clarence luther herrick: pioneer naturalist, teacher, and psychobiologist

Clarence Luther Herrick: Pioneer Naturalist, Teacher, and PsychobiologistAuthor(s): Charles Judson HerrickSource: Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, New Series, Vol. 45, No. 1 (1955),pp. 1-85Published by: American Philosophical SocietyStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1005723 .

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TRANSACTIONS OF THE

AMERICAN PHILOSOPHICAL SOCIETY HELD AT PHILADELPHIA

FOR PROMOTING USEFUL KNOWLEDGE

NEW SERIES-VOLUME 45, PART 1 1955

CLARENCE LUTHER HERRICK Pioneer Naturalist, Teacher, and Psychobiologist

CHARLES JUDSON HERRICK Professor Emeritus of Neurology, University of Chicago

THE AMERICAN PHILOSOPHICAL SOCIETY INDEPENDENCE SQUARE

PHILADELPHIA 6

March, 1955



FIG. 1.



Copyright 1955 by The American Philosophical Society

Library of Congress Catalog Card No. 55-5431



ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

In the preparation of this work invaluable help has been generously given by members of the Herrick family and so many others that their names cannot be listed here. To each of these collaborators I give hearty thanks.

The sources of all quotations from published works are cited in the text. Permission has been given for the longer extracts from Dorothy Hughes' Pueblo on the Mesa, University of New Mexico Press, 1939; from W. B. Cannon's The Way of an Investigator, W. W. Norton & Co., 1945; from Lin Yutang's The Importance of Living, John Day, 1937; from W. H. Bucher's biography of Douglas W. Johnson, Biograph- ical Memoirs of the National Academy of Sciences, 1946; from the Atlantic Monthly for a few lines from R. W. Brown's Growth in Years, vol. 178, 1946, and Ellery Sedgwick's The Metropolis Against Me, vol.

178, 1946; from the Psychological Review and the American Psychological Association for extracts from two of C. L. Herrick's articles (vol. 6, 1899, and vol. 14, 1907); from the Scientific Monthly for extracts from three of my articles published in volume 54, 1942; and from the Journal of the Scientific Laboratories of Denison University and the Journal of Comparative Neurology for several quotations. These courtesies are gratefully acknowledged.

The support of this work by the American Philo- sophical Society is appreciated, and I am especially grateful to the Committee on Publications for helpful editorial suggestions.

C. J. H. Grand Rapids, Michigan, October 22, 1954

CHRONOLOGY

The material of this memoir is arranged topically without close adherence to chronological sequence. This list of events gives some of the more important historical landmarks in serial order.

1629 Henerie Herricke left England and settled in Salem, Massachu-

setts. 1807

Apr. 28. Nathan Herrick, Clarence's grandfather, was born (died July 28, 1891).

1809 Feb. 24. Daniel Strickler, Clarence's grandfather, was born

(died April 15, 1901). 1810

Apr. 14. Laura Roby Small, wife of Nathan Herrick, was born (died May 6, 1898).

1813 Feb. 13. Susanna Summy, wife of Daniel Strickler, was born

(died March 22, 1841). 1830

Oct. 3. Nathan Herrick and Laura Roby Small were married. 1831

Feb. 14. Daniel Strickler and Susanna Summy were married. 1832

May 29. Henry Nathan Herrick was born at Morristown, Vermont (died in Granville, Ohio, May 4, 1886).

1834 Jan. 16. Anna Strickler was born at Clarence, N. Y. (died in

Chicago, June 23, 1938). 1849

The Territory of Minnesota was organized. 1854

In early spring Nathan Herrick, wife, and four grown children moved from Stowe, Vermont. to Diihtinuie, Towa.

1857 Oct. 1. Henry Nathan Herrick married Anna Strickler at

Clarence, N. Y. 1858

Minnesota became a state. Nathan Herrick moved his family and business from Dubuque,

Iowa, to Minneapolis, Minn. June 22. Clarence Luther Herrick was born in Minneapolis.

1859 Dec. 10. Henry Herbert Herrick was born (died Oct. 30,

1862). 1862

Dec. 26. Henry Nathan Herrick was ordained as a minister of the Free Baptist Church.

1864 June 11. Rev. H. N. Herrick was commissioned as chaplain

of the Fifth Minnesota Volunteer Regiment. 1865

Sept. 25. Chaplain Herrick was discharged from the Army. 1866

Aug. 13. William Howard Herrick was born (died June 24, 1921).

Rev. H. N. Herrick was pastor of the First Free Baptist Church of Minneapolis from 1866 to 1871.

1867 Feb. 6. The city of Minneapolis was incorporated.

1868 Oct. 6. Charles Judson Herrick was born.

1869 Sept. The first freshman class of the University of Minnesota

was matriculated. 1872

The Minnesota Geological and Natural History Survey was organized.

1



2 C. J. HERRICK: CLARENCE LUTHER HERRICK [TRANS. AMER. PHIL. SOC.

1873 June. The first class was graduated from the University of

Minnesota. 1874

Sept. C. L. Herrick entered the Minneapolis high school. 1875

Feb. 12. The Young Naturalists' Society was organized. Sept. 21. Clarence L. Herrick entered the University of Min-

nesota as a subfreshman. 1876

July 1. He was appointed assistant in the State Survey. 1879

From February to June he taught the Blaisdell District School. 1880

June. He graduated from the University of Minnesota. 1881

July 1. He began a year of study at the University of Leipzig. 1882

H. N. Herrick and son Clarence spent November and December in Alabama.

1883 June 25. Clarence L. Herrick and Alice Keith were married.

1884 In the autumn term Clarence L. Herrick taught on temporary

appointment at Denison University. 1885

Feb. 16. Henry Nathan Herrick, Jr., was born to Clarence L. and Alice Herrick.

June. Clarence L. Herrick received the M.S. degree from the University of Minnesota.

Sept. He began duty as Professor of Geology and Natural History at Denison University. Charles Judson Herrick accompanied him and entered the preparatory department of the college.

Dec. The first number of the Bulletin of the Laboratories of Denison University was issued.

1886 July and August. Clarence L. Herrick and students in field

study on the north shore of Lake Superior. Oct. 4. Laura Herrick was born to Clarence L. and Alice

Herrick (died July 24, 1931). 1887

April 16. The Denison Scientific Association was organized. Summer. Clarence L. Herrick and brothers made field ex-

pedition to Appalachian Mountains, Gulf of Mexico, and Lake Superior.

1888 Sept. Clarence L. Herrick resigned from Denison to accept

a similar appointment at the University of Cincinnati. 1889

April 1. C. Judson Herrick left Denison and matriculated in the University of Cincinnati.

1890 Oct. 19. He was appointed laboratory assistant in biology in

the University of Cincinnati. 1891

March. The first number of the Joutrnal of Comparative Neu- rology was issued.

June. President W. R. Harper began negotiations with Clar- ence L. Herrick for appointment in the University of Chicago.

Sept. C. Judson Herrick began duty as instructor in the preparatory department of Denison University and shortly thereafter was granted the B.S. degree by the University of Cincinnati.

Dec. Clarence L. Herrick resigned from the University of Cincinnati and accepted appointment in the University of Chicago.

1892 Jan. He moved his family to Granville, Ohio, and left for

Germany. April. He returned to Granville. June 7. His resignation from the University of Chicago was

accepted by the trustees. Immediately thereafter he was elected Professor of Biology in Denison University.

Aug. 17. C. Judson Herrick and Mary E. Talbot were married. Sept. C. Judson Herrick began duty as Professor of the

Natural Sciences in Ottawa University, Kansas. The Ter- ritorial University of New Mexico opened at Albuquerque.

1893 Sept. C. Judson Herrick began duty as teaching fellow in

Denison University. Dec. Clarence L. Herrick was incapacitated by pulmonary

tuberculosis. 1894

Jan. C. Judson Herrick assumed most of his brother's teaching duties and management of the Journal of Comparative Neurology.

Jan. 25. Mabel Herrick was born to Clarence L. Herrick and Alice Herrick.

July 29. Clarence L. Herrick, wife, and son arrived in Albu- querque, New Mexico.

1895 April. Clarence L. Herrick purchased "Pinon Ranch" in Hop

Canyon and C. Judson Herrick visited him at Kelly, New Mexico. From April to July Mrs. Clarence L. Herrick taught a private school at Datil.

1896 June to Sept., 1897, C. Judson Herrick was University Scholar

at Columbia University, New York. Aug. 1. Clarence L. Herrick opened an office in Socorro for

consulting geology and mineral surveying. Oct. 1. He was commissioned as U. S. Deputy Mineral Sur-

veyor. 1897

March to May. Clarence L. Herrick, son, and F. S. Maltby made a collecting expedition to the Tres Marias Islands.

July 1. Clarence L. Herrick began duty as the second Presi- dent of the University of New Mexico.

Sept. C. Judson Herrick was Assistant Professor of Biology at Denison University and (on part time) Associate in Comparative Neurology at the Pathological Institute of the New York State Commission in Lunacy (a position which he resigned in December, 1901).

1898 June. C. Judson Herrick was elected Professor of Zoology in

Denison University. Oct. Clarence L. Herrick's thesis for the Ph.D. degree was

accepted at the University of Minnesota and the degree subsequently awarded.

1899 Jan. 23. A gift of $10,000 for a climatological laboratory for

the University of New Mexico was offered by Mrs. Walter Hadley.

1900 June 13. C. Judson Herrick received the Ph.D. degree from

Columbia University.



VOL. 45, PT. 1, 19551 CHRONOLOGY 3 1901

June. C. L. Herrick resigned as president of the University of New Mexico.

1902 Feb. 24 to March 15. Clarence L. Herrick and wife went to

New York and Washington, D. C., on mining business. Aug. Clarence L. Herrick appointed manager of the Socorro

Gold Mining Company's large mine at Cat Mountain, New Mexico.

1903 Sept. 1. He resigned as manager of the Cat Mountain Mine

and the Company soon was bankrupt.

1904 Jan. The Journal of Comparative Neurology was reorganized

with C. Judson Herrick and R. M. Yerkes as joint editors. Sept. 15. Clarence L. Herrick died at Socorro.

1905 March 30. Barney Science Hall of Denison University burned.

1907 Feb. 20. C. Judson Herrick was elected Professor of Neurol-

ogy at the University of Chicago, to begin duty October 1.

1908 Jan. Ownership of the Jouirnal of Comparative Neurology

passed from C. Judson Herrick to the Wistar Institute.

1910 At the end of this year the joint editorial management of the

Journal of Comparative Neurology was terminated and the editorial board was reorganized.

1918 Jar. 16. C. Judson Herrick was commissioned Major, Sanitary

Corps, U. S. Army. 1919

Jan. 31. He was discharged from the Army. 1927

Jan. 1. He resigned as managing editor of the Journal of Comparative Neurology and was succeeded by G. E. Cog- hill.

1933 July 1 to Oct. 1, 1934. He was Chairman of the Department

of Anatomy, University of Chicago. 1934

Oct. 1. He retired as Professor Emeritus in residence. 1937

Oct. 1. He terminated residence and became Professor Emer- itus of Neurology.

1938 Nov. 26. He and wife moved from Chicago to Grand Rapids,

Michigan. 1952

Aug. 28. Mary T. Herrick, wife of C. Judson Herrick, died in Grand Rapids.



CLARENCE LUTHER HERRICK

Pioneer Naturalist, Teacher, and Psychobiologist

CHARLES JUDSON HERRICK

CONTENTS

PAGE

PART I. LIFE AT THE MIDWEST FRONTIER

1. A Smart Young Man ........... ................. 6 2. Pioneering in Science ........... ................. 6 3. The Scientific Frontier in the Midwest ..... ....... 9

Original nature and nurture ....... ............. 9 Early history of Minneapolis ....... ............. 9 The environment of the Herrick boys ..... ....... 10 The scientific environment ....... ............... 10

4. The Herrick Family Stock ...................... 11 Genes and genius ............. ................. 11 Gumption . .................................... 12 Genealogy ..................................... 13 The long and the short of it ....... ............. 13 Longevity ..................................... 14 Ancestry ...................................... 15

5. The Herrick Family in Minneapolis ..... ......... 15 The Herrick migration ......... ................ 15 Henry Nathan Herrick, our father ...... ........ 16 Anna (Strickler) Herrick, our mother ..... ..... 19

6. The Herrick Boys ............................... 21 7. The Herrick Farm .............................. 25

My earliest memories ......... ................. 25 The home acres .............. .................. 26 Sidelights ..................................... 28

PART II. THE LIFE OF SCIENCE

8. The Making of a Naturalist ........ .............. 30 The Young Naturalists' Society ...... .......... 30 Organization and procedure of the Society ...... 30 The minutes ................. .................. 32 The persons ................ ................... 33

9. Apprenticeship ................. ................. 33 10. The Teacher . ................................... 35

The two teachers ........... ................... 35 The first Denison period ........ ................ 35 The Cincinnati period ......... ................. 37 The second Denison period ....... .............. 38

11. The Field Naturalist .......... .................. 39 In the beginning ............. .................. 39 Statewide excursions ......... .................. 41

PAGE

Expeditions from Denison ........ .............. 42 The collector and his collections ...... .......... 43

12. The New Mexico Decade ........ ................ 44 The quest for health ........... ................ 44 Scientific interests .......... ................... 45 The struggle for subsistence ....... ............. 45

13. The University President ........ ................ 47 New Mexico in the eighteen-nineties ..... ....... 47 The Territorial University ....... .............. 48 The President ................. ................ 49

14. The President as Seen by His Students ..... ..... 54 Sources ....................................... 54 George E. Coghill's tribute ....... .............. 54 Douglas W. Johnson's tribute ....... ............ 55

15. Conclusion . ..................................... 57 The last three years ........... ................. 57 The man himself .............. ................. 58

PART III. CONTRIBUTIONS TO PSYCHOBIOLOGY

16. Retrospect . ................................ 60 Teaching, administration, and research ...... .... 60 Publications ................................ 61 Joint authorship ............................... 63

17. The Historical Background ....... ............... 63 Pioneers of neurology ......... ................. 63 The rise of experimental and comparative methods 64 The founders of comparative neurology ..... ..... 65

18. A Program of Psychobiological Research ..... .... 67 19. The Chicago Episode ......... ................... 68 20. The Journal of Comparative Neurology ..... ...... 71

The germinal period ......... .................. 71 Infancy ........................................ 71 The policy and scope of the Journal ...... ....... 73

21. The Natural Philosophy of Psychobiology ..... ... 74 Dynamic realism ............ ......... 74 The equilibrium theory of consciousness ..... ... 74 The last record ............ .................... 75

22. Crippled But Not Defeated ....... ............... 77

Bibliography of Clarence Luther Herrick .............. .. 80

Index ........................................ 84

5



PART I

LIFE AT THE MIDWEST FRONTIER

1. A SMART YOUNG MAN

My father, being in frail health, was looking forward with some apprehension to the rigors of the Minnesota winter. He was also looking backward seventeen years to the early summer of 1865, when his regiment was about to be mustered out of military service. At that time the regiment was quartered in Alabama and he, as chaplain of the Fifth Minnesota Volunteer Infantry, had been detailed to the vicinity of Montgomery to inaugurate emergency measures looking toward reconstruction of the broken South.

Chaplain Herrick was directed to interview the planters and offer his own services and all available resources of the Federal Army to get the freedmen back to work on the soil. I offer no apologies for the atrocities of the later reconstruction period, but point out that this first step taken by the War Department was in the right direction. The situation was critical. The growing crops must be cultivated or planters and freedmen alike would starve. The attitude of the lib- erated slaves was simple: "We is free. We doan wo'k no mo'." A few of the embittered planters threatened to fill with buckshot any "nigger" who set foot on their property-and they did. But most of them cooperated willingly and intelligently.

My father was curious to learn how these people had fared in the intervening years, so he conceived the idea of taking his oldest son, recently returned from graduate study in Leipzig, to the scene of those groping earnest efforts to heal the wounds of war. The young man, Clarence, now twenty-four years of age, was at that time, in the autumn of 1882, preparing a monograph on the microscopic crustaceans of North Amer- ican waters.

They established themselves in the primitive inn of a tiny village in central Alabama, remote from railway or other outside contacts. While the father sought out the survivors of former acquaintance, the son spent his days collecting water-fleas and other animalcules in roadside ponds and ditches. After supper the collections must be examined, identified, and preserved. With the only illumination available-a row of tallow candles on the kitchen table-he set up his microscope and worked far into the night.

One day he gratified the natural curiosity of his host by mounting a living Diaptomus on a glass slide. Upon holding it up to the light, the rheumy eyes of the landlord could see nothing but a slip of clear glass. Then with that same glass slip under the microscope, a few ritualistic gestures and cryptic incantations-a miracle!

Upon departure, when Father came to pay the reck- oning the innkeeper cut it down to half the contracted scale. It certainly was not because my father, a dam- yankee, had followed with federal troops in the wake of Sherman's march to the sea. It probably was not because he had learned that Father was a preacher or that he was "powerful weak" from a long illness. His own explanation can be accepted: "Mr. Herrick, that there boy o' yourn is a powerful sma't young man. Why, suh, with that little brass thing o' hisn he made a great big live kickin' squirmin' critter right out o' nothin'."

The diagnosis was half right and half wrong. My brother Clarence worked no miracles, but he was a powerful smart young man. He never made something out of nothing, but he did contrive to make remarkable things out of most unpromising materials.

1~

4~~~~~~~~",

FIG. 2. This sketch of water-fleas was drawn by Clarence at about the time of the episode here mentioned. It was published in the first of his major scientific papers (no. 14 of the accompanying bibliography.

2. PIONEERING IN SCIENCE

This smart young man, my older brother, was a re- markably versatile and productive representative of that heterogeneous group of naturalists who blazed new trails beyond the frontiers of science in the Great West of North America. He was himself a product of that frontier and his short and dramatic life ran true to type as a frontiersman.

From infancy he lived with pioneers in an atmos- phere of boisterous turbulence and rugged individual- ism. As the borders of the frontier were rapidly extended his own horizon was widened and wherever his foot was set down he found new frontiers that invited immediate exploration. As a small child he saw the frontier in the raw and he saw in it some qualities to

6



VOL. 45, PT. 1. 19551 LIFE AT THE MIDWEST FRONTIER 7

which the eyes of others were holden. He was sensi- tive to the beauty and radiant grandeur of St. Anthony Falls and the picturesque quality of its environs which were for the most part just as nature made them, unblemished by human hands.

As his unusual perceptive acumen matured he realized that these marvels of nature's handiwork offered virgin fields for scientific exploration and description. In early adolescence he saw this opportunity and dedicated himself to the life of science, beginning with the collection and description of such specimens as were available to an energetic and resourceful boy. Some of my most vivid early memories register his elation upon bringing home a choice orchid, a rare bird, or the clever mimicry of that insect called a walking stick. We were thrilled by his account of the capture of an eaglet from its nest atop a tall tree and by his rash exploit of swimming across the raging Mississippi River below the Falls.

During the next ten years he earned his living as a member of the Geological and Natural History Survey of Minnesota. His love of nature and his passion for discovery lasted as long as he lived, and his proficiency as a field naturalist laid the broad and firm foundation for the program of research in psychobiology which was his major interest in later life. This field at that time was almost inaccessible to science because metaphysical preconceptions and spiritistic mythologies so befogged the issues that rigorous scientific analysis of the observed facts was rarely attempted. My brother's insight was keen enough to penetrate this fog of obscur- antism, to see the essential factors of the problems, and to point out available avenues of approach to them by acceptable scientific methods.

This again was pioneer work. He outlined an extensive program of research in all the fields embraced by what we now call psychobiology, although, so far as I know, this word was not in current use until it was introduced by Adolf Meyer in 1915. And he succeeded in proving by the test of actual operation that some of the methods proposed were practicable and fruitful.

The further development of this program was ar- rested in his thirty-sixth year by an acute attack of pulmonary tuberculosis and by a series of other dis- asters and frustrations that would have broken the spirit and incapacitated a less courageous and resolute man. These tragic events left scars which crippled his last years; but his life, like Robert Louis Stevenson's, gives impressive demonstration that creative genius cannot be thwarted by painful and incurable disease and other crippling misfortunes. No infirmities of body or mind could damp the ardor or dim the luster of these scintillating minds. The record of my brother's life includes some dismal failures, but it was crowned with magnificent achievements which survive to our day and are making large contributions to our cultural development. He was a great man whose stature is

measured not only by what he built and what he wrote but above all by what he was and what he taught. His preeminence as an inspiring teacher was a bounty that is perpetuated in the lives of his loyal pupils and their successors.

Early in my brother's scientific career he laid out a plan of his life that was more or less consistently followed to the end. This involved, first, thorough training in all 'round natural history, a training acquired by actual practice in the field, including every aspect of nature that available opportunities opened to him. Fur- ther experience in diversified research would prepare the way for prosecution of a systematic program of research in psychobiology as now defined. This outline may not have been formulated in any precise terms but clearly it motivated his scientific activity from the beginning.

Some of his cherished projects died aborning or were frustrated by events beyond his control. Others, and the best of them, were judiciously chosen and carried as far as limited resources permitted. The salient features of a problem were immediately recognized, observations were recorded as soon as made, and his interests were so diversified that few of these projects were carried beyond the stage of reconnaissance survey. The task of filling in the details was left to others.

What he was searching for was the meaning of things. If a thing has meaning, it means something to somebody and the meaning has no significance unless somebody does something about it or with it. Emerson went so far as to say, "There is properly no history, only biography." Without going to that extreme, we must recognize that men make history and that men of outstanding qualities have stood at focal points in most great historical movements. As in the large, so in smaller affairs every person plays some part, however humble, in shaping the course of events.

The scientific investigator is a prospector. He knows what he is looking for, but what he will find cannot be predicted. He must be alert to enter any door of opportunity that chance may open, but only the well- prepared mind can see through that door to what lies beyond. Pasteur made the sagacious remark that luck or chance befriends only the prepared spirit.' This is the motivation of all scientific research-to pit one's intelligence against ineluctable nature in the hope of extracting some meaning from it all.

As a rule the true worth of an investigator's findings can be revealed by an assay that time alone can give. But the profit derived from his labor, its value for him, can be assayed now as he goes along. These personal satisfactions are real values. They not only inspire his zeal but they are integral and necessary ingredients of scientific research as such. They are not secondary by-products or adventitiotus decorative trimmings.

1 Quoted by W. B. Cannon, The way of an investigator, New York, W. W. Norton & Co., 1945.




These strictly personal values which motivate and shape the course of scientific investigation are made, not found. But they are not made out of nothing, and in this narrative we are searching for their sources, the raw materials from which they were fabricated, and the actual patterns of their design.

These values are so intimately personal that it is difficult for an observer to recognize and appraise them. Because my own career was so closely articulated with my brother's, I have an advantage here that no other biographer could enjoy. This narrative, accordingly, is interspersed with autobiographical reminiscences and reflections in the attempt to portray and interpret my brother's life in the light of my own participation in some of his enterprises. An objective appraisement of his scientific work is not attempted. The aim is rather to see life as he saw it, with the em- pathy that our fraternal association provided.

The inclusion of some autobiographical material here is further justified by the fact that the two members of this fraternal partnership were radically different in native endowments, scientific training, and methods of work. This contrast, as will appear, was of such a quality as to permit a fairly accurate analysis of the genetic and environmental factors which enabled the two brothers, dissimilar as they were, to cooperate harmoniously in working for a common objective-discovery of the fundamental principles and modus operandi of the nervous system as the chief arbiter of all animal behavior and all human achievements.

It was my privilege to grow up with this brother who was ten years my senior, my exemplar in childhood, my teacher in youth, and the inspiration and guide of all my subsequent endeavors. This book is a tribute to his memory and also a record of some of my own experiences as junior member of a partnership devoted to the nurture of one of the youngest of the basic sciences. The truly scientific study of psychobiology is not much more than fifty years old and I have had the opportunity to watch the vigorous growth of this branch of the tree of knowledge under the tu- telage of one of its founding fathers.

The two brothers here under consideration were naturalists; and by a naturalist I mean a student of nature, it may be of some small sector of it or all of it. We were by native endowment about as different as two normal people could well be, and in this record these differences are clearly apparent. Our earlier years were passed under substantially the same environmental influences but we responded to these influences in radically different ways. In later years both brothers devoted themselves to the life of science without reservation or capitulation and both achieved the satisfaction of some measure of success. Their interests finally converged upon the same big problems of the meaning of life. Different as they were, there was a community of interests that was more than fraternal.

It was more than intellectual. It had a vital warmth generated by the values held in common, and these values which inhere in science as a way of life were intangible bonds that kept us in harmonious adjustment despite the divergence of our separate ways.

There is nothing spectacular recorded here. There were few thrilling adventures and no epochal scientific discoveries. Diligence in honest work brought its due rewards, and one of the primary objectives here is to disclose the personal values sought and found and their significance for the life of science. The appraisal of the scientific worth of our researches can be done more impartially by others. Accordingly I present here in simple narrative form some word pictures of the lives of two brothers who stood to each other in the relation of teacher and pupil. For this purpose trivial incidents may be more illuminating than pages of scientific analysis. The chapters are written in epi- sodic style interspersed with commentary and obiter dicta. There is little reference to sources; indeed except for our published works little documentation is possible. My brother's bibliography is appended anld in the text the numbers in parentheses refer to the items there listed. The material is arranged topically with some regard to chronological sequence but with many deviations. To help the reader to arrange the particulars mentioned in historical order a chronology of some of the most significant events is inserted at the beginning of this narrative.

Parts I and II are chiefly biographical. In the third part I have assembled from such fragmentary materials as are available an outline of my brother's pioneer work as one of the founders of psychobiology. This includes the story of the founding of the Journal of Comparative Neurology in 1891 and few details of its subsequent history. In addition to this I have written a history of the Journal from its establishment to the present time to which reference is made on page 73.

Much of the material in this book is drawn from my own recollections and reflections, with some pastiche frankly lifted from my brother's writings and conver- sations. This is not fiction. The facts recorded are historically true. Some of them were open to public inspection at the time, and those others which were not expressed and were perhaps surcharged with emotion were just as real events as the overt acts and, it may be, of more significance in shaping the course of events.

This collection of sketches does not attempt to give finished portraits of the actors, only vignettes in outline from which the reader may make up his own composition and draw his own conclusions-or no conclusions-as he likes.

Needless to say, I have drawn some conclusions myself. Toward sundown, as I look back over the day of life that has been allotted to me, I wonder. What is the good of it all? For more than eighty years I have played the game of life. Was the game worth



VOL. 45, PT. 1, 1955] LIFE AT THE MIDWEST FRONTIER 9

the candle? I did not light the candle, but I did play the game. I had to. That choice was not mine, but the choice of the kind of game to be played was mine -or was it? Was the plan of my life and every detail of it predetermined by genetic endowment, by environmental pressure, and by the pattern of the culture into which my lot was cast? Or did I have something to do about it on my own initiative ? These are very practical questions. They must be answered, opera- tionally if not theoretically, and the answer given shapes the whole course of a man's career.

The answer in my own case is clear and unequivocal. I have found it good to be alive, and the value of life -for me-is gauged by the quality of the satisfaction achieved. These satisfactions are of my own making. In large measure they are what I want them to be, and I have something to say about that. They are won day by day, giving to the work of that day its flavor and tang. This-for me-is adequate reward.

My brother's life was richer than mine in these values, for he was gifted with versatile genius and resilient energy that no adversity could suppress. Even in the later years of physical weakness and mental depression, when many of his cherished projects were thwarted, the things actually accomplished were greater than he ever realized.

3. THE SCIENTIFIC FRONTIER IN THE MIDWEST

ORIGINAL NATURE AND NURTURE Any analysis of the factors which came to expression

in my brother's tempestuous life must begin with the qualities which he inherited from his forebears, his genetic constitution. This may be regarded as the biological capital with which he was endowed. The profits to be derived from this investment depended primarily upon the energy and skill displayed in the management of this innate stock in trade; but just what could be done with it and how it could be done were inevitably limited by the quality of the physical and cultural resources available. Since these environmental factors are more easily recognized and appraised than the genetic factors, let us first take a brief survey of the physical features and cultural development of Min- nesota when he entered upon the scene in Minneapolis on the twenty-second of June, 1858.

EARLY HISTORY OF MINNEAPOLIS The Mississippi River carved the destiny of the

Middle West, and St. Anthony Falls made the city of Minneapolis. St. Paul, the state capital, was naturally first settled at the head of navigation on the river. Northward was unbroken wilderness and settlement on the west side of the river was retarded by the government reservation at Fort Snelling and by treaties with the Indians.

The first white man's eyes to see St. Anthony Falls were those of that intrepid explorer, Father Hennepin, then a captive of the Indians. In July, 1680, as he stood at the brink of this great cataract he named it after the patron saint of his expedition and this name it bears today, though Louis Hennepin would not recognize it were he to reappear upon the scene. The next explorer to publish a report of a visit was Jona- than Carver in 1776. Two years after the Louisiana Purchase in 1803, President Jefferson sent Lieutenant Zebulon Pike with twenty men of the Topographic Corps to examine the geography and natural resources of this unknown northern wilderness. He reached the Falls of St. Anthony in September, 1805. In 1819 Major Stephen Long surveyed the vicinity of the falls and later in that year Colonel Leavenworth brought a detachment of soldiers to the mouth of the Minnesota River seven miles below the falls and wintered there. In the following year Colonel Leavenworth was succeeded by Colonel Josiah Snelling and the construction of permanent buildings was begun. A sawmill was built at St. Anthony Falls by the garrison, and in 1824 the Army post was named Fort Snelling. Until 1819 a trading post on the east side of the falls flew the British flag.

When the first commercial use of this waterpower was made in 1847 the cataract was near the end of its natural life. The caprock of the falls, about twelve feet of hard Trenton limestone, overlies a soft St. Peter sandstone which was undercut by the falling water. This thin cap extends but 12,000 feet above the present brink of the falls and in the natural course of the rapid recession of the falls the caprock would surely have been worn completely away within at most a few centuries, perhaps a few decades, for recession by normal erosion was 375 feet between 1860 and 1869. This would immediately transform the vertical falls into rapids of moderate slope. And this would mean the loss of the water power and the ruin of the great industries which grew up around it during the succeeding twenty-five years. This catastrophe was narrowly averted by desperate local effort supplemented later by federal aid.

Franklin Steele located a claim on the east side of the falls about 1837 and in 1849 the first plat of the town of St. Anthony was made, in the same year that the Territory of Minnesota was organized. The west side of the river above Fort Snelling was ceded by the Sioux Indians to the government in 1851 and settlers began to move in, but not until 1855 were squatters' titles to land west of the falls confirmed. The first frame house west of the falls was built in 1850 and the plat of the settlement there was recorded in 1855, three years before Clarence was born. Then for the first time could legal titles to government land be secured on the west side of the river. Clarence's father came from Vermont to the West in 1854 and at that time there were not more than twelve dwellings on



10 C. T. HERRICK: CLARENCE LUTHER HERRICK [TRANS. AMER. PHIL. SOC.

the site of Minneapolis, although a school was opened in 1852 and in the following year there were also a church, a Masonic lodge, an agricultural society, and several mills.1

In 1872 the towns to the east and west of the falls were consolidated as the city of Minneapolis, with a population of 18,316 people. The census of 1875 reported a population of 48,725 in Hennepin County, of which Minneapolis is the county seat. During these two booming decades of settlement, expansion, frenzied speculation, panic and recovery, cultural development was not neglected. Schools came in with the first settlers. As early as 1857 there were eight organized churches. Lyceum lectures were provided and the Athenaeum laid the foundations of a great public library. In 1875 bulletins were published by the Min- nesota Academy of Natural Sciences and the state hor- ticultural society.

After eighteen years of abortive blundering, the state university was firmly established on the east side of the falls and a freshman class was matriculated in 1869, the first two bachelor's diplomas being awarded in 1873, two years before Clarence matriculated there. In 1951 the university had more than 100 buildings with 20,000 students and the total number of degrees awarded exceeded 100,000.

THE ENVTIRONMENT OF THE HERRICK BOYS

Despite the riotous spread of the city from the waterpower at its focus, the gorge of the river below the great mills, the ravishing beauty of the laughing waters at Minnehaha Falls, the chain of charming little glacial lakes that now grace the city's parkways, and many other enchanting glades of nature's unblemished garden were just as the Indians knew them and loved them before our time.

Minnehaha Creek was then a lusty stream flowing from Lake Minnetonka into the river a few miles below the city, with its own waterfall, below which was a deep gorge which miniatured that of the great river. These rugged towering cliffs were draped with verdure and the narrow cleft between them lay in the somber shadow of primeval forest, flecked with brilliant splotches of sunshine filtering down through the tops of stately trees. The floor was richly carpeted with maidenhair and other delicate ferneries interspersed with native orchids and other botanical rarities. The yellow lady-slippers suggested to our childish imagi- nations the moccasined feet of troups of pixies dancing in fairyland.

1'William Watts Folwell, A history of Minnesota, 4 v., St. Paul, Minn. Hist. Soc., 1921-1930.

Some of the preceding and following paragraphs are taken with minor alterations from articles in Scientific Monthly 54, 1942. The articles quoted are: Scientific pioneering in the middle west (pp. 49-56); The Young Naturalists' Society (pp. 251-258); Incubation stages of scientific investigation (pp. 361-369).

This was virgin soil for the professional as well as the amateur naturalist. The exposed strata of the rocky walls were crowded with fossils. Their arrangement in orderly sequence opened to the geologist a book of history recounting the successive stages of an evolutionary sequence of millions of years ago, a book written on tables of stone and then closed and sealed in the indestructible archives of the Silurian rocks. The gorge itself, like that of the great river, was of postglacial origin and the rate of recession of the falls gave a reliable chronometer of postglacial time in terms of years of human history. The luxuriant living fauna and flora had never been critically examined by any naturalist, and this was an open book that he who runs may read.

This gorge as we children saw it was as unsullied as in the days of Longfellow's heroine,2 and this was our favorite picnic ground. Behind Minnehaha Falls there was a path under the rimrock which ran back of the "bridal veil" formed by the falling water, and this was a famous resort of wedding parties. Two tiny rivulets which trickled over the rim below Minnehaha Falls were named by us children, Minnegiggle and Minne- teehee. Now this treasure-house of natural beauty is only a memory. On my last visit to Minnehaha I found the bed of the stream dry and dusty and the gorge showed only a ravaged vestige of its pristine glory.

Among my first memories the stupendous grandeur of St. Anthony Falls stands out in sharp relief. Their roar could be heard, in the quiet of early morning hours, as far as our little farm three miles away. This was before the sheer plunge of the mighty volume of water was tamed to a smooth flow by the protecting apron. After that time in midsummer the entire volume of water was diverted into the flumes of the mills, and I have seen the wide expanse of wooden planks, which in those days covered the apron, warping in the sun.

THE SCIENTIFIC ENVIRONMENT

Beginning about two generations ago, revolutionary changes in outlook and method came to North Ameri- can science with almost explosive violence. During this transitional period the far-flung exploratory adventures of the field naturalists were supplemented and too often supplanted by intensive laboratory study of minute detail. This period also saw the inception of those experimental methods, the inflorescence and fruition of which have been the most characteristic features of the biology of the twentieth century.

At that time the American Journal of Science, founded by Benjamin Silliman in 1818, and the Ameri- can Naturalist, founded in 1867, were the chief national mediums of publication aside from reports of the federal and state natural history surveys and proceedings of

2 Chase S. Osborn and Stellanova Osborn, "Hiawatha" with its original Indian legends, Lancaster, Pa., Jaques Cattell Press, 1944.



VOL. 45, PT. 1, 19551 LIFE AT THE MIDWEST FRONTIER 11

the older academies of science of the East. The Sci- entific American was founded in 1845. The Popular Science Monthly began publication in May, 1872, and Science in 1880.

The American Geological Society was founded in 1819, and out of this grew the American Association for the Advancement of Science, organized in 1848. The American Society of Naturalists was organized in 1883 as the Society of Naturalists of the Eastern United States. In 1885 the present name was adopted. These and other national organizations were active in all domains of scientific inquiry and especially in field surveys. Contemporary with us boys, Louis Agassiz and his son Alexander, Baird, Leidy, Asa Gray, Marsh, Cope, James Hall, Sir William Dawson, the two Win- chells and many other pioneers of American science were amazingly productive.

During the second half of the nineteenth century Ger- man scholarship was preeminent and most ambitious American students completed their professional training in German universities. This influx of German-trained scholars profoundly affected not only our entire educational system but the attitudes and interests of people in many other fields. These men initiated and controlled the organization of the graduate schools, thus transforming some of our colleges into universities which were conducted for the most part after the Ger- man pattern. The birth of true university ideals in this country may be dated approximately in 1876, with the opening of the Johns Hopkins University. Through- out the Middle West state-supported universities rapidly expanded, especially in the fields of science and industry. Here there was an indigenous development of naturalists on our own soil. These were the explorers, collectors, and survey workers, many of whom were men with no academic training or connection. During the organization of the universities, especially of the state universities, some of these field naturalists and survey workers were drawn into their faculties, where they served with great distinction, as their successors do today.

The unexplored natural resources of the terrain presented unique opportunities and the men who exploited them were unique, with diverse interests, qualifications, and methods of work. They were exceptional types, their opportunities were exceptional, their facilities were inadequate, they had little contact with the older and experienced scientific institutions, and their programs of research were necessarily controlled to a large ex- tent by opportunistic considerations. This made for independence, initiative, and inventiveness. All details of their lives, their surroundings, their methods of work, and results achieved are significant facts for students of the history of science and of scientific methodology.

In many academic circles the innovators of refined laboratory precision and experimental procedures were inclined to disparage the "anecdotal" methods of the field workers. In fact, some of these laboratory men

did not know or care to know the species upon which they were working, or realize that lack of adequate knowledge of life-histories may vitiate the most exact experiments in physiology or genetics. The history of science in the Mississippi Valley from 1875 to 1900 presents many graphic illustrations of this abrupt transition in the methodology and objectives of biological research.

My brother began to take an interest in science, as distinguished from mere childish curiosity, before he was fifteen years old, and during his entire apprenticeship both his natural aptitudes and his academic environment directed him into field natural history in the tradition of his time and place. But a year of graduate study in Germany introduced him to the most refined laboratory methods and objectives of his time and so prepared him to exemplify in his own person the revolutionary transition to which reference has just been made. This metamorphosis, however, like that from caterpillar to moth, involved no change in his specific identity and interests, for he was a field naturalist to the end of his life and his laboratory was merely a sheltered alcove within the larger domain of pulsating nature of which it was a part.

The transition in academic circles from field natural history to laboratory science and a philosophy of nature-from description to explanation-was a phase of the larger cultural development of the Middle West and a very important factor in that development. Clar- ence's career was a typical expression of this movement and of its ecological significance. In his case the transition from the field naturalist to the laboratory expert and the progressive maturation of his philosophical insight cannot be plotted as a linear sequence on a time scale, for these components of his scientific program were inextricably blended from beginning to end. He was philosophically minded from the start, and his enthusiasm for field natural history never weakened. And yet his dominant interests did change along the lines previously mentioned, a change which parallels the cultural movement of his time.

4. THE HERRICK FAMILY STOCK GENES AND GENIUS

Apparently there are two ways to make a naturalist. One is to get born that way, the other is by a process of acculturation. With some people the basic pattern of life seems to be predetermined at birth. The child will inevitably become a musician, a mathematician, an engineer, or a leader of men unless inhibited by circumstances beyond his own control. So geniuses are made. For such the choice of a vocation presents no problem, although successful realization of the ambition may demand toil and sacrifice to the uttermost. The rest of us, who can lay no claim to genius, have a difficult problem to face in the choice of a vocation. Our programs of family and public education should be adjusted to meet the needs of both types.




Every genius is unique. Clarence, like Louis Agas- siz, was a born naturalist. The naturalist by induction is a biological product of quite another sort, and the motivation of his life, not being predetermined at conception, is woven day by day in designs patterned by the day's experience. If this sort of a person becomes a naturalist, the influences which have pointed him in that direction must be sought chiefly in his environment; and, since the process of acculturation is under social control, it lies within our power to increase the number of naturalists and make good ones or bad. The two Herrick brothers illustrate the types just mentioned-the born naturalist and the naturalist by induction.

This, of course, does not imply that genetic and environmental factors ever act independently of one another, for all growth and all behavior involve the interplay of nature and nurture. The evidence to be presented shows clearly that genetic factors were dominant in the scientific development of one of these brothers and environmental factors in the other.

In addition to these components of every personality there is a third series of factors that are harder to define and identify. These are those directive mental processes that are generated internally under conscious control and that have the truly creative function of setting the goals of the person's purposive endeavors and giving these efforts intelligent guidance. These classes of factors of human behavior differ biologically in origin, in the mechanisms employed, and in results achieved. In every personality they are blended in patterns different from those of any other person. The identification and appraisal of these diverse components of the action systemn should help us to understand one another and to get along together harmoniously.

Everybody has genes which were given to him by his parents, an equal number from each parent. These are the primary ingredients out of which he was made. Other things were added while he was growing up, but the quality of the finished product depends very largely upon the kind of genes he received from his parents. These genes carry no traits as such, no physical features or mental or moral patterns. They are the seeds from which these adult lineaments may grow, and how they grow depends on the kind of nurture they get from their surroundings.

If the genetic pattern is defective, if, for instance, it lacks the genes necessary for the formation of eyes, then that individual can never under any circumstances develop eyes. This occasionally happens, resulting in pathological anophthalmos. Again, if the individual is richly endowed genetically but is reared in unfavorable surroundings, these capacities may have no opportunity for normal development. The life of a great artist or statesman may be blighted. This happens all too frequently.

The 30,000 genes (more or less) in the human body are all different, that is, each of them carries the poten-

tiality of distinctive traits. Furthermore, the combination of genes that the child receives is never exactly the same in any two children of the same parents (unless they are identical twins), for the two parents do not have the same proportions of the different kinds of genes.

Every individual has a unique and distinctive assem- blage of genes of different kinds and these have a unique and characteristic arrangement in the chromo- somes of the germ plasm received from his parents. This pattern of genes, which is the genotype, is the physical carrier of all the hereditary traits which are handed down from the ancestors. It is different from that of any of these ancestors and its exact pattern cannot be transmitted to the children, for the genes are rearranged at the conception of every individual. The genotype has unlimited capacity for growth, which continues under the modifying influence of the external conditions until the adult pattern (termed the phenotype) is matured.

GUMPTION

Because the genes of the parents are rearranged in their offspring, each of the children is endowed with different capacities and limitations. Only very rarely does this recombination of genes produce a highly gifted genius. With most of us the genetic endowment is more evenly balanced at a higher or lower level of native ability. If we want to do something exceptional, we must make ourselves exceptional the hard way, by strenuous effort guided by common sense skillfully and persistently applied to reach the objective chosen. This is "gumption," without which neither common men nor geniuses can realize the full measure of success of which they are capable. On Cape Cod they call it "sprawl," which is defined by Katharine Crosby as a mixture of guts and git-up-and-git. The genius does exceptional things more easily, but whether he does them successfully and with distinction depends on whether he has gumption and uses it intelligently.

We may agree with Dr. A. A. Abbie that Carlyle's definition of genius as "an infinite capacity for taking pains" is sheer nonsense and that it may be better to say, "genius is a capacity for knowing what is worth the taking of an infinity of pains." Many a genius is conspicuously deficient in ability to take pains. It is fortunate that this capacity, wisely directed, may com- pensate for the lack of genius and on occasion get useful results of which the genius may be quite incapable. So it worked out in the partnership of the Herrick brothers. This contrast is manifest in almost every feature of our physical and mental makeup, in our methods of work, and in the record of its results. We had also some qualities in common that made teamwork practicable and fruitful.



VOL. 45, PT. 1, 19551 LIFE AT THE MIDWEST FRONTIER 13 GENEALOGY

Genealogical research is an attractive hobby as a pastime or a fillip to family pride. But that is not all it is good for. It furnishes essential data for the science of human genetics, and, in addition to this, self- examination in the light of critical analysis of family traits may yield helpful clues for the solution of one of our major problems, namely, the difficulty we have in recognizing our limitations early enough to enable us to adjust to them as well as to exploit our obvious capacities. This self knowledge will be forced upon us the hard way, after much futile striving for the unattain- able, unless we early learn to direct our interests and energies more wisely. I speak from bitter experience.

Genetic research has revealed few instances in a human population of specific bodily or mental traits that can be assigned to particular genes, yet familial differences in constitutional diathesis have long been recognized in medical practice and all relevant data of the family history are entered in every good clinical record. The work of Galton and his followers proves conclu- sively that some family stocks have unique qualities which are fairly stable, reappearing generation after generation. Some of these family traits come to expression as exceptional abilities of particular kinds; others are equally conspicuous deficiencies.

In the adult animal, the phenotype, it is difficult to determine which characteristics are strictly genetic and which have been acquired under the influence of environment. Much of the literature about human heredity has little scientific value because this distinction has not been clearly drawn. It is impossible to determine, for instance, which of the distinctive qualities of Charles Darwin's family stock are truly genetic and which of them resulted from the exceptionally favorable cultural advantages enjoyed by these families.

Such questions can be answered only by carefully controlled breeding experiments and this is impracti- cable in human societies. The races of men have mingled and interbred for hundreds of thousands of years and there are no pure lines of genetic descent. When the genes are paired in the fertilized ovum unpredictable combinations may appear in every generation. In such a recombination genes that have been recessive for many generations may become dominant, with the result that children of the same parents have little resemblance. This is graphically illustrated by the three Herrick brothers who survived to maturity.

There is, however, ample evidence from long continued breeding experiments with fruit flies and domes- ticated animals, from medical statistics of the incidence of various diseases and malformations, and from reliable data of several other kinds to justify the conclusion that some traits that obviously "run in families" are due to the presence of common and distinctive patterns of arrangement of the genes in these families. This is doubtless true of the Herrick family, although there is good evidence for only a few traits.

