The Woman Behind the Watercolors
The artist everyone knows. The inventor they might not.
Recently, while working on a job application, I found myself writing about family dinners when I was growing up.
Nothing says professional advancement quite like revisiting your childhood over a plate of questionable food.
But those memories sent me down an unexpected rabbit hole involving laboratories, lasers, patents, and a woman I've known for nearly my entire life.
Her name is Gail Bogert.
And depending on how you know her, you might be surprised by just how much you don't know about her.
The Woman at the Dinner Table
Growing up, I knew Gail was smart. Really smart.
She worked at Bell Labs, where she'd met my father, and I remember listening to the two of them talk about their work over dinner.
Now, dinner at our house was rarely an early affair. My parents both worked long hours, so we often didn't sit down to eat until 7:30 or 8:00 at night.
And in the winter, we sometimes ate wearing our parkas.
They believed in turning the heat down while everyone was gone, and those baseboard heaters weren't exactly breaking any speed records once we got home.
So there we'd be, gathered around the table, bundled up like we were waiting for a rescue helicopter.
But we sat down together.
Gail would settle in with one foot tucked underneath her, and she and my dad would discuss their coworkers, laboratory projects, experiments, and whatever scientific problems occupied their minds that day.
I understood approximately none of it.
And nobody was going to stop dinner to explain optical physics to a kid who was mostly wondering when she could take off her winter coat.
If I wanted to participate, I needed to pay attention, ask questions, and figure out what the hell they were talking about.
I didn't become a physicist, but I do think there's something valuable about growing up surrounded by people whose conversations occasionally went straight over your head.
You learned to listen. You learned to think. And you learned that there was an awful lot you didn't know.
I knew Gail loved her work. I knew the people she worked with mattered to her. And I knew that whatever happened in those laboratories was considerably more complicated than anything being discussed in my fifth-grade classroom.
What I didn't know was just how much she was accomplishing.
Years later, my parents were watching The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel when Tony Shalhoub's character, Abe Weissman, ended up working at Bell Labs.
They were delighted.
Apparently, the show's depiction of the place was so familiar that they immediately recognized the environment and started reminiscing.
I found this particularly entertaining because neither of my parents is exactly known for a love of irreverent comedy. The fact that they were watching Mrs. Maisel was surprising enough. The fact that Bell Labs became their favorite part of the show was even better.
But it reminded me how much that place had meant to both of them.
And how little I understood about the work Gail had done there.
A Scientist or an Artist?
Here's something I've always found fascinating about Gail.
Growing up in New York, she was an excellent student and graduated near the top of her high school class. When it came time to decide what she wanted to study, she faced a choice between two things she genuinely loved.
Physics or art.
And if you know Gail, that probably makes perfect sense.
She paints. She draws. She takes beautiful photographs. She plays the piano, guitar, and saxophone. She creates watercolor cards for family and friends, shares her photography on social media, and fills her home with her artwork.
This isn't someone who discovered painting after retirement and decided to give the old arts and crafts thing a whirl.
Creativity has been part of her life all along.
But when the time came to choose, she went with physics.
She attended college in Pennsylvania and built a career in scientific research and development.
The funny thing is, I don't think she ever truly chose one over the other.
She just figured out which one would pay the bills.
And I've always understood that about her.
I love art. I draw, I write, and I spend an unreasonable amount of time watching videos of people doing fascinating things with paint, many of which I promptly send to Gail.
But I'm also intensely logical. I like patterns, organization, analysis, and figuring out why things work the way they do.
Every time I've taken one of those career aptitude tests, the results practically insist that I should be doing something scientific.
Instead, I became a writer.
Apparently, the testing industry and I have agreed to disagree.
But I've never believed that artistic and scientific minds occupy opposite ends of the universe.
Creativity is creativity.
Some people express it through words, music, or paint. Others use it to solve engineering problems or invent technology.
Gail happens to do both.
And if you want to understand how her mind works, you need to know how she used to buy a toaster.
Consumer Reports and the Scientific Method
When I was growing up, we'd occasionally shop at places like Best or Service Merchandise, those wonderful stores where you filled out a little slip of paper and waited for your purchase to make its grand entrance on a conveyor belt.
