he gave me this fatherly advice: “O.K., that solves your problem; stop worrying about it and get on with your life.”
Not long after that, upon seeing a pretty blonde girl walking across the street towards me in downtown Milwaukee, I found a new love. When the attractive girl I was eyeing boarded a streetcar, I followed, even though it was not the one I was supposed to take. All alone on the streetcar with her, I invited myself to sit beside her, then proceeded to overwhelm her by pulling a dried piece of cat hide, still with the hair on, out of my briefcase, proof that I was studying comparative anatomy. It broke the ice. Well, it was her first day on a new job, and she was only seventeen—impressionable, and blue-eyed. Ruth Hoenecke was soon traipsing across farm fields with me in search of Indian artifacts. A stone axe-head which she found one day in my company near the Root Creek, south of Milwaukee, is one of our cherished possessions. No, that’s not true. I may cherish the axe-head, but Ruth is convinced that I’m the one who found it. Well, her sights have always been set on more important things: children, family, birthdays…. I keep “her” grooved axe-head on my desk. A poem, “Arrowhead Eyes,” published in 1997, in a limited way describes our relationship.
ARROWHEAD EYES Nowadays, when the snow begins to disappear and I’m walking in parking lots at bus stops, by phone booths in front of malls, along dusty curbs I play this looking game keeping an eye out for a lost penny or larger coin and find them I do, getting my kicks each time, savouring the moment carrying them home to show my wife.
“It’s your arrowhead eyes”
said Ruth, “You always were good
at spotting artifacts,” referring
to long days before we married
when I dragged her across farm fields
in search of “Indian relics”…
on these bright days it’s a relief
to look down and scan the ground;
I’m reminded of childhood days
when I hopefully chipped away at
ice on the sidewalk, circular spots
resembling nickels or quarters
but only uncovered bubbles.
IN FALL 1946, I moved to Madison to further my university studies, travelling back to Milwaukee often to see Ruth, who also lacking parents, had moved in with my foster folks. The Madison campus provided me an opportunity to become acquainted with students and professors from whom I gained increasing confidence. During those Madison years, I spent a surprising amount of time fishing and hunting, but still there was time to look for arrowheads. I was finding my way. My interest in archaeology and my association with friends majoring in this subject led me to become a charter member of the Madison Chapter of the Wisconsin Archeological Society. Incidentally, The Wisconsin Archeologist is the “oldest continually published archaeological journal in North America.” But when I enrolled in graduate studies, I had to choose between my two major interests: birds and arrowheads—zoology or anthropology. In October 1947, I wrote to Ruth as follows: “I have just about decided against archaeology as a profession in favor of work in biology. Birds and mammals—related fields of some kind, maybe game management. Certainly room in those fields—more so than archaeology.” I was drawn to the students, and professors, I’d met in the zoology and wildlife management fields; they usually hunted, wore field clothing, and had an outdoor look—just my style. Anthropology types, so I imprudently judged, were more likely to wear coats and ties, even ">cuff links. To me they seemed to be intellectuals. Working at a site at Horicon Marsh one spring along with several other archaeology students, I hastily called attention to four pintail ducks flying low towards us in a courtship chase. But no one else in the group seemed to share my excitement. For that, and other reasons, I chose to major in zoology, with a minor in wildlife management, studying the behaviour of the red-winged blackbird for six years under the guidance of Professor John T. Emlen Jr., for both a Master’s and a Ph.D degree. In 1984, the Smithsonian Institution Press published a popular account by me of those research years; Redwings has long been out of print. Off in Africa studying mountain gorillas, “Doc” Emlen still found time to critically review my draft Ph.D. thesis. After he returned we met to discuss my research, as well as my family, and then he surprised me by holding up a stone artifact for my inspection, wondering if I knew what it was. “Chopping-tool, from the Olduvai gorge?” I ventured, whereupon he beamed, for I had correctly identified the ancient artifact as well as the African place of origin, recognizing it by its shape and colour. Of course, I knew too that he’d just come back from that region.
For some time I considered specializing in the identification of animal remains from archaeological sites: teeth, bones, antler, fish scales, mollusk shells…as well as items made out of animal parts. An experienced zoologist can contribute a lot of information to archaeology, such as the species being taken for food, butchering techniques, seasonal occurrence and so on, and it’s a unique way of bringing the fields of archaeology and zoology together. Since, thanks to Dr. Emlen, I was working part-time for the Zoology Department’s Museum, collecting and preparing bird and mammal skins for scientific specimens, this seemed a logical direction to take. I prepared many hundreds of specimens and did some reading in this combined area of expertise, but I was just too busy studying bird behaviour, and doing the necessary course work required to complete my scheduled schooling, to undertake study in this new field.
Proof of my diligence in collecting zoological specimens lies in what had happened during our honeymoon in June 1948. My bride and I had ridden our balloon-tire bicycles about thirty miles to my folks’ lake cottage. For a week we looked for arrowheads, fished, and, especially, set traps for small mammals, just as I had told Dr. Emlen I planned to do. We obtained a large number of eastern chipmunks which Ruth helped me prepare as study skins. Later, when I met Dr. Emlen at his office door, he congratulated me on our marriage, then wryly guessed that I hadn’t after all, brought back any specimens from our honeymoon. He seemed disappointed when I showed him all those neatly labelled chipmunks!
I soon discovered that I was not alone in being interested in both zoology and archaeology. Dr. A. W. Schorger, a retired research chemist, was an experienced naturalist. Schorger produced extensive studies on the history of the passenger pigeon and the wild turkey in Wisconsin, and published articles on many other subjects. He eventually accepted a position as a professor in the University of Wisconsin Wildlife Management Department, donating his salary to the Department library. This kind man seemed to appreciate my varied interests and we often talked. I well recall how one day, upon learning that Ruth had just given birth to our third child, Dr. Schorger generously gave me a twenty dollar bill! Aware of my interest in archaeology, on another day he invited me to his house and, to my astonishment, presented me with twenty back volumes, 1923-43, of The Wisconsin Archeologist.
At Madison, I met several more archaeologists who supported my interest. One was Susan W. Miles, Curator of Anthropology at the Wisconsin State Historical Museum, who was working on a significant paper analyzing Old Copper Culture. Old Copper Culture, which dates back thousands of years, is characterized by an incredibly diverse use of hammered copper for tools and ornaments. The copper has been shown to come from veins found in rock outcrops around Lake Superior. (Several Old Copper implements have been found at sites in Manitoba.) A charming lady who took a strong interest in