THE LONG AND THE SHORT OF IT One of these traits is the tall stature of three gen-

erations in the family. So far as I know there were no very tall members of our Herrick ancestry in Ver- mont, but my grandfather's wife, Laura Roby Small, was the tallest woman I have ever known. Just what her stature was I do not know, but as I remember her it was probably at least six feet.

My father was a fine figure of a man, measuring six feet and four inches without shoes, well proportioned, with erect and dignified carriage. In military uniform and mounted on a spirited horse his presence was impressive. In 1870, while in Europe with a party of friends, he visited a country fair in southern England, where a French giant was on exhibition. Father was urged to go in and measure up beside him. After stooping through the door of the booth he stood, in frock coat and the tall silk hat of the period, head and shoulders above everybody else. The Frenchman instantly met the situation: "Oh, see ze tall man! Come and walk under my arm." My father told me long afterward that he walked under the outstretched arm without removing his hat or stooping. He was a truth- ful man. Verily there were giants in those days, and acromegaly, with resulting giantism, though a rare disease, is still occasionally exhibited.

The contrast between the statures of my grandfather and grandmother Herrick is elsewhere mentioned. My father's height was in similar contrast with my mother's small size. My brother Clarence was six feet tall and brother Will was six feet and two inches. When we stood up together my slender, asthenic height of five feet and eight inches was dwarfed in comparison.

During one term Will and I chanced to be in the same geometry class in the preparatory department of Denison University. The instructor repeatedly confused our names and in desperation said, "I will call the long one Herrick the First and the short one Her- rick the Second." Will married Jean Colville, a very short woman, who inscribed on a photograph of the couple, "The long and the short of it."

Along with these contrasts in stature of the spouses there were equally marked differences in temperament and qualities of mind, and these latter differences were quite as great in the cases of Clarence and his wife and Charles and his wife. Marriage of opposites in stature and mental furnishings seems to be the rule in our family.

The commonly expressed opinion that men and women of unlike characteristics tend to marry has been examined statistically on the basis of measurements of more than a thousand husbands and wives, published by Karl Pearson and Alice Lee in 1903.1 In this sample of the British population there is a clear tendencv for wives of tall men to be themselves taller than the

1 Cited by J. A. Harris, C. M. Jackson, D. G. Paterson, and R. E. Scammon, The measurement of man, 37, Univ. of Minn. Press, 1930.




women who marry shorter men. This may be an expression of British conservatism and tendency to avoid extremes. The American preference may face the other way. In any case there is in this country a sufficiently large number of matings of opposites to raise the question whether this mingling of genes may not be a significant factor in the development of that diversity in traits, talents, and interests that has been perhaps the most valuable asset of the North American people in the development of their distinctive culture.

LONGEVITY

Another characteristic that seems to be genetically determined is a well-balanced physical development, hardy and resistant to disease. The vital statistics show that the family stock of both of our parents was remark- ably vigorous and long life was the rule. Our father's sister, Louisa M. Hale, lived one hundred and two years and was alert in body and mind to the end. His father, Nathan Herrick, lived eighty-four years and his mother, Laura Roby Small, lived eighty-eight years. His mother's father and mother lived ninety-one years and eighty-five years respectively, and on the Herrick side ages in the eighty's and ninety's were reached by many members. Our mother died in the middle of her one hundred and fifth year, and her father, Daniel Strickler, lived ninety-two years. She had a sister who lived ninety-three years and a half-sister who died from an accidental fall in full possession of bodily and mental vigor ten days before her one hundred and third birthday. Two of her half-brothers lived to be ninety-three and ninety-seven years old respectively, another died at seventy-six years and a half-sister died at sixty-eight years. The collateral relatives of the Strickler family include many persons of advanced age.

The best prescription for longevity is probably that of Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes-judicious selection of parents and grandparents. But the prescription must include another ingredient, that is, judicious conservation of the endowment inherited from them.

Professor George Herbert Palmer of Harvard was always frail. At eighty-seven years of age when he was actively at work on his Autobiography of a Phi- losopher he is reported to have remarked

The second half of my life has been the more enjoyable part-and the more productive. . . . I sometimes think it would be a good thing if people in general could have a nervous breakdown before thirty-five, for they then-might learn how to take care of themselves for life, and make the most of what they have. Anyhow, I think I learned.2

This is something that Clarence never learned. He inherited a strong constitution and he had his breakdown at thirty-five years. This collapse was too severe for complete recovery. It came late in December of 1893. A severe attack of influenza was neglected in

2 Rollo Walter Brown, Growth in years, Atlantic Monthly 178(5): 86-89, 1946.

order to finish the teaching program of the autumn term, after which he had a severe hemorrhage from the lungs. For several weeks his life hung in the balance. He slowly gained sufficient strength to move to the more favorable climate of New Mexico. It is quite possible that if he had been willing to conserve his reserves of strength more judiciously he might have lived to a ripe age.

This he finally recognized, although not until too late. In a letter to his mother written six months before his death he said:

I used to believe that man is a soul and has a body and I thought the tool was a poor one at best and I could use it as long as I could and throw it away afterward. I am now convinced that the body is just as much an expression of the soul as thought is and that the being is all one. One cannot neglect any part of the self without all suffering. If I had learned to care for the body as well as I now could 20 years ago, I might have 20 years more.

Clarence's restless energy always drove him at full pressure regardless of fatigue and even of serious illness; indeed, during the decade following his first pulmonary hemorrhages his life was at times even more strenuous than before. It was my good fortune not to be able to live so strenuously, though, it must be admitted, I tried hard enough. So, despite the fact that I was endowed with a less rugged physique than his, I have survived him. The fact is, I had less choice in the matter. My reserves of energy are so quickly de- pleted that any long continued strain always brought on physical and mental prostration so severe that the mnechanism was thrown out of gear before the breaking point was reached. This automatic safety-valve called attention to the danger and doubtless prolonged my life. With the example of my brother's collapse at the height of his efficiency before me, I finally learned how to take care of myself and so to keep going for a longer time, though at slower pace. It was a hard lesson to learn and I never fully mastered it, but the flesh was weak and physical disability checked the expenditure of energy long before the mind could be complacent about it.

These two attitudes toward the inevitable wear and tear of the bodily mechanism were described by the late Dr. Cannon 3 with his usual perspicacity.

It is noteworthy that intense application has different effects on persons whose inner drive dominates them. Some there are so favorably organized that they become tired, as they properly should, and are compelled to stop by sheer failure of their brains to operate. Others there are whose eagerness and endeavors become all the more fierce the longer they persist in an exciting chase.

It was perhaps fortunate that I was endowed with a frail body that could not be spurred to intense activity beyond the point of danger of irreparable damage. Nervous exhaustion was for me a protective factor which was lacking in Clarence's stronger organization.

3 W. B. Cannon, The way of an investigator, New York, NV. W. Norton, 1945.



VOL. 45, PT. 1, 1955] LIFE AT THE MIDWEST FRONTIER 15 My greater longevity is perhaps due to this factor of safety and, in later life, a more judicious adjustment to it.

ANCESTRY According to family tradition all Herricks are de-

scendants of that enterprising buccaneer, Eric the Red. Of course, it is impossible to document this, but it may be that my father and my brother William owed their bushy red beards to genes derived from old Eric. Cer- tainly the English family of Herrick (variants: Hey- rick, Eyrick, Eyricke, Hericke, Eriche, Erik, and others) of Leicestershire was derived from early Viking settlements and probably it descended from Eric the Forester.

After the defeat of the Danes by William the Con- queror in 1066, the line of descent passed to Sir Wil- liam Herrick (born 1557, knighted 1605) of Beau Manor, whose fifth son Henry emigrated to America in 1629 and was among the thirty who founded the first church at Salem, Massachusetts, in that year. Our father, Henry Nathan Herrick, was a seventh generation descendant of the first American Henry. He was born at Morristown, Vermont, in 1832.

Our grandfather, Nathan Herrick, was born April 28, 1807. He died in Minneapolis July 28, 1891. He was a rather short man, vigorous and energetic, shrewd and uncompromisingly strict in all financial transactions. His business acumen unfortunately was not transmitted to his son Henry or to his grandson Clar- ence, both of whom were impractical idealists quite un- concerned with financial affairs except in so far as they were instrumental in support of their ideals.

Nathan Herrick's wife, Laura Roby Small, was born April 14, 1810. She was married October 3, 1830, and died May 6, 1898. She was of slender figure, very tall, a quiet, competent, self-sufficient person who was devoted to her family and won the warm affection of her children and grandchildren by innumerable kindly services.

Our mother, Anna Strickler, came of sturdy "Penn- sylvania Dutch" stock. Her family was probably descended from Ulrich Strickler who landed in America in 1737 and settled in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. They were primitive, rugged, God-fearing farmer folk. Daniel Strickler, our grandfather, when a small child came with his father, Ulrich, from Canada about the year 1817 to the village of Clarence, eighteen miles east of Buffalo, New York. Here they lived in "Clarence Hollow," the little valley that runs through the village. Daniel when grown operated a farm and gristmill in Clarence. He was married twice and his ten children were born in Clarence. The second of these children, Anna, who was our mother, was born January 16, 1834.

Later Daniel Strickler moved to a farm at Lancaster, New York, and while driving to market in Buffalo he saw a property on Buffum Street which he purchased in 1869. On this farm he established an orchard and

truck garden and, after the thrifty manner of his kind, he prospered. With the help of his sons, wagons carry- ing the produce rumbled over the plank road before dawn to the public market in the city.

The Herrick family and practically all the collateral connections are old American stock resident in this country from colonial times. The English family of Herrick was of Danish origin. The Strickler family was of German (not Dutch) origin and, according to family tradition, they came to this country from Switz- erland. All of these ancestors left Europe for greater freedom of opportunity. They were pioneers and the pioneering spirit still survives in their descendants.

In 1846 General Jedediah Herrick of Hampden, Maine, published "A Genealogical Register of the Name and Family of Herrick, from the Settlement of Henerie Hericke, in Salem, Massachusetts, 1629, to 1846, with a Concise Notice of Their English Ancestry." This book of 69 pages was printed in Bangor, Maine, by Samuel S. Smith, 1846. I own a copy of this book and a copy is in the Burton Historical Collection of the Detroit Public Library. In 1885 Lucius C. Herrick, M.D., published in Columbus, Ohio, a Herrick Geneal- ogy which was characterized as Jedediah Herrick's Register "Revised, augmented and brought down to 1885." This book of 11 + 516 pages is in the library of Congress. The author told me in 1886 that he had been able to trace the ancestry of every person in the United States known to him to bear the name of Her- rick, with very few exceptions.

A genealogy of the Strickler families of America was published in 1925:-Harry M. Strickler. Forerun- ners. Dayton, Virginia: Ruebush-Kieffer Co. 425 pages.

5. THE HERRICK FAMILY IN MINNEAPOLIS

THE HERRICK MIGRATION

One of the branches of the colonial Herrick family settled in New Hampshire, another in Vermont, and there was always intense rivalry between them. Our grandfather, Nathan Herrick, in 1846 moved with his family from a farm near Morristown, Vermont, to the neighboring village of Stowe. How to extract a meager living from the stony slopes of Mansfield Mountain was an ever present problem, taxing Yankee industry and ingenuity to the utmost. These were hardy and thrifty folk. They had to be to survive.

In 1854 Nathan Herrick took his wife and four grown children from Stowe to the midwestern frontier. He also took a cargo of marble slabs, potential tombstones for the less fortunate pioneers. They went to Chicago and then by steam cars across the prairies of Illinois as far as the rails extended. The further course was by wagon-train to the Mississippi River and across on the ice to Dubuque. The rotten spring ice gave way under the load of stone, and the family's working capital




lay on the bottom of the river. A part of the marble was later salvaged and the business was established. After many vicissitudes it was decided that Dubuque was too far from the frontier and the growing tomb- stone business spread up the river to the head of navigation at St. Paul, and past Fort Snelling to St. An- thony Falls. Here on the east side of the River the trading post and village of St. Anthony had long been established, but now the activity was on the west side. Beginning in 1852 with the building of large mills at the water-power, the growth of the city of Minneapolis was spectacular. In June, 1857, a letter from Harlow A. Gale to eastern friends reported:

I was talking of Minneapolis. I think the number of buildings has doubled since March. They average more than one a day. 'Tis exciting, I assure you. . . . There are two hotels going up, one 100 by 120 feet; the other 100 by 166; three churches; schoolhouses and dwellings daily and nightly. Oh, we have a beautiful town.'

Caught in the swirl of this tempestuous movement, Nathan Herrick transferred his business and his family to Minneapolis in 1858, the year that Clarence was born. He immediately invested some of his profits in an outlying tract of land, where he built a house. This was on the site of the future corner of Sixth Street, and First Avenue South (now Marquette Avenue). There was no road to the neighborhood, for Nicollet Avenue was marked only by an Indian trail. People mocked at his folly for building so far out in the trackless wilderness. In 1884 he sold this corner (81 South Sixth Street) for $40,000. The adjacent corner at Seventh Street was purchased in 1869 by the First Free Baptist Church and while our father was pastor of this church a meeting house was built there. This lot was sold in 1890 for $70,000. These lots are now occupied by the Northwestern National Bank and Trust Co., one of the most valuable properties in Minnesota.

Nathan Herrick's move from Dubuque to Minne- apolis was followed almost immediately by the collapse of the first of a series of speculative debauches. In 1859 half the houses in Minneapolis were vacant, and yet a published directory claimed a population of 5,300 in Minneapolis and 6,700 in St. Anthony. Recovery was prompt, and a year later there were said to be 13,066 in the Minneapolis area.

Nathan Herrick's two younger sons worked as marble cutters in their father's shop, but the oldest son, Henry, never took kindly to the marble business. He showed more interest in the living pioneers than in selling tombstones for dead ones. It was several years before this interest found its appropriate expression, and in the meantime he established himself on a little farm three miles out beyond his father's house. From that isolated spot his influence slowly spread through the community.

1 Minneapolis. A short reversal of humnian thought. Being the letters and diary of Mr. Harlow A. Gale, 1857 to 1859, Minneapolis, privately printed, 1922.

After about twenty years in the shop the younger brothers found that marble cutting was endangering their health and the business was liquidated. George bought a farm near Monticello, about forty miles up the river from Minneapolis, and here at "Harimiony Hill" in my childhood I spent many happy summer days with my cousins. Albert invested his savings in a small flour mill on Minnehaha Creek and later was purchasing agent of the Washburn flour mills. The sister, Louisa, married Jefferson M. Hale, a member of the firm, Hale, Thomas and Co., drygoods merchants in Minneapolis.

HENRY NATHAN HERRICK, OUR FATHER

Our father was twenty-one years old when he left Vermont with his parents. There are few recorded details of the first few years of his life in the West and the family tradition is equally silent. Evidently he did not at that time intend to be a preacher. The motives which led him into the ministry, a vocation for which he was quite unprepared, are obscure, though the few facts we know about this period give some hints of them.

From our ancestral Green Mountain farms there was a constant stream of emigration of the more progressive youngsters to the cities or to the boundless opportunities of the undeveloped West. Our father tried them both. Not many months after the arrival of the family in Dubuque he returned to Vermont, where he married his sweetheart, Ellen M. Barnes, on the twenty-fourth of August, 1854. The ceremony probably was at Barnes' Mill between Stowe and Smugglers' Gap. In the spring of the following year they set out for the West, but before the journey's end Ellen was stricken by cholera on a Mississippi River steamboat and she died on April 26 at Excelsior, Minn. This tragic wreckage of Henry's romance naturally left him unsettled. Of these events and those of the following two years I never heard him speak.

It is clear that he planned to qualify himself for the practice of medicine. In the winter of 1855-1856 he was in New York City studying at some hydropathic institute. Inexperienced as he was, his choice of a medical college was unfortunate, and after a few months he returned to Dubuque with a doctor's diploma and a bitter disillusion. He knew, not being a fool, that he had been cheated by a cult of quackery and that his diploma was a fraud. He realized that he was not properly qualified for the practice of medicine and, not being a knave, he did not use that diploma. Though his experience as a medical student in New York yielded little knowledge of value for practice in that profession, it doubtless had motivating influence that later camiie to expression in another field.

Before the family moved from Dubuque, Henry returned to the East and married our mother, Anna Strickler. Clarence was born in Minneapolis on June 22, 1858, and shortly thereafter Henry settled his own



VOL. 45. PT. 1. 19551 LIFE AT THE MIDWEST FRONTIER 17

household on a small tract of outlying farm land belonging to his father-the property on Pleasant Avenue which we children later called the "Lewis Place." Here he planned to support himself as a farmer while preparing for the Christian ministry. He shared the common lot of the few neighbors-long days of toil and some hardship. By solitary study, with little outside help, he qualified himself and received a license to preach from the Free Baptist denomination at the Quarterly Meeting on March 22, 1862. He was ordained December 26 of that year and on May 11 of the following year his certificate of ordination was recorded in the office of the Clerk of the District Court of Hennepin County, Minnesota.

He began as an itinerant missionary preacher and later held successive pastorates in Minneapolis and surrounding towns; but his health was frail and time after time his strenuous labor to establish a church and build a meeting house was followed by collapse. He never preached more than a short time in any of the churches that he built. Gifted by nature as a public speaker and endowed with a magnetic personality, common sense, and a sympathetic understanding of his people, his lack of professional training in theology was no obstacle to success on the frontier. Perhaps it was better so, for he met his parishioners on their own ground, facing the same problems and speaking the same language.

In one of my mother's letters of the early part of this period she wrote that the annual cash income of a missionary pastor might (or might not) amount to as much as fifty dollars from one church and sixteen dollars from a second congregation. Their little farm supplied most of the necessities of this preacher's family. Yet the pastors and their wives in that community were the recognized leaders and guides of their flocks in practical affairs as well as in the spiritual life.

Father was pastor of the First Free Baptist Church of Minneapolis from 1866 to December of 1871. Dur- ing that time he built a meeting house at the corner of First Avenue and Seventh Street. The pulpit was designed to accommodate his stature, and his successor, the Reverend Charles Payne, who was very short, was scarcely able to see over the top of it. The pulpit was well built and, there being no money for a new one, a high platform was placed behind it, which Mr. Payne mounted to deliver his sermons.

An important part of the pastor's job then, as now, was to raise money. For the building and support of the church Father did this efficiently and cheerfully, but he refused to beg money for his own support. A contribution box was fastened to the wall at the entrance of the church and here the members of the congregation were invited to deposit their free-will offerings. I find on the flyleaf of a pocket Testament of that period this memorandum: "Church contributions for year ending June, 1869, $170.89."

Though money was hard to get in those days, the parishioners and citizens of the town gave loyal support in other ways. In the summer of 1870 a party of Minneapolis business men invited Father to accompany them (probably at their expense) on a trip to Europe. They had their own affairs to attend to and took advantage of the opportunity to give their pastor a long de- ferred vacation. The party saw the ancestral estates of the Herrick family in Leicestershire and made a short excursion across the Channel to the Continent.

Several years after this a district school (the Blais- dell School, to be described presently) was opened in the vicinity of our little farm. This was the only public meeting place in our community, and here our family organized a nonsectarian Sunday School. Every Sun- day afternoon our little melodeon was folded into the family carriage. Clarence was organist, Mother led the singing, and Willie and I janitored the building. This "Herrick Mission" was later supported by the First Baptist Church and is now the prosperous Cal- vary Baptist Church, where Father's portrait occupies a place of honor in the board room.

Of those early days when Clarence was about fifteen years old I recall one incident which illustrates his versatility. The family attended a magic lantern exhibition at the Free Baptist Church illustrating Bun- yan's Pilgrim's Progress. A large audience was assembled, the lantern slides were in readiness, but the lecturer was unexpectedly detained. Now, Clarence knew his Pilgrim's Progress as well as he knew his Bible, and the lad was drafted as pinch-hitter for the emergency. I don't remember the pictures or the lecture; indeed, I probably slept through the perform- ance; but in my childish eyes the big brother's stature was tremendously magnified. And I sensed that the audience shared my feeling.

Convinced that the sectarian differences between the Free Baptists and the "Regular" Baptists were trivial, Father agitated for the union of the smaller denomination with the larger and he finally transferred the family memberships to the. First Baptist Church at Minneapolis. Though he did not live to see it, the union he worked for was finally consummated and the Free Baptist denomination has practically lost its identity by merger with the larger communion. In 1912 the First Free Baptist Church of Minneapolis merged with the (Regular) Baptist Judson Memorial Church.

In January of 1880, his health having improved, he accepted appointment from the American Baptist Home Mission Society as pastor of a frontier church at Forest City, seventy miles northwest of Minneapolis. His stipend was $150 for nine months contingent upon $300 additional from the church. The payments from the church were probably chiefly in produce, for all the cash money available was devoted to building a meeting house. At the dedication of the church the following summer the pastor crumpled in the pulpit with an




acute recurrence of his chronic gastric ulcers, and after that he preached there only once, sitting in a chair beside the pulpit. This was the last of Father's pastorates.

In the morning of April 18, 1864, Father was plow- ing, but his mind was not on the furrow he was turn- ing. To his distress over the Civil War there was added the knowledge that roving bands of Indians were taking advantage of the preoccupation of the Federal Army in the South. Sporadic raids of massacre and pillage were frequently reported and outlying farms were not healthful spots.

His troubled thoughts were interrupted when his father drove up a lathered horse and handed him a copy of yesterday's newspaper containing mobilization orders for a company of replacement recruits, and Father's name was on the roll.

After repeated rejections as a volunteer on account of poor health, he had been finally accepted, on March 21, 1864, as a private in Company A, Fifth Minnesota Veteran Infantry Volunteers. This was with the expectation that he would be commissioned as Chaplain of the regiment as soon as papers could be approved. The headquarters of the regiment at that time were at Fort Pickering near Memphis, Tennessee.

After enlistment Father worked on his farm, hoping to get some planting done before his call for duty. On the fateful morning of April 18 he left the plow in the furrow and with his father and a fresh horse drove past Minnehaha Falls to Fort Snelling. There they found that the recruits had already embarked and were on the river with Private Herrick absent without leave. They then drove to St. Paul, where Father on the following day took passage on the steamer Itasca, which was a faster packet than the transport. He overtook his regiment at St. Louis, and there he found that one of his friends had answered "present" for him at every roll call on the boat and his record was clear.

After a few days in St. Louis the recruits joined their regiment at Fort Pickering, arriving on April 29. There they remained during most of the summer, with a month's furlough in June and July. On June 10 Private Herrick was discharged from the Army "by reason of appointment as chaplain" and the next day he received his commission as "Chaplain in the Fifth Regiment of Minnesota Veteran Volunteers," signed by "Stephen Miller, Governor and Commander-in-Chief of the Military Forces of the State." At the same time his name was entered as Chaplain on the Muster-in Roll of the regiment "for the term of three years or during the war" by order of the President of the United States. Among the family papers there is a file of 110 letters from my father to his wife in Minne- apolis dated from April 21, 1864 to July 17, 1865, a diary covering most of this period, copies of his official monthly reports to the Adjutant General, and some un- official papers which give vivid pictures of the duties

and responsibilities of an army chaplain during the closing campaigns of the war.

Clarence was not yet six years old when he watched his father ride off to the war. All possible preparations had been made and it was impressed upon the child that he was to be the man of the house. There was a crop to plant and little but their own hands in the way of resources. The boy apparently met his responsibilities manfully, for more than a year later near his seventh birthday his father wrote from Demopolis, Alabama,

I am glad Clarence is trying to make himself useful. I want him brought up to steady work. I have seen so much of the effects of idleness, of having servants to attend to all the hard work, I am bound my boy shall be a working boy and a working man if he lives.

And to his son: "Good for you, my darling! I hope you will never be ashamed or too lazy to work for a living."

Among the mementos of that period are two little books just alike entitled Dew Drop. They were about an inch and a half square and a quarter-inch thick, with a short Bible verse for each day of the year. Be- ginning January first, 1864, Clarence and his father made a contract that every day each of them would memorize the verse for that day, an agreement that was scrupulously observed by both of them throughout the war period. On some of Chaplain Herrick's campaigns this Dew Drop comprised the whole of his professional library. On the morning that he left the farm for the front it chanced that the verse for that day was, "Endure hardness, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ." Clarence at five years took his book seriously to heart, for in one of Father's letters he told that on January 23, 1864, the verse was, "Let patience have her perfect work," and on that day Clarence reproved his father for an impatient outburst by quoting that verse.

Father was naturally an impatient and impulsive man and Mother was the worrying kind, so that the family life was by no means free from stress; but both of them were honest and loyal, with mutual affection that was deepened and strengthened by hardship and affliction which they shared in common. This devotion met its severest test during the winter of 1864-1865 when Mother and Clarence were alone. The chaplain's regiment was in constant movement and the pay checks were often months in arrears. At the end of that winter she wrote to her husband: "I am out of wood and flour. I feel as if I could hardly keep house alone this summer. I know my cares are nothing to the hardships you endure. I think I can stand it as long as you can."y

My father after his discharge from the Army never joined the Grand Army of the Republic because he did not sympathize with the aims or methods of that organization. Although he was an invalid for most of his subsequent life, he did not apply for a pension



VOL. 45, PT. I, 1955] LIFE AT THE MIDWEST FRONTIER 19

because, he said, his disabilities did not result from military service. In fact, his health was better during the period of active service than either previously or subsequently. In stature and body type he took after his mother, but persistent poor health was exceptional in his mother's and father's families. From early man- hood he suffered from chronic gastric ulcers, with acute exacerbations. His long nights of agonizing pain cast a depressing shadow over the otherwise happy childhood of his boys; but his courageous fight to win despite this handicap was an example of inspiration and sustaining power to us.

During all of his pastorates he retained his little farm and, except for short periods, lived upon it and worked it. After his last pastorate in 1880 he returned to the farm and supervised it, although able to do but little work himself. The two younger boys carried most of the load after school hours, for Clarence's time was fully occupied by duties for the Geological and Natural History Survey of Minnesota.

Early in 1884 he had massive hemorrhages from the stomach and at the same time Mother's mind gave way under the strain and she was committed to a mental hospital. In the following autumn Clarence moved his family to Granville, Ohio. I went with them and a few months later Father and Will joined us there, where Father died on the fourth of May, 1886.

ANNA (STRICKLER) HERRICK, OUR MOTHER

Two girls were seated on a sofa in the city of Wash- ington, heads together and chuckling over the agony column of a popular magazine. This was in 1857. At that time in the western pioneer settlements there were plenty of men and few women, and it was common practice for a man to advertise in an eastern paper for a wife, a practice that still persists through the medium of the metropolitan press. One of the giggling girls had a bright idea and looking up at her cousin she said, "Anna, I dare you to answer one of those bids for a wife."

Anna took the dare and chose an item from a certain unknown Henry as most likely to provide a thrill. It did. Henry was not joking. After corresponding with Anna for a few weeks, he came east to plead his cause in person. At her home village of Clarence, New York, the courtship culminated in Anna Strickler's marriage to Henry, October first, 1857. On the wedding journey they went first to Niagara Falls, where Anna had relatives, then (probably, though this cannot be documented) to visit Henry's people in Vermont. I have before me a photograph taken at Ottawa, Canada, in the course of this journey.

We next meet them in Dubuque, where Henry's father and brothers were prospering in their business. After the removal of the family to Minneapolis in the following spring, Henry and Anna settled on a solitary farmstead, the "Lewis Place," as already mentioned.

Anna's mother died when she was little and, finding life with her stepmother uncongenial, she lived with an aunt in Clarence and later with Aunt Susan Summy in Washington. Aunt Susan was a second mother to her and she saw to it that Anna had such educational advantages as were available to young women of her time and station. When last I was in Washington the octagonal house where she taught school was still standing on a hilltop, to the left of the Seventh Street Road leading out to the Soldiers' Home.

Anna's answer to Henry's advertisement, though inspired by a madcap impulse, was not out of character. She was enterprising, ambitious, and hungry for adventure, a born pioneer. When she forsook the security and comfort of her home in the capital of the nation, she knew what she was getting into and she was prepared to pay the price. When she looked into the face of the man who offered her his hand and heart, she saw there the pledge of a new and more alluring security. She took a dare, and with the passage of years that courage never faltered. In sickness and in health, in prosperity and in adversity, she looked the world in the face and said, "I dare you !"

Her simple religious faith was woven of the same tough fiber. Near the end when totally deaf and nearly blind, she gave us her own creed in the form of a rep- etition, as she remembered it, of Philip Paul Bliss' old revival hymn,

Dare to be a Daniel, dare to stand alone, Dare to have a purpose firm, dare to make it known.

This is what pioneering still meant to her. Anna met the deprivations, toil and hardships of

pioneer life with energy and resourcefulness. Her em- bodiment of family devotion and community service contributed much to her husband's notable success as a pastor.

In her middle life some of the earlier hardships were mitigated, but others were added. There was increasing deafness and the anxiety of constant attendance upon her husband's suffering. She broke down under the strain with a manic-depressive psychosis. For many years she was hospitalized, with frequent re- missions and slow improvement. The recovery was at last complete, and during the last three decades of her life she was her normal warm-hearted, and kindly self, enjoying a tranquility that never before had been possible.

The soundness and vigor of her constitution was confirmed at autopsy, which revealed healed lesions of pulmonary tuberculosis, gastric ulcer, and several other serious diseases, the presence of which was never suspected during her life. What the ancients called vis nedicatrix naturae was her adequate defence even against the ravages of acute mental disorder at the menopause. That is because she was built like Oliver Wendell Holmes' wonderful one-hoss shay that ran a hundred years to a day. In fact, she bettered that




record by four and a half years, but when the end came the breakdown was similarly universal and total.

Youthful adventure to an uncharted frontier, struggle for subsistence, service, faith in God and in her fellow men, undaunted courage, fidelity to ideals in the face of adversity and broken health, dreams of man's con- quest over the primeval wilderness and over his own untamed nature, the satisfaction of seeing these dreams come true, contentment, peace. She saw the development of the Middle West from early growing pains to its present consummation with an interest unquenched by the infirmities of age. Of this growth she herself was part-and a better part. Though without renown beyond the little circle centering in the parsonage, she typified in her own person the social forces which shaped and steadied the course of events in those early stages of cultural growth in the upper Mississippi Valley.

Two-thirds of the life of this sturdy character I myself witnessed, and after she had passed the middle of her hundred and fifth year I sat by her bedside on the twenty-third of June, 1938, as she passed quietly over her last frontier. She and her like have made us Amer- icans what we are, and as long as this indomitable pioneering spirit survives in our people the Great Ameri- can Dream has promise of fulfillment.

The daring spirit of our mother still lives, not only in the impress left on the mores and morals of the frontier, but also in the persons of her children and children's children unto the fifth generation. No limits can be set to this influence, for her descendants have lived and labored in diverse places-in Minnesota, Il- linois, Ohio, Michigan, New York, New England, Virginia, California, Florida, Canada, New and Old Mexico, South America, Europe, and the South Seas. Of the three sons who survived to maturity, two became university professors and one of these a university president. Their thousands of pupils are now spread abroad literally to the ends of the earth. The influence of the other son in the far Southwest was always good and constructive. These children and their progeny have measured up to Lin Yutang's standard of success:

After all allowances are made for the necessity of having a few supermen in our midst-explorers, conquerors, great inventors, great presidents, heroes who change the course of history-the happiest man is still the man of the middle- class who has earned a slight means of economic independence, who has done a little, but just a little, for mankind, and who is slightly distinguished in his community, but not too distinguished.2

A few trivial incidents selected from the memories of my early childhood give some glimpses into the life of a Middle West, middle class frontier parsonage in the early 1870's.

2 Lin Yutang, The inmportance of living, 115, New York, John Day, 1937.

One of the most vivid of these is of a bleak Christmas eve. At an unseemly early hour the two younger children were hustled off to bed amid howls of protest. In the morning our stockings were bulging with toys, mu- nificent far beyond our most avid dreams of the night before. It meant nothing to us that not one penny of money had been expended on any one of them. There were, I remember, two little wagons that rolled with delightful clatter across the floor. It was not till years afterward that we realized that Mother had worked up to the small hours of that Christmas morning painfully carving those eight little wheels out of spools with the kitchen paring knife.

The same devotion which she gave to her children was extended throughout the parish, where it brought a similar return of affection and nurtured that spirit of neighborliness and civic responsibility which is the vital breath of healthy community life.

Mother, of course, made most of the family clothes. Father's clerical coats must be made by a tailor, and afterward they were successively cut down for one after another of the growing boys. But Clarence in college was nearly as tall as his father, and clothes became a problem for the boy who was earning his own way during that winter when the rest of the family was nursing a mission church seventy miles farther "out west." His father, on an unexpected visit to town one day, surprised him in the midst of cutting a new pair of trousers from a pattern made by ripping up the old ones.

The youngest boy got what was left of the original garments after their successive cut-downs. He still re- members how as a little shaver he strayed out of the parsonage into a neighbor's house and found the place full of ladies-perhaps a sewing circle. His mother being absent, the gossips were taking advantage of the opportunity and discussing her qualifications and rank in the local social register. The credentials of her preeminence being fortuitously provided at this juncture, the lad was pushed forward as Exhibit A. "Charlie, come here. I want you ladies all to see what beautiful patches Elder Herrick's wife makes." As he was slowly turned around like a dressmaker's form, the exquisite needlework of patches on knees and spankers was critically admired. The pride in his mother's skill with which the little heart was nearly bursting was turned to confusion and bitterness when it was remembered that only that morning when those tiny knee- pants were put on Mother apologized for the last patch. Being very busy, she had hastily basted on an applique instead of making her customary neatly tailored inset. The loyal child never told his mother of this humilia- tion.

The minister's wife bore her full share of the burdens of the church, managed the household, churned the but- ter, and reared a family in the fear and admonition of the Lord. The home acres supplied most of the family



VOL. 45, PT. 1, 19551 LIFE AT THE MIDWEST FRONTIER 21

needs. In the long Minnesota winter there might be no meat, only milk, eggs, and salted codfish; but there were always books. The Athenaeum library supplied the latter, and in winter evenings Mother would read aloud to the family. Dickens' tales, George MacDon- ald's eery novels, Stanley's How I Found Livingstone, and many other works now classic were devoured as fast as they appeared on the library shelves. And, of course, the Bible. No day passed without its scripture lesson.

When Clarence entered the university as a subfreshman, after morning chores there were four miles to walk to meet an eight o'clock class-and the long bridge across the river was no place to loiter at twenty degrees below zero-then four miles home in the evening to more chores. There being only one lamp, it did not simplify matters to hear Mother reading Jules Verne's Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea when there was a trigonometry lesson to get before tomorrow morning.

When I was a lad my father told me this story, which doubtless has been retold many times before and since. During a blizzard a trader muffled in furs was talking with an Indian trapper. As he watched the snow swirling around the bare legs of the redman he asked, "Pierre, aren't you cold?"

The reply was another question, "White man's face cold ?"

"No, Pierre, my face is warm." "Injun, he all face." This is pioneering-to protect against hardship where

possible, to inure to the inevitable, and then to face it, and to face it all-over, naked if necessary and without flinching.

6. THE HERRICK BOYS

Four boys were born in Minneapolis to the parents just described. It was our misfortune that there were no girls in the family. The home and community en- vironments of these boys were about the same, although there was a difference of ten years between the ages of the oldest and the youngest. The folkways of our frontier community in Minnesota were different from those of the earlier eastern colonists of the seaboard and the mores of the pioneers of the Middle West have left their distinctive imprint on all of their progeny despite the heterogeneous character of the immigration. The Herrick boys, though a blend of Vermont Yankee and Pennsylvania Dutch, were as typical of the Midwest as are the striped gophers of our prairies.

This record is concerned with two of these brothers. Before summarizing and contrasting their characteristics the salient features of the lives of the others are set down here.

Henry Herbert, the second son, was born December 10, 1859. He was a normal child. In his third year he had a severe attack of "croup" which was probably diphtheria. While convalescent an unfortunate accident resulted in death, October 30, 1862.

William Howard was born August 13, 1866, and he died as the result of an accident in the field June 24, 1921, at Socorro, New Mexico. Like his brother Clarence, he was a genetic anomaly. He resembled his father and paternal grandmother in stature, but in physiognomy and mental aptitudes he was radically different from any other member of either his father's or his mother's family known to me. He was six feet and two inches tall and powerfully built. Mechanically minded and ingenious, he became a skilled workman and clever inventor. He was a lover of music and pro- ficient with the violin. In school he was unable to learn foreign languages as they were then taught and this was a serious handicap in college. He studied at Denison University, Morgan Park Seminary, and the University of Minnesota. In the latter institution he studied engineering but did not complete the course and earn a degree. Subsequently he worked as surveyor, carpenter, and superintendent of construction. In later life he was associated with his brother Clarence in various surveys and mining operations in New Mex- ico and practiced as U. S. Deputy Land and Mineral Surveyor at Socorro.

In 1917 Will opened the Security Title Abstract Company at Socorro. The official records of Socorro County are incomplete and confused. Many titles of large and vaguely described land grants go back to the Mexican government and the Spanish crown. My brother, in association with his competent wife, prepared card indexes of every tract of land in the county and every person named in the official records. This file is the only reliable source of data regarding land titles in Socorro and Catron Counties. This business is still conducted efficiently by Mrs. Herrick and her children.

My brother Will's integrity and professional competence and his public service, together with those of his wife and children, made enduring contributions to the welfare of their community. These beneficences are as worthy of recognition as are the very different activities of his professorial brothers. The present narrative is concerned with the latter topic, and because Will's more practical enterprises were not primarily concerned with the advancement of science there will be only in- cidental reference to them here.

Clarence Luther was born June 22, 1858. He died at Socorro, New Mexico, September 15, 1904. Most of the first eight years of his life were spent on his father's farm and then a few years in the city parsonage. That period was before my time and I know very little about it.




He was early inured to the toil and hardship of pioneer life. The little farm, although close to the city, was actually at the frontier. Its prairie sod had never before been broken by the plow.

During his childhood the immediate environs of the city were occupied by farmers who preempted home- steads directly from the U.S. government, but these developments had practically no effects upon the mar- velous scenic beauties of the surrounding hills, lakes, and river gorges. The child was impressed by their glories and wonders before he was old enough to know even the name of science. The primary and secondary public schools of his community (and mine) probably did not differ from most of the others of that period in the Middle West. There was no teaching of science worthy of the name and no incentive or guidance toward the study of nature at school or at home.

Until he entered the university Clarence's native scientific interests and aptitudes were untrammeled by formal teaching or academic tradition. He absorbed the teachings freely offered in the open book of nature as spontaneously as the water he drank. Fortunately his parents, although deprived of professional training (and perhaps because of this lack), used to good advantage their own common sense, with tolerance for the whimsies of their exceptional child.

Clarence, as has been emphasized, was a unique product of the juggling of the parental genes. He was six feet tall, well proportioned, strong, and energetic. His stature was derived from his maternal grandmother through his father, but there is nothing known in his ancestry or environment that gives any clue to the sources of his predilection for science or for his native proficiency in graphic art and music. He was also a competent linguist and mathematician and philosophically minded from early youth.

He attended the elementary schools of Minneapolis and the high school for one year. He then matriculated as a subfreshman in the University of Minnesota in September of 1875. He was graduated in 1880, thus completing a six-year preparatory and collegiate course in five years, despite the fact that he earned his living most of this time as Professor Winchell's assistant in the State Geological and Natural History Survey and the further fact that he was out of residence teaching a country school during half of his junior year. His work in Latin, German, mathematics, and philosophy was creditable, but probably the most valuable part of his education was derived from extracurricular activities.

The academic year 1881-1882 was devoted to study in German universities and in 1885 he received the Master of Science degree from his alma mater. The catholicity of his interests, as well as his shrewdness in capitalizing them, appear here. The university reg- ulations required him to qualify in a major and an unrelated secondary subject. For the latter he chose Old Testament History, with which he was probably more

familiar from original sources than any member of the examining committee. So he was able to meet the re- quirement with minimum distraction from his primary interests. From that time on his life was so fully occupied with other duties that no time could be spared for further graduate study.

Clarence's professional advancement progressed very well without a doctor's degree, and I suspect that his esteem for it was not much higher than that of Samson Talbot, my wife's father, who was President of Denison University from 1863 to 1873. Upon receipt of his Doctor of Divinity diploma he is said to have laid it aside with the remark, "D.D.-Dumb Dog." Never- theless, when Clarence became President of the Uni- versity of New Mexico there were opportunistic reasons why the doctoi's degree would advance the pres- tige of the university. Accordingly, he arranged to receive an earned Ph.D. degree from the University of Minnesota, submitting as his dissertation some of his recently written papers.

FIG. 3. Drawing by Clarence L. Herrick made on transatlantic steamer, 1892.

At the time of his graduation the president of the university said to his father that he did not know whether to advise Clarence to continue in art or in science. But there was no uncertainty in the mind of the graduate. He had dedicated himself to science early in the growth of his life of reason and nothing could entice him from that domain. It is equally clear that the temper and tempo of his scientific work, his successes and his failures, can be appraised only against the background of his artistic temperament, acute sensitivity, and hectic fervor.




His artistic sensitiveness and facility of expression were innate, just like Audubon's. But there was this difference: Audubon's passion for artistic expression and interpretation of nature was in control and everything else was subordinated to it; but Clarence's art was developed as the handmaid of his science. His scientific publications were lavishly illustrated. There were also exquisite water colors and excursions into portrait painting in oil. His earlier letters were en- livened by graphic sketches and caricatures. Very few of these by-products of his art have survived. The accompanying sketch was drawn on shipboard while he was en route to Germany. The rodent with distended cheek pouches is intently watching the bemused professor whose meditations are befogged in a haze of pipe smoke. This is animal psychology, but who is studying whom, and why? This cannot be regarded as a self-portrait, for Clarence never smoked.

I recall that when he left home in 1881 for study in Europe his father cautioned him to be on his guard against the advances of sharpers who might try to take advantage of his youth and inexperience. The next day on the train two affable strangers seated themselves opposite and talked with him. They brought out a pack of cards and invited Clarence to join their game. The prospective victim declined and presently began, not unobtrusively, to sketch the profiles of the players on the back of an envelope. They promptly excused themselves and were not seen again.

So far as I know, Clarence had no instruction in music beyond his mother's unskilled guidance in singing. The family furnishings included a little melodeon standing on rickety folding legs and provided with a leaky bellows that had to be furiously pumped by foot- power. This he learned to play while a child and before he entered college his repertoire included difficult classical music from Beethoven, Hayden, and Bach. During his college days he acquired an upright piano and my brother Will learned to play the violin. Their duets were atrociously executed, no doubt, but both of them as long as they lived found in music a solace and an outlet for pent emotion and artistic aspiration, an expression otherwise inhibited by the New England reticence and taciturnity of the family tradition.

It was my good fortune that when I was a small child Clarence's spirited rendering of these great works, interspersed with his own improvisations, introduced me to classical music at an impressionable age. I was stirred to the depths but, alas, I was never able to express myself in this way.

He was a facile and prolific writer and an inspiring public lecturer. His classroom lectures were illustrated with vivacious blackboard sketches, often drawn ambi- dextrously. Further details of these activities need not be mentioned here for they comprise the substance of mnuch of the following narrative.

Charles Judson was born in the Minneapolis parsonage October 6, 1868. He was less generously endowed in some respects than either of his older brothers. He lacks his brother Will's mechanical skill and is a clumsy manipulator. So far as I can judge, there are no exceptional innate capacities except perhaps, as already mentioned, the ability to see what things are worth while-for me-and then to work for them with stub- born persistence. There are some crippling deficiencies, some of which were evident before I reached voting age. Others were not recognized until much later and even now I sadly admit that I am still unreconciled to them.

One of these misfortunes is that I have no musical ability at all. As a child I could not carry a tune and my attempts to sing with the group of playmates met the rebuff, "Shut up, Charlie, You're off the key." I enjoy the simpler themes of good music, but the higher refinements of the harmonies of the great classics generally leave me cold. The execution of music of any kind is beyond my reach.

In the graphic arts I have similar limitations, and this has been a serious handicap in my professional work. I have no natural aptitude for drawing or painting and attendance for several months in a class for beginners at the Cincinnati Art Museum while I was in college brought no improvement. But the histologist must illustrate his work with pictures. In the earlier years when I could not afford to employ an artist I learned the hard way, by blundering trial and error with the aid of the camera lucida and other mechanical devices. I have drawn and published hundreds of pictures of anatomical specimens and microscopic sections and such technical skill as I possess was acquired at excessive cost.

I take passionate delight in the beauties of nature. I enjoy good architecture, good paintings, and good literature, but creative ability in any of these fields is lacking or very restricted. Although impoverished in some domains that give others their highest satisfactions, my life has been enriched by other pleasures that give ample compensation. Like Stevenson, I can say life is full of rewards and pleasures to him who looks for them-"so that to see the day break or the moon rise, or to meet a friend, or to hear the dinner- call when he is hungry, fills him with surprising joys." Yes, and besides these simple pleasures there are others that give types of exaltation of quite different order from those derived from the arts as traditionally defined.

I have always been a slow learner with a poor memory. What was learned was not long retained unless it had some meaning that was relevant to the present interest. These handicaps were offset by capacity for steady plodding. I was equipped (as Clarence was not) with ability to tolerate interminable drudgery when this was demanded by the job in hand. What



24 C. J. HERRICK: CLARENCE LUTHER HERRICK [TRANS. AMER. PHiL. SOC.

my brother could see at a glance I had to dig for, but I could dig and in the end turn up something worth while.

Neither my brother Will nor I showed any early aptitude for science or any particular interest in it. We often accompanied Clarence on his collecting expeditions, but for us these were merely pleasure excursions. We swam with him in the neighboring lakes, but our interest in their fauna went no further than the fish we caught.

