the
bloodstream. Every time Friede receives a snakebite, his B cells make only those antibodies that
address the now present toxin while at the same time constantly tinkering to improve the
designs. The more venom Friede injects, the more effective his antibodies become.
What’s challenging about his approach is that each species’ venom is a combination of 20 to 70
toxic proteins and enzymes that kill or maim in their own special way. To survive bites from
multiple species, Friede needs antibodies capable of turning off the deadliest toxins in the
venoms injected, be it rattlesnake or cobra. He also needs a legion of them in his bloodstream at
all times, although when he first began self-immunizing, he wasn’t really certain how many.
Friede decided that more was better, and the process he settled on required near constant
exposure to venom. So he ordered a lot of snakes.
Fri
ede at his home in Green Bay (Photo: Peter Prato)
We arrived at this part of his story almost three hours after we’d sat down to dinner. The
steakhouse had closed, but after we finished our meal, Friede spotted a friend, the restaurant’s
baker, a cheery, pink-haired woman who loved snakes. We joined her and the rest of the
waitstaff at the bar, where Friede, who is charming and funny, had them all riveted—especially
when he began explaining the work he’d lined up for his antibodies tomorrow night.
“So, when I get bit by a water cobra, the most venomous snake in Africa, it’s going to be bam—
lock and key, lock and key, millions of times,” Friede said. Then he pivoted, explaining why his
immunity wasn’t just a dubious party trick but could save millions of lives. “What they did in
San Francisco,” he said, “is cloned all my good antibodies to mamba, rattlesnake, everything.”
And that, he continued, is what would become the foundation for a universal antivenom. (As it
often does, his enthusiasm for the project had him getting a bit ahead of the science.)
“Oh, you’re a hero,” the restaurant’s manager said, buying Friede a beer and a shot of whiskey in
appreciation.
“Oh no, no, no,” Friede said. “I’m not. I’m just an idiot who gets bit by snakes.”
Before Glanville had even heard of Friede, he was working on cures for HIV, cancer, and
Alzheimer’s disease. But his real passion is the flu. As with venom toxins, the influenza virus is
constantly evolving, yet with each transformation, some part of each strain remains the same.
“Evolution is ding, ding, ding, ding—all the time,” Glanville says. “Whether that mutation
survives depends on whether it’s advantageous. The part of the protein that functions the same
way across all species, that’s the part that’s conserved, because it’s already working.” In other
words, a virus doesn’t fix what isn’t broken. This was the scientific epiphany that struck
immunology a decade earlier, and it now drives all of Glanville’s work. If an antibody could be
created to target that conserved portion, almost every strain of the virus could be neutralized—a
universal vaccine.
Glanville grew up in Guatemala in the late eighties and early nineties, amid the country’s 36-
year civil war. He’s the son of American expats, his father an “agricultural importer” (a winking
euphemism) and his mother an artist whose father helped develop the engines that sent the first
U.S. rockets into space. To avoid stray bullets, Glanville and his younger brother, Keith, slept on
the floor of the hotel their parents owned, and to get to school they rode a boat across Lake
Atitlán. Glanville was also brilliant, cooking up nitroglycerin in the family bathtub when he was
nine and finishing high school math by the time he was 11. As an undergraduate at the
University of California at Berkeley, Glanville studied computational bioengineering, a new field
that used math and supercomputers to solve complex biological riddles. The immune system
fascinated him. “So I figured out how to hack it,” he says.
Around 2008, computational bioengineering was in its promising infancy, and Pfizer hired
Glanville a year out of college. Ever since human antibodies were discovered in the late 1890s,
scientists have considered them immunological silver bullets—cells with the elusive power to
theoretically cure any disease. Isolating and engineering them became perhaps the greatest
quest in medicine. Over the past two decades, scientists compiled libraries of billions of unique
antibodies that can be genomically sequenced, allowing researchers to read the DNA of each
one. Once that’s known, any antibody can be grown in bacteria and modified to target a specific
antigen.
