'Medical Memoir' is a Health & Me series that delves into some of the most intriguing medical histories and unveils how medical innovations have evolved over time. Here, we trace the early stages of all things health, whether a vaccine, a treatment, a pill, or a cure.The times are such that you cannot think of self time without skin care and the key ingredient for many is retinol. Retinol might be the darling of today’s beauty shelves—appearing in everything from luxury serums to drugstore creams—but behind this “anti-aging miracle” lies a brutal and unsettling history. Long before Teen Vogue, a media platform and many influencers hailed its power, before dermatologists prescribed its potent cousin tretinoin (marketed as Retin-A), experiments were being carried out on unsuspecting, incarcerated people in one of the darkest chapters in American medical research.A Beauty Breakthrough with a Brutal BackstoryNow, Teen Vogue itself reported the dark history that many have forgotten about their daily skincare routine. Retinol, a derivative of vitamin A, is celebrated for its ability to treat acne, smooth wrinkles, and renew skin. Unlike harsher retinoids, it’s considered gentler and more accessible—earning praise across generations, from skincare enthusiasts to tweens with their first cleanser kits. But its powerful predecessor, tretinoin, has a history stained with medical abuse and human rights violations.That wrinkle-erasing tube of Retin-A owes its discovery to experiments that took place not in a pristine lab, but behind bars. In Philadelphia’s now-shuttered Holmesburg Prison, between 1951 and 1974, dermatologist Dr. Albert Kligman led a series of medical experiments on hundreds of incarcerated individuals—most of them Black men who were never fully informed of what was being done to their bodies.Testing on the VulnerableDesperate for cash, many prisoners signed up for what they were told were harmless medical trials. But what awaited them were “patch tests” involving untested chemicals, flesh biopsies, mystery injections, spinal needles, and creams so toxic they burned through skin. Kligman once admitted to using tretinoin at a concentration of 1%—forty times stronger than the standard 0.025% used today. “I damn near killed people before I could see a real benefit,” he boasted to Philadelphia Magazine.Many participants were left scarred for life—both physically and psychologically. As author Allen Hornblum documented in Acres of Skin, survivors carried discolored skin, medical trauma, and lingering wounds long after they left prison. Women weren’t spared either; incarcerated women were subjected to unethical testing of menstrual products, without proper consent or concern for their well-being.Never Said Yes To TrialsThe trials conducted by Kligman offered a chilling glimpse into how little value was placed on prisoner lives. Most test subjects were awaiting trial, not yet convicted of any crime. Many were illiterate and unable to fully grasp the documents they were signing. “They were just preying on people,” former inmate Al Butler recalled. “Using an inmate was cheaper than buying a chimpanzee—and the results were better.”This wasn’t fringe science. Major players like Johnson & Johnson, Pfizer, Dow Chemical, and even the U.S. Army backed these studies, as reported Teen Vogue. Prisoners were exposed not just to tretinoin, but to asbestos, radioactive isotopes, mind-altering drugs like LSD, and even chemical warfare agents. Dow Chemical’s trial involving dioxin—a cancer-causing ingredient in Agent Orange—was stopped only after Kligman ramped up the dosage without approval.Someone's Pain, Someone Else's ProfitWhile Kligman went on to enjoy academic prestige and enormous wealth—telling MacNeil/Lehrer NewsHour in 1988, “We are swimming in cash”—his test subjects were left with next to nothing. When survivors like Jerome Roach and Leodus Jones tried to sue, their cases were dismissed. Even when nearly 300 victims filed a lawsuit in 2000, it was tossed on a technicality: the statute of limitations had expired.And still, Kligman defended his actions until the end. “I still don’t see there having been anything wrong with what we were doing,” he said in 2006, just four years before his death at age 93.A Reckoning, Decades Too LateIt wasn’t until the late 1990s, after Hornblum’s book brought the horrors of Holmesburg to public attention, that institutions began to take notice. In 2021, pressure mounted when dermatologist Dr. Jules Lipoff co-authored a JAMA Dermatology piece demanding the University of Pennsylvania sever its ties with Kligman. A public petition followed. That summer, the university issued a formal apology, pulled Kligman’s name from professorships and lectures, and directed funds toward dermatological equity research. The City of Philadelphia apologized in 2022. The College of Physicians rescinded Kligman’s lifetime achievement award in 2023.But for survivors and their families, apologies aren’t enough."My Daddy’s Skin Is in Those Jars"Adrianne Jones-Alston, daughter of Leodus Jones, who was experimented on by Kligman, continues to speak out. At a recent panel held by the University of Pennsylvania Carey Law School, she didn’t mince words: “We’re talking billions of dollars—and my daddy’s skin is in those jars. Share the wealth. After all, they paid the price.”The fight for reparations continues. As millions benefit from the cream that started it all, the people who made it possible are still waiting for justice.