To understand ourselves it is important to understand our ancestors, and a part of them, and their heritage, lives on in us today.
To the world the American Indians seemed like a forgotten people when the English colonists first arrived and began to occupy their lands. I want to give special thanks to my cousin, Mary Hilliard, for her assistance and encouragement in researching and preparing this book. Wherever possible I have tried to find at least two sources for the genealogical data, but this has not always been possible.
I have also found Franklin Elewatum Bearce's history, Who Our Forefathers Really Were, A True Narrative of Our White and Indian Ancestors, to be very helpful. It is certainly possible that such a record may contain errors, but it is also very fortunate that we have access to this record as it presents firsthand knowledge of some of the individuals discussed in this book. 8 Newcomba€? Cpt. Sometime before the colonial period, the Iroquoian tribes began moving from the southern plains eastward across the Mississippi River and then northeasterly between the Appalachians and the Ohio River Valley, into the Great Lakes region, then through New York and down the St.
Though they were neighbors and had similar skin color, these two groups of Indians were as dissimilar as the French and the Germans in Europe. Federations, as well as the individual tribes, were fluid organizations to the extent that the sachem was supported as long as he had the strength to maintain his position. Belonging to a federation meant that an annual tribute had to be sent to support the great sachem and his household, warriors had to be sent if he called for a given number to go to war, and strictest obedience and fidelity was demanded.
Some of these federations had as many as thirty member tribes supporting their Great Sachem, although many of these tribes would be counted by more than one sachem, as any tribe that was forced to pay tribute was considered as part of that Great Sachem's federation.
Any member of the society who dishonored himself, in anyway, was no longer worthy of the respect of his people. When viewing the typical Indians of America, one would describe them as having a dark brown skin. They wore relatively little clothing, especially in summer, although the women were usually somewhat more modest than the men. The English resented the fact that the Indians wouldn't convert to Christianity as soon as the missionaries came among them.
The various tribes of New England spoke basically the same language and could understand each other well. There are many words used commonly in our language today that were learned from these New England Indians: Squaw, wigwam, wampum, pow-wow, moccasin, papoose, etc. Today there is little doubt that prior to Columbus's voyage, the Norsemen sailed to the coast of North America early in the eleventh century. We do not have a record of all of the European contact and influence on the Indians in the early years of exploration because the greatest exposure came from the early European fishermen and trappers who kept no records of their adventures, as opposed to the explorers. In 1524, Giovanni da Verrazano wrote the first known description of a continuous voyage up the eastern coast of North America. As the fur trade became increasingly more important to Europeans, they relied heavily on the Indians to do the trapping for them.
Another problem with which the Indians had to contend was the White man's diseases for which they had no tolerance nor immunity. In the spring of 1606, Gorges sent Assacumet and Manida, as guides on a ship with Captain Henry Chalons, to New England to search for a site for a settlement.
In 1614, Captain John Smith, who had already been involved in the colony at James Town, Virginia, was again commissioned to take two ships to New England in search of gold, whales or anything else of value. Dermer wanted to trade with the local Indians of the Wampanoag Federation and asked Squanto if he would guide them and be their interpreter. Derner was given safe passage through Wampanoag land by Massasoit and soon returned to his ship. When the Pilgrims left England in the Mayflower, their stated intent was to establish a settlement on the mouth of the Hudson River, at the site of present day New York City. The Pilgrims returned to the Mayflower and, after many days of exploration, found a more suitable location. On March 16, 1621 the Pilgrims were surprised by a tall Indian who walked boldly into the plantation crying out, "Welcome! The Pilgrims gestured for Massasoit to join them in their fort but, he in turn, gestured for them to come to him.
When the amenities were ended, the English brought out a treaty they had prepared in advance, which specified that the Wampanoags would be allies to the English in the event of war with any other peoples and that they would not harm one-another; and that when any Indians came to visit the plantation they would leave their weapons behind.
After the ceremonies were ended, Governor Carver escorted Massasoit to the edge of the settlement and waited there for the safe return of Winslow. Part of Massasoit's willingness to make an alliance with the English must be credited to his weakened condition after suffering from the recent epidemics which left his followers at about half of the strength of his enemies, the Narragansetts. In June of 1621, about three months after the signing of the treaty, a young boy from the Colony was lost in the woods.
When the English could not find the boy, Governor William Bradford, (who replaced John Carver, who died in April) sent to Massasoit for help in locating the boy.
That summer Governor Bradford sent Edward Winslow and Stephen Hopkins, with Squanto, to Pokanoket (Massasoit's own tribe, on the peninsula where Bristol, R.I. From this trip of Winslow's, we learn more about the daily life of the Indians in this area. Massasoit urged his guests to stay longer but they insisted they must return to Plymouth before the Sabbath. Less than a month following this visit, Massasoit sent Hobomock, a high ranking member of the Wampanoag Council, to Plymouth to act as his ambassador and to aid the Pilgrims in whatever way they needed. Hobomock and Squanto were surprised at what they heard, and quietly withdrew from the camp to Squanto's wigwam but were captured there before they could get to Plymouth.
Although the Narragansetts and Wampanoags were historical enemies and continually feuding over land, they did not usually put hostages of high rank to death. Normally, treason was punishable by death and Massasoit would certainly have been justified in executing Corbitant for his part in the plot against him but, for some reason, Massasoit complete forgave him. Their first harvest was not a large one but the Pilgrims were.happy to have anything at all. During the winter, a rivalry developed between Squanto and Hobomock, the two Indians who now lived continually at Plymouth.
According to the treaty he had signed with Plymouth, they were to turn over to him any Indians guilty of offense. In June and July, three ships arrived at Plymouth with occupants who expected to be taken in and cared for. In the winter of 1622-23, Governor William Bradford made trips to the various Indian tribes around Cape Cod to buy food to keep the Pilgrims from starvation. Next, Standish went to Cummaquid (Barnstable, MA.) where Iyanough was Sachem of the Mattachee Tribe. Thinking that Massasoit was dead, they went instead to Pocasset, where they sought Corbitant who, they were sure, would succeed Massasoit as the next Great Sachem. Winslow describes their arrival, where the Indians had gathered so closely that it took some effort to get through the crowd to the Great Sachem.
Since the Pow-wow's medicine had not produced any results, Winslow asked permission to try to help the ailing Sachem.
Their second Thanksgiving was combined with the wedding celebration of Governor Bradford and Alice Southworth. Because of Massasoit's honored position, more was recorded of him than of other Indians of his time. Massasoit most likely became Sachem of the Pokanokets, and Great Sachem of the Wampanoags, between 1605-1615. The second son of Massasoit was Pometacomet, (alias Pometacom, Metacom, Metacomet, Metacomo or Philip.) Philip was born in 1640, at least 16 years younger than Alexander. The third son, Sunconewhew, was sent by his Father to learn the white man's ways and to attend school at Harvard.
When his two oldest sons were old enough to marry, Massasoit made the arrangements for them to marry the two daughters of the highly regarded Corbitant, Sachem of the Pocasset tribe. The tribes of Cape Cod, Martha's Vineyard, Nantucket, as well as some of the Nipmuck tribes of central Massachusetts, looked to him for Military defense and leadership.
Following the plagues of 1617, which reduced his nation so drastically and left his greatest enemy, the Narragansetts of Rhode Island, so unaffected, Massasoit was in a weakened position.
In 1632, following a battle with the Narragansetts in which he regained the Island of Aquidneck, Massasoit changed his name to Ousamequin (Yellow feather) sometimes spelled Wassamegon, Oosamequen, Ussamequen. In 1637, the English waged an unprovoked war of extermination against the Pequot Federation of Connecticut, which shocked both the Wampanoags and the Narragansetts so much that both Nations wanted to avoid hostilities with the feared English. After hearing of the death of his good friend, Edward Winslow in 1655, Massasoit realized that his generation was passing away. As Massasoit's health began to decline, he turned more and more of the responsibilities over to Alexander who was a very capable leader and who was already leading the warriors on expedition against some of their enemies.
Massasoit was succeeded, as Great Sachem, by his son Alexander, assisted by his brother, Philip. The younger generation saw, in Alexander, a strong, new leader who could see the danger of catering to the English.
Both Philip and Weetamoo were very vocal in their condemnation of the English and word of their accusations soon reached Plymouth.
Together, Philip and Canonchet reasoned that it would take a great deal of preparation for such a war. Based on stylistic comparisons such as striations inside body contours and the presentation of horns in twisted perspective, several Paleolithic art experts, including the first curator of the Chauvet Cave, Jean Clottes, have accredited the Portuguese friezes to the early Solutrean of about 20,000 years ago3. In Portugal, the government did the opposite a€“ plunging ahead with a project destined to destroy the nationa€™s oldest cultural heritage by completing a 300-million-dollar dam whose reservoir will flood a valley packed with dozens of art sites spread over at least 17 kilometers.
Yet construction continues - even on holidays - and the water is about to rise another hundred meters.
A male ibex with his head shown in two positions, as if he were turning to watch the female behind him. As we drove up to a sentry box perched on the lip of a road into the vast, unnatural gashing of mountains at Foz CA?a, it was hard to tell if the young guard blocking us in a crisp red and gray uniform represented a well-heeled security service or an elite military unit - but it was plain that bluff and sweet talk wouldn't get us far. The next time the car eased over the knuckles of a road crisscrossed by up-ended strata, past empty huts built just of stacked slabs, and jostled between overhanging and plunging cliffs until an avalanche of tailings from an old quarry almost blocked the path. Here was one of the places of grandeur where our ancestors had first grasped visions and then concretized them by hewing - and sometimes painting - images into rock panels.
As I pushed forward and the river grew shallower, turtles became so numerous that their stacks toppled like circus acts from the brinks of submerged cliffs. As a draftsman, I could feel empathy for the beast flowing into the hands that had etched her.
This first frieze stood at a fitting point, practically where the reservoir yielded to the original rapids and long pools of the virgin river. Far away across the moonscape of rutted ramps, knots of men stood before tunnels as fleets of dump trucks, made so tiny by distance that they only gave away their magnitude by over-sized wheels, eased to the brink of platforms, and added avalanches to tailings. Above us, the titanium-white cleanliness of the cement plant's towers stood in bold contrast to the devastation, like a phalanx of gigantic chess-rooks bunched for the kill. According to press articles, the dam-builders had recognized him as the true discoverer of Portugal's first reported Paleolithic engravings, at nearby Mazouco, even though the doctoral student's mentor, Professor Vitor Oliviera Jorge, had stolen his thunder.7 They had given Rebanda a job as their obligatory salvage archaeologist when the new doctor somehow couldn't get a position on a faculty. In return, all he'd had to do was wait till their concrete curtain had gone up and its reservoir had risen into a sea so voluminous and costly that its drainage would have been unthinkable. My goateed interlocutor smirked as he told me I could try looking for the doctor at the complex built for the previous dam, 15A kilometers downstream. But I'd hit pay dirt: the fact that I might hear Rebanda's mea culpa was more than Ia€™d hoped for. Sebastian elected to wait outside and embarked on Jules Verne's Journey to the Center of the Earth as I knocked at the locked door.
Still, I complimented her on her English, sympathized with them for having to put up with this hierarchical bother, and kept spinning innocuous questions, while she kept waiting for me to go. When Rebanda's secretary came out again, to see if she could get either me a€“ or her boss - to give up as the wait grew embarrassingly long, I asked her what the round silos with tipped roofs on the hills had been used for. But the next time, after they had gotten used to my rounds, I stepped inside and admired a sequence of two eight-foot-tall maps full of pins. Something was wrong: in addition to the constellations of pins extending for 17 kilometers upstream from the construction site, there were dozens downstream, along the reservoir behind the dam just outside!