Glanville’s major contribution at Pfizer (and the reason he was promoted to principal scientist in
just four years) was writing 45,000 lines of code to optimize the process of matching antibodies
to antigens. Searches that once took a team of scientists ten years to complete, Glanville says,
can now be done in a week by a master’s student working alone. His software taught the
computer to find thousands of matching antibodies from the tens of billions in a library. None of
those matches would be perfect, but by swapping various features they share, one or a few of
them could be made into something close. Glanville had developed a way to dramatically cull the
number of potential candidates and then engineer the most promising ones. He transformed the
search for antibody drugs from a needle in a hundred hay stacks to a needle in just one.
In 2012, at 31, Glanville took his code and left his prestigious job at Pfizer. He then founded
Distributed Bio while also becoming the first Ph.D. candidate in computational immunology at
Stanford University. Five years later, Glanville completed his doctorate, and business at
Distributed Bio was booming. He now licenses his software and antibody library back to Pfizer
and each of nine other pharmaceutical giants for around $500,000 a year and typically receives
2 percent of the profit from any drugs developed using them. With those earnings, Distributed
Bio has added a fleet of new hardware to help in the discovery, isolation, refinement, and
cloning of antibodies, making his firm, which employs 20 researchers, a leader in the field.
Glanville’s baby was his flu-vaccine work, and important insights he gained during that quest
would also apply to snakebites. As with the toxins in venom, influenza strains are incredibly
diverse. We get flu shots every year because the virus mutates somewhere between 10 and 20
percent from one season to the next, rendering our defenses useless. To succeed with a flu
vaccine, however, Glanville just needed to engineer antibodies that sniffed out the virus’ weak
spot, that one place that doesn’t evolve even as everything around it does.
Along with his research co-lead, microbiologist Sarah Ives, Glanville bought 15 live flu viruses
that were representative of the strains that had infected humans between 1938 and 2015, then
locked them in cold storage. Collectively, influenza killed tens of millions of people during that
span of time. Glanville wrote a computer program to identify any binding sites that were shared
across all 15 viruses. And he found a region full of them, buried deep in its molecular folds. Then
Glanville engineered a vaccine that would teach the immune system to produce antibodies to
target that area. Back in Guatemala, at a pig farm he and his brother built on their parents’
property to save money on research trials, his team immunized 100 pigs (a common animal
model for humans) with the designer vaccine. Then they exposed the pigs’ serum, the
component in blood that contains antibodies, to influenza strains that the animals’ had never
seen, those that went epidemic in humans between 2005 and 2015. The serum fought off the
viruses. “The smart money is that this is the universal flu vaccine,” says Glanville. Indeed, the
Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation invited Distributed Bio to submit a grant proposal, and the
company plans to go into preclinical testing at veterinary research facilities in Iowa this fall.
Given that potential breakthrough, it’s perhaps not surprising that Glanville is so confident he
can succeed with snakebites, too. “With our tech,” he told me, “because of what Tim has done—
as crazy as that shit is—this is an easy problem for us to solve.”
Glanville had only an inkling of how crazy it really was. Starting in 2000, when Friede set his
mind to immunizing himself from nearly all snakes, he turned his basement into a venom lab.
He insulated the walls to keep tropical reptiles warm in Wisconsin’s winters and used spent
syringes to hang a world map and a letter from a self-immunizer he admired beside a Sports
Illustrated swimsuit calendar. Every few months, new species arrived at the Milwaukee airport,
where Friede would pick up the wooden crates stamped Venomous SNAKEs.
When he got home, Friede would listen to Tool and open the crates with a screwdriver. On snake
hooks or in Friede’s bare hands, out came the writhing contents. Water cobras. Taipans.
Mambas. He put them in cages he stacked against a wall. Friede’s rarer venom donors were
wild-caught—legally or illegally, he doesn’t know—and often stressed or sick. Some died a few
months after they came in. Friede loves animals, but whether his snakes survived long-term
didn’t ultimately affect his work. Once he milked their venom he could dehydrate it into a
lifetime supply.
