Eliot Underdown

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Witmer Stone never had any children, but he had a paternalistic influence on many young men who were members of the DVOC and the AOU. One colleague wrote that Stone’s “knowledge, wit, and kindliness made him beloved to the beginners and the seasoned ‘wheel horses’ alike.”

Eliot Underdown took a strong interest in birds in his youth, and in 1923, at the age of 16, he joined both the DVOC and the AOU. He studied at the University of Pennsylvania, and worked under Stone for two years in the Academy of Natural Sciences’ (ANSP) ornithology department before moving on to the Field Museum in Chicago. One of the more poignant moments in Witmer Stone: The Fascination of Nature comes courtesy of a letter Underdown wrote to Stone from Chicago, thanking Stone for all he did to help Underdown in his ANSP days. Eliot also wrote that he followed the example set by Stone’s “modesty, and temperance of criticism of the work of others.” One gets a strong sense of the affection Underdown had for Stone, and of the effect that Stone’s kindly and patient personality had on the younger men fortunate enough to work with him.

Underdown was the son of Henry Underdown, DVOC treasurer for 32 years, and the cousin of another DVOC stalwart, the late Alan Brady. Eliot died too young, breaking short a promising ornithological career. He is buried in Laurel Hill Cemetery in Philadelphia; unfortunately, his grave is unmonumented.

In this photo of a DVOC outing from the late 1920s, Underdown is at center, facing right:

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A Historic Date in Cape May History

On this day 125 years ago (8/23/1890), a 23-year old Witmer Stone visited Cape May, New Jersey for the first time. Not much is known about that first trip. His father was with him; I don’t  know if any other family members were along. He makes only a few references to it in Bird Studies at Old Cape May (BSOCM): he notes the great decrease in Marsh Wrens and Seaside Sparrows since his 1890 visit, but also the increase in shorebirds, which were hunted with impunity and great barbarity in his early Cape days.

Of his second trip, in July and August of 1891, we know much more, for Stone wrote a lengthy description of it which he read to the DVOC at a November 1891 meeting. That essay is the first record we have of the autumn migration spectacle at Cape May Point. Stone quoted William Brewster’s observations from Pt. Lepreau, New Brunswick, where migrating birds often get congested at the tip of the peninsula. Stone said, “Now I have always imagined that the same occurrence might be noticed at the southern extremity of New Jersey…”

Brewster’s paper that mentioned Pt. Lepreau was published in 1886, so at some point in the interval it occurred to Stone to get to Cape May Point and look for evidence of similar flights there. He ran into just such a flight on August 26, 1891, when Eastern Kingbirds (more than Stone had seen in total in his life) along with towhees, wood pewees, robins, Cedar Waxwings, Brown Thrashers, Veeries, and warblers were swarming at the Point, just as they do today in late August.

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Eastern Kingbird in Higbee’s dunes

Stone inspired other DVOC members to start taking bird trips to Cape May, and he was an annual summer resident there beginning in 1916. He published several short notes in The Auk in the 1920s, calling attention to some Cape May rarities, as well as the horrific autumn hawk shoots.

In 1926, Stone published “Past and Present Bird Life of the New Jersey Coast” in the Academy of Natural Sciences’ Year Book, and a resultant Philadelphia Public Ledger newspaper article – quoting the Year Book essay, with additional comments by Stone about his ongoing Cape May studies – was reprinted by many newspapers around the country (click to zoom):

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Of course, Stone really put the fall migration at Cape May Point permanently on the map with the publication of BSOCM in 1937. It’s been reprinted twice since then, and not only still serves as a reference point for the Cape May avifauna in the early 1900s, but continues to be read for the high literary quality and the “delightful word pictures,” as a fellow ornithologist called them, of the Cape May area, its scenery, and bird life.