Finally, so many hours had passed, and she'd informed the doctor so many times that I was still hanging around, that I was forced by the sheer need for new scenery to vary my route, and drifted through empty rooms. The only thing the reports agreed on was that Rebanda had somehow discovered the flooded portion of Canada do Inferno by the previous autumn22 a€“ asking the EDP to lower the Pocinho reservoir by just 3 meters in November 1994 so he could study the engravings.23 a€?They told me it was too expensive,a€? Rebanda had told the New York Times. So who had shot these photographs, which looked like they had been taken when the sites were dry vegetated hillsides instead of among the muck and bare banks below a fallen waterline?
I realized that the photos of the dry sites might have been taken before the Pocinho Dam, which had flooded them, had even been completed a€“ over 12 years before! UNESCO had suggested Clottes, who, in an uncanny convergence of good and bad karma, was taken on a whirlwind tour of the tip of the iceberg at Canada do Inferno, then immediately whisked to a press conference in Vila Nova do Foz CA?a on Dec 16th, 199428 a€“ just two days before the discovery of the Chauvet Cave that catapulted him, as its first interpreter and protector, from the summit of the French archaeological establishment to world fame.
But Clottesa€™ judgement was mixed, confirming that the art could be dated on stylistic grounds to the early Solutrean or even late Gravettian of twenty to twenty-four thousand years ago while suggesting that flooding the valley might be the best way of protecting it, since Portugal was ill-equipped to protect such widely dispersed panels from vandals!29 a€?There is no easy solution,a€? he told a reporter. What the press forgot to emphasize with quite as much fervor was the fact that Clottes had prefaced his Solomonic verdict by saying, a€?Whatever happens, the engravings must be preserved and not be damaged.a€? Clottes might have felt that he could safely pass the buck because no art conservationist could honestly guarantee the engravingsa€™ fate once they were subjected to currents carrying abrasives, burial under the petrifying alluvia that accumulates behind dams,33 and the worlda€™s most destructive solvent a€“ water, which would dissolve pigments and destabilize rock that had proven its resistance to aerial conditions over tens of millennia. While chatting up the gaunt fellow traveller at the construction site, Ia€™d pretended to make small talk by asking engineering questions, including one about the depth of the sediment that had accumulated behind the Pocinho dam. The irony of it was that Clottesa€™ efforts to be honest without irritating his hosts had been the spark that the French diplomats had dreaded. Despite the fact that the great prehistoriana€™s reputation would remain largely intact, and with good reason, in much of the rest of the world,34 the Portuguese intelligentsia began to shun him. A€ propos of CA?a, two Portuguese rock art researchers, who couldna€™t stomach Clottes after his press conference, ironically echoed him by telling me, confidentially, that flooding the engravings could still be a blessing since it would save them from graffiti and those boogeymen of archaeologistsa€™ dreams, prowling collectors. My guess is that he was so beleaguered by advisers that he was just trying to get out of an awkward situation as quickly, judiciously and diplomatically as possible. I mentioned to Rebanda that I had just attended the lecture on Chauvet, that I even had a videotape of it right there in my camera. So it's true, I thought, drowning the site was Rebanda's solution to the problem of ownership of photographic rights.
But then, what about Rebanda's self-serving talk of photo credits, not to mention the engravings already submerged by the dam at the doorstep a€“ and his belief that the engravings were doomed to be flooded? Strangely enough, I could again see it being both ways, since the roots of tragedy are self-deception and entwined motives.
He must have realized that I was rooting for him to pull himself out of his tailspin, because suddenly he decided.
Upon leaving, Sebastian asked to check out the Pocinho dam, so I drove round an interchange into an empty parking lot with planters. As the sun slanted over the plateau into the wilderness of the CA?a valley, I decided to sneak into a side-valley to the north of our campsite that Rebanda's map had cluttered with pins. Then, after breaching a wall of rushes, we broke to the reservoir's edge - and were met by a horned skull stuck on a stake.
Suddenly, I remembered what Rebanda had said about the engravings' association with witchcraft. Being obstinate (or perhaps because of the prehistoric setting), I started whittling stone, knapping a microlithic surgeon's kit, and then bent single-mindedly to my task - failing till I was disgusted with myself and worried for my victim (which I had bizarrely associated with Rebanda).
This time there were two guards behind an overhanging military fence crested by barbed wire. The guard who beckoned us in was rearing a guard-dog puppy, which scampered around, tumbling over ledges and using its chin to lever itself over steps.
Our guide was a decent young man who couldn't help feeling uneasy blocking access to these bold masterpieces at the source of all our arts. Still, these guards were actually tame as the locals poured down to catch a glimpse of the animals through the fence.
After he'd hastened to take up his time-clock again, I wandered if there might not be even more testimonials of man's attraction to this classical Eden with its islets and fords in the flowery river, and browsed through a plowed orchard, along a contour which I judged would have been the valley floor half a million years ago.
We knew the next dawn would be our last, so we broke camp in blue light to explore the teeming side-valley beyond the first auroch. Not Portugal's - OURS - because this art is so old, despite its elegance, that we share the blood and genius of those distant ancestors who awoke to the universe, whether our cavalcade of ancestors migrated around the Old World or came across the Bering Straits 14,000 years ago. Footnotes have been added to the internet version of the article to provide historical perspective and more detail about sources than the versions that were published & distributed in 1995. 1 The three discoverers of the Chauvet Cave were Eliette Brunel Deschamps, Christian Hillaire, and Jean-Marie Chauvet.
2 The IPPAR announced the existence of the valleya€™s engravings on November 19, 1994 but a video was made of them in 1993.
10 Bahn 1995 for a re-capitulation of the same accusations against the IPPAR & Rebanda. 33 Bednarik & Jaffe have been the most outspoken spokesmen about delusions concerning the protective qualities of reservoirs a€“ which not only inundate art panels with water but deep alluvial deposits that make their later recovery dangerous and impractical. 34 Interestingly, a few years after this appeal was written, Clottes came under fierce attack and even ridicule by many representatives of the French intelligentsia, including some of the countrya€™s most prominent prehistorians, after he and David Lewis-Williams published a€?The Shamans of Prehistory: Trance and magic in the painted cavesa€? in 1996.
As soon as their results indicating that the art might be only 3,000 to 6,500 years old (if not even younger) were announced a€“ which actually made the engravings even more astonishing, potentially rewriting the history of rock art or even making Portugal the last bastion of the Paleolithic tradition a€“ the most important Portuguese right-wing weekly screamed that the direct-dating results proved that stylistic daters like Clottes had perpetrated a a€?FRAUDa€? (O Independente, 7 July 1995). It should also be noted that the individuals who participated in the debate were often somewhat unwittingly drawn into playing secondary or tertiary roles in a struggle between the Portuguese Ministry of Culture and Ministry of Industry. 40 In November 1995 - six months after this call-toa€“arms was published and circulated to Prehistoric Art Emergencya€™s volunteers (who Ia€™m glad to report included a young actor, Yann Montelle, who went on to earn a doctorate in prehistory) - a book edited by Jorge called a€?Dossier CA?aa€? appeared with 20 contributions by him or his wife. 44 After writing this article in May 1995, it occurred to me that I might have missed one of the main reasons for eliminating Rebanda from Portugala€™s archaeological milieu a€“ the fact that he was so effective at finding rock art that drew international attention, first to Mazouco, then to CA?a. 49 When I wrote the article, I assumed that the two young men were Rebandaa€™s subordinates and referred to them as a€?draftsmena€?. 50 After initially denigrating both the art and the idea of extracting it, the EDP later adopted the idea as one of its three strategies for overcoming opposition to the dam project. Fresco of Approving of bylaw of Society of Jesus depicting Ignatius of Loyola receiving papal bull Regimini militantis Ecclesiae from Pope Paul 3.
This group bound themselves by a vow of poverty and chastity, to "enter upon hospital and missionary work in Jerusalem, or to go without questioning wherever the pope might direct". They called themselves the Company of Jesus, and also Amigos En El Senor or "Friends in the Lord," because they felt "they were placed together by Christ." The name had echoes of the military (as in an infantry "company"), as well as of discipleship (the "companions" of Jesus). What we knew by 1990 about the 1940 dinner was published in Irregular Memories of the a€™Thirties.
In this the first of the BSJa€™s revived Christmas Annuals (a pleasant custom begun by Edgar W. January 30, 1940, was a golden evening, an evening of a€?entertainment and fantasya€? as Edgar W. Finally, after a Great Hiatus of nearly four years, plans were made a€” than to the imminent publication of 221B: Studies in Sherlock Holmes a€” for another BSI Annual Dinner, the first since 1936.
I had been planning to take a two weeks' holiday in the south toward the end of the month, but in view of this epic occasion, I have now changed my plans, and shall be leaving on January 12, and returning on the 29th. Please inform the undersigned promptly of your intention to attend so that the Gasogene and the Tantalus may make accurate plans.
And on January 30, 1940, the Baker Street Irregulars gathered for their annual dinner once more. The first order of business under the Constitution was the drinking of the canonical toasts.
There is also extant a letter from Steele to Vincent Starrett about this drawing, quoted in the previously cited unpublished memoir by Steelea€™s son Robert: a€?I had an absurdly hard struggle with my Sherlock. This was also the first time the Baker Street Irregulars met at the Murray Hill Hotel, where the BSI dinners would continue to be held a€” cocktails in Parlor F, dinner and program in Parlor G a€” until the New York landmark was finally torn down in the late a€™Forties, to be great regret of many sentimental people.
The 1940 dinner might not have included every Irregular of that era with whom one would wish to dine, but it was a fine list nonetheless. Denis Conan Doyle was the eldest son of Sir Arthura€™s second marriage (his mother, Lady Conan Doyle, would pass away later in the year), and Trustee of a very active literary Estate indeed. He went on to describe how, in the lore of the Irregulars, Doyle is pictured as a struggling young physician, delighted at the chance to a€?peddlea€? the cases his friend Dr.
Certainly one would love to have been a fly on the wall that night, or, even better, archy the cockroach darting among the drinks on the table, to hear Denisa€™s charming discourse, and all the other scholarship and tomfoolery that transpired that night, the first BSI dinner in four long years.
Meanwhile, and with 221B still rolling off the presses, I am sending you a first very rough-and-ready copy of the Gazetteer which you have egged me on, from time to time, to write.
I hope things are going well for you, and again let me say that your absence was a matter of very genuine regret indeed to all of us who look to you as mentor and guide -- to say nothing of your status as sponsor and editor of the Book of the Day. Re the Gazetteer: I'm inclined to agree with you that it might be extended to advantage by a listing of the more important clubs and restaurants, etc. I imagine we should not too often bring out a volume of ana; the public might easily tire of us. In his essay in Irregular Memories of the 'Thirties discussing this first BSI anthol-ogy of Writings About the Writings, neither Robert G. So it should be, from someone who (born 1915) had by 1990 long been one of the nationa€™s foremost authorities on Victorian literature and culture. I know of no other such study as the interesting one you suggest, although it is perhaps odd that the idea did not earlier explode in the skull of some devoted Sherlockian.
