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Last month, about a week after the International Astronomical Union (IAU) decided to strip Pluto of its planetary status, partly as a result of its small size, C&EN Managing Editor Maureen Rouhi dropped by my office with a clipping from the Aug. 25 Wall Street Journal. The story she handed me, "Pluto's Demotion Divides Astrologers, Troubles Scorpios" by Jane Spencer, was just one of many delightful news bonbons to describe the outrage expressed from unexpected factions over IAU's decision.
Schoolchildren wrote angry letters. They noted that without Pluto, the mnemonic device they use to remember the planets in order—My Very Educated Mother Just Served Us Nine Pizzas—makes no sense. The decision also violates the No Take Backs rule, a sacred playground canon.
What, wondered periodic table aficionados, would become of plutonium, the element once predicted to be the "most influential element of the 21st century" in these very pages (C&EN, Sept. 8, 2003, page 169)? Would we have to start calling it 'nium?
My favorite protest came from California Assemblyman Keith Richman, who introduced a resolution condemning IAU's reclassification of Pluto as "mean-spirited." Among the resolution's light-hearted declarations are that Pluto, "affectionately sharing the name of California's most famous animated dog, has a special connection to California history and culture" and "downgrading Pluto's status will cause psychological harm to some Californians who question their place in the universe." Richman managed to get 53 assembly members to sign on as coauthors.
There's also been grumbling from some planetary scientists and astronomers. I find this hue and cry over Pluto's demotion a little naïve, though. As soon as astronomers put Pluto's planetary status in question, I knew what was about to go down. I expect everyone else in the club of People Under Five Feet Tall (PUFFT) knew it too. IAU may claim to have criteria unrelated to size for dressing Pluto down to a lowly dwarf planet. But those of us in PUFFT know it's just another example of the world's general standoffishness to the small.
At 4 feet 11 inches tall, certain doors will always be closed to me. I can't be a runway fashion model. They are almost always 5 feet 8 inches or taller. I can forget about my childhood dreams of high-kicking with the Rockettes. You won't see anyone under 5 feet 6 inches dancing in Radio City's Christmas Spectacular. I don't even reach the 5-foot-2-inch minimum for flight attendants on some airlines.
I know that tall people have problems too, but aside from the increased odds of hitting one's head on low-hanging objects and a more difficult time squeezing into coach airline seats, the world is a rosy place for people of height. It literally pays to be tall. Studies have shown that an extra inch in height usually translates to an extra $1,000 in annual salary.
When I discussed this with ACS Executive Director Madeleine Jacobs (5 feet 8 inches), she reminded me that most U.S. presidents have been tall. Benjamin Harrison (5 feet 6 inches), elected in 1888, was the last president to measure well under the national average. The height advantage is even apparent here at C&EN, where Editor-in-Chief Rudy M. Baum (6 feet 2 inches) and Deputy Editor-in-Chief Pamela S. Zurer (5 feet 8 inches) call the shots.
So why is this relevant to the readers of C&EN? In a world where bigger always seems to be better, I believe the field of chemistry represents a bright beacon of hope for all things small. Take chemistry's advances in the burgeoning field of nanotechnology, for example.
As chemists, we devote our lives to understanding and manipulating objects too small to see. Chemists would never dream of removing hydrogen from the periodic table, despite the fact that unlike every other element, it has no neutrons. In fact, as the smallest atom, hydrogen holds a special place in chemists' hearts. It is our number one.
I worry that the demotion of Pluto will leave many children—most of whom are pretty small too—disenchanted with science, particularly at a time when they are beginning to discover its wonders.
But astronomy's loss could be chemistry's gain. I would urge every chemist who has ever worried about filling our field's pipeline to start telling children that in chemistry, small gets respect. Bring along a periodic table and show them how the smallest atoms are tops with us. And if they ask if chemists have to memorize the periodic table, please tell them no.
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