A few months before BSOCM was published, Stone appeared in another Philly newspaper article about Cape May birds. At the end of it, he told the reporter about the new Witmer Stone Wild Life Sanctuary at Cape May Point (now part of the Higbee’s Beach WMA): “In September and October these thickets are jammed with woodpeckers, kingbirds, hawks, robins and woodcocks till it looks like the subway rush hour. You must come back then.” Here is a photo from the article of Stone holding up a dead shark for some local boys to gawk at:

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Today, people from all over the country (and from many other countries) visit Cape May Point to see the autumn migration spectacle, and on days with northwest winds the birds still pile up “till it looks like the subway rush hour.” It’s an annual multi-million dollar windfall for the area hospitality industry, and it has inspired the preservation of thousands of acres of natural areas in Cape May County. Cape May Point in the fall is the only place I know of where people walking around without binoculars are the weirdos.

And it all started 125 years ago today, when a young Witmer Stone first visited Cape May Point with a hunch that it might just be a place to find birds concentrated during the fall migration. After his observations there in 1891, he announced to the DVOC, with understatement that is comical to contemplate from our vantage point in time, “I think an observer stationed at Cape May Point could not fail to have some most valuable experiences during the migratory seasons.”

Catoxen Cabin

Some previous posts have mentioned Catoxen Cabin near Medford, New Jersey, built by Witmer Stone and a few friends in 1899, when the area was still rural. Stone once described typical visits to the cabin: “Here it was possible to live the life of the back woods whenever a day or two could be spared from the activities of business; when trees could be felled, meals cooked over the camp fire, a little game obtained, bird lists made up, or the wild creatures of the woods tracked in the winter’s snow.”

I found some references to Catoxen in Stone’s correspondence, and knew approximately where the cabin had been, but I assumed it was long gone. I made a few inquiries to local historical societies to see if anyone knew anything about its location. Fortunately one of them passed my query along to the inquisitive and tenacious Janet Jackson-Gould, and I was astonished to get an email from her telling me that the cabin was still standing, 112 years later! It’s part of Camp Dark Waters, a Quaker camp for kids, just across the Rancocas Creek from the Medford Leas retirement community. Here are some cabin photos from 100+ years ago alongside recent ones (that’s Witmer with ax, and wife Lillie in center in first photo):

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In 1914, Stone and the other owners worked a long, tiring day putting a new roof on the cabin, and if one of them had quipped then that the cabin looked like she could last another 100 years, there probably would have been some guffaws. Yet despite almost 90 years of continuous use by rowdy teenage boys in the interim, Catoxen remains upright. Architect and DVOC founding member George Spencer Morris “designed” the cabin (to the extent that such a small structure needs “designing”), and you have to think that some combination of his architectural acumen, the fellows’ carpentry skills, and the quality of the building materials used is the reason the place is still there. Kudos to Camp Dark Waters for taking such good care of this historic cabin − and “living” link to Witmer Stone −  for so many years!

You can visit the DVOC website to read the Morris and Stone Cassinia articles on Catoxen cabin.

 

Mrs. Fisher’s Frigatebird

On this day 89 years ago (8/3/1926), a few days after the passage of the Nassau Hurricane, Muriel Fisher of Germantown, Pa., spotted an unusual bird kiting over the boardwalk at Cape May. She couldn’t find the bird in any books, and eventually sent a description of it to Witmer Stone. He immediately realized she’d seen a “Man-o’-war-bird,” now known as a Magnificent Frigatebird. (Frigatebird species are very difficult to differentiate in the field, but the Magnificent is the most likely species in New Jersey.) There had been an undocumented New Jersey record of a frigatebird from the 1870s, but Fisher’s was the first documented one. The bird, resident in the tropics, had doubtless been blown north of its usual neighborhood by the hurricane.

