Portrait of a grand old man of New Zealand science, a workaholic supported by his doting wife who cooked, cleaned, cared for kids, and helped collect cicadas. Fleming was a bow-tie wearing gentleman from a wealthy family whose huge helpings of privilege and family connections introduced him to every major scientist in New Zealand it seems; he was also a very smart, socially inept obsessive who spent every evening at the dining table after meals working until bedtime—sometimes breaking to read his kids a bedtime story, but increasingly less often. Plagued by stress, overwork, and heart disease, he was showered with plaudits and international recognition, which he used to advance bold environmental causes in the 1970s and '80s, for which he deserves to be remembered. It's sobering to think, though, that the rate at which he churned out papers is impossible for us to replicate today, partly because of the increased technological and collaborative nature of science now, and mostly because few of us have the support network that enables such monomania. ( )