He also began taking what he calls “Darwinian notes.” On December 12, 2001, he wrote, “Since
dying was no fun, took off ’til December.” That day he injected himself with the venom from the
same cobra that nearly killed him, and he spiked his blood every few weeks from then on. He
rated pain on a numerical scale, with entries ranging from 1 to 1,000. A common symptom was
“3x3 swelling”; rarer was “swelling from knee to ass,” “hives over whole body,” and
“anaphylactic shock” (though he suffered the last of these 12 times). Within a year of starting, he
was letting live snakes bite him to demonstrate his immunity. Over time he could distinguish
how much venom they’d injected simply by his body’s reaction. He grew to like water cobras,
because their neurotoxic venom blocked his nerve cells, making a bite less painful and “very easy
to beat.” He hated Cape cobras and rattlesnakes, whose necrotic venom dissolved his muscles.
Along the way, Friede developed a sort of stuntman-next-door persona by posting videos online.
Some were macho, like the one where a drunk friend howls in disbelief as he films a black
mamba double-nipping a sober Friede. But in most of the clips, Friede tries earnestly to share
how self-immunization really works. He was just your average enthusiastic guy in a Slayer T-
shirt, admiring nature’s deadliest snakes by letting them bite him. He recorded the moments
after a Mojave rattlesnake tagged him by surprise and after he’d solicited a bite from a black
mamba to help “a girl with a school project.”
Whether he put his videos on Facebook or YouTube, haters inevitably flocked to the comments.
Snake enthusiasts, leading toxicologists, and online trolls attacked his efforts as useless
witchcraft and labeled Friede either a fake who’d removed the snakes’ venom glands or an idiot.
Friede says he even got death threats. “What was I doing? I wasn’t hurting anybody,” he says.
Before long the media discovered him, too. National Geographic filmed Friede for a TV segment
in 2002. The History Channel featured him on Stan Lee’s Superhumans, and he appeared on the
Science Channel and a number of YouTube shows. He was also covered in several magazines
and became a regular guest on podcasts and radio. All that attention offered something he
craved: affirmation. “I was a rock star,” he says. “Hell yeah, it was fun.” At one point, Friede got
a lawyer and an agent to capitalize on the opportunities but has since dropped both, because “it’s
never been about the money.”
What it has been about, Friede insists, is saving lives. As early as 2003, he believed that
scientists could turn his blood into a universal antivenom, so he began to reach out. Friede e-
mailed Nobel Prize–winning experts on the immune system, an Arizona State University
professor who developed a technique for genetic immunization, and Stanley Plotkin, the author
of the 1,720-page tome Plotkin’s Vaccines, which Friede used to inform his own immunization.
The scientists got back to him with cursory congratulations, but he found few who were
genuinely interested in what he was doing. He got a better reception among a more amateur
crowd—the burgeoning online self-immunization community. Norman Benoit, the closest thing
the practice has to a historian, wrote that Friede “has almost single-handedly taken the concept
of self-immunizing to where it is today.” That place seems to be a Facebook page that Friede
started in 2013. It now has 3,000 members around the world and an image gallery that could be
sent as hate mail to a squeamish enemy. On it, Friede generally advises caution to newcomers
while supporting—though not providing advice on—their DIY immunity efforts.
Friede wasn’t exactly cautious himself. Over time his experimentation grew bolder, if not
downright reckless. “You’ve got to make mistakes to get better, that’s part of it,” he says. On
November 29, 2015, he filmed the black mamba and taipan double bite that led him to Glanville.
The video now has 11.5 million views on YouTube. Friede described the event in his notes: “One
of the worst double bites I’ve ever had. Swelling was 10" x 10". Took four days to heal.” A week
later, he repeated the experiment with the same two snakes and had a similar experience. “Could
not walk. Body was on fire. Fell down many times. Death was near. Learned a lot.” Friede has
now survived bites from two species of rattlesnake, two species of taipan, four types of cobra, all
three species of green mamba, and the black mamba.
