Thiuram

Original Russian text "Тиурам"

"Don't ever take a fence down until you know the reason it was put up."  - Gilbert Chesterton (1874–1936)

(From the diary of a chemical engineer. Winter 2004)

Tuesday

At the end of March, I said goodbye to the Butters Company. I spent spring and summer looking for a new job. I wasn't in the mood to keep a diary, and I couldn't even find my old notebook—so I'm starting a new one. On Thursday morning, I was interviewed at Talbot for a senior engineering position in the rubber department. I know nothing about rubber, and I think they picked up on that during the video interview. Still, they invited me for an in-person meeting. Only one interview was scheduled, with a director named John Russ. Talbot is located northeast of Boston in a town with the odd name of Billerica—more than an hour's drive from where we live. Morning traffic must be terrible. The company produces carbon black, a substance added to rubber and car tires, probably as a black dye. It's a large company with 32 factories worldwide. The Billerica location handles management and R&D only.

I called my dad—he's "also" an engineer, though his field is organic chemistry, while mine is general technology and processes. He hadn't heard of Talbot, but he knew about carbon black. It's a kind of soot added to rubber, not for color but for strength: tires made with it last ten times longer than those made with pure rubber. When he was a child, he had a bicycle with white tires—it disappeared during the war.

He told me a story about Koksaghyz. The Hevea plant, from which rubber comes, doesn't grow in Russia, but tires were needed, so in the 1920s, they searched for alternatives. They discovered that the roots of wild Koksaghyz—a dandelion-like plant from Central Asia—contain up to 10% rubber, which can be extracted, purified, and processed. In the 1930s, with war preparations underway, half the country was planted with Koksaghyz—Ukraine, the Kuban region, and Kazakhstan. After the war, synthetic rubber was invented, and the plant was forgotten. Dad said I'd do fine at Talbot because I'm an engineer—and, in his opinion, an engineer is someone who can do anything. We'll see.

Thursday

John Russ turned out to be Talbot's Global Director of New Technology—a tall, elegant gentleman in his 60s, clearly someone who's been in charge of things for the past thirty years. At first, I was disappointed: they had decided not to fill the position I'd applied for, which meant I wasn't a good fit. But then he immediately offered me a consulting role at Talbot—with a very good rate: $500 a day. I agreed right away, though he said I could take time to think it over. My first assignment is at the Talbot plant in Malaysia. They produce carbon black there and mix it with latex from Brazilian Hevea trees, which grow well in the local climate. Natural rubber, it turns out, is cheaper than synthetic. I wanted to impress him with the Koksaghyz story, but wisely kept it to myself. Russ gave me a report and some drawings and asked me to come back in a week. Then he took me to HR to sign a consulting agreement and an NDA—non-disclosure agreement.

Monday

On Saturday and Sunday, my wife and I had friends over to celebrate my new job. This morning, I finally read the documents about the Malaysian plant. The problem: the biological wastewater treatment system used during latex processing stopped working three or four months ago. Talbot is now facing heavy fines for discharging untreated water into the ocean. I need to solve the issue.

In the evening, I visited my parents in Newton, half an hour away, to share the good news in person. Dad baked his signature mushroom pie. Over dinner, I broke the NDA and told them about my assignment. My mom is also a professor of organic chemistry and could help, but she had a stroke three months ago and still struggles with speech. Dad looked over the documents with interest. He worked in a chemical lab until he was 80 and has deeply missed it since moving to the U.S.

"I remember reading," he said, "that thiuram is used to treat alcoholism. It blocks an aldehyde dehydrogenase enzyme that breaks down alcohol in the blood. Suppose someone drinks while on a thiuram, they get sick and quit. Tell them to add it to the sewage—it'll surely kill all the bacteria."

"Dad, no—they're using biological treatment in Malaysia. Beneficial bacteria break down the latex and other chemicals. We don't want to kill them."

"Then it won't work. Besides, thiuram is toxic—it can't be dumped into the ocean." Mom poured tea with her one working hand. A thought flashed through my mind. I had seen a similar word recently. I flipped through the plant documentation again—and yes! In one of the glove production workshops, they use tetramethylthiuram disulfide as a catalyst.

"Dad, look—they're using a similar substance."

"Not similar—that's exactly thiuram. It's the chemical name."

"So... if thiuram ends up in the wastewater, it could be killing the bacteria... and that's why the treatment stopped working?"

"If that's the case, find out what changed. Maybe wastewater from the glove workshop didn't enter the treatment system before. Or maybe glove production increased."

Friday

I went to Talbot today and told John Russ "my" thiuram idea. We reviewed the process diagrams together. It turns out that the water used to wash the gloves does flow into the general wastewater system—it always has—and everything used to work fine. Russ wrote to the plant's chief engineer in Malaysia, copying me.

Wednesday

This morning, we got a reply from Malaysia. There were no changes to the process or system, except that a new pipeline was installed in June because the old one had rusted out. I called my father.

"Sorry, Dad, looks like the hypothesis didn't pan out..."

"What kind of pipeline? Can thiuram-contaminated water flow through it?"

"Yes—but it always did."

Then he brightened.

"Dima, have you forgotten that thiuram forms insoluble complexes with iron ions? That's what forms when metal corrodes."

"So... running through a rusty pipe, thiuram would react with iron ions, get neutralized, and stop harming the bacteria. But now, with a new plastic pipe, it reaches the treatment tanks intact—and kills them?"

"Exactly."

Thursday

I sent Russ a memo outlining the "thiuram hypothesis"—without emphasizing my dad's role. John called an hour later. He said I should fly to Malaysia and confirm everything on-site.

Wednesday

I had to cancel the tickets. I'm not going to Malaysia—they don't recognize the State of Israel, so my passport isn't valid there. I don't have a U.S. passport yet. They'll send someone else to test the theory. Meanwhile, Russ is assigning me to a new project in Albuquerque, New Mexico. I only need a driver's license to travel there.

Friday

I visited my parents. Dad baked an apricot pie. Over tea, I told them about the canceled trip. Mom sat beside me and occasionally squeezed my hand with her weak one, as if exercising it. Her speech is slowly returning, and I think she said, "You are the smartest boy I have."

— © Dimus, March 2025