Deborah Beth Zamble.Courtesy of family
Deborah Beth Zamble: Chemist. Foodie. Mother. Cellphone-less. Born Oct. 5, 1971, in Kingston; died July 6, 2020, in Toronto, of a brain hemorrhage; aged 48.
Even in high school in the small city of Kingston, Deborah was worldly – frequently choosing to go “downtown” at lunch and eat out with her friends instead of staying at the school. She probably inherited this from her maternal grandparents in New York. When she went to the University of Toronto to study chemistry, she had access to the cuisines of the world and availed herself of them.
We met in residence. We were competitive, and she loved it when she slightly edged me in calculus. She completed her PhD at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and her postdoctoral training at Harvard. Deborah took me with her and had me apply at Harvard, which changed my career path greatly. She was worth it.
We got married in Kingston in 1999, though we were living in Boston. We had to take off our rings every time we crossed the border to meet the conditions on my work/study visa. We returned to the University of Toronto in 2001 where Deborah became a professor of chemistry and biochemistry. She was a world expert in the bioinorganic chemistry of nickel, studying how humans and microbes processed nickel so precisely to survive. Remarkably, her niche expertise in nickel had started in high school with a class project when she was 16. I found the report she had saved, and she did not save many sentimental things. She once shredded a Valentine I made her.
Deborah set aside a lot of time to advise young women pursuing a career in science and worked with other female scientists to overcome barriers. Deborah volunteered for the Royal Canadian Institute for the Advancement of Science, and represented Canada proudly on the world stage.
Recently, she’d invented and taught a course on molecular gastronomy at the University of Toronto. Her understanding of chemistry made her a remarkable chef and baker. Experiments were often done in our kitchen, with me and the children, Matthew, now 13, and David, now 10, relegated to sous-chef and taster duties. Precision and attention to detail made her chocolate desserts exemplary. She regularly cooked for dinner parties and overdid things every time. Why have two side dishes when you could have five? Friends and family always went home with a care package.
Deborah managed her prestigious career while ensuring family was a priority. She encouraged her boys to play the violin, just as she had loved to play the instrument in amateur orchestras growing up. She read to them nightly and always with paper books (no electronic book readers). She had no tolerance for technological distractions and refused to carry a cellphone, which became increasingly comical over the years. She wrote with mechanical pencils and pads of paper. There were hundreds in her office and at home. She carried paper maps rather than relying on GPS directions – leading to many heated discussions on road trips.
She was sweet but opinionated. If there was a debated topic, she was relentless and ruthless in expressing her viewpoint. I pitied the people who chose to debate her.
Perhaps as a chance to disconnect from artifice, at home she also loved to garden in the early evenings – seeking out the science of the real world.
In the summer, Deborah died unexpectedly of a brain hemorrhage. Hundreds of students and colleagues have reached out from around the world. Her parents, Marcia and Ed, can be proud. She instilled a love of science and music in her sons, and they talk about her daily. We have many happy memories of travelling as a family, including living in Paris for her sabbatical. She pushed me to do new things, too, and I loved making her laugh along the way.
Brian Murray is Deborah’s husband.
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