Blessing or Curse?

One winner called it “the kiss of death.”

Another said the Nobel Prize brought him an invitation to help rewrite the Ten Commandments.

And a third laureate reports that the coveted gold disk had visitors pounding on his door seeking donations of his sperm.

Each October, a series of early morning phone calls from Sweden sets off an unusual chain of events in the lives of several scientists, writers, economists and humanitarians.

This year’s victims, being announced this week, include an obscure Polish poet, two immune-system researchers, a retired New York professor who developed theories for setting subway fares, and a team of U.S. physicists who discovered a form of helium that defies the laws of nature.

Besieged by journalists and well-wishers, they are now experiencing what has been called “the Nobel effect,” and it can be both a blessing and a curse.

On the positive side: accolades, recognition, greater access to the seats of power and about $1 million in prize money. But “it’s a double-edged sword,” says psychologist Steven Berglas, author of “The Success Syndrome” (Plenum, 1986).

Some winners are so deluged with calls and requests that their work grinds to a halt. Others become paralyzed by a “What do I do for an encore?” mentality. And many face resentment and envy from colleagues.

Such reactions aren’t new. According to the Smithsonian, winners as far back as Marie Curie in the early 1900s felt overwhelmed by offers and distractions.

“One would like to dig into the ground somewhere to find a little peace,” Curie wrote.

Even humanitarian and theologian Albert Schweitzer, isolated in French Equatorial Africa when he won the Nobel Peace Prize in 1952 and unable to accept the award until 1954, still felt some effects.

Noticing his dog chasing a chicken one day, he called the animal over and told it, “You’re now a Nobel dog. You’d better behave peacefully,” says Kurt Bergel, co-director of the Albert Schweitzer Institute at Chapman University.

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Of course, other awards also have potential side effects. Olympic gold medalists have been known to experience post-Games depression, Berglas says. And lottery winners’ lives sometimes become so unhinged that the winners turn suicidal.

Oscars and Pulitzers have also proved nettlesome. As playwright Lanford Wilson once explained, after winning a lofty writing award: “Type ‘This is the next play by last year’s Pulitzer Prize winner’ at the top of a page and try to write something underneath it.”

But the Nobel Prize, instituted by dynamite inventor Alfred Nobel, probably carries the greatest prestige and, therefore, the greatest peril.

Poet Czeslaw Milosz knows both sides. In 1980, when the Polish-born writer was teaching at UC Berkeley and won the prize, he had only a small following in the U.S. and was banned in his native country.

“After [the award], they started to publish and lionize me [in Poland],” Milosz says.

In America, the Nobel “gave him an exceptionally large audience instantly,” says Eric Sundquist, chair of UCLA’s English department. “It created [a readership] that otherwise would not have existed--an audience he deserved and one he has continued to nourish.”

But Milosz describes the first year after winning the honor as “very hard. . . . There are too many letters, telegrams and invitations you have to cope with. It’s hard to build a barrier between you and the world.”

For writers, who often thrive on solitude and anonymity, the swirl of publicity in the wake of a Nobel can be especially disruptive.

Laureate Derek Walcott, a West Indies-born poet, said after winning in 1992 that he was prepared for the worst, based on warnings from two other literary laureates.

“Joseph Brodsky . . . told me to brace myself, that I’m going to have trouble staying within my own rhythm as a writer,” Walcott said. And South African novelist Nadine Gordimer advised him to either hire a secretary or rip his phone out of the wall.

Author Saul Bellow remained productive after winning his Nobel in 1976, but years later labeled the award a potential “kiss of death” to a writer’s career.

There can be a personal downside too. In addition to strains on family life caused by demands on the winner’s time, jealousy can flare up from colleagues.

Berglas recalls meeting a Nobelist professor who told him, “Everyone outside my department now knows me, but everyone inside the department won’t talk to me.”

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Other laureates discover more amusing aftermaths to winning the prize.

George Olah of USC, who took the chemistry honor in 1994, says the pile of odd solicitations he received included a convicted murderer’s request for help in getting a retrial and a letter from Hungary, where Olah was born, from someone seeking a small share of his prize money to fix a roof.

Stanford University’s Paul Berg, a 1980 chemistry laureate, says one post-Nobel visitor wanted him to make a deposit at a sperm bank. “I said I thought the idea was rather ridiculous and he left,” Berg says.

Another scientist, Donald Cram of UCLA, was invited by a Korean newspaper association to join a team of Nobel laureates in rewriting the Ten Commandments. He declined.

For those who survive the multitude of speaking requests and obligations, the Nobel does have advantages.

One is the money.

Schweitzer used his to build a leprosy center for his hospital. Modern winners--who receive about $1 million or so if the prize isn’t split--have purchased new homes, given lump sums to their children and invested for retirement, among other things.

The laureate halo also helps in luring grants and top scientists for research projects, say Cram and other recipients. And at least one winner, Caltech chemist Rudolph Marcus, parlayed his prize into a better parking spot on campus.

Finally, there is the Washington bonus.

Says J. Michael Bishop of UC San Francisco, who won a 1989 Nobel for cancer research: “It makes it a little easier to see my congressman.”

DECK HED FOR E1:

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MARIE CURIE:

* Won Nobel Prize in chemistry in 1911 for discovery of elements radium and polonium.

* Afterward: “One would like to dig into the ground somewhere to find a little peace.”

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GEORGE OLAH:

* Won Nobel Prize in chemistry in 1994 for research that opened new ways to break apart and rebuild carbon and hydrogen.

* Afterward: He received a pile of odd solicitations, including a convicted murderer’s request for help in getting a retrial and a letter from Hungary, where Olah was born, from someone seeking a small share of his prize money to fix a roof.

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ALBERT SCHWEITZER:

* Won Nobel Prize in peace in 1952.

* Afterward: Noticing his dog chasing a chicken one day, he called the animal over and told it, “You’re now a Nobel dog. You’d better behave peacefully.”

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DEREK WOLCOTT:

* Won Nobel Prize in literature in 1992.

* Afterward: He was prepared for the worst, based on warnings from other literary laureates. “Joseph Brodsky . . . told me to brace myself, that I’m going to have trouble staying within my own rhythm as a writer.”