It seems to me more than likely that Doyle wrote that scene in His Last Bow quite deliberately, knowing it for what it was - a friendly para-phrase of the parting between Johnson and Boswell; although it may of course have been subconscious. You have chosen a delightful subject for your thesis; and you will pardon me if I hope that you will treat it not too seriously, but with a touch of humor. I am leaving Chicago inside of a week, I think, for a voyage around the world; so in closing I must wish you - in my absence - all good luck in your efforts.
A few years later, an editor was interested in publishing the essay a€” the best of all possible editors for Sherlockian work, Vincent Starrett himself. The quotation is from Christopher Morleya€™s a€?Notes on Baker Streeta€? in the Saturday Review of Literature, January 28, 1939, not from any letter Starrett received from him.
This independent Sherlock Holmes society had been founded in New York in 1935 by Richard W. Since Morleya€™s letter of December 23, 2939, below was unavailable for Irregular Memories of the a€™Thirties, this reference in Edgar W.
A copy of Morleya€™s letter to Smith below went to Vincent Starrett in Chicago, with the handwritten note: a€?Merry Christmas, Vincenzio. When I was in Chicago a week ago I learned from Vincent Starrett that his book 221-B is actually to be published on January 30.
Since Christ Cella's place on 45 Street, where we used to hold meetings, has been modernized and the old upstairs room there no longer exists (he has only a not very attractive cellarage; which makes me think of The Fiend of the Cooperage; do you know it?) I am wondering if the Murray Hill Hotel would not be a singularly pleasant place for the meeting?
You yourself would, I hope, perhaps feel inclined to present a proceeding of some sort; I mean a few remarks on the Obliquity of the Ecliptic, or whatever may be momently on your mind. Just for the fun of starting trouble, I am sending a copy of this both to Starrett and to Harold Latham of Macmillan; who will I'm sure see to it that each convive gets a presentation copy of the Book.
I hope I may assume that like Peterson the commissionaire, or No, it was Henry Baker, you are carrying a white goose and walking with a slight stagger. Beginning in 1945, Titular Investitures were conferred at the annual dinners to denote membership in the BSI. That it was the first one Smith prepared is indicated by a letter to Christopher Morley dated three days later (November as the month, in Irregular Memories of the a€™Thirties, p. There are forty-eight names on the somewhat woolly list, below, and they bear some analysis, following Miss Mouillerata€™s cover letter. The other names on Smitha€™s list are familiar ones, though some of them are surprises to see here. Members by 1935, according to Morley's list that year: Ronald Mansbridge, Harrison Martland, John Sterling, Lawrence Williams.
Ones who came into the BSI at the 1940 dinner: John Connolly, Peter Greig, Howard Haycraft, James Keddie (his son James Jr. A few more details about some of these Irregulars of the a€™30s and a€™40s can be provided now, for the record.
Of other names on this list, Harold Latham was, as we have seen, Trade Editor at the Macmillan Company responsible for publishing 221B: Studies in Sherlock Holmes. This was a 1940 collection of essays by Vincent Starrett, published by Random House, with an a€?Unconventional Indexa€? by Christopher Morley.
More serious still, two more toasts stipulated by our Constitutional ar-rangements are absent altogether, and missing ever since. As to The Second Most Dangerous Man: The query about his identity was a€” as Bill Hall will tell you a€” the original, first, quickie, abbreviated examination for eligibility to membership in the pre-natal Baker Street club. Resting imposingly on the long table at which the BSI dined on January 30, 1940, was an a€?orthodox coal-scuttle,a€? authentically Victorian, which James P. The coal box was an ornament, and in it were stored such details of fireside comfort as slippers, unread magazines and so forth.
Although Keddie was a contributor to 221B: Studies in Sherlock Holmes, he came close to missing the 1940 dinner until Morley unearthed his address barely ten days before. Because of money, and his second wifea€™s health, Vincent Starrett never made it back to New York for a BSI dinner after the one in 1934.
Bill Halla€™s copy bears the affectionate raspberry Christopher Morley often sent his old frienda€™s way. It also bears the notation a€?$5.00 casha€? which was probably the true cost of the evening. The pattern followed by the BSI for quite a few years thereafter, of oysters (a€?shall the world be overrun bya€?), pea soup (as in London fog), curried chicken (minus one ingredient as served in a€?Silver Blazea€?), and a sweet, was set by Christopher Morley whose handwritten draft of the printed menu has survived.
The quotation from this letter, taken from an article by the artista€™s son, was incomplete. Meanwhile, Starrett was already building a new Sherlock Holmes collection, with a big start in August 1940 from Logan Clendening.
When this was written in 1990, the hope was that Sir Arthur Conan Doylea€™s sur-viving child, Dame Jean, might come to New York for a BSI dinner.
All this within your ear; but the circumstances being what they are, you will understand why I can't be any place but Reno on January 30. I could and would, of course, if the dinner were postponed, keep you posted as to developments, and the probable time I should be free to make a New York visit.
My brother Felix has a subtle scheme which he will bring direct from the State Department in Washington. The errata slip in 221B, as by Jane Nightwork, reads: a€?In the unavoidable absence of the Editor, a volunteer hand must call attention to the curious incident of what the Proofreader did in the night-time. Everybody is too pooped this morning to be able to give you any intelligible report but I must let you know at once that the evening was a grand success in every way.
The only sadness is that I intended to have a copy signed for you by all those present, and in the general uproar this did not get done. Since you seem not to have heard the news, I am sending this by pony express so that you may know at once that the Irregulars met, feasted, d---k, and thought of you. Denis Conan Doyle made a neat little address in which he stuck to the tradition of the Irregulars and told us about his father's acquaintance with Holmes. Of course Christopher himself in person (but he WAS a moving picture!) was the glowing heart of the nebulae. And, by the way, I think having vindicated Watson in the matter of the coal scuttle, it now behooves me to vindicate him in the Persian Slipper.
BOOKS ALIVE: Man, oh man, WHAT a title, and doubly good for your book because none has a greater faculty for bringing books ALIVE than you. I was glad to get your note of February 27th, and to learn from it that you may be coming back East soon.
Since the first draft of the Gazetteer, I have added about 150 more names - still without resorting to bars or theatres - but more important, I have fallen in with Dr. Who the members were of the Irene Adler Division with which Christopher Morley and other Irregulars convened immediately following the BSI dinner in New York is a mystery, however. For many years, it was believed that BSI dinner photographs commenced after World War II, with the one of the 1946 dinner.
So it was a surprise when James Keddiea€™s letter above referred to a dinner photo, and a thrill when a print turned up in the hands of Mary Hazard, daughter-in-law of the late Irregular whose it had been: Harry Hazard, a solver of the Sherlock Holmes Crossword in 1934. But to confound us, in the photograph are at least two men whose names are not in Smitha€™s minutes: William C.
None of the seven surviving copies of 221B I have seen bears all the signatures of everyone we can say was at the dinner.
Comparing signatures in one copy of 221B after another makes for further confusion Some men seem to have stayed glued to their seats throughout the signing session, as the copies of Starretta€™s book made their way around the table, while others seem to have gotten up and roamed around the room, signing one copy here, another copy there. Three particular signatures appear as a trio in one copy after another a€” James Keddie, Edgar W. Bill Vande Water has picked up where Harry Hazard left off, and carried on with his typical valiant job of assigning names to faces, but a few remain unidentified. The photograph a€” Ia€™ve been having enormous fun, showing my friends what I looked like nearly sixty years ago.
I was also given a bit of a nudge by Archie Macdonell, who founded the first Sherlock Holmes Society in England in June 1934.
I remember David Randall, and discussion of the cash value of certain Sherlock Holmes first editions. The man who got me started in all this Sherlock Holmes stuff was not present at the dinner.
At first I was very skeptical of this record as it was a family tradition passed down for many generations.
She was very fond of her Grandmother, Freelove, knew all about her and stated on several occasions that Freelove's Mother was Sarah Mauwee, daughter of Joseph Mauwee, Sachem of Choosetown, and not Tabitha Rubbards (Roberts).
Massasoit was the Sachem of this tribe, as well as being the Great Sachem over the entire Wampanoag Federation, which consisted of over 30 tribes in central and southeastern Massachusetts, Cape Cod, Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket.


Welcome, Englishmen!" It was a cold and windy day, yet this Indian, who introduced himself as Samoset, Sachem of a tribe in Monhegan Island, Maine, wore only moccasins and a fringed loin skin. Not only were frescoes of rhinos, horses and lions over 30,000 years old found in a cave in the Ardeche on Dec. Although theya€™re probably right, ita€™s worth noting that these same specialists used similar criteria to ascribe the animals of Chauvet to the same period - until carbon 14 results pushed their age back over 10,000 years, shattering the notion that prehistoric art had evolved linearly, like technologies. In France, the Ministry of Culture placed its new treasure under the most draconian protection, despite the fact that the country already has the lion's share of Paleolithic art. Standing right in front of some of the most spectacular engravings, the Secretary of State for Culture dismissed them as being nothing more than a€?childrena€™s doodlesa€? a€“ whereupon the students from Foz CA?aa€™s high school turned the official into a laughing-stock by presenting him with a schist slab covered with their own scribblings4. It's now or never, the author of the following article decided in April 1995, as he set out to evaluate the engravings, find out the truth, and propose solutions. My 13-year old son and I had flown to Porto in Portugal and driven far up the Douro valley into the northeastern mountains, prepared to maneuver around obstructions whether by negotiation or hiking through the back door. Still, here was our first encounter with the powers that be, so I took this opportunity to probe, and get a first step up the hierarchical ladder. So I explained how Sebastian and I had come so far to see the Paleolithic glories that Portugal would be displaying with pride, spoke of credentials, and placed us (and our pen) in his hands. Still, we had our bearings, and drove off into the late afternoon to penetrate the heart of the forbidden zone. We were getting closer, very close now, and could spy loops of a trail among the folds of a distant ridge.
And here too was the arena where one of the greatest feuds between discoverers and custodians of the past had exploded since the conflict between Othniel Marsh and Edward Drinker Cope over the fossils of extinct giants in Sioux territory during Custer's battles. With swifts swirling in up-drafts around our heads, we scrambled and picked our way among sheer precipices and ledges. Its tight horseshoe of cliffs and rubble made the perfect hiding place for our car and tent from the gray guards roaming the surrounding crests with binoculars. Sebastian snuggled tighter into his sleeping bag, so I set out to reconnoiter alone, systematically working quadrants and contours between our quarry at Fariseu and Piscos brook. Somewhere among the jumble of a thousand rock faces would be an ancient image - perhaps masked by lichen or so faint one had to trace its parts before seeing it whole. The numbed waters suddenly spangled upstream with glitter and so many flowery white tresses of water plants that the currents looked like sudsy pastures.
After all the noisy demonstrations against the dam in Lisbon, how were they to know how much clout a nosy prehistorian might have?
Whatever was going to happen to him afterwards in the backwater of Portuguese archaeology had surely been inconsequential, since experience proved that nobody made much fuss over sites that were out-of-sight and out-of-mind - especially with archaeologists beholding to dam-builders and political appointees for access and records.
According to the insinuations, he could have continued his documentation right up to the headwaters as his masters worked their way upstream step by step.
I sensed that this crowd felt their doctor deserved to be the one to tell fellow archaeologists that they might as well ask to visit Atlantis. Sure enough, there was the 12 year-old Pocinho dam sweeping the valley with a clean curtain.14 But the silos of this former construction site's cement plant were speckled with rust, the ranks of its offices and dormitories were deserted and almost every window was broken. Fortunately, Sebastian was becoming ever more engrossed in Verne's book, spelunking towards the planet's core, so I began to gravitate down halls for exercise and companionship, coming to the door of the room where the secretary was braiding the blind's cord while two laconic draftsmen labored over tracings of horses, ibexes and aurochs.
