![]() He looked like a cross between Albert Einstein and Groucho Marx. Pincus was forty-seven years old, five feet ten and a half inches tall, with a bristly mustache and graying hair that shot from his head in every direction. The man was Gregory Goodwin Pincus, a scientist with a genius IQ and a dubious reputation. The woman was Margaret Sanger, one of the legendary crusaders of the twentieth century. ![]() Now her time was running out, which was why she had come to an apartment high above Park Avenue to meet a man who was possibly her last hope. It struck her as a reasonable wish, yet through the years one scientist after another had told her no, it couldn’t be done. Her desire, she said, was as strong and simple as ever: She wanted a scientific method of birth control, something magical that would permit a woman to have sex as often as she liked without becoming pregnant. ![]() Though her red hair had gone gray and her heart was failing, she had not given up. She was an old woman who loved sex and she had spent forty years seeking a way to make it better. Excerpted from "The Birth of the Pill: How Four Crusaders Reinvented Sex and Launched a Revolution" ![]()
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