originally published January 4, 2012
“Cesare Maria Tapparone-Canefri (1838 – 6 August 1891, Quattordio, Italy) was an Italian malacologist.”
That sentence is the entire text (minus an extensive bibliography) of the Wikipedia article that started my fingers a-tapping today. My interest was somehow piqued by this sentence, mostly because I had no idea what a malacologist was paid to do.
I was hoping it was a doctor who was paid to diagnose chronic malapropism usage, which would be a great springboard to writing a thousand words containing the back-log of now-irrelevant Dan Quayle jokes I have sitting on my hard drive. Unfortunately, a malacologist is someone devoted to the scientific study of mollusks.
Wikipedia contains an extensive list of what appears to be several hundred malacologists, but the page is careful to mention that there are still none who can properly identify all the species of Onchidiidae (I can personally only pin down about 137 of the 143 species). There is also a shortage of malacologists who specialize in studying freshwater snails. So for anyone looking for a new career opportunity, there’s money to be made here.
I’m going to scan through the list of malacologists and see if I can find a few with an interesting back-story. If not, I’ll either make some up, or just fill the rest of this column with CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP until I hit 1000 words. I apologize in advance if I end up making the wrong call.
Dr. James Culbertson McConnell was one of the most esteemed scientific illustrators of his time. The guy could draw a mean mollusk, I will grant him that. But what makes McConnell stand out for me is this entry on his Wiki-page: “McConnell has been described as ‘one of those shadowy-figured artisans about whom little is known.’” I like that. Imagine, it’s 1885. You’re a malacologist who discovered some new off-shoot species of cephalopod. You need to present your findings to… I don’t know, the Central Mollusk Management Braintrust (or whatever), but the only cameras that exist are those old-timey things where the photographer has to hide under that towel thing and hold up the flashbulb. So you get an address from a shady friend, and head to a dark alley up in Harlem where, after giving the correct password (“pumpernickel”), you meet McConnell, who gives you a sketch, signed in his own blood (or is it his?).
Adolf Naef hailed from Switzerland. He was a close friend of Ernst Haeckel, the guy who coined several terms, including ‘ecology’, ‘phylum’, ‘stem cell’ and ‘happy ending massage’. Ernst studied extensively in Naples, Italy, writing his dissertation on the squid known as Loligo vulgaris.
Ernst’s big deal was his focus on systematics, and classifying mollusks in the most logical, appropriate way. His work led to the origins of cladistics, which is a method of classifying species of organisms. If you are aching to learn more about this – and how could you not be – then look elsewhere. I haven’t made a joke about mollusk poop yet, and this column is more than half over.
Temple Prime had a name that seems like he was destined for success. Instead, he nets a tiny Wikipedia article and a photo, which shows both his propensity for explosive sideburns and a vivacious, bubbly personality that just pours from the features on his face.
Filippo Bonanni wrote the first ever book devoted to seashells, published in 1681. More interesting (to me) is his collection of over 150 engravings of musical instruments from around the world, most of which were keytars.
Heinrich Simroth was a German malacologist who specialized in slugs. In addition to discovering numerous new species of slug, Heinrich was a well-known fashion model who moonlighted as a super-villain. His fellow faculty at the University of Leipzig called him ‘Sluggo’ behind his back, which led to his lack of self-esteem and subsequent evil-doings. Sluggo was responsible for the rash of mysterious ‘slimings’ that terrorized Riestedt in 1912. He was killed in 1917, not by a formidable super-foe, but by suffocating on his super-villain mask. Ironically, his body was devoured by his pet slugs.
Gilbert Percy Whitley was a British malacologist who served as Curator of Fishes at the Australian Museum in Sydney for forty years. In 1968, he became the first malacologist to traverse the Pacific Ocean by canoe, dressed as a large sardine. He was known for his ability to juggle three severed doll heads for upwards of fifteen minutes. Strangely, these were the only items he could successfully juggle.
Winston Ponder is the author of more than a hundred research publications. He plays bass in an REO Speedwagon tribute band, and hates the texture of processed cheese. He once bet on an episode of Wheel of Fortune and lost when a human resources specialist from Athens, Georgia couldn’t solve the Before-And-After puzzle “PARALLEL PARK RANGER.” It cost Winston Ponder $35 and most of his dignity.
Constantine Samuel Rafinesque-Schmaltz was a polymath – someone considered an expert in multiple fields. He was also an autodidact, which means he was self-taught. Constantine really got off on becoming terms that people in the future would have to look up. He was a linguist, a biologist, and a botanist. He published ethnographies on Native Americans. He named plants and animals, and applied twice to join the Lewis and Clark Expedition, only to be turned down both times by Thomas Jefferson.
I actually didn’t make up any of the last paragraph; Constantine was clearly the over-achiever among malacologists, and he probably assigned himself such a long name in order to justify his numerous acts of show-offery.
I feel a certain kinship with these malacologists now, an especially close one given that I didn’t even know that their profession had a name other than ‘Mollusk Science Person” a few hours ago. I hope I’ve inspired each of you to… I don’t know, pet a scallop or something. Honestly, I’m just proud that I didn’t resort to the CRAP CRAP CRAP alternative.
Also, before the moment escapes me forever, I should add… Dan Quayle smells like mollusk poop.
1000 Albums, 1000 Dates 