It has been insinuated that Rebanda probably discovered Rock 1 at Canada do Inferno as early as November 1991.18 In Dec. So, quixotically, he had proposed building a dry-dock around the outcropping, and, failing that, underwater exploration. If so, the power utility may have known of incredibly rich sites years before the first blueprint for the new dam! Clottes was the worlda€™s reigning prehistorian a€“ the man who had risen to the pinnacle of the French archaeological establishment and held the only keys to the holy grail of art caves - the unbelievably strong and ancient Grotte Chauvet.
After inspecting the 15% of the art that remained above water at the site in the rising dama€™s shadow, because the EDP had hardly felt it necessary to lower the water for the visit of the foreigner sent by the now antagonistic IPPAR, Clottes stepped before a highly polarized press corps. The dam-builders and their government backers felt vindicated while much of Portuguese public was crestfallen or furious. The dam had become a poisonous political issue in a national election with the President and his fellow Socialists attacking the center-right Prime Minister for its willingness to sacrifice both the nationa€™s patrimony and vineyards to a flaky building scheme. As if the owners of villas built around the new lake would really allow it to be drained 100 meters to its bottom - where almost all of the known panels would soon be drowned a€“ once every decade!
Suddenly, the Portuguese public felt that the dam-builders were not only destroying the nationa€™s most ancient claim to world grandeur and civilization, but that they were in league with a man who would never have been so cavalier with Paleolithic masterpieces in his own country! When I later asked Portuguese archaeologists if they were going to attend an up-coming conference organized by Clottes, they recoiled.
First, because Clottesa€™ retinue of hosts, diplomats and reporters was rushing him and putting him in a bind a€“ even if his stature, pride, and role as UNESCOa€™s expert on rock art had led him into it. They even echoed his faith in getting dam operators to regularly empty the vast lake a€“ despite the glaring evidence of the EDPa€™s behavior at CA?a itself.
No sooner had Clottes triggered a public outcry, than he began to explain away his tepid defense of the CA?aa€™s importance by saying that he had not been shown enough art to form a true idea of the valleya€™s richness.35 But the truth is, he was shown Rebandaa€™s trove of drawings from submerged sections and sites upstream36 and could have been more demanding. After all it was a lot of money, the government was inflexible, the controversy had become a campaign issue a€“ which meant that his advice would seem like foreign meddling - and the elections were still far off. When, in fact, the long-term rights for the cave in France would belong to its Ministry of Culture a€“ which was already attacking its discoverer, Chauvet, for the pittance hea€™d received for his pictures. But I could hardly hold my tongue: why on earth had he invited people from this caste of academics back into his life - and the valley - when at least one of them had apparently abused him? The picture was compelling: SimAµes and her husband angelically insisting that the world must be told, while the hireling screamed demonically over the fire, accusing university archaeologists of trying to hog the credit yet again.
If Rebanda had known SimAµes and Jaffe were going to paint him into a corner, wouldn't he have raced for the exit? Both Rebanda and SimAµes de Abreu could have been traitors and saviors at once, and as long as I was with this archaeologist, I felt bound to encourage the savior in him. It must have seemed like an insult to him after all his efforts, so with an anarchic gesture, he announced, what the hell, he'd photocopy their fax when it came, so we could enter a second.
Huge black derricks hulked atop the dam beside a row of gate-lifting pistons that looked like Big Berthas. We bagged the warning or omen, caught and released a giant water beetle - the kind that injects deliquescing enzymes into living frogs, then sucks out their juice - and worked our way along what was actually the upper tier of a disappearing cliff. When art panels are located in the CA?aa€™s side valleys, they are apparently concentrated on northern slopes. I was a willing guide as we skewered corn kernels on hooks, lashed lines around a log and threw the lethal leashes into the dark.
They were a hundred yards apart, making perpetual rounds as they kept time clocks happy by cranking them every few paces with keys chained to the fence. It was probably his first job after military service, but he was intelligent enough to realize that hea€™d been hired as a pawn in a vast conspiracy to keep Portugal's greatest cultural wonders out of sight and out of mind, till they could be obliterated.
One, because any plan to remove the friezes not only meant assigning a value to them, but keeping the controversy alive. The mountainous dirt road forked, meandered and even skirted an imposing castle,51 but several classes of children were making the long dusty pilgrimage on foot while carloads of adults in their Sunday best made the excursion to see the only engravings to have escaped the censors - either because the site at Penascosa was so far from Lima Montiero's spyglass or because the valley was gentler here and had always been farmed. I hadn't passed the first olive tree when I happened upon a well-knapped hand-axe, and then another! On-line commentary entitled a€?Some corrections about the CA?a petroglyphsa€? in TRACCE no. While Chauveta€™s name was given to the cave itself, the names of his co-discoverers were given to two of its large chambers. Mila SimAµes de Abreu and Ludwig Jaffe were the founders of the APAAR (AssociaA§ao Portuguesa de Arte e Arqueologia Rupestre), which has been a member of IFRAO (International Federation of Rock Art Organisations) since Sept.
In an on-line commentary, Jaffe denounced what he perceived as a continuation of the scandal under new management: a€?In December 1994 IPPAR passed the responsibility for the rock art in the Coa valley to Mario Varela Gomes and Antonio Martinho Baptista. Their critics often subscribe to the doctrine that modern ethnographic evidence cannot be used to interpret ancient cultures.
Although Bednarik was one of the earliest crusaders for CA?a - calling for the EDP to stop building the dam in Nov. The leftist press and Portuguese archaeological milieu reacted with just as much reflection, ignoring both Bednarika€™s qualifiers and his pioneering role in organizing the world campaign to fight for the whole valleya€™s salvation (see Dossier CA?a p.
Of the 66 contributions written by individuals, not one is by Nelson Rebanda, whose ghost a€“ to anyone interested in intellectual property a€“ haunts every line. After the CA?a scandal served its purpose as an electoral issue that helped the Socialists to win power, the new government kept its campaign promise by protecting the CA?a Valley but used the goodwill engendered by the decision to blunt criticism while flooding other huge assemblages of rock art. 3; Catherine Vincent, writing in Le Monde on March 11, 1995, goes into much more detail about one particular vineyard, Ervamoira, that would have been lost, along with its exceptional Port wine. The first was to prove that the engravings were not Paleolithic a€“ an effort that entrapped researchers who wanted to apply experimental direct-dating techniques. Ignatius of Loyola, who after being wounded in a battle, experienced a religious conversion and composed the Spiritual Exercises to closely follow Christ.
The fresco was created by Johann Christoph Handke in the Church of Our Lady Of the Snow in Olomouc after 1743. It revived the BSI after four years of dormancy, and ushered in a new era at the Murray Hill Hotel. Smith in the 1950s, but lost along the way), we begin by reprinting the account of the 1940 BSI dinner which appeared in Irregular Memories of the a€?Thirties.
I didn't get a blue carbuncle, or, for that matter, did I even get a goose - but the day was a very pleasant one notwithstanding. The date crept up very quickly, and when I finally reached Earle Walbridge yesterday, to look over the proofs of my section, I found a number of errors which it is now probably too late to correct, since Miss Prink at Macmillans tells me the binding has already started.
There being no Goldini's or Marcini's available, the Murray Hill Hotel seems to meet the necessities next best.
Anything I can do toward contributing to the preparations for the event I shall therefore have to undertake during the next two weeks. The errors will probably be discernible only to the inner circle of the cognoscenti, and to those select few they can easily be explained away. Shortly afterward, Edgar Smith a€” now the BSIa€™s Buttons, an extra-Constitutional office later to be superceded by the grander and rolling title of Buttons-cum-Commissionaire a€” sent out to those on the mailing list he had received from Christopher Morley some minutes of the annual dinner.
Revision of this constitutional requirement was, however, adopted, viva voce, and amendment to the Constitution hereby imposed, in that it is required hereafter that the toast shall not be canonical but Conanical. Christopher Morley announced that the meeting, which was held as usual on a date at variance with the constitutional specification, had been called to celebrate the publication by Macmillans of 221B - a compilation of the writings of various members of the Society.
Vincent Starrett, whose unfortunate absence from the meeting can be compared only with the intolerable absence of Mrs.
We are able to reproduce opposite the appropriately fanciful menu of the evening a€” it initiated a custom of oysters, pea soup, curried chicken, and a sweet which was observed by the BSI for many years (until, Robert G.
I tore up two or three attempts to do it from an old drawing, finally put on my old dressing gown and posed for it in the mirror.a€? And in a letter to Edgar Smith dated December 13, 1942, Christopher Morley wrote: a€?Would Freddy Steele like to design a menu card or would we use again the one he did years ago?
Located at 41st and Park Avenue in Manhattana€™s Murray Hill district, the venerable hotel had seen better days by the time the Baker Street Irregulars arrived in 1940, but it captured and preserved the atmosphere of Victorian London far better than any other possibility in New York at that time (let alone today). In the United States on Estate business, making Sherlock Holmes publishing and radio and motion picture deals, and doing some lecturing on his fathera€™s Spiritualist cause as well, he had been invited to the BSI dinner by Christopher Morley. Smith, prominent Sherlockian and secretary, or a€?Buttons,a€? as he is called, of the Irregulars, informed this writer that the trouble began several years back, when Denis Conan Doyle attended a Baker Street dinner in New York. He added that it was probably the highest compliment ever paid in the history of literature.
Hudson to sit down at a meeting of the Baker Street Irregulars and to count you among the missing.
It isn't as comprehensive a thing as I had thought it might be -- perhaps I should add hotels and clubs and restaurants to the list of countries, U.S. Altick wrote his paper on Holmes and Johnson as an undergraduate at Franklin & Marshall College in Lancaster, Pa.
Certainly I shall be happy to have a copy of your paper - entire - and I trust that you are right in believing it to be publishable. I am sorry you had to wait so long for an acknowledgment of your MS - which I received, read, and enjoyed. I had thought that he was sent to China by the Chicago Tribune as its Far Eastern correspondent. The photograph below is of the lobby, looking past the reception desk and grand staircase at the corridor which led to the private meeting rooms. Smith, eager for the BSI to convene again for what would be his first annual dinner, had suggested the Murray Hill Hotel as an appropriate place.
We could have one of their private dining rooms, which are so entirely in the Baker Street manner and decor. I might tell you that the addresses may not be 100% correct, but I think you will find them O. Smith is about the busiest person on earth at the moment, although he has taken time out to read your new book BOOKS ALIVE which he thinks is excellent. Warren Force, Harry Hazard, Harvey Officer, Allan Price, Harrison Reinke, Stuart Robinson, and Earle Walbridge. Since Smith was working from a list supplied by Morley a€” Woollcotta€™s name was on the 1935 list, but crossed off on the only copy surviving to be printed in the September 1960 Baker Street Journal a€” we must wonder about the legend of Woollcott cast out into utter darkness after crashing the 1934 dinner, and publishing his mocking account of it in The New Yorker. In a letter to Morley on May 10, 1939, discussing the progress of 221B, Vincent Starrett mentioned that a€?Incidentally, Ia€™ve included tentatively Woollcotta€™s bit on the Gillette dinner in 1934, from the New Yorker, as a sort of pendant to Fred Steelea€™s contribution from the same journal, which mentions the dinner.
