July 25: In science and technology, spheres of society where women are woefully underrepresented, this day in history offers a bountiful exception. Here are the milestones:

James Barry

Barry, whose actual identity remains unknown, was born somewhere around 1795. After finishing medical school (at the age of 13, and already in disguise), “James Barry” waited a few years before joining the British army in 1813, where “he” served with distinction in a number of colonial postings, including India, South Africa and Canada.

While in South Africa, Barry became the first doctor-surgeon in the British Empire to perform a Cesarean section in which both the mother and child survived. Prior to that, C-sections were generally performed only when the mother was dead or dying.

Barry rose to the rank of inspector general in the army, but also worked with the Royal Navy, while stationed in Malta and Corfu, to improve the harsh conditions for sailors at sea.

It wasn’t until Barry died in 1865 that it was discovered at the autopsy that “he” was really a “she.” (Or, perhaps was intersexed with mixed male and female physiology.)

Somehow, Barry had managed to conceal her actual sex (and to give birth to a child herself) for more than 40 years. She was also the first woman to receive a medical degree, although the dons had no idea they were handing their sheepskin to a woman.

The first woman to earn a medical degree when her sex was known was Elizabeth Blackwell, who received her diploma barely two months after Barry died.

Rosalind Franklin

In April 1962, three men — James Watson, Francis Crick and Maurice Wilkins — shared the Nobel Prize for their discovery a decade earlier of the structure of DNA. Rosalind Franklin, a chemist whose X-ray diffusion photographs of DNA molecules showed their essential structure and paved the way for the trio’s work, received nothing.

The extent to which Franklin was dismissed by her peers varies in the telling, although it was real enough: In his memoir, Watson wrote unflatteringly of her and downplayed her role in the discovery.

Wilkins, a colleague of Franklin’s who disliked her feminist attitudes, was equally critical. He’d also provided Watson, without Franklin’s knowledge, with her key photograph, which showed — for the first time — the double-helix shape that underlies the structure of DNA.

The photograph caused Watson to remark later: “The instant I saw the picture, my mouth fell open and my pulse began to race.”

Crick was far more gracious, crediting Franklin with having done “the key experimental work.” He also said that Franklin’s early critique of their theoretical work caused them to rethink things, helping to set them on the right path.

A 2002 biography — Rosalind Franklin: The Dark Lady of DNA, by Brenda Maddox — paints Franklin neither as a feminist hero nor a spurned woman. Her role in helping to solve the mystery of DNA is unquestioned, and her place in science history is secure.

Unhappily, Franklin died of cancer in 1958, only 37 years old. This has been cited as the reason she was not included with the others: The Nobel Prize is not awarded posthumously.

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