On the farm my older brothers carried the heaviest load of work, for I was relatively a weakling. I was not a sickly child, but smaller and less strongly built than my brothers. My hands were not strong enough to milk a cow without frequent rests. I could not keep up with the older boys in mowing a field of hay and behind the plow I would sometimes drop in the furrow with heat prostration. My adult weight has rarely exceeded 127 pounds, and during the emeritus years it has shrunken to less than 120 pounds. The mus- cular development was rather poor, especially above the waist. My whole life has been close to the border of incapacitating illness and total disability. Some coddling was necessary to keep going. Chronic indigestion, with achylea (complete absence of both acid and ferment in the gastric juice), and a sluggish lower bowel have impaired efficiency. But the gastric mo- tility is good and careful regulation of diet and regimen to ensure as rapid emptying of the stomach as possible is adequate treatment. A dull morning headache has been accepted as part of the usual day's program. This morning stupor generally lasts but a few hours.

The beginning of my scientific interest can be dated in my eleventh year when Clarence taught me how to press flowers for preservation, emphasizing the importance of recording the common name, locality, and date. Two years later I was introduced to their Latin names and systematic preparation of my herbarium was begun. This was continued as an avocation throughout my high school and college years and the specimens, so far as they have been preserved, are now in the herbarium of Denison University. The pleasure and profit derived from this intimacy with growing things are incalculable and to this day my enjoyment of rambles in field and forest is quickened by recognition of old friends among flowers, ferns, and fungi that I once could call by their first and last names. Although most of these names are now forgotten, the loss is not very disquieting because during the intervening years many of them have been changed by the systematists.

I entered college in the classical course, but before the close of my sophomore year at Denison I reatized that I was a misfit where I was. Clarence doubtless recognized it too, but he never offered any suggestions or inducements toward a change in my plans. My life was my own and what to do with it was up to me. In him I had before me an example of what the life of science is, what it costs, and what it is worth. At

twenty years of age I made up my mind that this was to be my kind of life, and thereafter my life has been dedicated without reservation to the advancement of science.

Clarence was then teaching at the University of Cin- cinnati, and in the spring quarter of 1889 I matriculated there and registered in his classes. My deficiencies in elementary science had to be made up. This I succeeded in doing and was ready to graduate with my class in June of 1891 except for a required credit in geology. Clarence coached me in geology and at the end of that summer I passed the examination and was awarded the Bachelor of Science degree by special action of the university trustees in September.

This change of program in the middle of the college course would not have been called for if I had been able a few years earlier to make a more judicial appraisement of my own native abilities and limitations. I found that, although I spent twice as much time on my language lessons as some of my classmates, their work was better. The result of my best endeavors was not commensurate with the labor expended. In mathematics I was a dud. I worked hard and the professor probably passed me as the simplest way to get rid of a hopeless incompetent. Since I was unwilling to admit that I was a moron, it seemed the wiser course to turn around and begin over again in a field where such ability as I had might be more profitably employed.

The outcome has justified the wisdom of this decision. Although I proved that I could learn foreign languages, the cost was too great to make it profitable as a vocation. Since that time I have read thousands of pages of scientific German and French, some Italian, and a smattering of Spanish because I need them in my business, but this reading knowledge of the technical literature has never given me an adequate grasp of the language for any other purpose. In Europe I found that a German newspaper was unintelligible to me and that my command of spoken French was not sufficient even for the purchase of a railway ticket. As I see it now, the genuine interest which I had in the study of Latin and Greek had a scientific rather than a literary motivation and diathesis. In the college library, where I served for a time as attendant, I stumbled upon some of Max Muller's popular essays on comparative philology which gave me great pleasure. It was the structure of language that interested me and its evolution.

The world is full of misfits, of square pegs in round holes, of people who are inefficient and discontented because of lack of natural aptitude for their jobs. Such people may be highly gifted in some other way, but these gifts were not discovered or given opportunity until too late. Aptitude tests are now available which if skillfully used will usually tell a high school pupil for what vocation he is best fitted, but in very few of our schools are these tests judiciously used. To be of




value they must be given thoroughly and patiently to each pupil by technically trained teachers.

My subsequent professional life was in almost every respect different from my brother's. After graduation at Cincinnati in 1891 I taught for a year in the preparatory department of Denison University, then for one year was Professor of the Natural Sciences in Ottawa University, Kansas. In 1893 I returned to Denison, where I continued to teach until 1907, except for one year (1896-1897) of residence at Colum- bia University, from which I received the Ph.D. degree in 1900. In October of 1907 I began duty as Professor of Neurology in the Department of Anatomy at the University of Chicago and was Chairman of the Department of Anatomy there in 1933-1934. From 1934 to 1937 I was Professor Emeritus in Residence and subsequently Emeritus.

On the seventeenth of August, 1892, I married Mary Elizabeth Talbot at Granville. Our only child, Ruth Herrick, M.D., is now practicing medicine (dermatol- ogy) and I am living with her in Grand Rapids, Mich- igan. My wife died August 23, 1952, one week after our sixtieth wedding anniversary.

7. THE HERRICK FARM

The genetic and environmental background of the lives of the Herrick boys has been described. Now let us examine the foreground of these lives. The factors which determined the directions of their development in the early years can best be illustrated by a series of trivial incidents set in the crude natural frame of a frontier environment.

MY EARLIEST MEMORIES The little farm on which we boys grew up comprised

several separate parcels of prairie land of a few acres each which were purchased from time to time, most of them by our grandfather as real estate speculations. The original nucleus of it was what we later called the "Lewis Place," a tract of about five acres upon which Father built a house shortly after his marriage to our mother. The stories I have heard about the building of this house suggest that Yankee ingenuity was not always equal to the situation. Apparently the sawmills at the falls were unable to supply the urgent demands for building material, so the marble cutters decided to experiment with concrete. Molds were framed and a mixture of mortar and gravel poured in. Portland cement was unknown to them or unavailable and their mortar refused to set. When the frames were removed the walls crumbled. Sadder, though no wiser about the reasons for failure, they abandoned the idea and a conventional frame house was erected on the foundation.

My earliest memories are associated with this house. In one of them I am seated on my mother's lap before an open window and she is feeding me with scrapings from the pulp of an apple. The detail is vividly clear,

the locale was a particular window of that house from which we moved a few months later, but the picture has no background and no foreground. Why does this trivial incident linger in my memory for eighty years? Perhaps because at that time an apple in Minnesota was a rare exotic fruit.

Another similar memory which can be definitely placed in this house when I was three or four years old is of an orange which came rolling across the floor from nowhere at all while my jolly Uncle Albert stood at one side laughing at my amazement. The thrill of feeling that stamped that orange into my childish memory was probably not the rarity of the gift, nor its un- canny materialization from nothingness; it was something far more poignant for that orange was the compensation to a broken-hearted little brother for having been left behind when the older boys were taken to the circus.

The late G. E. Coghill developed the hypothesis that consciousness arises or emerges by a process of individuation within the process of behavior. That is, as he wrote, "I believe that our earliest mentation deals with the larger patterns and that we derive our later forms through individuation within a growing, integrated total pattern." Coghill had the idea that this might be tested by an inquiry into the earliest remembered mental experiences of the individual.1

His basic hypothesis seems plausible; I think it probably true; but I question whether his method of testing it by examination of early memories is a practicable approach to the problem. Our early memories as these are recalled by the adult do not go back far enough toward the earliest stages of emerging mentation to be significant here. On his hypothesis these very early stages should have a generalized character and memory vestiges of this kind are less likely to persist subject to recall than those later specifically individuated experiences that are stamped with strong emotional thrill.

The Coghillian principle seems to be clearly exempli- fied in the development of language. During the first year of my daughter's life she had several patterns of vo- calization that were expressions of emotional states. At ten months she imitated spoken words (mama, papa), but it was not until four months later that there was unequivocal evidence that these words were associated with persons. At first every woman was mama and every man was papa. At eighteen months she had learned the word man and that papa was her father's name. At twelve months she imitated the word dog, pronouncing it "gog." This was a favorite word for a long time and she very quickly gave it meaning, ex- claiming "gog !" at sight of a big dog. But the word was also applied to any other moving object, a horse, chicken, threshing machine, ship. Not until the eight-

1 C. Judson Herrick, George Ellett Coghill, natuiralist and philosopher, 246, note 104, Univ. of Chicago Press, 1949.




eenth month did she name the dog ("gog" or "gogi") and the horse ("horsi") correctly.

My earliest memories do not seem to deal with any "larger patterns" of generalized type; they are of isolated particular events without context; and they can now be localized in space and time only because some details of the remembered picture can be fitted into patterns of the arrangement of things in space that my later experience tells me must have been there and then. Both my early memories and those of later date are usually set in a pictorial frame. The incidents recalled generally are clear mental images of particular places within which the movements occurred. The rest may be only hazy background, and location in time is often far less clear than spatial orientation. The same is true of my dreams and also of my recollections of descriptions of things that I never experienced but were described to me by spoken or written words. Such descriptions are almost always visualized and these mental images are very persistent, even in cases where subsequent information reveals that they are grossly inaccurate.

Our parents purchased a three-acre parcel of land which adjoined the "Lewis Place" along its southern border on what is now the corner of Pleasant Avenue and Twenty-fifth Street. Here they built a four-room, story-and-a-half cottage. This was probably in the summer of 1872, near the end of my third year. I have a vague smudge of memory connected with the building of this house, but there are no clear details and no mental pictures of the scene. This particular memory might seem to accord with Coghill's principle, but other memories which preceded and immediately followed it are of the specific individuated type with clear-cut detail.

One particularly vivid picture is of an incident which must have happened not long after we moved into the new house. Our family and the family of my Uncle George were assembled in our living room and my younger cousin, Leon, who was just beginning to talk, was volubly trying to tell me something which I could not understand. He kept repeating, "I got li'l filibar 'n' haw ships 'n't." I was puzzled until it was translated for me: "I got a little wheelbarrow and haul chips in it." My mental picture of the room includes only one detail, my own position part way up on the open stairway leading to the floor above. This and the words spoken by the child stand out in sharp relief against an indistinct and confused background. What stamped these details into my memory I do not know.

THE HOME ACRES

The cottage into which our family moved, as just described, was designed with a view to subsequent enlargement. By successive additions at front and back it became the most comely and spacious dwelling in the neighborhood. Gleaming white, with green shut- ters, and standing on a low knoll, it proudly looked out upon the surrounding farm lands.

But this came later. In our earlier years the life was simple and primitive. We had little money, few comforts, and no luxuries. The necessities of life were provided by our own efforts and they were adequate to ensure healthy growth of body and mind. Toil was the order of the day and during the long summer vaca- tions we children went barefoot and were begrimed with the good earth from which we drew our living. Child labor on a farm in those days was part of a well- balanced education which promoted development of a sturdy physique and an alert, resilient, and resourceful mind.

The original home place was sold by Grampa to Mr. Lewis, whose name it carried thereafter. Al Lewis was about my brother Will's age, but he was a rowdy- ish boy and we did not like him very well, so Willie and I usually played by ourselves. There was no fric- tion about it, for this was by our own preference without parental admonition. We all went to the district school and were expected to take our schoolmates as we found them and to get along comfortably with them. When Al's sister was married, her younger brother boasted to us that the groom had twelve new shirts, an amazing revelation of affluence that made the deep impression intended, for it still lingers in my memory.

Between the Lewis Place and the bluffs (mentioned below) there was a small landlocked pond where we children waded and swam in the summer and skated and trapped muskrats in the winter. On today's maps this would lie between 22d and 24th Streets and Har- riet and Lyndale Avenues. But this pond is no more and its site is now occupied by comfortable dwelling houses. We called it Powderhorn Lake because of its shape. If this now forgotten body of water had any officially documented name, I never heard of it. The name given to it by us children was obviously inad- missible, for about two miles southeast of this site there is a similar pond which has survived and given its name to Powderhorn Lake Park.

Our Powderhorn Lake is but a memory, without even a record on the maps. But memories do not die, though the things recalled may long since have disappeared and the people who first experienced them have perished. Our childish experiences in the exploration of the beaches and shallows of this little pond and the living things that swarmed and spawned and died in its still water played no small part in the culture of an interest in nature and the ways of living things. It is certain that Clarence found here his first and most exciting adventures in the discovery of what we now call plankton and the significance of the minute animalcules that populate all our waters in the total economy of living nature.

When our first house was built on the Lewis Place (this probably was in 1859), all the surrounding acres were virgin prairie sod stretching southward as far as the eye reached. Northward of this tract there was Powderhorn Lake and beyond that a series of high and



VOL. 45. PT. 1. 19551 LIFE AT THE MIDWEST FRONTIER 27

narrow glacial moraines which were called "the bluffs." This was a densely wooded, trackless wilderness where in later years we children made our bows and arrows and hunted imaginary Indians.

From early days Nicollet Avenue reached southward from its junction with Hennepin Avenue at the river and out across the prairie. At what is now Franklin Avenue (20th Street) a road branched off to the west to skirt the southern border of the bluffs, and midway on this border it turned south as the Pleasant Avenue of my early memories and the present maps. The three acres which were the site of our second home are at the present time not far from the center of population of all of the city that lies west of the river. This house, when our family vacated it in 1885, was numbered 2450 Pleasant Avenue, on the corner of 25th Street.

The land on both sides of Nicollet Avenue southward from Franklin Avenue was homesteaded from the Government by the Blaisdell families. There were John, Bob, Ike, Bill, and the Old Man, whose adjoin- ing quarter sections made a sizable domain. Most of these acres were promptly sold, but John and Bob, on our side of Nicollet Avenue, held part of their acreage long enough to realize substantial profits. The early years were hard for both man and beast. There was no money for building barns or buying feed and the cattle barely survived the bitter winters by burrowing into the stacks of straw. The Blaisdells were good neighbors according to the current code; penurious, of course, as they had to be. John once confided to my father that he lost many nights of sleep worrying because he sold three acres to my grandfather at too low a price. But he got cash money and cash in those days was harder to get than land. John might have spared himself the worry, for before I was grown his remaining acres were broken up into town lots each of which sold for about $2,000.

Clarence was about fourteen years old when we moved from the Lewis Place to our own house on Pleasant Avenue. He was a big, strong boy and because his father's health was so precarious he had to do a man's work in planting and cultivating our three acres. In subsequent years we also farmed several of Grandfather's neighboring plots of land. On our own acres Father started a small nursery of poplar, box- elder, pine and other trees of fast growth, and also an orchard. Peaches and pears did not survive the Min- nesota winters and the only apples known to be hardy were the small sour crabapples. Father resolved to try for something better and planted several varieties sent from New York State. A dozen years later some of these trees were bearing good fruit. We wanted grapes too. Concords and Delawares grew well and bore delicious fruit, but every autumn the vines had to be cut back and buried in the earth, to be resur- rected and returned to the trellis in the spring. Small fruits-currents, raspberries, strawberries, etc.-were

easily raised, and from these the chief cash income of the family was derived. We were beyond the northern range of all the common nut trees, but hazel nuts grew wild on the sunny slopes of our neighboring hills. These we children gathered for consumption with pop- corn in winter evenings.

After Clarence entered the university some of his duties and responsibilities involved severe hardship. During most of this time there were morning and evening chores. In winter the four-mile walk through the city to the university on the east side of the river, starting before dawn, might include a mile or more of unbroken snow drifts at temperatures ranging down to 40 degrees below zero. Later there was a horsecar that ran for part of the distance on an uncertain schedule when the track could be cleared of drifts, but generally it was more comfortable and more expeditious to walk than to ride in those unheated cars. In the growing season Saturdays were devoted to tending the crops. When he studied I never could find out; probably when the rest of us were asleep.

By the time I reached my early 'teens our plantings of small fruit were in full production, but Father was incapacitated for any work. It fell to my lot to cultivate the crops and market the produce. The neighbors' children were employed to pick the berries. One evening at the payoff three children and their crate of berries were missing. The next morning I walked across the prairie to their house, where I found their mother busily engaged in canning strawberries. There was nothing that I could do about it.

During the busy season our produce was sold to the stores in the city. One evening the proprietor of the nearest store took my berries and proposed to pay in goods instead of cash. It was late and there was no time to go farther and so his proposition was accepted. Upon reporting at home I was sent hotfoot back to the store with an order for groceries. The next day that store folded up. So I learned something about business without benefit of a business college.

I saw, too, that the margin between wholesale and retail prices was a significant item in our budget. In slack seasons, accordingly, our produce was loaded on the farm wagon and peddled from door to door. This was good business education and I succeeded in making a go of it. I also found out that I did not like it, so I left the farm at sixteen years of age, when the family was broken up, with no regrets. The farm work I enjoyed, for I loved the soil-as I still do- but truck farming as a business had no attractions for me.

Financial profits are not the only advantages to derive from the soil. There are people who prefer comfortable subsistence, with satisfaction of simple needs and independence, to the regimentation and bitter re- criminations which seem to be inevitable in cities and factories. "Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred therewith." A small farm




intelligently selected and skillfully managed may yield few luxuries beyond those "adventures in contentment" that spring from understanding of nature and her ways and successful adjustment to them; but for people of this sort these satisfactions are priceless. There is privacy when you want it, but the deadening isolation of primitive farm life is past. With telephone, radio, and a car and roads that will take it, the farmer is no longer a recluse unless he wants it so. Where electric current is available the farmer's wife is emancipated from much of the depressing drudgery that used to make her life intolerable. Modern gadgets do not re- lieve the farmer and his family from hard work, but work is good for people when the other conditions are right and the farm is no place for lazy folk.

If you want to know the details of what farm work was like in the days of my youth, read Homer Croy's account of it.2 I can't tell it in his snappy style, but I have seen all that is there described and can verify its authenticity. From Mr. Croy's account one who does not know the farm at first hand might infer that farm life of fifty years ago was hell and today it is paradise. But that is not the way it is in mundane affairs. We boys got a lot of fun out of our farm work, and farming means hard work and long hours of it whenever and wherever you find it. None but the stout-hearted need apply.

SIDELIGHTS

At the snout of the Powderhorn near Lyndale Av- enue was a copse so densely filled with undergrowth that ten feet within its border one could imagine himself in primeval forest. Here I had a secret retreat where as a pioneer I broke new ground in a little clearing known only to me. A tiny log cabin big enough only for pixies was carefully mortised together and the clearing was enclosed by a split rail fence. The rails were no bigger than lead pencils and the total area of the clearing was only a few square feet. No adventures with bears or Indians were conjured up. It was seclusion that I wanted and my childish ambition to reach out beyond the frontier was materialized in the form best known to me. This ideal has never been outgrown, and indeed the original form of its expression remains unchanged. Much of my work and play has been in a tiny cabin hidden in the sand dunes of Indiana or in solitary camps.

The Indian wars of the frontier were fresh in the memories of our neighbors, and Father, who was a gifted raconteur, thrilled us children with tales about them. Indeed, until after the Civil War there were occasional Indian scares even near the city. Clarence's vivid imagination embellished these tales with fantastic embroidery in retelling them to his younger brothers. When I was five or six years old our parents, having

2 Homer Croy, You wouldn't know the old farm now, Har- per's Magazine 195: 306-312, Oct., 1946.

driven to a distant village to attend the Quarterly Meeting of the church, left the two youngsters in Clar- ence's care. In the afternoon he proposed that we play hide-and-seek and he would be "it." While his eyes were blindfolded, Willie and I crept upstairs and hid under the bed. The customary wait was prolonged until we heard a wild commotion in the kitchen below. Curiosity finally overcame our terror. Slipping down the stairs and peering around the corner, we were paralyzed with fright. There was an Indian brave, stark naked except for a high feathered head-dress, his body smeared with red war paint in grotesque designs, dancing and whooping and brandishing a tomahawk which with a mighty stroke was hurled across the room and left sticking in the pine boards with which the kitchen was ceiled. We could not fail to notice that the Indian was Clarence, the feathers the turkey wings that Mother used to dust the hearth, and the tomahawk the familiar hatchet from our own woodhouse; yet the pleasant tingle of terror remained.

Later, as we youngsters grew older and stronger, we were expected to take our share of the routine work of the farm, and here Clarence used his skill as a story teller with good results. His imaginative fantasies rivaled those of Jules Verne, which at that time our mother was reading to the family as we sat around the evening lamp. We liked Clarence's tales better because the heroes and their adventures were of our own folk, often in the person of the narrator himself. In summer at milking time we two younger boys used to stand by, one on each side, armed with a plumose spray of asparagus tops to drive away the flies while Clarence milked. To hold us at our posts a running flow of "milking stories" was sufficient incentive.

When we were bigger, hoeing out the weeds from interminable rows of corn in the hot July sun put a heavy strain on the staying powers of small boys. Clarence was boss of the gang and the brunt of the, work fell to him. The smaller boys were lazy cubs, but Clarence's skill as a disciplinarian kept us in line with characteristic adroitness. The big brother taking two rows of corn with a younger brother on each side with one row, we would start across the long field. Then Clarence would begin a story. Each chapter was as long as the field with a new thrill on the return. So the day wore on, everybody on his toes (bare toes they were), with sweat and dust mingled with exciting adventure. A laggard missed the story and if, toward the end of the day, we fell behind, Clarence would lean over and clear a few hills of our rows in addition to his own. So discipline was enforced without coercion long before the principles of progressive education were applied in our midwestern schools.

When we moved into our own house on Pleasant Avenue there was no school in our sparsely settled neighborhood, so Clarence walked the mile and a half to the nearest public school in town, at the corner of Tenth Street and Hennepin Avenue. In my time there



VOL. 45, PT. 1,1955] LIFE AT THE MIDWEST FRONTIER 29

was a one-room district school at the corner of Nicollet Avenue and 26th Street, a third of a mile from our house by the short-cut across John Blaisdell's meadow. The present Whittier School on Blaisdell Avenue is in this block. Most of the pupils were barefoot and un- kempt little imps, but some were of high school age. Discipline of such a group was sometimes a problem, and the School Board, of which my father was a member, employed male teachers whenever a suitable man was available. On the teacher's desk was a heavy ruler which was freely used on recalcitrant pupils' palms.

Toward the end of Clarence's college course there was an unexpected vacancy in the Blaisdell School. The School Board in the emergency asked Clarence to

take it over. This was a severe test for a college boy of twenty years, for some of the older pupils were a tough lot. He had less trouble with discipline than his predecessors and successors and most of it, so far as I remember, was with his two younger brothers, whom he kept in order with a firm hand and the oak ruler.

The customary Friday afternoon exhibitions, at which parents were often present, were transformed into laboratory demonstrations staged with apparatus improvised or borrowed from the chemical laboratory of the university. The one that sticks in my memory is the scintillation of a watch-spring burning in a jar of oxygen.



PART II

THE LIFE OF SCIENCE

8. THE MAKING OF A NATURALIST

THE YOUNG NATURALISTS' SOCIETY

Clarence was about twelve years old when the family moved from the parsonage on Sixth Street to the outlying farm. From that time forward his childish interests in out-of-door nature had wider scope and more freedom of expression. He was a keen observer and an avid collector. His search was not for rareties, but for what common things could teach. When he entered high school this interest was systematized and given appropriate expression by the organization of the Young Naturalists' Society. The dramatic history of this group of high school boys I have written up with copious extracts from the carefully kept records (see page 10, footnote) and some extracts from these articles are reprinted here by permission of the Scien- tific Monthly.

During the school year of 1873-1874 two fourteen- year-old boys sat together at one of the old fashioned desks of the Jefferson Public School at 10th Street and Hennepin Avenue, Minneapolis, an intersection now marked by the Public Library. Tom lived in town, but Clarence walked to school every morning from his father's farm and was sometimes tardy.

The boys quickly became intimate, for they had many interests in common and Clarence had no other playmates. Of course they must not whisper, but there was so much to tell that Clarence fell into the habit of sketching on his slate a pictorial record of his activities since yesterday-milking the cow in a swarm of flies, gathering potato-bugs or husking corn. The teacher (who evidently had no sense of humor and little of any other sort), noting something unusual, one morning called Clarence to his desk with the slate. On seeing the pictures, which were both realistic and fantastic, he gave the boy a severe whipping. Clarence returned to his desk with a smarting palm and a smiling face and refilled the slate with caricatures of the teacher.

The following summer these boys with two other schoolmates camped on an island in Lake Minnetonka, and here the interest in birds and other wild life which hitherto had captivated their childish minds now became a ruling passion which endured and shaped the whole subsequent courses of their lives. This camp was probably the seedbed within which the Young Naturalists' Society germinated. Tom, with rare perti- nacity, clung to his first love, the birds; but Clarence's interests, apparently from the dawn of his interest in anything, were spread over the whole face of nature.

In September of that year, 1874, these boys entered the Minneapolis high school, where during the three- year course and for some time thereafter, their exploits

as "Young Naturalists" were so original and productive as to merit description. A record of the activities of these young pioneers written week by week with their own hands has fortunately been preserved, and these yellowed pages contain something of historical interest and much of inspirational value for us of a later generation.

Through the kindness of the late Dr. Thomas S. Roberts, Director of the Minnesota Museum of Natural History in Minneapolis, these papers came into my hands. They are of interest for two reasons: first, they document a critical period in the history of science in the upper Mississippi Valley, embracing the years 1875 to 1878; second, they give illuminating glimpses into the intimate lives, habits, and mental furnishings of a small group of exceptional children whose spontaneous interest in natural history came to expression in the formal sessions of their society. Here we see the quickening and operation of scientific interest in the miiinds of sixteen-year-old boys and remarkable industry and originality in the cultivation of these interests. The cultural background and historical development of their community in 1875 have already been outlined.

Extracts from these documents are presented with some commentary. In 1942 when the articles here ab- stracted were published, two of the charter members of the Society were living in Minneapolis and they gave me interesting details which supplement the written record.

ORGANIZATION AND PROCEDURE OF THE SOCIETY

On the twelfth of February, 1875, seven boys organized the "Young Naturalists' Society," and their records show continuous activity until November 18, 1878. These boys were members of the first-year class of the Minneapolis High School. There were some later additions and some withdrawals, but the number of members remained about the same and four or five of them were active throughout the life of the Society. These included Thomas S. Roberts, Clarence L. Herrick, Rob- ert S. Williams, and Frank P. Clough, son of the city engineer at the time of threatened disaster to the Falls of St. Anthony (1869 to 1876). Regarding the inception of the society, Dr. Roberts wrote me:

The nucleus consisted of Clarence, Robert S. Williams and myself. I was the promoter and furnished the place of meeting-my bedroom. This was on the second floor, reached by a side entrance, through the diningroom and up a back stairs. It was heated by a little drum stove and provided with storage arrangement for specimens, etc. Here we assembled and sat around in earnest conclave, for we were a serious bunch. Our youthful friends of different minds were wont to poke fun at us by sending us

30



VOL. 45, PT. 1, 19551 THE LIFE OF SCIENCE 31

bogus specimens from time to time. But we went gravely on our way. Clarence did the best work.

It is an important point, here reiterated, that neither the society nor any of its members had any significant contacts at school or elsewhere which might encourage or guide their activities before the end of September, 1875. During the following two school years Roberts continued in the high school, graduating from the three- year course in 1877. But Clarence left the high school to enter the preparatory department of the University. His competence as a naturalist very soon was recognized, for within less than a year after matriculation he was appointed assistant to Professor N. H. Win- chell, Director of the Geological and Natural History Survey.

Robert Williams also came under Professor Win- chell's influence at some time during the active life of the society. He did not graduate from high school and entered the preparatory department of the university.

It is obvious that from the date of Clarence's matriculation at the university in the autumn of 1875 this connection with an organized scientific program was a significant help to the society and all its members; yet this certainly was not the source of its initial motivation. In origin it was parthenogenetic, not sired by any outside person or influence; and its form and procedure were not sensibly changed during the later years when Clarence was Professor Winchell's assistant.

That they had access to books is evident, and at first these were probably drawn largely from the public Athenaeum library, later no doubt from the university library. That they used the available literature to good purpose will appear shortly. For other equipment they were dependent almost entirely upon their own resources, for there was little money except from the small monthly dues and fines.

Among the spoils of war brought home by Clar- ence's father from his Civil War campaigns was an old Springfield army rifle which had done heavy duty at the front. Heavy duty is right, for none but a husky man with good teeth could manage this clumsy piece of ordnance. The strong paper cartridge containing the leaden bullet and a charge of black powder was torn by the teeth, inserted in the muzzle and then rammed home, to be discharged by a percussion cap. The re- coil was terrific and the execution out in front was ap- palling if the rifleball met its target. This ancient wea- pon, with the rifling of the barrel reamed out so as to transform it into a muzzle-loading shotgun, was Clar- ence's only equipment in the early days of his collection of birds and mammals. With a light charge of small birdshot and due attention to the erratic disposition of sights and scatter, he usually contrived to bring down the smallest bird in perfect condition. But not always, and I well remember his rage when a rare specimen fell as a mangled wreckage of blood and feathers.

During Clarence's high school days his father out of his poverty bought him an eight-dollar microscope.

There were no such refinements as coarse and fine adjustment, merely a tube sliding in a sleeve for focus- ing. But the lenses were good, and with that crude instrument he explored the fauna of ponds and ditches so diligently and productively that, of the three short papers prepared for publication before he entered the freshman class at the university, one was entitled "A New Cyclops." These papers were published in 1877, the others being, "Ornithological Notes" and "The Trenton Limestone at Minneapolis." The minutes of the Young Naturalists' Society show that these papers were prepared for the society and read at regular sessions; and the range of subjects which they embrace is typical of the catholicity of interests cultivated by these youngsters.

Meetings of the society were held in the evening, at first weekly and later biweekly throughout the year, including the summer months. Roberts was the first president, and he was reelected for the following term also. In his Report of the Secretary of Young Natu- ralists' Society for the six months ending January 14, 1878, he wrote:

Since March 12, 1875, one 1hundred and nine (109) regular meetings have been held, all of them with the ex- ception of one or two in this room. Twenty-six (26) regular meetings were held during the past year.... March 5th the regular monthly tax which had been 10O was reduced to 50 which it still remains. . . . There are in the society's possession forty-four (44) original papers written by its members, and eight (8) reports. The papers were mostly read during the year 1875 and the first part of 1876. Some if not all of these would probably bear rereading and general criticism.

One of the primary objectives of the society was the preparation of accurate lists of the local fauna and flora. These lists were never published, save for a list of birds 1 and a reference to a list of plants in Warren Upham's "Flora of Minnesota." 2

The constitution of the society has not been preserved, though its salient features are summarized in one of the Reports quoted beyond. It evidently received very serious consideration, for the minutes record repeated revisions. Officers were elected for a term of six months and comprised a president, vice-

1 Ornithological notes by C. L. Herrick in the Fifth Annual Report of the State Survey include a list of 91 birds added to the collection of the University Museum, where they still are. Most of these were collected in the summer of 1876. There are annotations upon some of the rare or atypical specimens and their parasites.

2Warren Upham's Catalogue of the Flora of Minnesota, published in the Annual Report of the Survey for 1883 (Minne- apolis, 1884), has the following statement on page 10: "A list of about 500 species, observed chiefly in the vicinity of Minne- apolis by the Young Naturalists' Club, was communicated by Mr. Thomas S. Roberts, by whom nearly all of these species were determined, others by Clarence L. Herrick, F. S. Gris- wold, and R. S. Williams."




president, treasurer, and secretary, besides standing committees on ornithology, entomology, botany, geology, conchology, and physics. The usual order of business included a roll call, reading of minutes and presen- tation of original papers and assigned readings, followed by general discussion. Formal debates are reported upon these, among other, topics:

The state of the interior of the earth. Which have the greatest influence upon agriculture-

birds, insects or rodents ? Have birds and animals more than instinct? Which has the greatest influence upon the form of a

country-water in a flowing condition or all the other influences combined?

The relative importance of the natural sciences among the sciences.

The list of assigned readings as recorded in the minutes reveals some of the sources available to these boys and more about the range of their interests. The following are selected from a larger number:

Selections from Audubon; Marsh's Man and Nature; Geography and Evolution; Form and Life; The Stone Age; Frauenhofer's Lines; Vortex-atom Theory; Insectiv- orous Plants; The Flight of Birds; Cause of Earthquakes; The Great Auk; Influence of Habitat on Animals; Croll on Climate and Time; The Relation between Sunspots and the Price of Wheat; The Difference between Eastern and Western Birds; Theory of LaPlace-Creation; Rise and Progress of Modern Views as to the Antiquity and Origin of Man (A. R. Wallace); How Plants are Fertilized by Insects; Localization of the Functions of the Brain; Wild Mice and their Ways; Fertilization of Orchids; Transmis- sion of Excitations in Sensory Nerves (Paul Bert); The- ory of Tides; Song Birds of America; Obituary of Profes- sor Henry; Intellect in Insects; Insect Wings; Structure and Affinities of Hummingbirds; Variation in Nestbuilding.

These topics have a modern ring in 1955, and this is what these high school boys were reading and thinking about more than seventy-five years ago.

The original papers were carefully written and filed in the Archives. Some were illustrated by drawings, specimens, or experiments. These papers were not di- gests or reviews of literature; it was expected that each one of them should report original work of some sort. Lectures delivered extem pore were apparently discouraged, for we read in the minutes of November 25, 1875, "Mr. Herrick was allowed to extemporize. Sub- ject, The Cyclops." It is reported, however, that during the third year few original papers were written and there were seven unwritten addresses.

The documents relating to the Society which have been preserved are as follows:

1. Minutes as written by the secretaries from March 5, 1875, to November 18, 1878.

2. Mr. Roberts' first president's report, July, 1875. 3. Eight semiannual reports by the secretaries and treas-

urers at the close of their terms. 4. Six reports for the term ending December 31, 1876,

by the committees on Entomology, Ornithology, Botany, Geology and Mineralogy, Conchology and Physics.

5. An ornithological report addressed to Dr. P. L. Hatch, State Ornithologist, dated March, 1878, and recording observations made during 1877 by Thomas S. Roberts, Robert S. Williams and Clarence L. Herrick.

6. The manuscripts of five original papers by Frank Ham, eight by C. L. Herrick, two by Robert S. Williams and one by T. S. Roberts. These sixteen papers are all that have survived from the forty-four reported as on file in the archives of the society in January, 1878.

7. Many letters by members of the society or relating to it.

The documents here listed are now filed in the library of the State Museum of Natural History, Minneapolis, Minnesota. Many of the specimens collected by the society are preserved in the same Museum.

THE MINUTES The original copy of the Minutes is a foolscap folio

of fifty-eight closely written pages. Most of the entries are neatly written in ink and some are in pencil. The first entry is undated and probably is of March 5, 1875, for the next entry is dated March 12 and the succeeding meetings follow at weekly intervals. The other documents in the files of the society yield instructive views of the workings of these young minds and of the stage of development of natural history then reached in their community.

The eight papers by C. L. Herrick which have been preserved are of unequal merit. The minutes report an address by Mr. Herrick on the position of the old bed of the Mississippi River as shown by the geological survey of the county. From data obtained during the survey an approximation of the date of the close of the glacial epoch was derived. Professor Winchell's estimate of this time was 7,803 years, based on the rate of recession of the falls from the mouth of the Minne- sota River a distance of about eight miles.

The most interesting of Clarence's papers is Part First of the President's Address on Classification. In the introduction he raises the question, Why should those who do not expect to earn a living by teaching science or writing books about it devote long, fatiguing hours to its study?

We must look for the answer partly in ourselves. We are conscious of a good result to ourselves from such study, we are also conscious of great pleasure in the study itself and can only account for it by supposing that there is an inherent desire in us that is met by this occupation.

Here Clarence, at seventeen years of age, stated the principle of the primary motivation of scientific research as clearly as it has ever been done before or since. In the discussion of principles of classification he follows Agassiz, and here perhaps he shows less keen insight. For in the application of these principles he immediately finds himself in difficulties which were clearly recognized. The remaining parts of this address are lost, so we do not know the outcome.

The paper entitled "Embryo of Common Fowl" was read on June 18, 1877, recounting observations made



VOL. 45, PT. 1, 1955] THE LIFE OF SCIENCE 33

and recorded with many drawings about a year before. The young naturalist here repeats the observations of the early embryologists, and apparently he had at his command scarcely more background of previously recorded knowledge than had Aristotle. The eggs were removed from the nest on successive days and opened. Everything visible in the living condition was described minutely. On the fourth day the pulsating heart and the vitelline veins and arteries are described. Then he says, "returning to the embryo itself we see that it bears no resemblance to a hen or, indeed, to a bird of any sort. It resembles perhaps most nearly a lizard with a long coiled tail and two large eyes occupying a large portion of the head."

The best of Clarence's work is evidently not represented in these seven papers, except perhaps the one last mentioned. Among the papers there are two plates containing twenty-two neat pencil drawings of insects which were "presented to The Young Naturalists," obviously illustrating a paper which is not preserved. His reports on lists of birds, insects, plants, fossils, and microscopic crustaceans are not in the files, but their substance is doubtless incorporated in subsequently published papers.

THE PERSONS

Though the organized life of this society was short, its influence survives. Of the subsequent lives of some of the members little is known to me. One of them, Clarence S. Lum, became a lawyer of note, practicing at Duluth. The careers of the three promoters and most efficient members of the society may be regarded as the natural fruitage of a growth whose seedtime and early cultural stages are here recorded.

Robert Statham Williams was born in Minneapolis May 6, 1859. For twenty years he had varied experience as a botanical collector in North and South Amer- ica and since 1899 he was connected with the New York Botanical Garden, Bronx Park, as research associate in bryology, where he rose to the rank of our leading authority on the mosses. I met him there in 1900 shortly after his return from Alaska. He died in Minneapolis March 13, 1945.

Thomas Sadler Roberts was born on a farm near Philadelphia, February 16, 1858. He moved to Minne- apolis in 1867 and graduated from the high school ten years later, after which he attended the University of Minnesota. He received the M.D. degree from the University of Pennsylvania in 1885 and in 1886 entered practice in Minneapolis. He was Professor of Pediat- rics in the University of Minnesota from 1901 to 1913. From 1874 to his death on April 19, 1946, ornithology was his avocation, and he was state ornithologist from 1890. He was Director of the Museum of Natural History of the University from 1919 to 1945. A large and beautifully appointed new museum building was constructed in 1939. This museum is his fitting monument. Despite the exactions of a large medical practice

and burdensome teaching and administrative duties, Dr. Roberts published four important books and two hundred papers on natural history subjects, all of high quality.

During the short life of the Young Naturalists' So- ciety there were probably not more than a dozen boys enrolled as active members, and three of these subsequently achieved distinction in science. Each of these three had a native interest in natural history which arose spontaneously and was cultivated enthusiastically long before any external influence whatever came to bear upon it. They began to play with natural science, not because they had nothing else to play with, but, as the Nobel laureate Michelson later expressed it, because "it is such corking good fun." Having no one else to teach them, they taught themselves. They fumbled along, ineptly at first, but not blindly, learning by their own mistakes. Soon they found guidance in books, later in men, and they learned how to use both; but they followed nobody; each developed his own aptitudes and methods and shaped his own career.

9. APPRENTICESHIP

Clarence's scientific training began with the Young Naturalists' Society, as just described. The first year of the life of this organization was the most energetic and efficient, and this was while all members were high school freshmen with no scientific contacts of any kind. The enthusiasm and industry of these boys were spontaneous and all their activities were self-directed. Be- cause Clarence did not find in the high school the opportunities that he wanted, at the beginning of the next school year he entered the preparatory department of the State University. For the next ten years his work was under more or less supervision by the university and the Geological and Natural History Survey.

I have vivid memory of that September day in 1875 when, as a child of nearly seven years, I rode in the family carryall with my father and Clarence through the city and across the river the four miles to the university. While they conferred in the President's office about Clarence's matriculation as a subfreshman I remained outside. Some kindly body took me up the long stairways to the cupola at the top of the big stone building, then new, which housed the university.

From that terrifying height we looked down almost directly into the gorge of the great river, for the campus at this point drops away in a sheer cliff of Trenton limestone, whose wealth of fossils intrigued the Young Na- turalists, as they do their successors to this day. Up- stream the gorge terminates within a mile at the Falls of St. Anthony, and here spread out before our eyes was the great government work in process of construction, a work which saved the falls from imminent destruction and so saved the life of the city of Minneapolis.

During the leisurely descent from the cupola we peeked into classrooms, laboratories, and the museum,




filled with marvels and childish questionings. At the main entrance President Folwell put his hand upon my head and remarked with a friendly smile, "I see, my boy, that you have already been through the university, ahead of your brother."

The official records of the University of Minnesota show an application for admission by Clarence's father dated September 28, 1875, "for six years." Beginning in the autumn of that year, he attended four years and a half, graduating with B.S. degree in June, 1880, thus completing the six-year course in less than five years.

Shortly after the opening of the university in 1869 the State Survey was inaugurated under the direction of Professor N. H. Winchell and his first annual report to the regents was for the year 1872. In 1875 the survey had been in operation only three years, and exploration of the natural history of the state was only well started. In many fields of scientific interest the frontier began literally at the walls of the university building.

There was a nucleus of the State Museum of Natuiral History in the university even before the organization of the State Survey. The first official recognition of the museum is in the annual report of the Director of the Survey for the year 1875. Its subsequent history has been written and well illustrated by the late Direc- tor, Dr. Roberts, in commemoration of its removal in 1939 to a commodious and beautifully appointed new building.1 From the humble beginnings of the 1870's the growth of scientific activity in this area has been rapid and fruitful, as shown by a statistical analysis made by H. E. Zabel.2

During the year following his graduation Clarence must have saved practically all of the modest stipend received from the State Survey, for he asked for leave of absence to join the migration of American students to Germany, and the academic year 1881-1882 was spent in Leipzig studying zoology with Leuckart. He attended other lectures also, ranging from theology and psychology to petrology with Zirkel. A short time was spent in Berlin, where he visited Helmholtz's lecture room. His meager savings provided for only Qne year of foreign study, so he was unable to complete the requirements for the doctorate.

A few of Clarence's letters written from Germany during this period give vivid pictures of student life there. One of them, dated February 8, 1882, was published in the Saint Paul Pioneer Press of that year, occupying a column and a half of print under the title, "From a Leipzig Student's Diary." From Clarence's letter to Thomas Roberts of February 19, 1882, it is evident that this article was one of a series. Here he wrote:

My articles for the Press to which you kindly refer have been a source of regret to me-written at random times and

1 Thomas S. Roberts, Annals of the Museum of Natural His- tory, University of Minnesota, 1872-1939, Minneapolis, 1939.

2 H. E. Zabel, Minnesota's contribution to American men of science, New York, Clay-Adams Co., 1939.

some of them sent off with scarcely a second reading they must be very crude. My poverty has been my excuse and yet I do not get rich very fast thereby.

Much of Clarence's time during this decade was spent in the field. His publications included several minor papers and an extensive report on the microcrustacea of the Minnesota waters (192 pages and 30 plates, 1884). In the last years of this period, when he was mammalogist of the survey, he prepared a large quarto report on the mammals of Minnesota, including much anatomical detail illustrated by many pen drawings and spirited portraits of animals painted from life in water color. The regents of the university could not secure the funds for the publication of so expensive a volume and it was never issued. Selections from it were published by the survey in 1892.

After his return from Germany to Minneapolis he translated Hermann Lotze's Grundziige der Psycho- logie, with, significantly, an added chapter on the structure of the brain. This was written in 1882 but not published until 1885. Lotze was one of the pioneers (or precursors) of physiological psychology. In his preface to this book Clarence wrote:

It is believed that, in its present form, this volume will prove convenient: firstly, for use in connection with the little that can usually be said upon the physiology of the nervous system in the comparative anatomy of our ordinary colleges, at the same time furnishing a thoroughly reliable foundation upon which to add the more extended work in psychology; secondly, as a first book of psychology where for any reason the physiological side does not receive special attention in the philosophical department.

At that time Clarence published also a thin pamphlet entitled, Types of Animal Life, Selected for Laboratory Use in Inland Districts. This was the first part of a projected laboratory manual of original design. Other recent works, he said, deal chiefly with marine forms or such as require dissection. His practice was to introduce the students very early to small transparent animals that can be studied in the living condition under moderately low powers of the microscope. There were seven plates of simple line figures drawn with a stylus by his own hand directly on lithographic stone. Photo- engraving processes at that time were not available. He experimented with engraving of wood cuts, but this took too much time and the result was not as good as the lithographed prints.

These diversified activities were the natural expression of the breadth of his interests and his endeavor to see nature as a whole and as a going concern. It was not static fact that he was after, but process, nature in action. He was an ecologist in the broadest meaning of that word, and so from the beginning of his scientific work he took notice of animal behavior in its relations with the environing habitat, of bodily structure as the mechanism of action, and of man's place in the economy of nature. His later philosophy he called "dynamic realism."



VOL. 45, PT. 1, 1955] THE LIFE OF SCIENCE 35 Three days after his twenty-fifth birthday, on June

25, 1883, Clarence married Alice Keith, who during their courtship was a teacher in the public schools of Minneapolis. The wedding journey was characteristic. He took his bride to Duluth, then to a solitary camp far up the St. Louis River, where he made collections for the State Survey. Their only visitors were occasional Indian trappers passing on the river. When fortified with "firewater" these voyageurs were trouble- some and sometimes dangerous. So when they appeared he kept his wife out of sight in the tent and to any inquiry about the rest of his party he would say, "My partner is dead tired and asleep, so I keep quiet."

His wife's competence and devotion gave indispen- sable help in all of her husband's enterprises. At the present-writing (October, 1954) she is living with her daughter, Mrs. Seward H. Brush, in San Bernadino, California in her ninety-fourth year.