It was not until 1945 that any of the original Pips a€” Gordon Knox Bell, Richard Clarke, Owen Frisbie, Norman Ward, and Frank Waters a€” began to attend the BSIa€™s dinners. Starrett later used the title for his bookmana€™s column in the Chicago Tribune, which appeared Sundays for some twenty-five years.
In the first place, they were declared no longer canonical but Conanical a€” Christopher Morleya€™s whimsical way of tipping his hat to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in his son Denisa€™s presence. When, in the course of luncheon at Christ Cellaa€™s or elsewhere, some acquaintance would hear about the Sherlock Holmes society and ask how to get in, he would be asked a€?Who was the Second Most Dangerous Man in London?a€? If he could answer that one, he might get asked others if anybody present wanted to ask them.
That was getting late to make plans to attend, apologized Morley; but Keddie made it nonetheless.
On the occasion of the 1940 dinner, however, the editor of 221B: Studies in Sherlock Holmes was not even in Chicago, a mere overnight run on the 20th Century Limited to New York. Smitha€™s minutes say that a€?The meeting voted simultaneously to send greetings and a fully autographed copy of the book to Mr. This meeting was held to celebrate the 50th anniversary of Sherlock Holmesa€™s first appearance in American ink (Lippincotta€™s Magazine, February 1890).a€? Not a great way to sell copies of the real reason for the 1940 dinner, Vincent Starretta€™s 221B: Studies in Sherlock Holmes a€” especially since lack of funds had forced Starrett to sell that superb collection of his the year before!
Dame Jean Conan Doyle did not share her brothersa€™ antipathy toward the Baker Street Irregulars, and in fact was pleased to accept membership in 1991.
Keddie, a publisher of his as well, at the company where he was vice-president, took it upon himself each year to write Starrett a report of the dinner. On January 30, barring accidents, I shall be four weeks along in a Reno residence of six, in an effort to procure a divorce which will enable me to marry Ray. Indoctrinated students will deduce that (by an innocent misunderstanding) a portion of this work was set from unrevised copy, and this first edition will remain identifiable by a number of irregularities, notably in Mr Edgar Smitha€™s valuable concordance. However, it was signed by several at a most successful meeting of the Irene Adler division or Ladies' Auxiliary held immediately after the dinner. Copies of 221-B were distributed and autographed more or less by all present, and a jolly good time was H. Now, as Holmes has pointed out, Curry is an excellent disguise for the taste of opium, and (you remember) would be the logical flavor to use in food into which opium was to be introduced. He said that his father had known Holmes very intimately, and he even went so far as to say that Holmes's mental processes had influenced his father's thinking. He also suggested that only Hitler could have written the impetuous and irresponsible letter which caused all the trouble.
Julian Wolff, who made a couple of neat little maps of spots in the stories about a year ago (I asked him at the time to send copies to you), and he is doing a bang-up job with London, England, the Continent and the world - creations that will be well worth framing and hanging.
I had photostats made of it, and am sending you a copy herewith, in case you haven't seen it.
And none have been found from 1941 through 1945, though some pictures were taken by others at the BSIa€™s special Trilogy Dinner at the Murray Hill Hotel on March 30, 1944. Christopher Morley (still beardless at this time) is at the head of the table, in black tie, leaning to catch something Frederic Dorr Steele is saying to him. Absent from all seven are the signatures of Elmer Davis, Malcolm Johnson, and Warren Jones, all of whose names are in Smitha€™s minutes. Smith took on the work of Buttons in January 1940, sending out dinner invitations to the rather casual list of members Christopher Morley provided, and preparing minutes afterward, it was all new to him.
His name appears in Smitha€™s minutes, but his signature does not in any of the seven surviving copies of 221B. Some names do not appear on either the 1935 or 1940 membership lists, and we will not see them again after this night. Yet one man there a€” the man with the dapper mustache, raising a wine-glass in salute a€” is still in the ranks.
Of course no one of my generation can forget the overwhelming, all-pervading atmosphere of the Depression, the atmosphere of fear, fear for onea€™s job, fear for all onea€™s friends, half of whom were out of work.
My friend Basil Davenport, the one man I knew who literally lived in a garret, in the depths of the Depression, supporting himself by writing for that same Saturday Review of Literature a€” precariously, because the Saturday Review didna€™t always have the money to pay contributors. She obtained her copy of Zerviah Newcomb's Chronical from Zerviah's original diary, in the hands of Josiah 3rd himself. 18th1, but Europea€™s biggest open-air gallery of Paleolithic animals was reported just a month earlier in the CA?a Valley of northeastern Portugal2. Regardless of how old the CA?aa€™s art turns out to be, it is unique in its richness above ground and astonishing in its illustrations of movement - with animals tossing their heads with the same stop-action dynamism found at Chauvet and only millennia later in photography and Futurist painting.
The Chauvet Cavea€™s prehistoric bestiary was proudly splashed across magazines around the world.
Soon, the guard turned into a regular lad, wrote down the chief engineer's name and pointed beyond the ramp-laced moonscape - into the wilderness. In this walled garden, the conflicting passions of archaeologists had exploded around a campfire, set a president and prime minister against each other, and cowed the emissaries of UNESCO.
Lizards skidded into fissures, a rusty blade wedged in a nook beside a sliver of cliff garden spoke of an emigrant who had never returned, but the walls seemed barren.
Over and over again, the scene seemed set, the rock stretched, but its lines were just fractals. I yanked myself up to a platform less than a step wide and a ten-foot long cow - an auroch! By holding the animal's form and movement vividly in mind, the maker had poured himself into its body and experienced a power beyond abstraction, beyond even tool-making, to thrill to the new power of passing through the looking-glass into another being. A stream, running pure as its springs over crisp cresses between alternating bull rushes and crags, almost made it to the river unaltered, but met it just below the threshold and sank into an estuary. We had arrived at Pandemonium and would try to insinuate ourselves into an audience with the Chief Engineer himself.
Only one was so spotless and redolent of perks, though, with its rolled lawn incongruous in the desert, that we knew right where to head among forking roads. I was hardly surprised when these well-fed pros passed the buck to the only gaunt and partially toothless fellow traveler among them. So they decided to play it safe by dumping me on their pet nemesis, the organizationa€™s own archaeological a€?hirelinga€?, Dr. He could have added to his hoard of exclusive photos and measurements, imposed interpretations, and generally lorded it over his peers - for who could have naysayed him with his treasures locked a hundred meters deep in so many great watery safes?10 And to think that all the dam-builders' pet archaeologist and his accommodating superiors at the Portuguese Institute for Architectural and Archaeological Heritage (IPPAR)11 in Lisbon - to whom Rebanda had reported his discoveries at least twice12 - had had to do to pull off this economically patriotic (not to say mutually beneficial) stunt was keep their mouths shut! After having suffered at the hands of his mentor, Professor Jorge, why had Rebanda put himself at the mercy of two similar academics and representatives of an international body to boot - Mila SimAµes de Abreu and her archaeologist husband, Ludwig Jaffe, who represented the International Federation of Rock Art Organizations (IFRAO)? At least such nuisances would keep him from getting up to more mischief by turning up new discoveries.
But, finally, a secretary answered my summons and let me into a vestibule empty except for a display of postcard-sized photographs of some of the engravings, and a cartoon caricaturing the scandal - which I reckoned had been knowingly posted to co-opt criticism. I couldn't quite make out the man's features through the crack, but it was obvious he was gushing recriminations - and no wonder: the entire archaeological profession had ganged up on the pariah. We all knew I had crossed a threshold, but, after all, I had paid my dues, and in any case, I padded off to the foyer again. Yet they'd prattled to the press that they had found the art a year ago, and then more like two years ago, and now, word had it, a€?onlya€? three years ago25 - when it was always somehow too late to stop the process leading up to construction, which had only started in September a€™94.26 The gall!
Instantly, I whipped out paper and scribbled the fastest copy of the main map that my hand could draw. After SimAµes de Abreu and Jaffe had unleashed the scandal by revealing the conspiracy to flood Europea€™s richest assemblage of open-air Paleolithic art, the IPPAR and Portuguese Ministry of Culture had scrambled to get their own expert witness a€“ and, in a further twist, had asked UNESCO to recommend an expert to challenge the power companya€™s growing efforts to prove the art wasna€™t Paleolithic but recent27 a€“ in which case, the EDP seemed to think that the public would drop the subject as being the relatively recent work of peasants drawing their cows. For all their heightened sensitivity to having CA?aa€™s fate evaluated by a foreigner, the Portuguese press viewed Clottes as a referee and expected a verdict. Then, as fate would have it, Clottes was back in the headlines within the week, announcing drastic measures to protect Francea€™s new crown jewel, Chauvet. And as if anyone could even find new art during the two weeks a lake might be emptied (every hundred years) while everything was coated with algae and grime!
Opposition editorialists had a field day with Clottesa€™ apparent hypocrisy and dismissiveness towards Portugal - and demonstrators flooded the streets. Two, because people are often driven to produce their greatest work and worst mistakes by similar drives. Rebanda was even fooling himself on this score, I thought - after all, the Foz CA?a photographs would probably end up belonging to Portugala€™s own ministry or even the EDP. Scientists - like lawyers - ply an adversarial trade, but the chance to put Portugal into the archaeological heavens a€“ and to boost their own reputations with it - had given many researchers more ulterior motives than usual. Personally, I couldn't see anybody bedding down for the night and traipsing out the next morning with people who had announced that they were going to expose him. In essence, my heart a€“ if not my mind - had taken his side for the moment; he was the underdog, on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and I was concerned that he might even attempt suicide.
If I didn't mind coming back at 9 the next morning, he apologized, the approval should be there. But basically the dam was a streamlined machine without much need for local intervention or maintenance. My unequivocal certification of their global importance only made him uneasier, as he didn't know whether to feel flattered or upset.
We peered into a dovecot, a squat white tower lined inside with empty compartments like a city after a plague. Suddenly, a deeply hammered auroch on the rock stood out boldly as a road sign - alerting us to an entire herd.
The geology, erosion, & silica skins protecting engravings all seem similar on both slopes, so I theorize that this positioning is not simply a taphonomic illusion created by the disappearance of engravings on the southern slopes. I wasn't expecting anything when I ambled down at dawn, but there it was: a big mound under the bank!
From what I could tell, even his draftsmen had decided to take the day off 49, once they realized the coast was clear. By God, I thought, if the flooders don't save them, I hope the townspeople storm the valley! If the guards hadn't been under strict orders not to sell admissions, they'd have made a killing; but then any financial association with the art is anathema to the dammers: the next thing they knew, they'd have a revolt on their hands! And like the first guard, when he realized that I had somehow gotten authorization despite my evident opposition to the reservoir, he let out his pent-up indignation - for we were insiders.
As we passed the threshold between the deadened depths and virgin current with its billowing water-foliage, we had to skirt and climb over a sheer wall blocking the side-valleya€™s entrance.
The intertwined couple, spanning the length of a single real horse, was still necking in Eden after twenty millennia. Rock Art and the CA?a Valley Archaeological Park: A case study in the preservation of Portugal's prehistoric parietal heritage.
Although it is true that one must be extremely circumspect about doing so, such evidence often opens new perspectives that have more in common with the subsistence systems of ancient cultures than does our own, and the two authors showed considerable originality and courage in exploring it. 1994 - most Portuguese archaeologists with access to the CA?a sites now shun him as thoroughly as they do Clottes and Rebanda. 539, for a resolution, written in defense of CA?a, by Bednarik, in a book filled with vitriole against him). These retractions confirmed that some of ZilhA?oa€™s criticisms of the direct dating attempts were well founded, but dona€™t necessarily reflect on other matters raised in his disputes with Bednarik and Jaffe. In the English sections, Jorge generously credits numerous associates and generations of Portuguese prehistorians by full name, while studiously avoiding any mention of Rebanda except where it is unavoidable, and then only with his last name between brackets. The second was to make casts of panels for a museum a€“ which may have damaged some panels. If you could go back in time to attend just one BSI dinner from years gone by, which one would it be?
