Column: Carver had it right with humanitarianism

By Phil Klopfenstein

Published Dec. 11, 2009

Well, the end of the semester is approaching, and I've decided finally to scratch the itch I've had all semester to write about a personal hero of mine. He was a prolific creator and knew how to wear a moustache like nobody's business. What's more, this man was a true public servant, foregoing profit for the betterment of hard-working Americans. He's even a Missouri native.

No, it's not Walt Disney, though he could fit most of those descriptors. I'm writing about George Washington Carver.

"Isn't he the guy who worked with peanuts?" the skeptic asks.

Not only did he work with peanuts, this man practically worked for peanuts. Carver discovered more than 300 uses just for peanuts, but only applied for three patents! And that's just peanuts — if you add his discoveries related to soybeans, pecans and sweet potatoes, the number of his creations soars.

When asked about the disparity between the great number of his inventions and meager amount of patents he held, Carver humbly responded: "God gave them to me. How can I sell them to someone else?"

It is easy to overlook this amazing man by associating him solely with peanut inventions. Carver was not an inventor by trade; he was an agriculturalist — a botanist to be precise. His life was seemingly devoted to the betterment of Southern farmers, some of whom were his fellow emancipated brothers. Carver is heavily responsible for the diversity of crops we now see in the South, for his research was heavily based on alternative crops to cotton. This benefited the farmers for their own self-sufficiency and the general economy. And more so, it benefited the soils of the South. His work with peanuts was not random; Carver focused so heavily on peanuts due to their ability to fix nitrogen in the soil and rejuvenate a land worn down from continuous monoculture crops. You could say he was green before it was fashionable.

Carver was not the first to research alternative crops or sustainable farming practices, but his work was so influential because he made it freely available. This man was producing and distributing not only his findings, but more importantly, the practical applications of his findings in pamphlets and small books to the small farmers of the South. He explained cultivating peanuts and sweet potatoes would benefit their soil, for instance, but he also freely provided recipes for these foods as well as instructions for how to turn their crops into other very useful products, such as adhesives, meat tenderizer, shoe polish and mayonnaise. The list goes on and on.

We can admire Carver for his prolific achievements, but the most admirable traits come when we look at Carver as a humanitarian. One of many lessons we can learn from Carver's example is that it is not what you discover, but what you do with those discoveries.

One small example will suffice. We see multitudes dying each day across Africa and Asia from preventable diseases like malaria and tuberculosis, but the treatments have been patented and pharmaceutical companies charge more than many in need can afford. We can ask how beneficial is such a discovery when only those with wealth can profit from it? Although Carver and his mentality seem to have been long forgotten, following his example of giving freely for the benefit of all is perhaps more necessary now than ever.