10. THE TEACHER THE TWO TEACHERS

Teaching was the vocation of both Herricks. Al- though, as we have seen, their professional training was very different, they had this in common: both were, for the most part, thrown upon their own resources with little formal guidance in the choice of educational methods. This preparation for teaching was not as good as it might have been had they not been obliged to earn their livings as they went along, but the experiences of both of them were fairly representative of those of hundreds of other students of their time. They fought their own battles, each in his own way, and seized such opportunities as were available.

Before passing on to the details of our scientific careers, it may be mentioned that both of us were honored with college professorships at an unusually tender age. In my case this was of doubtful advantage, but it had its compensations in an acceleration of the maturation of a callow youth. In our adolescent midwestern communities a youngster could get away with things that would not have been acceptable at the more conservative eastern seaboard.

Immediately after receiving my bachelor's degree I was appointed to a full-time post as teacher of science in Granville Academy, the preparatory department of Denison University. After only a year of that experience I was advanced at one jump to a full professorship of "the natural sciences" (all of the sciences except mathematics and astronomy) in Ottawa Univer- sity, a small college in Kansas.

Clarence was more fortunate, for he had good teaching experience under guidance early in his undergraduate course at the University of Minnesota. The few months when he was on his own as teacher of the Blaisdell District School was an appropriate and profitable conclusion of his teaching apprenticeship. Prob- ably his total number of hours of teaching was no

larger than mine before he received his professorial appointment at Denison University. He attained this rank at the age of twenty-six years. I reached it when only twenty-three years old, but my institution and I myself were then so immature that this comparison has no particular significance.

THE FIRST DENISON PERIOD In 1884, while Clarence was immersed in work for

his report on the mammals of Minnesota for the State Survey, there was a vacancy in the faculty of Denison University following the resignation of L. E. Hicks as Professor of Geology and Natural History. Negotia- tions with Clarence for this post were complicated by the fact that his report was not finished and he felt under obligation to complete this assignment. A com- promise was reached and he was granted leave of absence from the Survey for the last quarter of that year. He was given temporary appointment at Denison for the autumn term as Instructor in Geology and Natural History, to return to Minneapolis and resume work on the Survey the following January.

His teaching record during those three months was so brilliantly successful that he was forthwith elected to the professorship to begin duty in September of 1885. His productivity in the following three years has rarely been equaled in the history of American science, and the most noteworthy feature of it was the impress he left on the teaching profession. The teaching load was heavy, but the classes were small and he personalized his teaching in vivacious and unconventional ways, an influence that was soon diffused throughout the college, resulting in more sprightly teaching in all departments.

Field trips played an important part in this teaching and they were high spots in my own educational program. Clarence usually led the file and over his shoulder there would come at opportune moments a quotation from Kant or Goethe or William James, or perhaps an aphorism of his own apropos of nothing at all that was apparent to us. There certainly was no intent on his part to be didactic. We got the impression, not that he was trying to improve our minds, but that he was exercising his. Not one of these words of wisdom do I remember and I was too young to grasp the import of all that was said around our evening campfires; yet their educational value for me was perhaps not one whit the less for this. Some doors of my mind were set ajar, though it may have been decades later that I was able to push them wide open and see for myself what lay beyond.

During his first year at Denison, Clarence laid ambitious plans for regular summer field sessions for the more advanced students of the college. Though this project did not receive official recognition in the curric- ulum, it was carried out with his own resources in the summers of 1886 and 1887.

As we have seen, the Young Naturalists' Society made an important contribution to Clarence's scientific




education. Though the life of this society was short, its growth was so vigorous that in less than four years a seed was matured in Clarence's mind, a germinal idea which in due time developed into a larger and more fruitful scientific enterprise. The Young Naturalists educated themselves. Manifestly they would have profited greatly by the guidance of a mature and experienced leader if any had been available. Clarence recognized that if such a society were fitted into an organized teaching program its educational value would be very great. This was the seed that lay dormant in his mind for more than eight years and when planted on the Denison campus its growth was fast and strong, and so it has continued until now.

The Denison Scientific Association, which was founded on the sixteenth of April, 1887, has won a worthy place among the academies of science of the world. Here I wish to point out that one of the prime considerations that led Clarence to promote this organization was faith in its educational value for the students of the college. In this he was not disappointed. There were twenty-seven charter members. All but five of them were undergraduate students, and nearly half of these were registered in the classical course.1 It is significant that two of the faculty members were teachers of Latin and Greek respectively. In the succeeding years the humanities have been represented by more than forty other faculty members, and the scientific spirit infiltrates every department of the college. Of course, the converse is equally true and the scientific departments have been immeasurably liberalized and invigorated by this intimate association with the humanities.

It was my privilege to be present at the first meeting when the Denison Scientific Association was born and to sign the roll as a charter member. I was the runt of this litter of cubs, only a student in the preparatory department of the college, and my pride in this mem- bership has grown more and more buoyant from that day to this. The educational value of my brother's inspiring leadership was the theme of several speakers at the fiftieth anniversary of the founding of the As- sociation and I had the honor to be one of these.2 At that time Carey Croneis, now Provost of Rice Insti- tute said,3

Professor Herrick made the most of Denison's then slender resources, and demonstrated that through men, not equipment or endowment, institutions grow great. . .. Give me a few men of the Herrick stamp, and you can have all of the educational schemes since the turn of the century.

1 The names of these charter members are given in Aug. F. Foerste's paper on the Earlier history of the Denison Bulletin in Denison Univ. Bull., Jour. Sci. Lab. 29: 211, 1934.

2 C. Judson Herrick, Our endowment, Denison Univ. Bull., Jour. Sci. Lab. 32: 145-153, 1937.

3 Carey Croneis, Science and the college, ibid., 133-144.

Regarding the charter members of the Scientific As- sociation, he made this comment:

They were all young, most of them in their twenties, but a great many were to attain national, and even international distinction. Of the group, thirty percent were later listed in Who's Who in America. A half dozen were starred men in American Men of Science, and two of them became members of the National Academy of Sciences. As far as can be ascertained, practically all of the twenty-seven gained some real distinction in life, interestingly enough some of them in fields quite distinct from science. . . . Herrick's influence remained strong on all of these early associates. He was the central figure in a group whose members considered themselves his disciples.

The same theme was prominent in a series of com- memorative addresses delivered ten years earlier than those just cited. The late A. D. Cole, who as Pro- fessor of Physics and Chemistry was Clarence's colleague and a charter member of the Association, said of him,4

Rarely indeed have I known a man who so powerfully impressed those with whom he came into any sort of contact with a real longing to find out new truth by their own effort. His own work as a research student was great; his work in making and training other investigators was even greater. In a short obituary notice Professor Cole had this to say about Clarence's influence as a teacher at Denison: 5

His coming to Denison marked an epoch in the intellectual life of many who were then undergraduates. It was to them what the Reformation was to Europe. It marked the termination of authority, the beginning of intellectual liberty. Through all their previous studies they had dealt with facts carefully marshalled, concerning which two opinions could not exist. Knowledge was something to be mastered and used. It was given to them on authority, which they had neither occasion nor disposition to question.

Now came a man who quietly brushed aside authority and invited them to create knowledge. The idea was so novel and preposterous that they looked at each other, half- puzzled, half-amused, wondering whether there really could be profit in studies so undeveloped that they offered anything but unquestioned verities to the beginner. This was venturing on an uncharted sea; is it any wonder that like the sailors of Columbus we hesitated?

Testimonials of Clarence's preeminence as a teacher have come from men who have attained distinction in surprisingly diverse fields. At the centennial celebra- tion of Denison University in October, 1932, Edgar J. Goodspeed, Professor of Biblical and Patristic Greek in the University of Chicago, said:

When I came to Granville the scientific movement here was just getting into full swing; the scientific association was being formed and was giving even the most unpromising and unequipped among us an exhilarating sense of being for the first time in their lives hooked up with a really great and worthwhile undertaking. This movement

4Alfred D. Cole, Founding of the Denison Scientific Associ- ation, Bull. Sci. Lab., Denison Univ. 22: 181-186, 1927.

5 A. D. Cole, C. L. Herrick as a maker of scientific men, Bull. Sci. Lab., Denison Univ. 13: 1-13, 1905.




centered about two men, Alfred D. Cole and Clarence L. Herrick, whose names now stand high in the annals of American science. They were also gentlemen of great personal charm and strong influence.

The Scientific Association in 1950 established the annual Clarence Luther Herrick Memorial Lecture in honor of the founder.

Immediately following his arrival in Ohio, Clarence found so much of interest in the local geology that his research during the first two years was devoted chiefly to the stratigraphy, paleontology, and lithology of the Ohio rocks. In the third and last year of this period these studies were discontinued and he turned his attention to comparative neurology. This was the beginning of the project of teaching and research in psychobiology which was his major interest for the rest of his life.

We need not linger here over the details of this period. The appended bibliography indicates the range of his interests, and an extensive series of papers published by his students in the Bulletin of the Denison Laboratories (see chap. 16) gives eloquent testimony to the stimulating quality of his teaching. Denison claims to have trained more great men of science than any other liberal arts college of its size in this country, and this enviable record began seventy years ago when my brother and A. D. Cole were the only scientific members of that small faculty.

THE CINCINNATI PERIOD In September of 1888 Clarence resigned from Den-

ison to begin duty as Professor of Biology and Geology at the University of Cincinnati. Here he rapidly strengthened and enlarged his program of teaching and research in comparative neurology, and in the spring term of the next year I followed him to Cincinnati. I lived in his household and studied under his direction. From that time my scientific life has been vitally related with his, at first as a commensal parasite and later in a symbiosis of mutual advantage to the two members of the association.

There were no graduate students, but the undergraduates were a competent and industrious group inspired with enthusiasm by Clarence's extraordinary skill as a teacher. Several of these undergraduates completed research projects which were published. Most of the investigation was upon the comparative anatomy of the brain, for Clarence believed that the place to begin his program was the study of the evolution and embryology of the nervous system.

When I entered the University of Cincinnati in the spring of 1889 it was housed in a substantial brick building on the McMicken homestead, a bleak tract on the steep slope of the hill at the head of Vine Street. The big building looked down upon the old McMicken residence. then occuDied by the janitor and his brood.6

6 Now a municipally supported institution, the university's original endowment came from a bequest to the city by Charles

This was a period of hectic activity. The biological laboratory was a large room where a dozen or more advanced students worked individually on their separately assigned topics. The director's office was a tiny enclosed alcove in one corner, but it was seldom occupied, for Clarence did his work at one of the laboratory tables surrounded by his students.

Friday afternoons were devoted to an informal seminar, meeting in the laboratory surrounded by the work upon which we were engaged. Clarence thought it would stimulate interest and promote good fellowship to serve tea and light refreshments, with the cooperation of his wife. But there was an apparently insup- erable difficulty. The man whom his classmates would probably have ranked as the most able member of the group, with high marks in all his courses, including a year of voluntary computation at the Observatory with Astronomer Porter, was C. H. Turner, a Negro. He was a shy, reticent fellow with pleasing personality, the son of the janitor of a colored Baptist church in the city. The seminar group included the sons and daughters of several prominent southern families who might not be willing to drink tea with Turner, although he was personally liked by all of them.

The problem was put up to a discreet young man who volunteered to feel out the sentiments of the others and he reported back that there was no objection to the plan by anybody. On succeeding Fridays a long laboratory table was cleared, spread with a white cloth, and we all sat around it discussing our scientific reports over tea and cakes, a beautiful demonstration of the cardinal principle that science recognizes no dis- tinctions of sex, creed, or race. Indeed, after Turner's graduation in 1891, my brother's successor had him appointed as assistant in the department, and this in an institution the original endowment of which came to the city by bequest of a southern merchant and planter who stipulated that the endowment was for es- tablishing "two colleges for the education of white boys and girls." As a municipal institution supported in part by taxation, Negroes were and are admitted because the cost of their education is derived from public funds.

Turner was an indefatigable worker, as shown by his papers on the brains of birds and habits of spiders, completed while still an undergraduate and published in volumes 1 and 2 of the Journal of Comparative Neu- rology. He earned the Ph.D. degree in zoology at the University of Chicago in 1907, published papers on the Entomostraca, and collaborated with my brother in the preparation of the monograph on this group of Crus- tacea, published in 1895. At the time of his death (in McMicken, who died in 1858. A board of directors was elected by the City Council in 1870, and the university was opened in 1873. Two years later the brick building was completed and occupied. A historical sketch of the University of Cincinnati, by Raymond Walters, was published in the Univ. of Cin. Bull. 36, Nov., 1940.




1923) he was teaching biology in a high school for Negroes in St. Louis.7

I spent the summer of 1891 in my brother's home in Cincinnati, completing the requirements for the bachelor's degree, collecting plants, and dissecting fishes taken from the Ohio River. I am no fisherman, but if I were, fishing in the Ohio River in midsummer would offer small attraction. In early morning I was on the wharf where the fishing boats came in, selecting from the catch the specimens that interested me. These were for the most part species of little or no market value. The fishermen's culls were my meat. The rest of the day was spent in the old McMicken building half way up the slope of the hill above Vine Street. This was a south exposure and our laboratory windows were just on the level of the top of the smokestack of the big Moerlein Brewery, from which clouds of smoke poured in with the prevailing torrid south wind. Under these conditions the fish soon ceased to be fresh, and for several years thereafter the smell of fish would nau- seate me, a disability from which I did not recover until, under the auspices of the U. S. Fish Commission at Woods Hole, I worked with fish freshly caught from salt water.

In March of 1891 the first number of the Journal of Comparative Neurology was issued. The circumstances which led to the establishment of this enterprise and some details of its early history are included here in Part III.

During the last half of that year President W. R. Harper of the University of Chicago was negotiating with Clarence for an appointment on his faculty, to begin with the opening of the reorganized university in October of the next year. The proposition made was attractive to Clarence because it promised to give him the opportunity to develop at once and under very favorable auspices the comprehensive program of psychobiology upon which he had set his heart. Accordingly, in December of 1891 he resigned his professorship in Cincinnati and planned to spend the next six months in Europe in preparation for the difficult task before him. He was elected by the trustees of the Universitv of Chicago as Professor in the Department of Biology January 29, 1892. The unfortunate events which followed and their tragic consequences are narrated in chapter 19.

His resignation from the University of Cincinnati was accepted with regret. At a meeting of the Board of Directors on December 28, 1891, this testimonial was entered in the minutes:

The Board of Directors desires to unite with the Faculty in an expression of its very high appreciation of the services of Professor Herrick in the department of Natural Historv and also of his eminent attainments in biological

7A brief sketch of the life of Charles Henry Turner was written by Aug. F. Foerste in his paper on the Earlier history of the Bulletin of the Scientific Laboratories of Denison Uni- versity, Denison Univ. Bull., Jour. Sci. Lab. 29: 218, 1934.

science. In the short space of three years he has not only widened the scope and improved the character of the instruction in Natural History but he has in other ways greatly added to the reputation and success of the department, and his resignation at this time, to take a position elsewhere, is deeply regretted.

This appreciation of Clarence's work took practical form about two years later. When the position which he had occupied there again became vacant, he was invited to return; but at that time he was too ill to consider it.

THE SECOND DENISON PERIOD

My brother's resignation from the University of Chicago, June 7, 1892, presented an opportunity to the trustees of Denison University which they immediately seized. In that same month he was elected Professor of Biology, with a small subsidy for the Journal of Comparative Neurology and assurance of support for his research.

Early in 1892 while Clarence was in Berlin I was teaching in the preparatory department of Denison University. At that time he wrote me that if the Chi- cago project developed according to plan it might be to my advantage to enter the University of Chicago as a graduate student the following autumn and there prepare myself for subsequent participation in his program in Chicago or elsewhere. This suggestion made strong appeal to me. I was, accordingly, prepared to respond favorably to his later proposal, made in the spring of 1893 while I was teaching in Kansas, that I return to Denison and participate in his enterprise there. Our plan was that I would qualify myself to take over the anatomical part of the program and Clarence would devote himself to comparative psychology and the genetics of behavior.

The college classes were small and Clarence's personal magnetism and his stimulating teaching soon drew out from the student body a group of about half a dozen who were given minor research problems in neurology and training in research methods. Several short papers by these undergraduates were published in a series of Laboratory Notes in the Journal in 1893.

These students wished to remain at Denison for a year of graduate study with Clarence. This was au- thorized, and the autumn term of 1893 opened with these students enrolled in candidacy for the Master of Science degree. At the close of the spring term of that year I resigned my position as Professor of the Natural Sciences in Ottawa University, Kansas, and entered Denison University as teaching fellow in neurology, planning to spend at least one year in study under my brother's direction.

In the spring of 1893 the college laid the corner stone of the large and well-appointed Barney Science Hall, and when I returned to Denison in the summer Clar- ence was absorbed with supervision of the construction and equipment of his new laboratories. I immediately




began the study of his microscopic sections of the brains of fishes. In the autumn term I did the required teaching, attended Clarence's lectures, and studied French.

Near the end of that term Clarence had a severe attack of influenza which was neglected and he carried on as usual. After conducting the last examination of the term he came home too ill to correct the papers, and that night he had a violent pulmonary hemorrhage. He was seriously ill for many weeks, but by early summer regained sufficient strength to enable him to move with his wife and nine-year-old son to a more favorable climate. They went first to Minneapolis, where he was under the care of his boyhood chum, Dr. Thomas S. Roberts. The climate of New Mexico was recommended, so he decided to take up his residence there, arriving in Albuquerque near the end of July.

There was no one on the Denison faculty qualified to take over his courses, but the emergency had to be coped with in some fashion. Some of the courses were assigned to the Professor of Geology, W. G. Tight, who had been trained by Clarence and subsequently was his successor as president of the University of New Mexico. The other courses fell to me by default, although I was already registered as a student in two of them. This put me on a hot spot, but there seemed to be no alternative.

The most urgent of my problems was a course in histology for which a half-dozen students were registered, and I was one of them. This was not the first time that I had undertaken to teach a subject that I had never studied in college, and I hoped to be able to keep at least one day's jump ahead of the others. I had never s,een a good textbook of histology and had only vague ideas of what it was about. William James told how he drifted into psychology from medicine and added, "the first lecture on psychology I ever heard being the first I ever gave." My introduction to histology was similar.

Spread open on Clarence's study table I found an uncut copy of Hertwig's Die Zelle und Gewebe, just off the press. A glance at the German text and the exquisite figures suggested to me that this was probably the book that he planned to use as the basis of his course in histology. The pictures of dividing cells with brilliant karyokinetic figures intrigued me, for I recognized at once that my own sections of amphibian tad- poles showed almost identical patterns with equal clarity. At that time mitotic figures were rarities to be viewed with awe and reverence as symbols of unknown mysteries of the vital processes (as they still are). We devoted most of the winter term to Hertwig's book. The day before each two-hour exercise I would read one of his chapters and then search among my histological slides for sections which illustrated the structures there described. At each class exercise we would gather around a laboratory table with a microscope at hand for each member of the group. The chapter for the day would first be summarized; then with Hert-

wig's pictures before us the selected slides were distributed, examined, compared with the printed pictures and descriptions, and discussed. The result was that the instructor had a very stimulating course in cytology. What the others got out of it I cannot say, but I am sure that no one of us could have passed the most elementary examination in histology in any college or medical school.

I also took over the management of the Journal of Comparative Neurology, for I knew that its suspension at that time would break my brother's heart, a heart which was kept pulsating only by occasional administration of nitroglycerine. I decided that this cherished scientific nursling must not be allowed to die of neglect.

Clarence's part of our joint program was thus brought to an untimely end. I remained at Denison for thirteen years (one of them on leave of absence for study at Columbia University) and did my best to carry on in the sector of our enterprise that was assigned to me. Comparative study of the nervous systems of lower vertebrates has been my chief concern for more than fifty years. My early training was deficient in psychology, so at Columbia I chose that as my secondary subject and throughout the year spent two days a week in Professor Cattell's laboratory. I did not have Clarence's penchant for philosophy nor his familiarity with its literature and traditions, but this interest was quickened by my excursions into the domain of animal behavior. My files contain a thick sheaf of letters that passed between us after he left Granville while I was trying to get my orientation in a naturalistic philosophy that was consistent with my biological experience. I made copious notes of my reading and reflection and from these one short paper was extracted and published in volume 2 of the Journal of Philosophy before my departure from Denison.

Our search for a scientifically and philosophically acceptable foundation for psychobiology did not take us very far, but now after lapse of fifty years it is a satisfaction to remember that we did play some part in awakening interest in a movement that today is so vigorous and fruitful.

The middle years of my brother's adventurous decade in New Mexico were devoted to the reorganization of the University of New Mexico. In addition to onerous administrative and promotional duties, he carried a heavy teaching schedule and did an astonishing amount of investigation. His teaching during these few years was probably more stimulating and productive than ever before, as will appear in due course.

11. THE FIELD NATURALIST

IN THE BEGINNING

My brother's interest in out-of-door nature began before I was born and among my early recollections are incidents of his adventures in the field. The first of these were the aimless gropings of childish curiosity and




questionings about the meaning of it all. This attitude was dominant as long as he lived and he was a collector to the end of his days. In later life the search was for facts rather than specimens and, indeed, the specimens were usually neglected after examination.

One of my early memories is of a letter received by the family from Clarence while he was away on a camping and collecting expedition with Tom Roberts and one or two other schoolmates. The boys were driving through the woods in a wagon and the letter included a graphic pencil sketch of a mighty tree riven by jagged forks of lightning and falling shattered across the road a few feet in front of the horse's head. As I now review the sketch in retrospect, the time schedule seems a little out of gear, for the bolt of lightning and the fallen trunk could not have been registered on his retina at the same instant; but the anachronism was not apparent to my childish mind and I have no doubt that the thrilling incident played some part in quickening my interest in natural history.

It was at about this time that Clarence and Tom dis- sected a whooping crane and discovered the long coils of the windpipe which provide the resonance chamber for the whoops. The observation was not new to science, but the boys did not know that and their enthusiasm about it infected the youngest as well as the older members of our family. This natural inquisitiveness of two untaught boys and their persistent search for the reasons for what they found point the finger of proph- esy toward their later success as distinguished naturalists. The life of science was their way of life from the beginning.

The common boyish acquisitiveness was well developed in me also. It ranged from bits of string to post- age stamps, but it lacked the purposeful directive that was dominant in my brother. Fortunately for me, this aimless impulse was soon canalized by Clarence into an ambition to make an herbarium of local plants. Be- cause Clarence's zeal as a collector was the overt expression of his deepest motivations, his field excursions will now be described at length.

So far as I now remember the first of Clarence's collecting trips beyond the home place which I was privileged to join was a hunt for fossils. Willie and I accompanied him as he drove our light one-horse wagon a few miles across the prairie to the brink of the Mis- sissippi gorge near the mouth of Minnehaha Creek. Leaving the wagon there, we clambered down a steep but safe trail and there separated, Clarence with geological hammer searching the ledges for fossils and the younger brothers exploring the face of the cliff for whatever of adventure might be found.

The trail wound its way down among crags clothed with primeval forest, an eerie tunnel through rocky passes overarched by thickets of greenery. To an imaginative child every deeply shadowed corridor was a thrilling mystery of enchantment, peopled with nature's

children and haunted by the ghosts of yesterday's In- dian warriors.

About a quarter of the way down toward the water I turned aside following what seemed to be a well trodden path on a shelf of rock and soon found myself on a narrow shoulder between vertical walls, down at the right and up at the left. The floor of the shelf was smooth, level, and unobstructed. Heedlessly push- ing on, as my feet swished through the lush fernery my eyes roved, taking in the rugged beauty of the scene. My glance turned to the path where my uplifted foot was about to fall. It was not there! Nothing was there. If that step had been taken I would have plunged down and down and then over a pile of rubble into the swirling eddies of the turbulent river. Leaping back I sat me down all of a tremble. I recovered the poise of my body immediately, but the mental shock left its scar and for many years my frequent nightmare was the dream of actually taking that unfinished step. Re- joining my brothers, I said nothing about my adventure and now for the first time am telling it to anyone, but it left a very deep impress on the mind of a seven- year-old boy. One false step taken innocently but heedlessly. This lesson has helped me over some hard places. Almost every day brings its major or minor question-shall I take that step? And this inclines one to take a more tolerant attitude toward the missteps of others.

The yawning abyss is not always visible. Fifty years later I was caught by darkness on an unfamiliar mountain trail in the Canadian Rockies many miles from camp. The narrow trace was beaten smooth by many feet and safe, but off the trail the inky blackness might conceal anything, or nothing but vacancy. Every step must be tentative. Does the boot touch the trail with its familiar feel? If not, lift it and try again. That is the way life is.

The dummy line with its erratic trackage and smoky little engine ran out Nicollet Avenue, then across a stretch of prairie to the racetrack and a pavilion on Lake Calhoun, supported by excursionists from the city and optimistic speculators in suburban real estate. One Saturday afternoon Clarence took his two little brothers on a collecting trip to sample the crustacean fauna of Lake Calhoun. Upon arrival at the pavilion with his collecting net of cheesecloth, he was vexed to find that he had forgotten to bring the wide-mouthed bottles necessary for transportation of the catch. A rummage around the pavilion uncovered several big square whisky bottles, empty of course. Makeshift corks were whittled from sticks and the success of the expedition was assured. On the return trip, the bottles carefully wrapped in a newspaper, rested on the seat between the two little brothers, and then something went wrong. Our hastily whittled stoppers did not fit very well and the leakage spoiled the paper wrapping. Clarence left the train at 26th Street for immediate study of his specimens at home, but the younger brothers stayed on the




train to visit their Grandpa in town. The other occu- pants of the car were treated to the edifying spectacle of two small boys handing out three, big bottles of whisky. One of the men in the next seat dipped his finger into the puddle of lake water left on our bench and after putting it to his nose remarked, "Not very stimulating." There he made a big mistake. How could that man be expected to understand the stimulating effect of those three quarts of odorless lake water upon the young college student who had just stepped off the train? The contents of those bottles sustained an enthusiasm for study of the life that swarmed in our local waters, an enthusiasm that eventuated within a few years in the publication of a classical work illustrated by thirty plates on the Crustacea of Minnesota.

STATEWIDE EXCURSIONS

During the second half of Clarence's senior year at the university his father was pastor of the village church at Forest City, seventy miles farther west, and Clarence lived with his grandfather at 81 South Sixth Street. Forest City was a tiny hamlet at the border between the "Big Woods" and the vast expanse of western prairie. On the Crow River there was a flour mill with dam and millpond. A few weeks after Clar- ence's graduation his father resigned his pastorate and returned to our home place in Minneapolis. He left in the millpond at Forest City a small flat-bottomed rowboat and Clarence, accompanied by his brother Will, went back to Forest City with equipment for a collecting trip. Starting in the boat below the dam, they drifted down the Crow River to its junction with the Mississippi, thence to the falls at Minneapolis. Camp- ing, hunting, and trapping by the way, a week was spent in collecting data on the local fauna and specimens for the State Museum.

The river was in flood from summer rains and one morning as they were swept around a sharp bend they saw directly in front a few yards away a low bridge. The few inches between the swirling water and the sills of the bridge were just enough to give clearance for the boat. There was no time to duck, so they grabbed the bridge and clambered upon it just in time to see their boat careening around the next bend. Will instantly plunged after it and with powerful strokes overtook the heavily loaded skiff before it was wrecked in the white water of the rapids below.

The Crow River wound its tortuous way through the Big Woods, which at that time was a trackless wilderness of almost impenetrable forest. Earlier in that year Will and I had never ventured far into the deep shadows of its mystery. This unmapped tangle of dense undergrowth overtopped by enormous trees was not a safe place for inquisitive boys untrained in woodcraft.

Forty-three years later on a camping trip I visited Forest City in a motor car. We camped in almost perfect seclusion on the main (and only) street of the

deserted village. The mill and its pond had vanished. My father's church stood in abandoned desolation. In the morning I said, "Now I will see the Big Woods again." So we turned the car to the east, crossed the bridge, and drove through the fringe of scrub on the river bank. Then disillusion. The great trees which had inspired our childish admiration had a different interest for our successors, the lumbermen. During the intervening forty years this magnificent stand of timber had been marketed and all that remained of it was a scattering of small woodlots on prosperous farms.

The Crow River was one of many streams that Clar- ence explored in this way by boat, including the Minne- sota and Mississippi Rivers. Reference was made in the introductory paragraphs to a collecting trip with Father in Alabama. This was in the autumn of 1882 and Clarence devoted himself exclusively to search for freshwater microcrustaceans, some results of which were incorporated in his "Final Report," in the Minne- sota Survey published in 1884.

In April of 1885, when Clarence was mammalogist for the Survey and I was a freshman in the Minne- apolis High School, I accompanied him as assistant on an expedition down the Mississippi River in our now well-traveled skiff. We launched the boat just below the falls with Clarence at the oars facing me seated in the stern to guide the boat with a steering oar. The river was at high water from spring freshets and my job as helmsman was to steer the clumsy craft between the huge rocks that filled the channel. I knew nothing at all about the management of a boat in such dangerous water, but as we shot past the boulders drenched with spray I learned fast and got the thrill of my young life as we sped through the gorge from the falls to Fort Snelling. Here we entered the placid water of the navigable river and from that point we could drift leisurely with the current, stopping for hunting or trapping at favorable spots.

At the end of the week we made camp on a low island at the head of Lake Pepin. We pitched the tent on the highest ground a few feet above the water level at the upper end of the island and planned to spend the Sun- day, for the island was densely wooded and promised good collecting. Sunday morning opened with clear skies and genial warmth. The quiet beauty of nature in repose, the peace of solitude with no sign or sound of any human presence except ourselves, awoke in us feelings of reverence and inspiration, though no word of this was spoken.

After breakfast I went out with the gun for an aimless stroll. Some distance away atop a tall dead tree was a small bird. Yielding to a thoughtless boyish impulse to try a long shot, I raised the gun and fired. Upon retrieving the bird I met Clarence coming out of the tent. With a troubled face he looked at me, then at the bird in my hand.

"What are you going to do with it, Charlie?" "Oh, nothing. I just wanted to see if I could hit it."




"Do you think the murder of an innocent song bird for sport is a good way to begin a Sunday morning?"

That was all. It was enough; and never since that day have I ever intentionally killed a living thing for mere sport or without good reason.

That night was chill and the embers of the big fire in front of the open tent flaps were covered with ashes before we were snugly rolled in our blankets. In the pitch blackness preceding dawn we were awakened by the hissing of water in the coals of our fire and by the squeaks and squeals of the little animals of the forest scurrying toward higher ground to escape the flood. Several inches of wet snow had fallen and evidently in the upper reaches of the river this had been preceded by torrential rains, for the water was rising rapidly. Waves were already lapping our tent pegs and it would be only a few minutes before our island would be completely submerged. The wet duffle was hastily thrown into the boat and after several hours of hard work at the oars against the current and blinding wind-driven snow we reached Red Wing, our nearest town be- numbed with cold but well content with the salvage of all our collections. Here we took the train for Minne- apolis, after shipping the boat and camp equipment by freight.

EXPEDITIONS FROM DENISON

At Denison University Clarence was Professor of Geology and Natural History and all domains of this wide field were cultivated with boundless enthusiasm and remarkable versatility. He was very active in the field and every detail of the face of nature was scanned, including glacial geology and lists of the local fauna and flora. Meteorology was not neglected and for several years my brother Will and I served as official observers for the U. S. Weather Bureau, making daily records of weather conditions, temperature, humidity, and barometric readings as required. The natural features of Licking County were thoroughly explored, chiefly by field parties on foot. Students participated in most of these excursions and they were closely articulated with the teaching program.

Clarence spent the summer of 1886 with a party of students on the northeast shore of Lake Superior at Michipicoten Bay and vicinity. A little sailboat was chartered and the party, all of whom were landlubbers without experience in handling sails, took great risks in those treacherous waters in order to visit parts of that rugged coast which were otherwise inaccessible. Clarence's interests here were primarily mineralogical, but plants and other specimens were collected.

The following summer vacation was devoted to a more extensive tour by a party consisting of Clarence and his two brothers, first through the Allegheny Moun- tains of West Virginia and southward to the mountains of North and South Carolina, thence to the Gulf of Mexico for Crustacea and north for a second visit to

Lake Superior. Clarence again was concerned chiefly with minerals and I was the botanist of the party.

The first tent camp in the middle of June was in West Virginia near Hinton and here Clarence was laid up for several days with dysentery. This troubled him later from time to time and toward the end of summer there was complication with malaria, though he was not again completely disabled until the return from Lake Superior. In Minneapolis he was treated by his old chum, Dr. Thomas S. Roberts, with prompt recovery. This expedition involved considerable hardship and exposure, but Clarence's restless energy enabled him to carry on even when seriously ill.

The itinerary from June 10 to July 6 included camps in southern West Virginia; Radford, Virginia; Mar- shall, Charleston, and Asheville, North Carolina; and Spartanburg, South Carolina; thence by rail to At- lanta, Georgia. We kept so far as possible to the high country, traveling on foot, by wagon and by rail as occasion demanded. On some long trips where no pas- senger service was available we rode in the caboose of freight trains. We saw and experienced life in the raw and every day brought new adventures in what was to us a wonderland.

Our few days at Asheville in Buncombe County were crowded with interest, including some of the local buncombe which has enriched our language with one of the choicest Americanisms. We were fatigued and bedraggled from tent life and Clarence decided that recuperation at a hotel was in order. Asheville's fame as a fashionable resort was at its inception and we inadvertently chose the one hotel which was catering to this clientele. By diligent brushing and scrubbing we made ourselves as presentable as possible and fortunately there were few other guests.

Our enjoyment of the unaccustomed luxury was tempered by the daily increment of the hotel bill. Clar- ence had written to have a remittance from the Gran- ville bank awaiting him at Asheville, but this had not come in. Through the local bank he arranged for funds to be sent by telegraph, but this too was delayed. A few days more at the hotel would eat up all of the expected remittance, leaving not enough for railroad tickets to get us out of town. There was nothing to do but check out of the hotel, engage a wagon to carry us into the hills, and there resume tent life.

The next afternoon Clarence walked into town to visit the bank and while botanizing in the hills I found a stand of creeping thyme (Thymus serpylluni) out of its recorded range and apparently indigenous. To- wards evening as Clarence was toiling up the trail with arms full of bundles and pockets bulging with tin cans I ran down to meet him holding out my prize.

"Look, Clarence. I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows."

"Yes," he grunted, "and I know a bank where a more wild time will blow tomorrow afternoon if that




wire from Granville does not come in. Our last cent has been spent for this grub and when it is gone we go hungry."

We did not starve, though the identification at the bank must have presented some problems. We looked like bums and had not an acquaintance within hundreds of miles. How Clarence wangled it I do not know; perhaps the delay was due to exchange of telegrams between the two banks.

At Atlanta we separated. Clarence and Will went on to Mobile and thence to Lake Superior, but I returned to Granville, for my funds were exhausted, and indeed so was I. It was fortunate that I did so, for I never was as husky as my brothers and the rigors of the northern trip probably would have been too much for me. The remainder of that summer was more profitably spent in building up my collection of the flora of Ohio.

THE COLLECTOR AND HIS COLLECTIONS

The few years of my brother's residence in Cincinnati were devoted to intense neurological research in the laboratory and there was little need or opportunity for field work. In August of 1899 I accompanied him to the high country of eastern Kentucky and later there *were occasional shorter trips, but these were planned more for recreation than for systematic collecting. During the New Mexico decade Clarence was in the field about half the time. Indeed, this entire period may be regarded as a continuous scientific expedition. These diversified and adventurous activities are described in later chapters.

Some details of Clarence's field study of the natural history of Ohio have been published l and are summarized here. In the early years at Denison the college collections were stored in makeshift cabinets wherever space could be found for them, with incomplete labels on scraps of paper. As fast as the material was collected it was worked up, then laid aside and too often neglected. There was no attempt to systematize the collection and during successive removals labels were lost or misplaced and many specimens were discarded. Upon completion of the commodious Barney Science Hall in 1894, the collections were assembled and clas- sified. The east wing of this building was designed as a museum, with a high central court and galleries on all sides. There were constant accessions and soon the museum included a good herbarium of local flora, some birds and mammals, an excellent series of fishes presented to the college by the U. S. Fish Commission, and a large collection of fossils.

Then came the tragic fire of March 30, 1905, which destroyed Barney Hall and most of its contents. The zoological and botanical specimens were lost, but the greater part of the geological collection was salvaged

1 C. Judson Herrick, The natural history collections of Den- ison University, Denison Univ. Bull., Jour. Sci. Lab. 39: 175- 182, 1946.

by heroic efforts of the staff and students. Professor F. J. Wright tells me that two of the most prized and instructive specimens saved are small blocks of Solen- hofen lithographic limestone with polished faces en- graved by my brother's hand. One of these is a plate of figures of crustaceans which was published in the Bulletin of the Denison laboratories.

The most distressing consequence of early neglect and the ravages of fire was the disappearance or loss of identity of many priceless type specimens of the new species of fossils described in the early volumes of the Denison Bulletin. Professor Wright informs me that he has exhausted every possibility in an effort to locate these types, but without success.

A review of the history of my brother's numberless collecting expeditions, large and small, seems to me to reveal in sharp relief the salient features of his character and of his contributions to science-his restless energy, resourcefulness, contagious enthusiasm, wide range of interests and competence, tireless industry, consuming passion for knowledge. And also, alas! some deficiencies that hampered all of his work and too often frustrated his ambitions. From the first am- ateurish endeavors of the Young Naturalists to his final exploration of the geology and natural history of New Mexico, his interests were spread over so wide a field that his reconnaissance surveys were fragmentary, and he had neither time nor patience to work up the data and material collected in well-integrated and systematic order. He was a radical individualist and most of his enterprises were personal ventures without institutional or other outside support or collaboration in organization, operation, or study of the material. It inevitably followed that the more extensive field trips were not well financed and equipped. The results achieved, if measured by the value of specimens preserved, were quite inadequate return for the money, time and labor expended.

It is true that a large amount of material was collected about which many reports were published and this exploration was valuable pioneer work. But the recompense that weighs most heavily, if measured in the scales of actual worth for human welfare, is neither of these things. The casual way in which many of these trips were undertaken and their informality gave them an esprit de corps and an educational value of different quality from anything attainable in larger and more systematically organized field trips or great scientific expeditions sent out under official auspices with adequate staff and equipment.

A keen interest in everything around him is the hall- mark of the naturalist, and with Clarence this was a possessive interest. So he began to collect things, but physical possession was not what he wanted except as means to an end. There was nothing in his makeup comparable with the miserly greed of the collector of rarities whose ambition is to have exclusive ownership of something unique just for the sake of having




it. The specimens were collected for what they might teach, and all too often after he had got from them the information that he wanted the objects themselves were neglected or discarded. It was not things but knowledge about things that he craved.

Though much of the physical property collected has been lost, the other values acquired are imperishable. They have been implanted where neither moth nor rust can corrupt, in the stream of life itself, for they reappear in the persons inspired by indomitable energy and courage directed with rare insight toward those things that make life more abundant and satisfying. My brother attracted boys and made men of them, and this collection of men influenced by his life is more valuable than anything that can be stored in museums.

12. THE NEW MEXICO DECADE

THE QUEST FOR HEALTH

About six months after my brother's first pulmonary hemorrhage the decision was made to try to regain his health in the favorable climate of New Mexico. Ac- companied by his wife and nine-year-old son Harry, he arrived in Albuquerque July 29, 1894, and there the family remained for several months.

This record of the following ten years is drawn chiefly from his letters and those of his wife and also from my own recollections. I was with him for a month in the spring of 1895 and on several occasions after his death I have camped in the terrain of his activities. This gave me first-hand knowledge of his way of life and the local conditions. I learned to share his love of the high mesa country, its deserts, its mountains, and its mysteries, and to reach a sympathetic understanding of his adventures in the promotion of the territorial university and the surveying, irrigation and mining operations in which he was engaged.

When he first arrived in Albuquerque he was very feeble and quite helpless, but he rapidly recovered strength and after the first few months was amazingly active and productive. This strenuous activity had de- plorable consequences. He should have spent at least a year in tranquil serenity with abundance of nutritious food to build up his resistance against the ravages of the tubercle bacilli. But this he could not do. Serene inactivity was something he could not endure. His restless and perfervid nature demanded active expression, so that no reserves were available at critical periods of acute pulmonary and cardiac involvement. There were occasional hemorrhages from the lungs throughout this period.

He wisely chose to live in the open as much as possible, but unwisely undertook long exhausting expeditions and other enterprises that involved severe hardship. These years were crowded with adventure under the most diverse conditions, but only a few of the salient features can be mentioned here. One of these features must be given especial emphasis. The heroic de-

votion of his wife and young son, one or both of whom were almost always with him, undoubtedly prolonged his life and contributed largely to his productiveness. The boy Harry (Henry Nathan, Jr.) was charged by his mother with the responsibility of his father's safety on the long and often hazardous collecting and surveying expeditions which Clarence undertook for the support of his family. On more than one occasion the lad saved his father's life.

For the first three years of this period Clarence was on leave of absence from Denison University, with a small stipend, and he tried his utmost to render some service in return. The only available way to do this was to collect natural history specimens (geological and biological) for use in the college. This he did assidu- ously for several years. It is unfortunate that most of this material was lost in the Denison fire of 1905, but fortunately this disaster happened after his death and he never knew about it.

At all times during this decade the problem of financial support for his family was acute and a source of constant anxiety. In addition to the three of them in New Mexico, there were two small daughters living in Granville in the care of his wife's mother. In the Territory at that time the only available source of income for which he was qualified was land and mineral. surveying. Most of this work was in rugged country. It all involved hardship and some of it was dangerous. Both before and after his tenure as president of the university he earned the major part of his living expenses in this way. He also participated in several mining and colonization projects, but these were all disastrous failures.

Clarence's previous wide experience as a field naturalist served him well here, but he had much to learn about life in the open in this unfamiliar climate and topography. This experience he acquired the hard way. In the desert one needs to know where he is going, what he will find when he gets there, and what to do if he guesses wrong in an unfamiliar region. If the water hole at the projected camp site is found to be dry and choked with dead cattle, he must be prepared for the emergency and he must not make a mistake. He must depend on his own resources when ac- cidents happen many miles from a road or human habi- tation. He must learn to cope with sand storms and blizzards and to avoid destruction by flood waters when the arroyos "come down" after torrential rains. And these adventures are not to be recommended as therapeutic measures for a tuberculous patient.

The frequent recurrence of critical illness caused only temporary interruption of strenuous activity. He succeeded in overcoming or circumventing apparently in- superable obstacles only to be frustrated by incompe- tence or chicanery of his associates. This led to an attitude of despondency and cynicism which was quite out of harmony with his natural animation and reliant assurance. But his irrepressible and contagious enthu-




siasm always triumphed and the work went on-if not what he wanted to do, then what he could do as things were. He did pioneer work in a surprising variety of fields, including publications on economic, geological, biological, medical, academic and philosophical subjects. I wish I could give an adequate description of the stimulating influence he exerted for the further development of the bounties of nature by which he was surrounded, although these for the most part were still in the raw. He was the first to see many of these resources and to bring them to public notice.

SCIENTIFIC INTERESTS

Five days after his arrival in New Mexico my brother was laying plans for extensive collections for the Denison museum and wrote, "I am now watching sand burrowing bees and have drawings of the bee and the modified fore feet, etc., and also I expect to work up the commensalistic relations. I have already collected a new species of Diaptomus and a few other Crustacea from a fish pool near here." At about that time he said, "I have not yet seen any geology but the woods are full of it."

Two days later he wrote:

We drove out yesterday to the university building which stands by itself on a still higher and more distant level east of town and near the waterworks tank. It seems very dreary in spite of a few trees which are being coaxed to grow upon the barren sand. The building is a substantial brick with two full stories, a high basement, and an assembly room under the roof. Everything is very primitive and seven professors and 100 students indicate its size.

In this letter he said, "I am charmed with the climate, at least above ground," but feared that he had not long to enjoy it.

Before the end of the first month he was clamoring for literature on the local fauna and flora. On August 30 he wrote, "I am undoubtedly improving and yet dare not say much. Yesterday Alice and I drove three or four miles down the river. I got five birds and a great stack of plants. The insect collection grows slowly. Work on the Crustacea goes on slowly." He was already preparing the plates for his big work on microcrustaceans which was published in 1895.

In September he outlined an elaborate plan for a biological and geological survey of New Mexico and asked whether Professor Tight and I would be interested to cooperate provided the territorial legislature would make a small appropriation for expenses. This, of course, was a fantastically impractical project, for the local politicians were not appropriating money where it would deliver no votes; but the project illustrates Clarence's prescient vision of things to come, a vision that began to materialize under his guidance during the ten years of his residence in the Territory.

In November he felt strong enough to leave the shelter of a roof, so he equipped a small canvas-covered wagon for life in the open with his wife and son. For

motive power he bought from a poverty-stricken local man a pair of Mexican ponies. They were vicious brutes unbroken to harness, but they had been so starved that they were hardly able to stand alone and would lean against each other for support. Clarence, weak as he was, could manage them. By liberal feeding he built up their strength, meanwhile gentling them and teaching them to work together. During the next few years the little family of three persons with this primitive outfit explored many hundreds of miles of desert waste and mountain canyons.

These scraggy ponies taught my brother some lessons too. To illustrate his method of dealing with psychological problems, I quote in chapter 21 from one of his last published papers (146), a short but sagacious article on "The Beginnings of Social Reaction in Man and Lower Animals." In January of 1895 he wrote:

I have been feeling well and strong and gaining flesh. Reached 142 pounds last week. I have a good deal of courage at such times but know how insecure my basis for it is. Harry and I have found a rich exposure of coal-measure fossils a few miles away and I am much tempted by its pro- pinquity. I walk three or four miles and climb 500 feet or so-and pay for it, frankness impels me to add.

THE STRUGGLE FOR SUBSISTENCE Visionary schemes of large-scale development of New

Mexico's natural resources were already taking concrete form. "I am seriously thinking of going into an irrigation and colonization project," he wrote, and the plan was outlined. "When the truth about the state is known there will be a flood of immigration hither. These things suggest themselves and if I can't go back it matters little what I do so it coins the dollar."