It was a publication party for the first BSI anthology of Writings About the Writings, Vincent Starretta€™s 221B: Studies in Sherlock Holmes, with most of its contributors present that night. Mistakes can be corrected, assumptions confirmed, missing passages filled in, and hitherto-unsuspected aspects revealed. Starrett could be excused for overlooking it, since he had been out of the country at the time, on an extended tour of duty. The changes I would have made are of a rather minor character, and probably if it were not my own child I would not be conscious of the few warts that disfigure it. Our dearly beloved public won't know Staphonse from Staphouse (if that's not in the eight pages) and even if they do find ground for pinning us down, the controversy might actually be profitable. I hope everything comes out satisfactorily, and that you will be East again before too long.
It was the first of an unbroken series of annual minutes prepared by Smith through 1960, the year of his death.
A copy of the book, presented with the compliments of the publishers, was put at each place.
Cecil For(r)rester, who expressed his sympathy and pledged his assistance in the Society's research in the matter of his ancestral relations with a certain governess.
Harris says, the Irregulars meeting every January, at Cavanagha€™s by then, grew so many for the room, that diners no longer had the elbow-room to wield an oyster fork). His talk that evening, Morley reported in writings reprinted earlier in this volume, was a€?probably the most charming discourse to which we have listened.a€? Later, though, as Morley also observed, Denis Conan Doyle (not to mention his sometimes volcanic younger brother Adrian) came to regard the BSI as some sort of conspiracy dedicated to usurping their fathera€™s reputation and accomplishments.
Very different from Woollcott, he wrote in a vein of decorous modesty asking if he could be put on the waiting list and offered to undergo any sort of inquest of suitability. In every respect but this the dinner at the Murray Hill Hotel last week was a roaring success, and the book -- however it may ride the seas -- was properly launched. Altick is the author of many books, including the evocatively titled Victorian Studies in Scarlet in 1972.
How he came to write to Vincent Starrett in Chicago, he no longer remembers, but from his papers at Franklin & Marshall come these two letters from Starrett, who encouraged him, commented on his paper, and saved it until 221B came along as a convenient outlet a few years later.
It seems to me that you have made out an excellent case and I hope you may find an editor who will publish the paper. It was, instead, a trip around the world of his own, paid for by the sale of his 1935 novel The Great Hotel Murder to the movies.
Unable to identify Latham, I offered a complimentary copy of the next volume of BSI History to anyone who could.
I propose that you and I appoint ourselves a committee, perhaps together with Harold Latham of the Macmillan Company, to arrange this matter. It isna€™t so hot, in my opinion a€” only about 400-500 place names, and many of the richest ones not geographical at all.
Just as soon as he gets a little breathing spell he is planning to write you a lengthy epistle. His paper a€?The Creator of Holmes in the Flesha€? reads as if it had originally been a talk a€” perhaps at the a€™36 dinner, about which we have few details.
Warren Force (died 1959) was in the tar business a€” founder and chairman of the Hydrocarbon Products Company, Inc., and a director and the treasurer of the Tar Distilling Company and Old Colony Tar Company at the time of his death. The Five Orange Pips had been founded in 1935 independently of the BSI, perhaps in blissful ignorance of its existence; and for ten years they regarded the BSI as the lesser body. Leavitt, BSI by way of the Grillparzer Club well before 1934, railed about it to Julian Wolff many years later, when Wolff had succeeded Smith as the BSIa€™s Commissionaire. An uncle of mine who must have been a contemporary of Watson in Edinburgh continued to put the sundries of his evening comfort in the coal box a€” which never had held coal a€” until his death a few years ago. He was across the prairies and over the Rockies in Reno, Nevada, in the process of getting a divorce from his first wife, Lillian Hartsig, in the days when six weeksa€™ residence in a€?The Biggest Little City in the Worlda€? was the quickest way. Starrett, an action which, in the preoccupations which ensued, was probably not accomplished.a€? But other Irregularsa€™ copies did make the rounds of the table. Steelea€™s hand was steady, but some signatures show signs of having been inscribed a few rounds of drinks later.
I tore up two or three attempts to do it from an old drawing, finally put on my old dressing gown and posed for it in the mirror.a€? The parenthetical passage which had been missing held the clue. Randall hoped to resell it intact to someone, perhaps a library where it would be available for scholarly use, but in 1943 finally offered it up piecemeal. Latham writes me from Macmillan that he will see that a complimentary copy goes to everyone. I carried a coal scuttle of the Baker Street variety to New York, and it was placed in triumph, and, I hope, in complete vindication of Watson's reporting, in the middle of the table - we kept the cigars in it. And, yes, I'll hang on to the remaining two chapters I have and use them (I am sure) before your book goes into print.
We are thinking of putting out the Gazetteer together about June 1st, as a private effort, illustrated with reductions of these maps, which would really touch it off. This was his first BSI dinner and he was meeting virtually all these men for the first time that night.
Ronald Mansbridge was born in England in 1905, attended Cambridge University, and came to the United States in 1928 to teach at Barnard College. 6, sitting next to my old friend Basil Davenport, who has another old friend of mine, Peter Greig, on his right.


When I arrived in New York in 1928, I had a letter of introduction to Chris from Sheldon Dick, whom I knew at Corpus, Cambridge.
I missed that one, but I happened to follow Archie on a trip across America, about a week behind him, staying at some of the same hotels. Basil was too proud to accept money from a rich aunt Juliet; but he did let her pay his membership dues at the Yale Club, which he called a€?the most inclusive club in New York,a€? and which he liked because he could take their thick correspondence cards and cut them to fit inside his shoes perfectly when the soles wore out. Like so many others, he was hit by the Depression, but made ends meet by doing public relations work for various and sundry. I remember an animated discussion with him once about a book on Horace we had published at Cambridge University Press.
Although he didna€™t attend the dinner, he made arrange-ments for copies of 221B: Studies in Sherlock Holmes to be distributed at the dinner. While the paintings in the French cave, which became known as the Grotte Chauvet, often have engraved contours, the Portuguese menagerie may also have been painted, but, being outdoors, their pigments have usually weathered away.
As shadows welled from the valley, we turned from the scarps and trundled downwards into the cleavage, till the road turned into a path to the water through a profusion of poppies.
Finally, I discerned a flock ambling down through dry brush, then a shirt flashed a white dot, and we converged within hailing distance on opposite banks. Even ideal panels on either side of a fig tree bulging titanically from a small cave were barren. A stand of poplar trees crackled like Chinese New Year with small birds, abundant as leaves.
It was a good thing we had his name, Lima Monteiro, because the Securitas guard on this side meant business. Our compact car slid in among Mercedes and I stepped into glare, drawing cool stares from fleshy faces. My interlocutor explained that the Chief Engineer was powerless to help me, so he couldn't be bothered to give me an audience. Of course, the stories went, the honorable witnesses had refused to become accomplices and had immediately denounced the whole plot a€“ writing open letters to the Portuguese President, Vice President and Director of IPPAR - with carbon copies for the press.13 If only his employers had known that Rebanda was so naive!
She announced that it was no use disturbing the doctor, who I could see through a jarred door talking to someone over the phone with peevish vehemence.
Finally, I suggested that she didn't need to keep me company while I waited for the good doctor to get off the phone. That's strange, I thought as I wandered off again, mulling over a mental photograph of the site distribution.
And here were others, even closer to the construction site, at "RA?go de Vide", which had been submerged by the same old dam! Still, she caught me; whereupon I went on elaborating it, asking questions, and then padded back to the foyer again to continue my vigil.
After all, the archaeologists and reporters had allowed the Tagus petrogylphs to be drowned with hardly a whimper. Not only did the contrast with his actions in Portugal now smack of a double standard, but there was a piquant irony. With stakes this high, both parties unleashed their opinion-making machines, making hash of Clottesa€™ carefully weighed words as quickly as theya€™d vilified Rebanda. Clottesa€™ words may have been earnest, but with stakes this high and politicized they were about as reasonable as Pontius Pilatea€™s attempts to keep the peace. I prefer to think the latter, and that his only mistake was thinking that people on both sides were lucid and reflective enough to interpret his verdict correctly. In Rebanda's place, I'd have calmed down and let the traitors fall to sleep, but then I'd have snuck away - trekking fast through the dark, picking myself up when I fell, but getting out - bloody knees and all - and calling that alarm first!
Furthermore, I had no doubt - whatever pacts he'd struck - that he would make up for them if only approached constructively.
After we'd faxed it, I was sorry to see him having to still recall and refax, as he nudged the request repeatedly through the unyielding bureaucracy. Sebastian and I scrambled and tacked among the carious cliffs, till there was nothing left but rock overhanging the water itself.
But a huge horse, leaning over the depths, was both more graceful and cryptic, for someone had wedged a rusty horseshoe into a crack between its hooves. No sooner had I chipped the thin device and steadily shoved each curve straight, than the hook slipped smoothly free. Only Rebanda's long-suffering secretary had to keep her post and occupied herself by taking up the relay of calling and faxing. These red and gray devices were not only customized to match the guards' uniforms, but showed off the latest in high-tech materials and molding. As we wound our way down towards the reservoir among towering red cliffs, he took quiet pride in pointing out the hidden elements of scattered engravings.
But then Piscos Brook ran between trees, pastures and cane-groves, with cliffs full of shelters and stone panels at each bend. La Pintura, The Official Newsletter of the American Rock Art Research Association (Member of IFRAO) Volume 21, Number 3, Winter. In the same book, which Jorge compiled to record the campaign he was spear-heading to save CA?a a€“ a laudatory effort, if there ever was one, that made Jorge synonymous with yet another of Rebandaa€™s finds - Bednarik is repeatedly dismissed as a a€?charlatana€? (pp.
Jaffe accused the trio, who had taken over responsibility for the archaeological resources of the valley, of endangering art panels and refusing to allow qualified foreign researchers or even Dr.
Whatever the case may be, the problem of rock art conservation is still as far from resolution in Portugal as it is in most other places in the world.
The very first, in 1934, when Alexander Woollcott rode across Manhattan in a hansom cab with Vincent Starrett to crash the party? And we can get a glimpse of the magical evening of January 30, 1940, in a BSI dinner photograph a€” apparently the first ever taken a€” which in 1990 we did not know had ever existed. Much new is there: the dinner photo and a key to it, letters from Vincent Starrett, Edgar W. But he went on to implicate Christopher Morley in defense of such a deplorable situation: a€?To quote Mr. I doubt that time remains to enable the development of an essay on the Obliquity of the Ecliptic, but it is barely possible, if I apply myself assiduously, that I might have ready for confidential distribution for those present, a typewritten copy of the Gazetteer on which I have recently been making fairly decent progress.