But Gail didn't simply go shopping.
Gail conducted research.
Consumer Reports was practically sacred literature in our house.
If we needed a vacuum cleaner, a toaster, or some other household appliance, she'd study the ratings, compare features, examine specifications, and narrow the options to two or three finalists.
Then she'd go to the store.
And buy all of them.
Yes. All of them.
She'd bring them home, test them under actual household conditions, compare their performance, and determine which one deserved a permanent place in our home.
The others went back to the store.
Other people bought toasters.
Gail conducted toaster trials.
She had a hypothesis, a testing environment, performance data, and a return policy.
Honestly, I'm surprised she didn't publish her findings.
Yet this same woman, capable of analyzing the smallest technical differences between competing household appliances, could occasionally show a spectacular disregard for everyday common sense.
I remember riding in the car when Gail accidentally drove the wrong way down a one-way street.
Other drivers were panicking. I was panicking.
Gail remained remarkably calm.
"Oh, we'll get off of it eventually."
And technically, she was right.
That's Gail.
Brilliant enough to develop sophisticated optical technology. Entirely capable of treating oncoming traffic as a temporary inconvenience.
I suppose when you've spent your career solving complicated scientific problems, a little thing like traffic flowing in the wrong direction doesn't seem worth getting worked up about.
Wait. She Invented What?
Years ago, I remember discovering that Gail had patents in her name.
I thought that was pretty impressive, made a mental note of it, and apparently went right back to whatever vitally important nonsense was occupying my attention at the time.
But when that recent job application brought back memories of those dinner-table conversations, I started thinking about Gail's work again.
What had she actually been doing all those years?
What had she helped create?
So I went looking.
And this time, I really dug.
What I found was fascinating.
During her years at Bell Labs and its successor companies, including AT&T and Lucent Technologies, Gail worked on sophisticated optical technology involving the manipulation, measurement, and stabilization of light.
One patent names her as the sole inventor of an optical power splitter and polarization splitter.
In terms the rest of us might understand, she developed technology that could divide and separate light within optical systems.
She also contributed to inventions that stabilize laser wavelengths and measure optical signals.
These are the kinds of problems engineers encounter when developing systems that transmit and manage information using light.
I won't pretend to understand every technical detail. I've spent enough time reading patent descriptions to realize I am much more comfortable with English than with optical physics.
And that's saying something, considering what the English language has done to itself lately.
But I understand enough to appreciate the complexity of the problems she was helping solve.
And I find the connection between her science and her art particularly wonderful.
The woman who spent years developing technology to manipulate light also spends her free time capturing light through a camera lens.
The same curiosity, the same attention to detail, the same instinct to explore what's possible.
Just different tools.
Apparently, Gail has been fascinated by light for most of her life.
Some people buy a nice lamp and call it a day.
Gail took things a little further.
Which, incidentally, reminds me of the time I accidentally destroyed one of her favorite stained-glass lampshades.
My father had insisted I play softball, despite my complete lack of talent, coordination, or enthusiasm for the sport.
One day, while practicing my swing in the living room, I managed to send the bat straight into a beautiful stained-glass lampshade hanging over a tall floor lamp.
The lampshade did not survive.
Gail was devastated.
In retrospect, destroying an optical scientist's favorite light fixture seems particularly inappropriate.
Although I suppose there's something reassuring about the fact that even as a child, I was remarkably consistent in my inability to hit what I was actually aiming for.
From Lasers to Medical Devices
What surprised me even more during my research was discovering that Gail's inventive work extended well beyond telecommunications.
After her years in optical technology, she eventually moved into the medical-device industry, working at B. Braun.
Her name appears on a much more recent patent for a needle-free medical connector, designed to help control fluid flow in intravenous systems.
Think about that.
Her work has involved everything from managing light signals to developing medical equipment.
Different industries. Different applications. Entirely different problems to solve.
The common denominator is a mind that knows how to figure things out.
And apparently has no intention of stopping.