As might be imagined, Friede’s obsession has taken a toll on his personal life. His ex-wife has
said that Friede’s self-immunizing ruined their marriage. Friede doesn’t argue the point. Though
he still considers his ex-wife a close friend, he says with remorse that for long periods he hasn’t
had a good relationship with his sons, who are now 11 and 22. “I mean, I was working to save the
world. I traded my life for all those people that snakes kill every year,” he says. After a strained
20 years, he and his wife split in 2010. Friede moved out and transferred his snake lab to a
property in nearby Fond du Lac, where he slept in a tent. “I figured out how death works, then
beat it,” he says. “That’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at.”
By the spring of 2017, divorced and estranged from his kids, Friede felt that he’d had enough. “I
was done,” he says. “I was tired of the bites, tired of the pain, tired of not getting anywhere.” So
even while he kept posting on Facebook, he planned to wind down his self-immunizing.
Then Glanville called. In as much time as it took him to explain his intentions, Friede’s dream
was revived. Glanville reaching out was “everything,” Friede says. “Ev-ery-thing.”
Around the time Glanville and Friede connected, their cause got a publicity boost. In June 2017,
after intensive lobbying by physicians, the World Health Organization categorized snakebites as
a neglected tropical disease, an upgraded classification with the heft to shake loose vital funding.
Every year, snakes kill between 80,000 and 130,000 people and claim 400,000 limbs through
amputation.
Dozens of teams around the world are now trying to improve upon the antivenoms first
developed in the late 1890s by Albert Calmette, a French immunologist who also developed a
vaccine for tuberculosis. Calmette made an antivenom to cobras by doing to rabbits what Friede
has done to himself. Since then sheep and horses have become the antibody donors of choice,
largely because of their abundant blood supplies. Otherwise, antivenom production has changed
very little. Serums can expire in less than two years and are expensive ($2,300 per vial and
sometimes more), and the antibodies they produce work only against select types of venom.
While that last flaw is acceptable in places like the United States, which is home to only four
appreciably different venomous snakes, it isn’t in a country like India, which has 60.
As Glanville soon learned, none of the researchers working on a snakebite cure expected to
engineer a truly universal antivenom. Doing so would require an antibody to turn off every toxin
in every known snake venom, a financial improbability for a drug that Glanville forecasts will
earn just $30 million a year. Yet, as Glanville also discovered, advances in genomic sequencing
have revealed that across all 700 species of venomous snakes, the most destructive proteins
belong to just 13 different families. “Not all toxins are equally bad. We just need to cure the
nastiest ones to save lives,” Glanville says.
Like some of the other teams working on antivenom, Glanville hopes to target the protein-
binding sites shared among each of those 13 families. If he can find antibodies to lock onto those
vulnerable sites, a so-called broad-spectrum antivenom wouldn’t need to contain several
thousand distinct antibodies. An effective number, he says, could be closer to 30.
Of the half-dozen toxicologists and antivenom experts I spoke to, not one had heard of Glanville.
He hasn’t published any scientific papers on venom, though he’s published more than 30 in
other areas. The most heralded work in the field is being conducted by Andreas Laustsen, a
young researcher in Denmark who has dubbed himself Snakebite Jesus. Last summer, using
some of the same tools as Glanville’s lab, Laustsen engineered human antibodies that when
injected into mice could neutralize dendrotoxins, among the most potent ingredients in black
mamba venom. But his work underscores just how difficult the challenge is. Because of the sheer
complexity of venom, his antibodies were effective only when injected directly into the mice’s
brains.
Glanville believes Friede is the solution. His theory is that Friede has done with his syringes and
snakes what Glanville had done in the lab for flu: created antibodies to sniff out the shared sites
of extremely diverse proteins. “The immune system is as lazy as the rest of us,” Glanville says.
“Why make a bunch of different antibodies if you can just make one that does many jobs?”
