Slug Time

Many an evening, householders in the quiet town of Emporia, Kans. (pop. 15,000) have been startled by a bobbing light at the bottom of their gardens, and a voice out of the darkness crying: "Ah, there's one." But they have gradually got used to it. The voice is only Dr. Earl Segal, assistant professor at Kansas State Teachers College of Emporia, turning over stones in search of slugs. A huge (6 ft. 3 in., 200 lbs.), craggy man with a mop of unruly black hair, Dr. Segal, 35, has a passion for Limax flavus, a fine slimy creature that may stretch to six inches long, feasts on greenery, and forages chiefly at night. Limax flavus, he believes, may have the answer to some of the deep problems of nature.

Under Rocks. Dr. Segal is no native Kansan. "I was born on the upper East Side of New York, in the shadow of the el," he says. "I was thrown out of school several times, and in junior high school I was voted the least likely to succeed. Mostly I was thrown out of school because I liked to cut class and turn over rocks in Van Cortlandt Park. The craziest things crawled out."

After serving a stint in the garment center as a delivery boy at $6 a week, and turning over stones when opportunity offered, young Segal went off to World War II. "I was a corporal twice and a sergeant once, but I went in and came out a private. I don't get along with people--only slugs." In 1946 he hitchhiked across country to enter the University of Southern California on the G.I. Bill, got his doctorate in zoology at U.C.L.A. "My girl friend was studying embryology. We met over a pig embryo, and so we got married."

Dr. Segal's first zoological work was with the limpet, a small saltwater mollusk, but when he got to Emporia, he turned over a stone and found a slug. It was love at first sight. He took the slug back to the lab and eagerly collected company for it.

No Clues. Dr. Segal first discovered that slugs have an extraordinary biological clock that runs true for a whole year. Wild slugs regularly start laying eggs about the first of August. By 1958 Dr. Segal had a whole second generation of slugs that had no experience of any environment but the laboratory. He kept all his slugs under artificial light for eleven hours a day and controlled the temperature and humidity. Thus they were cut off from any clues they normally might get from nature--changes of air temperature or length of the day. But the laboratory-bred slugs produced their eggs right on schedule. As far as Dr. Segal knows, no other animal has such an accurate annual clock.

Dr. Segal does not know how the slugs' clock works, is trying to find out if slugs can adapt their clocks to suit new artificial environments. He is also fascinated by another talent of slugs. When the temperature of their environment rises, their heartbeat, breathing and metabolism all increase. But a speeded-up slug kept at high temperatures does not burn out. After a while, it resumes a normal, sluglike pace. Some regulating system has adjusted its behavior to the new high temperature.

Faculty wives do not appreciate Dr. Segal's slimy pets. "They want to know what a big lug like me is doing with slugs. I try to explain, but most of them aren't listening. They're just being polite." The National Science Foundation feels differently, has given Dr. Segal a $21,000 grant in the hope that his study of the slugs' ability to adjust to temperature may provide clues in helping humans adapt to tough environments--such as high altitudes or outer space.

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