From that time on he spent much of his time in the open, exploring the geology of the Territory and its mineral resources. He picked up a dollar on occasion in every possible way-by taxidermy, land surveying, and commercial assaying. He had no professional training in mining or any other department of engineering, but his thorough knowledge and practical experience in geology, mineralogy, and lithology gave him advantages that the professional mining engineers lacked. As soon as this became known to the mining operators he was frequently called in as a consultant. After 1895 land and mineral surveying provided the larger part of his income. This was not from choice but from necessity.

In the spring of 1895 he discovered an abandoned and dilapidated log cabin in Hop Canyon at the base of Magdalena Mountain. This he purchased and reno- vated. He named it Pinon Ranch and used it as family headquarters at intervals thereafter. In September of that year the two little girls, Laura and Mabel, came with their grandmother from Granville to the ranch in Hop Canyon and the family was reunited.

The Pinon Ranch comprised several hundred acres of rugged foothills clothed with a good stand of pine trees, situated five miles from the mining camp of




Kelly. The site of the cabin was beautiful beyond description, but the altitude of eight thousand feet put too great a strain on his weak lungs and it proved to be an unwise investment.

It was my good fortune to spend the month of April of 1895 with Clarence. The Hop Canyon cabin was not ready for occupancy, so a miner's shanty in Kelly was rented as our headquarters. This experience was one of the richest of my life. I never before had seen the ranch life of the cow country. The mining camps, the arid wastes of the broad mesas, and the rugged colorful multiformity of the mountain canyons brought a fresh thrill at every turn. Our camping trips in the wagon were a succession of adventures, one of which was a long half day on the San Augustine Plains in the worst sand storm in the memory of the old-timers.

In October of 1896 Clarence was commissioned U. S. Deputy Mineral Surveyor, a valuable asset for there was only one other such commissioner in the Territory. He had already, in the preceding August, opened an office in Socorro for consulting geology and mineral surveying and was kept as busy as health permitted with land surveys and mine examinations. In this he was very successful and before long he had seen the inner workings of almost every mine in the Territory. He was an expert mineralogist and the only person in the Southwest qualified to make lithological examination of thin rock sections with polarized light. He had wider experience in structural geology and stratigraphy than the available consultants in mining engineering.

In conversation with a mining promoter more than twenty years after this time I was told that Clarence's reports of examinations of operations that encountered trouble from faults or other unforeseen exigencies were often more helpful than were those of the professional mining engineers. The fees, however, were small and in a discouragingly large proportion of cases were not paid at all. He received a fee of $50 for one of these examinations that saved the mining company $50,000.

In the mine surveys, as in other trips, the boy Harry was usually his assistant. On one occasion they were called upon to examine a mine that had been abandoned for many years. Upon descending the deep shaft by a rickety ladder, at the bottom they found water of unknown depth. From floating timber they constructed a raft upon which they paddled through the lateral drifts and stopes. This experience in the field was good education for an adolescent boy. The information thus gained was systematized by his father's teaching of the principles of geology, mineralogy, and assaying. Of more significance for the boy was the training in resourcefulness acquired by meeting emergencies and overcoming them with ingenuity, an experience that doubtless contributed to his success when in later life he was employed as field engineer and director of research by the Standard Oil Company of California.

My brother's commission as U. S. Deputy Land Sur- veyor was delayed for several months by errors mnade

by the attorney who was employed to prepare the application papers. This had unfortunate consequences, because Clarence had contracted to survey an isolated tract of land in the high country of the Mogollon Moun- tains for a patent and there was a time limit which ex- pired before the commission was delivered. Accord- ingly, the report of the survey could not be accepted. Clarence lost about $500 for a month of hazardous work and the company which employed him lost a like amount, all because a stupid lawyer twice prepared the papers for the required bond in improper form.

This survey was so typical of many of his other experiences that I will tell some of the details. Taking the boy Harry as his rodman, he went by wagon to the site of the survey. The going was hard and the lines were run with difficulty in the rugged mountains; but the only serious hazard was that before the survey was finished the winter storms might descend upon them so that they would be snowbound and perhaps perish from exposure. All went well until the job was done and they broke camp and were on their way home. Then, when part way down the mountain, the storm broke with a heavy fall of snow and within a few hours the wagon was blocked in impassable drifts. There were no roads and all landmarks were blotted out, for visibility was limited to a few yards. There was nothing to do but to unharness the horses and turn them loose to fend for themselves. The man and the boy descended on foot to seek shelter at an unknown destination an unknown distance away. They traveled light, for heavy packs could not be carried through the deep snow. Taking to the bed of a stream as the most direct course with the surest footing, they plowed their way through the drifts. Night fell and they opened their last can of bully beef. Shortly thereafter Clar- ence, the invalid, collapsed. It looked like the finish for him. He said,

"I will stay here for the night. You go on, follow the stream bed until you get into open country. Then try to locate a ranch house and a relief party can be sent for me in the morning."

But the youngster stubbornly refused to obey. It was his business to take care of his father and he proposed to stick to it. After a rest, the boy's stronger will prevailed and they struggled on. Fortunately about midnight, after twenty miles of walking, the storm abated, the hills fell away, and there down the ravine was a welcome light shining from a window. In his description of this incident Clarence wrote:

I am glad that I was at least able to get Harry home alive. He was a brave and faithful fellow and did not blanch before the close prospect of death. He broke down when we had to leave the ponies, but braced up and toughed it through. I tried to get him to leave me to my fate, but he said, "I don't know anything yet and can't get along alone. I don't care to escape alone." The little fellow shot squirrels and fairly dragged me through the drifts and water up to his knees. He is a brick, even if he doesn't




talk very fast, and a boy to tie to. If I fall out, take care of the lad. He is worth it.

Clarence suffered a serious relapse after this mis- adventure. Several promising leads toward permanent employment at a living wage were energetically followed without success. In the middle of December he had recovered enough to make another land survey for a patent in very rough mountainous country. Again he was unable to collect payment for the work done.

Now utterly discouraged, as a last resort he conceived a project of a collecting expedition on a commercial scale to the uninhabitated Tres Marias and Revilla Gigedo Islands off the west coast of Mexico. The party of three included the boy Harry and F. S. Maltby, who was another tuberculous patient. After much preliminary correspondence with museums and other possible purchasers of specimens, he secured a sufficient number of definite orders to justify the hope that the sale of the collections would yield a profit. The expedition set out in the spring of 1897. It was a hazardous adventure foredoomed to failure. Suffi- cient funds for expenses were not in sight and Clarence assumed all risks with no assurance of returns sufficient to cover expenses.

A small sailboat which was chartered in Mexico proved to be hardly seaworthy and its skipper ignorant of navigation. After a perilous voyage to the Tres Marias, it was evident that to go farther would be a foolhardy risk for two tuberculous invalids, a twelve- year old boy, and an incompetent skipper. The party returned laden with specimens for a capricious market. The sales barely covered the expenses incurred.

On the fourth of July, 1897, shortly after the return from the Tres Marias, Clarence wrote me this letter:

Since last writing the unexpected has happened and I am now president of the University of New Mexico with whatever of dignity or disgrace that implies. The salary is only 1800 and I shall have to teach mathematics and pedagogy as well as a little psychology. To Alice this means a great deal as there is a living in prospect for one year at least. The amount of work involved is staggering but I propose to let the other fellow do most of the worry. ... A campaign throughout the Territory will be necessary, and outside of it. . . . I hope to live through the ordeal long enough to get out of debt.

13. THE UNIVERSITY PRESIDENT

NEW MEXICO IN THE EIGHTEEN-NINETIES Although New Mexico was one of the first areas of

our country to be colonized, its development was retarded. At the time of Clarence's arrival there in 1894 the whole of this Territory was still frontier, but beginning at about that time there was an evident renascence and rejuvenation of an ancient but outmoded culture. The growth of this cultural awakening at first was slow and stumbling, for the conservative and obstructive resistance of Indian and early Spanish ways of life must first be overcome or redirected.

The Spanish culture at its best was of fine quality but not well adapted to the needs of the people. It made no provision for elementary or higher education except for a favored few. The census of 1850 indicated that about seven-eighths of the adult population were illiterate. Four years later the legislature reported that the Territory was entirely without schools except for one or two in the capital supported by private subscription. At about that time several Catholic and Protestant mission schools were opened. Not until 1891 did the territorial legislature establish a properly organized free public school system supported by taxation, after which schools were opened in all the larger settlements.

The larger part of the population was Indian, Span- ish, or a mixture of the two known in the local vernac- ular as "Mexican." The great majority of the voters were ignorant and penurious, speaking little or no English and nearly or quite illiterate. Most of the politicians were drawn from this class and naturally they catered to this clientele.

In 1880 and 1881 as the Santa Fe railhead advanced from town to town there was an inflow of rough and lawless men, with great increase of crimes of violence. These were followed by sharpers who exploited the native people and so intensified their antagonism toward all immigrants from the East. These smooth operators with shady pasts found kindred spirits among the native politicians.

In 1897, when my brother became president of the university, the elementary school system had been' some- what improved. There were a few good high schools in the larger cities, but most of the sparsely settled rural districts had no schools at all. There was rapid increase in the number of business men, miners, ranchers, and invalids attracted by the invigorating climate. Some of these were unscrupulous in business and politics and the result was that honorable and public-spirited citizens were generally outnumbered and their struggles for reform were frustrated.

Clarence recognized that the time was ripe for expansion of the educational facilities of the Territory, but the obstacles were (and still are) formidable. About ten years after Clarence's inauguration at the university, his brother Will, who was leaving Socorro to make a land survey, was invited by a local politician to ride out to their common destination with him. The Mexican was campaigning there for reelection, and as they were leaving the County Seat he carried a little satchel which, he said, contained his campaign literature. With evident self-complacency he opened it to show that it was chock full of one dollar bills.

At that time many of the elected and appointed offi- cials were practically illiterate. In some counties the Australian system of secret balloting was flagrantly violated and ways were found to make it hazardous to vote for any candidate not sponsored by the dominant political clique. Succeeding years have brought great im-




provement, but as recently as 1950 (as reported by Time for October 6, 1952) a newspaper reporter called an outlying district voting headquarters and asked, "How many votes you got?" The-district tabulator, who thought it was a county boss calling, replied with a revealing question, "How many you need?"

The proceedings of the courts were often farcical because of political domination, and some of the judges of the local Justice of Peace Courts were so ignorant that they had to appeal to English-speaking bystanders for instruction about the simplest matters of procedure. At a commencement exercise of the School of Mines in Socorro, the Mexican chairman of the Board of Regents made a little speech to each graduate as he handed him his diploma ending with, "I now declare you a qualified Minin' Engine."

These were the people with whom Clarence had to deal in his program for the creation of an institution of higher learning in the Territorial University, an institution supported by taxation. In the outlying ranch country and mining camps the money and political power were in the hands of the large operators who enacted their own laws and enforced them. Most of them had no interest in education and little concern with public welfare beyond the limits of their own enterprises.

This is not the place to cite the available sources of information about the early history of New Mexico and the recently accelerated development of its natural resources, but it is fitting to call attention to my brother's pioneer work in the exploration of these resources and the beginning of a well-conceived program for their conservation and profitable use under the auspices of the government of the state.

THE TERRITORIAL UNIVERSITY

When the opportunity came to undertake a pioneering educational enterprise with incalculable possibilities of future growth, my brother could not resist it. He accepted the invitation to become the second President of the infantile University of New Mexico at Albu- querque and served for four years. This would have been a heroic undertaking for a well man in full vigor, and, with characteristic impetuosity and disregard of the precarious state of his health, he threw himself into it with all the energy at command.

The success was commensurate with the effort, for he laid a broad and secure foundation for the subsequent spectacular expansion of this great institution. The load, however, was too heavy to be carried very long, and before the end of his third year the strain of administration, an active campaign for publicizing the work and needs of the university and raising the necessary funds, and a heavy teaching load exhausted his limited reserves of strength, so that during the fourth year his work at the university was mainly general supervision and direction of policy.

These years saw foundations laid, and they saw much more; for before his death, three years after his resignation, the superstructure had already risen to a height and perfection of design that gave abundant proof that the original plan was basically sound and practicable. That he accomplished so much in so short a time is perhaps a confirmation of Robert Maynard Hutchins' rather brash statement: "No successful president ever did anything to a school after his first five years."

The most notable visible symbol and instrument of the revolutionary cultural movement of his time was the Territorial University, and Clarence saw there a fertile and almost virgin field in which to plant for future growth a sturdy system of higher education adapted to the needs and aspirations of a lusty indigenous population that was just beginning to awaken to a realization of its opportunities. Only a mere beginning would be possible in advance of radical reorganization of the primitive system of elementary and secondary education then available.

When the university was opened in 1892 the first president, Elias S. Stover, and his devoted faculty wisely chose to make it the prime function of the institution to supply qualified teachers to the public schools. Because there were no high schools except in a few of the larger towns, it was necessary first to organize a large and adequately staffed preparatory department. Accordingly, from 1892 to 1897 the University of New Mexico had only preparatory and normal school departments.

My brother's job when he assumed the presidency was to reorganize the institution on an academic plane, starting practically at scratch, and to nurture the starved and scrawny infant so that it could grow up to occupy a worthy place among the strong state universities of our great West. It was evident that radical treatment was necessary. The immediate demand for technolog- ical training was met by an Agricultural Experiment Station and the School of Mines at Socorro. The first task, then, was to organize an institution with good academic standards of teaching and productive scholarship.

Albuquerque at that time was a roistering frontier town sprawled along the railroad tracks and well separated in distance and manners from the "Old Town" on the bank of the Rio Grande which had a long history of Indian and Spanish settlement. The university was housed in a substantial brick building out on the mesa, surrounded by a waterless waste of desert sand and separated from town (connected would not be the appropriate word) by two miles of rutted sandy road. This building gave classroom space adequate for previous needs, but no provision for growth or laboratory equipment.

When the doors were opened in the autumn of 1897 the preparatory department and normal school were large and efficient. There was also a small freshman class and practically nothing beyond that except a



VOL. 45, PI. 1, 1955] THE LIFE OF SCIENCE 49

flourishing postgraduate department. The story of the birth and rapid growth of the latter is interesting, as will appear immediately, for it illustrates the key factor of Clarence's policy, which was, as he expressed it, "The way to build a university is from the top down." This policy was also the secret of President Harper's amazing accomplishment at the University of Chicago a few years earlier.

The first problem was to find a competent faculty; and this, with the limited funds available, had to be drawn from the local community. One of the most substantial members of this little faculty was Charles E. Hodgin, who enrolled with the first class at the opening of the university in 1892 and received the degree of Bachelor of Pedagogy in the first graduating class of 1894. He was principal of the Albuquerque High School until 1897, when he entered the faculty of the university, continuing with it for twenty-eight years, and thereafter until his death in 1934 maintain- ing his place as an integral part of the university. He wrote poems of the West and is described as "a re- tiring man, always in the background, yet the right- hand man for four presidents."

It was fortunate that in the community there were many university-trained young men of ambition and promise who, like Clarence himself, were exiles from the East in search of a more favorable climate. Several of these were enrolled in the graduate school and given part-time appointment as teachers. This plan succeeded beyond expectation. The undergraduate classes were rapidly filled and the graduate department flourished, for the group of students enrolled was exceptional and those who survived their physical disabilities distinguished themselves in later life.

Among those chosen as teaching assistants was F. S. Maltby, a third-year student in the Johns Hopkins Medical School, who was immediately made the director of physical education and athletics. In the preceding spring, Maltby had accompanied Clarence and his son Harry on the ill-fated collecting expedition to the Tres Marias Islands. Like his chief, he died of tuberculosis a few years later.

Another health seeker was the late John Weinzirl, who held the B.S. degree from the University of Wis- consin. He finished a thesis for the master's degree in New Mexico and later received the Ph.D. degree from Wisconsin and the D.P.H. from Harvard. For many years he was professor of bacteriology and head of the department in the University of Washington and was highly esteemed. His son, Adolph Weinzirl, has served as health officer of Portland, Oregon, and director of the department of public health at the medical school of the University of Oregon. There was also J. F. Messinger, a graduate of the University of Kansas who later received degrees of M.S. from Harvard and Ph.D. from Columbia, and for many years was professor of education and dean of the School of Education, University of Idaho at Moscow, now retired.

Two other junior members of this small faculty who played important parts in the development of high standards of teaching and research at this time and who subsequently had distinguished careers in science, were George E. Coghill and Douglas W. Johnson, whose narratives are quoted in the next chapter.

THE PRESIDENT

The notification of his nomination for the presidency was received early in July, but the official appointment (and salary) came two months later. These two months were devoted to strenuous efforts to prepare a soil in which the seeds he hoped to plant could germi- nate. His qualifications for this courageous undertaking and his methods of work can best be shown by extracts from his letters and those of his wife and by reminiscences written by two of the men who were associated with him in it. In reading these letters it should be kept in mind that they were written hurriedly by a man who was very ill, always in pain and under the tension of innumerable vexations and sometimes in- soluble problems of administration. His natural buoy- ancy kept him alive and on the job in spite of weakness and periods of cynical despondency.

Two weeks after the nomination he wrote me from Socorro:

We have three graduate students in biology, etc. already enrolled. . . . We have secured a good man as head of Normal Department, when the Board of Regents said not a dollar could be spared. We hope for a lieutenant to teach Mathematics and so I am not to teach spelling after all. The institution feels the influence of a little judicious booming already. We want rich men's sons and philanthropists in disguise. Send 'enm on.

I am making a canvass of the Territory, lecturing on mining or anything else of a drawing nature in the towns. The material is awful! But we shall have a few better subjects and must draw from the East for more.

I think if I can stand the strain this year I shall consider myself bound to the West. Intend to drive out on Satur- days and Sundays and camp out so as to keep my lungs going. The salary is small but is to be increased when it is possible. At $2500 we could live and do a little work. Have sent my birds to Webster, about $300.00 worth.... Harry is collecting lizards. I am glad to work with less worry. I think it would take a good deal of hard work to age me as fast as the worry of the last two years. We are in an agony of packing.

Early in August he wrote:

Can you put me in touch with some bacteriologists and climatologists? I have a student who wants to do a thesis on the line of the germicidal agencies of this climate. He will need to study the indigenous species, determine the op- timum conditions, variations due to altitude, sand storms, electrical disturbances, etc., etc. I think something good might result from a study of effect of floating solid impuri- ties in air on its composition and germicidal effect in presence of light, etc. The gas analysis will be a serious matter and so will the bacteriology.

This date (August 7, 1897), a month before the university session began, marks the conception of the




Hadley Climatological Laboratory which, after a ges- tation of less than two years, was born equipped with a good building and a Bulletin of publications.

In a letter of August 7, he wrote from Santa Fe:

I am in the field all the time and a little tired but things move. I may be out two weeks and then the Ball opens. I shall have to teach solid geometry and trigonometry, third and fourth year German, psychology, and direct graduate courses. But that is a drop in the bucket. We are likely to succeed in a variety of things, . . . but in other lines I am in doubt. Just a few days later he added:

Things loom up. We have arranged for a pathological and bacteriological lab. in connection with the Board of Health. A graduate of the University of Wisconsin and late appointee to the Geneva station of N. Y. is our bac- teriologist. This man was John Weinzirl, who remained on the faculty for ten years.

The university opened auspiciously near the beginning of the second week of September with about one hundred students. The preceding fall the enrollment was about seventy-five. On October 6 he wrote:

Bishop McCabe addressed students yesterday. One of my duties is to make a sprightly, entertaining or instructive talk of fifteen minutes every day at assembly. Of course, I am hunting celebrities. Only one of my Faculty will talk in public. And a month later:

Things move on with as few of the petty annoyances as is usual in an institution of this kind. I had two or three obstreperous members of the faculty but they have proven amenable to firm, kind treatment though they cannot be made over, and I have had not a breath of anything unpleasant from them all. In the face of the predictions to the contrary, every attempt has so far carried and that breeds confidence. There has been a degree of bitterness quite astonishing in the case of my predecessor, whose life was even threatened by a militant presiding elder. These and other things have to be lived down. The incipient outbursts in the student body have been so far nipped in the bud and I seem to have the confidence of the students.

In the middle of November other difficulties arose. These, though not unexpected, took time and energy that he could not well spare. He wrote: "A political interference threatens the university and I feel home- sick for a smelter, which, by the way, I might have now I think." This threat was averted, but the strain of overwork was wearing him down.

In a letter written just before Christmas he said:

I have been thinking of you all more than usual, probably because I have been going through an ordeal some- what like that of four years ago, though I now hope it is not to turn out as badly. I took a cold which ushered in the grippe and have been hived up over a week with the most severe cough and all the old symptoms. I got off with only a color and do not think any permanent lesion has formed, though there is no doubt that it has put me seriously back. Today I visited the university and saw the machine safely wound up for the present and hope to get

in shape for a good campaign next semester. . . . I have miiade use of my enforced idleness to do several little pieces of work which have been waiting for such an opportunity a long time-one geological and one psychological article and some miscellany.

He made the recovery as predicted, but the lungs did not heal, and for the rest of his life he was subject to pulmonary hemorrhages of more or less severity at varying intervals.

His salary was increased to $2200 for the year 1898- 1899. On January 17, 1898, he wrote encouragingly about progress at the university and Weinzirl's program in particular.

The bacteriological lab. is a go and I get a tumor now and then and sputum every few days. The array of tubes and plates is quite formidable. Weinzirl is a good fellow and enthusiastic after we got him warmed up. He is working on chicken diphtheria ("roup") and will have a bulletin paper on it. . . . I am over ears in work and feeling better except intense gastric irritations. Am giving some of my lectures in German to the older students in accordance with a long-held opinion respecting correlation.

Throughout that winter his health was very poor, with mnuch stomach trouble, but the pulmonary symptoms improved. In spite of the pressure of other duties he prepared and published several scientific papers. His productivity during his tenure at the university is amazing. Papers were published on geology, mining, neurology, psychology, and philosophy. One of these was mentioned in his letter of February 21, 1898:

I send with this an article intended to put very concisely the physiological aspects of my equilibrium hypothesis. I dare say it will not be understood by many, perhaps by any, but I am personally so thoroughly convinced of the essential correctness of the point of view that I wish to do all I can to get it before the thoughtful people. . . I do not know whether these things impress you as outside of our sphere. For me it is in such distant applications that interest chiefly resides.

This essay was immediately published in the Journal of Comparative Neurology (116).

At this time he began negotiations for affiliation of the university and the School of Mines at Socorro. This was approved by the university Board of Regents, but it proved to be impractical. The opposing local and political influences were too strong. Early in April he spent three days in Magdalena on "mining business" which brought in a little money. Other similar mine examinations were made from time to time.

In May he listed a series of commencement and other addresses for which he was scheduled and added:

These things do not worry me but each one takes timiie. More strength is required to infuse life in the corpses I have to deal with in my own faculty. I am giving a special course in physiology to brace up the work in the nervous system for the sake of results hereafter and have had to take hold of the plant analysis and show the class that there is no such impossibility of dealing with composits as they had been taught by their instructor who had supposed that there was no literature because he could not identify the




forms he found. We have now identified nearly every com- posit we have here at this season and the class has become interested. Instead of the aggregate of 15 plants required by the instructor some will press and identify as many as 50 and will go on during the summer. In each department it is the same story.

His first commencement at the university was on June 9. Plans for a summer session of the university were abandoned because of a smallpox epidemic. This for Clarence was a life-saving mischance, for his health was rapidly deteriorating with exacerbation of the pulmonary symptoms, both lungs now being affected. A camping trip in the mountains brought some improvement.

The autumn session of the university opened early in September, with Clarence's health still very bad. There was little improvement and in the middle of De- cember he was in bed with "what appears to be grippe and pleurisy." This attack was quite like the one of a year earlier and due to the same cause-overwork. The trustees of the university proposed to Clarence that he take two months vacation at full pay and go away for a rest. This gratified him, but he declined the kind offer, explaining that he did not know where to find a better climate and he preferred to remain and do as much work as he was able.

The first month of 1899 was a critical time. The weather was atrociously bad. Clarence, his wife and son all had influenza and Clarence's hemorrhages were more frequent. The offer of a vacation was again declined, but Clarence and wife took several camping trips with the ponies and covered wagon. He insisted that these days and nights spent in the open did him good in spite of the exposure and hardship involved. But what he needed was rest, not exposure.

On January 13 he wrote:

My own future is very uncertain. I thought that I would wind up my affairs very soon but the bleeding was not copious and is apparently now under control. I have lost little flesh and strength and may hold on some time. I don't want to cut off the supplies any sooner than may be absolutely necessary. It is not as though I felt that I could make a full recovery. If that were the case I would drop everything now and make it a business. I am too poor to make the attempt.

Ten days later his wife wrote me:

Clarence feels better as the severe weather moderates. He was overjoyed yesterday to have a friend [Mrs. Walter Hadley] come in and make a present of ten thousand dollars to the University, provided the Territory will raise five thousand, as a memorial to her husband who came here to die from tuberculosis and whose life was prolonged sixteen years. The "Hadley Hall" will be for the study of climatology and bacteriology and Clarence thinks it will be unique in the world. His whole thought is taken up by it. He ran down street to tell the Board as soon as Mrs. Hadley left.

Another of her letters written in April contains this item:

The Board told Clarence they do not care whether he teaches a single class as long as he plans and has his plans executed. They urge him to go out in the open air as much as possible.

In March he devoted much time and more energy than he could spare to the effort to secure better support for the university from the legislature at Santa Fe. The results were disappointing and the appropriations were not increased. The university, accordingly, faced a very difficult situation in the next year. In March and April he was campaigning vigorously for the money necessary to complete the fund for Hadley Hall, but, he wrote: "I still have no help in raising the $5000, but think some way out will be found." A prospectus of the Climatological Laboratory was published at this time (125).

The capriciousness of that wonderful healing climate is illustrated by an incident told in his wife's letter of April 30, 1899:

Yesterday I chaperoned the young people of the university on the annual picnic and we had the very worst storm of the season. At one time we feared the wind would blow Jumbo, the big picnic wagon, over. Coming home there were two drivers and six horses and it blew sand so furiously the drivers could not see the leading horses. There were about thirty in the wagon. It had been so sheltered in the Canyon where we were picnicking we had not known a storm was raging until we left the protection of the mountains. We just crawled over the mesa nearly the whole fifteen miles home. Laura I put down in the bottom of the wagon. Harry succeeded in stealing a canvas side curtain for "himself and lady" and did not suffer greatly, but hardly anyone was prepared for the cold. Douglas Johnson helped me much in keeping courage up and starting college songs, etc., but one of the giggling girls had hysterics about four miles out. When about six miles from the city we were joined by men on horseback sent out from the livery stable to assist in the homecoming. In crossing the railroad tracks at the station, after receiving the signal that all was clear, we had a very narrow escape from being run down by an engine which backed upon us in the darkness. I never had such a fright in my life. The drivers dared not attempt to drive down any side streets, but took us all to the livery stable and transferred us to hacks.

In May they were bending all their energies to the problem of raising $5,000 for Hadley Hall and a still larger sum for the construction of a Science Hall. To this strain there was added the demand for two commencement addresses, one of them several hundred miles away.

July 7, 1899:

I am just back from three days in geological work in mountains. I am feeling fairly well but have lost ten pounds and my lungs do not improve. . .. We have plans for the new building but are $700. short. The Board propose to go ahead. We shall get in perhaps January 1st. I hardly expect to use the new building.

The money for this building was finally secured by small gifts, including $300 contributed by the university students.




August 10, 1899:

I have finished since my return a chapter on the geography of the Territory for the American Book Company and a paper for the Governor's report and have written one mining report. On my arrival I found three requests to expert mines in three different parts of New Mexico. I put my fees way up and may escape some or all of them, but if I go it will keep me busy till the day school opens. The excavation has begun on the Hadley building (my gravestone I call it). It will be a fine building for its size and will give us opportunities we could do little without. I am planning to get away during Dec. and Jan. in the hope of escaping the grip of la grippe. Another such a victory as last winter's and I am done. Yet, mirabile dictu, with all my exposure I am building up in a way. The cough is lessened, and, although I have lost 8 or 10 lbs., I think I am getting free from active trouble. I stand a great deal of exercise. . . . I, of course, cannot hope for recovery with a large cavity, but I may keep stiving it off and keep the disease in relative arrest. Should this be accomplished, I shall feel that as soon as possible I ought to get out of doors for good. I could probably make a living as mining engineer, in which line I have apparently unconsciously built up a good reputation.

The internal affairs of the university were going from bad to worse. On November 12, 1899, his wife wrote: "We are all broken up over conditions at the university. Clarence sent his resignation in last Wed- nesday. It nearly kills me. Do not mention it in letters. Let Clarence write you." A few weeks later she reported: "There has been no action in the matter of which I wrote you. The President of the Board has said he would be very loth to have it accepted, but to remain would mean a wholesale change. . .. The nervous strain is very great, so we are not planning to remain. Do not let the latter get out in any way." Clar- ence's last letter of the year is typical of his correspondence of this period.

Albuquerque, N. M., Dec. 21, 1899. Dear Charles:

First of all congratulations on the "Doctor Arbeit," for it is certainly a creditable affair and will be highly appreciated. It gives to the last volume of the Journal a tony look. Certainly the way it was gotten up is beyond the dreams of avarice. Your solemn exhortation to the doctors to study fish brains that they may save human brains is a little fishy so that I think you are let off easily with the skit in the Sun, which while really funny is a decidedly good "ad" which you could afford to pay well for. Your little dedication in my copy pleased me mightily though fishy also.

I don't see anything wrong with the cover of the Journal as it stands. I include the little paper for the Morpholo- gists. I don't know if it is worth presenting. The fact is that I am just back from a ten day's trip to the western part of the Territory and have had neither time nor strength for a careful paper. I had applied for a place on the program or I would have dropped it.

The trip was 500 miles by wagon during the coldest part of the year to investigate some salt lands belonging to the university. That the trip did not kill me is due to accident and a still strong backbone. I lost my team and part of my results in fording the river. Recovered my poorer horse and the remnant of the wagon, but the hour or two in the water seems to have done Harry no permanent harm and

I am only tired and persecuted with indigestion. The trip was through very interesting country and revealed the fact that the university is being systematically robbed. Every- one here seems to be determined to injure the institution and even in Albuquerque we have no influential friends. Our representative in Congress is hostile to us and alto- gether I have been a good deal discouraged. . . I am suddenly required to make an address for the Educational Association, the president and vicepresident both having disappeared. This makes it necessary to make hay or straw while the sun shines....

Yours as ever, C. L. Herrick

The disaster in fording the Rio Grande to which reference has just been made was indeed a narrow escape for all concerned and, like many others, it was due to Clarence's impatience and inclination to take unneces- sary risk to reach an objective the shortest way. When nearly home, after Clarence and Harry had driven fifty- three miles and were chilled and hungry, having had practically no food that day, Clarence decided to ford the river in order to save a two-mile detour to the nearest bridge. In midstream one of the horses balked and tangled the harness, so that Harry had to jump into the icy water to free the struggling animal. The wagon meanwhile settled in the mud and Harry was bruised and cut by floating ice before they could get the team across. When they reached the bank on the home side the other horse was so chilled and exhausted that he fell back into the water and could not be revived. Dark was falling and Harry went for help. When the rescu- ing team arrived it was promptly mired in quicksand and they worked wet and cold for several hours before the salvage was completed.

This expedition was soon followed by another as described in the following letter:

Albuquerque, N. WI., Jan. 9, 1900 Dear Charles:

Yours from a condition of lunacy is just at hand and finds me just returned from another lunatic expedition 500 miles by rail and nine days by conveyance in search of salt creek. We found it and 400 acres of salt lands presumably belonging to the university. When I secured the introduction of the little harmless clause into our bill for the university land grant, giving the university all salt lands, it was laughed at as a little innocent diversion of mine and so got through with no opposition. It will mean a fairly enormous grant if adequately or fairly generously construed and will soon be earning money for the institution. I even have hope that ours may be the best endowed institution in the Southwest in a few years. It is however even now a fruitful cause of trouble as steals are attempted on all hands. I fear I shall have to give up everything else and devote myself to the care of our financial interests for a year or two as this is apparently the thing none else is able or willing to do.

The country I visited is very interesting, as there is an ocean of pure gypsum sand that is within 20 miles of R.R. Also 400 acres of salt and soda land that will be of value. There are salt springs bubbling from the top of self-made mounds and every evidence of artesian water. Under- ground streams under lava beds with fish worth looking into. Can't you come out in the Spring and spend a month



VOL. 45. PT. 1, 19551 THE LIFE OF SCIENCE 53

in investigating the peculiar conditions, botany, zoology, etc. I am sorry my paper was not read, not because any value it may have but because it was hoped to get helpful suggestions from men present. I shall not be able to get a paper ready as I might have done but for this, but I do -not wish to print that thing....

Yours in haste, C. L. Herrick

In April of that year Clarence was assembling material for the second volume of the Bulletin of the Uni- versity of New Mexico. This was a collection of miscellaneous papers, chiefly geological, some of which were reprinted from the scientific journals and some not published elsewhere. In the midst of innumerable distractions he was also preparing articles for Wood's Reference Handbook of the Medical Sciences, working on final revision and proof reading of material for Bald- win's Dictionary of Philosophy and Psychology, and experimenting with recently devised histological methods for solution of neurological problems suggested by study of nerve endings in the skin of amphibians. All this work was done in fragments of time and many interruptions from acute illness. Because of these adverse conditions and the lack of library facilities the published papers were hastily prepared and their imperfections gave him great distress.

April 15, 1900, he wrote:

Our Board has relied on the small tax levy to support -us and have mismanaged affairs till they have come face to face with a great deficit and cut off three or four. of my corps and cut all salaries. The outlook is disheartening as we were just getting on a basis to do good work and our numbers were increasing so that we might hope to do some college work. I have gotten a balance and shall put in an assay outfit and try to do some outside work, especially as Harry is expecting to go in for mine engineering.

June 9, 1900:

At last, Commencement is over and we still live. It has been a week of intense preoccupation but on the whole rather successful. I was sick much of the time but the faculty took the details up and lifted them through in very fair shape. . . . The new laboratory is dedicated and we of the faculty are expected to make out the deficit from our salaries because the Board has failed to keep its prom- ises and has expended more than it had. . . . It is expected to make an effort to amalgamate with the School of Mines in which case we may see our way out of some difficulties.

In the summer of 1900 the family lived in Hop Can- yon and Clarence was engaged in mine surveys. He proposed to me that I join his faculty to teach biology- for my health !-intimating that he might be able to get me appointed as his successor in the president's office. This made no appeal to me. During that summer and autumn Clarence was in the field on mine surveys most of the time. His health was deteriorating rapidly and he was morbidly depressed. His connection with the university was retained, but only for general supervision and policy making. He repeatedly tendered his resignation and on December 28 he wrote: "I have resigned

positively from the University and want to be relieved of everything related to my old life."

The minutes of the Board of Regents of the university show that on September 17, 1900, he tendered his resignation because of impaired health, but the Board refused to accept it and gave him leave of absence for the school year 1900-1901. This offer Clarence declined. The result was that he continued to serve as president, but only in an advisory capacity, and declined to accept any salary for this service. I do not know the exact date of final acceptance of his resignation or whether it was ever officially acted upon. In March of 1901 he wrote me: "I have been unable to get my resignation acted on but the legislature has passed a bill prohibiting consumptives from occupying any position in the schools of the Territory, so that I shall have the honor of being kicked out." The minutes of the trustees show that his successor, President Tight, was nominated at the meeting of June 15, 1901.

The expenses connected with the mine surveys were large and the fees small, so the net income was hardly enough for subsistence. To add to the financial strin- gency, Clarence contracted for printing the university bulletins when there were no available funds. Hun- dreds of dollars of his own money were spent for these printing bills.

Clarence's action in continuing to serve the university without salary, although his need for money was urgent, was characteristic, as was also his procedure at the beginning of his tenure. He was notified of his nomination for the presidency about July 1, 1897, but the minutes of the Board of Regents show that the appointment was not officially confirmed until the following September first. During the intervening two months he worked strenuously for the university at his own expense and on borrowed money. At the end of his tenure he was still deeply in debt.

At this time he was again utterly discouraged. In addition to the deterioration of his own health, his wife and children had a succession of serious illnesses. The university affairs were in a bad mess and the outlook was not good. Fortunately his successor in the presidency, W. G. Tight, found a favorable change there, and he was able to tide the institution over the crisis. He was Clarence's opposite in almost every particular. Because he was a good showman and an enterprising entrepreneur, he succeeded in selling the university to the community. Although he had been trained by Clarence at Denison, he was himself no scholar; but the academic foundations of the institution had been firmly laid and they endured. President Tight's administrative genius was perhaps appropriate for its time and place and fortunately his successors have main- tained the ideals of scholarship which are the vital breath of sound academic progress.

The subsequent growth of the university has been spectacular. The present faculty numbers about three hundred and the the student enrollment about five thou-




sand. The institution has achieved full stature among the state universities of our great West. The campus of 440 acres lies near the center of population of metropolitan Albuquerque and more than half of its seventy- three buildings are uniformly designed in the modified pueblo style of architecture which was introduced by President Tight.

14. THE PRESIDENT AS SEEN BY HIS STUDENTS

SOURCES

In the preceding chapter the president's activities are reported as he saw them and for the most part in his own words. His students and junior associates saw the same events from a different angle, and fortunately two of these men have given me some of their reminiscences in detail. Before quoting from these papers I will extract a few passages from the short history of the university by Dorothy Hughes.1 Her spicy saga of the first fifty years of the growth of the university gives the high lights of its external features, with few details of the internal operations and the successful struggle to measure up to high academic standards of teaching, research and cultivation of the arts and tech- nologies. Of my brother's administration she wrote:

How did science assume its importance in the uniiver- sity? At almost the very beginning there was Clarence Luther Herrick, still in his thirties. ... His scholarship seems almost incredible in this day of specialization; it was rare in his own day. With him as teacher, the natural sciences could not help being a part of the University.

In another passage, after quoting the words of a former pupil, she adds:

We may see the man to whom this tribute was paid, fine looking, bearded as of the times, with the eyes of those great who seem to be always looking to far horizons. He was rather reserved and had plenty of dignity, another student of his recalls, yet he was beloved as a father by his students. "He knew how to deal with students. When rattlesnakes appeared on the study room floor, when the skeleton was dressed in Professor Paxton's clothing, when M. Custer's cow was discovered in the assembly room, we were made to realize the undesirability of these pranks without any unpleasant aftermath." We can imagine the students' joyful amazement when Dr. Herrick would stand at a blackboard and draw one side of the picture with his left hand and the other side with his right at one and the same time. He added to their astonishment when the pianist failed to appear at daily assembly on one occasion, and he himself sat down at the piano and played the accompaniments.

GEORGE E. COGHILL'S TRIBUTE

By mere chance George Coghill met my brother in Albuquerque at the beginning of the new president's administration and this was followed by a conference

1 Dorothy Hughes, Pueblo on the mnesa. The first fifty years at the University of New Mexico, Univ. of New Mexico Press, 1939.

in the president's office. The events preceding this meeting and its momentous consequences have been published in my biography of Dr. Coghill (pp. 16-19) which is cited here on page 25. It need only be mentioned now that George, in company with his younger brother Will had spent the preceding summer in camp at the head waters of the Pecos River in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains recuperating his shattered health. Although he had a Bachelor of Arts degree from Brown University, this had given himii no training in science, a serious deficiency in view of the program of sttudy tipon which he had set his heart. The dilemmlnla with which he was confronted can best be described in his own words. I quote from a paper prepared by Dr. Coghill for use in a Founder's Day Address at the University of New Mexico in 1932.

It was in the spring of 1897 that I found myself in New Mexico. I had graduated from college, and had entered a professional school, where I found myself a misfit in what I had from the first laid out for my life work. In a resultant condition of mental vagrancy I retired to the wilderness, that is to say, I went into the mountains for several months of recreation. During this time I camle to the realization that intellectual activity alone could save me from mental and -moral disintegration, and that, if I could possibly find the way to do it, I would study the nervous system as an approach to psychology and philosophy.

At this juncture, I made a casual visit to the Terri- torial University of New Mexico, where I for the first time met Professor C. L. Herrick, then president of the institution. When he found that I wanted to study the nervous system, he invited me to come into his laboratory and library and to make free use of all the facilities lie could offer. This I did; and it was to me the beginning of a new life. Professor Herrick at once became my inspiration; and as such he still lives in all I do. He lifted me from the "Slough of Despond" and placed me on the high ground of hope and aspiration.

Professor Herrick was one of the last, if not the last, of our great naturalists-men who knew much of many sciences, including philosophy, as opposed to the specialist who characterizes science today. He was a pioneer in the science of the nervous system in America, and he made some of the earliest contributions on the relation of the nervous system to psychology and philosophy. He was withal a great teacher, for he not only presented facts as facts from several sciences, but he gave a panoramic view of science and philosophy as a whole in such a way that his teaching became a dynamic system-a dominating force in the life of the student.

What Clarence Luther Herrick really meant to the Uni- versity of New Mexico the present generation of teachers and students can scarcely realize. Nor can they appreciate the tragedy of his life through which the beneficence of his later years came to the university in its infancy. The university owes him a great debt of gratitude, and all who were associated with him in those years of struggle will rejoice to know that his service is being commemorated.

In the fiftieth anniversary volume of the Journal of Comparative Neurology 2 Dr. Coghill published some extracts from a Ionpfer nqner- where the interested

274: 39-42, 1941.




reader will find a graphic description of conditions at the university in 1897.

DOUGLAS W. JOHNSON'S TRIBUTE

Douglas Johnson, Professor of Geology at Columbia University until his death in 1944, entered the Univer- sity of New Mexico as a sophomore in 1898. Clarence immediately recognized his ability and promise and gave him appointment as laboratory and field assistant, a relationship that gave Douglas unique opportunities to evaluate the professional and personal qualities of his teacher. His biographer has this to say about Clar- ence's influence upon the young man: 3

This association became crucial in Douglas' life. He had accepted the work primarily because it gave him the opportunity of living outdoors. But through it he came into close contact with a man who was famous for "his rare power of influencing young men." Professor Herrick set before this impressionable, idealistic, and ambitious young man an eloquent example of selfless devotion to natural science, a philosophic approach to scientific problems, conspicuous mental independence, and reckless industry and ceaseless drive. He turned the young man who seemed headed for a public and literary career, into a man of science and set for him the pattern that dominated his whole life. Fifty years later Johnson spoke with gratitude of the impact of this great teacher on his development (p. 201). One wonders what position this man with such a trenchant pen and such power of action might have achieved in public life had not that kindly quiet man in New Mexico taken him on long days in the desert and shown him the calm majesty of impartial scientific thought and the beauty of a life devoted to it (p. 212).

Professor Johnson wrote a paragraph in Dorothy Hughes' book of 1939 (p. 99) in which he says:

Our laboratory was the geologic wonderland of New Mexico; our problems anything and everything which the face of that remarkable region presents to the student of earth history. The lecture platform was one end of the wagon seat, the shaded ground under a juniper tree, or the ragged wall of an igneous dyke. My student's desk was the other end of the wagon seat, a rock in the shade, or the bank of some arroyo. The hours were from day- light till long after dark, the discussion endless, and the themes were notebooks filled by the shifting light of the campfire. Under the stars of New Mexico's matchless sky I listened to a great man discuss evolution, magmatic segregation, stream erosion, and as the dying fire sunk to glowing embers and the stars shone more brightly I listened while the scintillating mind strayed into those fields of psychology and philosophy he loved so well, and heard him expound the principles of dynamic monism.

At my request he wrote me a long letter in October, 1939, and with his permission I quote from it as follows:

I went to New Mexico from Denison because the doctor in Newark thought I had incipient tuberculosis and or- dered me to a better climate. I selected New Mexico because I had heard so much about your brother, although

3 Walter H. Bucher, Biographical memoir of Douglas Wilson Johnson, Nat. Acad. Sci., Biographical Memi2oirs, 24: 197-230, Fifth AMemoir, 1946.

I had never seen him. Thus it was your brother's fame which drew me from Ohio to New Mexico. That was in the fall of 1898. He had heard of my coming, met me at the depot, took me to his home for supper, and then had one of the boys take me to the room he had engaged for me a few blocks away. Very soon he made a place for me on the volunteer "University Geological Survey" at a stipend of $300.00 a year, my work being mostly analyzing rocks, clays, and other materials sent in by inquiring prospectors or gathered in the course of our field expeditions. Another of my duties was to act as your brother's assistant on field trips, which commonly extended from Friday afternoon until Monday morning or later every week.

It was my good fortune to be selected by him as his chief companion on geological trips during the several years I was a student at the University of New Mexico (from November of my sophomore year until my graduation in June, 1901). Sometimes other students accompanied us, and not infrequently his son Harry' but most often on the numerous weekend excursions I was his only companion. As a result the association was peculiarly intimate, and I attribute to your brother some of the finest inspiration I received in my youth. To me the Southwest was a land of romance, and I saw it through beautiful colored glasses. It was an impressionable period of my life and I would find it difficult to calculate the influence which Clarence Luther Herrick exerted upon me in the years when I was preparing for my professional career.

As you know, the severest test of companionship, and even of friendship, is the intimate life of the camp. All angles in a man's nature come out in strong relief under the circumstances of constant association day and night, and these angles inevitably stick into the other fellow and provoke reactions. Your brother was ill all the time I knew him, and was "going on his nerve" despite severe physical limitations all of those years. It is not surprising that under such conditions the angularities of a young apprentice in geology should have provoked an ill man to anger when a well man might have borne them in silence. Thus I have recollections of certain occasions in the field when some misunderstanding of agreement on a rendezvous, some undiplomatic remark on my part, or some other minor circumstance provoked him to an explosion of anger which to me was truly terrifying. His face would turn white, and he would pour forth a torrent, never of abuse of me, but of sarcastic abuse of himself as being undoubtedly the guilty party, which however left me in no doubt as to his opinion of my conduct. In the university laboratory I witnessed similar explosions at rare intervals. I think that neither I nor the other students failed to realize that he was a sick man and that he was not fully responsible for his reaction to annoying circumstances.