Medicine’s history of human experimentation is dark enough already. But Glanville doesn’t
believe he’s made Friede into a human lab rat. Friede, he says, is the rare case where scientific
curiosity drove someone to voluntarily do extreme things to their own body.
Not long after Glanville connected with Friede, on a muggy July morning in 2017, a woman in a
little blue car showed up at Friede’s house in Oshkosh, drew 20 milliliters of his blood, and
shipped it to Distributed Bio in South San Francisco. Then Friede grabbed a syringe and a vial of
taipan venom from the fridge and shot it into his thigh. For the next 19 days, he injected
escalating doses of western diamondback, black mamba, and taipan venom, following his
normal immunization schedule. On the 28th day of the experiment, the woman in the blue car
returned, retrieved more blood, and again shipped it to Distributed Bio.
The two samples gave Glanville and his team before and after snapshots of Friede’s immune
system. By comparing them, Glanville could tell if Friede’s antibodies were actually evolving to
better neutralize the toxins—and if they were, how well they were doing that job. Determining
that would take Glanville and his team more than a year.
Glanville was aware that Friede was injecting himself throughout the four weeks between blood
draws. I asked him if he was concerned that his subject might be taking too many risks during a
period when he was technically participating in a Distributed Bio study. Glanville was adamant
that he’d never asked Tim to inject venom and that their research was strictly passive. “Our
conclusion was that Tim was continuing his routine practice of boosting that he’d be performing
whether or not we had run the study,” he wrote to me in a long e-mail explaining the rigorous
biomedical-ethics considerations he thought through in advance of the study. “We just took
blood samples during his process. We asked him what his schedule was but did not influence it.
Thus our study never exposed Tim to any new risk.”
Glanville also pointed out that he’s taken steps to ensure that Friede doesn’t become
antivenom’s Henrietta Lacks, the never compensated source of one of the most significant cell
lines in medical research. From the outset, Glanville said he’d make certain that Friede would
have a significant stake in any future profit from his cells, and he made that legal in April 2019
when they signed an official contract.
Although he and Friede are partners there’s a vast disparity between what they each have riding
on the research’s success. For Glanville, the work on a broad-spectrum antivenom is something
of a side project that, even if it yields a marketable product, won’t generate anything close to the
profit his work on influenza, cancer, and HIV might someday generate.
Friede, meanwhile, has gone all in. Within weeks of Glanville’s first blood draw, Friede found
reason to quit the $50,000-a-year truck-assembly job he’d held for eight years. “There are
things I know on paper that are pretty sweet,” he told me. “Vaccine wise. Money wise.” He said
he thought his partner had already invested “probably in the millions” and that Glanville was
“banking on stuff he knows is going to work. Otherwise he wouldn’t do it.” (Glanville estimates
his costs so far at closer to $30,000, compared with $300,000 he’s put into influenza.) The bulk
of Friede’s income between November 2017 and October 2018, when he took a job delivering
pizzas, was $6,680 that Distributed Bio paid him for “research funding.” After Glanville
discovered Friede was broke, he offered to host him at his family’s farm in Guatemala, but
Friede owed so much money in child support that the U.S. government wouldn’t issue him a
passport.
“Obviously, it hasn’t worked yet,” Friede says, betraying a hint of remorse before washing it
away with his familiar optimism. “Will it? Yes, it fucking will.”
When Friede and I first talked, I had my own ethical dilemma to work through. A couple of
months before meeting him in Green Bay, we discussed him being bitten by a snake for this
story, something he said he was happy to do. But as we got closer to the interview date, I began
to have second thoughts. What if something happened? So, the morning after we’d closed out
the bar at the steakhouse, where I’d heard him boast about his big plans for a water cobra bite
with me as a witness, I asked Friede not to go through with it. There was plenty for me to watch
on YouTube, I explained. Friede seemed to understand and agreed.