I was altogether too finicky, anyway, in writing you as I did, and I hope you'll forgive me. The meeting voted spontaneously to send greetings and a fully autographed copy of the book to Mr. There were some veterans of the Three Hours for Lunch Club and the Grillparzer Sittenpolizei Verein, like Frank Henry, Malcolm Johnson, Bill Hall, Mitchell Kennerley, and Robert K. In my capacity as Buttons, I shall be sending you as sober an account of the evening as I can see my way clear to put together. Anyway, let me know what you think of it, and how it might be improved, and perhaps for Christmas or some time before I can get my bargain-price printer to put it in type. There was a short session of the Irene Adler division here in Reno, at which I presided - Basil Rathbone being at the Wigwam Theatre in The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. He is still at work, and his most recent book, a study of the first ten years of Punch, was published in 1997.
You will be more likely to find one favorable to the idea of publication, I think, if you will abbreviate the essay skillfully; its length just now is against it, I'm afraid.
Starretta€™s journey began in the Orient and ended in Europe, with his first visit to London in some years.
The suggestion of the Murray Hill, as well as the impetus for the 1940 BSI dinner, came from Christopher Morley.
A cost estimate I recently saw for a businessman visiting New York in 1941 gave $3.35 a day for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Smith as Buttons communicated with the membership through memoranda to the BSI, sometimes enclosing whatever membership list was current at the time.
Bell, who was unaccountably omitted from the list of those invited to last Januarya€™s celebration; and that of Dr. Stolper and Howard Swiggett, respectively a professor of English at Columbia University who scandalized his colleagues by contending that literature should be taught by writers, and a novelist well-known in his day, with links to the New York Police Commissioner, and later to certain cryptic wartime British missions in New York. Leavitt, and Gene Tunney, plus at least one other, non-fiction and mystery writer Hulbert Footner, whose only known connection with the BSI is his name on this 1940 list.
Leavitt swore to this version of history in a€?The Origin of 221B Worship,a€? his 1961 memoir of the BSIa€™s early years. Smith eventually coaxed the Pips into the BSI, and then struggled to save them in 1947 when Christopher Morley felt the BSI had grown too large and unruly. Hence the membership of people like Don Marquis, Frank Henry, Bucky Fuller and other friends of Chris Morleya€™s who couldna€™t be annoyed with studying the Sacred Writings.
It was, I tell you, an ornamental piece of furniture, and when the fire needed replenishing, the bell-pull at the end of the mantel-piece brought the servant lassie from the kitchen with a cannily measured a€?scuttlea€? of coal, from which the fire was fed with great daintiness and dexterity. Smith sat next to Keddie at the dinner, and the two men hit it off a€” less than three months later, Smith was in Boston to join the Keddies Sr. To do so, he and Starrett produced a catalogue still highly desirable for its own sake, both for the many splendid items at what today seem sheer giveaway prices, and for the rich canonical fantasy which Starrett and Randall wrote into it.
We will try to keep the actual dinner within the blood royal, but as soon as it has taken place Macmillan can make good boblicity out of it to help the book.
Watson, but probably not so well - at least he didn't seem to understand him as well as he did Holmes. Denis Conan Doyle is off to himself a bit in the corner; not intentionally perhaps, but capturing a sense of the remove between the Conan Doyle Estate and the BSI. How well he managed to associate names with faces that evening, when high spirits and hard spirits were the order of the day, is unclear. A few of them, Irregulars active today were able to know in person before they fell from the ranks. In 1930 he was appointed Cambridge University Pressa€™s representative here, a position he held for forty years. It was clear that he had made quite an impression; at one hotel they asked me whether I wanted whisky for breakfast. Roberts, author of A Note on the Watson Problem, and then Doctor Watson, which Frank Morley at Faber & Faber published. Bearce's Great-aunt, Mary Caroline, lived with Josiah III and Freelove Canfield Bearce for several years, listened to their ancestral stories, and made her own personal copy of Zerviah's diary supplement.
Lawrence to what is now known as Lake Champlain where his party killed several Mohawks in a show of European strength and musketry.
All that remains, where jagged outcroppings of schist jut from brushy slopes - exposing terminal facets perfect for murals - are hauntingly sinuous outlines of deer, horses, ibexes, and wild cattle called aurochs. The first flurry of press articles had mentioned that many of the engravings were already submerged by the cofferdam holding the river back for the more monstrous wall rising downstream from it.
I sent greetings and the shepherd expostulated and gestured animatedly upstream towards towering slabs.
For me, all of mankind's later accomplishments, all our later experience of good and evil only become possible after such art. The irrelevant exchange had sparked sympathy as we both waited - and waited, in similar irrelevance to someone too consumed to give us heed.
I would have to go to Lisbon, and no, it wouldn't do any good for him to fax; he didn't have an iota of authority. Despite all the insinuations about Rebanda and IPPAR, they were actually the first to try blocking the philistines with the clout of an institution as important as UNESCO. About thirty years before, Francea€™s equivalent to the EDP had taken the entire Ardeche Gorge, where the Chauvet Cave had just been found, from its entrance at Sauze to a rainbow-huge, natural arch - Vallon Pont da€™Arc, next to Chauvet - by eminent domain, to build a dam. These conscientious people know that theya€™re barely tolerated by the forces of Mammon - scraping crumbs from the tables of vast enterprises armed with dynamite and bulldozers - and make compacts all the time with them, telling themselves, for instance, that the alluvial strata that cement plants exploit are always too tumbled to contain intact Acheulian hearths.
If only he'd announced the discovery, co-opted his employers, and splashed masterpieces across magazine covers while the art's existence was still fresh, he might have won honor, fame, a very small fortune (and maybe even kept his job).
Within weeks, local academics had begun signing their names to Rebandaa€™s discoveries, tracings, and interpretations while forgetting to cite him. I'd have been the one to announce the existence of the largest gathering of open-air Paleolithic engravings in Europe to the world. Slate slabs, thoughtfully laid into a wall as steps, led down through a canopy of fig trees into a cavernous wallow between cliffs. I woke Sebastian in time to see the beast lumber over the bank and glide away, and then it was high time we checked out our other line at the doctor's office.
Noon passed as we still waited together like an old couple, talking about the doctor's misery, Australian rock art, translations; whatever. The guards stiffened as Sebastian and I had the gumption to breach a forbidden zone and stride blithely forward. There were so many warblers piping and whistling, there must have been a dozen species with overlapping territories. Botha€? - Baptista and Gomes a€“ a€?were closely involved in the rationale to submerge the rock art (to 'protect it from vandals'); in fact, on 8 November Baptista spoke of how sedimentation behind dams should protect rock arta€? - my italics.
After our departure, Bednarik and three other researchers (Alan Watchman from Canada, plus Fred Phillips and Ronald Dorn from the USA), who believed that they had found ways to date rock art directly, studied some of the CA?aa€™s engravings during separate visits.
1995 that was led by Mounir Bouchenaki, the IPPAR formed a scientific committee consisting of Antonio BeltrA?n, Emmanuel Anati and Jean Clottes, who came back for a second round.
Or the 1941 dinner, when Rex Stout came for the first time, and electrified Irregulars with a€?Watson Was a Womana€?? That a photo had been taken that night came to light later in a letter from James Keddie of Boston to Vincent Starrett.
Smith, James Keddie, and Christopher Morley, Starretta€™s telegram to the BSI dinner, Morleya€™s handwritten menu, autographs of the Irregular diners that night, the picture of Sherlock Holmes that Frederic Dorr Steele drew that night, the first BSI membership list Edgar W. Incidentally, I think you did us all a service by naming Mycroft Holmes as the detective who solved his problems without ever visiting the scene of the crime or seeing the evidence.
Later that year, he wrote the few words about it that follow, in a letter to Allen Robertson of Baltimore (then unknown to the BSI, but later founder i??of The Six Napoleons of Baltimore, and a€?The Reigate Squires,a€? BSI). After the Woollcott condescension most of us were content to go on without any Stated Meetings . It includes the membersa€™ chosen noms de canon, a practice of the Pips which may have inspired the Titular Investitures adopted by the BSI later under Smitha€™s leadership. But it bespoke his confidence in Smith, who had yet to attend a BSI dinner, when he turned first to him for help organizing the 1940 affair. Julian Wolff, whose notable Sherlockian maps qualify him, I think, beyond any suspicion of a doubt for membership. This list has been compiled in a piecemeal fashion from many sources but as time goes on we hope to show improvement!
Christopher Morley cited Swiggett in an Irregular way once, in his March 4, 1939, a€?Trade Windsa€? column. Stone of Waltham, Mass., had been in Sherlockian circles since the late a€™Thirties, was a contributor to 221B, and had at-tended the 1940 dinner a€” as he would the a€™41 dinner a month after this list. As a matter of fact, by God, I doubt like hell if Bill Hall could ever have passed a really probing quiz in those early days. Keddie, who had come from Scotland as a child, had a particular interest in this Baker Street relic in which Sherlock Holmes kept his cigars. I have in my possession a coal box which to my knowledge is nearly fifty years old, but which, until it fell into the hands of the philistines in this country had never held so much as a spoonful of coal.
Across the table from him, a nonchalant David Randall tilts his chair back, his hand stuck in his pocket. Of all his twenty years of writing up BSI dinner minutes, it seems safe to say that this is the one most likely to contain some errors in the list of attendees. On the basis of the signatures plus the dinner photograph, thirty-seven, if that is Elmer Davis at no. He arrived in New York with a letter of introduction to Christopher Morley in his pocket; and, with no less a Holmesian than S. Cambridge University Press had published Shakespearea€™s Imagery and What It Tells Us by Caroline Spurgeon, and I wanted to get publicity for it. He was the BSIa€™s food-and-drink expert, and worked with me on the annual Oxford and Cambridge dinners in New York too. And so, forgive me, but in comparison to these ancient windows, cathedrals seem to have anti-climatic and overwrought power. Except for the absence now of bigger species, this was how Solutreans had experienced the world - with whistling, mooing, barking, roaring and trumpeting not just on the Serengeti, but to the frozen north!
So much will go unrecorded because of all this fuss.a€? a€“ So, Rebanda is resigned to the inevitability of the flooding, I thought.
If the dam had been built, a dozen known art caves would have been flooded or affected by rising water tables. So rather than condemn Clottes, perhaps the Portuguese should simply admit his diplomacy opened the debate, even if one might wish that hea€™d been a crusader.
From Chauveta€™s pinnacle, its gatekeeper was probably right to dismiss the scratchings, which I too thought could have been the kneading of bears, but the contrast between the levels of encouragement was striking. Although they granted him the discovery of Hella€™s Canyon (in footnotes), other sites that Rebanda had already noted were soon claimed by competitors as Rebanda was effectively silenced. And Vitor and his wife, Susanaa€? - was it my imagination or did her name stick in his craw? Their stingy hypocrisy and philistinism revolted me: they wouldn't spend a penny on protecting such discoveries, but they'd drown the world up to its headwaters to keep driving Mercedes.
Goldfinches sparked into the air, a crested hoopoo flashed orange and black, and the shaggy canes were a tumult of avian chatter. Jaffe was also the IFRAO representative of the SocietA  Cooperativa Archaeologica, Le Orme della€™Uomo, Italy (Bednarik 1994). But not before signing controversial non-disclosure agreements with the EDP, which was hoping that their techniques would yield dates so recent that they could be used to ridicule stylistic daters who had identified the engravings as Paleolithic (Baptista & Fernandes 2007, p. The 1946 dinner, when the premiere issue of The Baker Street Journal arrived arrived at the last moment to be handed out?
It was the only one ever attended by a Conan Doyle, Sir Arthura€™s son Denis a€” and the decades-long feud between the BSI and the Conan Doyle Estate dates to that night. Only a few dozen men had been present that night, and it seemed unlikely that a copy would ever surface now, after all these years. According to Smith, Denis listened with bewilderment to the various toasts offered to Holmes and his entourage, and to the scholarly reports on various aspects of the investigatora€™s career. Keddie sent me a jolly letter about it, which, with yours, goes into the permanent records.