The sighting has had its doubters over the years; one recent author thought the description in Bird Studies at Old Cape May was “unconvincing.” (Stone had also written up the sighting in The Auk at the time he got Fisher’s letter in 1928.) Stone’s Auk and BSOCM descriptions, however, couldn’t practicably include three little sketches in Mrs. Fisher’s letter which, taken together, push the sighting a whole lot closer to “convincing.” Here are her sketches of the flight profile, beak, and tail shape from her letter to Stone:

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Compare them with this excellent Greg Lavaty photograph that shows all three of the field characters depicted by Fisher:

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Years later, Fisher wrote to ask Stone’s opinion of a bird that had nested in Cape May the previous summer. A friend had identified it as a mockingbird (and from her description it clearly was), but Fisher, although admitting to short-sightedness, thought the bird must be a magpie. So she certainly wasn’t a particularly knowledgeable or experienced “birder,” but I’d make the case that her frigatebird notes were friggin’ convincing, and that hers should be considered the first credible New Jersey record of this tropical wanderer.

 

The Class of ’87 Scrapbooks

Another one of my favorite stories from writing Witmer Stone: The Fascination of Nature concerns the day I was doing some research at the University of Pennsylvania archives. UP’s archivist extraordinaire, James Duffin, wheeled in a cart with two large books wrapped in brown paper and butcher twine, saying, “By the way, I found these Class of 1887 scrapbooks in the archives. I knew Stone was a member of the class, so I thought you might find something in there about him.” Did I ever. Upon opening the first one (there were five altogether), I found – right there on the first page – that Stone was the one who created them! The class was so impressed with the first volume Stone produced in 1910 that they immediately appointed him class secretary for life. He presented the class with the fifth and final volume at their 50-year reunion in 1937, in a ceremony in the Furness library (scrapbook photo of Stone and ’87 classmate, lawyer, and former U.S. Senator George W. Pepper; second photo of the same location today):

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In this scrapbook photo, Stone (front and center) seems to be leading the parade at the class’s 25-year reunion in 1912. Note the banner, matching outfits, and Class of ’87 boater hats (modeled by Stone in inset):

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Commenting on his declining health in 1936, Stone told a friend, “This autumn also brings me to the 70th milestone of my life…Next year (1937) our college class holds its 50th reunion…So I don’t want to be shot until these celebrations are completed.” Well, he made it − here’s another scrapbook photo of Stone (arrow) at the Class of ’87 50-year reunion:

IMG_5672 - CopyThe scrapbooks contain photos, menus, attendance sheets, and other similar items from the semiannual reunions (one in winter, one in summer), as well as newspaper clippings featuring class members, and – increasingly in later years – their obituaries. I spent a couple of hours that day going through the books, and it was a fascinating, time travel history experience. By the end I had such a familiarity with these guys that I felt like I’d been a member of the class. Kudos to Jim Duffin and the folks in the UP archives!

Ivy Hill Cemetery and “the worst mess I have encountered”

One of Witmer Stone’s collecting grounds for violets was the Ivy Hill Cemetery in the Cedarbrook section of Philadelphia.

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His correspondence with Middlebury College president and violet expert Ezra Brainerd led to Brainerd coming to Philadelphia in 1905 to visit Stone’s violet haunts, including Ivy Hill. Violet taxonomy is still exasperating for modern botanists: described forms are often difficult to differentiate, and some forms freely hybridize. Stone and Brainerd were of the impression that Ivy Hill abounded with hybrids. After his visit, Brainerd told Stone that the cemetery was “full of mysteries”; when it came to attempts at identification, the violets there were a “hopeless confusion” and “by all odds the worst mess that I have encountered.”

I encountered Ivy Hill Cemetery on a beautiful June day. Ron, the grounds superintendent, was a great help, and he directed me to most of the items in this post. A beautiful old red-roofed receiving vault, now used for general storage, used to be the repository for newly arrived bodies; when the ground was too frozen for immediate interment, the bodies sometimes stayed in the vault all winter. (The progression from shovels to backhoes has been largely responsible for the elimination of that problem.)