I mention these reactions of a sick man in order to underline two traits of his character. First, he rarely failed to regret such outbursts, and repeatedly told me that he considered himself insane at such times. He stated that he suffered severe headaches at the base of his brain, and that he believed that his loss of judgment and self-control was associated with organic deficiency in blood supply or something else which deprived him of full powers of control in an emergency. The manner in which he would calmly dissect himself, and explain his behavior interested me as much as his readiness to apologize and take all the blame on himself, when as a matter of fact in most cases considerable blame attached to the objects of his outbursts. The second point that made a great impression on me in this connection was the absolute calm and perfect control with which he met major upsets of any kind. It was only




the trivial things which threw him off his guard. A real calamity found him completely master of himself.

I have often recounted to friends an experience when Herbert Brooks, a fellow student, and I were delegated by President Herrick to make a geological reconnaissance of the Nacimiento Mountains. Just as we were leaving the outskirts of Albuquerque the obstreperous buckskin ponies drawing our light mountain wagon took advantage of a moment when I was pulling on my gloves to whirl around and bolt for home. This sudden move turned the wagon over on its side, dumping Brooks and myself into the roadside with camp equipment and boxes of groceries piled on top of and all around us. The ponies tore down the road with the wagon dumping along on its side. As we extri- cated ourselves with some difficulty, we saw the wagon right itself just as the buckskin ponies swerved suddenly to the left into a barbed wire fence which halted them. When we recaptured the runaways we found that the lines which had been jerked from my hand had caught between two spokes of one of the wheels, and when the wagon righted itself and the wheel began to turn, it wound up the lines and forced the horses off to that side.

Examination showed that the dashboard was fractured, and one wheel "dished" the wrong way, with every spoke in the wheel broken where it fitted into the hub. Taking account of the situation, we decided that President Her- rick was the kind of a man who would not take any excuse for failure, so decided to continue our expedition. We got a Mexican who had a wheel press to dish the wheel the right way again, to put pieces of sapling across in different directions and wire them to the spokes until they would hold together for the duration of the journey.

Going down the west side of the Nacimiento Mountains we struck an exceedingly steep road which was badly washed out. The ponies could hardly hold the wagon in check, and I had more than I could do to control their movements. In trying to avoid a deep gully which would have upset the wagon, I turned the ponies a little too far to the right. The front end of the tongue of the wagon struck a stump and splintered throughout its length. The jar caused my foot to go through the dashboard, the whole front of the wagon going out. Relieved of support in front, the sideboard of the wagon, which was downhill and against which the weight of our equipment lunged, gave way and went out also. By the time we got the pieces of our wagon woven together with bailing wire and ropes we had as weird a vehicle as you could possibly imagine.

When we arrived back at Albuquerque, Brooks jumped out of the wagon when we passed his home, absolutely unwilling to face the wrath of the President, and I drove into his backyard with fear and trepidation. You can imagine my astonishment when he walked out into the yard, took a complete turn around the wagon surveying the inde- scribable wreckage, and then smiled sweetly and remarked, "Well, that's not so bad considering the rough country you have been travelling over." I have not fully recovered from that exhibition of self-control even to this day.

Your brother took a real boyish delight in our camping experiences. I can see him now on a grassy plain, running along after a grass fire we had started, holding a frying pan in his hand over the line of flame and keeping up with it as it moved forward until our dinner of bacon and eggs was thoroughly cooked. He enjoyed that novel culinary experience as much as I did. When the day's labor was over, he would join with me in gathering a tremendous pile of dry brushwood, so as to be ready, dinner once over, to spread his Navajo blanket on the ground and start a glorious campfire, in the light of which we would write up our field notes, then stretch out and enjoy ourselves, while

he looked into the stars overhead and discussed psychology, philosophy, religion, and the many other subjects remote from geology over which his hospitably open mind loved to range.

Another picture, ever present in my memory, is the two of us lying side by side in our blankets in the narrow space under the wagon, a shelter we often sought if there was danger of snow or rain. No winter storm in the mountains could check his enthusiasm for outdoor life, and we have frequently excavated a bare patch in two feet of snow4 in which to build our fire and pitch our camp.

On one trip around the Manzano Mountains, wintry blasts with driving snow plagued us from beginning to end of the journey. All day long we drove huddled up in a sheet of canvas which we drew over us to keep off the biting cold. After several days of such torment we camped one night in Abo Pass at the southern end of the Manzanos. The cold wind blew like a hurricane through that notch in the mountains. It was getting dark and we had found no shelter in which to camp. Finally, your brother said he was ill and could go no further. We pulled off the road in a bleak, desolate sandy flat covered with cactus, with limestone cliffs rising abruptly at its rear. After scouting about for a few moments I discovered a ledge part way up the limestone scarp, where the flat rocky surface was par- tially overhung by the rock above. I told the President I believed I could fix a shelter there, and put him under the lee of the wagon to rest while I roped and propped a piece of canvas in front of the improvised camping spot, cut some juniper boughs for a bed, spread out the blankets, and then went down to help the President up. He was sitting with his face in his hands, while the driving snow swirled around him. I told him everything was ready, but he answered, "It's no use. I'm done for. I know the signs and can feel that a hemorrhage is coming on." (You know, of course, that he suffered repeated hemorrhages of the lungs during his service in the University, sometimes refusing to lie in bed after one but going directly to the University to continue his work.) I insisted that he could not stay where he was and that he must lean on nme and let me get him up the slope. This was no small task, and when I had him put to bed on that overhanging rock ledge I was completely exhausted. But the horses were still to unharness from the wagon, a campfire to build, supper to cook, horses to feed, and things to be made secure for the night. I worked long and late, but finally got the Presi- dent to drink a big cup of hot coffee and take some food. Going to take the nosebags off the horses I stumbled into the cactus in the dark and spent what was left of a terrible evening pulling the spines out of my legs.

When we awakened our bedding was covered with snow which had sifted in the innumerable openings between canvas and rock. Our oranges, canned goods, and water in canteens were all frozen solid. The storm was still raging, but the hemorrhage had not come. The Presi- dent's indomitable courage had risen to the emergency and we decided to hitch up the horses and drive on through the pass down to the Rio Grande before attempting to get breakfast. After we got the wagon packed and we were ready to leave that terrible spot, one of the ponies, cold, sullen and angry, balked. Nothing could persuade him to move. The whip had no effect. Finally your brother took his geological hammer, descended from the wagon, walked to the pony's head, grasped the bridle close under his chin with his left hand and looked the recalcitrant beast squarely in the eyes. "Now, Tan, you know I don't want to do this" he said, "but you have got to move. Will you move of your own free will, or shall I change your mind for you ?" He pulled strongly on the bridle but the animal sank back on his haunches, his four legs rigid as raimrods. Once




again the President faced the animal, bridle and whip in left hand, geological hammer in his right, a few more coaxing words but no results. Then, taking deliberate aim, he struck him a sharp blow squarely between the eyes. The horse shook all over, loosened his muscles, and seemed to say as plain as could be, "All right, I give up." The President climbed back into the wagon, shook the lines, and both ponies started off down the canyon.

Two hours later we were camped in a small Mexican hut on the Rio Grande with half a dozen Mexican children standing around the walls munching on the frozen oranges we had given them, while we cooked breakfast over the open hearth and got thoroughly thawed out for the first time on that expedition. The sun came out and we drove back up the Rio Grande to Albuquerque with the Presi- dent in as good spirits as though nothing untoward had happened on the entire trip.

I could go on indefinitely recounting the experiences of those early days and rejoicing in the good fortune which threw me into the companionship of your brother under most unusual conditions. Surely few youngsters in college ever had as priceless an experience as I enjoyed on those weekend geological trips through the mountains with Pres- ident Herrick, and on far longer summer expeditions.

I cannot end this letter without saying a word about the fine sense of humor with which your brother was endowed. Sometimes it was mild and gentle, as when he would refer to the three horses we often used as the "Professor plug," the "Preacher plug," and the "President plug," one having been purchased from Professor Coghill, the second borrowed from the Reverend Bruce Kinney, and the third purchased by the President himself. Even in his lectures his sense of humor constantly broke forth.

Sometimes the humor was malicious, but indulged in to while away intolerable hours, as on a trip down to the Magdalena Mountains, when en route across the dry basin plains our water tank sprung a leak and we were left without anything to drink. We had geological sections to measure up several steep mountain sides, and thirsty as we were no one could deflect the President from his self- imposed tasks. Starting with a coffeeless supper, tor- mented during the night with thirst, and measuring those sections next morning under a glaring sun, we finally drove on southwest toward the Rio Salado, with our tongues and lips swollen, hoping to meet some Mexican en route who could give us water to drink. The horses were thirsty and tired and made poor headway. As we drove along those interminable miles, your brother painted the most tantalizing picture of icecold watermelon pulled out of the refrigerator, sliced in two, with the sweet juice trickling down over the luscious red meat; then emitted the sound of a soda fountain as the carbonated water plunged into a glass of icecream soda, which he would describe in most picturesque terms. Then I would take my turn trying to tantalize him with such pictures of cold refreshment as I could conjure up. Ultimately the longed-for Mexican was seen approaching in the distance, and water from his dirty canteen was eagerly gulped down. We camped that night on the banks of the Rio Salado, and the fact that the water was salty did not prevent our enjoying it.

What President Herrick did for the University of New Mexico is told, though inadequately, in the memorial volume issued by the University. Unfortunately the writer of that book was better acquainted with his successor, President W. G. Tight, with the result that more space is given to his accomplishments than to the pioneer work of your brother. But those of us who studied geology and biology with him in those early days, who camped with him on mountain and plain, who heard him discuss at length the difficult problem of handling legislators and se-

curing the financial pittance with which to carry on the University, will never forget how great a debt the Uni- versity owes to your brother.

What it was that so thrilled every one who came in contact with him is difficult to say. Most of all perhaps the restless, far-reaching sweep of his mind, which gave birth to memorable discussions of subjects extending the whole gamut of things physiological, psychological, sociological, and political, to say nothing of things geological and zoological, in which fields he had specialized. There was in his nature an essential dignity which instantly commanded respect, and a breadth of interest and a fluency of diction which made him an incomparable conversationalist. No one could listen to his quiet but intensely enthusiastic discussions of profound problems without a feeling of admiration and delight which it is difficult to explain, or even to express. When in humorous vein he would cast the most commonplace phase of daily life into some profouncl scientific or metaphysical mold, explaining why it was that carbon, oxygen and hydrogen in certain definitely well adjusted proportions, taken into human system in the form of food, could transform a weary man into an energetic being, with mind scintillating under the impact of external radiations of wholly different nature.

15. CONCLUSION

THE LAST THREE YEARS

After his resignation from the university my brother's life was a series of tragic misfortunes. When not disabled by acute illness he earned a meager living by land and mineral surveying, but was defrauded of most of the returns of strenuous work. After he made a thorough examination of an inactive mine at Cat Mountain twelve miles west of Kelly, the Socorro Gold Mining Company was organized for the purchase and operation of the mine. Clarence was employed as manager. Within about a year's time mismanagement by the directors threw the company into bankruptcy and Clarence lost the proceeds of more than a year of vexatious and exhausting work.

The difficulties under which he labored in all his enterprises are illustrated by his account of an intri- cate land survey made for the federal government. A previous survey was rejected and Clarence was employed to repeat the work. His letter of October 20, 1901, gives some of the details.

Yours of the 10th is just received. I have just come in from a week of field work as supervising surveyor. The grant to be surveyed has been terribly bungled and proved to have been based on equally faulty work by a preceding man, so the tangle is so bad as to necessitate a complete re-survey. If I ever get this straightened out I shall be competent to take a degree in land surveying. My friend is addicted to the use of alcohol and is so blind that he cannot see a distant signal. The flag-man is a student from Stanford whose ideas of direction are the most vague in the world and who regards a straight line as one with 45 degrees in it at frequent intervals. The chain-men are gallows birds as yet out of jail and the cook is a dyspeptic with a horrible squint and kink in his brain. We are a jolly set. I have had five solid days of neuralgia and so the game proceeds. Alice has been with me and alleviated the rough spots as best she could, doing the work our cock- eyed cook and roust-a-bout should have done. . ..




His survey evidently met the exacting requirements of the government, for in March of the next year he reported:

We are rejoicing over the fact that our survey was accepted and given high praise. I had a good many qualms over it for I could never be sure that the surveyor ( ?) made my corrections. As luck would have it, the examiner went over our work and found it to "check like a dream." I hope he did not mean a nightmare.

Few of these government contracts yielded a significant profit and many of his other surveys resulted in loss. Many years later a well-known scientific collector who worked in New Mexico at that time was asked whether he knew my brother. "Yes," he said, "I met him. He was one of the few really zwhite men in that part of the country."

In 1902 and 1903 he was engaged in several mining, irrigation and reclamation projects in Mexico and New Mexico, all of which turned out disastrously. The details of these misadventures may be passed over here. He was a feckless business man operating in a community where business integrity was a rarity. He was constantly cheated and died solvent but penniless, with thousands of dollars of legitimate but uncollectable fees on his books.

His success as a university president was phenom- enal. He repeatedly submitted detailed plans for a comprehensive survey of the mineral, grazing, irrigation, and other resources of the Territory, but could get no action. If the territorial legislature had au- thorized such a survey at the close of C. L. Herrick's tenure as president of the university and put him in charge of it with a small appropriation for expenses, the development of the natural resources of New Mex- ico would have been accelerated by several decades. And, incidentally, the abilities of a great scientist and a top-notch executive would not have been frittered away in a losing struggle for subsistence.

In the winter of 1903-1904 he lived quietly with his family in Socorro in extreme depression of body and mind. He occupied himself with writing up his notes on psychological and philosophical subjects and planned several books which were not completed. His son Harry was a freshman in the School of Mines of the University of California. In the following summer he was able to earn a little money by survey work with Harry's assistance. In a letter of July 19 he described one of these surveys:

Our last venture was a survey for the University in the White Sands. We had three weeks without water fit for a beast to drink. Lost a valuable horse that died from drinking this water. It was horse or Harry, for Harry had undertaken to reach a given point where I should meet him with water. Crossing the Sands the sun came out unexpectedly and he was from 5 A.M. to 12 M. without water. I drove the horse after she would fall every few

rods and got to him in time, but not too soon. The horse died.'

A fortnight later he wrote:

Am recovering from our latest unpleasantness and taking life easy. Am likely to have to sink a well for coal exploration, superintend building of a small railroad, and survey a mine for patent this fall. Wish all this work were in Tophet, but we must eat. I could do a little neurology if I dared let things slide.

The last letter I received from him was written August 31, in which he said, "I have secured a contract for government surveying." But this contract could not be fulfilled.

His health during the last twelve months of his life was so seriously impaired that he was confined to his home much of the time, but his literary output during these months was very large, as his bibliography for 1904 and subsequent posthumous publications shows. When not physically able to earn his living by active field work, he busied himself with writing. On the last day of his life there was a pile of unfinished manuscript on his desk, and on that same day he received a letter from the editor of the American Geologist asking him to prepare another article for that journal.

A series of severe hemorrhages struck him down and he died on the fifteenth of September, 1904.

Immediately after his death a short biography with portrait and bibliography was prepared by H. Heath Bawden and published in volume 14 of the Journal of Comparative Neurology. Many other obituary notices were published, a few of which are cited here in the appended bibliography.

THE MAN HIMSELF Because "the biography of every great thinker is the

most important part of his philosophy," this narrative includes many trivial details which reveal the quality of the man. Several appraisals of this quality as recorded by impartial observers are quoted in the text. My own evaluation is based on more intimate knowledge. It cannot claim to be impartial, for my life from its beginning until now has been so vitally articulated with his that an objective analysis is impossible-and, I may add, from my standpoint undesirable.

Early in life my brother envisaged high ideals of personal character and scientific endeavor from which nothing could divert him. In his later years when racked with pain and frustrated at every turn he was discouraged and embittered, but there was no relax- ation of his endeavors. He was then a very sick man and this must always be taken into account.

His character was firm, vigorous, self-reliant, and resilient, but it was not simple, homogeneous, equable,

1 Several years earlier my brother published a reconnaissance survey of the White Sands (130), and three decades later Carl P. Russell described the white sands of Alamogordo in the National Geographic Magazine 68: 250-264, 1935.




and imperturbable. Sympathetic understanding and consideration for others was the secret of his magnetic attraction and inspirational wizardry. He had keen vision into human nature as he saw it in boys and men and generally he liked what he saw, but a tricky or venal nature he detested and for this sort of weakness there was no indemnity, no matter how brilliant the success in other ways.

His own success as a naturalist and as the progeni- tor of so many other men of creative vigor in diverse vocations was in laige measure due to his wide experience in the field of nature and especially of human nature. This experience expanded in ever broader circles as long as he lived. He knew nature face to face as a going concern, not at second hand from musty books or pickled remains where the breath of life has been replaced by the effluvia of preservatives. Not that he was unmindful or unappreciative of the necessity for carefully controlled library, museum, and laboratory study; but these researches, done of necessity in dusty archives and smoke-begrimed cities, were animated and freshened by the free air of the open spaces which were his natural habitat and to which he returned at every possible opportunity.

My brother was a deeply religious man. His early training in a Baptist parsonage left an impress which was never effaced. He had no patience with religious dogma, but he constantly tried to keep his scientific and philosophic convictions in harmonious conformity with the religious life and its motivation. In his earlier years he was active in religious work and a frequent contributor to the religious magazines. In later life, after having been repeatedly and flagrantly deceived and defrauded by eminent leaders of American religious organizations, he was cynically contemptuous of pro- fessions of religion by these men and the organizations they represented. Notwithstanding these experiences, his personal religious life and his inflexible standards of moral rectitude were never impaired in the slightest degree.

He never discussed these topics with me and he was reticent about his intimate life of sentiment and esthetic appreciation. I could see his passion for music and art and its overt expression. I knew that he read much English and German poetry and that Lucretius' poetic version of the nature of things, De Rerum Na- tura, was one of his favorites. But I never suspected that he wrote any poetry himself until I found, quite recently, among his papers a single sheet, yellowed and smudged by time, on which is written in pencil some verse dedicated to his son. This evidently was com- posed in one of his solitary camps soon after the arrival of his first-born and it reveals his artistic and religious sensitivity better than any words of mine could do.

A FATHER'S PRAYER

Beside my cot in Wolden plain A crinkling streamlet hies Whose laughing deeps enchantment claim To charm my dimming eyes.

Here in its source, a mirror bright, My face reflected shines, But, ah, not mine the forehead white, Nor mine those laughing eyes.

'Tis but a phantom from the past, A vision of my youth. How fresh, how fair, it glimmers there, Unswerving in its truth.

But farther down this brooklet elf Full deeper pools deploy, Where meets my eye another self, A rosy, laughing boy.

And floating on and swirling down, This image glints and flees, Though broken oft and wrinkled grown By many a hurtling breeze.

Not mine the power, nor man's the art To alter or repair. I lift a prayer that wrings my heart, Lord, set thine image there.



PART III

CONTRIBUTIONS TO PSYCHOBIOLOGY

16. RETROSPECT

TEACHING, ADMINISTRATION, AND RESEARCH

The preceding biography contains few references to my brother's extensive and diversified contributions to knowledge or his incisive analysis of the basic principles of operation of natural processes. His success as teacher and educational administrator and his equally obvious failures in many projects of other sorts have been described and need no further consideration.

I have only superficial knowledge of his scientific contributions in fields other than biology and psychology. The appended bibliography shows the amount and the wide range of these activities and because they are important components of the background of his biological and philosophical thinking some of them are mentioned below.

Again it is emphasized that I regard the conception and inauguration of a comprehensive and cooperative program of psychobiological research as my brother's most important contribution to science. The more obvious witnesses of the fecundity of his genius are the two journals which he established, the Bulletin of the Laboratories of Denison University and the Journal of Comparative Nleurology, the latter being the expo- nent of his psychobiological interests.

When I taught physics in 1893 some of the most eminent authorities were convinced that the basic principles of the science were then known. The structure was complete except for refinements of detail and more exact measurements. In that year I used a recently published textbook on electricity and magnetism without recognizing that its eminent author and a few of his associates were then laying the foundation of a new physics constructed on a radically different system of principles. The older structure based on Newtonian mechanics was not demolished, but it was set apart as the annex of a larger and more imposing edifice designed in accordance with previously unknown principles of relativity and quantum mechanics.

A generation earlier the static "natural philosophy" of the day was shaken from its foundations by Lyell in geology, Darwin in biology, and a few other adventurous pioneers who recognized that nature is process, not a stable structure. Their search was for laws of change rather than the immutable absolutes of traditional metaphysics. In one of Darwin's letters of 1856 he wrote, "And what a science Natural History will be, when we are in our graves, when all the laws of change are thought one of the most important parts of Natural History." 1

1 Written to J. D. Hooker, July 30, 1856, published in Charles Darwin's Autobiography, 167, New York, Henry Schuman, 1950.

In the eighteen-nineties I did not see the implications of this movement for biology and psychology; but Clarence's publications during the last ten years of his life show that he anticipated in principle, although not in the now current form, some of the most fruitful conceptions of "field" theories of matter and of mind and other departures from conventional biomechanics that have recently opened vistas in science and philosophy that are as unpredictable as are those of the economic and political revolution now in process.

In the flux of cosmic change and organic evolution what is the status of the observer? Relativistic physics has taught us that the act of observation is a two- way process, a transaction between the observer and the thing observed. We are dealing here with a "field," the mechanical principles of which involve the field as an indivisible whole. These principles cannot be expressed in terms of the intrinsic properties of either the observer or the observed taken separately. Thus the hoary mind-and-matter problem is set in a new frame of reference with parameters which may require the discovery of principles of field mechanics in dimensions as yet unexplored. Enough progress has already been registered to justify the hope that this is a fruitful line of inquiry which may find the key for solution of the major problems of psychobiology and of those human maladjustments which now threaten to destroy civilization.

At the turn of the century my brother Clarence was struggling with these problems. He did not find the answers, but he had a breadth of view and a prescient insight into the nature of the problems which enabled him to point the way to profitable lines of inquiry and methods of work and to inaugurate a program of cooperative research which is now very active and productive. His clarity of vision, resourcefulness, and courage enabled him to lay foundations that have stood the test of time. But they were only foundations, and it has taken fifty years to begin erection of the superstructure which he so clearly envisioned.

He was a frontiersman, and he was so eager to advance the borders of knowledge in so many different directions that he was loath to retrace his steps in order to give due attention to the organization and literary form of the record. Observations were published as soon as they were made and much of this raw factual description was issued before interpretation was possible. In unexplored fields this is, of course, often necessary. Clarence's earlier work in zoology and geology was finally systematized and interpreted in mono- graphic works. The neurological and psychological papers were all incomplete reconnaissance studies, mere reports of progress, and he did not live to synthesize them as he planned to do.

60



VOT.- 45. PT. 1. 19551 CONTRIBUTIONS TO PSYCHOBIOLOGY 61

Hugo de Vries worked twenty years on his contributions to mutation before he published anything, and Darwin held back the publication of the Origin of Species for a similar period of incubation, although he published many other things in the meantime. Clar- ence's practice of prompt publication of data as fast as they were accumulated perhaps was unconsciously motivated by the suppression of the major part of his monograph on the mammals of Minnesota.

The pressure under which he worked, both before and after he was stricken with tuberculosis, is shown in all his published papers of that period. There were blemishes due to careless editing of the manuscript and hasty proof reading. These minor but essential details were sometimes neglected in order to get on with other and more insistent duties. But big things were done.

PUBLICATIONS

A rapid survey of some of his publications may give an instructive view of his heterogeneous activities. Most of his later writing was done hurriedly and under the stress of pain and all manner of distractions. This was increasingly true as the years advanced. He naturally had a piquant Stevensonian style of speech and of writing. This, with his vivid imagination and artistic skill at the blackboard, made him a successful classroom and popular lecturer.

His writing was often most whimsical when he was very ill. While he was in New Mexico I rented and occupied his house in Granville. The rear line fence of split rails was decrepit and the owner of the ad- joining sheep pasture suggested a new fence to be built jointly by the two owners. I put the proposition up to Clarence and in reply received a scrap of paper on which was scrawled, "Millions for de fence, but not one cent for tribute." There was no tribute. John Dustin was a good neighbor. He built the fence and charged only for our share of the cost of posts and wire, nothing for his own labor.

In his earlier years Clarence wrote many articles for the newspapers. There is a large scrapbook of clippings of these essays, most of which were published in religious periodicals and were designed to liberalize the prevalent dogmatism and to acquaint religious leaders with current movements in science and philosophy.

A few of his publications while connected with the Minnesota Survey have been mentioned. The method of publication of his translation of Lotze's Outlines of Psychology in 1885 merits comment. The manuscript was submitted to an eastern publisher who returned it with the suggestion that the translation could be improved by revision and if resubmitted in more idio- matic English form publication would be considered. Instead of following this good advice (which Clarence later confessed to me was quite justified), he had it printed by a local firm and distributed by a bookstore in Minneapolis. The book, of course, could not be

marketed in this way and a year later it was supplanted by G. T. Ladd's translation. This reckless plunge into a publishing enterprise quite on his own without count- ing the cost was characteristic of the adventurous policy he followed in everything he did as long as he lived.

The failure of the state to provide funds for the publication of his large quarto volume on the mammals of Minnesota was a misfortune for which he was not responsible. This work was a sumptuously illustrated monograph. After it was submitted in 1885 several years elapsed during which Professor Winchell vainly tried to secure the necessary appropriation and finally it was decided to issue selected parts of the big book as two bulletins in the series already established by the Survey.

The first of these bulletins was published by the Survey in 1892, including those parts of the original manuscript and 23 selected figures which were regarded as of especial interest and value to the general public. The second bulletin, which was to be devoted to the comparative anatomy of the native mammals, with especial reference to osteology and myology, was never published. The result was that a large amount of scientific material and a considerable number of portraits of these animals painted from life in water color were suppressed and the unpublished text and plates have been lost. In the bulletin published in 1892 some text and many illustrations were eliminated by the State Printing Commission during the course of publication. This was done without adequate editing and proof reading, with the result that the published text is blemished by serious and sometimes lu- dicrous blunders.2

Subsequent work by others has doubtless rendered most of the suppressed material scientifically obsolete; but the illustrations that are included in the published bulletin give ample evidence that the loss of the other pictures, particularly the portraits in color and the animated pen sketches of animals drawn from life, was a disaster to art as well as to science. For the author the suppression of this monograph was a personal tragedy, consigning to oblivion the most valuable part of several years of intensive field and laboratory work at the most critical period of his scientific career.

At Denison from 1884 to 1888 Clarence published voluminously on a variety of subjects, chiefly geology, paleontology, and lithology, these papers describing local geology and fauna and reporting the results of the activities mentioned in the preceding narrative. Most of them were printed in the Bulletin of the Lab- oratories of Denison University. Other reports were published in the American Geologist, the Bulletin of

2This work is now supplanted by another of similar scope and purpose which is said to be in part a revision of out-of- print earlier works on Minnesota mammals.

Harvey L. Gunderson and James R. Beer, The mammals of Mlinnesota, Univ. of Minn. Press, 1953.




the Geological Society of Atnerica, and the Reports of the Ohio Geological Survey.

The founding and subsequent history of the Denison Scientific Association are outlined in chapter 10. When the Association was organized in 1887 it immediately became the sponsor and publisher of the Bulletin of the Laboratories, although the Bulletin had been regularly issued during the preceding three years. The first number appeared in December, 1885, but more than a year earlier the plans for its publication had been laid. My brother was on temporary appointment at Denison in the autumn of 1884 and August Foerste gives the following account of the conception and incubation of this project:

When Herrick first came to Denison, in the fall of 1884, Foerste, then in his sophomore year, had become acquainted with the best fossil collecting localities in the vicinity of Granville. Though Herrick was four years older the two men soon found common interest in the local fossils and took trips together. During one of their trips to Flint Ridge, in the eastern part of Licking County, Herrick broached the question of a new journal of science, to be published at Denison, and invited Foerste to be a contributor. Foerste drew his plates, one on superposed buds in plants, and two on Brassfield fossils, during the summer of 1885, and they were ready when Herrick returned in the fall of 1885 for his permanent location at Denison. Herrick soon became active in making plans for the printing of the Bulletin and in securing financial support. The printing proceeded slowly with Foerste as a frequent proof reader.

The first volume of the Bulletin had articles by only two contributors, Herrick and Foerste. Clarence assumed personal responsibility for it and all the hazards involved. The necessary funds came from diverse sources-appropriations by the college as liberally as the small budget permitted, personal contributions by the founder and his colleagues and by other friends of the college, and also substantial subsidies by authors of the published papers. This Journal, as it is now named, has been published continuously for seventy years and it has won an enviable international reputation. Most of this material has been written by members of the college. The amount and quality of the research in these volumes I venture to say form a record of scientific production that is unsurpassed by any other privately endowed college of comparable size and resources. The history of the first half century of the life of this journal has been written by two of its leading contributors.3

In 1893 a literary magazine, The Denison Quarterly, began publication under the able management of Pro- fessor W. H. Johnson. This was warmly welcomed

3Aug. F. Foerste, The earlier history of the Bulletin of the Scientific Laboratories of Denison University, Denison Univ. Bull., Jour. Sci. Lab. 29: 205-227, 1934.

Kirtley F. Mather, Later history of the Journal of the Sci entific Laboratories of Denison University, ibid., 31: 170-195, 1936.

by Clarence as a congenial teammate of the Bulletin of the Scientific Laboratories, and to its first volume he contributed four articles on "The Scope and Methods of Comparative Psychology." The fourth (and last) volume of the quarterly, issued in 1896, contained another of his papers on "The Critics of Ethical Monism."

While at the University of Cincinnati (1888-1891) Clarence published several papers which brought his studies of the geology of Ohio to a close, save for one paper on the Waverly group published by the Ohio Geological Survey in 1893. At this time he was con- centrating attention upon neurological research and the establishment of the Journal of Comparative Neurology. This was true also in the second Denison period (1892- 1894), during which time most of his work was published in his own Journal. Before the Journal was founded he published an important paper on the brain of the alligator in the Journal of the Cincinnati Society of Natural History, a long article on the histology of the brain of rodents in the Denison Bulletin, and several shorter neurological articles. A contribution upon the brain of the opossum published in 1892 (59) shows that he was one of the first American biologists to recognize the unique opportunity presented by the abundance in North America of this primitive marsupial.

The New MIexico decade was a period of intense activity and prolific publication on a surprising variety of subjects. During the first year he wrote many reviews and short articles, some of the latter for the popular magazines as pot boilers. The preparation at this time of his monograph on the Entomostraca of Minnesota was an astonishing achievement in view of his acute illness and other adverse conditions. The manuscript was finished and submitted for publication less than ten months after his first pulmonary hemorrhage. It was published about a year later by the Min- nesota Survey as a volume of 525 pages, including 81 plates. He was then living an unsettled life in complete isolation from library and other facilities. Refer- ence books could be consulted only by borrowing from eastern libraries. In view of these facts the obvious imperfections of the work should be judged leniently.

In the winter of 1896-1897 he and I were engaged with the preparation of the neurological articles for Baldwin's Dictionary of Philosophy and Psychology, published in 1901. This involved an extensive and burdensome correspondence. I was in New York and Clarence had no library facilities, not even a good dictionary of the English language. At this time he also wrote several neurological articles for Wood's Refer- ence Handbook of the Medical Sciences. While president of the university he established the Bulletin of the University of New Mexico.

In his last years he had in preparation several systematic treatises. These included a textbook of comparative neurology, a book on ethics to be entitled Lectures on Conduct: The Principles of Ethics from



VOL. 45, PT. 1,1955] CONTRIBUTIONS TO PSYCHOBIOLOGY 63 the Dynamic Point of View, and a book elaborating his philosophy of dynamic realism. He published several short papers drawn from these manuscripts and a few others were issued posthumously. But most of this material was too fragmentary for editing.

In 1910 a memoir of a hundred pages, entitled "The Metaphysics of a Naturalist: Philosophical and Psy- chological Fragments," was assembled and published as volume 15 of the Bulletin of the Denison Scientific Laboratories (156). This compilation of Clarence's published and unpublished papers was skillfully and sympathetically done by Dr. H. Heath Bawden as a tribute to the memory of the teacher who first introduced him to science and philosophy. Much of this material is from unpublished fragmentary notes and letters.

JOINT AUTHORSHIP

Much of Clarence's research work was not published under his authorship, for he rarely included his name as joint author of a student's paper even though the neophyte's part was only that of an unskillful techni- cian. Most of the few joint papers were reports of projects to which the junior author made noteworthy original contributions. His researches and mine have been carried on, for the most part, quite independently save for a common objective and some consultation. After 1894 we were separated by fifteen hundred miles and saw each other only twice during that decade.

My first scientific paper was written jointly with Clarence while I was an undergraduate in Cincinnati. It was published in volume 6 of the Denison Bulletin, and later in that same year another joint paper was issued in the first volume of the Journal of Compara- tive Neurology. The latter paper was in two parts, each author being exclusively responsible for his own part. That first paper, dealing with the habits of some rodents, is the only scientific contribution that carries both of our names as joint authors. We were, however, jointly responsible for the neurological articles in Baldwin's Dictionary of Philosophy and Psychology published by Macmillan in 1901 and for a short paper on neurological nomenclature published in the Journal in 1897.

17. THE HISTORICAL BACKGROUND

PIONEERS OF NEUROLOGY

Periods of rapid and sometimes revolutionary change in the advancement of knowledge are usually marked by the presence of a few men of unusual insight who are able to recognize relationships of known facts that give them new meanings and so point the way toward hitherto unexplored fields of inquiry. Although the seeds planted by these men are unique, nevertheless they have parents and the manner of their growth is determined in large measure by the soil in which they

are implanted. The physical and cultural nature of this soil is open to inspection and the historical development of its pattern can be followed. We can cite here only a few items of the early history of psychobiology and mention the names of only those men whose influence upon the formulation of my brother's program is most evident.

The Dark Ages of the history of neurology extend from prehistoric times up to the middle of the nineteenth century. In this vast domain there are still many dark corners, but the present generation has seen a revolutionary change in the method of attack-the strategy-of neurological research.

Until about a hundred years ago the study of the norinal and pathological properties of the nervous system was a series of tactical forays directed toward specific problems with no scientifically acceptable guiding principles. No overall strategy of the research program was possible. Each worker started out, as he should, with working hypotheses; but these were generally based on metaphysical rather than factual considerations, with the result that the facts observed were not understood and too often were misinterpreted.

From the beginning the clinical approach was most popular and most fruitful, but the results were not commensurate with the labor expended. For successful medical treatment the physician should know what organs are affected, where they are located, their relations to other organs, and what clinical symptoms result from their impairment. Adequate knowledge of normal function is prerequisite to diagnosis and treatment of disordered function. Very little of this basic knowledge was available in neurology and the result was that treatment was empirical and for the most part futile.

Furthermore, mental disease was regarded as a "functional" disorder for which no organic basis was demon- strable or to be expected. Medical practitioners, in common with most other people, were dominated by the Jewish and Christian tradition of a metaphysical dualism which split mind and body apart in separate and incommensurable realms of being, with the result that psychiatry came to be an esoteric cult with only adventitious relationship with the rest of medical practice. The treatment of the mind as an independent entity resulted in the segregation of mental patients, and the general failure of the treatments then in vogue reduced the lunatic asylums to institutions for merely custodial care which were usually atrociously mismanaged.

These deficiencies and defects of medical neurology and psychiatry have not yet been completely overcome, but the turn of the century was marked by radical changes in objectives and methods that inaugurated the revolution to which reference has been made. More accurate and detailed knowledge of the normal structure and physiology of the nervous system was the




first prerequisite. Earlier work was handicapped by lack of adequate technical methods for study in this difficult domain, but during the last quarter of the nineteenth century vastly improved methods of anatomical and physiological research were devised and progress was very rapid.

Traditional psychology was undergoing a similar transformation. Experimental research was begun and the new science of physiological psychology was born. Objective psychology and the comparative study of animal behavior and genetic psychology were flourishing before the end of the last century.

The beginning of the twentieth century saw intense activity in experimental embryology, developmental mechanics, and bio-mechanics in general. The comparative anatomy and embryology of the nervous system had long been studied, but this voluminous literature was a mass of undigested detail which now was beginning to be systematized and interpreted. The basic principles of the evolutionary and embryological development of the nervous system were coming to light, and these principles were invaluable as guides for analysis of the complexities of the human nervous system. Investigation in these diverse fields was necessarily carried on by specialists, most of whom had little contact with the work of specialists in the other fields. The work of the nonmedical specialists in the aggregate laid the foundations upon which a scientifically acceptable psychobiology can be elaborated. 'Med- ical neurology and psychiatry can be effectively integrated so as to give the greatest benefit to the patients under treatment only if organic and mental treatment of every patient go hand in hand. This applies to the general practitioner as truly as to the psychiatrist. Osler said that mental therapy (he called it "faith") is the most valuable therapeutic agent in our pharma- copeia.

THE RISE OF EXPERIMENTAL AND COMPARATIVE METHODS

The preceding hundred years has seen the emergence of an orderly science of neurology from chaotic disorder. This has been brought about, first, by highly specialized research in clinical practice, pathological laboratories, and a wide variety of nonmedical disciplines, and, second, in the last half of this period, by the successful integration of these diverse activities in theory and in practice. Each subdivision of this vast and diversified field has had its pioneers, men of insight and prescience who were able to detect trends and principles that pointed the way toward fruitful lines of further investigation.

Near the beginning of this period Hughlings Jackson, with prophetic insight, deduced from his clinical experience some general neurological principles which have received abundant confirmation by subsequent workers. His colleagues in the British Isles and on the Continent rapidly expanded our knowledge of the structure of the

human brain and began the series of physiological experiments on subhuman animals that continues at an accelerated rate up to our time. The inception of the modern period of experimental neurology is usually dated at the publication in 1870 by Fritsch and Hitzig of their experiments upon dogs,' this being the first demonstration of the electrical excitability of the cerebral cortex.

The facts and principles discovered by animal ex- perimentation cannot be directly applied to the human nervous system, for the mechanisms involved are different. One must know what these differences are before this knowledge can be applied clinically. Experi- mental neurophysiology, accordingly, must be based on adequate information about the comparative anatomy and physiology of the animals studied. Comparative neurology must lay a secure foundation for successful experimental work in neurophysiology.

Another demand for extensive research in comparative neurology arises from the fact that the complexity of the human brain makes successful analysis very difficult. The fundamental principles of nervous structure and action are most easily and clearly revealed in the simpler nervous systems of primitive species of animals where they are not obscured by the diversities of specialization of the higher animals. In earlier times the frog was the handmaid of physiology, but about fifty years ago it was recognized that the related and simpler salamanders are far more suitable subjects for these studies. Here the fundamental features of the vertebrate nervous system are organized in patterns that are common to all vertebrates so that the precursors of the human pattern can be identified. The amphibian nervous system thus serves as a paradigm or standard of reference with which those of animals both lower and higher in the scale of complexity can be compared and interpreted. This is why a considerable number of specialists in anatomy, physiology, and experimental embryology have thought it worth while to devote more than fifty years to intensive study of the salamanders.

Comparative studies of the development of the nervous system embryologically and phylogenetically go, hand in hand, for each supplements the other. The development of the individual is an open book that can be read stage by stage from day to day. The evolutionary history, on the contrary, spans a period of hundreds of millions of years of which the record is incomplete and much defaced by time. No fossilized brains have been preserved, but the available skeletal remains give clear evidence of the successive changes; in the external form of the brain and of the pattern of distribution of some of the peripheral nerves and sense organs. The fossil record is now sufficiently extensive to enable the paleontologists to determine the

1 G. Fritsch and E. Hitzig, Ueber die elektrische Erregbarkeit des Grosshirns, Arch. f. Anat. Physiol. u. wissensch. Med. Leip- zig, 300-332, 1870.



VOL. 45, PT. 1, 19551 CONTRIBUTIONS TO PSYCHOBIOLOGY 65

phylogenetic relationships of all the larger branches of the vertebrate phylum, and fortunately some represen- tatives of most of the stages of this evolutionary sequence survive to our time. The comparative neurolo- gist, accordingly, is able to correlate these living species with the fossilized remains of their remote ancestors and so to describe with a fair degree of probability the evolutionary history of the internal structure of the brain. The embryological development of the human brain recapitulates this evolutionary history approximately, although there are some interesting deviations.

Each of the several species of animals has been specialized in adaptation to some particular environment and way of life, with corresponding structural differ- entiations of the nervous system. These differences are instructive. Fishes which live permanently in caves are blind, with in some cases complete disappearance of the visual apparatus. Nature has performed an experiment here which has some advantages over any laboratory experiments that can be devised, for the pathological complications resulting from surgical removal of the eyes are avoided.

Conversely, in some animals particular sensory or motor systems are enormously enlarged so that their central nervous connections are rendered more conspicuous. The carp and catfish, for example, have vast numbers of tastebuds in the mouth and all over the outer skin. Taste is the dominant sense and the gustatory nerves are the largest in the body. In the mammals it has been very difficult to demonstrate either the peripheral or the central courses of the fibers of the gustatory system, but in these fishes the central connections of the tastebuds are the most conspicuous tracts in the brain, and the pattern here clearly shown is repeated in greatly reduced form in the human brain and in all other vertebrate brains.

THE FOUNDERS OF COMPARATIVE NEUROLOGY

It is evident that my brother very early in his scientific career planned to devote the later years of his life to neurological and psychological research and the vital relationships of these two domains of human experience. His work on the Minnesota Survey was concerned chiefly with field natural history, animal behavior, and comparative anatomy. In view of this preparation, he naturally chose to approach the program planned for his mature years by way of comparative neurology.

When the opportune time to put this plan into execution came in 1888, he found that he was following the lead of another pioneer, Ludwig Edinger. These two men are generally regarded as the founders of comparative neurology as an organized scientific discipline, the one in Germany, the other in the United States. They were not the first to open the field, but they devoted themselves steadfastly to the task of its systematic cultivation and their efforts had enduring

results. Both of them approached the subject from the psychobiological standpoint and Herrick carried his work in this domain much further than Edinger was able to do.

Ludwig Edinger was a successful medical practitioner in Frankfurt a/M, and he was the first German physician to characterize himself as a nerve specialist (Nervenartz). Early in this career he gave a course of lectures to local physicians on the structure of the central nervous system of man and other vertebrates which was published in 1885.2 This book was well received. The seventh edition was in two volumes, the first (1904) on man and mammals and the second (1908) on the comparative anatomy of the brain. Vol- ume 1 of the eighth edition appeared in 1911, but the second volume was unpublished when Edinger died at Frankfurt, January 26, 1918.

Edinger's private research laboratory was opened to other qualified students and he subsequently endowed it as the Neurological Institute. At the founding of the University of Frankfurt in 1914 he presented it to the university with an adequate endowment. It survived the ravages of two wars and is now operating in the university.

Professor Edinger's brain was preserved at his own request, and a recently published description of it3 shows some interesting features. He had outstanding mental ability, visual acuity, and motor skill. He had a fine appreciation of art and literature. His daughter tells me that in later life scarcely a day passed without a quotation from Goethe. His hearing was good but he had an interesting "tune-deafness" and could not recognize a melody except sometimes by the rhythm. He was left-handed. The unusual pattern of the cerebral convolutions seems to be correlated with these distinctive traits. It is of interest to note in this connection that his daughter, Tilly, has achieved distinction as a vertebrate paleontologist and she may justly be regarded as the most competent authority in paleoneurology.

An active correspondence passed between Edinger and the two Herricks. A few of these letters have been preserved and some extracts from them are quoted here. In a letter of July 1, 1908, Dr. Edinger wrote to me: "Have you noticed that, despite a strong aver- sion to giving personal names to fiber tracts, yet I cannot refrain from perpetuating your brother's name in some way? I have sponsored a Herrick's commissure in the fishes."

The twenty-fifth volume of the Journal of Cornpara- tive Neurology was dedicated to Dr. Edinger on the

2Ludwig Edinger, Vorlesungen iiber den Bau der nervosen Centralorgane des Menschen und der Thiere, Leipzig, Vogel, 1885. Two English translations of these lectures have been published by F. A. Davis, Philadelphia, one of the second edition in 1890 and one of the fifth edition in 1899.

3 Walther Riese and Kurt Goldstein, The brain of Ludwig Edinger. An inquiry into the cerebral morphology of mental ability and left-handedness, Jour. Comp. Neur. 92: 133-168, 1950.




occasion of his sixtieth birthday, April 13, 1915. This was done without consulting him, for communication with Germany was precarious at that time. Two copies of the number containing his portrait and the dedication were sent to him, one by way of the Netherlands, and when one of these was received he wrote me a letter which is here translated.