The difficulty is that it is rather too scholarly for any of the really popular journals - and they are the only ones that pay worthwhile rewards.
I hope in my menial capacity as Boots [sic], I have not, in doing this, incurred the wrath of my Gasogene and Tantalus.a€? Presumably the Morley list from which Smith worked was the 1935 one printed in Irregular Memories of the a€?Thirties (pp.
But beyond that, their Irregular con-nections in 1940 are a mystery, and their names do not appear again in surviving Irregular records. His inscription in the copy of Appointment in Baker Street that he sent Woollcott in 1939 read a€?To Alexander Woollcott in appreciation for loyal work as a Baker Street Irregular,a€? and in 1944, the year following Woollcotta€™s death, he referred to him in Profile by Gaslight (to Leavitta€™s lasting annoyance) as a founder of the BSI. What do you think?a€? I have not seen Morleya€™s reply, but Woollcotta€™s New Yorker article about the 1934 dinner did not appear in 221B. Other veteran BSIs-to-be not on it, but at the a€™41 dinner and many more to come, were Philip Duschnes the bookseller, Charles Honce the A.P. Watson,a€™ a€?The Game Is Afoot!a€™ and a€?The Second Most Dangerous Man in London.a€™a€? These were suggestions, if you will, at the original meeting, but they were approved, and the Davis Document makes them Constitutional.
His defense, when threatened with inquiry, was to roar (and I use the word deliberately a€” ROAR), a€?Dona€™t put me to the question!a€? As him and dare him, for me, to deny it. In that instance, the coal box, which stood by the fireplace chair, had been used by my mother and by my grandmother before her for the odds and ends of sewing and knitting utensils that a Scotswoman picks up in the afternoon that even her time of rest may not be entirely wasted!
Eliot), FVM had returned to New York in 1938 to be trade editor at the Harcourt, Brace company.
Suit will be filed as soon as possible after my residence (six weeks) is established; and if there is no opposition there will be no delay.
But, simply to put the reader on the alert, a few obvious corrections may be noteda€? a€” and Miss Nightwork, perennial Ph.D. Elmer Davis was perhaps the best known national celebrity in the BSI at the time, from his work as a CBS radio newsman. In those days the very best place to get a book mentioned was Morleya€™s a€?Trade Windsa€? column in the Saturday Review of Literature. We played a game to see who would be the first to telephone the other each year on December 16th, with the words a€?O Sapienta,a€? which we always found on that day in our Cambridge Pocket Diaries. I dona€™t remember his attendance at any of the BSI dinners; but I recall vividly that when we would meet him at dinner at the St.
Intermittent splashes smacked echoes off the walls, a frog croaked and some beast keened a cry we had never heard. When I asked if they could intercede on our behalf, she said one had to apply in person, in Lisbon, and have connections. In fact, paw prints indicated that we had missed cornering another feral dog or fox in its lair. Surgically, it was a nightmare: I'd have to pry its head out, keep its neck extended, wedge open its powerful beak and finally thrust the treble barbs down its throat, so as to carefully extract their burr, without snagging them again!
Finally, they agreed that one of them would walk parallel to us, down the fence-line, to let us in the distant gate.
At our feet, frogs skipped like pebbles and painted turtles rowed earnestly in tangled water blossoms - all for the taking. Unless you and I and all of us together add our voices to those of the Portuguese citizenry trekking down for a last look, and reclaim what is OURS! The story of the denunciation is from Bednarik (1994) and Simons in the New York Times (1994). The 1948 a€?committee in cameraa€? dinner, when the BSI's future hung by a thread upon Christopher Morleya€™s discontent?
There were Crossword Puzzle winners like Basil Davenport, Harry Hazard, Harvey Officer, and Earle Walbridge.
Bell was there at the time, and when Bell died in 1947, Starrett recalled in his a€?Books Alivea€? column in the Tribune walking up and down Baker Street with Bell, arguing about which house had been Sherlock Holmesa€™s.
Jackson of Barre, Vermont, a Crossword solver, and Morleya€™s friend and Grillparzer crony Buckminster Fuller. Williams (died 1940), who brought his son Peter to the 1940 BSI dinner, was art director at the American Book Company, a well-known book and print collector, and an author of childrena€™s travel books. Would Smith have added Alexander Woollcott to the BSIa€™s membership list without consulting Christopher Morley? If we are met with hostility, the case will have to be argued, and I've no way of knowing how long it might take. Smith is down the table on the opposite side, not yet at its head where he soon will be for the rest of his life. So are the signatures of two more men not named in Smitha€™s minutes, who may be among the unidentified faces in the picture: Ernest S.
Following the dinner, Harry Hazard prepared a partial key to the photograph.Elmer Davis is not on it, and the face at no.
Roberts as a mentor back home, found himself a Baker Street Irregular on Morleya€™s 1935 membership list.
I met him when I was an undergraduate at Cambridge, attending his lectures on Samuel Johnson, but it was in publishing that he made his reputation.
Spurgeon showed the kind of man Shakespeare must have been by tabulating all the metaphors and similes he used, showing him to be familiar with the countryside, gardens, and domestic animals.
We thought it began one of the Collects in the Prayer Book; but we were puzzled at its having a special day.
Regis Hotel with that most generous host, Howard Goodhart, Rosenbach always had a full bottle of whisky at his place at the table, while the rest of us drank wine. Even the Chauvet Cave, which was unknown, might have been threatened by the changing water table!
Unfortunately, Bednarik, who is one of the worlda€™s most encyclopedically informed, accomplished, and bold prehistorians, walked right into the trap. Jorgea€™s utter dismissal of Bednarik was clearly motivated by the lattera€™s implicit condemnation of the way that Jorge had appropriated Rebandaa€™s earlier discovery at Mazouco, instigating Rebandaa€™s secrecy that was one component of the CA?a a€?cover-upa€? (Bednarik 1994, p. Or perhaps the dinner a€” the date still uncertain a€” when Jim Montgomery sang a€?Aunt Claraa€? for the first time. Recently (within a year) I had the same problem on my hands - and found no American editor whatever for a Sherlockian essay which has since found place in an English Symposium or anthology issued as a book. As a charter member, I call for a prompt and continued honoring of the wise provisions of The Founding Fathers. Weber declared himself a€?Judge Lynch,a€? his pen-name as chief mystery book reviewer in the Saturday Review of Literature.
James Keddie sits next to him, and on the table nearby is the orthodox coal-scuttle he has brought from Boston.
Colling, a former New York Evening Post colleague of Morleya€™s (its movie critic, who helped turn Morleya€™s 1922 novel Where the Blue Begins into a play in 1925), and H. He attended the annual dinner for the first time in 1936, and is the only living person to have attended BSI dinners at both the Murray Hill Hotel and, before that, Christ Cellaa€™s speakeasy.
He was Secretary to the Syndics of Cambridge University Press from 1922 to 1948, and more than any other one man he had brought the University Press out of the academic backwaters into the mainstream of publishing.
My wife and I spent three long evenings reading four of Morleya€™s books and doing the same to him. Later, Bednarik spear-headed another campaign to save a Portuguese rock-art assemblage from inundation a€“ this time behind a dam in the Guadiana Valley - and noted that a€?None of this helps the rock art of the Guadiana, condemned to inundation under billions of tonnes of lake sediment as the reservoir silts up over the next 70 yearsa€? a€“ again, my italics.
Edgar Smitha€™s affectionate zeal, not less than his Sherlockian scholarship, his gusto in pamphleteering, his delight in keeping orderly records, and his access to mimeographic and parchment-engrossing and secretarial resources, all these were irresistible. Henry Morton Robinson was a popular writer whose 1943 Saturday Review article about the BSI, a€?Baker Street Irregularities,a€? was reprinted in Irregular Memories of the a€™Thirties. Weber, had been at the 1936 dinner, and the 1940 too, despite the silence of Smitha€™s minutes on that score.
Bell at the Victoria Hotel, to found the BSIa€™s first scion society, The Speckled Band of Boston.
Price, the American Bank Note Company executive who had solved the Sherlock Holmes Crossword in 1934. Davis and Hazard had been at the 1936 dinner together a€” their signatures are both on a surviving copy of that nighta€™s menu. His a€?Profile of a New York Irregular,a€? about Basil Davenport, appeared in Irregular Proceedings of the Mid a€™Forties. Do you think I'm such a fool as to invite the man who deprived me of the credit for my first discovery, to come see my greatest wonders if it wasn't because I needed all the allies I could get; if it wasn't because I even needed the universities to help save them. Ironically, the mandarin in Porto would come out smelling like roses for his campaign while the roles of several well-meaning prehistorians, if I may insist upon the word, were simplified so as to make them better scapegoats. I dona€™t suppose that any society of Amateur Mendicants has ever had a more agreeable or competent fugleman.
Simeon Strunsky at the New York Times, a€?dean of grammarians,a€? as Morley liked to call him, had been on the 1935 membership list as well, though he (like Rosenbach) never attended a BSI dinner. Standing against the wall are two of Morleya€™s closest friends, Bill Hall in deerstalker, and Robert K.
He was the author of A Note on the Watson Problem, 100 copies, privately printed at the Cambridge U.P. First, because his dating system, which was based on determining the degree of micro-erosion undergone by a rock face, had been developed in Australia, where climate and geological conditions are different from Portugala€™s.
John Winterich was a prominent critic who had also been a colleague of Morleya€™s at the Saturday Review of Literature.
Mans-bridge lives in Connecticut, and it is an honor to publish the following reminiscence here.
He further told them that Massasoit, the Great Sachem of the Wampanoags, was at Nemasket (a distance of about 15 miles) with many of his Counselors. Leavitt, Harvey Officer, James Keddie, Earle Walbridge, and other legendary figures from the BSIa€™s early days. He could be serious, but never solemn; the lighter side of letters and life appealed to him, and he became prominent in the affairs of both Sherlock Holmes Societies (pre-war and post-war) in England. This odd statement flies in the face of Bednarika€™s consistent defense of both the CA?aa€™s art and other assemblages, suggesting that it was a ploy to get the EDP to allow them to test their methods. Stone and Howard Haycraft, sitting against the wall further down, preserve a serious demeanor. He ended up with two-thirds of a column in Whoa€™s Who, and many honors: Master of Pembroke College, Cambridge, Vice-Chancellor of Cambridge University, and finally Sir Sydney. Even though both men concluded that their observations proved that the art was no older than the Neolithic, Bednarik did not repeat the notion, when announcing his results, that a relatively recent vintage diminished the arta€™s importance or the need to protect it a€“ quite the contrary. Across the table, Charlie Goodman and his brother Jack beam at the camera, while Mitchell Kennerley the bookman, who will take his own life ten years hence, studies the back of his hand somberly. Further down, Harvey Officer, soon to be the BSIa€™s first songster with his Irregular anthem a€?The Road to Baker Street,a€? smiles shyly at the camera.
C.,a€? bluff, friendly but business-like, at ease in any company and in any country a€” even riding a camel in Egypt, winning a race against another one ridden by an Oxford man. The owlish bespectacled man at the bottom of the picture may or may not be Elmer Davis; across from him, Earle Walbridge makes another appearance in what will long stand as the record for unbroken attendance at the annual dinners.
Basil Davenport turns toward Peter Greig, as Ronald Mansbridge raises a wine-glass in salute.



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