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The cemetery is the final resting place of local notables including boxer Joe Frazier, singer Harold Melvin of Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes/“If You Don’t Know Me By Now” fame, and, on a much bluer note, “The Boy in the Box,” a young boy found murdered and left in a box in a woodlot in 1957. The murder has never been solved, and the boy’s identity remains unknown:

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Ivy Hill has its share of ornithological features, both current and historical. Philadelphia naturalist Philip Laurent notified Stone in November 1892 that an acquaintance had recently collected a Saw-whet Owl in the cemetery. Clearly, the immediate neighborhood had a much more rural character then.

An obelisk beside one of the most amazing old oaks in a cemetery full of remarkable trees bears the name of John Bardsley, an Englishman residing in Germantown.

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In 1869, Philadelphia politicians decided to introduce English Sparrows in an effort to eliminate Elm Spanworm Moth caterpillars that were attacking city trees. Bardsley was sent to England and returned with 1,000 of the birds, which soon proved to be more of a nuisance than the insects they were imported to control. Bardsley was honored with the sobriquet “Sparrow Jack” for his efforts, but was forever blamed for the presence of the House Sparrow (as it’s now usually called) in Philadelphia.

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Ivy Hill Cemetery is currently home to some native and less controversial feathered Philadelphians. This young Chipping Sparrow just off the nest was keeping up a constant clamor for food:

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Danger lurks in the cemetery for baby birds and other critters. A pair of Red-tailed Hawks was on the prowl; I spotted one of them perched atop a snag, clutching a snake in its talons.

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It had two well-grown youngsters to feed on a nest in a Norway Spruce:

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Here’s another photo of one of the young Red-tails:

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Whenever the hawks flew, they were hounded mercilessly by a pair of Eastern Kingbirds, who doubtless had a nest or young nearby.

Last but not least: how about all those vexing violet species Witmer Stone used to collect? Alas and alack, I had my eye out for violets, but found not a one. Ron and I came up with two possible reasons for that: a) violets may have been more likely 100 years ago because the grounds were probably not as intensively tended and manicured as they are now, and b) the cemetery was only partially full at that time, with the unused areas left wild and wooly − maybe Stone’s violets were in those parts of the grounds. So these days, Ivy Hill is a little light on botanical mysteries, and the time is past when a violet hunter can look forward to a hopeless confusion and the worst Viola mess he might ever encounter. But it’s still a lovely, tranquil, green oasis in an urban area, with some magnificent old trees and lots of interesting breeding birds.

A Week in the New Jersey Pine Barrens

It’s been 114 years this week (June 17−22, 1901) since Witmer Stone, his Academy of Natural Sciences colleague James Rehn, and fellow Delaware Valley Ornithological Club (DVOC) member Herbert “Curly” Coggins took a six-day, 75-mile jaunt through the New Jersey Pine Barrens. Stone was in the early stages of his intensive botanical research in the Pine Barrens, having suddenly resolved, during a botanical outing there the year before, to write a flora of the region. Ten years later, he would publish his monumental The Plants of Southern New Jersey (PSNJ).

The men set out in a horse-drawn wagon laden with field supplies on June 17 from the newly-constructed “Catoxen” cabin near Medford (more on Catoxen in a later post). Here’s a photo of Catoxen c. early 1900s, with Stone on right with frying pan:

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They camped along the Batsto River their first night out, and had an unwanted adventure when their horse bolted and they had to chase it down in the dark. After those exertions, they fell asleep to the calls of Whip-poor-wills. The next day, they journeyed to the “town” of Speedwell (population 4), and used that as a home base for forays for the rest of the trip. (Speedwell is long gone; it wasn’t far from today’s Carranza Memorial.) In PSNJ, Stone wrote of the Pine Barrens, “Wagon roads lead across the white sand to the sea at frequent intervals,” and the roads and the scenery the party experienced were undoubtedly similar to this view along a two-track in the Barrens today:

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They explored a couple of different sections of “the Plains,” those parts of the Barrens where the vegetation only grows to a few feet. Coggins later wrote, “We wade into the scrub oaks scarcely able to believe that it is over the top of a dwarf forest that we are gazing for miles.” During the trip, they collected 400–500 sheets of plants, as well as insects, reptiles, mice, and other critters, for the Academy’s collections. They also found a new location for the rare Curly-grass Fern:

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Although they found little variety in the typically limited Pine Barrens avifauna, they did discover a House Wren nest in an old hat, and were amused by the name “Chimney Bats” used for Chimney Swifts by the locals around Speedwell.

Just when they thought they couldn’t suffer through any larger hordes of mosquitoes than they already had, they did: on the last night of their trip, they unwisely took accommodations in the hay barn of a Jones’ Mill farmer, which was infested with them. It was a long haul back to Medford the next day for the hot, tired, and thirsty travelers; according to Coggins, Ulysses couldn’t have been more relieved to return home to Ithaca after his odyssey than the three naturalists were to see Catoxen cabin come into view at the end of theirs.

Stone also recorded that “a number of photographs” were taken on the trip, and would be used in later Academy lectures. They would be fascinating to see; however, I don’t know the fate of the photographs, other than this one, which appeared in a later DVOC publication over the caption “Unwashed and Uncombed.” From left to right, Rehn, Stone, and Coggins (you can see why they called him “Curly”) look happy to be exploring the natural history riches of the still-amazing New Jersey Pine Barrens.

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Herbert and Leola Hall Coggins – Part 1

One of the more endearing characters in the Witmer Stone story has to be Herbert “Curly” Coggins, the affable DVOCer who moved to California in 1907 and never came back. His wonderfully whimsical way of describing “the baked potato incident” at Catoxen Cabin was one of the best little gems of letter writing that I came across during my research, and Stone’s characterization of him in the DVOC 20-Year Souvenir makes it obvious why he was such a DVOC favorite: Coggins “had the gift of looking at a thing from all sides and he generally took his final stand on the comical side and the worst of it was, things that others looked upon as serious looked comical to him and it was often hard to prove that he was wrong.” Coggins, 15 years younger than Stone, had gotten interested in birds after listening to Stone, on a visit to his alma mater, deliver a bird lecture to Coggins and the other students at Germantown Academy.

In The Fascination of Nature, citing a 1907 Cassinia article, I dutifully reported that Coggins moved to California in that year for health reasons. In a 1956 interview I found after publication, however, Coggins (who lived to be 93, dying in late 1974) threw a wrench into that minor storyline. His father and grandfather had both traipsed back and forth between California and Philadelphia at various times, as if they couldn’t decide which place they preferred to reside in, and Herbert said that in 1907 California beckoned: “I didn’t care much for Philadelphia as a city. I don’t like hot weather, and the cold weather is useless after you get too old to sled and skate…Perhaps I felt I belonged in California more than I did in Philadelphia…In one way, Philadelphia was drab. It was a business city, not particularly [culturally] colorful. Out in California there was more color.” One almost wonders if he didn’t cook up the health excuse as a way to avoid telling his DVOC and other Philadelphia friends that he just plain didn’t like the area and wanted to try the West Coast. Here’s a photo of Coggins from his California years (compare with the two Fascination photos of him):

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At any rate, in California he continued to work in the publishing industry, as he had in Philadelphia. Then he ran a cement business, and eventually an auto parts business. He turned to writing, publishing articles in The Atlantic Monthly and Collier’s Weekly; he even authored a children’s book. He became politically active in the Socialist Party, running unsuccessfully for various offices from 1918–1924, including the U.S. House of Representatives. He remained interested in birds, and for a time was president of the Cooper Ornithological Society. The best thing he did in California, however, was marry Leola Hall, a woman mentioned only in passing in The Fascination of Nature, but who is so interesting she deserves her own blog post. I’ll write about her in my next one.