Frankfurt a. Main, Leerbachstrasse 27

My very distinguished colleague: I have just received the number of your Journal in which

you have commemorated my 60th birthday in so distinctive a manner. Believe me, the sight of this number has deeply moved me. At first, I felt that its appearance honored me more than I deserved. And then I felt so clearly how each one in science is but a link in the chain compared with the mass of the whole. For I had worked together with the same men who founded the Journal of Comparative Neu- rology and who contributed their labors to it. I thought first of all of the time when your brother's influence was in action-one of the few men before whose eyes the ends for which we were working were clearly defined. Today we completely fill two journals and contribute pertinent articles to many others. In those days we were but three or four workers. Only we-your brother and I-saw the farther goal, which was to learn to understand the genesis of the brain. When, from the start, others gradually came to our assistance, able men were added to our number, among whom you wvere in the first rank. The memory of your brother, however, must not perish, and it is of course natural that I think of him today. Now we have gone further, but only to see how enormously long is the road that still lies before us. But it can be trodden. The older ones have now become more interested in psychological problems, which arise anew as we acquire better knowledge of the structure of the functioning mechanism. But this always demands that one keep himself constantly in check in order that his thought not deviate from that which is actually capable of confirmation and run away into speculation. Only do not "finish," as Goethe says in a fine stanza about himself which I have long ago chosen as a guide. I will write it down here; it will also please you.

Weite Welt und breites Leben, Langer Jahre redlich Streben, Stets geforscht und stets gegriindet, Nie geschlossen oft geriindet, Altestes bewahrt mit Treue, Freundlich augefasstes Neue, Heitern Sinn und reine Zwecke: Ja man kommt schon eine Strecke.

I have not at hand the addresses of the gentlemen who have contributed to this number, in order to thank them, so I will do this through you, to whom more particularly I of course send my warmest thanks.

Yours, Edinger

14/IV/15

The brief dedication "in commemoration of his fundamental researches in comparative neurology" closed with a quotation from the Preface of the second edition of his Vorlesungen that describes so accurately the motivation of my brother's work also that I have translated it for republication here.

There must be a number of anatomical arrangements which are present in the same form in all vertebrates, arrangements which are adapted to give the simplest manifestations of the activities of the central organ. In order that any particular mechanism may be understood, we have only to discover the species of animal or the developmental stage of an animal in which it is present in so simple form as to be fully intelligible. When the relations of such a structure, say a fiber tract or a group of cells, have been accurately determined somewhere, then it is usually easy to recognize them again where they are more or less obscured by new additions. The discovery of such basic structural features of the brain appears to be the next and the most important task of brain anatomy. Once we have learned these facts, it will be easier to understand the com- plex arrangements with which the more highly organized brains do their work.

Professor Edinger took no part in the founding and management of the Journal of Comparative Neurology, but he gave it cordial support and contributed several papers. His lecture on "The Relations of Comparative Anatomy to Comparative Psychology" published in our Journal in 1908 4 is a clear and incisive statement of my brother's basic motivation for starting this periodical in 1891.

Through the kindness of Professor W. Kriicke, present director of the Edinger Institute in Frankfurt, I have received copies of two letters written to Edinger by my brother while he was in Berlin in 1892.

He wrote at length on March 30 about some differences between Edinger's recently published description of the brains of some fishes and his own observations and asked if Edinger could give any clue to the dis- crepancies. "I dislike," he wrote, "to seem so pre- sumptuous as to imply so great a difference between the two groups of fishes." Edinger's reply is not available. My brother's letter of April 6 makes it clear that the conference was fruitful. One of the topics discussed related to the homologies of parts of the cerebral hemispheres of fishes and those of man. Evidently Edinger had misunderstood my brother's opinions, and in reply he wrote:

I call attention that I have repeatedly stated that in the absence of a cortex, or rather its representation by a [mem- branous] pallium, as I was one of the first to show, these terms imply no homologies. Thus, in Journ. Comp. Neu- rol., vol. 1, p. 233, I say, "It must be constantly kept in mind that the fissures upon the dorsal surface of the cerebrum of fishes cannot have the same significance as in mammals.". . . The only thing I have ever said which could be construed as implying homologies in these cases is on p. 349 (Dec. no.)-"it becomes of great interest to discover whether the axial lobe of fishes contains cell clus- tres which can be looked upon as the physiological equiva- lent of the cortical areas of higher mammals.". . . I regret that affairs have conspired to call me home and I shall be unable to visit you, as was contemplated.

From Edinger's long letter of March 15, 1894, to ny brother I translate:

4 18: 437-457, 1908.



VOL. 45. PT. 1. 1955] CONTRIBUTIONS TO PSYCHOBIOLOGY 67

First of all, my best thanks for your kindly review of the fourth edition of my book. . . . The progress of your Journal is very gratifying. If only I could devote more time to anatomical studies, as I should like to do, instead of to the urgencies of practice and scientific mnatters of practical import, I would gladly send you contributions as opportunity offers. And you should keep in mind that Ad. Meyer writes me from Kankakee, Illinois, that he too will return to comparative anatomy as soon as he has more time and peace.

The letter ends with an amusing account of Edinger's narrow escape from a serious blunder. After a second critical study he discovered that a unique structure found in the brain of an alligator was a malformation.

The contributions of another pioneer in this field should be mentioned here. It is perhaps not generally known that the dean of American psychiatrists, Dr. Adolf Meyer, initiated his distinguished scientific career with a doctor's dissertation on the forebrain of some reptiles (Zeits. wziss. Zool., Bd. 55, 1892). This classic paper is a landmark in the history of comparative neurology, and Dr. Meyer retained his interest in this field, serving on the editorial board of the Journal of Com- parative Neurology from 1898 to his death in 1950.

18. A PROGRAM OF PSYCHOBIOLOGICAL RESEARCH

In 1888 Clarence began preparation of material for a comprehensive survey of the comparative anatomy and embryology of the nervous system with the expectation that this would be accompanied by study of comparative and genetic psychology. This shift of interest from rocks to brains, as Adolf Meyer expressed it, was not as abrupt as the casual observer might suppose, for this is just what he planned to do at the beginning of his scientific career.

The facilities at Denison were inadequate, but he made the most of them and created opportunities where there were none. He purchased two acres of land ad- joining the college campus upon which he built a ten- room frame house. Ample space was left for breeding pens and other facilities for rearing a colony of experimental animals under as nearly natural conditions as possible. This was planned in preparation for study of comparative and genetic psychology and parallel study of the anatomy and embryology of the animals under observation.

Before this project was fairly started he accepted an appointment at the University of Cincinnati because it promised better support for his program and larger opportunities for expansion, a promise that was abun- dantly fulfilled. The teaching load was heavy at both Denison and Cincinnati and no assistance of any kind was provided. All the technical drudgery of preparing serial sections of many small brains had to be done with his own hands, and notwithstanding this the output of description of this material was astonishingly large.

At the University of Cincinnati attention was directed mainly to the comparative anatomy and embryology of the nervous system and animal behavior. It was hoped that the program could be expanded to include comparative, genetic, and physiological psychology.

It was during this period that he formulated his comprehensive program of cooperative research in psychobiology. He issued no prospectus of this ambitious project, evidently realizing that its growth would be slow and that the directions taken would be determined by opportunities available. Its scope and broad outline are clearly seen in his own activities, his correspondence with W. R. Harper in 1891, his conduct of the Journal of Comparative Neurology, and the papers published between 1892 and 1904. This evidence shows that the plan as he then envisioned it was substantially as follows. The work in comparative neurology then in process was to be carried on intensively and expanded. As soon as practicable this was to be accompanied by systematic research in comparative and physiological psychology and by the development of cooperative relations with work in diverse other fields. The Journal of Comparative Neurology was established in 1891 to provide a forum and clearing house for relevant research in all these fields.

The clearest available evidence of the scope and nature of the project is in the conferences and correspondence with President Harper during the negotiations for Clarence's appointment to the faculty of the Uni- versity of Chicago in 1891. The conditions upon which he accepted this appointment stipulated that he was to have the direction and control of teaching and research in several specified subjects which in the organization of most universities are assigned to two or more different departments. This did not imply that he was to be head of those departments or, necessarily, a member of their faculties. But the intent was clear that he was to be responsible for an integrated program of administration that included neurology and physiological and comparative psychology. This project obviously could not be operated successfully unless there were intimate and cordial working relations among several departments, with flexible organization and assignment of programs of teaching and research that was acceptable to all concerned.

There is evidence that Clarence regarded his contract with President Harper as merely a first step toward a much more comprehensive objective, a survey of the original nature of man, its evolutionary origins, and its ecological relationships in all of their infinitely various aspects, including the physical and social environment with which human conduct must be kept in harmonious adjustment.

At that time the study of man was relatively retarded except in a few special departments. The gross anatomy of man and allied animal species was well known, but the minute anatomy of the nervous system was just



68 C. J. HERRICK: CLARENCE LUTHER HERRICK TRANS. AMER. PHIL. SOC.

beginning to be explored with adequate technical methods. And the correlation of this structure, so far as known, with the patterns of behavior performed by it was still scarcely more than a promising field for future work, upon which the skill of specialists in diverse departments must converge.

He envisaged within the university an organized unit that would be the focus of diverse lines of research activity that would cross the boundaries of the departments as conventionally defined without impairment of their autonomy. The objective would be the integration of all factors of human biology in whatever field of inquiry these factors might be brought to light. This implies working contacts of one sort or another with a wide variety of departments which in most university organizations are separated by rigid and jealously guarded barriers-anatomy, physiology, zoology, ecology, anthropology, clinical neurology, psychiatry, the social sciences, psychology, philosophy, and others. These several specialties must be cultivated by qualified experts and it is the province of psychobiology to extract from their work all relevant data and integrate them into a consistent structure of scientific principles.

This was my brother's glorious dream, a dream which was quickly transformed into an inglorious nightmare. But the glory was not extinguished and the dream has at long last come true. The tragic denoue- ment of his negotiations with the University of Chicago as narrated in the next chapter left him disillusioned, cynical, and nearly bankrupt financially, physically, and mentally; but his immediate reappointment to the faculty of Denison University in June of 1892 revived his courage and he began at once to salvage as much as possible from the wreckage of his cherished project.

His second tenure at Denison lasted only a year and a quarter before he was incapacitated by disease, but the record of those few months is impressive. The study of the brains of lower vertebrates was resumed and voluminous reports were published. His teaching included in addition to the required routine courses in biology, a course in physiological psychology and the training of a small group of advanced students in neurological research, as previously mentioned. Dur- ing this period he published several short papers on animal behavior and four papers on the scope and methods of comparative psychology which show the trend of his thinking.

Although the details of this ideal of psychobiological research were not set down in written form, his deeds reveal its essential quality. The preceding general statements can best be documented by a short account of the Chicago fiasco of 1892, some details of the history of the founding and successful conduct of the Journal of Comparative Neurology, and a few selected samples extracted from his later writings.

19. THE CHICAGO EPISODE

My brother's brief tenure of a professorship in the University of Chicago in 1892 merits more than passing mention. Because this interruption of the program so auspiciously inaugurated at the University of Cin- cinnati had so disastrous consequences for him and for the advancement of science, the salient facts about this appointment are summarized. It is appropriate that these facts be put on record here, for they were suppressed at that time or glossed with misrepresentation.

In June of 1891 President W. R. Harper called upon Clarence and offered him a professorship in the reorganized University of Chicago. Clarence replied that his present position was satisfactory and that he was enjoying so flattering a prospect of development of the program in which he was then interested that it would be a great sacrifice to interrupt it by the administrative work involved in building up an organization on a new foundation. His preference was for research. In a subsequent interview he handed Dr. Harper a written statement of the conditions upon which he would be willing to serve in Chicago, a statement which he believed would be quite unacceptable.

This statement specified that his professorship should embrace control of work in three cognate departments, viz., neurology, physiological psychology, and comparative psychology. It was made plain that the only consideration which would induce him to accept the appointment was the opportunity to bring the best resources of modern science to bear on a synthetic treatment of these three allied subjects. He specified also that an adequate subsidy for the Journal of Cornpara- tive Neurology must be guaranteed.

To my brother's surprise, these conditions were accepted by President Harper in their entirety. Further negotiations were continued for several months, in the course of which the work for which Clarence was to be responsible was clearly defined. In order to make it certain that there could be no misunderstanding about this, Clarence took pains to specify by name the particular courses for which he was to be responsible, and he had Harper's written agreement that these courses were to be given under his direction. One memorandum included six formal courses in physiological and comparative psychology and five in neurology, besides an unspecified number of seminar and research courses. The title of his chair was not then chosen, but in a letter of December 14, 1891, Harper suggested that it might be Professor of Neurology. Evidently there was no formal agreement about the title, but Clarence's understanding of it is clearly indicated by the fact that in two of his scientific papers published early in 1892 after his election by the university trustees we read, "By C. L. Herrick, Professor of Neurology and Comparative Psychology, University of Chicago."



VOL. 45. PT. 1. 19551 CONTRIBUTIONS TO PSYCHOBIOLOGY 69

In a letter to Clarence dated June 15, 1891, Dr. Harper wrote:

I have read your letter with a great deal of interest and should like to have you regard the matter as settled that you are to be at Chicago as a professor at the salary of $3,000. a year, the details of it to be arranged in some way that will be entirely satisfactory to you. You may be sure that I will make no other arrangement which will not permit your best interests to be looked after.

In another letter of December 7, 1891, Dr. Harper wrote:

Your favors of Nov. 21st and 23rd have been received. I am very much obliged to you for all they contain. I understand that you are to work along the line you indicate. I may say to you that we are negotiating with Prof. Whitman of Clark University for the headship of the department of biology. The plans are by no means clearly laid out, but you will be protected in the particular department of work in which you wish to labor.

There is probably no record of Clarence's personal conferences with President Harper, but documents in my possession, including a file of correspondence between Clarence and Harper, leave no room for doubt that the terms on which my brother accepted the appointment in the University of Chicago were written specifically and in detail, that these terms were accepted by Dr. Harper item by item, and that he assured Clarence that he had the authority to make binding agreements. Many details were left for subsequent adjustment, but the fields of science embraced by the appointment were clearly and repeatedly stated and they had President Harper's approval in written and signed letters.

After six months of negotiation had brought to my brother the written agreement that the terms of appointment which he specified were acceptable, he resigned from the University of Cincinnati and was elected as "Professor in Biology" by the trustees of the University of Chicago at the meeting of January 29, 1892. This appointment was to take effect the following October, and Clarence planned to spend the intervening months in Europe at his own expense in preparation for it and the purchase of apparatus for his laboratory.

While my brother was in Europe negotiations with C. 0. Whitman resulted in his appointment as head of the department of biology of the University of Chi- cago and of seven of his colleagues at Clark University to positions in the Chicago faculty. One of this number was H. H. Donaldson, who was elected Professor of Neurology on April 26, 1892. A little earlier (March 29) Charles A. Strong was elected Assistant Professor in the department of psychology and the courses in physiological psychology were assigned to him.

Both of these appointments were in flagrant violation of my brother's contract with President Harper and Clarence was not informed of them. This knowl-

edge came to him indirectly after the appointments had been officially confirmed by the university trustees. He returned to the United States in April and in conference with President Harper tried to find out what his status was. The President admitted that he had not kept his agreement and after further negotiation proposed that Clarence occupy a chair of comparative psychology in the department of philosophy! There was no prospect of developing the cooperative relations with the departments of biology and psychology which were essential for the development of his project. The intent evidently was to isolate him in a minor position. He declined this appointment and his resignation from the University of Chicago was accepted by the trustees June 7, 1892.

The documentary evidence now in my hands sup- ports my belief that if Harper and Whitman had really wanted to find an honorable solution of a difficult problem this could have been done. If early in Harper's negotiation with Whitman (which began more than a month before my brother left Cincinnati for Germany) Whitman, Donaldson, Strong, and Clarence had been brought together for frank discussion of their respective programs, it might have been possible for them to arrange a satisfactory adjustment. Clarence's comparative neurology was to be closely articulated with his comparative psychology. Donaldson's statistical work was related primarily with the study of the growth of the nervous system. The two programs of teaching and research would supplement each other in mutually helpful ways, and both programs could probably have been correlated with work in other departments if the administration had so desired. The physiological and comparative psychology could have been similarly articulated with the other activities of the as yet unorganized department of psychology.

Unfortunately no attempt was made to secure such an adjustment and arbitrary action was taken without consultation with the parties concerned. That the problem could have been resolved satisfactorily I think is clear from facts of record. It is significant that neither Dr. Strong nor Dr. Donaldson knew that their appointments violated President Harper's prior contract with my brother. Whether the trustees of the university were aware of this fact I do not know. I think it possible that they acted in good faith and were not told that their assignment to other members of the faculty of duties which had been promised to my brother was a breach of contract.

One of the few surviving members of the university at its opening in 1892 has recently referred to my brother's resignation from that faculty as due to an unfortunate misunderstanding. True, there was plenty of misunderstanding due to suppression and misrepresentation of the facts, but certainly President Harper by his own admission understood perfectly that his action was a violation of a legally binding contract. One canard in circulation at that time was that Clar-




ence 's resignation was due to his disappointment because he was not made head of the department of biology. As far as I know, there is no foundation for this story. In the letter of December 7, 1891, Dr. Harper told Clarence that Dr. Whitman was under consideration for the headship of the department of biology, and six months earlier Clarence made it clear to Harper that he did not want to be burdened with administrative work. There was no misunderstanding about this when Clarence accepted the appointment.

Evidently Dr. Strong did not know of Clarence's contract when he accepted his appointment and was given charge of courses in physiological psychology without consultation with Clarence. He was an honorable man and when this fact was brought to his attention he vol- untarily relinquished responsibility for this subject, although he had already spent much time in preparation for it.

We have Professor Donaldson's own statement that he too was ignorant of Clarence's contract when he accepted appointment as Professor of Neurology. Im- mediately after election to this post Donaldson went to Europe and did not return until late summer. It was then too late to make any action on his part effective, but he wrote, "The experience left a scar on my mind," and he was distressed by the false position in which Harper's action had placed him.

It is regrettable that my brother believed to the end of his life that Donaldson was party to Harper's treach- ery. Nevertheless on April 17, 1898, he wrote a letter in behalf of the editorial board to Donaldson inviting him to join the editorial staff of the Journal as a col- laborator. In extending this invitation personally he sacrificed his own feeling of bitter resentment to his interest in the welfare of the Journal. Professor Don- aldson accepted the appointment and gave the Journal his loyal and generous support as long as he lived.

The documents which support the statements here made are now in my possession. I have written the details of these transactions in chronological order, with copies of all relevant documents which are available to me, but this is not the appropriate place to publish these details. Arrangements have been made through the good offices of Professor Paul G. Roofe to have this material and all of my brother's published and unpublished papers now available deposited in the Library of the University of Kansas. Here they will be permanently preserved in company with the Archives of the late G. E. Coghill, who was one of my brother's associates in New Mexico, and all of my unpublished papers and correspondence.

In shaping his plans for the organization of the Uni- versity of Chicago, Harper once wrote, "It is the opportunity to do something new and different that appeals to me." It was exactly the same motive that in- duced my brother to resign a secure and satisfactory professorship and to risk his all in a new and original

venture that was big with promise of fruitful exploration of an uncharted terrain. This project was a program of integrated teaching and research that would cross the usual departmental boundaries and would involve cooperative relations with other activities in zoology, anatomy, physiology, genetics, animal behavior, psychology, and philosophy in a search for scientifically acceptable principles of psychobiology.

There were no precedents for such a program, and it would have been difficult under the most favorable conditions and with strong support from the university administration to secure the necessary cooperative relations with the several departments concerned. Evi- dently Professor Whitman had no understanding of or sympathy with Clarence's project of interdepartmental cooperation. The university organization adopted was patterned on German models with complete departmental autonomy and autocratic administration of each department by a Head Professor. The result was that Clarence's project was summarily rejected. The policy adopted ultimately led to intense interdepartmental rivalry and jealousy and to internal departmental fric- tion. Immediately after President Harper's death it was radically changed and in recent years the efforts of the administration to break down rigid departmental barriers and assure interdepartmental collaboration have met with gratifying success.

If my brother had been permitted to develop his project, even in a limited way at the beginning, the innovation might have set a pattern that would have significantly changed the history of science in North America during the subsequent half century and accelerated the movement toward the same objective that is now in full flood.

Officially sponsored and supported programs of interdepartmental research on problems of human biology are now in operation at Yale, Harvard, Michigan, Pennsylvania, Boston, New York, Columbia, and several other universities, and the University of Chicago is planning an Institute of the Behavioral Sciences which will correlate work in the social sciences, education, psychology, psychiatry, anthropology, and biology. In these organizations the emphasis is different froml that of the program which C. L. Herrick outlined to President Harper in 1891. My brother proposed to begin with the biological principles of animal behavior and the mechanisms involved, and then to build upon that foundation a superstructure embracing all the sciences of man. The programs now in operation begin at the top and work down, and, as conditions now are, this doubtless is the more practical procedure, but the objectives and basic principles of operation of the two methods are the same.

In addition to these formally organized programs of interdepartmental cooperation, there are many informal groups of workers in various departments of different institutions who converge their diverse skills upon particular problems of psychobiology. These voluntary



VOL. 45, PT. 1, 1955] CONTRIBUTIONS TO PSYCHOBIOLOGY 71

associations, working without formal organization or official recognition, with no administrative restrictions or overhead expenses, are getting results which in some instances may be of larger import than those of the organized institutes.

So it has come about that these two of my brother's dream-children have grown up to sturdy maturity and productiveness. His Journal is doing what he planned for it, still incompletely but efficiently. And the larger program of interdepartmental and interinstitutional collaboration which he envisioned is now in vigorous and fruitful growth.

20. THE JOURNAL OF COMPARATIVE NEUROLOGY

THE GERMINAL PERIOD

Just when my brother resolved to start publication of the Journal I do not know. Although I had no connection with the project, I had first-hand knowledge of it, for I was living in Clarence's household at that time. So far as came to my notice, no steps were taken until early in 1891. The seed that he proposed to plant was a parthenogenetic product, for there is no evidence that this germinal idea was fertilized by any other agent. The Journal was the product of one fertile mind, its policies were determined by him, and he alone assumed responsibility for it.

A more canny man would have cautiously felt his way along, soliciting editorial cooperation in influential circles, campaigning in advance for neurological papers, and securing a guarantee fund adequate to meet the inevitable initial deficits. But this was not his way of doing things. How much advance correspondence there was about the enterprise I do not know; probably very little. Certainly there was no editorial collaboration and no assurance of material suitable for publication except that produced in his own laboratory. Nevertheless it was far from his intention to make it a personal organ or to put it under the control of any institution or organization.

There was no apparent demand for such a periodical except in the mind of the founder. He envisioned a program which involved cooperative research in diverse departments of science in many places, and this was the method he chose to secure the necessary integration of these scattered activities. The time was not ripe for such an enterprise, but a beginning should be made and he made it. Progress for many years was slow and faltering, but now his early vision has materialized. Exactly the sort of cooperative research by specialists in diverse fields that he advocated is actively prosecuted in many places and by various methods, with promise of revolutionary results.

The field to be cultivated was broad and diversified and he felt that it was desirable to preserve the independence of the Journal so that it might become a

clearing house which would bring these heterogeneous interests together for a common purpose. There was no journal in any language devoted to the field which he proposed to cultivate, and that is still true today. He hoped to make the Journal truly international, and that policy has been consistently followed.

Clarence's personal program of research as outlined above set the pattern for the scope of the Journal. It was his hope that from fusion of diverse interests and technical skills the puzzling problems of nervous physiology would be resolved and that these researches would finally yield a solution of the biggest puzzle of all-the mechanism of the organic relationship between the physiologically observable functions of the nervous system and those mental processes that can be known only subjectively, i.e., the mind-body problem. In short, the major objective toward which all these diverse inquiries were to be directed was a scientifically acceptable system of psychobiology.

In view of the fact that then, as now, detailed description of the fine anatomy of the nervous system is the essential foundation upon which all physiological work and interpretation must be supported, he foresaw that the provision of facilities for publication of this material with adequate illustration would be a serious problem. At that time the only American periodical suitable for such studies was Whitman's Journal of Morphology; but that journal could accommodate only a limited number of such papers and its purport was quite different. Moreover, its luxurious format and expensive lithographic illustrations would make the cost prohibitive. This indeed was Whitman's experience, for his journal was bankrupt in 1903. Clarence thought that by keeping costs of printing and distribution down to the minimum and expending "not a dollar for color where lines will do" it would be possible to finance his own publications and also to encourage research elsewhere in a domain that seemed to be ready for rapid expansion.

INFANCY

The three years of infancy are the most critical in a human life. In the case of the Journal my brother had exclusive control of editorial and publishing policies during these years, and at the end of that period the infant seemed to be viable with promise of healthy growth. The record shows that there was a crisis in the second year and another in the fourth when threatened disaster was narrowly averted, but thanks to the generous assistance of colleagues and other friends the life of the frail infant was spared.

The first volume was printed by contract with a printshop in Cincinnati and all other things were attended to personally by the editor and owner. This volume of 400 pages and 25 plates was issued in four quarterly numbers. The December number was still on the press when Clarence left Cincinnati for Ger-




many in January, 1892. He had the title page and table of contents printed in Berlin.

His family returned to his house in Granville, where I was living at the time and teaching in Denison Uni- versity. The second volume was printed by the Gran- ville firm of Downs and Kussmaul (an arrangement continued until 1906), and I agreed to supervise the printing, read the proofs, and attend to other business details during his absence in Europe.

The entire content of the first number and most of that of the remainder of volume 1 came from Clar- ence's laboratory in Cincinnati. The Journal was well received and papers were promptly submitted from the most active centers of neurological research in this country. The second volume included six contributions from Europe and the international character of the Journal was assured.

Volume 1 closed with the editor's statement that

inasmuch as he is about to be absent in Europe for some months, the place of publication ad interim cannot be definitely announced, but all correspondence should be directed to Granville, Ohio. . . . The cooperation of the ablest specialists in Europe is expected. The department of Compar- ative Psychology will receive special attention. After Oc- tober, 1892, the Journal will be issued regularly from The University of Chicago.

The first three volumes defined the objectives and scope of the Journal and documented them with an aggregate of 732 pages of original articles illustrated by 71 plates, written by 26 authors, and 378 pages of reviews of literature and lists of current publications. The editor wrote nearly all of the reviews and compiled the long lists of recent literature.

Upon Clarence's return from Europe in the spring of 1892 and the subsequent collapse of his peerless project at the University of Chicago, no way to continue financial support of the Journal was open and its extinction seemed inevitable. But his reappointment to the Denison faculty with the promise of a small subsidy opened a door that he did not hesitate to enter. He was encouraged to make this decision by his wife, although she realized full well that the deficits must be met from the meager family budget.

With the completion of the third volume at the end of 1893 the Journal seemed to be firmly established and its future assured. There were contributions from most of the important centers of neurological research in this country (Cornell, Columbia, and Johns Hopkins universities and other institutions), including Adolf Meyer's invaluable series of historical papers on neurological work in Europe. There was gratifying support in Europe and papers were published by J. David, K. R. Burckhardt (Berlin), Ludwig Edinger (Frank- furt a/M.), and Paul Mitrophanow (Warsaw). All was going well.

The most disquieting feature of the situation at the close of volume 3 was the small subscription list. A

rather large exchange list assured wider circulation, but this added nothing to the cash income, the only source of which was sale to subscribers and the modest subsidy from the college. The records of that period in the old account book now before me are confused and incomplete. There are no annual balance sheets to indicate the amounts of the deficits. The only available hint of this is the remark in the circular of 1892 mentioned below: "The expenses are greatly in excess of any possible income and we therefore bespeak the generous cooperation of those interested."

These records show 44 paid subscriptions to volume 1, many of them at the special price of $2.50 for advance orders. The gross income from subscriptions must have been about $150.00. The numbers of recorded paid subscriptions for volumes 2 and 3 are about the same as for volume 1. The total income, including the college subsidy, for each of these volumes was probably about $400.00. In the face of these figures one can understand why the editor and publisher refrained from balancing his books. At Denison the college annual salary was paid in three instalments and the printer's and engraver's bills took a substantial fraction of these.

Beginning with 1894 balance sheets for each volume were recorded and detailed records of all transactions of 1907 and 1908 (vols. 17 and 18) were transmitted to the Wistar Institute at the time of transfer of ownership of the Journal to the Institute. All surviving records and other documents relating to volumes 1 to 18 are deposited in the archives of the library of the University of Kansas.

This is not the appropriate place to detail the subsequent history of the Journal. It now issues two volumes a year and June of 1954 marks the date of completion of the hundredth volume of continuous publication. I have personally witnessed the whole of this history and have participated in it as contributor to the first three volumes and as member of the editorial board of all other issues.

My brother's acute illness in December of 1893 completely incapacitated him for several months. As elsewhere mentioned, I was fortunately associated with him at that time and was able to serve at the pinch (however ineptly) and so tide the Journal over the crisis. During the following decade Clarence was its nominal owner and editor-in-chief. He contributed frequently to its pages and was available for consultation on matters of policy. But we were fifteen hundred miles apart and I was practically on my own in the routine of both editorial and business management, including financial responsibility.

Because of the significant part which this Journal has played in the history of science in North America it is desirable that the salient features of this development be recorded and made available to students of the history of science and others who may be interested. I have, accordingly, written a history of the Journal




of Conmparative Neurology which may be regarded as a supplement to this book.1

THE POLICY AND SCOPE OF THE JOURNAL The editor's own statement of the scope of the

Journal as printed in the first volume (p. 94) contains this passage:

The problems of neurology resolve themselves into the purely structural investigation, which appeals to microscope and microtome, and physiological questions involving a knowledge of the behavior of the living cell under the most diverse conditions, as well as of the laws of composition of function due to their interaction. Yet a higher class of problems, which properly transcend the sphere of neurology, as of all purely observational science, respecting the relation of body and mind, can never be wholly ignored. . . . That part of the field which is being cultivated with the most zeal and success is the structural province. Yet in this most promising department the accumulation of details has too often proven unfruitful for the lack of a sufficiently comprehensive view of the entire field to enable the investigator to appreciate the bearings of isolated facts.

A year later, while in Berlin, he distributed a brief announcement which included this statement of policy:

In addition to anatomical and physiological papers, there will be special attention given to habits, instincts, expression of emotion-in short, all data germain to a true comparative psychology. . . . The present situation of the science is destructive to critically accurate investigation so long as it is necessary to seek with great effort and no guaranty of success through the vast list of zoological, anatomical, physiological, general biological, and other journals and society-reports for the fragmentary literature of neurology. All who appreciate the necessity for some au- thoritative and complete magazine for this important department are earnestly requested to assist in making it truly international in character. . . . Contributors are requested to observe that articles will be printed in English, German, or French, but, unless especially otherwise requested, manuscript in European languages will be done into English by the editors.

The heterogeneous topics represented in the articles published in the early volumes and the works chosen for review in the Literary Notices indicate the range of the editor's interests and the scope of the field of psychobiology as he then conceived it. The times have changed, and the last half-century has seen an interesting series of oscillations of the fields of inquiry that attracted the largest numbers of workers. The content of the Journal reflected these changes and also, as an opportunistic corollary, the diversity of interests of the successive members of the editorial board. The rapid progress of specialization in all these fields led to the establishment of technical journals, many of which are directly or indirectly concerned with psychobiological problems. Our Journal does not compete with these more specialized periodicals and it still occupies the distinctive field that was marked out for it by the

1 C. Judson Herrick, One hundred volumes of the Journal of Comparative Neurology, Jour. Comp. Neur. 100: 717-756, 1954.

founder. Many areas of the broad field outlined in the original prospectus now have their own media of publication, but our pages have been and will continue to be open to all research upon the nervous system that is comparative in the broad meaning of the term.

The output of this Journal from 1911 to 1945 has been analyzed in the report of a Committee on Neuro- biology of the National Research Council 2 with special reference to the correlation and integration of the research done by specialists in the several technical fields represented. A survey of the entire sixty-three years of this Journal's history shows creditable and accelerated advance in the fact-finding program but less satisfactory progress in the cooperative and integrative functions which were the founder's cardinal objectives. This deficiency fortunately is now being corrected, with promise of faster progress in the search for the most fundamental principles of neurobiology and psychoneurology.

In any appraisement of the early issues it should be borne in mind that these volumes were edited and published by one man with no assistance or collaboration. They were creditable if due allowance is made for the disorganized state of biological and psychological science at that time and for the fact that all of the work was done in fragments of time under pressure of innumerable distractions. Neither the senior nor the junior member of the subsequent partnership had adequate training for the exactions of editorial or publishing duties. We learned by trial and error, and the errors were all too many.

During all of the first three years Clarence was har- assed by unpredictable exigencies which kept him under nervous tension. This, no doubt, was largely responsible for the most serious blemishes in these volumes. The many typographical errors and confused arrangement of the text and plates were due in part to the inexperience of both editor and printers, but in larger part to Clarence's unsystematic habits and his impatience with vexatious but necessary detail.

My brother's temperament suggests comparison with that of S. S. McClure, the successful magazine publisher, who once remarked that he never picked up an idea sitting still.3 But Clarence's active interest in things was more soundly based and more judiciously directed than that of the erratic New Yorker who said, "I always felt I judged a story with my solar plexus rather than with my brain." The two men had this in common: "To lose his enthusiasm is the worst thing that can happen to an editor-next to having been born without any."

Clarence's editorial activities were not motivated from the solar plexus, but he always wrote under pressure. In one of his last letters to me he said, "I cannot

2 Survey of Neurobiology, Washington, National Research Council, Pub. 237, 1952.

3 Ellery Sedgwick, The metropolis against me, Atlantic Monthly 178 (3): 94-99, 1946.




do anything with a 'cold' composition of my own beyond rhetorical and clerical errors and hardly ever improve the matter if it does not go in one piece from the start."

His editorial work, like all the rest of it, illustrates a pregnant sentence in Dr. McCord's whimsical account of the experiences of an industrial physician,4 where he says, "In every made thing about you is a little piece of man." This remark is pointed by the story of a ladle man in an iron foundry who accidentally fell into an ingot mold just at the moment when molten metal was poured into it. That ingot was buried with appropriate services, for "there's a man in there." Sel- dom does a whole man go into a single item of his production, but something of him does go into everything that he makes, whether it be the sweat of his body or the travail of a prolific mind. Our Journal stands as Clarence's monument, more enduring than a metal ingot, and of it we may truly say, "There's a man in there."

The first three of these volumes may be compared with a hand-woven fabric designed and wrought by the proficiency of a master, working under frontier conditions with a crude homemade loom and such raw unfinished yarns as were available. Despite defects of design and crude workmanship, the geist and prescience of the master are manifest in every figure of the pattern.

21. THE NATURAL PHILOSOPHY OF PSYCHOBIOLOGY

DYNAMIC REALISM

There is ample evidence that my brother in the later years of his life had clearly formulated not only the program of psychobiology as I have outlined it but also a far more comprehensive philosophy of living that he called dynamic realism. The systematic treatises on these subjects which were incubating in his mind unfortunately were never written, but his published papers show the trend of his thinking.

I make no attempt here to summarize or evaluate his contributions to biomechanics and philosophy. The interested reader should consult the original sources as listed in the accompanying bibliography and also Dr. Bawden's compilation (156). The latter work is a sympathetic and well documented interpretation of all available material. It is, I think, unfortunate that Dr. Bawden chose to entitle his book The Metaphysics of a Naturalist. Clarence, of course, had his metaphysics, as we all do whether or not we are willing to recognize it. But his philosophy of nature, and especially of human nature, was not based on any metaphysical pos- tulates; it was the flower and fruitage of actual experience and it was radically naturalistic. It was derived directly from his own intimate knowledge of natural

4Carey P. McCord, A blind hog's acorns, Chicago, Cloud Inc., 1945.

history in the broadest meaning of that term and especially of the development, structure and physiology of the nervous system and of comparative psychology.

That was more than fifty years ago, and today his conception of the conscious person as a vitally integrated dynamic system in unstable equilibrium, with reciprocal interplay between the physiological and the psychical components of the system, is receiving support from a surprising variety of highly specialized disciplines.

A few extracts from his published and unpublished writings are included here, selected merely as samples illustrative of his patterns of thought and literary expression.

THE EQUILIBRIUM THEORY OF CONSCIOUSNESS

The fundamental concept upon which he based all of his psychobiological and philosophical theory is the firmly established fact that all mental activities, however defined, are vital processes performed by living tissues. And, further, they are holistic functions of the living body, that is, total patterns that are not localized in any particular "organ of consciousness." This implies a radically mechanistic attitude, with, however, clear recognition that traditional conceptions of the nature of mechanism and the principles of mechanics nay need to be revised and expanded.

His papers on the equilibrium theory of consciousness and its physiological and psychological corollaries (notably 107, 116, 143, 144, 148 to 155) give only details of the complete picture and some of the biological evidence. Later research has shown that some of the evidence submitted must be discarded, but these errors of detail do not invalidate the principles stated. A few quotations from his published papers may indicate the tenor of the argument.

First it should be noted that he regarded conscious experience as a mode or pattern of energy which differs in form from all others, so that "it is absolutely necessary that the line between physiology and psychology should coincide with that which separates the conscious from the unconscious or that the distinction be abandoned" (104). "The brain of man owes its preeminent position to facts which lie outside the limits of physiology and within the domain of consciousness" (71, p. 140). The problem of physiological psychology is to bring these two domains of experience into work- able relations within the domain of natural law. "The elements of experience," he said, "are all acts" (122).

In 1898 (116) he wrote:

in no department of physical science is it so plain as in neurology that we are dealing wholly with dynamic elements. . . . Morphological peculiarities are but the expressions of inner forces and their responses to others from without. . . . It is possible to go farther and admit that all the structures with which the cytologist (and so the physiologist) has to deal are the visual interpretations of dynamic processes. . . The nervous equilibrium is only



VOL. 45, PT. 1, 1955] CONTRIBUTIONS TO PSYCHOBIOLOGY 75 a central specialized part of a vital equilibrium embracing all the activities of the body.

The problems of psychophysics were formulated in terms of what we now call "field" theory, as illustrated by the following extracts (155).

We as souls are indissolubly connected, with the rest of the universe and there is no use attempting to sever what God has united. Finally, therefore, we perhaps see that the psychical differs from the physical as the result of a logical analysis which is possible by reason of our limita- tion. . If the energist be correct in viewing the phenomena of the physical universe as manifestations of various phases of one universal, indestructible but convertible energy, and if psychology be correct in asserting that all mental states are acts, and, furthermore, if we are not so blinded by prejudice as to shut our eyes to the overwhelm- ing evidence of the interaction of these two sorts of activities (a fact more certain than any other whatever) then we are driven to conclude that body and mind are phases of one reality-that consciousness is not unrelated to gravita- tion, but is a part of the same universe of activity.... The precise nature of my conscious reaction upon today's experience depends not on what I can formally recollect of past experience, but on the form of equilibrated unity which is the result of past experience in its progressive reaction upon my nature. . . . The soul is a metaphysical concept the moment it becomes more than the totality of the stream of consciousness. . . . But do you mean that my foot is part of my soul? Yes, I mean that the vital activities in my foot form part of my vital equilibrium and, in so far as these contain conscious participants in the stream of consciousness, they form part of the soul. But if I amputate a foot do I mutilate a soul? Certainly, though it may be better to enter into life maimed than to retain a foot and go elsewhere. By cutting off a finger a child's soul may be maimed of musical faculty. There are organs, the am- putation of which affects the entire character for life, and one does not willingly dispense with the frontal lobes even if he does not know precisely what purpose they serve.

The conclusion is that my mind is not something de- tached or detachable from my body and so capable of dallying at large independently of the rest of me. The naturalist cannot be a dualist, a trinitarian, a hydra, or any of the other fabulous chimeras of our mythologies.

In one of Clarence's last letters to me he wrote, "Activity is essence." That is, he explained, it is primordial and spontaneous, not caused by something else which sets it going. Five years earlier he wrote (122), "To speak of energy as residing in something is to introduce an utterly incongruous concept, for it continues our quest ad infinitum."

He planned to write a book on naturalistic ethics under the title, Lectures on Conduct: The Principles of Ethics from the Dynamic Point of View; but he left only fragmentary notes on this subject. He made some excursions into sociobiology, one of the most characteristic of which is mentioned in chapter 12. This paper (146) which deals with the biogenesis of social reactions, including a passing reference to ethicogenesis, illustrates some of the social implications of the equilibrium theory. In discussing J. Mark Baldwin's description of the projective factor in social development he wrote:

Perhaps, however, some attention should now be given to the condition back of the projective activity, namely to the continuum habit, or, negatively expressed to fit its more common manifestation, the hiatus effect (The law of dy- namogenesis is implied throughout). . . The habitual reaction to the expected resistance is a large part of our daily activity and holds the germ of social response. If the very trivial nature of the following illustrations can be forgiven they will illustrate what is meant better than p)sychological discussion.

The writer has two horses which for years have been driven, housed and fed together. All habitual activities have been coordinated by necessities growing out of their environment. Originally the animals (mares) regarded each other with distrust and even hostility. Even after years, their intercourse is always aggressive. One steals the other's feed and is attacked for it. There is continual "nagging." Usually one acquires the ascendency and all that is necessary is a show of teeth on the part of one to cause flight or submission on the part of the other, which, nevertheless, is in a state of constant rebellion.

Now should one animal be left in the stable with a manger full of hay and the other driven away, the stay-at- home is restless and uneasy, declines to eat and neighs con- tinually. The animal driven away strives to turn back, is nervous and neighs and starts out of the road on coming in view of any horse in the distance. Each, as we say, "misses" the other. What is the explanation? Evidently the simplest explanation is that a large segment has been knocked out of self. A whole group of activities (resist- ancies and the like) have been removed. The equilibrium of habitual activity has been disturbed. . . . For weeks every act has been tacitly or by unconscious implication put forth in view of a presence which could be relied upon to react in certain ways. Hitherto the horse never ate, drank or pulled in harness without expecting a certain set of counter actions. These may have been unpleasant reactions. When she drank she expected to be shoved aside, when she pulled she expected to be tweaked by her fellow. But whatever the character of these acts, they have ceased; to the action the wonted response is wanting. One gets this sense of hiatus in an elementary form when, in climbing a ladder in the dark, a rung is discovered to be missing....

The sphere of experience created by every individual is normally a "continuum." When this continuum is disturbed the ensphering environment is left incomplete and one has the same sensation he has when the support be- neath him is knocked out. It is not necessary that there should be any intellectual status in the intercourse.

The above seems to be the most elementary condition of social existence. It consists in the enlargement of the sphere of experience by the admission of more and more elements which acquire a value to my being as a part of the equilibrium quite independent of any moral element in it. Its removal produces an emotional reaction growing out of the feeling of loss-hiatus in self-solution of individual continuity. We here have the elementary mechanic of social life. It is only after this relation is perceived as miutu.al that a moral element enters.

In a letter of February 6, 1904, written about the time this article was published, he said, "I have some ideas for a little series of articles to be entitled 'Horse Sense,' but fear they would have too much psychology and too little sense."

THE LAST RECORD

Shortly before my brother's death he was invited to represent the Journal of Comparative Neurology and




Psychology (as our Journal was then entitled) in the Section of Comparative and Genetic Psychology of the International Congress of Arts and Science of the Louisiana Purchase Exposition at St. Louis in Sep- tember of 1904. This he was eager to do, but when his illness took a turn for the worse and he realized that he could not attend the Congress he arranged with Professor Sanford for me to read his paper.

It chanced that I was secretary of the Section of Animal Morphology of this Congress and I read a paper there. Both Clarence's paper and mine were read a few days after his death. Neither of these papers was published in the Proceedings of the Con- gress, and, since Clarence's paper gives his last considered statement of his dynamic psychobiology, it is reproduced here in full. It is clearly marked with the signet of a man who was very ill, weakened by hemorrhages, and about to cross his last threshold.

My paper presented to the Section of Morphology on the 21st of September was an attempt to show that anatomy is meaningless and sterile except as it is quickened by the vital spark of genetic and functional interpretation. Because it was my purpose to apply my brother's principles of dynamic biology in a field that is usually regarded as a static descriptive science, I venture to insert this short essay here as a preface to his last testament.

THE DYNAMIC CHARACTER OF MORPHOLOGY

There is a price which any organism must pay for a high degree of specialization in a single direction. The liver fluke of the sheep depends for the perpetuation of its species upon a series of complicated adjustments to various en- vironments, the failure of any one of which is fatal. Such cases of extreme adaptation are usually found only on the terminal twigs of the phyletic tree and it has come to be a biological truism that the main line of evolutionary advance passes through generalized types.

Perhaps something similar holds true for scientific disciplines. There is certainly danger that extreme development of any specialty may cut it off from the vital relations with environing fields upon which its continued existence depends, and the elaboration of a "pure morphology" is certainly not exempt from such a danger.

But we have only to be true to our own traditions to enable us to retain our place in the growing axis of biological progress. Anatomy, out of which morphology grew up, belongs to the most static group of the descriptive sciences. But morphology is not the description of form; it is the explanation of form; and from its inception it has been quickened by genetic and functional motives.

Explanation is correlation, the putting into relation; and no structure can be understood until its workings are fully exposed. This comes out most clearly in the recent work on the nervous system which takes its departure from functional systems, the tactile, visual, olfactory systems, etc., with their respective return motor paths. Taking these systems as our units, each step in the progress of unravel- ling the tangles of neural mechanisms has meaning and value the moment it is firmly taken. It is therefore safe to say that in neurology the day for uncritically accumu- lating huge masses of amorphous descriptive fact, mere lists of fiber tracts and nuclei and meaningless classifica- tions of cell forms, is happily passing.

But no single anatomical procedure will suffice for dis- entangling any of these functional systems. The action of the external stimuli at the periphery must be analyzed, whether chemical, thermal, or mechanical, and the trans- formations of energy thoroughly understood, and in the further examination of the conduction pathways data must be sought from comparative and experimental anatomy, embryology and all the related sciences, and in particular the whole phyletic history of the mechanism and the function must be traced out.

So with every other morphological problem. It may reach out into electro-chemistry, meteorology, paleontology, or the higher mathematics, and the experimental morphology of the day is one of the methods used to correlate these cognate sciences for the explanation of structure.