That attitude changes over the course of our second day together. We’ve just finished a late-
afternoon lunch at a diner near his home, accompanied by Friede’s girlfriend of four years,
Gretchen Greeley. An animal lover with a sharp intellect, Greeley works as a cook and has
become something of a stabilizing force for Friede. He calls her “the most fun part of my life.”
Last fall they went through a rough patch. After a year in Oshkosh, the couple
moved to Green Bay, where Greeley grew up and Friede’s ex-wife lives with their
two sons. They were unable to find a rental willing to take their pit bull, however,
so Friede and Greeley lived at a Motel 6 for a month with their two dogs and a
polydactyl cat named Wednesday Absinthe Adams. A couple of weeks ago, they
moved into the 400-square-foot attic apartment where we’ve been watching
YouTube videos of the “most brutal” snakebites of Friede’s career.
And we’re drinking. A pile of empty Steel Reserve tallboys and white-wine minis
crowd the garbage can. An industrial-metal band that Greeley and Friede like
plays on an antique-looking radio. By the kitchen sink, in a black crate that
Greeley pulled out almost two hours ago, are a pair of water cobras. Wednesday
Absinthe Adams and another cat are wrestling on top of the crate, and I can sense
Friede, now splayed out on the couch, plotting his move.
He takes another nip of whiskey and then stretches out his arms. At some point
tonight he put on my down jacket, which is much too small for him, and he’s now
making noise about keeping it in exchange for showing me what I’d asked him
not to show me.
“You didn’t come all the way out here to see nothing,” he says.
I’ve had a few drinks myself, and curiosity is getting the better of me. “I do want
that coat back,” I say. Greeley silently fetches the crate and places it at Friede’s
feet.
“Fear is kind of a fucking weird thing,” he says. He removes the lid, and two water
cobra heads levitate above the rim to investigate, each banded black and gold.
“Naja annulata,” Friede says, pausing for effect. “The most venomous snake in
Africa.”
Friede thrusts his hands into the crate and comes up holding the two snakes, each
about six feet long. One cobra then slides with remarkable speed and very little
aggression up the baffles of Friede’s jacket—my jacket—toward his neck. He grabs
it and moves his hands beneath its belly like he’s pouring sand from one hand
into the next.
“It’s almost like we know each other,” he says. “See how gentle I am with these
animals?” And he is, until he starts tapping one snake’s head against his wrist.
“You’re not going to bite are you?” he whispers.
For the next ten minutes he pokes, prods, pats, and pets, all to elicit a bite. If he’s
afraid, you’d never know it. A week ago, to prepare for this interview, he injected
a lethal dose of water cobra venom. It had been 11 months since his last booster
shot, and he administered it an hour before he and Greeley were supposed to be
at her parents’ for Thanksgiving dinner.
“Fuck you for that, by the way,” Greeley says, reminding Friede that no
antivenom exists for water cobras. She says that when she saw what he’d done
that night, she cried and nearly passed out.
“Come on, hon,” Friede responds. “I just wanted to know what would happen.”
With the recent booster, Friede is confident that he can survive a bite from each
of these cobras, but they don’t seem interested. “Come on, bite me. Bite me,” he
says. Their jaws stay shut.
“Get me a cup,” he tells Greeley, moving to plan B. She heads to the kitchen and
rummages through the empty cabinets. The scales, glass vials, and insulin
syringes he usually uses when shooting venom are still locked in storage, so
Greeley makes do. She grabs a plastic bag and winds it tightly around a NyQuil
measuring cup. Then she gets the dirty needle Friede requested. “It’s more
hardcore,” Greeley explains, passing it over the cobras to Friede.
Friede pushes a snake’s head against the bag. Fangs puncture plastic, clear
venom gleeks into the cup. He repeats the procedure with the other snake, then
places the cobras back in the crate. His routine thrown off by Greeley’s
improvised venom receptacle, he spends the next three minutes wrestling the
tightly wound bag off the NyQuil cap. “It’s not a fucking bomb, honey,” Friede
admonishes, his showmanship overwhelmed by childlike frustration. Venom
finally flows into the syringe. “Oh yeah, that’s enough to kill me,” he says.