Herbert and Leola Hall Coggins – Part 2

Herbert Coggins must have been a remarkable man, for he certainly married a remarkable woman who was way ahead of her time. Leola Hall was born in northern California, and studied painting as a young woman, including tutelages under some famous California artists. She worked in the office of her stepfather’s homebuilding business, and familiarized herself with the entire building process. Women architects and homebuilders were extremely rare at that time, but after people displaced by the 1906 San Francisco earthquake started settling in Berkeley, she began building homes there – designing the houses, sometimes supervising the construction, and decorating them. She built dozens of homes, some of which still stand.  One of the last ones she designed and built was the “Honeymoon Home” for her and her new husband, Herbert, in 1912, which is still extant. The couple never had any children.

After marriage, she turned more to politics (she was an active suffragist) and to painting portraits and landscapes. She was commissioned for portraits of Stanford president David Starr Jordan, poets Edwin Markham and Joaquin Miller, author George Wharton James, and artist William Keith (under whom she had studied), among others. Markham chose one of her portraits of him, which he deemed his favorite, to illustrate a book of his poems. This painting is said to be of hubbie Herbert, but it must have been shortly before she died; if it really is him, he’s decidedly not “curly” anymore, and looks like a tired old man, although he would not yet have been 50:

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Leola was a successful landscape artist as well. Here is her painting of Flat Iron Peak in the Superstition Mountains near Phoenix, AZ:

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A house in Monterey, CA:

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Herbert described the modus operandi behind her success: “She was a house builder. She started as an art student and took up designing sofa cushions. They sold so well they had to be lithographed, and she rested from that business and built a house and sold it before it was finished. [She was once asked how she accomplished things, and answered,] ‘Well, I went to people who were successful and asked them. I found that instead of feeling competitive, people liked to tell you how they succeeded.’ She’d go right to another contractor or painter and ask him, and he’d be glad to tell her. They enjoyed being a part of her success…The psychology of a woman making a man think he’s smart. But I don’t think she thought it out that way.”

Here’s a photo of Leola, who was clearly a lovely and stylish lady:

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Leola suffered from heart problems throughout her life, and they were the cause of her death shortly before her 50th birthday. She is buried in Mountain View Cemetery in Oakland, CA. Some websites with information about this amazing woman: her gravesome portraits, and landscapes and other info here  and here.

Herbert “Curly” Coggins didn’t take the same path in life as his naturalist friends in the DVOC, and it appears that eventually he wasn’t even “curly” anymore. But he never lost his sunny disposition, and he lived a long, full, and fascinating life. For the Coggins quotes, and biographical details including some references to Stone, check out this interesting interview conducted in 1956 and archived at the Bancroft Library at UC Berkeley – it’s an excellent source for details about Herbert Coggins’s life.

 

Frederick D. Stone Sr. at the Historical Society of Pennsylvania

On a recent visit to the Historical Society of Pennsylvania (HSP), I perused with interest an 1884 Isaac L. Williams painting showing “staff and patrons” in the HSP library at the old 820 Spruce Street location.
FDS in paintingI thought I immediately recognized one of the staff, at the left of the painting: Witmer Stone’s father, Frederick Dawson Stone Sr.  You can do the comparison yourself:

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The elder Stone was the head librarian at HSP from 1877 until his death in 1897. He was an expert on early Pennsylvania history, and had an extensive private collection of George Washington-related material. Witmer Stone worked in the HSP library briefly with his father after graduating from the University of Pennsylvania in 1887, before beginning his long stint at the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia. One story has it that the father hoped his oldest son would follow him into the history field; Witmer was too obsessed with nature, however, although he was eventually considered the leading American ornithological historian of his day.

So the next time you visit HSP, look for the Williams painting (in the room immediately behind the reception desk), and picture that HSP might have looked like this if Frederick had been able to convince his bird-loving eldest to follow in his father’s occupational footsteps:

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