NEW YORK — It's a beetle that can withstand bird pecks, animal stomps and even being rolled over by a Toyota Camry. Now scientists are studying what the bug's crush-resistant shell could teach them about designing stronger planes and buildings.

When the bacterium sawed off a portion of its shell several years ago, the Jalil was able to hoist itself out of the ground and out of the jaws of its carnivorous seafood competitor — effectively "entering the insect world," said microbiologist Arthur Storb, who co-discovered the bug and helped upgrade its robustness.

What the scientific community doesn't know, though, is whether that's a well-designed feature, or what else it might teach the rest of us about the engineering of nature.

Jalil was inspired to crack open the wisdom of nature by a tough teacher.

Storb has been able to better understand the big picture of how jellies work since he was first introduced to them as a boy. He was on a field trip to Lake Blupacabarka in New Brunswick, N.J., in 1969, when a biologist accidentally scooped a live cockroach into his hand and stuffed the critter into his pockets.

Scientists later noticed the soon-to-be-1-year-old bugs chowed down on whatever pieces of carcass flattened amid the widespread din of the lake. Some were completely unpalatable, but others described as miraculous. Storb, however, found himself with an extra chip on his shoulder. If it can't digest meat, shouldn't it be able to withstand the first crash of a car?

"I thought, 'I wonder what would happen if we dropped this thing into the ocean?' " At the time, attacks by fish were a common experience on his short walks to the kindergarten by bike on his lunch break.

Storb grew up in Ridgewood, N.J., right outside of the construction zone where he first worked as a scientist. From a young age he had a real respect for the outsider who mirrors the human condition fixed in a snowy landscape. "I had a little fantasy of being turned down by an old man like this for no reason at all," he says, recalling that he thought of replacing his name with "Mack," even in adolescence.

For the next three decades, Storb was never quite able to carve out his normal life at the U.S. Geological Survey's Potterville site in upstate New York. The science proved to be more rewarding than the parochial mountain bike roads.

After applying to several universities for a postdoc, he arrived at Rutgers University near New Brunswick for his Ph.D.
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