The needle goes in just behind the round bone on the inside of Friede’s left wrist.
And that’s about it. Twenty minutes pass without incident. Three cigarettes go
into Friede. His pit bull curls up with him on the couch, and he starts chatting
about how water cobra venom is simple to beat. “It’s really easy for him,” Greeley
says, pleased with the results.
I’m suddenly overcome by that special fatigue that follows an adrenaline
overdose, feeling as though the three of us have just survived something
profound. Reluctantly, Friede returns my coat. Then I lower myself down the
attic stairs and head into snow that has just started to fall.
In the parts of the day when Ray Newland, the 27-year-old scientist who Glanville
appointed to the antivenom project, wasn’t panning Distributed Bio’s antibody
libraries for clients, he worked with Friede’s blood. First he segregated ten
million antibodies sequenced from it, an elevated amount for a normal adult and
a possible indication that Friede really had done something special to his immune
system. Newland arranged these into a searchable library and then began
analyzing it for venom-specific antibodies.
One morning in April 2018, about a year into the project, Glanville and Newland
pulled on biohazard suits, fitted themselves with rebreathers, and mixed saline
into seven different types of dehydrated venoms that Newland had ordered
online from a lab in France. Some were venoms Friede had immunized himself
against and some were not. The varied sample would tell Glanville if Friede’s
antibodies were working against any of the venoms present, and also if they were
working to neutralize a venom his immune system had never seen before. The
latter scenario would suggest the type of broad-spectrum reactivity necessary to
build a new class of antivenom.
a cocktail of venom and other chemicals. If the antibodies formed a true bond to
the toxins, that area of the plate would turn blue. Newland’s first plate did so. So
did his next 12. Newland let out a scream, prompting a Distributed Bio tech to
shoot footage on her phone that captured Glanville and Newland in lab coats
dancing something like the Macarena.
Friede holds up one of the two photos he keeps on his fridge: an image his wife snapped
with his dog and 6-year-old son just after Friede was bitten by for the first time by an
Egyptian cobra. (Photo: Peter Prato)
Within a week, Newland weeded out 282 binding antibodies and had hits on all
seven venoms, including ones Friede hadn’t immunized against. “Tim’s blood is
the best chance the world has at a broadly reactive antivenom,” Newland says.
“We are light-years ahead of the competition.” Instead of a single antibody that
worked against one toxin but not the whole venom, they had 282 that worked, in
the lab, against many toxins in whole venoms—and millions more to look through
for an even better fit.
This was the breakthrough Friede had been seeking for almost 20 years. You
could imagine him printing Glanville’s results, chewing the pages up into wads,
and blowing spitballs into the faces of his naysayers. How good were his
antibodies? In a $500,000 screener called the Carterra LSA that tests how
strongly an antibody binds—a good indicator of whether it’s neutralizing its
target—Newland found one that hit a toxin in black mamba venom with, he says,
“about three times higher affinity than any drug on the market.” It was a tighter
bond than any Glanville had seen or been able to manufacture.
In December, Newland hosted a meeting with a consultant Glanville had hired to
help Distributed Bio secure funding for more research. The company had a
proposal in with the National Institutes of Health for $400,000, which included a
full-time salary of $80,000 a year for Friede. It promised to do what had never
been done before in antivenom research: use whole antibodies, first isolated from
a human donor, to shut down black mamba and western diamondback venom in
live mice. The venom of those two species contain proteins from most of the 13
deadliest toxin families that Glanville decided would need to be neutralized by a
broad-spectrum antivenom. The antibodies would be Friede’s—fully human and
unlikely to induce serum sickness, a problem with most existing antivenoms. And
they could be dehydrated into a thermostable powder, so they wouldn’t need to
be refrigerated. Glanville’s team was pitching the idea that the product could be
carried by American soldiers anywhere they traveled and stocked in the rural
clinics where it’s needed most.