Morphology, then, is one of the most dynamic of all the sciences; from the start it has been morphogenesis and the key to the problems of structure is behavior. To draw another illustration from my own specialty, comparative neurology and comparative psychology have joined hands in wedlock from which we trust there is henceforth no di- vorce and we trust not without hope of offspring.

So long as morphologists have sufficient breadth of view to assimilate the relevant data from all other sciences there is small danger of our science becoming specialized to death, however minute may be the subdivision of our problems and however extreme may be the refinements of our methods. But isolate morphology and it will perish.

The present problem of our specialty therefore (if we may single out one as preeminent) is, as it always has been, the relation of morphology to other sciences.

C. Judson Herrick

My brother's paper was read to a small audience on September 24 from the following text:

Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen: The writer may be pardoned if the uppermost feeling at

this moment is one of regret-regret at missing an opportunity that can never return for meeting friends from both sides of the Atlantic after a banishment of over a decade.

But vain indeed were the personal note of disappointment and isolation if it failed to suggest a scientific remedy. The Journal of Comparative Neurology and Psychology, to the nominal representative of which these moments have been accorded, has consistently stood from the first for a genetic view and a comparative method in psychology. So important did this attempt to focus upon psychology the combined and correlated light from comparative, physiological and anatomical research seem to the active editor in those earlier days that he did not hesitate to make much sacrifice of otherwise attractive opportunities in order to preserve the conditions for such combination.

Such being the point of view and such the method, there must be implication of a bond or tie linking the whole of the ever-broadening sphere of psychic research into a fundamental unity. This bond is represented by the term "dynamic," or as we now more often say, "functional." This connection may be viewed either in longitudinal or cross section of world life. Historically it is genetic; functionally it is energic and comparative.

If our methods be correct, the result will be the same in the end whether we trace the units of experience back to a common origin, or by comparison of the one with the many, elucidate the unitary element underlying all. Con- viction of such harmony and unity is the justification of pragmatism as methodological, if not as explanatory.

It were idle in this presence either to point out the enormous strides made by the several branches of psychological research toward a common rendezvous or to speak



VOL. 45, PT. 1, 1955] CONTRIBUTIONS TO PSYCHOBIOLOGY 77 the names of those who have contributed to this movement. In fact, this place and this time-this section of the august assembly in St. Louis-may fitly represent such rendezvous.

But this thought brings us to the remedy for the isolation of which we at first spoke and which tends to eat the heart out of scientific research and to sap its enthusiasm even in most fortunate environs.

If we are dealing with dynamic things, absolute isolation is impossible. When any conscientious worker dips his oar into our common ocean the wave he creates is not lost but he may feel that the universe of thought will never be quite the same thereafter. Our work is to "socialize" our science. Much as the writer deprecates the use of the expression "social consciousness," yet the data of consciousness may be so attuned, as by some mental Marconigraph- coherer, that we shall think in common terms and commu- nicate by common language. When the anatomist, busy with his cross-sections of vital phenomena, can realize that the morphologist and embryologist are studying longitudinal sections of the same waves-when the descriptive psychologist can construe the data of present consciousness with the total life-history of mentality-when metaphysics agrees to speak the same language as physics-our scientific millennium is certainly on the way.

The law of congruousness, of which pragmatism is but a practical application, binds all together in a genetic and functional union. Of this unity and all-comprehensiveness we are profoundly and unalterably convinced. The recognition of the self in the not-self, when not-self is known as such all-comprehensive organism, affords a socializing moment and develops a socius if not a social consciousness of great practical value in life as well as for research.

True, a warning may be necessary that the individual worker in a given field should not feel responsible for the total explanation of the data from another cognate field. For example, even if the cytologist should find such structural elements in the germ cell as would correspond to the conditions of Mendel's law of heredity, he cannot hope to explain Mendel's law by these structures. The attempt to project on a cross-section of experience the complete data of longitudinal or historical section will certainly be un- satisfactory, and still more difficult so to represent are intrinsic activities. We still have need for a fourth dimen- sion in which things happen in genetic modes.

Again, with all our talk of animal behavior and regulation, we must not forget that structure is behavior in in- stantaneous photograph.

One concrete illustration and I have done. To the physiological psychologist the sense of smell is the undigested function. It is largely meaningless. There is no analysis. It shows no graded series. It is irreconcilable in terms of other sense. It does not produce (as we perhaps mis- takenly insist) memory images.

Some years ago Dr. Edinger and the writer independently worked out the anatomical demonstration that the osmatic sense was the first of the special senses to effect communication with the rudimentary cortical fields. Inter- esting indeed it would be to know what the conscious life of a being would be whose data were derived wholly or in large part from the material of this lowly sense. This anatomical discovery ought, one would suppose, to stimulate to a minute and comprehensive study of animal behavior based upon the sense of smell as well as to histological study of the field of associations with the higher senses. We have recently been told of indirect osmatic sensations awakened by visual stimuli.

How would the vital and conscious phenomena based on the osmatic sense be wrought into the tissue of the visual consciousness when eyes came into vogue? Why will a

dog with his nose to the ground run all around a rabbit sitting in plain view? What hint does the primitive type of structure in the olfactory radices give for the genetic study of sense development? Where is the psychologist who will interpret for us in dynamic terms the wealth of new material recently laid bare by our American nerve- component splitters ?

Let us hope that the comparative psychologist of the future will not disdain to follow the latest work in histology. We may be proud that one of our own genetic psychologists has made substantial contribution to evolutionary theory, and when biologists condescend to cooperate with comparative psychologists both sciences may begin to "think in the round."

C. L. Herrick In the published Proceedings of the Congress 1 the

reports of these two papers are curiously garbled. There is no reference to C. L. Herrick or his paper. In the report of Section G, Animal Morphology, we find a comedy of errors. In the session of September 21, 1904: "Secretary: Professor C. H. Herrick, Denni- son University" (p. 243). On page 283: "Professor C. Judson Herrick read.a paper for Dr. C. S. Herrick of Granville, Ohio, on the 'Dynamic Character of Morphology.' The speaker said in part: . . ." Then follows a half-page abstract of my paper.

I cannot refrain from adding that the hope that my brother expressed in the last paragraph of his paper is at last approaching fulfillment. The specific instance which he mentioned is a good illustration. His researches and Ludwig Edinger's on the olfactory apparatus of primitive vertebrates laid the foundation for an understanding of the spectacular history of the origin and evolution of the cerebral cortex, a history that offers unique opportunities for solution of some of the most fundamental problems of psychoneurology. The anatomical and physiological aspects of the problems presented by the sense of smell and its mechanisms have long been under active investigation with gratifying results. Study of the related psychological problems is not so far advanced, although, as Kliiver points out, they are of very wide import.2

22. CRIPPLED BUT NOT DEFEATED To the casual observer C. L. Herrick's career might

seem like a series of pitiful frustrations. One admir- able project after another was prosecuted with indom-

1 Boston, Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 1906, vol. 5. 2 I cite here only three selections from the extensive litera-

ture of the olfactory apparatus and these give references to most of the important contributions.

Heinrich Kl'iver, Brain mechanisms and behavior with special reference to the rhinencephalon, The Journal-Lancet (Min- neapolis, Minn.) 72: 567-577, 1952.

Birger R. Kaada, Somato-motor, autonomic and electrocorti- cographic responses to electrical stimulation of "rhinencephalic" and other structures in primates, cat and dog, Acta Physiol. Scandinavica, 23, Suppl. 83, 1951.

Henri Gastaut, Correlations entre le systeme nerveux vege- tatif et le systeme de la vie de relation dans le rhinencephale, Journal de Physiologie 44: 431-470, 1952.




itable energy and rare skill but only a few of these were successfully completed or developed far enough to be considered well organized finished products. But, as this biography shows, such an appraisement would miss the true significance of his life and work, for his endeavors can be evaluated only in the light of their fruition now two generations after his work was ended.

He was a pioneer with a consuming passion for exploration of unmapped territory. There he laid foundations of great enterprises which have endured and which now have grown to magnificient dimensions. This pioneering was in areas of remarkable diversity- in natural history surveys, in geology and paleontology, in general biology and ecology, in comparative neurology and psychology, in rare proficiency as an inspiring teacher and educational administrator, in the rejuvenation and successful reorganization of a great university, in naturalistic philosophy, and in the founding of two great scientific journals.

Here I say again that in my opinion the most noteworthy of these endeavors was the outlining of a consistent and comprehensive program of research in psychobiology and the establishment of the Journal of Comparative Neurology as a clearing house for all researches in this wide and heterogeneous domain. The part that my brother played in this enterprise is so succinctly stated in a letter recently received from the son of one of the Journal's chief benefactors that I welcome permission to quote this tribute from Profes- sor John C. Donaldson.

I always picture the man, be he investigator, inventor, explorer or what have you, as a burning glass with the sun of contemporary knowledge on the one side and the fuel of contemporary social, economic and intellectual conditions on the other. All three elements in the situation must be favorable. It is one of the interesting facets of history to find the number of cases where the man, as the burning glass, was present but where one or the other of the two conditions failed, with the resulting picture of frus- tration. In the history of the Journal your brother stands out as the burning glass. In the case of the Chicago affair the fuel was not ready and, in spite of the illumination of learning and the man to concentrate it to a firing point, no flame was kindled. In the case of the Journal there is the heartening picture of the effective application of the knowledge of the time through your brother and the kindling of a flame which still burns brightly. It is well to realize what is so clearly evident in this history that the burning glass must represent a channelling of interests, intensity of purpose and personal sacrifice if it is to carry out this work effectively.

The vital flame of my brother's genius kindled many other flames, some in the persons of his children, his pupils, and associates, and some in the communities and institutions that he served. Of these institutions the one which shows most clearly the impress of his own distinctive pattern of creative power is the Journal of Comparative Neurology. If he were with us today in the flesh, we may be sure that a survey of these one hundred volumes would satisfy the fondest hopes that

he cherished at the beginning. And in wider perspec- tives he would be gratified by the spectacular advances of psychobiology in the two most recent decades-advances not only in the technique and instrumentation of research which open hitherto unexplored fields but also the even more significant improvement in teamwork by specialists who formerly worked independently.

His ideal was not stillborn. Although its growth was retarded in the first decade, it has now reached vigorous maturity and we have faith that the future holds still greater promise of solution of the crucial problems of successful living in the unpredictable exigencies before us.

I repeat what was said at the beginning that some autobiographical material is included in this record, first, because I was privileged to act as junior partner in some of his major enterprises and this enables me to discern some qualities of his nature and some factors of its motivation that no one else could see. Another and equally pertinent reason for including these personal details arises from the striking differences between the native endowments and temperaments of the two members of this partnership. I have played up these differences between the two brothers because this record presents an unusually favorable opportunity to separate the genetic and the environmental factors in the development of a personality.

Clarence was a born naturalist. I became a naturalist by acculturation. He was a precocious genius. I was less generously endowed and matured more slowly. He began with the universe as his field of interest and later specialized. I began as a specialist and continued so, with progressively widening horizons. This contrast brings out in sharp relief the preponderance in one brother of biologically determined qualities and in the other the equally obvious preponderant influence of the social environment, in this instance personified in my brother's example and teaching.

The difference between Clarence's vivid intuitions and rapid-fire discharge of the tasks of the moment and my slower mental processes is manifest in our methods of study and teaching and more clearly in our published works. Each way of doing things has its advantages and its limitations. A brilliant and versatile pioneer who forges ahead with consuming energy may open the way into lands of promise, leaving it to others to smooth the road for later traffic and to cultivate the fields when occupied.

From childhood Clarence trod and lived on the sum- mits. He looked out upon his world with the eye of an eagle, adjusted for both near and distant vision around the whole sweep of the horizon. I was born in the valley and here I have devoted myself to intensive cultivation of several well defined fields. It is fortunate for us that in the domain of science there is need and opportunity for both of these kinds of endeavor. It is




fortunate, too, for those of us who plod along in the valleys that sooner or later our way leads upward toward the heights where the outlook is wider and the meanings of things seen are disclosed. Here I have followed in my brother's footsteps and found a philosophy of life which is stamped with his likeness and so gives both inspiration and satisfaction.

To me he was all that an elder brother should be, and he was more than that. My protoplasmic heredity owes nothing to him; our common parents took care of that, and they did it well enough. In addition to this I inherited from Clarence through the invisible medium of social heredity by example and precept something far more precious than average or "normal''

bodily features and mental capacities. He implanted some ideals of life, especially of the scientific life, and the fruits of that planting endure. He cultivated a remarkable diversity of crops in all sorts of soils, and seeds of wonderful variety were often dropped casually with no program as consistent as that of Johnny Apple- seed, whose picturesque memory was still green in our community when we were children.

My big brother had his limitations, like all the rest of us, but these do not diminish the stature of the man. As Morley Roberts says in his illuminating portrait of W. H. Hudson, "Truly little things do not make a man less; the foothills cannot destroy the mountains, nor homes upon them diminish the glory of their peaks."



BIBLIOGRAPHY OF CLARENCE LUTHER HERRICK

This list is more nearly complete than the previously published Bibliography (Jour. Contp. Neur. 14: 529- 534, 1904). It does not include a large number of newspaper articles and reviews. The few critical reviews listed were selected because they contain the reviewer's discussion of topics of general import.

At the end of this Bibliography there is a list of published obituary notices and brief biographies selected from a larger file of similar documents.

The references to the geological papers have been critically checked by Professor Richard H. Mahard of Denison University, to whom I extend cordial thanks.

The items are numbered consecutively and cited in the preceding text by these numbers.

1877 1. The Trenton Limestone at Minneapolis. Amer. Nat. 11:

247-248. 2. Ornithological notes. Fifth Ann. Rep. Geol. Nat. Hist.

Survey of Minn., for 1876, 230-237. 3. A new Cyclops. Ibid., 238-239.

1879 4. Microscopic Entomostraca. Seventh Ann. Rep. Geol. Nat.

Hist. Survey of Minn., for 1878, 81-123, 21 pl. 5. Fresh-water Entomostraca. Amer. Nat. 13: 620-624, 4 pl.

1882 6. Papers on the Crustacea of the fresh waters of Minnesota.

I. Cyclopidae of Minnesota, with notes on other Copepoda. II. Notes on some Minnesota Cladocera. III. On Nota- dromas and Cambarus. Tenth Ann. Rep. Nat. Hist. Sur- vey of Minn., for 1881, 219-254.

7. Habits of fresh-water Crustacea. Amer. Nat. 16: 813-816. 8. A new genus and species of the crustacean family of Lynco-

daphninae. Ibid. 16: 1006-1007.

1883 9. Types of animal life, selected for laboratory use in inland

districts. Part I. Arthropoda. Minneapolis, privately printed. 33 pp., 7 pl.

10. A blind copepod of the family Harpacticidae. Amer. Nat. 17: 206.

11. Heterogenesis in the copepod Crustacea. Ibid. 17: 208-211. 12. Heterogenetic development in Diaptomus. Ibid. 17: 381-

389.

1884 13. Minnesota laws relating to mines and mining. Eleventh

Ann. Rep. Geol. Nat. Hist. Survey of Minn., for 1882, 195-212.

14. A final report on the Crustacea of Minnesota included in the Orders Cladocera and Copepoda. Together with a synopsis of the described species in North America and keys to the known species of the more important genera. Twelfth Ann. Rep. Geol. Nat. Hist. Survey of Minn., for 1883, Part V, 1-192, 30 pl.

1885 15. Notes on the mammals of Big Stone Lake and vicinity.

Thirteenth Ann. Rep. Geol. Nat. Hist. Survey of Minn., for 1884. 178-186.

16. Outlines of psychology: Dictations from lectures by Her- mann Lotze. Translated with the addition of a chapter on the anatomy of the brain. Minneapolis, S. M. Wil- liams. x + 150 pp., 2 pl.

17. The evening grosbeak, Hesperiphona vespertina, Bonap. Bull. Sci. Lab. Denison Univ. 1: 5-15, 2 pl.

18. Metamorphosis and morphology of certain phyllopod Cru- stacea. Ibid. 1: 16-24, 5 pl.

19. Mud-inhabiting Crustacea. Ibid. 1: 37-42, 1 pl. 20. Notes on American rotifers. Ibid. 1: 43-62, 4 pl. 21. A compend of laboratory manipulation [lithological]. Ibid.

1: 121-136, 1 pl. 22. Tables for the determination of the principal rock-forming

minerals. Translated and modified from Hussak's Tabel- len zur Bestimmung der Mineralien. Ibid. 1: 38 unnum- bered pp. of tables.

1886 23. Certain homologous muscles. Science 7: 396.

1887 24. Contribution to the fauna of the Gulf of Mexico and the

South. List of the fresh-water and marine Crustacea of Alabama, with descriptions of the new species and syn- optical keys for identification. Memoirs of the Denison Scientific Assoc. 1: 1-56, 7 pl.

25. A sketch of the geological history of Licking County, accompanying an illustrated catalogue of Carboniferous fossils from Flint Ridge, Ohio, Part I. Bull. Sci. Lab. Deni- ison Univ. 2: 5-70, 6 pl.

26. Geology and lithology of Michipicoten Bay. (With W. G. Tight and H. L. Jones.) Ibid. 2: 119-143, 4 pl. Abstr., Amer. Nat. 21: 654-655.

27. Sketch of the geological history of Licking County, Part II. Ibid. 2: 144-148, 1 pl.

1888 28. Science in Utopia. Amer. Nat. 22: 698-702. 29. Some American norytes and gabbros. (With E. S. Clark

and J. L. Deming.) Amer. Geologist 1: 339-346, 1 pl. 30. The geology of Licking County, Ohio, Part IV. The Sub-

carboniferous and Waverly Group. Bull. Sci. Lab. Den- ison Univ. 3: 13-110, 12 pl.

31. Geology of Licking County, Part IV (Cont.). List of Waverly fossils, continued. Ibid. 4: 11-60, 97-123, 11 pl.

1889 32. Educational Briefs. Bull. Sci. Lab., Denison Univ. 4: 135-

138. 33. Lotze's ontology-the problem of being. Ibid. 4: 139-146. 34. Notes upon the Waverly Group in Ohio. Amer. Geologist

3: 94-99, 4 pl. 35. A contribution to the histology of the cerebrum. Cincini-

ntati Lantcet-Clinic, N.S., 23: 325-327.

1890 36. Additions and corrections to Miller's North American

Paleontology. Amer. Geologist 5: 253-255. 37. Notes upon the brain of the alligator. Jour. Cincinnati Soc.

Nat. Hist. 12: 129-162, 9 pl. 38. Suggestions upon the significance of the cells of the cere-

bral cortex. The Microscope 10: 33-38, 2 pl. 39. The central nervous system of rodents. Preliminary paper.

(With W. G. Tight.) Bull. Sci. Lab. Denison Univ. 5: 35-95, 19 pl.

40. The Philadelphia meeting of the International Congress of Geologists. Amer. Geolouist 5: 379-388.

80



VOL. 45, PT. 1, 19551 BIBLIOGRAPHY OF C. L. HERRICK 81

1891 41. The Cuyahoga Shale and the problem of the Ohio Waverly.

Bull. Geol. Soc. America 2: 31-48, 1 pl. 42. The commissures and histology of the teleost brain. Anat.

Anz. 6: 676-681. 43. Biological notes upon Fiber, Geomys and Erethyzon.

(With C. Judson Herrick.) Bull. Sci. Lab. Denison Univ. 6: 15-25.

44. The evolution of the cerebellum. Science 18: 188-189. 45. Contributions to the comparative morphology of the cen-

tral nervous system. I. Illustrations of the archetectonic of the cerebellum. Jour. Comp. Neur. 1: 5-14, 4 pl.

46. Contributions to the comparative morphology of the central nervous system. II. Topography and histology of the brain of certain reptiles. Ibid. 1: 14-37, 2 pl.

47. Laboratory technique. A new operating bench. Ibid. 1: 38.

48. The problems of comparative neurology. Ibid. 1: 93-105. 49. Notes upon technique. Ibid. 1: 133-134. 50. Contributions to the comparative morphology of the central

nervous system. III. Topography and histology of the brain of certain ganoid fishes. Ibid. 1: 149-182, 4 pl.

51. Neurology and psychology. Ibid. 1: 183-200. 52. Metamerism of the vertebrate head. Ibid. 1: 203-204. 53. Contributions to the morphology of the brain of bony

fishes. Part II. Studies on the brains of some American fresh-water fishes. Ibid. 1: 228-245, 333-358, 5 pl.

54. Edinger's text-book on the nervous system. Ibid. 1: xxxvi- xxxvii.

1892 55. The mammals of Minnesota. A scientific and popular ac-

count of their features and habits. Geol. Nat. Hist. Survey of Minn., Bull. no. 7, 300 pp., 23 figs., 8 pl.

56. Notes upon the anatomy and histology of the prosencepha- Ion of teleosts. Amer. Nat. 26: 112-120, 2 pl.

57. Additional notes on the teleost brain. Anat. Anz. 7: 422- 431, 10 figs.

58. Notes upon the histology of the central nervous system of vertebrates. Festschrift zumn siebenzigsten Geburtstage Rudolf Leuckarts, 278-288, 2 pl. Leipzig, W. Engelmann.

59. The cerebrum and olfactories of the opossum, Didelphys virginica. Jour. Comp. Neur. 2: 1-20; and Bull. Sci. Lab. Denison Univ., 6: 75-94, 3 pl.

60. Contribution to the morphology of the brain of bony fishes. Part II. Studies on the brain of some American fresh- water fishes (continued). Jour. Coinp. Neur. 2: 21-72 8 pI.

61. Neurologists and neurological laboratories. No. 1. Pro- fessor Gustav Fritsch. With portrait. Ibid. 2: 84-88.

62. The psychophysical basis of feelings. Ibid. 2: 111-114. 63. Instances of erroneous inference in animals. Ibid. 2: 114. 64. Instinctive traits in animals. Ibid. 2: 115-136. 65. Histogenesis and physiology of the nervous elements. Ibid.

2: 137-149. 66. Intelligence in animals. Ibid. 2: 157-158. 67. Embryological notes on the brain of the snake. Ibid. 2:

160-176. 5 pl. 68. Localization in the cat. Ibid. 2: 190-192. 69. Comparative psychology. Ibid., 2: i-iii.

1893 70. Observations upon the so-called Waverly Group of Ohio.

Geol. Survey of Ohio 7: 495-515. 71. The scope and methods of comparative psychology. Den.-

ison Quarterly 1: 1-10, 134-141, 179-187, 264-281.

72. Articles in Wood's Reference Hand-book of the Medical Sciences 9, Suppl., as follows: (1) The comparative anatomy of the nervous system; (2) The histogenesis of the elements of the nervous system; (3) The physiological and psychological basis of the emotions; (4) Waller's law.

73. The evolution of consciousness and of the cortex. Science, 21: 351-352.

74. The development of medullated nerve fibers. Jour. Comp. Neur. 3: 11-16.

75. The scientific utility of dreams. Ibid. 3: 17-34. 76. The hippocampus in Reptilia. Ibid. 3: 56-60. 77. Contributions to the comparative morphology of the cen-

tral nervous system. II. Topography and histology of the brain of certain reptiles (continued). Ibid. 3: 77-106, 119-140, 11 pl.

78. Report upon the pathology of a case of general paralysis. Jour. Comp. Neur. 3: 141-162, and Columbus State Hos- pital for the Insane, Bulletin no. 1, 5 pl.

79. The callosal and hippocampal region in marsupial and lower brains. Jour. Comp. Neur. 3: 176-182, 2 pl.

80. Anatomical nomenclature. Ibid. 3: xlvi-xlviii. 81. The soul of man. Ibid. 3: lxvi-lxviii.

1894 82. The seat of consciousness. Jour. Comp. Neur. 4: 221-226. 83. Pleasure and pain. Ibid. 4: lxxxi-lxxxii. 84. Kuelpe's psychology. Ibid. 4: clxxxv-cxcii.

1895 85. Synopsis of the Entomostraca of Minnesota, with descrip-

tions of related species, comprising all known forms from the United States included in the Orders Copepoda, Cladocera, Ostracoda. (With C. H. Turner.) Geol. and Nat. Hist. Survey of Minn., Zoological Series 2: 1-525, 81 pl.

86. Microcrustacea from New Mexico. Zool. Anz. 18: 40-47. 87. Modern algedonic theories. Jour. Comp. Neur. 5: 1-32. 88. The histogenesis of the cerebellum. Ibid. 5: 66-70. 89. Notes on child experiences. Ibid. 5: 119-123. 90. The cortical optical center in birds. Ibid. 5: 208-209. 91. Neurology and monism. Ibid. 5: 209-214. 92. Popular zoological literature. Ibid. 5: i-iv. 93. Mental development of the child. Ibid. 5: xxxiv-xxxvii. 94. The present state of comparative psychology. Ibid. 5: xliii-

xliv.

1896 95. Suspension of the spatial consciousness. Psychol. Rev. 3:

191-192. 96. Focal and marginal consciousness. Ibid. 3: 193-194. 97. The testimony of heart disease to the sensory facies of the

emotions. Ibid. 3: 320-322. 98. Illustrations of central atrophy after eye injuries. Jour.

Comp. Neur. 6: 1-4. 99. Lecture notes on attention. An illustration of the employ-

ment of neurological analogies for psychical problems. Ibid. 6:5-14.

100. The psycho-sensory climacteric. Psychol. Rev. 3: 658-661. 101. The critics of ethical monism. Denison Quart. 4: 240-252. 102. The so-called Socorro Tripoli. Amer. Geologist 18: 135-

140. 103. The building stones of Socorro, New Mexico. Santa Fe,

The Mines of New Mexico, published by the New Mexico Bureau of Immigration, 46-49.

104. Is the decorticated dog conscious? Jour. Comp. Neur. 6: xxi-xxiii.

105. Demonolatry of the nineteenth century. Ibid. 6: xxvii- xxxvii.




1897

106. The ethics of criticism. Jour. Comp. Neur. 7: 71-72. 107. Psychological corollaries of modern neurological discov-

eries. Ibid. 7: 155-161. 108. Inquiries regarding current tendencies in neurological no-

menclature. (With C. Judson Herrick.) Ibid. 7: 162- 168.

109. The propagation of memories. Psychol. Rev. 4: 294-296. 110. The geology of a typical mining camp. Amer. Geologist

19: 256-262. 111. Edinger's lectures, fifth edition. Jour. Comp. Neur. 7:

1-11.

1898

112. The geology of the environs of Albuquerque, New Mexico. Amer. Geologist 22: 26-43; and Bull. Univ. of New Mexico, Geol. Ser. 1 (1): 26-43.

113. The occurrence of copper and lead in the San Andreas and Caballo Mountains. Ainer. Geologist 22: 285-291; and Bull. Univ. of New Mexico, Geol. Ser. 1 (2): 285-291.

114. Papers on the geology of New Mexico. 1. The geology of the Socorro Mountain. 2. The Lemiter volcano. 3. Mount Magdalena and the basic eruptions of the Mag- dalena district. Bull. Sci. Lab. Denison Univ. 11: 75-92; and Bull. Univ. of New Mexico, Geol. Ser. 1 (3): 75-92.

115. The geology of the San Pedro and Albuquerque districts. Bull. Sci. Lab. Denison Univ. 11: 93-116; and Bull. Univ. of New Mexico, Geol. Ser. 1 (4): 93-116.

116. Physiological corollaries of the equilibrium theory of nervous action and control. Jour. Comp. Neur. 8: 21-31; and Bull. Univ. of New Mexico, Biol. Ser. 1 (1).

117. The somatic equilibrium and the nerve endings in the skin. Part I. (With G. E. Coghill.) Jour. Comp. Neur. 8: 32-56; and Bull. Univ. of New Mexico, Biol. Ser. 1 (2).

118. The cortical motor centers in lower mammals. Jour. Comp. Neur. 8: 92-98.

119. The vital equilibrium and the nervous system. Science N.S., 7: 813-818.

120. Substitutional nervous connection. Ibid. 8: 108. 121. Notes on a collection of lizards from New Mexico. (With

John Terry and H. N. Herrick, Jr.) Bull. Sci. Lab. Denison Univ. 11: 117-148; and Bull. Univ. of New Mexico, Biol. Ser. 1 (4).

1899

122. The material versus the dynamic psychology. Psychol. Rev. 6: 180-187.

123. Clearness and uniformity in neurological descriptions. Jour. Comp. Neur. 9: 150-152.

124. Geography of New Mexico. Appendix, Redway and Hin- man's Natural Advanced Geography, New Mexico edition. New York, Amer. Book Co. Same appendix in Redway and Hinman's Natural School Geography and Barnes' Complete Geography, New Mexico editions.

125. The climatological laboratory of the University of New Mexico. Science, N.S., 9: 342-343.

126. Review of Hall's translation of the fifth ed. of Edinger's Anatomy of the Central Nervous System. Ibid. 10: 52- 54.

1900

127. The geology of the Albuquerque sheet. (With D. W. Johnson.) Bull. Sci. Lab. Denison Univ. 11: 175-239; and Bull. Univ. of New Mexico, Geol. Ser. 2 (1), no. 1.

128. Miscellaneous economic papers. 1. Salt in New Mexico. 2. Gypsum in New Mexico. 3. Hydraulic cement. 4. The clays of New Mexico. 5. Graphite. Bull. Univ. of New Mexico, Geol. Ser. 2 (1), no. 2.

129. Report of a geological reconnoissance in western Socorro and Valencia Counties, New Mexico. Amer. Geologist 25: 331-346; and Bull. Univ. of New Mexico, Geol. Ser. 2 (1), no. 3.

130. The geology of the White Sands of New Mexico. Jour. Geol. 7: 112-128; and Bull. Univ. of New Mexico, Geol. Ser. 2 (1), no. 4.

131. Identification of an Ohio Coal Measures horizon in New Mexico. (With T. A. Bendrat.) Amer. Geologist 25: 234-242; and Bull. Univ. of New Mexico, Geol. Ser. 2 (1), no. 5.

132. Brain weight and mental capacity. Jour. Comp. Neur. 10: 111-v.

1901 133. Neurological articles for Baldwin's Dictionary of Philos-

ophy and Psychology. (With C. Judson Herrick.) New York, Macmillan.

134. Article on Development of the Brain, in Wood's Reference hand-book of the miedical sciences, 2 ed., 2: 268-282. Article on End Organs, Nervous, Ibid. 3: 818-825.

135. Applications of geology to economic problems in New Mexico. Intern. Mining Congress, 4th session, Proceed- ings, 61-64.

1903 136. Secondary enrichment of mineral veins in regions of small

erosion. San Francisco, Mining and Scientific Press, 87: 97.

1904 137. Laws of formation of New Mexico mountain ranges.

Amer. Geologist 33: 301-312. 138. The clinoplains of the Rio Grande. Ibid. 33: 376-381. 139. Block mountains in New Mexico; a correction. Ibid. 33:

393. 140. Lake Otero, an ancient salt lake basin in southeastern New

Mexico. Ibid. 34: 174-189. 141. A Coal Measure forest near Socorro, New Mexico. Jour.

Geol. 12: 237-251. 142. The logical and psychological distinction between the true

and the real. Psychol. Rev. 11: 204-210. 143. Fundamental concepts and methodology of dynamic real-

ism. Jour. Philos. 1: 281-288. 144. The dynamic concept of the individual. Ibid. 1: 372-378. 145. Editorial. L'envoi. Jour. Comp. Neur. 14: 62-63. 146. The beginnings of social reaction in man and lower ani-

mals. Ibid. 14: 118-123. 147. Color vision (a critical digest). Ibid. 14: 274-280. 148. Recent contributions to the body-mind controversy. Ibid.

14: 421-431. 149. The law of congruousness and its logical application to

dynamic realism. Jour. Philos. 1: 595-603. 150. Mind and body-the dynamic view. Psychol. Rev. 11:

395-409.

1905 151. The passing of scientific materialism. Atomism and the

ether. The Monist 15: 46-86.

1906 152. Applications of dynamic theory to physiological problems.

Jour. Comp. Neur. 16: 362-375. 153. Imitation and volition. Ibid. 16: 376-379.

1907 154. Genetic modes and the meaning of the psychic. Psychol.

Rev. 14: 54-59. 155. The nature of the soul and the possibility of a psycho-

mechanic. Ibid. 14: 205-228.



VOL. 45, PT. 1, 19551 BIBLIOGRAPHY OF C. L. HERRICK 83 1910

156. The metaphysics of a naturalist. Philosophical and psychological fragments by the late C. L. Herrick. (Compiled and interpreted by H. Heath Bawden.) Buill. Sci. Lab. Denison Univ. 15: 1-99.

OBITUARIES In Memoriam. By W. G. Tight, C. E. Hodgin and John Wein-

zirl. Univ. of New Mexico Weekly 7 (4), Sept. 24, 1904. Clarence Luther Herrick. By H. Heath Bawden. Jour. Comp.

Neur. 14: 515-534, Nov., 1904, with portrait and bibliography. Reprinted in Bull. Sci. Lab. Denison Univ. 13: 14- 33, Jan., 1905.

Clarence L. Herrick. By A. D. Cole. Science 20: 600-601, Nov. 4, 1904.

C. L. Herrick as a maker of scientific men. By A. D. Cole. Bull. Sci. Lab. Denison Univ. 13: 3-13, Jan., 1905.

The Fiftieth Anniversary Volume of the Journal of Compar- ative Neurology, 74, 1941, contains the following four articles:

The contemporary setting of the pioneer. By Adolf Meyer (pp. 1-24).

The founder and the early history of the Journal. By C. Judson Herrick (pp. 25-38).

Clarence Luther Herrick as teacher and friend. By G. E. Coghill (pp. 39-42).

An appreciation of the Journal of Comparative Neurology at its golden jubilee. By C. U. Ariens Kappers (pp. 43-62).



INDEX

Abbie, A. A., 12 Acromegaly, 13 Administration, 58, 60, 78 Agassiz, Louis, 11, 12, 32 Alabama, 2, 6, 18, 41 Albuquerque, New Mex., 2, 39, 44, 48 Art, 22, 23, 61 Asheville, N. Carolina, 42 Athenaeum Library, 10, 21, 31 Atlanta, Ga., 42, 43 Audubon, J. J., 23

Baldwin, J. Mark, 75 Barnes, Ellen M., 16 Barney Science Hall, 3, 38, 43 Bawden, H. H., 58, 63, 74 Beer, James R., 61 Behavior, science of, 34, 38, 64, 65, 67,

70, 77 Berlin, 38, 66, 72 Bibliography, 80 Biology, human, 68, 70 Biomechanics, 60, 64, 74 Blaisdell family, 27

School, 2, 17, 29, 35 Brooks, Herbert, 56 Brown, Rollo Walter, 14 Brush, Mrs. Seward H., 35 Bucher, W. H., 55 Buffalo, N. Y., 15 Bulletin, of Denison University, 2, 37,

60, 62 of Minnesota Survey, 61 of University of New Mexico, 53, 62

Burckhardt, K. R., 72

Cannon, W. B., 7, 14 Carlyle, Thomas, 12 Carver, Jonathan, 9 Cat Mountain, 3, 57 Cattell, J. M., 39 Chronology of the Herrick family, 1 Church, Calvary Baptist, 17

First Baptist, 17 First Free Baptist, 1, 16, 17 Forest City, 17 Judson Memorial, 17

Cincinnati, Ohio, 2, 23, 24, 37, 43, 67, 69, 71

Clarence, N. Y., 15, 19 Clough, Frank P., 30 Coghill, G. E., 3, 25, 49, 54, 70 Cole, A. D., 36 Colville, Jean, 13 Congress of Louisiana Purchase Exposi-

tion, 76 Consciousness. See Equilibrium theory

organ of, 74 Cortex, evolution of, 77 Croneis, Carey, 36 Crosby, Katherine, 12 Croy, Homer, 28 Crustacea, 6, 33, 34, 37, 41, 45, 62

Darwin, Charles, 13, 60, 61 Datil, New Mex., 2 David, J., 72 Denison Quarterly, 62

Denison Scientific Association, 2, 36 Dictionary of Philosophy, 53, 62 Donaldson, H. H., 69, 70 Donaldson, John C., 78 Dualism, 63 Dubuque, Iowa, 1, 15 Dustin, John, 61

Ecology, 11, 34, 67 Edinger, Ludwig, 65, 72, 77 Edinger, Tilly, 65 Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 7 Energy, 74, 75 Environment, 9, 10, 12 Equilibrium theory of consciousness, 50, 74 Eric the Red, 15 Eric the Forester, 15 Ethics, 62, 75 Exposition, Louisiana Purchase, of 1904,

76

Field-theory, 60, 75 Field-work, 30, 35, 39 Foerste, Aug. F., 36, 38, 62 Folwell, W. W., 10, 34 Forest City, Minn., 17, 41 Fort Pickering, 18 Fort Snelling, 9, 18 Frankfurt a/M., 65 Fritsch, G., 64 Frontier, midwestern, 9

Gale, Harlow A., 16 Galton, Francis, 13 Gastaut, Henri, 77 Genealogy, 13 Genes, 11, 12 Genetics, 9, 11, 12 Genius, 9, 11, 60, 78 Geology, 37, 42, 43, 45, 61, 62 Giantism, 13 Goethe, J. W., 65, 66 Goldstein, Kurt, 65 Goodspeed, Edgar J., 36 Grand Rapids, Mich., 3, 23 Granville, Ohio, 2, 25, 35, 38, 61, 62, 72 Griswold, F. S., 31 Gumption, 12 Gunderson, H. L., 61

Hadley Climatological Laboratory, 2, 50, 51

Hale, Louisa M., 14, 16 Ham, Frank, 32 Harper, W. R., 38, 49, 67, 68 Helmholtz, H., 34 Hennepin, Louis, 9 Hennepin County, 10 Heredity, 8, 9, 11, 12, 13 Hericke, Henerie, 1, 15 Herrick, ancestry, 15

family stock, 11 Herrick, Albert, 16 Herrick, Alice, 2, 35, 44 Herrick, Anna, 1, 14, 15, 19 Herrick, Charles Judson, 1, 2, 3, 8, 20,

23, 35, 38, 39, 40, 41, 43, 46, 73, 76, 78 Herrick, Ellen M., 16 Herrick, George, 16

Herrick, Henry Herbert, 1, 21 Herrick, Henry Nathan, 1, 6, 13, 16 Herrick, Henry Nathan, Junior, 2, 44,

46, 58 Herrick, Jean Colville, 13 Herrick, Jedediah, 15 Herrick, Laura, 2, 45 Herrick, Laura Roby, 1, 13, 14, 15 Herrick, Louisa, 14, 16 Herrick, Lucius C., 15 Herrick, Mabel, 2, 45 Herrick, Mary Elizabeth, 2, 3, 25 Herrick, Nathan, 1, 14, 15 Herrick, Ruth, 25 Herrick, Sir William, 15 Herrick, William Howard, 1, 21 Hertwig, Oscar, 39 Hicks, L. E., 35 Hinton, W. Va., 42 Hitzig, E., 64 Hodgin, C. E., 49 Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 14, 19 Hooker, J. D., 60 Hop Canyon, 45, 53 Hudson, W. H., 79 Hughes, Dorothy, 54, 55 Hutchins, R. M., 48

Jackson, Hughlings, 64 James, William, 39 Johnson, Douglas W., 42, 44, 47 Johnson, W. H., 62 Journal of Comparative Neurology, 2, 3,

8, 38, 39, 54, 58, 60, 65, 67, 68, 71, 75 Journal of Morphology, 71

Kaada, Birger R., 77 Keith, Alice. See Herrick, Alice Kelly, N. Mex., 2, 46, 57 Kinney, Bruce, 57 Kluver, H., 77 Kriicke, W., 66

Ladd, G. T., 61 Lake Calhoun, 40 Lake Minnetonka, 10, 30 Lake Powderhorn, 26 Lake Pepin, 41 Lake Superior, 42, 43 Language, development of, 25 Lee, Alice, 13 Leicestershire, 15, 17 Leuckart, R., 34 Lin Yutang, 20 Long, Stephen, 9 Longevity, 14 Lotze, Hermann, 34, 61 Lucretius, Carus Titus, 59 Lum, Clarence S., 33 Lyell, Charles, 60

McClure, S. S., 73 McCord, Carey P., 74 McMicken, Charles, 37 Magdalena, New Mex., town, 43, 49, 50

mountain, 45, 57 Maltby, F. S., 2, 47, 49 Mammals of Minnesota, 34, 61

84



VOL. 45, PT. 1, 19551 INDEX 85

Manzano Mountains, 56 Mather, Kirtley F., 62 Mechanics, 60 Mechanism, nature of, 74 Memories of childhood, 25 Messinger, J. F., 49 Metaphysics, 63, 74, 75, 77 Meyer, Adolf, 7, 67, 72 Michelson, A. A., 33 Michipicoten Bay, 42 Mind and body. See Psychobiology Mind, nature of. See Equilibrium theory Mines and mining, 44 to 57 Minneapolis, Minn., 1, 2, 9, 15 Minnehaha Creek, 10, 16

Falls, 10 Minnesota, State, 1

Territory, 1, 9 Mitrophanow, Paul, 72 Monticello, Minn., 16 Morphology, 74, 76

dynamic, 76 Morristown, Vt., 1, 15 Muller, Max, 24 Museum of Natural History, Denison, 43,

45, Minnesota, 30, 32, 33, 34

Music, 23

Nacimiento Mountains, 56 Naturalist, definition of, 8 Nature, dynamics of, 60 Neurobiology, survey of, 73 Neurology, clinical, 63

comparative, 32, 38, 39, 64, 65 embryological, 37, 65 experimental, 64 history of, 63 paleontological, 64, 65 professor of, 67, 68, 69, 70

New Mexico, 2, 44, 47

Osborn, Chase S., and Stellanova, 10 Osler, William, 64

Paleontology, 37, 43, 61 Palmer, George Herbert, 14 Pasteur, Louis, 7 Pathological Institute, N. Y., 2 Payne, Charles, 17 Pearson, Karl, 13 Phenotype, 12, 13 Philosophy, 60, 63, 74 Physics, 60, 77 Physiology and psychology, 74 Pike, Zebulon, 9 Pinon Ranch, 2, 45 Poem by C. L. Herrick, 59

Pragmatism, 76 Psychiatry, 63 Psychobiology, 7, 8, 37, 38, 60, 64, 67,

68, 71, 74, 76, Psychology, 60, 64

comparative, 38, 62, 66, 67, 68, 70 experimental, 64 genetic, 38, 64, 67, 70 physiological, 64, 67, 68, 69

Psychoneurology. See Psychobiology Psychophysics, 75 Publications, 34, 37, 50, 59, 61, 63

Realism, dynamic, 34, 63, 74 Relativity, 60 Religion, 59, 61 Riese, Walther, 65 River, Crow, 41

Minnesota, 9, 41 Mississippi, 9, 41 Rio Grande, 52, 57 St. Louis, 35

Roberts, Morley, 79 Roberts, Thomas S., 30, 31, 32, 33, 34,

39, 42 Roofe, Paul G., 70

St. Anthony, Falls, 7, 9, 10, 32, 33 Town, 9, 16

St. Louis, Mo., 76 St. Paul, Minn., 9 Salamanders, 64 Salem, Mass., 1, 15 San Augustine Plains, 46 Sanford, E. C., 76 School of Mines, Socorro, 48, 50 Security Title Abstract Co., 21 Sedgwick, E., 73 Silliman, Benjamin, 10 Small, Laura Roby, 13, 14, 15 Smell, sense of, 77 Snelling, Fort, 9, 10 Snelling, Josiah, 9 Sociobiology, 75 Socorro Gold Mining Co., 3, 57 Socorro, New Mex., 2, 3, 21, 57, 58 Soul, nature of, 75 Stature, 13 Steele, Franklin, 9 Stevenson, Robert Louis, 7, 23 Stover, Elias S., 48, 50 Stowe, Vt., 1, 15 Strickler, Anna. See Herrick, Anna Strickler, Daniel, 1, 14, 15 Strickler, Harry M., 15 Strickler, Ulrich, 15 Strong, Charles A., 69, 70

Summy, Susan, 19 Summy, Susanna, 1 Survey, Geological etc., of Minnesota, 1,

7, 31, 34 of New Mexico, 45, 55, 58

Surveying, 44, 45, 57

Talbot, Samson, 22 Teaching, 35, 54, 55, 60 Tight, W. G., 39, 45, 53, 54 Tres Marias Islands, 2, 47, 49 Turner, C. H., 37, 38

University, Boston, 70 Brown, 54 of California, 58 of Chicago, 2, 3, 25, 38, 49, 67, 68, 70 of Cincinnati, 2, 24, 37, 62, 67 Clark, 69 Columbia, 2, 25, 39, 55, 70, 72 Cornell, 72 Denison, 2, 3, 22, 24, 35, 38, 42, 44, 61,

62, 67, 68 of Frankfurt, 65 Harvard, 49, 70 of Idaho, 49 Johns Hopkins, 11, 49, 72 of Kansas, 49, 70, 72 of Leipzig, 2, 34 of Michigan, 70 of Minnesota, 1, 2, 10, 21, 22, 31 of New Mexico, 2, 3, 39, 47, 48, 54 New York, 70 of Oregon, 49 Ottawa, 2, 25, 35, 38 of Pennsylvania, 33, 70 of Washington, 49 of Wisconsin, 49, 50 Yale, 70

Upham, Warren, 31

Value, 7, 8 de Vries, Hugo, 61

Walters, Raymond, 37 War of 1864-65, 18 Weinzirl, Adolph, 49 Weinzirl, John, 49, 50 White Sands, 58 Whitman, C. O., 69, 70, 71 Williams, Robert S., 30, 31, 33 Winchell, N. H., 22, 31, 32, 34, 61 Wistar Institute, 3, 72 Wright, F. J., 43

Yerkes, R. M., 3 Young Naturalists' Society, 2, 30, 35

Zabel, H. E., 34



clarence luther herrick: pioneer naturalist, teacher, and psychobiologist

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