That's a pretty remarkable professional history for someone who rarely mentions it.
The Gail Everyone Knows
Here's the interesting thing about Gail.
She's not particularly shy about sharing her interests.
She'll show you her photographs, send you a handmade watercolor card, or happily discuss whatever happens to be on her mind.
And virtually anything can become a discussion.
You could casually mention that the sky is blue, and before long, you'd find yourself examining which shade of blue, why it appears blue, whether blue is actually an inherent property of the sky, and what exactly you mean by blue in the first place.
You thought you were commenting on the weather.
Congratulations. You're now defending your thesis.
But for all her willingness to talk, I've rarely heard Gail discuss her own professional accomplishments.
I've never gotten the impression that she's hiding anything or embarrassed by what she's achieved.
It's simply not the part of herself she tends to put on display.
People know the artist.
They know the woman who paints, photographs, plays music, and creates beautiful things.
They might not know the inventor.
And I think that's a shame, because both are fascinating parts of the same person.
There's something else worth knowing about Gail.
She's one of the most dependable people I've ever met.
She's also one of the most stoic.
Gail isn't the sort of person who delivers grand emotional speeches or wraps every conversation in warm, fuzzy sentiment.
If you're expecting an elaborate declaration of affection, you may be waiting a while.
But if you need her, she's there.
No production. No fanfare. No dramatic soundtrack swelling in the background.
She just shows up.
And I've come to appreciate that there's more than one way to demonstrate that you care about someone.
Gail won't necessarily tell you everything you want to hear.
But she'll probably tell you what she thinks you need to know.
And then she'll explain why.
Possibly at considerable length.
Proud Without Understanding
Gail once told me a story that has stayed with me.
When she finished her education and told her mother about the scientific work she would be doing, her mother was absolutely delighted.
She was proud of her daughter. Excited for her future. Thrilled that she'd found something she wanted to pursue.
There was just one small problem.
She had absolutely no idea what Gail was talking about.
The degree, the technical details, the job title? None of it meant much to her.
But her daughter's excitement did.
And that was enough.
I've always loved that story.
There's something wonderful about being proud of someone even when their accomplishments take them into territory you don't entirely understand.
Her mother didn't need to understand the science to recognize that her daughter was doing something meaningful.
And I suppose that's where I find myself now.
I can read the patents. I can research the technology. I can learn enough to explain the general principles.
But I'll probably never understand everything Gail has spent her career doing.
And that's perfectly fine.
I don't need to understand every equation to recognize the intelligence, creativity, and dedication behind the work.
I just wish I'd thought to look a little sooner.
More Than We Know
I started this investigation because a job application reminded me of family dinners.
Those dinners weren't particularly glamorous. They happened late, sometimes involved questionable food, and occasionally required winter outerwear.
But we sat around that table together.
As I listened to conversations about laboratory experiments and scientific projects that went straight over my head, I caught glimpses of a world I didn't yet know enough to appreciate.
Decades later, I found myself researching the woman who'd been sitting across from me all those years.
And the more I discovered, the more I wondered how often we do this with people in our lives.
We know them as parents, siblings, spouses, friends, coworkers, and neighbors.
We know their habits, their hobbies, their favorite foods, and perhaps their questionable driving decisions.
But how much do we really know about the things they've accomplished, the passions they've pursued, or the problems they've spent their lives trying to solve?
Not everyone has patents.
Not everyone is a scientist.
And not everyone would consider purchasing three vacuum cleaners a reasonable approach to buying one.
But nearly everyone has a part of their story that the people around them don't fully know.
Sometimes we just have to get curious enough to look for it.
Gail celebrates her birthday this month, and I wanted to do something a little different for her.
She's spent a lifetime creating things, solving problems, making art, and contributing to work that most of us will never fully understand.
And she's done it without feeling much need to announce her accomplishments to the world.
So, happy birthday, Gail.
I hope you don't mind that I've spent a little time showing off the part of you that you rarely show off yourself.
You've spent your life making things, solving problems, and creating beautiful work.
I figured it was about time somebody made a little something about you.
And for the record, I'm still sorry about the lampshade.
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