WALTER  Alvarez came    from    a   long    line    of  distinguished   scientists. His
great-grandfather   and grandfather were    both    noted   physicians, and his
father, Luis,   was a   physicist   at  the University  of  California-Berkeley.    But it
was his mother  who took    him for long    walks   in  the Berkeley    hills   and got
him interested  in  geology.    Walter  attended    graduate    school  at  Princeton,
then     went    to  work    for     the     oil     industry.   (He     was     living  in  Libya   when
Muammar Gaddafi took    over    the country in  1969.)  A   few years   later   he  got
a    research    post    at  the     Lamont-Doherty  Earth   Observatory,    across  the
Hudson  from    Manhattan.  At  the time,   what’s  sometimes   called  the “plate
tectonics    revolution”     was     sweeping    through     the     profession,     and     just
about   everyone    at  Lamont  got swept   up  in  it.
Alvarez  decided     to  try     to  figure  out     how,    on  the     basis   of  plate
tectonics,  the Italian peninsula   had come    into    being.  Key to  the project
was a   kind    of  reddish limestone,  known   as  the scaglia rosso,  which   can be
found,   among   other   places,     in  the     Gola    del     Bottaccione.    The     project
moved   forward,    got stuck,  and shifted direction.  “In science,    sometimes
it’s    better  to  be  lucky   than    smart,” he  would   later   say of  these   events.
Eventually, he  found   himself working in  Gubbio  with    an  Italian geologist
named   Isabella    Premoli Silva,  who was an  expert  on  foraminifera.
Foraminifera,   or  “forams”    for short,  are the tiny    marine  creatures
that    create  little  calcite shells, or  tests,  which   drift   down    to  the ocean
floor   once    the animal  inside  has died.   The tests   have    a   distinctive shape,
which   varies  from    species to  species;    some    look    (under  magnification)  like
beehives,   others  like    braids  or  bubbles or  clusters    of  grapes. Forams  tend
to  be  widely  distributed and abundantly  preserved,  and this    makes   them
extremely   useful  as  index   fossils:    on  the basis   of  which   species of  forams
are found   in  a   given   layer   of  rock,   an  expert  like    Silva   can tell    the rock’s
age.    As  they    worked  their   way up  the Gola    del Bottaccione,    Silva   pointed
out to  Alvarez a   curious sequence.   The limestone   from    the last    stage   of
the Cretaceous  period  contained   diverse,    abundant,   and relatively  large
forams, many    as  big as  grains  of  sand.   Directly    above   that,   there   was a
layer   of  clay    about   half    an  inch    thick   with    no  forams  in  it. Above   the clay
                    
                      tuis.
                      (Tuis.)
                      
                    
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