Still, Distributed Bio’s scientists knew that landing a grant would be just the start.
Drug development has notoriously low odds of success, and despite the recent
surge in antivenom research spurred by the World Health Organization’s
reclassification of snakebites, drug companies aren’t exactly clamoring for a new
antivenom. In fact, the current single-species products on the market have
earned so little revenue that Sanofi Pasteur, the industry giant, stopped
producing its antivenom in 2014, leaving those snakebitten in large swaths of
Africa to seek cures from traditional healers.
And there was that other issue hovering in the background: the murky ethics of
exploiting Friede’s self-mutilation, a factor that could scare away potential
investors. It’s a point Glanville still struggles with. “If the cure really is in Tim,”
he asks, “why should 130,000 people have to die every year from snakebites?”
The day after Friede first met Glanville in South San Francisco, he shows up at
Distributed Bio’s offices around 2 P.M. looking rougher around the edges than
usual. Following dinner and sangria at a tapas joint the night before, Glanville
took Friede and me to his favorite kava bar, where we sucked down several
coconut shells of mildly stimulating mud. Glanville went home, but Friede kept
the party going. On the Uber ride back to his hotel, he had the driver stop at a
liquor store. Now, suffering a brutal hangover, he spends the afternoon with
Outside’s photographer having his picture taken with Glanville. (“Not my favorite
thing,” Friede says.)
Later that evening, he and Greeley sit on the sidewalk in front of Distributed Bio’s
offices. They’re taking a break from the company’s holiday party to smoke a
cigarette. Rush hour is ramping up, and the sun is setting. Friede’s mood, full of
optimism the night before, seems to have deflated all at once. Just before they’d
come to San Francisco, he’d been fired from his pizza-delivery job because he’d
failed to pay a ticket for a seatbelt violation. Worse was the situation with their
two dogs. They’d kenneled them before they came to California, and now they’re
worried they can’t afford to get them out.
“I’m just glad you got to see the ass part of this whole thing and the rock-star
part,” Friede tells me. “I wish I had my job, my house, my kids, my life, but guess
what? I don’t. And if it took that to get this done, maybe it was all worth it.”
He presses his cigarette into the sidewalk and goes back inside to a Christmas
party full of scientists and millionaires. Glanville, wearing an ironic holiday
sweater, is chatting with an immunologist who is working to cure cancer. Friede
orders a vodka cocktail from the bar and steps off to one side of the room with
Greeley. It’s the last time I see them.
When he got back to Wisconsin, Friede sold his self-immunization kit and snake
cages so he could afford to get the rest of his stuff out of storage. One day in
January, he announced on Facebook that he was quitting self-immunizing.
Hundreds of people liked the post or wrote encouraging comments. An era had
ended. After an estimated 200 snakebites and 700 lethal injections, self-
immunizing’s brightest star had retired.
Friede, now doing maintenance work at the steakhouse where we ate and still
waiting for Glanville’s grant to go through, no longer has to punish his own body
to save the snakebitten. With his antibodies in the hands of reliable scientists, he
could do no more. When I reached him by phone in the spring, he told me he was
making an effort to spend time with his kids. He would continue to do interviews
for snake-themed websites, but only to promote the antivenom project and talk
about how he’d move beyond self-immunizing. Life was starting anew, and it felt
good.
But then, on March 13, he backslid when Greeley suffered a non-venomous bite
from a python they were pet-sitting for a friend. “Wasn’t going to post this. But
had to,” he wrote on Facebook. “My GF gets nailed by a ball python. I laughed.
Then I get hit by a water cobra twice.” Old habits die hard.
Contributing editor Kyle Dickman wrote about surviving a rattlesnake bike in
the June 2018 issue.
Correction: (May 16, 2019) The original version of this story misstated when Sanofi Pasteur stopped
producing its antivenom. The story has been updated to reflect that the company ceased production in
2014. Outside regrets the error.
Filed To: Science Survival Wisconsin Guatemala Outside Features
Lead Photo: Peter Prato
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