Word: champagnat
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...smirched ground. Road builders understand equally why blacktop pavement is eaten away from below. The guilty parties in both cases are microorganisms that go for hydrocarbons like kittens lapping spilled cream. Until recently no one made much of the hungry bugs' peculiar tastes blast week Research Director Alfred Champagnat of Société Française des Pétroles, a subsidiary of British Petroleum Co Ltd. announced that he has domesticated the oil eaters and that they are excellent food for both man and beast...
...Champagnat began his work in 1957 with an investigation of the microorganisms that he found thriving in oil residues at the Lavéra refinery near Marseille. He and his associates gradually learned which strains of bugs prefer which kinds of petroleum, and which produce the most and best protein. When the chemists learned how to grow the bugs in quantity, they filtered them out of the culture, separated them from all traces of petroleum and fed them to laboratory animals. Ihe < bugs proved to be an excellent protein concentrate, comparable in nutrient value to fish meal or soya cake...
...Chemist Champagnat has a growing affection for his busy oil bugs which he claims are much faster workers than steen A 1,000-lb. steer that is properly fed synthesizes 1 lb. of protein in 24 hours. In the same period 1,000 Ibs. of oil bugs grazing on petroleum gam 5,000 Ibs., of which 2,500 Ibs. are edible protein...
...Marc Champagnat, a stout and fastidious retired railroad worker, was the Dr. Johnson of the town of Angoulême A divorcé and a gourmet, Marc and his friends-the undertaker, the fishmonger, the mayor, the lawyer's clerk and the school principal-met so regularly in the tavern called Le Practic that their group became known as Champagnat's Club. Over peppery steak and cognac, Marc would talk endlessly of his philosophies, his past amours, his hobbies-fishing and cooking-and his adventures in the Cameroons. Even the Irish setter Vo-Vo learned to follow...
...each year. I shall kill myself at the end of September 1953. On Oct. 1, I shall be buried." Marc's friends slapped him on the back and urged him to have another drink. "You'll forget it all by tomorrow," they said. But Marc Champagnat did not forget...
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